#it would cost you zero dollars not to

[always-andromeda]

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. 😀

[jegheterkerry]

I'm sorry to hear about your grandma and now your dog too, idk if it's something you'd be interested in but I clipped a bit of my cat's fur and stored it in a glass jar, again I'm so sorry about what youre going through

thank you. i took him in on monday morning and said goodbye. right before, they offered memorial things like that. i didn't think i would want something, but i was actively sobbing so i ended up asking for the framed paw print. it was a little ridiculous because...when has the shape of his paw ever brought me comfort? versus all the times i've buried my face in his white fur or stroked his soft ears? but an expensive, impulsive decision was made, and now i'm just waiting for the vet to call to tell me his paw print is ready to pick up.

though if i do need his fur, there's approximately half of a dog's worth of shed under my bed. i haven't cleaned anything up, nor done much of anything else.

[deosilplanarglitches]

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.

[dragkingandreweldritch]

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

[dragongirlsnout]

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

[seat-safety-switch]

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.

[centrally-unplanned]

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)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

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!”

[togglesbloggle]

Why do you think tumblr will die in only a few years?

Answer with jargon: a strong correlation between recent economic shifts and chaotic choices by major tech companies is most easily explained if the 'traditional' social media platforms of 2005-2020 are mostly a zero-interest rate phenomenon.

Longer answer, with less jargon: Even though Musk's takeover is making all the headlines recently, the last year has in fact seen major shakeups at many social media platforms, so Twitter is actually part of a trend. Almost inevitably, these are cases of social media companies trying to find a way to squeeze more money out of their userbase (Reddit), cut costs dramatically (Twitter), or both. This marks a sudden departure from a much more relaxed attitude towards revenue in the Pictures Of Cats industry, where the focus was historically more on expanding the userbase to a global scale and then counting on world domination to sort of <????> and then the company would become profitable eventually.

We joke, correctly, that Tumblr has never been profitable. But the entire structure of ad-supported content curation between human users is deeply suspect as a business model; IIRC Twitter was never profitable either, and Facebook has been juicing its numbers in very shenanigany ways. Discord was actually making money on net last I checked, at least a bit, so they're not all completely in the hole. But even if you take the accounting figures at face value, none of these companies has anything like the amount of money that their cultural prominence would suggest. Instead, they're heavily fueled by investment dollars, money given by super-rich people and institutions in the expectation that fueling the growth of the company now will pay off with interest later.

So what changed?

I'm not an expert here, but I'll do my best to muddle through. The American Federal Reserve has one mandate that dominates all others (sometimes called the 'dual mandate'), and one primary tool that it uses to enforce that mandate. The goal is to maintain low (but nonzero) rates of inflation and unemployment, which in their models are deeply interlinked phenomena. The tool is 'rate hikes', or more specifically, tweaking the mandatory rate of interest that banks charge one another when making loans.

As a particular consequence of this, hiking the rate also means that bonds start paying out much better. When the rate hike goes through, that affects people who let the government borrow their personal cash- that is, people who buy bonds- as well as institutions like banks that lend to one another. A rate hike means that you, personally, can make a little extra money by letting the government borrow it for a while. The federal government of the US is a rock-solid low-risk choice for this kind of moneymaking scheme, so the federal interest rate sort of defines the 'number to beat'; to attract investors, a company has to give those investors money at a better percentage than whatever the feds are offering. Particularly since a company is a lot more likely to go out of business than the state!

To wrap this back around to the Pictures Of Cats industry: the higher the rate hike, the better your company needs to be doing (or the less risky it needs to be as an option) to attract big investment dollars. Very high rates make it very hard to convince people to invest in business activity rather than the government itself, and very low rates put moonshots and big dreams on the table, investment-wise, in a way that wouldn't otherwise be possible. Social media companies were one of these big dreams.

In the great financial crisis of 2008, the Fed took the dramatic step of reducing their rate to zero, trying to juice the economy back to life. And ever since then, they've kept it there. This has produced an unprecedented amount of funding for very crazy stuff; it's part of what has allowed so many weird new tech companies (Uber, streaming services, etc.) to get so much money, so quickly, and use that to grow to massive size without a clear model of how they're ever going to make money. This state of affairs kept going for quite a while, with no clear stopping point; that zero-interest environment has been one of the shadowy forces in the background that shaped fundamental contours and limits in how our Very Online World has grown and developed. Until COVID.

Or rather, the bounce back from COVID: we suddenly saw a massive spike in inflation and an incredibly strong labor market, as employees quit in record numbers, negotiated higher salaries, and found better work, and at the same time supply chain issues and other economy stuff caused prices to climb dramatically. Recall the Fed's 'dual mandate', to control the employment rate and inflation. This was, basically, kicking them right in the jooblies. They responded in kind, finally finally raising their rates for the first time in 15 years. For some of the people reading this, it'll be the first significant shift in their entire adult lives.

The goal, as I understand it, is to fight inflation by reducing the amount of outside investment into private companies, forcing them to hire fewer people and pay smaller salaries, ultimately drawing money out of the working economy and driving prices back down by lowering demand for everything. You get paid less, so you eat out less, and buy at cheaper restaurants when you do, so restaurants have to compete harder by lowering their prices; seems pretty dodgy to me as a theory, but it's the theory. And the first part will almost certainly work- companies are going to see less investment.

For social media companies that are still paying most of their salaries with investor dollars instead of revenues, this is especially catastrophic. Without outside investment, they're just a massive pile of expenses waiting to happen, huge yearly costs in developer salaries and server fees. This is why, all of a sudden, every social media company is suddenly making bonkers decisions. They're noticing that nobody wants to give them any more money! So they're trying to figure out how to live a lot more cheaply, to actually somehow for reals turn their giant userbases in to some kind of actual revenue stream, or both.

