#it would cost you zero dollars not to
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Sorry but I am so tired of seeing tiktok videos of plus size women doing fit checks and their comments are flooded with the most disgusting words you could say to a person. 😀
#˚ʚ meda rants ɞ˚#‘sorry but i have to make the joke’#no you literally fucking don’t#it would cost you zero dollars not to#like you are in the comments of a woman who looks like the sweetest person alive#a person who has impeccable style#a person who radiates sunshine#and you’re gonna say ‘i have that same pool cover!!’#some of y’all blatantly hate fat women specifically and i mean this sincerely#do some soul searching#discover why it is that fat women simply existing makes you compulsively think and say such vile things#for fucks sake#it is so easy to be good to people regardless of their size
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("european who can hop on a cheap train and pass thru 3 different countries without a passport on a day trip to get some coffee and who gets several weeks of legally mandated paid vacation a year" voice) god i cant believe most americans have never left the country. it must be because they are stupid and lazy and uninterested in visiting other countries :/
#buzzy#i dont know how to tell people this but if you live in an area where all the countries around you have open borders#and its Cheap and Easy and Fast to go through them#that makes it fundamentally more easy to visit other countries than if ya you know#live in a huge country with shitty ass public transportation and closed borders#the costs are prohibitive!!! this country has huge rates of poverty!!!!#a passport alone costs $160#then you gotta think about airfare unless you happen to live within driving distance of the two countries that border us#which. i know for americans many ppl consider 10 hours “within driving distance” but thats also “taking off work” distance and#again we have zero legally mandated paid vacation time.#i want to leave this country!!! i have wanted to for years!!!! it is FUCKING EXPENSIVE!!!!#oh or i forgot you might also be able to spend thousands of dollars on a cruise#listen i just think that if you happen to live in a country small enough that you can ACCIDENTALLY cross borders into another country just#casually while youre driving#you. probably should shut up about ohhhhhh if you havent visited other countries.....#its like yall dont even fucking appreciate your goddamn trains#i would fucking kill someone for a train. idk who just Someone.#thats my trolley problem “if you press this button someone will die but also a high speed train will be accessible” im FUCKING PRESSING#when u live hundreds of miles from the nearest border and it bare minimum will cost hundreds of dollars per person leaving the country#might be a like. Once In A Lifetime trip that you spend years saving up for#im gonna be putting in an application for a passport soon but God i am not looking forward to the fucking cost#bc. yeah.#but who the fuck knows if ill even get a chance to use it any time soon
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The Price of "Efficiency"
There is a classic story about writing in space. It typically goes something like,
"NASA spent millions of dollars developing an ink pen so they could write in microgravity.
Russia used a pencil."
It became a parable about efficiency and bloated, wasteful budgets and overcomplication.
And without nuance, it feels like a good lesson. It's a simple teaching you can store in your brain and it can help you avoid complication when simplicity will work just as well.
But the parable is a lie.
There is a reason they spent millions of dollars making a space pen. Pencils in space are fucking dangerous. If one splinter or shard or speck gets loose in zero gravity that fucker can float directly into your eyeball.
There is a more modern version of this story. Congress will look over NASA or the military's budget and ask why they need $400 hammers or bolts that cost $50 apiece. They will hold up a bag of bolts and tell the taxpayer they are getting screwed.
But the NASA hammer has the pencil problem. If a shard of steel breaks off that hammer in zero gravity, it's a big problem. It could float into an important electrical system and cause a short. Maybe even a fire.
And those bolts might be for a $50 million fighter jet. They need to be custom manufactured to extreme tolerances. And you'll be glad you paid for those $50 bolts because replacing the fighter jet will end up being much more costly.
This is a concept Elon Musk should understand considering his work at SpaceX. People often deride SpaceX when a rocket blows up. They see it as a giant waste. But that is a normal part of rocket development. If you want to make a better rocket, you cannot avoid blowing a few into smithereens.
Everything needs context.
You have to consider nuance before making huge unilateral decisions about apparent wasteful spending. The folks who run these programs should be allowed to defend their existence. But outside his own interests, Elon can only seem to see space pens when Russian pencils will suffice. He is looking at these programs and making no effort to see the nuance.
They say USAID gives more money to "governance" than they give to "humanitarian aid."
HOW WASTEFUL!
Except a lot of humanitarian aid gets stolen without government infrastructure to secure and deliver said aid.
Waste happens. Fraud happens. I have no doubt.
But figuring out what is *actually* wasteful is a difficult job that takes a lot of research and understanding.
But also, sometimes the fraud and the waste are worth it. Large companies will actually factor theft and fraud into their budget because it would be more costly to try and prevent it. They consider it "the cost of doing business."
But it seems no fraud or waste is acceptable to a conservative when the goal is helping people. 100% efficiency is required. You can't give all kids school lunches because some of those kids have rich parents. You can't give people disability income because some will take advantage.
Apparently if you can help millions of people but you have to absorb 10% of the cost due to fraud... well that is just unacceptable.
It's better to help no one at all.
Oftentimes Republicans will create anti-fraud programs that end up costing more than the actual fraud happening. And all the anti-fraud programs end up doing is making deserving people jump through extra hoops.
Get a lawyer. See an approved doctor. Gather 20 years of evidence that you've been disabled. Whoops, they didn't request the proper records. Start over.
That was basically my disability case. I was already on disability. They had already determined I was disabled 20 years ago. But I had to prove that I was disabled all over again to get the better kind of disability. They couldn't take their own word that I was disabled.
Those hoops were created because catching fraud is more important than helping people.
Not terribly efficient.
And then there is the "not our problem" approach.


Taxpayer money is "wasted" helping people in other countries. "We have homeless veterans! Why are we helping African babies?"
Giving out free condoms is one of the easiest and cheapest ways to stop the spread of disease. Sickness cares very little for imaginary borders. Saving lives in another country also saves lives here. It's mutually beneficial. We probably even prevented some of those homeless vets from getting infected.
No thought is being put into this scorched earth shit show.
As always... get fucked, Elon.
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Reason #345734 why I don't tell my mom shit.
Her pain and suffering is the only kind she cares about, and she'll play stupid games with me like ghost me for 3+ weeks after a minor surgery, just to make sure I'm worried enough about her life to check, so she "has permission" to start in with the talking my ear off about her problems without boundaries or preamble. She won't know shit about my issues til after they're over (if she hears about them at all) bc she never asks a damn thing about my life, and literally only ever leaves room for herself and her feelings in any equation literally ever and then peaces tf out like. Bitch I'm permanently disabled and in a degenerative spiral that's gonna last my whole fkn life, and you're still bitching about yourself? Wanting me to cater to your emotions when you haven't even spared a CRUMB of consideration in return?
FUck all the way off.
Should have known that if she had died or sth bad happened, I'd have heard something right away. After 30+ yrs of her pulling the "yeah my kid tried to kill themself for the 7th time, but have you asked ME how hard it is to raise them doing the nothing I have been, bc I still don't know them as a person at all or even try to? Where's the compassion?!" shit... you'd think I would know better, but my compassion gets me fucked over YET AGAIN.
If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty.
Back to no contact.
Let the bitch suffocate if she can't self soothe.
#idk how many chances she's gonna get in this life and she's still playing stupid games with my fkn emotions and banking stupid ass prizes#frfrfr every “nice” thing she does is usually laced with something she knows damn well I hate so she can use my reactions against me bc#she just wants to have a nice peaceful time throwing me a bday party i didnt want with cake i don't like and getting butthurt when i don't#lie to her face and spare her feelings and literally replace my own boundaries with hers instead#wonder where I got the minimization of my own problems from hhhhhhh bitingbitingbiting#this shit is why it took over a decade to even get the autoimmune diagnoses i needed to understand why i was infirmed half my fkn life but#noooo she's gotta make everything about her#i never get a “hi how are you” just months of no contact followed by all her drama in a full discography without even checking to make sure#i'm in a space to be carrying all that shit#which as a chronically ill and fatigued person it's just courteous to ask before you dump shit on them if you know they're gonna be tired?#it costs zero dollars to check on someone before you dump every article of your dirty laundry on them and throw a pity party without consen#i can also be guilty of venting too but ffs at least i check in on my vent friends if i go too hard and try and keep shit stirring to a min#nvm the last time i told her anything it was to say i got those diagnoses and actually have medical reasons for my permanent exhaustion#and she turned it into a fkn competition!!!!!!!!!!#this bitch only cares about herself it literally doesn't matter if she's well or sick it's all about her and what she wants out of it#never once did i get anything to the degree of 'what would you like to happen/where are your boundaries here' bc she doesn't fkn care#so i am done giving her the grace she doesn't need and hasn't yet earned back bc i'm not putting her needs before mine again fuck that#fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck this shit i'm out~#vent rant#pls ignore
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Gandersauce
I'm on a 20+ city book tour for<p>placehold://://er </p> my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in AUSTIN on MONDAY (Mar 10). I'm also appearing at SXSW and at many events around town, for Creative Commons and Fediverse House. More tour dates here.
