#meals on wheels for the elderly

[newslink7com]

HHS Layoffs Slash 40% of Staff, Threatening Meals on Wheels, Disability Services, and Energy Aid for 6 Million Low-Income Americans

Seniors, disabled Americans, and low-income families face a devastating blow as Meals on Wheels and LIHEAP programs are gutted. Entire federal offices shut down overnight. What happens next?

👉 Read the full story at NewsLink7.com

[lay-z]

sugar plum promises | 1

SYNOPSIS: SIMON RILEY, WHO DISCOVERS (AND ACCEPTS) THAT HE HAS A RAGING MOMMY KINK, MUCH THANKS TO YOU.

PAIRING: SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY x CURVY!FEM!READER

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ | Mommy kink; VIRGIN!SIMON; some physical descriptions of Reader; dom/sub dynamics; cussing; strangers to lovers; hurt/comfort; eventual smut [Please mind the warnings for each part!]

➥ BASED ON THIS BLURB × | [ SPP MASTERLIST ]

It’s Saturday, his first day off base since returning from a three month long deployment just the day before yesterday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly like no one ever has before while he’s minding his business and checking out the new flavours of instant Ramen noodle cups.

And his spine goes rigid, when you suddenly address him directly.

“Big lad like you needs a proper meal,” you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. “In my humble opinion.” You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.

Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, immediately checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.

His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a “Have a good day, love,” and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.

By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.

And he doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling in this moment as his body decides to act on autopilot, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.

Oh, perhaps this time, Simon’s going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping that maybe, you’ll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.

He follows you discreetly through the supermarket like a man on a never-ending mission, silently stalking like a cat in a mouse chase down the aisles. His eyes are locked on you like a heat-seeking missile, noting every move you make, watching how every step sways your curves in the right fashion, nearly causing him to run into a display rack at his momentary distraction.

He nearly growls when some random bloke blocks his path to you and to ask you a question on top of that. He doesn’t quite manage to pick up the words, but it’s enough for him to clench his jaw and tighten his grip on the abused instant noodles cup. A deep huff escapes from behind his balaclava, and he resumes his discreet surveillance as soon as the man saunters his merry way.

Simon watches as you throw a pack of biscuits into the cart, your body turned away from him, your back facing him while you lean over. His eyes land on your round, firm rear like a magnet drawn to the iron. He can almost see the way your muscles move under the jeans fabric—

His thoughts are rudely interrupted when an elderly woman approaches the same shelf, and he has to step into the next aisle and pretend to browse, stomach twisting as he loses visuals on you.

As the woman moves her squeaky cart on wheels down the lane, his eyes flicker nervously before he catches sight of you again, chest heaving with a sigh of relief as he sees you browsing the frozen goods section, and his fingers twitch around the plastic cup, itching to touch you, to grab your hips and grind himself against—he shakes his head with a low grunt, trying to rid himself of that thought. He's already painfully hard enough.

It’s wrong, Simon knows that. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t use his skills to basically stalk you for making a nice, yet throwaway remark in his direction, but he somehow can’t keep his eyes off your body, his gaze glued to your every move—until you obviously pick up on the surveillance.

You do notice him. He’s like a looming shadow sneaking after your own, and for a moment, you wonder if you should’ve just kept your mouth shut for once when you’d spotted him initially.

He’s built like a bloody tank, wearing a balaclava and matching gloves with a skeleton pattern. What the bloody hell were you thinking?

All bark, no bite. That’s what you were thinking, and Wonder if he’s as tough as he looks or if he crumbles like a fresh scone with a few buttery words—like many other “scary dog privilege” men before him.

Slowing your steps, you eventually come to a stop, heart thudding as you glance over your shoulder, only to see him a few feet away, staring right back at you in a way that’s as adorable as it is eerie.

