#how to transfer paypal to bank

[jennysmith240]

How to send money through PayPal?

In today's digital era, PayPal stands as a beacon of convenience and security, simplifying the process of sending money worldwide. Whether you're splitting a bill with friends, paying for online purchases, or sending funds to family overseas, PayPal offers a seamless platform for transferring money with ease. But the question is How to send money through paypal? In this comprehensive guide, we'll walk you through the step-by-step process of sending money through PayPal, ensuring a smooth and hassle-free experience.

Step 1: Sign Up or Log In to Your PayPal Account

If you haven't already, the first step is to sign up for a PayPal account. Visit the PayPal website to know how to pay someone using paypal  or download the PayPal mobile app from the App Store or Google Play Store. Follow the prompts to create your account, providing essential information such as your name, email address, and password. If you already have a PayPal account, simply log in to proceed.

Step 2: Link Your Payment Method

Before sending money through PayPal, you'll need to link a payment method, such as a bank account, debit card, or credit card. This allows PayPal to withdraw funds from your chosen source when sending money. To link your payment method, navigate to the "Wallet" or "Settings" section of your PayPal account and follow the prompts to add your preferred payment method.

Step 3: Initiate the Transfer

Once your payment method is linked, you can initiate the transfer of funds. Here's how:

Click on "Send & Request": In your PayPal account dashboard, locate the "Send & Request" option. This may be found in the main menu or on the homepage of your account.

Enter Recipient's Information: Enter the email address or mobile number of the recipient. If the recipient is a trusted contact, their name may appear automatically as you type.

Enter the Amount: Specify the amount you wish to send. PayPal supports various currencies, so you can send money internationally with ease.

Select the Payment Method: Choose the payment method you'd like to use to fund the transfer. You can select from your linked bank accounts, debit cards, or PayPal balance.

Add a Note (Optional): If desired, you can add a note to accompany the payment. This can be helpful for indicating the purpose of the transaction or providing additional context to the recipient.

Review and Confirm: Before finalizing the transfer, review the details of the transaction to ensure accuracy. Once verified, click on the "Send" button to confirm the transfer.

Step 4: Confirmation and Notification

Once the transfer is initiated, PayPal will provide confirmation of the transaction, along with an estimated delivery time. The recipient will receive an email or notification informing them of the incoming payment. Additionally, you'll receive a confirmation email for your records, providing peace of mind that the transaction was successful.

In Conclusion, Sending money through PayPal is a straightforward process that offers convenience, security, and flexibility. By following the steps outlined in this guide, you can confidently initiate transfers, whether you're sending money to friends, family, or businesses around the globe. With PayPal's user-friendly platform and robust security measures, you can trust that your transactions are in good hands, making PayPal the preferred choice for millions of users worldwide.

[mychlapci]

? i just got a call from a private number about how there was "illegal activity on my card connected to money laundering" but it's odd because i mean, the call was in english, first of all, why would that be, what if i didnt speak english. why would you go around sending automated phone calls in english in a non-english speaking country. secondly. there is nothing wrong with my account. so. ?

[oliviaemiley444]

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[mokubetech]

Learn how to easily transfer money from your PayPal balance to your bank account || To make a transfer to your eligible debit card or bank account on the app with this full guide. Say goodbye to confusion and hello to smooth transactions! 1. Tap your PayPal balance. 2. Tap Transfer. 3. Tap Transfer to bank at the bottom of the screen. 4. Select in minutes (fee applies) or in 1-3 days (no fee). 5. Tap Transfer Now.

[juicydangler]

[maikaartwork]

Artists, let’s talk about Instagram commission scammers

There’s been a huge rise in commission scammers recently, mostly on Instagram. A lot of new artists don’t know what to look out for, so I figured this might help people.

How they begin

Usually the scammer will write to you asking about a commission. Something deceptively cute - mostly I encounter asks about pet portraits, with one or two photos sent. They’ll probably try to sell you a sweet little story, like “It’s for my son’s birthday”. They will insist that they love your artwork and style, even though they don’t follow you or never liked a single piece of your art.

What to look out for:

Their profiles will either be private, empty, or filled with very generic stuff, dating at most a few years back.

Their language will be very simple, rushed or downright bad. They might use weird emojis that nobody ever uses. They will probably send impatient “??” when you don’t answer immediately. They’re in a crunch - lots of people to scam, you know. 

They’ll give you absolutely no guidelines. No hints on style, contents aside from (usually) the pet and often a name written on the artwork, no theme. Anything you draw will be perfect. Full artistic freedom. In reality they don’t really care for this part.

They’ll offer you a ridiculous amount of money. Usually 100 or 300 USD (EDIT: I know it might not be a lot for some work. What I mean here - way higher than your asking price, 100 and 300 are standard rates they give). They’ll often put in a phrase like “I am willing to compensate you financially” and “I want the best you can draw”, peppered with vague praise. It will most likely sound way too good to be true. That’s because it is.

Where the scam actually happens

If you agree, they will ask you for a payment method. They’ll try to get to this part as soon as possible. 

Usually, they’ll insist on PayPal. And not just any PayPal. They’ll always insist on sending you a transfer immediately. None of that PayPal Invoice stuff (although some do have methods for that, too). They’ll really, REALLY want to get your PayPal email address and name for the transfer - that’s what they’re after. If you insist on any other method, they’ll just circle back to the transfer “for easiest method”. If you do provide them with the info, most likely you’ll soon get a scam email. It most likely be a message with a link that will ultimately lead to bleeding you dry. Never, and I mean NEVER click on any emails or links you get from them. It’s like with any other scam emails you can ever get.

A few things can happen here:

They overpay you and ask for the difference to be wired back. Usually it will go to a different account and you’ll never see that money again. 