It's true that capitalists by and large hate capitalism – given their druthers, entrepreneurs would like to attain a perch from which they get to set prices and wages and need not fear competitors. A market where everything is up for grabs is great – if you're the one doing the grabbing. Less so if you're the one whose profits, customers and workers are being grabbed at.
But while all capitalists hate all capitalism, a specific subset of capitalists really, really hate a specific kind of capitalism. The capitalists who hate capitalism the most are Big Tech bosses, and the capitalism they hate the most is techno-capitalism. Specifically, the techno-capitalism of the first decade of this century – the move fast/break things capitalism, the beg forgiveness, not permission capitalism, the blitzscaling capitalism.
The capitalism tech bosses hate most of all is disruptive capitalism, where a single technological intervention, often made by low-resourced individuals or small groups, can upend whole industries. That kind of disruption is only fun when you're the disruptor, but it's no fun for the disruptees.
Jeff Bezos's founding mantra for Amazon was "your margin is my opportunity." This is a classic disruption story: I'm willing to take a smaller profit than the established players in the industry. My lower prices will let me poach their customers, so I grow quickly and find more opportunities to cut margins but make it up in volume. Bezos described this as a flywheel that would spin faster and faster, rolling up more and more industries. It worked!
https://techcrunch.com/2016/09/10/at-amazon-the-flywheel-effect-drives-innovation/
The point of that flywheel wasn't the low prices, of course. Amazon is a paperclip-maximizing artificial intelligence, and the paperclip it wants to maximize is profits, and the path to maximum profits is to charge infinity dollars for things that cost you zero dollars. Infinite prices and nonexistent wages are Amazon's twin pole-stars. Amazon warehouse workers don't have to be injured at three times the industry average, but maiming workers is cheaper than keeping them in good health. Once Amazon vanquished its competitors and captured the majority of US consumers, it raised prices, and used its market dominance to force everyone else to raise their prices, too. Call it "bezosflation":
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos
We could disrupt Amazon in lots of ways. We could scrape all of Amazon's "ASIN" identifiers and make browser plugins that let local sellers advertise when they have stock of the things you're about to buy on Amazon:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/10/view-a-sku/
We could hack the apps that monitor Amazon drivers, from their maneuvers to their eyeballs, so drivers had more autonomy and their bosses couldn't punish them for prioritizing their health and economic wellbeing over Amazon's. An Amazon delivery app mod could even let drivers earn extra money by delivering for Amazon's rivals while they're on their routes:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men
We could sell Amazon customers virtual PVRs that let them record and keep the shows they like, which would make it easier to quit Prime, and would kill Amazon's sleazy trick of making all the Christmas movies into extra-cost upsells from November to January:
https://www.amazonforum.com/s/question/0D54P00007nmv9XSAQ/why-arent-all-the-christmas-movies-available-through-prime-its-a-pandemic-we-are-stuck-at-home-please-add-the-oldies-but-goodies-to-prime
Rival audiobook stores could sell jailbreaking kits for Audible subscribers who want to move over to a competing audiobook platform, stripping Amazon's DRM off all their purchases and converting the files to play on a non-Amazon app:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff
Jeff Bezos's margin could be someone else's opportunity…in theory. But Amazon has cloaked itself – and its apps and offerings – in "digital rights management" wrappers, which cannot be removed or tampered with under pain of huge fines and imprisonment:
https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/
Amazon loves to disrupt, talking a big game about "free markets and personal liberties" – but let someone attempt to do unto Amazon as Amazon did unto its forebears, and the company will go running to Big Government for a legal bailout, asking the state to enforce its business model:
https://apnews.com/article/washington-post-bezos-opinion-trump-market-liberty-97a7d8113d670ec6e643525fdf9f06de
You'll find this cowardice up and down the tech stack, wherever you look. Apple launched the App Store and the iTunes Store with all kinds of rhetoric about how markets – paying for things, rather than getting them free through ads – would correct the "market distortions." Markets, we were told, would produce superior allocations, thanks to price and demand signals being conveyed through the exchange of money for goods and services.
But Apple will not allow itself to be exposed to market forces. They won't even let independent repair shops compete with their centrally planned, monopoly service programs:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/22/apples-cement-overshoes/
Much less allow competitors to create rival app stores that compete for users and apps:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/06/spoil-the-bunch/#dma
They won't even refurbishers re-sell parts from phones and laptops that are beyond repair:
https://www.shacknews.com/article/108049/apple-repair-critic-louis-rossmann-takes-on-us-customs-counterfeit-battery-seizure
And they take the position that if you do manage to acquire a donor part from a dead phone or laptop, that it is a felony – under the same DRM laws that keep Amazon's racket intact – to install them in a busted device:
https://www.theverge.com/2024/3/27/24097042/right-to-repair-law-oregon-sb1596-parts-pairing-tina-kotek-signed
"Rip, mix, burn" is great when it's Apple doing the ripping, mixing and burning, but let anyone attempt to return the favor and the company turns crybaby, whining to Customs and Border Patrol and fed cops to protect itself from being done unto as it did.
Should we blame the paperclip-maximizing Slow AI corporations for attempting to escape disruptive capitalism's chaotic vortex? I don't think it matters: I don't deplore this whiny cowardice because it's hypocritical. I hate it because it's a ripoff that screws workers, customers and the environment.
But there is someone I do blame: the governments that pass the IP laws that allow Apple, Google, Amazon, Microsoft and other tech giants shut down anyone who wants to disrupt them. Those governments are supposed to work for us, and yet they passed laws – like Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act – that felonize reverse-engineering, modding and tinkering. These laws create an enshittogenic environment, which produces enshittification:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/24/record-scratch/#autoenshittification
Bad enough that the US passed these laws and exposed Americans to the predatory conduct of tech enshittifiers. But then the US Trade Representative went slithering all over the world, insisting that every country the US trades with pass their own versions of the laws, turning their citizens into an all-you-can-steal buffet for US tech gougers:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/31/hall-of-famer/#necensuraninadados
This system of global "felony contempt of business-model" statutes came into being because any country that wanted to export to the USA without facing tariffs had to pass a law banning reverse-engineering of tech products in order to get a deal. That's why farmers all over the world can't fix their tractors without paying John Deere hundreds of dollars for each repair the farmer makes to their own tractor:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/
But with Trump imposing tariffs on US trading partners, there is now zero reason to keep those laws on the books around the world, and every reason to get rid of them. Every country could have the kind of disruptors who start a business with just a little capital, aimed directly at the highest margins of these stupidly profitable, S&P500-leading US tech giants, treating those margins as opportunities. They could jailbreak HP printers so they take any ink-cartridge; jailbreak iPhones so they can run any app store; jailbreak tractors so farmers can fix them without paying rent to Deere; jailbreak every make and model of every car so that any mechanic can diagnose and fix it, with compatible parts from any manufacturer. These aren't just nice things to do for the people in your country's borders: they are businesses, massive investment opportunities. The first country that perfects the universal car diagnosing tool will sell one to every mechanic in the world – along with subscriptions that keep up with new cars and new manufacturer software updates. That country could have the relationship to car repairs that Finland had to mobile phones for a decade, when Nokia disrupted the markets of every landline carrier in the world:
https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/03/friedmanite/#oil-crisis-two-point-oh
The US companies that could be disrupted thanks to the Trump tariffs are directly implicated in the rise of Trumpism. Take Tesla: the company's insane valuation is a bet by the markets that Tesla will be able to charge monthly fees for subscription features and one-off fees for software upgrades, which will be wiped out when your car changes hands, triggering a fresh set of payments from the next owner.
That business model is entirely dependent on making it a crime to reverse-engineer and mod a Tesla. A move-fast-and-break-things disruptor who offered mechanics a tool that let them charge $50 (or €50!) to unlock every Tesla feature, forever, could treat Musk's margins as their opportunity – and what an opportunity it would be!
That's how you hurt Musk – not by being performatively aghast at his Nazi salutes. You kick that guy right in the dongle:
https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#franklinite
The act of unilaterally intervening in a market, product or sector – that is, "moving fast and breaking things" – is not intrinsically amoral. There's plenty of stuff out there that needs breaking. The problem isn't disruption, per se. Don't weep for the collapse of long-distance telephone calls! The problem comes when the disruptor can declare an end to history, declare themselves to be eternal kings, and block anyone from disrupting them.
If Uber had been able to nuke the entire taxi medallion system – which was dominated by speculators who charged outrageous rents to drivers – and then been smashed by driver co-ops who modded gig-work apps to keep the fares for themselves, that would have been amazing:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/21/contra-nihilismum/#the-street-finds-its-own-use-for-things
The problem isn't disruption itself, but rather, the establishment of undisruptable, legally protected monopolies whose crybaby billionaire CEOs never have to face the same treatment they meted out to the incumbents who were on the scene when they were starting out.