Simon’s feet freeze on the spot, his gaze locking with yours across the freezer cabinets, eyes wide. He didn’t expect to be discovered so easily, and he stands there like a deer caught in the headlights of a Humvee with an RPG attached to it—that he hopes will shoot him on sight.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly under the fabric of the balaclava, his mind racing for an excuse, a reason, though he comes up with nothing. The seconds feel like hours as the two of you stare at each other, before he finally blurts out:

“I...” His voice is hoarse, a low grumble that betrays his own surprise.

Oh. You almost laugh out loud at the sight before you, though you manage to suppress it, lips pursing in amusement instead.

No bark, no bite, actually.

He looks like an awkward little boy who’s been caught with his hand in the secret candy drawer in the living room.

“Yes, you?” you ask teasingly, wanting him to continue, to stammer and try to come up with a proper yet easily punishable lie. Raising an eyebrow, you turn towards him fully, keeping one hand on the shopping cart while your other rests on the curve of your hip casually.

“Well?”

Simon’s brain short-circuits as he desperately tries to come up with a plausible excuse, but all his mind supplies is a loop of caught, caught, caught like a broken record while he merely stands there like a fish washed out on the shore. He clears his throat awkwardly and straightens up, attempting to look innocent.

“I... I was just... uh...” he stammers, his voice wavering as the words refuse to come out. He mentally curses his lack of social skills, the years of isolation making him stumble like some twonk.

“Just doing some shopping,” he eventually mutters gruffly, his eyes flitting away from your gaze for a moment before darting back, unable to resist another look. There’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, mixed with a tinge of embarrassment.

You nod slowly. “Doing some shopping,” you repeat, amusement glinting in your eyes as you glance down at the single cup of instant Ramen he’s still clutching in his hands like a lifebuoy. “Right.”

You notice how utterly still he is; no shuffling, no fidgeting, broad chest barely moving as he breathes, dark eyes flickering the slightest bit whenever your gaze catches his.

He’s a different breed of man, that one, you muse.

Clicking your tongue, you shift on your feet. “You call that shopping?” You nod your chin at his hands. “Like I said, you need to be fed a proper meal, love. Is your wife out of town or something?”

Simon bristles at your comment, his shoulders tensing as your words hit a nerve, a bit too close to home. He glances down at the cup of Ramen in his hands, feeling a mixture of shame and stubbornness.

The truth is that he’s so bloody touch–and attention-starved that your simple words, your simple presence, make him feel flustered, his frayed nerves now on edge.

“I don't have a wife,” he mutters, words edged with a hint of bitterness. He knows he’s being judged, but there’s a baser, hidden part of him that simply revels in the attention, in the fact that someone as classy and obviously put-together as you, has noticed him at all.

“And I can feed myself just fine.” He adds dryly, raising the cup defiantly as if to prove a point.

You swallow another pleased smile as he confirms what you've expected while the word brat burns on the tip of your tongue at this display of attitude.

Glancing back at your full shopping cart, you lick your lips briefly in thought, pondering and weighing the risks before looking back at him. He hasn’t moved an inch, simply keeps observing like you’re the odd ball here.

Pulling on the shopping cart, you slowly start walking backwards towards him, approaching like someone would a strange street dog.

“Tell you what,” you say as soon as you’re an appropriate distance away from him, and it’s then that you notice how tall and broad he truly this is up close. “If you help me carry these groceries to my car, I’ll cook you a proper dinner tonight.”

His mouth drops open, eyes wide and bewildered by your audacity. He simply stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, grappling with the unexpected situation. You’re trying to coax him with a treat like one would do with an animal to gain its trust, and Simon is furious about the tiny part inside his brain that’s thrashing to jump on this opportunity.

“You... You’re serious,” he finally manages to sputter, his brain struggling to process that you, that a woman like you, a stranger, is actually proposing this to someone like him.

“Why would you do that?” His eyes narrow in suspicion, though beneath the hardness of his expression, there’s a hint of curiosity, a hint of longing for a chance at this offered piece of normalcy.

Sensing his—understandable—apprehension, you give a small shrug in return, finally offering him a tentative yet genuine smile.

“Because you look like you could use it, love.”