They’ll overpay you “for shipping costs” and ask you to forward the difference to their shipping company. Just like before, you’ll never see that money again.

The actual owner of the account (yes, they most likely use stolen accounts to wire from) will realize there’s been something sketchy going on and request a refund via official channels. Your account will be charged with fees and/or you get in trouble for fraudulent transactions. 

You will transfer the money from your PayPal credit to your bank account and they will make a shitstorm when they want their money back, making your life a living hell. They will call you a scammer, a thief, make wild claims, wearing you down and forcing you into wiring money “back” - aka to their final destination account. 

Never, EVER wire money to anyone. This is not how it’s supposed to go. Use PayPal Invoice for secure exchanges where the client needs to provide you with their email, not the other way around.

You can find more info on that method HERE.

What to do when you encounter a scammer:

Ask the right questions: inquire about the style, which artwork of yours they like, as much details as you can. They won’t supply you with any good answers.

Don’t let the rush of the exchange, their praise and the promise of insanely good money to get to you. That’s how they operate, that’s how they make you lose vigilance. 

Don’t engage them. As soon as you realize it might be a scam, block them. The sense of urgency they create with their rushed exchange, and pressure they put on you will sooner or later get to you and you might do something that you’ll regret later.

Never wire money to anyone. Never give out your personal data. Never provide your email, name, address or credit card info. 

Don’t be deceived by receiving a payment, if you somehow agree to go along with it. Just because it’s there now doesn’t mean it can’t be withdrawn. 

Here is a very standard example of such an exchange. I realized it’s a scam pretty fast and went along with it, because I wanted good screenshots for you guys, so I tried going very “by the book” with it. 

Please share this post, make it reach as many artists as possible. Let young or inexperienced artists know that this is going on. So many people have no idea that this is a thing. Let’s help each other out. If you think I missed any relevant info, do add it as an rb!

Also, if you know other scam methods that you think should be shared, consider rb-ing this post with them below. Having a master post of scam protection would AWESOME to have in the art community.

[odonism]

negative seventy dollars in my bank account 😃

[cashfreeapp750]

Cash App The Pros, Cons and Features of The Popular Payment Service

[vitsa-didicoy]

How to Donate to the Domari Society of Gypsies in Jerusalem

As many of you may know, the Domari community in Palestine is suffering alongside native Palestinians in the genocidal campaign headed by Israel.

Though we do not know much of the Domari's struggles in detail, I can only imagine it is the same extent as the Palestinians' struggles.

The Domari Society was founded by director Amoun Sleem in 2000 and since then she and her staff have done incredible things for the Domari, including providing resources and education to women and children.

On the Domari Society website, there is information on how to send donations via bank transfer, but considering that their main avenue may not be the most accessible to share and donate, I am making this post providing a step-by-step guide on how to donate to the Domari Society of Gypsies in Jerusalem.

This method works only if you have a PayPal and/or Xoom account (Xoom is owned by PayPal so if you only have PP, you can still donate.)

Step-by-Step:

Click this [link] here. It will take you to Xoom's page for sending money to Israel (Jerusalem is occupied by Israel, so it must be through them). Make sure you are signed in to either Xoom or PayPal.

Enter a minimum amount of 35.66 shekels (minimum 10.01 USD) to send. Click (Send Now) to progress to the next page.

3. Confirm information on screen and click (Next).

4. Select (Bank Deposit) and click (Next).

5. When selecting a bank, click (Other) and it will bring you to a page where you must enter the IBAN number of the bank you want to send money to. The IBAN for the Domari Society's bank is IL040176380000002503877 (copy and paste this exactly). Confirm that the bank is Mercantile Discount Bank Ltd and click (Next).

6. Enter in contact information. It is as follows: First Name: Domari Last Name: Society Address 1: Shua'fat, Derech Shua'fat 10 City: Jerusalem Phone Number: +97225324510 Email: domarisociety@gmail.com

7. Enter any information required and choose your payment option. On the last page, confirm the information listed and if everything is correct, click (Send).

Bank transfer may take a few days, but congratulations! You just donated to the Domari Society of Gypsies in Jerusalem. Know that your contribution will go towards the betterment of the Domari in Palestine.

Also, most information is found on the Domari Society's website, so if you wish to confirm that the donation is legitimate you can check the bank details here: [link]

Please share this whether you donate or not, it could mean life or death for Dom under occupation. May we all see a day where our people are safe. Te aven baxtalo 💙❤️💚

[olderthannetfic]

No, ppl, VPNs aren't even possible for many MANY ppl in the third world. You can't buy a VPN in a brick and mortar store, and many of us (adults who are parents of kids in schools and everything) don't even own credit cards. Many who do still cannot afford VPN because what is easily affordable to a Westerner could pay my bills for a whole month. It depends on how poorly my currency is performing against the US dollar.

Even Paypal is sth mythical. I mean, I've had pieces accepted in US magazines for what the editors said was a token payment, about 50 dollars. Man, those 50 dollars would've paid off so much! That would be a FORTUNE. But I had to waive the payment EVERY time because Paypal doesn't work in my country. Grrr.

That doesn't mean third world countries listed on the Paypal site can use it either. My country is on it but every time I filled surveys etc and they transferred the money, I couldn't get my bank to let me have it. I know a third worlder in another country who has had that happen to them too.

My heart goes out to fellow readers and writers in Malaysia. Some of the most mindblowingly beautiful fics I've ever read (they were gushed abt by Americans and Brits and Aussies so I assumed the writers were native English speakers) turned out to have been written by fellow third worlders, one of those in my own country! The idea of waking up to find my country decided to ban ao3 is just... unbearable.

I hope the Malaysians find a way around it. And I hope whoever made that horrible decision gets the worst RPF written abt them AND hears about it from their political rival.