Tumblr is kind of the ur-example of this kind of thing, supporting a very large userbase with no coherent plan whatsoever to start paying its staff with our dollars instead of investors' dollars. When interest rates were low and Scrooge McDuck had nowhere else to hide his pile of gold coins, a crazy kid with a dream was the best alternative available to him. But now, unless something changes, he's going to notice he can just buy bonds instead, and that crazy kid can go take a hike.

That's why I think Tumblr is living on borrowed time, though I don't know how much. Like all cartoons, the economy doesn't really fall off a cliff until somebody looks down and notices they've been standing on thin air this whole time. But they always fall eventually; that's the gag.

[illubean]

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.....

[supercantaloupe]

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

[seikkoi]

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. 

[sooptea]

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.

[lacrimosathedark]

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.

[38sr]

I know this is gonna be a strange one, but I do have an industry question;

I've been looking for a job for the last 4 years post-grad, I've tried every bit of advice I've gotten over my 6 years in school and 4 years out. Is it too late for me?? Or more so what advice would you have at this point?? I'm starting to feel really negatively about this venture, and getting a day job has been just as difficult;;

Hello Sky! Hope it's okay to call you that. Ah post-grad job hunting.....I don't miss that period of my life at all. Before I begin, just want to preface that what I say going forward is strictly from my perspective/experience. I am not the absolute of the animation industry so if what I say doesn't align with you, you do not have to follow it haha. Alright, advice for post grad job hunting.... Well, I think I want to start off giving a bit of context for the animation landscape these past 4 years that has been rough for everyone (trust me it'll come back around to your question): 1.) COVID Pandemic

This one might be a confusing for some people because when COVID hit in 2020, the only facet of entertainment that was able to keep going was animation. If you remember, during this time streaming numbers went up because people were stuck at home, every studio was launching their own streaming platform (HBO Max, Disney+, Peacock, etc.) and celebrities were given animated shows because live-action had stopped dead in its tracks. This period allowed artists outside of California state to get hired because what's the point of capping the talent to the local area when we're already working remotely? In short, it was a boom. But an exponential boom rather than a gradual boom. You never wanna grow too fast because you'll crash out quicker (and harder) which leads us to our second factor.... 2.) Netflix's first ever round of layoffs in summer 2022, streaming actually isn't profitable?????

In short, this year is when Netflix's growth finally stopped and was the beginning of The Great Animation Contraction. Other studios who were looking to Netflix as a the new model of distributing/creating entertainment had realized Netflix wasn't invincible. As well as their business model. So naturally, they got scared and and take action (aka layoffs). I was affected by these layoffs while working at Marvel Studios and many artists got laid off at studios to save face from the mistake that was streaming (though at this point studios were still double downing on it). Also, around this time live-action was slowly restarting thanks to vaccines and social distancing protocols. So those celebrity studded animated productions dwindled down (and also they caused so much havoc for us animation workers because most of those celebrities had no animation production experience). Which now leads us to...

3.) Mergers everywhere! Yeah, uh, mergers fucking suck. People kept losing their jobs because companies kept absorbing into each other and multiplying their debts to ungodly dollars amounts! Apparently no one took a math class and understood if you multiply any number by zero you will always get a zero. These merger also caused more shows to get shelved and canned, making the job market even slimmer. And by then we get to 2023 and the....

4.) WGA, SAG and TAG Contract Negotiations By now, studios have realized that streaming is losing them money because it costs a butt load of money to not only create a streaming site, but also maintain it, update it, create new media for it, acquire established franchises for it, and maintain the current library. Streaming shows aren't being advertised like they used to on cable so shows don't last beyond one or two seasons. Worker contracts are becoming shorter and shorter (I had a co-worker who had a 3 month contract! Isn't that insane?). And what happens in the midst of this streaming meltdown?

WGA, SAG and TAG are gearing up for their contract negotiations. And as we know SAG (actors) and WGA (writers) did strike which good for them! But now there are no live-action jobs and once again, animation (TAG) is the only one running because our negotiations don't officially start until 2024. At this point, so many animated productions have been cancelled left and right for the sake of "saving money and cutting costs". And the effects were very much being felt in the animation work force. Some animation workers were starting to leave the state of California to more affordable cities, some getting day jobs as baristas, hell some leaving the industry all together. It didn't help that studios were kind of withholding production greenlights 'cause 1) they're greedy corporations 2) these strikes were putting pressure on them. And when we did enter 2024 for our contract negotiations, that contraction was at the tightest. The job market for animation had become so bone dry that you have director-level talent taking entry level jobs to stay afloat. But because of that new, emerging artists are blocked out from breaking in. Anytime a job listing would go up people would go in a frenzy and try every thing they could to get the job. That's how little shows were in production this year specifically. Of course, by now it is public that TAG has ratified the contract (meaning we will not strike). But up until then, studios were quite literally waiting with baited breath for the duration of negotiations. A ton of stuff was in development but nothing was getting a greenlight in fear of a strike. So many animation workers at this point have been laid off for at least 2 years, got priced out of LA county, or got so burned by the industry that they left for a more sustainable paycheck. At this point of the post you're probably thinking, "Why is she talking about all of this and not answering my question?"

And the reason for that is because I what to highlight you didn't miss your chance. You unfortunately graduated at a time where the circumstances were not good for breaking in for the past 4 years.