You let your eyes roam once more, looking him up and down from boot to mask, heart giving a curious flutter as your gaze locks with his; tawny eyes so dark, you know you could get lost in them if he lets you in.

Then you reach into your purse slung over your shoulder and you notice how his broad shoulders tense and how his fingers flex as if he’s bracing himself for an attack.

As your hand disappears into your purse, Simon’s defensive instincts kick in automatically, his muscles coiling tightly in anticipation. His sharp senses on high alert, he blinks, slightly taken aback but not surprised by his own reaction, though he can’t help it; years of experience and survival training already hard-wired into his responses.

But he relaxes incrementally, when he sees you withdrawing your hand—now holding a purple ball pen and small note pad, and the sudden burst of adrenaline fades to a steady thrum in his veins as fast as it came.

“I...” he begins, but the words feel caught in his throat, his mind suddenly blank.

Covering his little slip-up with your own feigned nonchalance, you start scribbling away on the first blank page of your notepad before ripping it out and holding it out for him to take, thus offering a different treat—secretly hoping he’ll like this one.

“My name,” you explain, deciding that it might not be as self-explanatory as it would be for any other man you’ve previously met, “and my phone number.”

When he eventually takes the slip of paper with due care, his eyes keep flickering between your hand and face as if still expecting you to pull a gun on him, until you take a polite step backwards.

“Call or text me for that meal if you change your mind,” you add confidently.

Simon’s gaze follows your hand warily, taking the note from you with a slow, measured movement, his gloved fingers feeling uncharacteristically clumsy and uncoordinated as he grabs it. He stares at the slip of paper in his hand for a moment, brows furrowing behind his balaclava as he takes in the sight of your phone number and name written in neat, cursive handwriting, reading the words slowly in an almost mechanical manner, committing them to memory as a precaution.

His fingers twitch involuntarily, and for a wild, fleeting moment, he wants to raise the paper to his nose and inhale the faint scent of your perfume that clings onto the paper. And then you take a step backward, giving him space, and he takes an unconscious step forward, like a puppet on a string, not wanting to put that space between you again while his eyes stay glued to yours with a touch of desperation.

You’re leaving the ball in his corner and he doesn’t know how what to think, how to act.

As you adjust the straps of your purse on your shoulder, you drink in his subtle reaction with a mixture of sympathy and glee.

“Alright then?”

Simon watches in awe as you readjust your purse like it’s the most interesting action he’s ever seen, and when he opens his mouth to respond, his thoughts tumble over each other like leaves in a breeze. A simple yeah or a sure would’ve been the logical answers, but none of this is logical to him right now.

“You’re not worried,” he observes, the words nearly sounding accusatory, “about having a stranger over for dinner?”

He almost wants to call you daft, reckless; giving a man like him your number and name, offering your kindness up so easily. Can’t you tell what kind of man he is? Don’t you know what he can do with the intel you’ve already provided him with so willingly?

Simon wants to reach out and shake you, but his fingers are trembling and his cock is still throbbing, still semi-hard in his pants—and he can’t quite tell which is worse.

There’s a long pause between you as you regard his question with a light crease between your eyebrows, and you catch yourself wondering again what this poor man could’ve possibly been through for him to be this bloody suspicious.

From your experience, almost every other man would’ve jumped on this opportunity already, presented on a silver plate. You’ve been flirting with him since you spotted him entering the supermarket. However, you can only admit to yourself that his cautious reactions are merely heightening your curiosity and the urge to unravel this beast of a man completely.

“Most people start out as strangers,” you answer eventually, gauging his next reaction carefully, “and usually one takes the initiative to get to know the other if they’re interested, you know?” You flash him a disarming smile. “This is me taking that initiative here, mister.”

He takes a step forward, invading your personal space, and the height difference between you two becomes more painfully (arousingly) clear. Simon towers over you, his body vibrating with suppressed tension while he looks down at you with a stare that usually has his rookies quiver in their boots—not you, though.