--

Yeah, I'm always meeting fans online from certain countries: Malaysia, Indonesia, the Philippines. Some places just seem to produce a lot of nerds. Or maybe more people learn English? IDK. Both a lack of (popular-with-fans) local media and a lack of economic opportunity can incentivize foreign language learning, so I'm sure that's part of it along with a certain amount of randomness.

In any case, part of why AO3 is run on donations instead of having paid accounts with better features is that a lot of core fans who write the fic and make the recslists and make fandom happen turn out to be in situations where they literally cannot pay even if they have the money.

Someone who's popular might be able to get foreign friends to pay for their VPN, but even then, can they actually get access to it? Questionable.

As for the last, it will be with their political rival, and you know it! They'll have to hear from some aide. ;D

[gendercensus]

New zine for sale!

"What are your pronouns?"

A very specific guide to talking about trans people with confidence and respect

It's aiming to be a beginner-to-advanced guide for allies, with an informative and nerdy tone. It explains:

Third-person, personal, singular pronouns (with established examples)

Why learning new pronouns is harder than learning new names

Why singular they always has plural verbs (always "you are" and not "you is", even when talking about one person)

How to use they/them for nonbinary people (including themselves vs. themself)

How to mess up gracefully (with a focus on making it more comfortable for the trans person)

What neopronouns are

This zine is 36 sides of A5, with 120 gsm 100% recycled paper pages and 100% recycled card cover, handstitch-bound.

It's informed by my 12 years or so of running the Gender Census and gathering data from tens of thousands of nonbinary and gender-divergent people, so this might be the closest I've gotten to official Gender Census merch!

How to buy

Here are some purchase links for one copy:

UK 1st class, £6.35 - £4 for one copy, plus UK first class postage £2.35 (1-2 days)

UK 2nd class, £5.85 - £4 for one copy, plus UK first class postage £1.85 (2-4 days)

Outside UK, £7.20 - £4 for one copy, plus postage to anywhere outside of the UK £3.20 (5-7 working days)

Update 2024-06-20: They’re now available through our new online shop!

If you'd like to buy more than one copy then please do email me for a quote. It's £4 GBP per copy, plus P&P from the UK to wherever you are. I can take payment by bank transfer or PayPal. You can message me here on Tumblr or, more reliably, email me: hello@gendercensus.com (And if you are curious to see what else I've got in stock crafts-wise, you can check out my "things for sale" page here.)

And a quick reminder that the annual survey is currently open until 13th June 2024 - 38,000 participants and counting!

Thank you for your attention, folks. Now back to the usual statistical enthusiasm. ✨📊

[cordeliawhohung]

Blood Soaked Cotton

Simon Ghost Riley x fem!Reader - part 1 of "soft spot"

Simon Riley finds himself oddly attached to the kind woman who works at the bank he frequents. He tells himself it’s just a friendly connection and nothing more. But the day he walks in and sees the marks, he realizes just how much of a soft spot he’s developed for her.

Warnings: Language, mentions of Ghost's past (trauma, brief mention/descriptions of SA, abuse), implied domestic violence (not graphically described), unwanted grabbing (not groping), alcohol, descriptions of minor wounds and bruises, soft/grumpy Ghost, reader is a bank teller, hurt/comfort, caring for wounds,

wc: 6k

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Really, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all. But things never exactly work out how we think they will, and Simon Riley wasn’t a stranger to surprises. 

You had seen his face plenty of times before, though not in the way someone would expect. The low resolution picture on his ID was all you had seen of him, and he was very content in keeping it that way. Because of this, he made sure he always got into your line at the bank, as he didn’t really fancy showing his ID to every other teller there. 

Besides not wanting to pass a literal picture of his face around, he might have had something of a soft spot for you. Or, at least as much of a soft spot as a man like him could muster for someone. The very first day he showed up at the bank, he knew almost every single teller there thought he was trying to rob the place. It wasn’t like he could blame them. His towering height and his partialness towards facemasks didn’t exactly make him the most inviting. But even with the normalization of masks after the pandemic, more often than not he was looked at with fear. 

So when the first teller he went up to demanded that he take his mask off for ‘identification purposes,’ he was a little more than peeved. Every other bank he had gone to pretty much tossed his cash towards him without so much as a second glance. That’s what he got for moving into the big city, he supposed. 

But then you stepped in. Told your co-worker that it was fine, that you would help him with his withdrawal, without the need of showing his face. She gave a little huff, and he knew you were probably breaking a million rules by doing that for him, but either way, he was thankful for it. 

So there he was, once again, in your line at the bank. Simon wasn’t one to particularly enjoy using the more advanced forms of currency exchange. Debit cards were fine, but not his favorite, and he wouldn’t be caught dead using PayPal or any type of phone transfers. Cash was comfortable, familiar, and more reliable in his eyes. And tellers were more trustworthy than ATMs, despite the fact that they were still people. 

“Hey there,” you greeted him with a kind smile. 

With just about everyone else, if you knew it, you greeted them by their name. Especially if they were the old regulars you saw several times a week. But not with Simon. It wasn’t for the lack of knowing it, surely, as his name was obviously tied to the account, and he showed up just as often as the old geezers who were just as untrusting as he was. You didn’t seem scared to use his name, or really scared of him at all. Either way, it was just another small detail he appreciated. 

“Hey,” he responded, feeling awkward speaking but knowing you deserved more than just an empty stare. 

He tossed his items onto the counter in front of you, where they clattered against the glass covered wood with tiny tinks. You took the items in your hands, hardly glancing over his ID before sliding it back to him, face down on the counter. 

“The usual?” you questioned, typing away at your system. You sounded more like a waitress taking his order than a teller. 

“Yeah.” 