I'm not saying this to deter you from animation either. I just want to be transparent and honest about the current state of animation because it really has been bleak for the past 4 years. So it's not your fault but rather the industry was just in a seriously bad drought. Both emerging and veteran artists have been struggling to find work and when they do it didn't even last for 6 months. Hopefully, with the renewed contract studios will start greenlighting productions again so everyone isn't fighting for one job opening. But I can't tell 'cause I am not Raven Baxter haha. But what advice can I give during this tough time? Start developing your own projects. Things may be pretty dry right now but now is the time when you can create and develop your own original stuff that can be used in your portfolio. Short or long form, showing progress videos, just create. Because once you start working it's gonna be hard to find that personal project time (trust me I'm going through that right now haha). Also, you'd be surprised how just doing your own thing can garner the attention of someone who does have the power to hire you. How do you think I got to work on the shows I have in the animation industry? Almost all of my jobs happened because I was just creating my own thing and it just happened to match the sensibilities of a show produced by a Hollywood studio. And if I had any additional advice... it would probably be don't think that Hollywood is the only way you can tell your stories.

This one is more of....a recent revelation I've had after going through a pretty bad work experience but Hollywood isn't the only way you can be a storyteller. Whether it's comics, games, streaming, animation, or film....the Hollywood system isn't the end all be all. And by Hollywood system I'm referring to breaking into a big studio like Disney, Nick or something and trying to get your own movie/tv show to win an award or something. That system often works for a certain group of people and fails other groups. That's why I say develop and create your own thing because you might find something that fits your creative voice more than Disney or any other Hollywood studio. Maybe that's inconsiderate of me to say as someone who's been incredibly lucky to work in the animation industry for almost 8 years now....but I still wanna be honest that there are other avenues that isn't the Hollywood way. All in all, please don't give up or beat yourself up. The current state of animation within America was out your control and resulted in many artists struggling to find a job. You aren't too late. In fact, I would say now is your time to do your thing in preparation for when that hiring boom comes again (or you can just take another route to tell your stories). I hope that answered your question!

[lexosaurus]

Everything Was White: Part 24

[see all chapters]

read on: [ao3] [ffn] (please read tags)

Summary: After being accidentally revealed to the public and taken away by the government, Danny deals with the aftermath of his time with the GIW.

****

Danny tossed a low-powered ecto-ball between his hands, letting it trail across his flowing aura before pushing it back the way it came. Back and forth, over and over again.

It was exactly the sort of monotonous task he needed while he thought.

The primary issue Danny had with his new partnership with Drew was that he, admittedly, was broke.

Very broke.

He'd spent the last of his measly savings account on Christmas gifts for his family. And even if he asked his parents to reinstitute a chore chart that he could feasibly do now, even then, his $20-per-week allowance wouldn't come close to what buying opioids from Drew was going to cost.

Which, as it turned out, was a lot. Danny had no idea how expensive oxycodone was, but as he found out, it was way more than he thought it would be. 

Thankfully, Drew seemed to be at least a halfway decent guy and informed Danny that hydrocodone or Percocet might be a little more in his budget. And sure, they weren’t as good as oxy, but right now, Danny would take anything.

But considering his current savings of zero dollars and zero cents, even a single hydrocodone pill was too costly.

It would have been so much easier if he could publicly be Phantom. Because then, he could just do what other celebrities did and host an occasional livestream on social media, giving bashful shoutouts when people donated money. With as huge of a celebrity as Phantom was, it wouldn't take long for him to get a month's supply of medication.

But no, Phantom was still a secret, and Fenton was pretty unemployable right now too. And that was a problem. A huge problem. It meant that neither Phantom nor Fenton could get money for drugs.

Which Danny needed. Badly.

He hadn't slept last night. It was his first night without in weeks, and he couldn't sleep. 

Drew had texted him that morning that he could come by anytime today and pick up as much as he wanted. The issue was, all Danny had to pay with was a blossoming headache and the whining of his increasingly angry nerves.

He couldn't just rob a bank. They all had so much anti-ghost security; they probably had ecto-signature readers and shields. Not to mention, if he got caught, he could kiss his freedom goodbye.

He didn't sleep last night. He needed those damn pills. At this rate, his heart was going to beat out of his damn chest.

Tomorrow was his IEP meeting where they planned to talk about switching him to a full school day with regular classes. He was going to be a normal student again, or at least partially.

There was no fucking way he'd be able to get through that meeting without support.

But what could he do? He had no money.

Then, a snake-like voice wormed into the darkest shadow of his mind and hissed, But your parents have money. They're famous now too.

His breathing stopped.

He stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, the ecto-ball fizzling out in midair.

No. There was no way he'd just thought that.

There was no way he'd even consider it. His parents worked hard for their money, and stealing from them would be a new low Danny didn't think he'd ever be able to come back from.

But why? the voice asked. It sounded innocent in the most insincere way.

It disgusted him.

They were his parents. They were the ones that got him home! They cared about him!

All their money they have now? That's because of you, Danny. That's because you're their son. Why should they get all of it when you were the one who sacrificed his body, his health, everything to the Guys in White? Why do they get to profit off your fame while you get nothing?

No, people were buying their designs. He'd helped them become a recognizable brand, sure, but at the end of the day, people bought their tech because it worked.

And it works because of you. Phantom was their muse. Phantom was the reason they designed half the pieces they did. You deserve compensation for your work.

No.

No.

No.

But I'm right, Danny. You know I'm right.

The voice was right, but that didn't mean that he needed to stoop to that depravity and steal from his fucking parents.

He was a good person. He wouldn’t do something like that.

But did he really have a choice?