We need some disruption! Their margins are your opportunity. It's high time we started moving fast and breaking US Big Tech!
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/2025/03/08/turnabout/#is-fair-play
#pluralistic#move fast and break things#disruption#big tech#monopolism#antitrust#ip#anticircumvention#trumpism#tariffs#your margin is my opportunity
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what really gets me is even if they didn't cast a Jewish person, they could just...not do the cartoonishly antisemitic nose???
like. look at Bernstein. he's a handsome man with a nose that's a hair more prominent that the eurocentic button-nose ideal. but no, he's Jewish, we gotta let everyone know with the most heavy-handed prosthetic ever. fuck off
Left: Composer Leonard Bernstein. Right: Bradley Cooper and the world's worst fake nose playing Leonard Bernstein in the upcoming movie Maestro.
like holy fuck this is actual anti-semitism literally all you had to do was hire a Jewish actor. ONE JEWISH ACTOR, HOLLYWOOD, IT'S NOT THAT HARD.
Bradley Cooper is the Ron DeSantis of desperate to win an Oscar.
omfg
#shit like this is when I have to laugh when ppl say Jews run hollywood#you think a secret cabal of us would stand for this shit? lol. lmao even#it costs zero dollars to not be an antisemitic piece of shit try it today!
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Go Badge-Free: Tumblr is a multimillion dollar company that doesn't need your loyalty!
Some users ("many" by Tumblr's own unsourced metrics) might want to support Tumblr with something similar to regular donations. Great news! You don't need to, it's a multimillion dollar company, and its parent company, Automattic, was valued at around 7.5 billion dollars in 2021 as stated by none other than Tumblr's Elon-Musk-wannabe CEO himself! Tumblr isn't going to go broke any time soon, and any money you waste on it will just convince staff that the garbage fire they're currently tossing the site into is profitable!
Enter the power of not giving a fuck about useless badges and shitty merch of stolen memes. Everyone with a brain knows auto-renewable subscriptions aren't the way to a "user-led business model", and again, you don't need to show your support for a massive multimedia platform despite whatever their embarrassing ad campaigns that just want money may tell you!
How it works—or doesn't:
Tumblr doesn't care about the users, whether you're giving them money for nothing or not! So take the initiative yourself. Send them negative feedback about the pointless UI updates. Give Tumblr a 1-star rating on the app store or play store. Disable your badges. Block intrusive ads (and potentially dangerous flashing ones). Style the dashboard to look less like a 1 : 1 clone of Twitter. Install additions to fix basic site functionality.
Seriously, who is buying subscriptions besides staff:
The subscription badges do nothing. Nada. Zero. That is, unless staff decides to lock basic functionality behind a subscription in the future, so make so to make it flop before then.
Pricing:
A year's subscription for a useless cosmetic badge costs you $30 USD. Cheaper than Twitter Blue, sure, but it sure does a whole lot less! Meanwhile, fixing your own user experience and complaining to staff is permanently on sale for the low, low price of free. Spend your money on a nice treat instead!
More details:
I don't know how else to put it. This subscription service sucks ass.
That's all for now. No idea who exactly would buy a badge subscription of all things in the first place that staff probably designed in 5 minutes. Maybe someday Tumblr's will figure out how to interpret actual human behavior and user desires, but that day has yet to come. Stay weird, and Tumblr is not your quirky friendly hellsite company <3
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In a lot of foreign countries, they have this neat amusement park ride. It's called "train," and it consists of a bunch of boxes you sit in and it takes you up and down a track. I could ride train all day long, through the incredible views of places that aren't the suburban-bordering-on-industrial wasteland that I live in.
Unfortunately for me, visiting train often requires me to get on an airplane, which is a big cylinder that flies through the sky. Despite being arguably similar to a train, it costs a whole lot more and smells kind of funny the whole time. Just not worth it, which is why I have attempted to get train at home.
Now, my local politicians dislike train. Perhaps you live in a country where your politicians are accountable to you, which is a terrifying prospect if you are a useless child of privilege who wants to spend a couple years of your life making friends with billionaires instead of being asked frightening questions about basic arithmetic. That is not the case here, where politicians are born in some sort of special vat, receive their law degrees, and come up with ideas like "what if school is actually hurting children?" We do not have many points of agreement, mostly because they drive new cars. Sometimes, they make someone else drive their car for them, which is a concept demonstrating just how sick things have become in their pointy little Hapsburg heads.
To them, there is no room for the laugh-a-minute thrill ride that is train. There is nothing amusing about the business of laying down roads that they then poorly maintain, a hyperfixation that occupies approximately ninety-six percent of their emailing-and-yelling time. Personally, I think if they really actually liked driving so much, they would put a couple hairpin turns or at least a nice high-speed chicane on my nineteen-minute drive to the grocery store, but that's a rant for another time. The government was not going to give me a train, so I had to do it for myself.
The best part of a train is that you can put a bunch of cars together, but not all of those cars have to have running and driving engines! With just a handful of purloined U-Haul® trailer hitches and a very heavy right foot, I was soon escorting seven-car public transit through the middle of downtown. Sure, if you look closely, you might argue that a bunch of welded-together Oldsmobile Aleros are not exactly up to the comfort of futuristic European rail, but we're hoping to be able to upgrade to some kind of haggard Japanese minivans in the next couple quarters, once fare revenue increases from the current value of "zero dollars." In my defence, it's not as much fun to play train-driver-guy if you're constantly asking people for money.
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The trick on the whole "Israel banning UNRWA" thing is that most militaries - like say the US in Afghanistan for example - directly provision aid. American soldiers would often be handing out food packages themselves, and even if they weren't the aid organizations would be directly contracting with the US government and the Department of Defense. You have a group in the military and the government that is like, okay, how do we feed people, let's hit those targets.
So if Congress decided to ban the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan in 2006 from operating in the country or whatever, that bill would say like "we hand over its mission to USAID, which has been allocated $2.1 billion dollars in FY-2005 to do X Y Z". It would probably be a dumb move that would create unnecessary friction and cost lives for political bullshit, but that is also life, people dying for political bullshit is a universal constant. It would probably be pretty small bore in the scale of things, like switching over contractors.
That isn't how Israel does things. I might be wrong about this, Israel is deliberately opaque about these things and I just gave this the ol' half hour of googling, I am open to being contradicted here. But my current understanding of net spending by the government of Israel itself on aid to Gaza is...$0. They do not provide aid. They permit aid from other organizations, funded by other countries, to be provided! But they don't take responsibility for the provision; meeting targets, outcomes, etc, none of that is their job. (I am sure it isn't literally zero btw, but I think you get my point)
It is really telling that when you look up pro-Israel statements by say AIPAC on aid, their headlines are:
Israel Facilitates Humanitarian Aid to Gaza as Hamas Continues to Attack
And they criticize the UN because the UN trucks aren't being delivered:
The United Nations and other international agencies are largely responsible for the existing delays in aid deliveries into Gaza. The U.N. has not been able to distribute aid at the rate that Israel is processing it, causing back-ups at the border crossings after Israeli inspections are completed. On March 3, the U.N. received 234 trucks in Gaza but only distributed 131 trucks of aid to civilians in the enclave.
If this was the US military, and the UN was getting aid trucks and failing to send them, we would send more of our own trucks? That we have? Because aid is part of the military operation. But Israel doesn't do that - because it doesn't have any trucks. Because aid isn't part of the military operation.
Which is why the bill banning UNRWA that is being passed does not mention aid provision to Gaza:
The international community has raised alarm over the legislation, which was passed without a plan in place for a humanitarian agency to replace UNRWA.
Again going off news sources here, link for the actual bill is currently down, if I am wrong will correct here, but I think it all tracks. So in the article above, you get statements from the government when people ask about aid, they reply, oh yeah these other aid organizations will fill the gap.
Then you ask the aid organizations themselves and they go, no, we won't fill the gap! We don't have the resources to do that! Which is logical when you realize Israel isn't funding those orgs. They don't know or care about their funding status. Hopefully someone else will figure that out - aid is someone else's problem. Those government remarks are just off the cuff, they aren't a plan.
Which I want to loop back around to the casus belli for the ban - UNRWA having ties to Hamas. That, to me, is one of those "uh duh, and?" things - Hamas is the government of Gaza. UNRWA runs schools there? And medical clinics? You think they do that...without contact with the government? This is just silly, the UN Mission in Afghanistan obviously had connections to the US Government! Government officials, working in both, par for the course.