It was the same amount of cash out every week. Enough to spend throughout the week, which wasn’t much, and enough to save up throughout the month for things such as rent. Not that you knew that, of course. You never asked him any questions that weren’t absolutely necessary. You were straight and to the point, doing your work with a kind smile that he didn’t think he deserved.

He always felt like such a stain in places like that; around people like you. The people with bright smiles, wearing neat and clean clothes with a perfect nine to five. Those four walls glistened with power and wealth, something that he never really wanted to come close to. Even though being nice to him was quite literally your job, he knew deep down he didn’t belong there. 

If it wasn’t for you, he probably would have switched banks long ago. 

“There you go!” you said, your voice chipper as you held the envelope for him. 

Large hands threatened to engulf yours as he reached for the money, yet his hands never did so much as graze your skin. He didn’t bother counting the cash before shoving it into the pocket of his jacket. It had been months since he had been with that bank, and you hadn’t ever miscounted before; he trusted you with that much, at least. 

“Thanks.” It was short, gruff, and to the point. There wasn’t much time he was willing to waste on pleasantries. Not even to the bank teller who knew his face. 

“Have a good one!” 

Have a good one. It was always the same farewell you gave him. Of course the factitious answer that came to mind was ‘have a good one what?’ but he knew better than to be a smart ass. But really, the question truly was a valid one in his mind. Have a good what? Day? Afternoon? Life?

He was too far gone for that. 

After that day, he didn’t see you for a few weeks. He was off doing what he did best; being a soldier. At times, it felt like it was all he knew how to do. Run. Shoot. Kill. Stab. Wash the blood from his uniform and repeat it all the next day if he even lived long enough to see it. 

But he always did, even when he knew he shouldn’t have. Which meant he always returned back home to that small studio apartment. Some nights it felt all too cramped. Those grimey walls forever oozing nicotine from every single pore because of some asshole who couldn’t be arsed to open a damn window when they smoked. The wood floor that was scratched to all hell. That ugly nightstand he bought off of some old man at a yard sale for five quid. Everything, every detail, every crack in that damn apartment was just one more thing threatening to suffocate him, but he didn’t have the time or energy to let that get the better of him. 

He had to go to the bank tomorrow. 

Goddamn.

When he next returned to the bank, something was off. There was no sign of your usual chipper voice that you greeted your patrons with, and your voice had been replaced with something more hoarse. At first he thought you were maybe just sick, but once he was the next one in line, he realized he couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Your clothes always looked nice. A simple blouse, maybe a nice blazer to go over it if the weather wasn’t too warm. Bank tellers always had a way of looking professional and put together, so it was rather jarring when he saw the state of your face. Not that you were particularly mangled or anything, but the split lip was glaringly obvious. 

It tore the delicate skin of your bottom lip vertically, nearing the corner of your mouth. Dark, crunchy scabs clogged the wound up, and he could tell by the way your tongue kept prodding at it that it smarted something fierce. But it didn’t stop there. A slight bruise on the back part of your cheekbone, an even deeper bruise peeking out from underneath your blouse on your collarbone, a broken nail that chipped off uncomfortably close to your nail bed. 

“Simon?” 

Your voice pulled him out of his head as his eyes stopped wandering over your body and landed back on your face. He tried his best to keep his gaze from wandering to your busted lip, but it was difficult when your tongue kept swiping over it. It was so distracting he almost didn’t register that you used his first name. 

“The usual?” you asked. 

Your smile was lopsided, your swollen lip making it impossible to do it properly. And god, hearing that crackling tone in your voice was almost more off putting than the wounds. As if even just hearing the cheerfulness in your voice would make your state seem less serious. 

“What happened?” he questioned, his hands digging into his pockets to pull out the needed documents. 

A sour chuckle left you as you threw your gaze down at the counter. “Suppose that’s the question of the day, isn’t it?” 

When you looked back up at him, his gaze was stony and unrelenting, as if he wasn’t going to let you sidestep it. You sighed as you looked at his hands. He had everything ready to go, yet he held it close to his chest, as if he wasn’t going to relinquish it until you answered him. 

“Got a little drunk last weekend at the pub. Might have biffed it on the curb walking home,” you explained with a half-assed chuckle. 

It was more than that. Simon knew those wounds all too well, and though he usually saw it on himself and other soldiers, there were rare cases he saw them on others. On civilians. And he knew better than anyone else that wounds like that were caused by more than just pavement. 

But he wasn’t about to accost you at work over it, and so he set his items on the counter in front of you, gently sliding them closer to you. Those dark eyes of his didn’t leave you once. You had become a specimen. This interesting creature he suddenly found himself fascinated with. 

He hummed in response to you as your fingers gingerly grabbed his items and you did your usual routine of retrieving his money. The bright pink Hello Kitty band-aid around your finger made you type slower than you normally did, and he couldn’t help but glance back at your lip as your teeth poked out to bite at it. It was never going to heal properly if you kept doing that, but he kept quiet. 

In no time his cash was in front of him, in that simple envelope that you held out in your hands. Despite the obvious pain you were in, you still smiled at him, lopsided and all. For a moment he stared at you, eyes glancing over your wounds, the abrasions you tried to hide. But only for a moment before he took the envelope and shoved it into his pocket like normal. 

Simon started to turn, ready to go about his normal boring civilian-like life. But before he could fully face away from you, a pit formed in his stomach. Something else was off. Maybe not off, but something was missing. Every part of him was screaming out, screaming for him to find it and put it back, and he found his eyes wandering over to you again. 

You hadn’t said goodbye.

That’s when he noticed the blood dribbling down your chin. Whatever crusting scab that had formed on your split lip had cracked, sending a steady flow of blood from your mouth. Your fingers came up to touch the sudden wetness on your face, and he noticed how your eyebrows drew together and your jaw set tight as you blankly stared at the counter, blood trickling down your hand. 