They owe you. You wouldn't need to do this if they’d let you be Phantom.

That was true…but still…

Why fight me? You've already made up your mind.

No, he hadn't. The voice was right, he needed to do this, but…but…

What if they caught him? 

They won't notice. You know how they get when they're all wrapped up in a new project.

That was true.

Just this once. Just until you can figure some other way out.

Okay. Just this once.

Danny released a shuddering breath.

Just this once.

He transformed and grabbed hold of his intangibility and invisibility, slinking through the floor into the kitchen. Hovering near the ceiling, he looked down, the knot in his chest only releasing once he saw the coast was clear.

Of course it was clear. His parents were glued to their work.

If they saw him, they'd hate him. They'd send him back to the hospital, or ground him, or do a mix of both. They'd install the new chip in him and never take it out.

He needed to be quick.

He darted to the living room where, on a side table against the wall, there was a fruit bowl containing a few key rings, a mini ecto-gun, and a wallet.

His dad's wallet, to be specific. Jack Fenton had a habit of misplacing his wallet and wasting precious time tearing the house apart to find it just when the family was in a hurry to leave, so this fruit bowl was installed. Now, upon entering the home, Jack always dropped his keys and wallet in the bowl.

It was just sitting there. Waiting for Danny to open it up and glimpse the goodies that lay inside.

He wrapped delicate fingers around the worn leather wallet, unfurled the sides, and almost cried with happiness.

A hundred and fifty dollars now rested in the palm of his hand. It wouldn't buy him much, but it would buy him time. And if he was smart and rationed appropriately, it might buy him enough time to figure out what to do about Phantom.

He was going to be okay.

Breathe.

It was going to be okay.

****

Rain pattered on the roof above him. Around him, voices hushed to a lull.

Danny relaxed into his chair. His head felt light and clear, and his previous nerves had been swept away by the passing breeze of two little white pills on his palm.

Glancing around the conference room, he recognized some faces in the dim light. Mr. Lancer and Ms. Perez settled into their chairs, exchanging pleasantries with his parents and a woman Danny didn't know.

Or maybe, he had met her. He wasn't sure. There was a lot from last fall he didn't remember.

Fatigue edged his vision, and he fought the yawn, losing briefly. He couldn't help it. It was rare that his body was just so relaxed. 

He hoped he wasn't being suspicious. He just needed to be convincing enough for these perceptive adults to place him in a normal classroom again. That meant no nerves, no shaky voice, nothing that could make them doubt for a second that he didn't belong with his peers.

The voices settled in the room, and a few people muted their phones and slipped them into their pockets. The woman Danny didn't recognize with frizzy brown hair and glasses nodded to the group and said, "Thank you."

The last of the wandering attention had snapped onto her now, and she began. “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for being here for Danny’s IEP meeting. Today, our goal is to review the current plan and Danny’s progress in the learning center, and update his IEP for his transition into the inclusion setting."

Danny glanced around the table, and everyone else seemed to be nodding to her words like this were rehearsed. 

“Why don’t we start with introductions?” the woman said. “I’m Lina Fayed, the special education coordinator.”

“I’m Sam Morin, the school psychologist.”

“I’m William Lancer, Mr. Fenton’s homeroom and English teacher.”

“I’m Jocelyn Hill, the speech-language pathologist,” said a woman Danny had unfortunately become familiar with.

Although, he’d never known her name.

…and just like that, it was gone from his brain.

“I’m Yasmin Perez, Danny’s special education teacher.”

“I’m Maddie Fenton, Danny’s mother.”

“I’m Jack Fenton, Danny’s father.”

It was Danny's turn, but fatigue was pushing at his eyelids, and he didn't feel like speaking. He supposed he should have been embarrassed, but he was too busy enjoying the feeling of his muscles melting into the cushioned seat under him to feel much of anything at all.

"I'm Danny Fenton," he said with a buttery tongue. 

If only it could always be this easy to speak.

“Alright! Thank you, everyone, for the introductions, and thank you, Danny, for being here with us. We always encourage students to attend their IEP meetings when they enter high school. To begin, the purpose of today’s meeting is a reassessment of Danny’s IEP to determine his placements for the next semester. We will review Danny’s current levels of performance, which will also include his evaluation results, strengths, weaknesses, concerns from team members, progress toward goals, proposed goals, placement options, and services for access in the general education classroom. Before we start, are there any time limitations today?”

“None for us,” Maddie said. “And again, thank you all for meeting with us.”

“Of course. As I said, we all want the reintegration process to go as smoothly as possible for Danny. Just a reminder, if the IEP reconvene cannot conclude today, we will schedule another meeting as soon as possible. But with that out of the way, let’s continue the meeting!”

They didn't have to worry about that because they wouldn’t need a second meeting. Everyone was going to see how well he’d progressed, how calm and confident he now was, and they would release him into the normal, general ed classroom.

The coordinator was now discussing legal rights and handing some pieces of paper to Danny’s parents. It was probably a load of word salad, likely said to cover the school’s ass. Maddie had warned Danny that these meetings could get a bit official, and a bit boring.

But again, they didn’t need to stress about any of that. They could just shove him in a classroom, and he was sure he would adapt without any complications.

“…are there any discussion areas you would like to add to the agenda?” the coordinator asked, though more to Danny’s parents than to him.

“None that we can think of.” Maddie shot a questioning look at Jack, then to Danny himself.

It took Danny a second to realize they were looking at him expectantly. He shrugged.

“Alright, continuing, decisions about Danny’s placement and supports are made through a consensus. Although team members may have varying opinions on certain decisions, consensus is built when all team members come together for the final decision. Does everyone agree and support this?”