But, and this is far more important, it is irrelevant. I completely agree that UNRWA has many people who are sympathetic to Hamas in it, because obviously they do. You want to ban it, dumb but okay. You propose a bill outlining the $2 billion dollars and the 5 partnered aid organizations and the 400 IDF trucks that will deliver aid to replace their work, sure. Whatever man, do your small bore politics bullshit.
That is not what they are doing.
Now, Israel has in fact allowed a bunch of aid in Gaza, I don't doubt that like USAID and the non-profit community and the governments of the UK and Japan and so on are gonna pivot funding to a bunch of organizations that will do herculean work stepping up operations and interfacing with the IDF checkpoint system and get aid in. Maybe they will do such a bang-up job that the cost in suffering won't be that high. Israel did give 3 months after all, they aren't the literal worst they could be.
But I do think at a certain point, the line between indifference and malice just ceases to matter. The UNRWA bill isn't some breaking point or big policy shift - it is just a highly revealing moment in the Israeli approach, why the war there has gone the way that it has. And it is, as the kids say, not a good look.
(h/t @loving-n0t-heyting as this was initially a reblog of their post, but they mentioned getting drama in the notes so I split it off; sorry to deny you the precious +1 internet point)
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more of jessie lying wetly
chapter one
chapter two
cool art by @hamandeggbun
and brand new shiny chapter three. on god I am not allowed to post another one until I finish writing chapter ten.
The interior decor of One-Eyed Polly’s had changed precious little since the last time Jessie saw it, although the floors were a little more scratched up and the felt on the pool table had acquired some upsetting new stains. The only thing that had changed was the enormous NO SMOKING sign on the back wall, right where everyone could see it.
The second she stepped inside of the bar the universe conspired to give her the entrance of a stranger blowing into town in an old Western, with the jukebox pausing between songs and conversation hitting a lull just as she stepped on a creaky floorboard, drawing all eyes to herself. She flashed an ice cold Frostbite smile, tossed her hair, and wished desperately that she’d worn her costume. It would make her look like a total douchebag, sure, but it would also remind everyone she was dangerous.
Jessie strode back to the bar like it was a catwalk anyway, but the whispers and mutters that followed her were not promising.
“Still owes me twenty dollars.”
“Did I tell you she blocked me?”
“I thought she got arrested.”
“What did Sub-Zero say?”
Okay. Okay. Not awesome, but it was fine. They could say anything they wanted about her, but how many of these washouts and wannabes would actually try anything? None of them. They didn’t know that she was unarmed and floundering without her brother. She hadn’t worn her costume because she didn’t need to; her reputation was still strong enough to protect her. Not to mention she wanted all of these dweebs to see her wearing jeans that cost more than their mortgage payments and choke on the jealousy.
Maudie was behind the bar, grayer and butcher than ever. Her face was lined now, enough that it gave Jessie pause. Was her godmother getting old now? When did that happen?
Not that Maud was letting it soften her up at all. She raised a bushy brow at Jessie by way of greeting and launched right into putting her through the wringer. “Well, well. Look at that. A real-deal supervillain graces us with her presence. Thank you for deigning to descend from the gravy train, your highness.”
“Aww, Maudie, come on. Don’t be like that, it’s my birthday.”
“As if I don’t know. Did you get your card?”
“Did you send one?”
Maud rolled her eyes, hard. “Of course I sent one. What kind of schmuck do you take me for?”
Of course she wouldn’t know; Jessie hadn’t checked her mailbox in at least a week.
She realized, with despair, that there were tears crowding up around the edges of her eyes, little pinpricks begging to be let loose. When had she gotten so sappy? She wasn’t even most excited about the crisp fifty dollar bill that Maudie always tucked inside of her cards, although that was a relief. It was mostly that someone had even remembered she existed and wanted to do something nice for her that was really turning her into goo.
“Well, I appreciate it,” she said, choking down her onslaught of emotions. Maudie would hate her making a scene like that; she never knew what to do when people cried. “But, hey, I’m not here to talk about me. How are you doing? Are you feeling alright?”
“The hell do you mean, do I feel alright?”
“Well, you always said that you’d only make people stop smoking in here over your dead body. And now nobody’s smoking, so I figure you must have gotten real close to having a dead body.”
Maudie snorted. “We had a scare last year. Doctor thought he had something, turned out not to be serious. But you know how the dames are. Next thing I know, nobody’s allowed to smoke in here and I’m getting yelled at if I don’t eat vegetables and go for a fuckin’ walking every morning.”
She shook her head, fondly exasperated. The dames were the two iron-tongued femmes Maudie had been in a relationship with for decades, largely considered to be the real masterminds behind One-Eyed Polly’s. According to Maudie, they only kept her around to look pretty and serve the drinks.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jessie demanded. “We could have helped with the bills, or I could have brought over soup. Something.”
“I didn’t want to bother you, kid. Your brother made it pretty clear that you were busy.” And then, before Jessie could apologize or otherwise risk making things sentimental, Maudie cleared her throat sharply. “You want a drink, or what? First round’s free for the birthday girl.”
“Yeah? Let’s do a straight whiskey and a burger,” Jessie said, knowing damn well that she’d be drinking nothing but dirt cheap beer for the rest of the night. “Do the fries still come with that, or is it extra?”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I charge people extra for a side of fries. That shit comes with the burger,” Maud said gravely.
There were a lot of things that could stand to be improved about One-Eyed Polly’s, but the food was not one of them. So what if the fry cook telepathically talked with rats? He could work a grill. The basket that arrived in front of Jessie contained a beautifully constructed medium rare burger packing the exact correct amount of grease, surrounded by steak fries that had been seasoned to absolute perfection. Pardon Jessie while she drooled a little bit.
“Hey, Maudie,” she said, half a burger later. “You still have Joney’s van?”
Her godmother raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch, which for Maud was an expression of profound skepticism. “I’d love to know how the hell you think I could’ve lost it.”
“No no, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to see if I could grab it from you.”
“Can’t get your car back from Voltzz, huh?”
“Hmm?” Jessie asked, playing dumb.
“Do not try the bimbo act on me, Jessica Jolene. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“God. How did you even hear about that?”
“Are you kidding? I hear about everything in here. We had a bunch of schlubs in here doing shots at noon because they thought Ricochet dragged you off for good.”
“Okay, tacky.” Jessie licked her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling extremely dry despite an abundance of gloss. “Maudie, can I ask you a question? It seems like I’m maybe, um, not very popular around here.”
Maud stared her down with eyes like chisels. “That’s not a question.”
“You know what I mean!”
“I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. They hate your guts.”
“Maudie!”
Jessie’s complaining was cut short by a sweaty, nervous-looking man appearing from the kitchen and hurrying to Maudie’s side. He shot Jessie a look that could really only be described as distrustful, then leaned in close to deliver his message to Maud. She shrugged him away almost before he finished speaking, peeved by his damp proximity.
“So get her shift covered. Why do you need my permission for that? Call Billy. Or, hell, see if Tash can make it in. She’s always dying for extra shifts. Tell Jordan I’ll come sort her out in a minute and then get your ass back out here to cover the bar. The dishes can wait.”
Maudie sighed and turned back to Jessie as her dishwasher departed, shaking her head. She suddenly looked about a hundred years old. “Kid, I miss the days when the worst I had to deal with was bartenders coming in drunk.”
“What happened?”
“One of my girls, Jordan. She’s got that fucking, what do they call it? Void pox? She kept going see-through when she came in but she swore she’d be fine. Except she’s not fine, she started getting these little cartoon demons popping out of her head. Pretty harmless, only about this big, but if I never have to kill another one with a broom it’ll be too soon. Anyway, I had her sitting down in the back, but now she’s starting to make things levitate and I can’t have that. I need to find her a ride home.”
“Could I come see her?” Jessie asked with, in hindsight, way too much enthusiasm.
Her godmother hit her with a look that was genuinely withering. “You can keep your ass right here and be nice to Nikesh while he tends the bar. And you can leave Jordan alone. It’s a 24-hour bug, she’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”
“I know that!”
“So drop it, then! For once in your life, don’t get so pushy about this superhero shit.”
Maud ducked back into the kitchen on that deeply unencouraging note, sending poor Nikesh back out to hold down the bar in her stead. He studiously avoided Jessie’s gaze when she asked him how his night was going, spitting out single syllable answers until she gave up and asked for a hard cider, which he provided without once actually turning his face in her direction. Jessie dropped a five in the tip jar anyway, because she believed very firmly that you were supposed to tip generously unless the waiter had purposefully set you on fire and maybe even then. Running through the last of your money in the entire world was no excuse to be a lousy customer.
The problem being, of course, that she had hoped this would be a case of spending money to make money. She’d shell out a little for a night at One-Eyed Polly’s, reestablish herself as a villain of the people, and announce that she was hiring to thunderous applause. Henchpeople out the door, heaps of cash secured, the money that she’d pissed away on bottom shelf booze now a worthwhile investment.