He should have turned. Should have walked away and left you to your own devices. You were a grown woman. You could take care of yourself. Just as soon as that thought had formed in his head, his hands were already reaching into his back pocket where he pulled out a handkerchief. The cloth sat between his fore and middle fingers, where his hand stiffly extended it out for you to take. 

“Here.” 

It used to be white, but had been stained by various things over the years he had it, and it even sported some fraying on the edges. It was clean, at least. Because of this, he was extremely surprised to hear your response to him. 

“I’ll ruin it.” 

Whatever lively tone you normally held had vanished. Distant eyes, a swollen lip, and a voice that seemed utterly broken. In the time it had taken for him to travel halfway across the world and commit acts that kept him up at night, you had changed. Changed in a way that left a sour taste on his tongue. 

“Just take it,” he pressed, the cloth still hanging limply between his fingers. 

You begrudgingly took it from him and promptly placed it against your face. Oxygenated blood stained the off-white cloth with a bright red. Every single fiber of it soaked up the liquid as if it was the soil drinking up water. 

“Thank you,” you said, the words almost failing to leave your lips. 

He paused for a moment. It should have been him saying those words. You gave him his money. All he did was give you a shitty handkerchief. 

“Have a good one,” he said before fully turning around and making his way towards the exit. 

He could practically hear the smile in your voice as you responded. “I’m trying.” 

Once he got home, he tried to forget about it. There was no time or energy in his busy life for him to be worrying about you and your… situation. If he tried to care for every kicked puppy he found he wouldn’t even have the space to breathe. 

But that night when Simon was sharpening his knives, trying to keep his hands and mind busy, he cut his finger. Nothing bad, hardly anything to wince at, but still bleeding enough for it to be a hassle. He reached his hand into his back pocket, only to find nothing. 

“Fucking hell.” 

This is why he hated soft spots. All they did was muddle things up. But what he hated more than that was how he kept trying to rationalize it. No, you weren’t a soft spot, it was just convenient. You were familiar. You were predictable. 

Or at least he thought you were. It wasn’t until he came in the following week that he realized you were a bit different than the persona you wore at work. The very moment he walked through those doors, you were basically beaming. No longer lopsided, your smile was nothing short of a grin as he saw your hands instantly swim around in the pockets of your blazer. He approached you cautiously, a little putoff by how excited you were to see him. 

“I got you something,” you said, grinning. 

He stared at you for a moment as you pulled your hand out of your pocket. Though still extremely visible, your lip had healed up to the point where it probably wouldn’t crack anymore. The dark bruises on your collar bones had also begun to yellow, the blood that pooled there decomposing within you. 

And then you showed him your… gift. A dark handkerchief that had tiny cartoon dogs patterned onto it. You held it out to him like a child showing their parents some shitty art project that they did in school. 

“Figured you’d need another one after I ruined the one you gave me,” you said, wiggling it in your hands for him to take. “You also strike me as a dog person, so this seemed fitting.”

In a way it was almost cute. The idea of it certainly striked you so, anyway. Thinking about this large, somewhat intimidating man keeping something as dainty as a dog patterned handkerchief was certainly entertaining. Much to your surprise, and his own, he actually reached out and took it from you, though he did scoff at the sight of it before shoving it into his back pocket. 

Getting straight to business, he handed you all the necessary items to make the withdrawal from his account, which you happily helped him with. The band aid that had been on your finger the previous week was long gone, revealing your still bloody nail bed. Dark blood pooled just under the nail, almost as if you had painted it with nail polish before giving up after one finger. Still, you were able to type faster than you had the previous week at least.

“Run into any more poles over the weekend?” Simon asked. His dark eyes glanced down at your finger before flickering to your collarbone and then your eyes. 

Pausing, you looked up at him with eyebrows drawn together. “Huh? Oh, yeah uhm… not this weekend,” you answered with an awkward chuckle. 

Simon hummed, crossing his arms over his chest, making him appear even more broad than he already was. For another moment or two he carefully watched you as you counted the cash. As you put it into the envelope, the sleeve of your blazer pulled up slightly, revealing an old bruise on your wrist he hadn’t seen last time. 

“Good,” he responded as you slid the envelope his way. 

The problem with lying wasn’t that it was seen as a shitty thing to do; it was that it was difficult to keep up the narrative. By the sound of it, you were out of practice, and Simon caught onto it almost instantly. Last week it was a curb you fell on. That week, you didn’t correct him when he switched it up. This only further proved his point; that only another pair of hands could do something like that to someone. 

But he already knew that. And so did you.

“See you next week!” you smiled at him. 

That was… different. Much different from your usual farewell to him, and not just in the change of words, but the change of tone as well. You still held that same cheerful tone, but there was another layer to it. Not quite a demand, but not exactly a request either. Perhaps it was… 

A plea? 

But you were right. He did see you the week after that, and the one after that. Each time he saw you, the bruises faded a little more, and your busted lip slowly mended. You talked more than just your regular customer service autopilot, and it was endearing. Of course you did most of the talking, and Simon mostly listened, but every now and then you would pull the ghost of a chuckle from his mouth, or maybe he’d force you to indulge in one of his rather dry jokes. 

Even some of the other tellers, despite their still cautious glances at him, seemed to warm up to him a little bit. Perhaps he had you to thank for that, not that he was exactly trying to win their favor in the first place. Maybe a little comradery with strangers wasn’t such a bad thing. 

Until it was. 

“Would you want to go to the bar with me after work tonight?” 

October brought in a sharp chill to the air that had you wearing a nice knitted sweater to help stave off the draft in the building. Its dark background with popping jack-o-lantern theme matched perfectly with your area of the bank. Despite it only being halfway through the month you had already prepared for Halloween with a bowl of candy sitting on the counter and themed jelly stickers on the window behind you. 