All heads around the table nodded.

The coordinator gave what Danny assumed was supposed to be a warm nod, though she looked slightly stiff doing it. Perhaps, she was nervous because of what he was. Which, if that was the case, she shouldn't have been.

Phantom was the town's protector. He was the good guy.

See? It was okay.

His core twinged in dissent, and it took him a moment to remember that he hadn’t actually done any protecting lately. But just when his brain began to spiral, the medication took charge, shushing him and lulling his fears back to sleep.

There was no reason to be stressing about that right now.

So, he tuned back into the conversation where the coordinator was now addressing Danny's parents directly.

"Here is a copy of your Parent’s Rights and Procedural Safeguards. Please remember that it is very important that you are actively involved in the educational planning for your child and that the IEP team will make no changes in your child’s program or services without your input, knowledge, and consent. Do you understand your Parents’ Rights? Would you like to review or discuss any part of them?"

She handed some papers to them across the table and said a few more legal buzzwords. Danny's parents responded, though Danny couldn't really hear them. Not because they were being quiet, but just because his brain had decided to take a small break.

They tossed words back and forth, at one point looking at him like they wanted something, though Danny couldn't understand what or why. So he simply said, "Yeah."

There was a pause, and then Maddie supplied, "Danny, you understand that you can provide input too? That since you're in high school, everyone at this table will consider your opinions about your education seriously?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He yawned.

He hoped he was conveying exactly how calm he felt about this meeting. He was all better now, he was all healed, he was truly a normal student and could be in a normal classroom.

See? Look at him, all confident and mature. If he were truly drowning in PTSD, could he be sitting here so nonchalantly with all these adults discussing his problems?

“Alright, so now diving into the drafted IEP, I'd like to begin by going over the current Transition Plan and update it with more of Danny’s input. The point of the transition plan is to look at the next one to five years and develop a vision for what Danny would like his life to look like after high school. Danny has begun working on his vision statement in learning center with Ms. Perez. Danny, would you like to share your current vision statement?"

Danny could only vaguely remember working on a vision statement in learning center, and he was pretty sure he hadn't finished it.

Still, he looked down at one of the sheets of paper placed before him, searching until he saw his chicken-scratch handwriting. Although he hadn't noticed it before, his handwriting had definitely improved since last fall. Where before it was barely legible, now at least he could read it without too much squinting.

"Um..." Danny's tongue felt heavy, but his head was light. "I'd like to get better at math. I missed a lot of math this year and I don't want to have to repeat algebra two next year. I'd like to earn my high school diploma and attend either a community college or a regular college after high school. I want to work in a field with space or engineering, but I'm worried that my—my current issues might prevent that from happening." He glanced at his parents, who at least appeared to be listening to him. "I'd like to be in all general education classes by the end of the year."

To his delayed surprise, his mother smoothed his shirt sleeve as she praised him. "Good job, honey."

Something stirred in his stomach, but he was drifting too far from his body to decipher what kind of emotion it was.

It likely wasn't important anyway.

"Thank you for sharing." The coordinator beamed at him. “It's really important for the team to remember, as we continue through this meeting, that ultimately, our decisions regarding Danny's placement next semester and accommodations should all be in service of helping Danny work toward his goals both in and after high school. Danny, we understand your situation and history, and we understand that this has made the transition back to an academic environment tremendously difficult for you. Our goal in both this meeting and through this contract is to help provide the tools necessary to ease some of that stress.

"So, now for the present levels of performance. With Danny's injuries still healing, as well as the benefit to the healing process that his, uh, ghost half gives him"—Danny was impressed that she was able to say it so casually—"much of our assessment data from the fall may now be out of date. Typically, we retest every other year, but because of the nature of Danny's injuries, we will be conducting a full re-eval next fall at the beginning of the school year. So this IEP meeting will be using the evaluations from last fall. However, we do have observational data from the BCBA that she's kindly summarized for us, as well as samples and reports from Mr. Lancer and Ms. Perez."

Danny didn't remember ever being observed. He wasn't even sure what a BCBA was or what she looked like. 

That meant that people were watching him while he didn't know. Hopefully, she had only seen the good things, the times when he'd been doing his work and paying attention and sitting still with a relaxed and calm face, just like he was doing now.

Hopefully, she hadn't seen those other times, like the other day when he took a nap in the middle of the learning center instead of doing his math work. Or that time when one of the footballers had asked him a question about Phantom and he'd been so thrown for a loop that he stuttered nonsense instead of responding like he normally would. 

Well, if she had seen those things, then everyone was probably really confused because his data may have painted him as emotionally unstable, but here he was, the perfect picture of mental health.

At this rate, his parents would have to give him the okay to have full access to his Phantom form.

"Presently," the coordinator continued, eyes glued to the sheets of paper in front of her, "Danny is a very bright young man receiving supports for health, academic, and social-emotional needs. Danny's able to come to school for half of the day to complete his schoolwork in the learning center with Ms. Perez. He's able to access the eleventh-grade core curriculum with significant modifications to his schoolwork, including a reduced workload, modified curriculum, and aide support for executive functioning. He is able to take his tests and quizzes in the learning center with an aide or Ms. Perez proctoring and assisting and redirecting as needed."

Ms. Perez took over, giving him a gentle grin as she did. "Yup, Danny's been working with me in the learning center for most of his current school day, and has been working both on his own, with a para, and with myself and various teachers who have prep and availability to visit our room during those hours. He’s been making steady progress catching up with the curriculum, but since he's only in school for half the day, he is behind on most subjects. Though, we have made some steady progress these last few weeks with the hopes that he will be able to finish out the year in the classroom."