Unfortunately, all of that had depended on there being someone, anyone, left in town who didn’t hate her guts.
“Hey, Nikesh? Do you like working here?”
“It’s a living,” he said, still looking down.
“If I offered to pay you, like, five times what you’re making right now, would you work for me?”
“Fuck no.”
“Ten times?”
He actually looked at her for a fleeting second, his gaze touching off hers for just a moment. Jessie was vomitously aware that there was something that looked a lot like pity in his face. “Look, lady. It’s not about the money. It’s about not wanting to get my ass kicked.”
“Jesus Christ. Am I really that bad for business?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Is that why you won’t even look at me?”
“Yeah. You understand. Can’t look like we’re getting friendly.”
“Respect. You gotta look out for number one, Nikesh. I can throw a drink on you, if you want.”
“Yeah? That might be good, actually. We could make people think I said something really nasty to you. That could actually be great for my rep.”
Jessie groaned, resting her face in her hands. This was going to be an absolute non-starter. Polly’s was the biggest rat-hole in town; everyone knew that this was a place where people would turn a blind eye to almost anything. Everyone put aside their beef here, because the place would never function if they didn’t and no one wanted to be the asshole who ruined the only functioning villain bar in town. If a bartender was too scared to even look at her directly, Jessie’s reputation must be worse than dirt.
Why? Because of last night’s embarrassing little tantrum? Couldn’t be it. Nobody complained about the time Voltzz snorted bath salts and went on a rampage, or when Incinerator got drunk and started taking potshots at cop cars. Hell, if anything they’d both gotten more popular after that. Jonas might sneer at the lack of precision and control, but Jessie had tried to tell him a thousand times that people liked to see a supervillain go a little off the rails. It was aspirational, right? It let people imagine what they might do, if they had the power to really cut loose.
Why was she different? Sure, people hated to see a woman having fun, but that couldn’t possibly explain all of it. Maudie could probably explain it, whenever she finished mopping up the poor sap with the void pox. Maudie heard about everything.
In the meantime, she might as well try to make the most of her evening. If she wasn’t going to be making new friends, she could at least have a little fun. Who cared about her bank account? If she was screwed, she might as well go out with a splash.
“Nikesh? Open me up a tab. It’s my birthday and I want shots.”
***
Jessie Chilton was not a lightweight. Despite spending most of her early life watching her father get eaten alive by booze she had an exceedingly friendly relationship with alcohol, and could usually hold her drinks pretty well. Jonas had never touched the stuff, erring hard on the side of caution, but Jessie knew that she could stop any time she wanted.
Her miserable 26th birthday was not that time. That night she drank like the world was going to end, because it very possibly was. Her world, at least, and what else was she supposed to worry about? She knew damn well the scope of what she could be held responsible for, and presently it was mostly downing as much tequila as she could.
Which meant she ended up in the bathroom, eventually, because all of that liquid had to go somewhere, and in the time-honored tradition of wasted girls everywhere she got weird about it. While Jessie sat in the cramped and questionably-lit stall she started thinking about how she’d very nearly been born in this very room and what a miserably inauspicious start that was, and how perhaps she should have known that her life was always doomed to go down the toilet despite a decade or so of delusionally believing that she might be meant for something better. She wished that she had some friends to cry to, and briefly regretted the loss of Whirligig. Getting sloppy drunk and crying in club bathrooms together had been about the only thing that friendship was good for, but sometimes that was all she needed it to be.
In the absence of anywhere else to turn Jessie called the person who had almost always been there for her, until he spectacularly wasn’t.
Hey, Joney. It’s your favorite sister. And I know what you’re thinking: ‘Jessie, you’re my only sister, why are you doing exposition like a lunatic?’ Well, it’s because you haven’t been acting like I’m your favorite sister lately, or like you even know me, so I figured maybe you needed the reminder.
Did you even notice it’s my birthday? You’ve never forgotten it in my entire life. But you know who remembered? Uncle Ray. And Maud. And that’s fucking it. And Ricochet was soooOOOOOOoooo mean to me this morning. Like, you wouldn’t believe. She’s getting way too cocky, if you ask me. You should come back and kick her ass into orbit. Remind her who’s boss around here.
You should come back in general, actually. I miss you. But I’m also mad at you. It’s, like, a real dick move to take off and not even leave me with any money. I mean, I had money. Past-tense. But it’s gone now. I could have, like, I could have definitely spent it better. Smarter? I got these really stupid expensive boots with real crystals on them and then when I tried to return them they said I couldn’t because there was a scuff on the toe, which is like… whatever. I’m wearing them right now even though they’re way too fancy for Polly’s. Might as well get my money’s worth.
But I also just don’t have anything. Like, where’s the bank account? Where is the bank account, Jonas? I earned half that money, so why can’t I… I mean, you literally never told me how to get into it. To my money. Which I guess in hindsight was, like, I should have had a problem with that way sooner, but you made it sound extremely reasonable! And now I’m this close to Uncle Ray throwing me out on my ass, because I couldn’t pay the May rent and I can’t pay the June rent, either, at the rate things are going. I opened a tab at Polly’s and I don’t have enough to pay it, so now Maudie’s going to be mad at me, I think. I don’t know, I’m not even actually sure how a tab works. Isn't that stupid? I'm, like, so mad at myself lately got how much stuff I don't know.
Everybody’s mad at me.
And you won’t even call me back, and I can’t even afford toilet paper, so that’s, like, a lot. And I’m not handling it well. And I’m drank as a skank at Polly’s, in case you couldn’t tell, so go ahead and get your panties twisted up about that. I’m fucking spiraling, buddy. I’m in my fucking up era out here.
So. You should come home.
Or at least tell me where you are or what you’re doing or why you left, okay? Because I hate no knowing that. We’re supposed to tell each other things. And I’m scared about what’s going to happen if you’re gone much longer because, like, everything is going wrong. And I think you might have really left me screwed here, okay? Which is crazy, because it was supposed to be you and me against the world, but I’m not fucking seeing it right now.
By this point Jessie was crying and snotting pretty hard, absorbed enough in her own agonies that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone in the bathroom until someone rapped lightly on the door of her stall and almost scared her shitless.
“Hey. You okay in there?”
It was not the voice of someone particularly warm and fuzzy or confident about checking in on a stranger, which actually made it a little sweeter that they’d bothered.
“I’m fine,” Jessie lied, wetly. “I’m just, like, I’m on the phone.”
“Yeah, I can hear that.” Whoever they were, they were sorely tempted to leave it at that and go back to minding their own business. Jessie could tell. Outside the stall, a pair of tennis shoes that had been worn damn near to dust rocked back and forth, weighing the options. “I just wanted to say that they’re not worth it. Whoever’s making you feel this bad, you shouldn't waste your time on them.”
“Okay,” Jessie said. And then, into the message she was still leaving for her brother: “I have to go, a nice girl in this bathroom says you’re not worth it. Please call me, love you, bye.”
“Great,” the stranger said dryly. “Crushed it.” Their beaten-in shoes scuffed away, back over to the sinks. Had Jessie missed an entire other person pissing next to her? God, that was embarrassing.
She wadded up some genuinely horrific single ply toilet paper and dabbed at her face, hoping she didn’t look too atrocious. All of her makeup was waterproof, which had to count for something. “Hey, thank you for that. I really needed someone to snap me out of it. I was being so pathetic.”
“Whatever,” said the voice by the sinks. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’ve been there, I get it.”
Jessie’s heart was getting squeezed around like one of those awful tubes full of goo and glitter and little plastic animals, the kind that everyone used to make jerk off motions. Who was this? Would they still be so nice to her if they knew who she was? What were the odds she could salvage a single actual friend out of this wretched garbage fire of a day? It didn’t even have to be a lifelong bestie, just someone she could have a few drinks with.
“My name is Jessie,” she said hesitantly.
She heard her new friend sigh. “I’m Tash.”
“Do you come here often? I’m not asking that in the pervert way, I’m just curious if you’re, like, a regular.”
“I work here,” Tash said, with as much contempt as anyone had ever had for their workplace.
“Oh. Do you like it?”
“Sucks shit. But, you know. You do what you’ve got to do.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Are you okay in there? I’m gonna get my ass reamed if I let somebody drown in the toilet.”
“No, I’m okay. I’m just, you know.” Which was a fucking nothing explanation, but Jessie’s voice was still damp and wavering enough that it presumably got the point across. “I need a moment to get it together.”
“I hear that,” Tash said. “I usually use the walk-in when I need a second.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s not very big, but it’s quiet. And the cold kind of helps pull me together, I guess. Stay focused.” She cleared her throat again. “Sorry to dump that on you.”
“No, that’s okay. It makes sense,” said Jessie, noted cold enjoyer. “Do you keep anything fun in there? Maud’s never let me see it.”
“You know Maud?”