“And what if I’m not interested?” he responds too bluntly and not as playful as he intended to, his voice lowered, nearly growling at you. He’s picked up on how other men talk to women at pubs, has eavesdropped and heard how Soap and Gaz talk to the birds they end up taking back to the barracks, and yet he can’t quite get his own tone right.

He certainly doesn’t like the fact that you’re making his heart race, that you’ve piqued his curiosity without even trying. It feels unfamiliar, dangerous, and somehow, he finds himself craving more of it in the same heartbeat.

Tilting your head owlishly, you regard him with a half-puzzled, half-amused look.

“Then I'll go on my merry way, love,” you reply with a breathy chuckle that obviously leaves him feeling even more lost judging how his eyes widen. “And then we move on after having a basic human interaction at a supermarket. Life’s beautiful, innit?”

Something about the way you talk, with the casual pet name, ‘love’, thrown in every second sentence, or the way your laugh makes his skin prickle in some foreign, exciting way, drives him mad with primal want and the unfamiliar urge to keep you here with him, keep you talking.

But he also feels like a damn fool in this moment, and on top of that, his face feels so hot under his balaclava, too. You’re not reacting the way he expects you to, not at all, and it’s throwing him off-guard.

He clears his throat again. “You’ll just... move on,” he repeats incredulously, like it pains him to say the words. “Just like that.”

You shrug, flashing another smile. “I mean... yes. What else is there to do? I’m not running after a man who’s not interested in me. I’m too old for games like that.”

Simon’s eyes narrow again. The thought of you giving up so easily, leaving, not even giving him a second thought—it pisses him off, for some reason, because it’s making him desperate. How the bloody hell does Garrick make it sound so easy and suave every time?

“How old are you?” The words burst out without him meaning to, his tone still gruff and defensive.

You snort softly. He’s so bratty, so rude, it’s almost endearing for a man looking like him, and it pokes your curiosity, causing the urge to take care of him to blossom even more hotly behind your ribcage as you drink up the tension in his body and fatigue clinging behind his wary, bottomless gaze.

“Old enough to know what I want, love.” It’s a curt response that has the desired effect judging by the way his jaw ticks under his odd mask. You smile again as you put the pen and notepad back into your purse, turning halfway around to your shopping cart to signal your departure.

“Anyway... my ice cream is melting, so I’ll be heading to the cashier. Thanks for the chat. You have a good day now.”

Just like that.

Simon is reeling internally as you prepare to leave, and he can’t help but admire the subtle power you wield with the way you carry yourself and the nonchalance you display so bloody effortlessly. Suddenly, he is torn between letting you go and the fierce need for you to not walk away. His chest tightens and his fingers twitch, and he suddenly feels like a child lost in this bloody supermarket, scared of being abandoned again.

However, he swallows the plea festering on the tip of his tongue, the words asking you to wait, stay, and talk more. No, Simon falls back, clutching the bloody Ramen cup in one hand as he stares after you while you simply move on like you said you would, as if you didn’t just throw him off balance completely with this whole interaction.

When his other hand balls into a tight fist, he hears the crumpling of paper, and when he glances down at his open palm, his heart nearly drops with relief.

You’ve given him your number. He’s never gotten a girl’s number in his life.

It was real. It is real. Everything that just happened is real, and he wasn’t simply daydreaming it up this time.

His fingers close around that scrap of paper like a life line, his mind racing once more with possibilities, the scenarios, the what-ifs.

[teapartyprincess4two]

Talkative- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Yapper!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: SFW & NSFW headcannons

inspiration: request

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship

summary: head cannons of Matt with a talkative, yapper girlfriend!

Talkative- C. Sturniolo (Chris’s Version)

Talkative- N. Sturniolo (Nick’s Version)

—

☆ SFW

It’s no secret that you love to talk, you can ramble on about topic after topic and never run out of things to say. Matt loves listening to you, whether you’re retelling your day or just discussing a topic you find interesting.

☆ you always ask him rhetorical questions in between your stories, “Okay, but can you believe she said that?” But you never give him enough time to respond.

☆ he just nods his head and hums in response, confused with all the characters of the story.