"Yup! We're hoping Danno will be able to finish this year strong too! Right?" Jack turned to Danny, who had to remind himself that he was supposed to be making eye contact with the adults rather than studying how the scratches on the table were disrupting the reflections from the lights above.

"Huh? Yeah."

Jack beamed. "Atta boy!"

"That’s great!” the coordinator said. “And today, we’re going to discuss classroom placements for next semester, so I think a good segue into that would be to go over the current performance data we have on Danny. I'm going to go over both the evaluation scores and the recent data collected from Ms. Perez and the BCBA.

"In the psychoeducational eval, we assessed cognitive, academic, social-emotional, and behavioral functioning. Both Danny's parents and Danny's teachers reported global challenges across all areas of academic, internalization, externalization, and behavioral symptoms. According to the Weschler score summary, Danny's results indicate that verbal comprehension, processing speed, and working memory are all significant areas of weakness, although visual-spatial and fluid reasoning scored below average too. The academic achievement testing results showed that Danny could benefit from direct and explicit instruction across all subject areas, with areas of focus being reading and math..."

The coordinator's voice drifted off, becoming noise with the air vents and the puttering of raindrops against the roof. Danny could see her lips moving, he could see the other adults around nodding at what she was saying, but at this moment, he just couldn't find it in himself to care.

So what if some test results said something about how emotionally unavailable to math he was? Why should it matter? 

Life was short. There was no reason to waste it thinking about what a silly little test said.

And besides, he was Danny Phantom, wasn't he? Getting a job after high school would be a cinch.

He leaned back in his chair and let his head loll. It would have been such a nice day if not for the rain washing away the light dusting of snow they'd gotten the night before. 

It hadn't been a snowy winter. Maybe that would have been odd, but then again, it had been an odd year all around.

The woman was still talking. 

Wow.

It was kind of incredible how long people could talk for.

He wondered if he was supposed to be saying anything. But then, maybe it was better to remain silent because then maybe everyone would forget about those assessment results and his brain injury that was affecting his speech and making him sound more disabled than he was. 

So he sat there. The adults talked. At one point, his parents had looked at him in confirmation, and he'd nodded. They seemed pleased at that, which was great because pleasing his parents meant he was following their instructions, and following their instructions meant that maybe they'd realize he was mentally sound enough to handle having his ghost half back.

"...I've noticed that Danny tends to shut down when he encounters a difficult problem, or when he gets stuck on an assignment and gets frustrated. He does respond relatively well to redirection, although some days are tougher than others," Lancer was saying.

"I can get better at that," Danny interjected.

He must have been sitting in silence for a while because a few of the adults seemed surprised that he spoke. The speech counselor, however, gave him a thumbs up. She was always praising him for what she kept calling "self-advocacy." 

Maddie glanced at Danny. "His doctors believe this to be a side effect." 

A side effect of what? 

"And we agreed as well, which is why we chose to list that as one of the updated IEP goals. Do you agree, Danny?" the school psychologist asked.

"Sure."

See? Easygoing and calm.

"So, Danny will respond to redirection with no more than two prompts eight out of ten times as measured across a six-month period," the coordinator recited. "And to help with this, along with the other listed accommodations and goals, we recommend he receive aide support in his general education courses for the remainder of the semester."

Danny blinked at the coordinator.

He was pretty sure his brain was behaving a little slower than normal because, for a second there, it sounded like the coordinator had just said the words "aide support."

"We completely agree," Maddie said. To Danny's bewilderment, she put her hand on his arm and began lightly stroking his sleeve with her thumb. 

"As do I," Lancer said.

Danny's jaw opened, and he couldn't tell whether he should stare at Lancer in awe or betrayal. His brain was too jumbled to piece together any tangible emotions anyway. 

For a second, he almost wished he weren't high. But then, that was a silly thought. Because if he were sober right now, he might have started yelling.

Perhaps Lancer was worried about these diminished emotions in Danny bubbling to the surface and causing a scene, because he held Danny's gaze as he said, too seriously and compassionately, "This is not a punishment, nor is this a one-on-one. You will still be a normal student. There will be another adult in all your classes. She will help you when you need it, and she’ll leave you alone when you do not."

When Lancer put it like that, it was fine, wasn't it? Maybe that was the denial talking, or the fog shielding his brain from the shadows, but it was okay. 

“There are lots of students who receive inclusion support,” the psychologist added. “You’re not the first, nor the only student in the building.”

Yeah. He was still going to be a normal student attending normal classes. No one would have to know that the aide was there for him. Not if he did all his work in a timely manner and focused and took notes and raised his hand and always paid attention to what the teacher was saying and...and...

"Danny understands," Maddie said. She was still rubbing his arm. "Right?"

"Right."

"See? It's all okay!" Jack said.

And, right. It was all okay. Right now, he had nothing to worry about. 

He would be fine. He was going to be so fine. He was going to do good in classes—great, even! He was Phantom after all, and Phantom was cool, popular, and everything that Fenton had always wanted to be. Aide or no aide, he was going to be fine.

So, he let himself bask in that delusion under the safety of the fog, and he was very calm and behaved appropriately for the rest of the meeting. No outbursts, no crying, because everything was wonderful!

Everything was so wonderful.

If he just let the drugs take the wheel.

****

Danny lay on the roof, staring up at the partially cloud-covered sky above him. The air smelled of rain, earthy and electric, and felt of decaying humidity. He tried to admire the way the stars twinkled, he tried to differentiate the red ones from the white ones to play his old game of which was moving the fastest toward and away from Earth, he tried to find Mars and Saturn, usually visible in the sky.