“Yeah, since I was a kid. Isn’t she the best?”
“She’s a real son of a bitch. But she's the only boss I’ve ever believed when she says she gives a shit about me, though.”
“Sounds like Maudie,” Jessie agreed fondly. “Anyway, what’s in the walk-in?”
“Fucking nothing exciting. Burger patties, mostly. I don’t know. Like I said, not a lot of room.”
“Plenty of room for you.”
“Yeah, every time I have a total breakdown at work.”
“Does that happen a lot? No judgment, obviously. Pot .”
“I don’t know.” Tash sighed. “More often than you’d hope. Which is never, obviously. We don’t have to talk about this.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“What?”
“Your favorite color,” Jessie insisted. “I love asking people that. Nobody ever cares after you turn, like, twelve, right? But I care. And it’s a lot more chill than talking about, you know. Our favorite places to completely freak out in a shithole bar.”
“Okay. Sure,” Tash said. Everything about the strain in her voice suggested she was not naturally inclined towards whimsy, but at least she was making the effort to play along. “Will you assume I have clinical depression if I say gray?”
“Yes.”
“Well, joke’s on me, because I love gray and I do have clinical depression. But purple is also good. I like purple.”
“What shade? Eggplant? Periwinkle?”
“Just a nice, medium purple, I guess. Like, the platonic ideal of purple.”
Jessie had no idea what a platonic ideal was or why anyone would ever need to specify that they weren't trying to have sex with a color, but she was sitting on her stupid little toilet nodding like an idiot anyway because it felt so good to be making a connection with someone. “I dig that. Purple is good.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, cerulean for sure. With sparkles, ideally.”
“That’s blue, right?”
“Yeah. My jacket is actually, like, that exact color, I can show you.” Jessie sniffled tremendously, getting shakily to her feet and pleased to discover that she was feeling much more sober than when she’d wandered into the bathroom some time ago. And now look at her! Practically having a whole meet cute. What a turn around on the evening. “Okay, I’m coming out now. Don’t gag if my makeup’s a mess, I’m going to fix it.”
She tossed her hair and stepped out of the stall, at which point several things happened to her in rapid succession.
Tash was standing underneath one of the humming, flickering lights that barely managed to illuminate the dark cave of the ladies’ room. She struck a slim figure, drowning in a huge hoodie with two skinny black-clad legs sticking out like a cartoon character. She was wiping down the sinks but turned as Jessie emerged, the fuzzy light illuminating her from the back like a bargain bin halo.
The first thing Jessie noticed was that Tash was a lot shorter than she had been expecting.
The second was that Tash had beautiful eyes.
The third was that those beautiful eyes and indeed her entire face were curdling up in horror as recognition set in.
“What the fuck,” she said. “Frostbite?”
The recognition and reaction alone weren’t surprising, given the colossal combined levels of notoriety and bad PR Jessie was currently enjoying. The part that nearly knocked her on her ass was that recognized Tash back.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, overjoyed and utterly failing to read the room. “Night Noir? Holy shit, girlie, I thought you were dead!”
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Can i ask for grocery shopping with chrollo lucilfer??? Like it would be so cute just being domestic with him (>w<
Shopping W/ Chrollo
Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer Type: Headcanons, Gn!Reader
just set up my pc after moving but im still a lil busy this week so >.<
Warnings: None
when it comes to shopping, Chrollo is a man on a mission
he knows exactly what he wants, where to find it and how to get to it
this man wastes ZERO time
its probably best for you to just wander off because keeping up with him isn't easy when he knows the store like the back of his hand
will 100% notice and stop you if you try sneaking something not on his shopping list into the cart
he also hits you with the "do you have ___ money?" or "we have ___ at home"
but sometimes he will indulge you and let you pick out some extra sweets/snacks
your house is full of off brand stuff, he refuses to pay more money for a name when the knock off is just as good
"Why would I buy that when this one is the same thing but a dollar cheaper?" he also brings his own reusable shopping bags because again "Why would I pay 10 cents a bag every time when I can just bring my own?"
the coupon and bargaining MASTER
every time you go to the grocery store this guy pulls out this giant book of coupons he's been clipping from the mail
his favorite thing to do is go haggle at flea markets, swap meets and farmers markets
and he always WINS
its honestly really impressive...
"This man was selling peaches for $15 a bag but I managed to get one for $3!" and he has the proudest look on his face
like yes, you saved money but also you kind of feel bad for the farmer...
so overall he's really cost efficient and straight to the point with his shopping... if you want to just go window shopping or browsing its best to ask someone else.....
#hxh 2011#hxh x reader#hunter x hunter#hxh#chrollo lucilfer#chrollo x reader#hxh chrollo#chrollo hunter x hunter#chrollo hxh#phantom troupe#chrollo#hunter x hunter chrollo#hxh fanfic
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One-hundred-seventy-nine years ago, Douglass told the world that “killing a slave, or any [Black] person, in Talbot County, Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either by the courts or the community”. Two years ago, a bipartisan Senate report found that the Justice Department hadn’t even recorded the deaths of at least 990 inmates. A 2023 Marshall Project investigation discovered that New York State does not fire 90% of guards who “brutalize” prisoners. Among the list of injuries caused by those guards are “Shattered teeth,” “Punctured lungs,” and “Broken bones”. In at least three cases of brutality where prisoners died, the officers involved weren’t even disciplined.
One-hundred-seventy-nine years ago, Douglass wrote about handing the profits of his labor over to Thomas Auld. Four months ago, almost one thousand inmates fought the California wildfires. They were paid ten dollars and twenty-four cents a day, plus a dollar an hour in emergencies. If we assume they worked twenty four emergency hours in a day, their hourly rate would be less than two dollars. Their hourly pay is less than the cost of a soda. And that rate is pretty high for an inmate – the average pay for a US inmate is between thirteen and fifty two cents an hour, if they’re paid at all. In Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Mississippi, South Carolina, and Texas, unless you work for a state corporation, the average maximum hourly wage is zero dollars zero cents. Nothing.
One-hundred-seventy-nine years have passed, and we still have not put an end to unpaid forced captive labor – slavery by another name.
From "What Frederick Douglass and Modern American Inmates Have in Common". Available free on Spotify and YouTube
Script with Sources
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and then tells me to get over it life's not fair when i get upset ???
love it when i'm sitting watching TV and my dad comes over and unprompted says he thinks it's insipid and annoying and brainless. like thanks 👍 i didn't fucking ask
#like jesus fucking christ dude it costs zero american dollars to not be rude to someone#for minding their own business and having different interests#what is his fucking PROBLEM#i wanna talk about me#he would shout me into fucking ground if i did the same thing to him. of course#it's no about Life Fairness man it's about You said a rude thing to me and i got rightfully upset and then you mocked me for it!!
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ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ | t. stark & s. strange x f!reader
Step one: Work at one of the most successful research laboratories in the country. Step two: Don't fuck it up. Step two and a half: Do not fuck it up.
content/warnings: mildly dubious consent (sooo uncharacteristic of me), degradation, power dynamics, voyeurism, shy reader, org*sm denial, v*ginal fingering word count: 2.6k a/n: im having a small fixation on our favorite witchy doctor dont worry abt it
Shitshitshit!
You chastised yourself mentally over and over again, watching the bright blue numbers tick downwards. It might make sense to get up, scramble across the lab, fling your hand around the incubator and pull the plug. That’s what an amateur would do, but you’re an expert and know that will do fuck all for you now. Then again, an expert would have set the goddamned temperature correctly.
You’d fallen asleep at your desk–a natural consequence of several late nights collecting data (or drowning in term papers and reports). In your half-awake state, right before your head hits the table, you set the temperature twenty degrees lower than it should be. Dreamland gave no clues to the impending doom awaiting you. Instead, you dreamt of a tropical paradise. Your sunny fantasia was inevitably interrupted by the persistent beep that echoed the labs walls.
The digits keep trickling down, and you rest your head in your heads. All you can do is wait for it to hit zero. Thousands of synthetic cultures–gone. That was two months of work down the drain, and your bosses expected a very long report, printed and neatly stapled by the end of this week.
You were so fucking fired.
The numbers finally stop, the computer beeping tauntingly as if you needed verbal confirmation on how screwed you were. You could not even begin to imagine how you would explain this. You worked at one of the best laboratories in the world, there wasn’t room for rookies errors here. Especially not when they come from supposed wannabe professionals like you (and cost millions of dollars). Your first week some larger-than-life MIT grad used the wrong inventory system and was gone by noon. You weren’t any better, just some Ph.D candidate trying to boost her resume.
The computer stops, and in its absence you pick up on the slight tick of the clock on the desk. The red analog reads 9:57 PM. Late, but not too late for your bosses to still be around. You’re nauseous with guilt, but you can’t imagine carrying it through the night, working with nothing through the rest of week just to get canned on Friday.