He answered you with a hum, almost sounding confused. Pubs weren’t exactly Simon’s scene. He hated the scent of shitty IPA’s and the grumbling drone of music that hardly anyone listened to anyway. 

“The pub on twenty-first just started selling their seasonal Halloween drinks. They make this super tasty mix with the theme of like, vampires or whatever, that I’ve been dying to try again,” you said, bouncing on your heels. “But none of the girls here want to come with me, and I really hate going anywhere like that alone, so I thought I’d ask you.” 

He wanted to say no. He should have said no. Yet his gruff response left his lips before he had the chance to smother them, and later that night he found himself outside of the pub you described. 

It was a bit nicer than most other bars he had been to, but the very moment he stepped foot inside he knew it was just like the rest. Sour, hoppy scented beer assaulted his nose similar to how it did when it clung to his father’s clothes as a child. Mugs clinked against the wooden bar at the back of the building, and someone was busy racking up a pool table somewhere to his left. 

You stuck out like a sore thumb in your jack-o-lantern themed sweater, arms leaning against the counter as you hunched over your drink. The Friday night crowd parted for him as he made his way to the bar, grabbing the high stool and dragging it out a bit in order to seat himself next to you. 

Meeting in a place like that, Simon had expected things to be awkward, or maybe even a little tense, but it was almost as if nothing could bring you down. Maybe it was just the alcohol (some dark red, fruity scented drink that made his stomach turn) or maybe this was just how you were like when you weren’t at work, but you had turned into an absolute chatterbox. Jumping from topic to topic, his mind was beginning to spin, but it came to a screeching halt once the focus landed on him. 

“So, military, huh?” you asked. Your fingers lazily stirred your straw around in your drink. It was your second one, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the bartender might have made it a tad too strong for you to handle. 

Simon nodded, his own hands wrapped around a plastic cup. You had insisted that he at least drink a bit of water, which he hadn’t done at all. The ice had long since melted in the cup, and the condensation had made a puddle on the counter. 

“What’s that like?” you questioned further, your body pushing further into the counter as you tried to keep his attention. 

He gave you a dull shrug. “It’s work.” 

A slight pout appeared on your lips as you let go of your straw. “Oh, come on. It’s gotta be more interesting than that!” Before you could complain any further, you quickly snapped your fingers, a slight grin appearing on your face. “Wait, I get it! You can’t tell me because you work on high priority missions. Like secret agent shit, right?”

It took everything in him to hold back a slight chuckle at your childish dreaming. “Something like that.” 

Leaning forward, your lips wrapped around your straw as you drew in a deep sip of your drink. The sugary liquid coated your tongue in an almost sickening way. You knew if you drank much more, it would make you sick, not exactly from the alcohol but just from how sweet it was. Still, you forced it down your throat before leaning your head against your hand. 

“Must be neat,” you said in awe. “Despite all the military stuff, anyway. I bet you get to travel the world and see so many neat things. I’d kill for an opportunity like that… no pun intended.” 

Your bluntness caught him off guard, so much so it brought a grumbling chuckle tearing out of his throat. The very sound of it caused you to grin; grin even wider than you ever had before. His eyes flickered to your lips, reveling in the way they curled upwards, almost as if proud of yourself. As if you had been trying to get him to laugh for ages (which you might have been). Yet he couldn’t help but focus slightly on the corner of your lip and that bit of raised scar tissue that was so faint you couldn’t really see it unless you knew what you were looking for. 

“You should probably make that drink your last one for the night,” he said, his hands crinkling his plastic cup. “Don’t think I can stand your shitty puns much longer.” 

You laughed a little as you looked down at your drink. It was nearly empty, and slightly watered down at that point due to the melted ice. Everything felt warm, somewhat because of the alcohol, and somewhat because of your knitted sweater. 

“Right, of course. I forgot the bad jokes were your thing. Didn’t mean to steal your thunder or anything,” you teased. 

After that, you quickly sipped up the rest of the drink before setting it back on the counter with a dull thunk. Things had only gotten more crowded as the night drew on, and he found whatever social battery he had quickly being drained because of it. 

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” you said softly, head returning to lean against your hand as you looked up at him. Even sitting next to him he was still so much bigger than you. “Honestly, I thought you were going to say no. Doesn’t really seem like your type of place so… just know I appreciate it.” 

What gave that impression? His tense shoulders? Or his eyes flickering around the room at least twenty times every minute like he was constantly on edge? 

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his voice low and rumbly. 

You smiled something soft, something fleeting as your eyes dropped down to look at his hands clasped around the cup of water. He hadn’t taken a single sip of it the entire time the two of you sat there. Not that you had expected him to, anyway. Certainly not with that mask of his. Maybe some time in the future you’d ask him about it, but that moment wasn’t the right time. 

“I’ll probably be headed out, then,” you said, pushing your empty glass towards the bartender who swiped it away almost instantly. “I’ll just make a quick stop by the bathroom. You can head out now if you don’t want to stick around.” 

He sat there for a moment in thought. Mind wandering to the faded bruises that had once littered your body, your wrist, your cheek. How blood dribbled down your chin in a crimson river, nearly staining your pristine blouse. And for a moment he couldn’t remember when that image of you started to plague him worse than that of the death and gore he had seen out in the field. 

“I’ll wait,” he said after deliberating. And then, “sure you don’t need a ride?” 

“No, I’ll be alright. I walked here,” you assured him as you slid out of your seat. 

Somehow that was worse. 