But everything seemed so…

He didn’t know.

He never, never thought that he would seriously be the student who had to get…this. Whatever this was in that stupid, twenty-thousand-page contract.

Were all IEP documents that many pages? Or was it just Danny’s?

Ms. Perez’s learning center had a para. He remembered there being a para in his history class last year too. This annoying, mousy woman who joined midway through the year and kept harassing Danny to “stay in the classroom, please, don’t leave! Where are you going?”

But he never seriously thought that he would be the sole cause of an aide joining a class. Or all his classes.

Would the other students know? Would the aide always be hovering over his shoulder? Or would it be like last year, where the para walked around the room and spent most of her time with the rowdy boys in the back of the class?

Danny had so many questions. And so many fears. None of which could be solved by a white pill.

Which, judging by the steadily increasing burning in his chest, was just about due.

But that would require getting up. It would require going home. It would require turning back into his human form.

All things Danny didn’t want to do.

So he stayed there, trying to ignore the prickling in his chest, distracting himself with the preview of the night sky he could see through the clouds. He ignored the fact that he didn’t understand why he didn’t want to go home.

And he lay there until a slightly muffled voice, one that drove spikes into Danny’s stomach, piped up from behind him. “Phantom? Danny?”

Shit.

It was just his freaking luck.

He debated turning around and offering his friendly, signature Phantom wave that he used to give back when he was trying to win her over.

But he just didn’t have the energy for that tonight. And besides, there was no point. There was nothing left to win.

“Danny,” Valerie repeated, though not a question this time.

“S’me,” he responded dully.

She landed beside him, retracting her hoverboard, and from the corner of his eye, he watched as she twisted her gloves together and studied her boots.

Good. Let her feel uncomfortable for once.

“Hey. You have your ghost form back?” she tried.

“Yup.”

Despite his internal voice begging him to try a little, he did not sound enthusiastic at all.

“Oh. Um, that’s nice.” She took a hesitant step toward him.

Was she afraid of him?

“Sure is,” he said. If possible, his tone was even blander than before.

His chest was really hurting. And he was tired. Something dark was beginning to crawl in the corners of his eyes. He clearly wasn’t up for this, so maybe they could wrap this conversation up?

“Um…the tail…it’s—it’s—” she stammered.

His eyes narrowed.

“You know, I wasn’t sure—”

“What, if I’d have legs as a ghost? Well, I’m sure it’s really pleasing for you to see that I obviously don’t.”

Danny couldn’t see her expression under the mask, but judging by how she stepped back, he guessed he’d struck a blow to her confidence.

After all the shit he’d been through, she could take one measly little dig.

The silence stretched between them, dark and twisting, pulsing like a wave filling Danny’s hollow body with all the resentment he’d been burying for months and years. His skin prickled while shadows loomed over his eyes, and suddenly, it was too much. Hiding was too much.

He pushed himself upright to mimic a seated position, his glower snapping to her because really? After everything he’d been through, she was going to bring up his paraplegia? That was how she really planned on opening this conversation?

After she’d tried so long to eradicate not just his lower half, but his entire fucking body?

His brain quietly pinged that he needed to leave now. He didn’t feel right. It was going to get too dark soon. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to say that.” She held her arms up, placating. “I—I never wanted…”

Her voice trailed off, and for good reason. Such a good reason, in fact, that Danny snorted. “You’re such a liar, Val.”

His tone was a deathly sharp dagger slicing whatever clumsy air simmered between them. Raw emotions spilled out, ripping both their histories to the forefront and pouring them all on the ground between them. 

“I know!” Valerie slapped her helmet, her hand trembling as she exclaimed, “I know last year I was trying to…to…ugh!”

She crouched low on the gravel, and her fingers dug into her carbon-fiber head.

Danny didn’t say anything. Just watched. He didn't understand this emotion bubbling in his chest. Why it made him want to snap, lash out, hurt Valerie.

He didn’t understand why he couldn’t leave.

“You never told me who you were,” she said, her voice like sand on stone. “How was I supposed to know? I would never have hunted you if I’d known.”

If anything, her words further deepened the hole that leaked his stock of patience from his body. “If that was supposed to be reassuring, it sucked. Oh, so I’m sup—supposed to be thankful now that I have a human heartbeat, because if I—if I didn’t, then what? You would have no remorse killing me? Well, guess fucking what, Val, I don’t have a heartbeat in this form.”

He wasn’t supposed to say that out loud, but he really didn’t give a shit. Valerie was many things, but a snitch was not one of them.

Valerie dropped her gloves from her helmet screen, and Danny could imagine her dumbstruck face locking eyes with his.

Good.

He spread his arms out wide, giving her the best shot he could. “If you want to fucking blow my brains out, here’s your opportunity!”

But she didn’t move a muscle.

“Well?” he said, after the silence was beginning to turn awkward. “What the hell are you—are you waiting for?”

Another beat, then a quiet, “You were my friend. No, my boyfriend. I broke up with you because…because…”

“Because of Phantom."

“And you let me.”

“What, did you seriously expect me to just—just out myself to you like that?”

What should have been an easy “no” left Valerie in silence.

“Come on, Val, you of all people should know why I couldn’t say anything. You were at my fucking house. You saw…”

Danny couldn’t finish. You saw me, he wanted to say. You saw everything they did to me.

She finally sat on the roof. Not right next to him, of course. They weren’t ready for that yet. She gave him—or herself, Danny couldn’t tell—several feet of space. But she was sitting, where before, she would have been attacking.