No, you’d accept your fate now.
If you were lucky, you’d only have to talk to one of them.
You don’t have a preference for either. Stark had no issue showing dissatisfaction through his words, often sternly and without grace. The good part was that he was the same way with praise, although you rarely managed to earn that. Strange on the other hand was, well, strange. You barely interacted with him, but when you did you always left the conversation not sure if he despised you or merely tolerated your presence. It changed your working attitude from focusing on the science to scrambling for perfection to gain even the faintest ounce of approval.
Obviously, not well enough if you were making Alaska-sized mistakes like this. Both were equally arrogant (unfortunately, well deserved) and you knew neither of them well enough to plead for your job.
You make your way down the dim hallway, passing the empty offices and labs. More than one mental pep talk passes through your mind. The end of the hallway held your demise, a cracked open door holding an illuminating light and a pair of voices.
All you could do was hope they weren’t too harsh.
Beyond the wooden door, you listen to two voices argue indiscriminately.
“I suppose you think we should just give it away.” one says exasperatedly, and you figure this is Stark by the sarcasm laced in each syllable.
“No,” the other sighs, “but our shareholders will never agree to this price point.”
“The shareholders will agree to whatever we tell them to.”
“You’re right, to a point. Still, we need to be realistic in our expectation of returns.”
“We haven’t done all this work for realism. We did it for profit and you want to sell our hard work to the lowest bidder.”
You tapped your knuckles against the oak door, heart beating in your chest. You went through a couple of opening lines–promises about how this would never happen again and pleas for understanding. Logically, you knew neither were likely to be granted. The voices on the other side grant you entrance that you take nervously. Inside, Stark sits at the large desk in the middle of the room. Strange stands beside him, peering over papers that you presume sparked their conversation.
At the sight of you, both men seem to soften their hardened expressions. Whatever nonsense flared their words a moment ago is gone, replaced by confusion by their junior researcher at their door this late. Strange glances at the timepiece on his wrist before you can say anything, scoffing and shaking his head.
“Yes, [y/n]?”
The annoyance drips, clearly not amused by your poorly timed visit. You wring your fingers in front of your body.
“Firstly, sirs, I want to apologize, there was a mistake with the incubator, and the cultures were destroyed.”
You wish you sounded more confident, but instead your eyes dart between the men and the floor. Your omission tumbles out in a whiny tone, waiting on every syllable for their faces to turn and tell you how stupid you were and how much you cost them in time and resources. That’s not how it goes, however.
Stark leans back in the leather desk chair, metal creaking as his arms are crossed in front of his body. He makes an annoyed face, sure, but not the angry scowl you were dreading.
Strange’s reaction is even more peculiar, chuckling slightly and glancing back at Tony.
“Did the incubator make a mistake, or did you?” he says lightheartedly, a grin stretching on his face, yet the words create a swell in your throat.
Tony seems to find it amusing as well, watching Strange stalk towards you. He stops in the middle of the office. You’re less than two yards away, trying not to tremble under his gaze.
“I did, sir, I’m sorry. I’ll gather my things and leave.” you whispered, hanging your head in shame.
Your feet are on autopilot, turning for the door until Strange speaks again.
“Oh, there’s no need for that.” he chuckles. “Right, Tony?”
You turn back to see him looking towards Stark, who hums in approval. Even more confused, you watch as Strange beckons you closer, and you obey on instinct.
“I don’t think it’s a good look for a Ph.d candidate to have a termination from such a large company on her record.” Tony coos from his chair.
“No, not at all. That might just tarnish her future.” Strange adds.
Their eyes rake over you. Stephen beckons you forward again, and you comply once more. Clearly, they were mocking you before giving you the boot. The condescending drip in their voices leaves your skin hot with embarrassment.
“We wouldn’t want that for you, sweetheart.” Tony sits up as Strange guides you towards the desk, a large hand resting on your back.
“I-I don’t understand.” you stammer.
They both share another laugh at your confusion. Stephen stands behind you once you reach the desk. He nudges you forward until your hips are flush against the edge. There’s still separation, but not enough that you can’t sense his body right behind yours.
“I’m sure a smart girl like you knows how valuable you are to us,” Tony locks eyes with you as Strange twirls your hair in his fingers. The touch shocks you to turn back to him, only for Strange to push you back to face Tony.
“Everyone makes mistakes, after all.”
Your eyes widen when Stephen presses his body into yours, easily towering over you. Heavy hands trail down your jean-covered hips, hot enough to burn your skin through the denim.
“We’re very understanding, I’m sure we can work something out.” Stephen’s voice purrs in your ear, warm breath tickling your throat.
The glittering look in Stark’s eye is all too familiar, watching Stephen’s hands get acquainted with every inch of your form. You shudder under his touch. The blood in your veins runs cold as you catch a wink between the two men–and suddenly, you understand.
“Wouldn’t want your career to end before it even starts now would we?” Tony taunts.
Fingers tease along your side. Soon, they work their way under your shirt, grazing the skin of your midriff.
Any lingering uncertainty is snuffed when Stephen presses further into you. The desk digs into your hips, trapping you between it and the tall doctor.
“I can’t–we can’t–this isn’t–”
Each attempt at a full sentence fails under Tony's lustful gaze. It’s quite enjoyable watching you fail against Stephen. Recruitment always seemed to be just the prettiest research assistants. Who could blame them for finally getting an opportunity for a taste?
Not to mention you did just cost them a small fortune with your little mistake. Contrary to your beliefs, though, they liked your work ethic (and you, for that matter). Letting go of such a helpful piece of eye candy simply wouldn’t do. That doesn’t mean that kindness is a guarantee.
“No?” Tony hums. “Well, we could always let you go. We can give a shining recommendation, of course having to mention your little incompetencies.”
Being blacklisted would kill you. All you wanted was to work in this field. Years of late nights and term papers down the drain was a far greater loss than a few synthetic cultures.
“Please, you don’t have to do that.” you plead. Behind you, Strange’s beard scratches your throat. His hands travel further north, dancing on the hem of your bra. Goosebumps spread across your skin.
“Like I said, I’m sure we can all come to some sort of compromise.” Stephen’s voice drops low and heavy, enveloping on your covered breasts in his right hand. He squeezes gently, tweaking your nipple through the padded fabric.
“W-what if someone finds out–please, just–”
“Oh, don’t you worry, honey. We know how to be discreet.” Tony smirks.
Your eyes can never seem to leave Tony’s, watching his smile grow as your arousal does. It’s against your doing. Stephen completely surrounds you, touching any part of you he could reach. You gasp when the doctor’s idle hand finds your other nipple, rocking himself into you as you squirm.
“I think she wants to keep her job, don’t you, honey?” Stephen chimes in.
You nod nervously. If this would save your career, so be it. People have slept with their bosses for less, right? And you certainly weren’t blind, both men were attractive in their own rights, able to pander through a catalog of women much smarter and much more their style. It begs the question why they were doing this all–crossing such a boundary with a goddamned graduate student.
“Oh no, honey, we’ll need to hear you say it.”
You barely blink, nor breath, all brain power zeroing in on Strange’s heat pressed into you. Tony raises an impatient eyebrow and you manage to answer out of the need to appease him and keep your job.
“Yes, I’ll do whatever you want.”
The second the words leave you, Stephen’s hand disappears from your shirt to push you over the desk. You would’ve face planted straight into it had his palms not wrapped tightly around each of your wrists, yanking your arms. You try to sit up, uncomfortably pressed between Stephen Itchy wool suit pants and the wooden desk. Tony gleams down at you as the doctor keeps a firm hand splayed across your back, his right hand reaching around for the zipper of your jeans.
In the next moment, you feel cool air bend around your bare legs. Before you can have anything even remotely resembling second thoughts, your lace panties are quickly pulled to your ankles as well. Warmth flushes across your cheeks, feeling Stephen’s hungry eyes and fingers on your exposed cunt–all while Tony’s eyes stay locked onto you, smile growing wider as your shame does.
That became harder the second rough hands grab the supple flesh of your ass before a teasing finger slid across wet folds. You squirmed against Stephen’s hold on your wrists, trying desperately to look anywhere but at your boss as you bit back a soft gasp.
“I think our pretty little assistant is feeling a bit shy, Stephen.” Tony declares, reaching out to caress the side of your face not pressed into the surface. It sends butterflies up your spine at how gently he draws tight circles on the skin of your cheek, humming in satisfaction from how roughly Stephen roams over your body.
“Tsk, I hardly believe that, as wet as she is right now.” he murmurs, distracted by the mess you wish you weren’t making.
You kept your lips pierced tightly between your teeth, lids squeezing shut when a long digit pushes into your aching walls. A deep groan from Strange echoes behind you. You hardly had time to eat, let alone maintain a social life. This meant it had been almost months since you’d slept with anyone–leaving needy and aching from the simplest touch. Even if it was your boss.