You slipped away before he could protest that idea, and he grumbled as he pushed his cup of water towards the end of the bar. Shitty music filled his ears as he sat there waiting for you, and without your voice to drown out the commotion around him, it consumed him. Sharp crack of the billiard balls crashing together, the scent of greasy pub pizza, the ringing of a bell as the door opened, the chilling October breeze bleeding into the building, the stale scent of cigarettes. 

A new loud, and frankly irritating, voice filled the bar, and it was so grating Simon found himself twisting in his seat to see the idiot for himself. He was a tall man, shorter than him but still enough to stick out in the crowd. By the looks of it he had already pregamed pretty hard before showing up, but other than being annoying, there was no reason for Simon to concern himself with the man. 

So he turned back around, taking his dark gaze off of the man as he continued to sit there, waiting for you. Which was taking much longer than he had expected. Perhaps you had broken the seal and all the alcohol you had consumed was passing straight through you. Either way, he would wait all night if he had to. He had decided there was no way in hell he was going to allow you to walk home alone from a pub. 

That’s when he heard your name. It felt odd hearing it come from such an ear-aching voice, and he couldn’t help but snap his head back over to the annoying patron that had caught his attention previously. 

And that’s when he saw you, face flushed from the alcohol, standing hardly a few steps away from the bathrooms with wide eyes. He knew that expression well. It was something he saw a lot. On his mothers face when his father returned home from a night of drinking. On the face of an enemy he stood above, ready to deal the final blow. On his own face when he looked in the mirror as a child. 

“Don’t talk to me.” Even over the dull drum of the music he could hear your voice. Despite how shaky you sounded, it was still surprisingly strong. But not strong enough to ward off the patron. 

“Come on, don’t be like that,” the man pushed, his words slurring as he attempted to saunter closer to you. “I missed you, you know that?”

Before you knew it his hand was wrapped around your wrist and the stench of alcohol was hot on his breath as it fanned across your face. It sent Simon’s stomach twisting almost painfully, so painfully that he stood from his seat, boots thumping as they marched across the bar floor. 

Then came the sound of flesh crashing against flesh as the palm of your hand slapped the man across the face. It was enough to grab the attention of everyone in the surrounding area, including the bartender who looked like he was one bad comment away from dialing 999. 

“Get your fucking hands off of me,” you seethed.

Unfortunately for you, the slap hardly seemed to phase him, and his grip only tightened. The man’s jaw set taut as his other hand came up and grabbed your waist with bruising force, drawing you closer to him as he bared his teeth in a snarling grin. 

“You fucking minx.” 

It was disgusting. The very sight of that man with his hands on you like he had won a prize. Greedy fingers digging into your flesh like he planned to take, and take, and take. Simon had seen it all before. Seen it in his own flesh as unwanted hands clawed at him. Felt it on his face in the form of a vile, wet tongue swiping around his mouth. It was in the screams he couldn’t hold back as the hook tore through his flesh. It was in the blood that spilled down his body as he hung there while they laughed. It was in the maggots that he sat in as he was buried alive. It was-

It was the pain he felt in his hand as his knuckles collided with the man’s jaw, snapping his head to an uncomfortable angle. In an instant his body went rigid and then limp. Those revolting hands fell away from you as his body collided with the floor beneath him, and the only sound he was able to make was a fit of air leaving his lungs upon impact. 

Everything fell silent except for the sound of that terrible, incessant music that blared over the speakers. All Simon could do for a moment was stare down at the man as the lights slowly flickered back on in his head, a low groan bubbling in his throat as his hands pawed at his surely aching jaw. 

Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he quickly turned his head where he found you rubbing at your wrist. Yarn from your knitted sweater stuck out of the edge of your sleeve at odd angles, having been tugged on too violently to hold together properly. He saw the tears prickling the edge of your eyes, and that was the last straw for him. 

Simon led you out of the pub after tossing some cash the bartender's way, leaving that shitty music and that asshole far behind the two of you. He walked you home just like he told himself he would, and a long stretch of silence sat between the two of you until you reached your front door. 

It wasn’t until he helped you inside that you noticed his split knuckles. In a way, it reminded you of the way your lip had split with that tiny, vertical cut. He didn’t seem phased in the slightest, and yet you practically begged him to let you clean him up. Something that he begrudgingly obliged to. 

As you led him into your living room, he tried to ignore the fist shaped hole in the wall by the entrance, and the discarded lamp on the counter that looked like someone had attempted to glue the shattered glass back together. He let you sit him down on the couch while you disappeared off into the bathroom to retrieve any first-aid items that you had stored away. 

Blood soaked into the swab you used to dab away at the wounds on his knuckles, cleaning it with a little bit of rubbing alcohol. It caught him off guard just how gentle you were with him; with the hands that had just knocked the lights out of someone. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second as you held his hand, working with the diligence of a surgeon cutting someone open. And maybe in a way you were; cutting him open, looking at the soft parts of him that he hid behind his mask. 

It wasn’t until after you put a few Hello Kitty band-aids over his knuckles that you explained just who that man was. He was your ex, and he was responsible for almost all the damage that had been done in your life. The hole in your wall, the bruises that had littered your collar bone, the broken lamp, your split lip. 

Never before had he been so glad to harm someone. Any other time it was a necessity. Saving himself. Saving a comrade. Nothing that he ever took pleasure or joy in. It was just work. But that? Hurting that man the way he did? He took joy in that.

When it came time for him to leave, you walked him to the door, your head feeling fuzzy from the mix of alcohol and from the anxiety that had held your chest in a vice grip for the last hour. As Simon ducked out of the doorway, you couldn’t help but smile slightly. 

“See you next week, Simon.” 

That was the moment that he decided he liked the way his name sounded when you said it. You never barked it like an order, or screamed it in anger. He had hated his name for a long while, hated being called anything other than his callsign for work. But when it came from your lips, well, maybe it wasn’t all that terrible. 

“Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. The band-aids pulled awkwardly at his skin as he paused on the porch of your apartment. “See you next week.” 

He vanished off into the night and you shut and locked the door behind him before returning to the living room to clean up the mess you made patching him up. All you could think about while you cleaned up the blood soaked cotton was the tone of his voice, and the fact that you don’t think you had ever heard him say a farewell like that to you, if at all. 

The very same thought plagued his mind as he made his way back to the pub where he had parked his car. His tone had even caught himself off guard. It was almost as if he was making a promise to you. Maybe he was. 

A huff of air pushed through his nostrils, mask muffling the sound as he shook his head at himself. Fingers flexed in his pockets and he ignored the slight sting of the freshly broken skin. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. It wasn’t supposed to happen at all. And though Simon Riley wasn’t a stranger to surprises, he didn’t think he’d find himself making promises so soon to the only soft spot that had grown in his life.

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[tanadrin]

I'm confused as to why you think Trump can be beaten. He only lost in 2020 because he was blamed for an unfolding catastrophe, and it was still a pretty narrow loss. In 2024 he can just point to how comparatively better everything was during his presidency and people will go along with it. None of his bad behavior or horrifying political aims means anything, because either people don't care, or the media doesn't care.

Well, for one I think he can be beaten because even the polls (which IMO underrated Biden) now show Harris ahead. For two, the Washington August jungle primary, which is a pretty historically useful leading indicator for the November elections, is consistent with a national environment that favors the Democrats. For three, the numbers that did show Trump ahead require you to believe some fairly odd things about the American electorate that have not been true in any recent election, including primary elections and special elections held so far this year. For four, while there are a lot of narratives about why Trump lost in 2020, I don’t think retro-prognostication based on a single factor is actually a cogent way to analyze elections. For five, his campaign is currently flailing, his VP pick is wildly unpopular, he got no convention bounce, and many voters seem thoroughly sick of him.

So yeah, I’m feeling pretty confident that doomers like you have no idea what they’re talking about. Harris could lose—hell, a gamma ray burst from a surprise supernova could sterilize the earth before November—but right now her odds are decent. She is, by most measures, even slightly favored.

Also I expect you to send me €300 for having to be yet another doomer’s Election Therapist. Unfortunately for you, I am not on the Krankenkasse, so I’ll need that by cash, bank transfer, or PayPal.

[fairuzfan]

I don't know how much this might help for people who otherwise genuinely have no money to donate or are looking to scrounge up small amounts of cash to give, but as someone who is unemployed right now, something that has worked (albeit slowly) is to get a free account on a site like SwagBucks (I can vouch that it's legitimate and not a scam) and do things like surveys, daily quizzes, etc. by clicking for a few minutes every day minimum (I treat it like a part-time job), and in doing so, I've gotten at least $10 CDN a month through PayPal money I can transfer to my bank account to donate, and it costs me nothing except the time to click and I guess some cookies in my internet cache.

That's so nice! Thank you for letting us know!!

Also side note, it means so much to hear that you want to find a way to donate even if you're unable, it's such a sweet sentiment that means the world to me personally.

[miraitrunks]

Hello all. I don’t think anyone would want to do this, but I am out of options for myself as multiple sources threaten increasing fees and shut-offs on me. I can’t afford to pay for important things like my phone bill and to keep the bank from taking what little money I have to my name (about $40) because I don’t have enough money in my account.

No matter how much you can give, I will accept anything graciously. Any support at all would mean the world for me, as I am terrified of owing these things money and not having access to essential things like cell service while I’m in the vital transitional period of finally having employment. I’ve stretched myself far and thin since being laid off without warning from my job back in March, avoiding taking care of my personal needs such as hygiene, medical attention and feeding myself. All to make the money I had left last for a little longer.

I made a commission post here—

—exclusively for the sole reason of dealing with financial instability in my near (now present) future. In that time, I have received one single commission, and it is not enough to keep me afloat by any means.

If you are uneasy about donating money by itself, then please consider reaching out to me about my artwork instead. I’d be more than happy to work on something for you in exchange for payment I so desperately need.

If you can’t donate, please reblog this post and/or my aforementioned commission post so others can see it.

Alternative places you can help support me are linked here at paypal, cashapp, venmo, or ko-fi. Just keep in mind that ko-fi’s transfer to paypal takes a fee so please donate directly if you can. Thank you for your time.

157.22/1,000

[lafemmemacabre]

I'm an autistic + cripple Latine lesbian without personal income and I REALLY need to buy meds, new contacts and a few smaller necessities.

My donations have completely stalled (I only have 5 USD in my Paypal account that have been sitting there for weeks, that's too little money to transfer to my bank account considering there's a fee to that transaction) and I've felt bad about possibly making a new donation post for myself since my family and my best friend are in direr need and I'm mainly promoting those, but I literally only have 105 CLP in my bank account rn (0.13 USD).

I ran out of my sleep medication to treat my INSANE insomnia weeks ago. I cannot stress enough how important decent quality sleep is for someone like me who experiences disabling chronic fatigue. One of the meds that helps with my sleep is also the med that treats my tachycardia, and now that I've been off of it for over a week I keep getting so many fucking tachycardia episodes even while laying down. I also want to just go get checked up now that I'm finally registered in public healthcare/FONASA.

I've had to get new contacts since October of last year (mine last me a month, I've been wearing September's pair since then until now that it's June). They're stained in a way I can't clean off without risk of tearing them so everything has a white blur on it and it's drying my eyes so much. I can't go without visual correction as I have the eyesight of a fucking mole.

My butch does work full time but with them being the sole bread-winner and their salary barely being enough for bills, groceries and very small treats here and there, I really don't want to ask them to pay for these things (hence why I still don't have my meds and contacts).

Anything helps!

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