“I was so mad when you were revealed. So mad.”

Darkness nipped at his cheeks, and he bit down the urge to snap at her again.

“I had made a whole speech I was going to give you when you got out. Had rehearsed it in the mirror and everything.” Her voice grew weak. “I was so stupid to believe what they were saying. That it was just an imprisonment.”

“You were,” Danny said, not kindly, because really, she should have known. “You'd heard them before. You knew what—what they were going to do to me. You wanted to do that...too, I bet." 

“Nothing like that,” Valerie snapped. “Even in my worst moments, I would never have done anything like that.”

The darkness slithered up his throat, and he didn't fight it when it took control of him and snarled, “Well, I guess I should—I should be flattered, then. You wanted to kill me, but at least you didn’t want to torture me on the way out!”

“You ruined my life, Danny. And your parents always talked about how evil ghosts were. What the hell did you expect?”

Oh, so they were going there. 

“I ruined your life, how—how, exactly? Because now you know—you know that I don’t have a dog, Val. So whose dog was that?”

“Just because he’s not your dog doesn’t mean you don’t babysit him all the time. I’ve seen those TikToks!”

“That weekend? In Axiom? That was the first time I’d ever met Cujo!”

“So he has a name, now?”

Danny wanted to scream. “Of course he has a name! He’s a dog! He’s a dog that your dad killed!”

“Shut up!” Her helmet whipped over to him again. “Don’t you dare talk about my dad!”

“Well, it was! Your dad’s security system replaced Axiom’s last one. Wanna know what the last secure—last security system was? Because it wasn’t a piece of—of technology, Val!”

“Shut up!” Valerie’s voice broke.

Danny should have felt like an asshole, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked numbly as Valerie’s chest moved erratically, and listened as her cries ripped from her throat. And all he could feel was the urge to scream that he needed to leave and go home because it was going to be too dark soon, and he didn't understand what that meant but just that he knew he needed to flee.

“No, no, no. My dad—my dad would never do anything like that,” Valerie said through clenched teeth. She retracted her helmet finally, her hands mopping her eyes and runny nose. “He would never.”

But Danny didn’t stop. “Cujo was just trying to get his squeaky toy back from one of—one of the closets inside. He was looking for it. He wasn’t trying to do—to do anything else. Once he got his toy, he…he left. He went back to the Zone. Whatever happened to your dad, that wasn’t my fault.”

He always fantasized about the moment when he could finally sit Valerie down and explain himself. In all his daydreams, he approached her with empathy and understanding, and they ended their discussion with an embrace.

So what the hell was wrong with him tonight?

Why did he suddenly remember all the months she spent hunting him down, shooting him with every weapon in her arsenal, consequences to his body be damned. More than one night, he’d had to stitch his skin back together because of her.

Sam was always the one angry about that—not Danny. Danny always had excuses for Valerie. She didn’t know he was Phantom, she was going through a hard time, he didn’t figure out what Cujo was after soon enough. 

But deep down inside, had he always been this angry?

“Fuck,” she murmured.

She was right. This—no, they were fucked up. Their relationship was fucked up. Danny was fucked up.

And Valerie had seen that, the day she visited him in his bedroom. Back when he used to trace the cracks in his wall because without that, he couldn’t be sure he existed at all.

“Why did you come visit me that day?” Danny finally asked. “You knew I—I’d just gotten home from the hospital. You knew—”

“I didn’t,” Valerie said, wiping her eyes. “I mean, I knew you’d gotten out of the hospital, but I didn’t know, really. I mean, I didn’t know the extent of…it.”

Danny cocked his head. “I thought I was all over the news? That’s what they told me.”

“Yeah, but not you. Just people talking about you. Or old videos of you. There were rumors online, but nothing substantial.”

“So that—that’s why you thought it was just an imprisonment.” Danny stared down at the foggy mist that was his spectral tail.

“I was in denial," Valerie said.

“Yeah.” 

He wondered if he would ever get his legs back in this form. 

This darkness was beginning to get suffocating.

It was stemming from his chest, he realized.

He heard his voice ask, “Did you like what you saw? That day in my room?” 

“That’s sick, Danny.”

But again, he didn’t care. He didn't know why, but he didn't care. “What? I didn’t put—put on a good enough show for you? All drugged up like that?”

He wanted to stop. He was a good person; why was he saying this? His words didn’t even have any bite left to them. They were just…hollow. Just like the rest of him.

“You know that’s not true. Just stop, please.”

Was he an asshole?

No. No, he wasn’t.

“Sorry,” he conceded with.

He really needed another pill. He should have taken one with him before he left. He was so stupid for leaving all of them behind.

The darkness agreed with him. 

You should take another pill now, a voice said in barely a whisper.

The darkness growled. It sounded like a dog.

“What was the trial like?” he asked, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

“You mean you haven’t seen it?” She sounded startled.

"No."

"Oh..." Valerie shifted awkwardly. "Um...I don't really know. It's on YouTube, you know?"

"I don't want to see it."

He should have gone home. He should have listened to the darkness.

There's still time for you to save yourself.

"Yeah, I got you. Um, I don't know, though. The legal jargon slipped over my head. And it was pretty fast, you know? There was a big celebration in town when the judge ordered you to be freed."

That was ironic, he realized. That while the town was celebrating, he had been dying from the final incision.

"What did they do to you in there?" her quiet voice said.

The air was getting darker now. Soon, the stars might be gone from view.

And the shadows were beginning to eat his skin.

So instead of answering, Danny turned invisible and flew away.

****

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Thank you to @imekitty for betaing the chapter!