You instinctively try to pull forward when a second finger is roughly added, and this time you can’t stop the whimper as you stretch around him.
“There it is–feels good doesn’t it? Don’t be shy, honey.” Tony’s voice sounds like smolding ice, freezing your nerves and setting your skin on fire.
You almost hate yourself for how good this feels, Stephen pistoning in and out of your cunt until the sounds of your arousal against his fingers flood the office walls. All while Tony strokes your face like you're made of fine china. It’s far more than your body can handle, stomach already tightening with each pulse of the doctor’s fingers.
“Go ahead, hon’, tell us how much you like it.”
Your face warms. From his touch or embarrassment, you’re not sure. You stammer under the heat, trying to look anywhere but Tony’s piercing eyes.
Stephen’s hand comes down strong on your exposed ass, earning a loud cry from you as you strain against his hold. It shouldn’t make your head spin as much as it does.
“That wasn’t a request, answer him.” the doctor commands, gripping your wrists even tighter. When you take a second too long to muster a response, another strike falls on your opposite cheek. Your nerves are nearly disintegrated, still relishing good his finger feel stretching your cunt.
“It–it’s good, it feels–” you cry out once more when he spanks you again, taunting you for being too quiet.
“It feels really good, sir.” you say louder, nearly shouting into the wood as your legs shake.
Tony laughs above you, only worsening your shame. It’s an easily forgotten feeling–Stephen’s fingers curl inside you, testing each angle until he finds the one that makes you squirm. Soon enough, you forget where you are entirely, barely able to tell where your skin and theirs begin. Your high is far too close to care about the way Tony watches you, or how bruised your wrists will be after Stephen’s done with you.
Just as your mind starts to split into two, it’s quickly interrupted. Stephen withdraws from your soaking cunt, leaning over you to press you impossibly further into the desk, unbuckling the leather belt at his waist. You jerk your head up at the ache between your legs, meeting Tony’s devilish smirk. Warm lips grace your ear, chuckling at your needy panting.
“Aw, poor thing. Don’t think we’d let you off that easy–you’ll need to earn it.” Stephen whispers.
As he sinks into you, you get the feeling this mistake will take quite some time to pay back.
#tony stark x reader#mcu fanfiction#seikkoiwrites#tony stark fanfiction#tony stark smut#marvel fanfiction#stephen strange x reader#stephen strange fanfiction#stephen strange smut#tw dubious consent
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Saw that some folks don't know how American Private Insurance Works, so I wanted to show some real life examples of how mine works. For transparency I do not use United Healthcare (I have had them in the past), my numbers are from the insurance I have which is called Aetna; and the plan I use is available through my employer (so if I quit or get fired, I lose my insurance).
So, in my experience. Copays (the amount of money you owe upfront for an appointment) varries depending on what doctor you're seeing. I have to pay this every time I see a doctor, and if I do not have an FSA/HSA card then I have to pay with one of my personal cards.
For a Primary / Family Doctor $30 USD -
For a Specialist (Physical Therapy, Therapist, Orthopedics, literally any specialty doctor) $60 USD -
Urgent Care $75 USD -
Emergency Room $300 USD -
And where does that leave me, 6 months into my year plan (because this resets to Zero every time the plan renews)?
What Does that mean? That means if I went to a hospital today and had to stay overnight, I'd be responsible for $2,422.16 USD before my insurance would cover anything. And I would have to spend another $2,135.40 USD before they would 100% cover the cost. If I needed any surgery, any care, anything that gives a bill, I am responsible for it until I meet those "goals"
But the fun part? I don't know what that would mean for my primary care doctor visits after I meet my out of pocket maximum, because I have NEVER met either my deductible or my out of pocket maximum. Not because I didn't have expensive bills! But because they never fucking applied. Because all of this still hinges on you being IN-network. So if you go to a doctor that's out of network, those numbers are different! They're higher.
I did 13 sessions of physical therapy about 1.5 months ago. That was $780 dollars for the copays. Plus an extra $77.84 because of one of the things I was billed for was not covered with my insurance. Oh yeah, even if you go to an in-network doctor there are procedures that aren't covered by your insurance even if they're necessary. If they were out of network I would have been responsible for a total of $3,885 additional dollars on top of my $780 I paid in co-pays. And that would not have counted towards my deductible. It would have been towards my out-of-pocket max.
I have to look up local doctors in my town to make sure they are in network, people have to look up HOSPITALS to make sure they are in network. Our system is fucked up. I have had reoccurring chest pains since childhood that they can't figure out why, and anytime I get a flair up I have to figure out if I want to take the risk of it being a heart attack or not because it costs $300 to be seen by the emergency room (because urgent care cannot help with chest pain). When my father had a grand mal seizure and possibly hit his head, I as a teenager had to figure out in a moment of crisis if I needed to call 911 or not. Because my father is epileptic with a different type of seizure (partial complex) and while he had frequent episodes, he had not had a grand mal seizure for over 12 years at that point, and I didn't know if we could afford the ambulance. That was one of the most terrifying moments in my life, point blank, made worse because of how fucked up our insurance system is.
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The Radioapple Haters™️ are at it again.
This time they're attacking shippers with the newly released Playbill.
There's so many issues with that. Beyond harassing people for ships is dumb.
This is what people are pointing at.
This is on the cast info page. It says Lucifer misses his wife.
So, three things about that.
Firstly, We Been Knew, babe.
His very first appearance, after his daughter says her parents split up, he's in a room covered in pictures of not just said daughter, but her mother too, and he's still wearing a presumed wedding band. If that's not "showing not telling" with a goddamn airhorn, idk how more clear it could get without Lucifer flat out saying he misses Lilith. So like...this is not new info. So there's nothing to really rub in. We knew this.
Secondly, this is in-character Lucifer saying this.
I'm not a professional, but when I was in high school performances, we wrote our own little Playbill bio info things. That seems to carry into professional ones too. If you can read the actual cast, some of the the actors less entrenched in the fandom culture have basically an IMDB of their relevant previous roles, while the ones you see at cons are more personable. Those were written by the actors. So, logically, the character bios are written as if by the characters. This could not be made more obvious.
So, logically, you can read that little above as Lucifer himself actually saying he misses his wife. Which leads me to--
Third, break-ups are messy and painful and Lucifer not moving on, unwilling to remove his ring or call Lilith his ex, doesn't mean they are still together. Hell, they could still even be technically married, doesn't mean they're still romantically entangled.
Look, I know the only seeming one-sided relationships in the show is Vox/Alastor and Adam/Lilith and every other "pair" are together or at least friendly (Chaggie, Huskerdust, Cherrisnake, Staticmoth, Guitarspear) but not every separation has to be a violent resentful split. Lucifer is explicitly Depressed™️ which can be hard for any partner to deal with, especially someone as ambitious as Lilith. It wouldn't be surprising if she, not even cruelly, thought she'd be more successful away from him even if he still loves her.
And all this is on top of the fact that most Radioapple shippers don't expect their ship to happen (some hope it does, some hope it doesn't, I'm personally neutral on the concept), and that a lot of writers and artists explicitly acknowledge and use Lucifer's love for Lilith in Radioapple because people love the drama.
I have several posts listing why one might ship Radioapple so I won't go off about it here, but suffice to say the entanglement between Lilith and Alastor and how the two are similar and different makes interacting with Lucifer interesting from any angle.
This also hurts me personally a bit because a lot of these people are Lucilith shippers and, yall, I'm one of you. I don't want them to get back together for many reasons, but I would love to see endless flashbacks of them obnoxiously in love. Most of my favorite works of fanart aren't even Radioapple, my primary ship, but Lucilith, in large part because of how adorable they are. How indulgent or smitten Lilith can look. How adorably excited or flustered or just happy Lucifer can be.
I love Lucilith. I adore Lucifer. I just also think his interactions with Alastor are funny and intriguing.
We don't need to hate each other. We can try to keep our little sandboxes separate, but we can play nice when we spill into each other, can't we?
I am really just so sick of the silly in-fighting. It costs zero dollars and zero energy to not be a dick. Need to type out a rant to get it out and off your chest? cool. But you can post it privately or delete it instead of going into peoples' ask boxes and and posts to be nasty. Not having the self control and wherewithal to not go out of your way to be a dick to people is honestly pretty pathetic. If you think you're so much better, prove it by being better, or being smug in your space. Making people feel like shit for a nonexistent fictional relationship does literally nothing for anyone and makes YOU look worse.
Dislike the ship all you want. No one cares either way. Just don't waste your limited time in this life making your distaste everyone else's problem.
#Hazbin Hotel#Lucilith#Radioapple#Lucifer Morningstar#Lilith Morningstar#Alastor the Radio Demon#another rant/essay by yours truly cuz I can't stfu and people make me sad and frustrated
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