☆ when you’re watching a movie you always start asking questions about the characters or commenting on the scene.

☆ “why did they do that?” or “wow that’s a cute dress, I really like that.”

☆ most times he responds just so you know he’s listening, but other times he’ll ignore you because he’s too immersed in the movie.

☆ “Y/n I don’t fucking know, this is my first time watching this movie too,” and “That is a cute dress, baby. You’d look nice in it.”

☆ you’re ALWAYS last to finish your meal, mostly because you keep talking in between bites.

☆ he listens intently, responding in between mouthfuls of food with small “uh huh’s” and “yup’s.”

☆ by the end of your stories you’re usually not hungry anymore, so he eats your leftovers while you start yet another story.

☆ when you guys go through drive throughs he knows to just sit as far back into the drivers seat as possible.

☆ you’re leaning over him, chatting with the worker and somehow managing to learn their whole life story before you can even order.

☆ or when you’re going somewhere new and he needs the GPS you’ll constantly talk over it

☆ after missing like five exits, he begins to find it annoying

☆ “Babe, shhhhh,” he’ll smother your mouth with his hand while he grips the wheel with the other.

☆ that never stops you though, you just mumble from behind his hand.

☆ you’re such a good story teller that he can imagine everything you say.

☆ your stories have him dying of laughter, and it’s even funnier that you don’t laugh, you just continue telling the stories like normal.

☆ by the end of your story his face and ribs hurt from laughing so much, “Holy fuck that was hilarious.”

☆ when you say outlandish things he stares at you in shock, “Y/n! You can’t say that!”

☆ you just stare at him blankly and continue voicing your opinions.

☆ he looks at anyone who tells you to shut up with the ugliest, meanest stank face.

☆ you talk to EVERYONE whether it be in the checkout line in the grocery store or in the waiting room at the doctors office.

☆ Matt just turns away for one second and then when he looks back at you, you’re talking to an elderly lady and walking in the complete opposite direction.

☆ “Aw Matt, she said her cat died.”

☆ “Y/n, the cashier asked for your card.”

☆ “Oh, right! So sorry about that-”

☆ “You know what? I’ll pay for it,” he cuts you off before your rambling can distract you again.

☆ on the odd days that you’re quiet, he’ll know somethings wrong.

☆ you’re just sitting on the couch, scrolling through Netflix on the TV or typing away mindlessly on your laptop.

☆ “What’s wrong with you?” he says abrasively, like if he’s upset that you’re quiet.

☆ you’ll just shake your head, choosing to remain silent.

☆ “Did somebody do something to you? Why are you so quiet?” he’s ready to fight whoever made you upset.

☆ “I’m just tired,” you mumble, followed with a quick shrug.

☆ He doesn’t pry, he just lays with you and waits until your mood picks up so he can listen to more stories.

☆ if he ever starts telling someone a story you’re quick to interrupt, “no that’s not what happened!”

☆ he playfully rolls his eyes and lets you take the spotlight.

☆ NSFW

Although Matt loves listening to you talk, sometimes it becomes too much. So, he has to get creative and think of ways to shut you up.

☆ the movie is getting good and you won’t stop talking, asking about the characters and the storyline.

☆ next thing you know you’re on your knees with Matt’s dick in your mouth.

☆ he’ll let you do all the work as he continues to watch the movie in silence.

☆ sometimes you’re a little too friendly with strangers.

☆ Matt’s not usually the jealous type, but he knows that guys get the wrong idea when you’re talking to them and that they mistake your friendliness for flirting.

☆ he’ll pull you away and take you to a secluded area, “we gotta go.”

☆ “Wait but I wasn’t finished talk-“

☆ “we gotta go, Y/n.”

☆ then he’s fucking you and making you talk to him through it, “C’mon, I thought you weren’t finished talking.”

☆ you’re forced to babble your way through it, each thrust fogging your brain more and more.

☆ other times he’ll let you use your words to praise him.

☆ like when he’s eating you out, he just wants to hear you say how good he’s doing.

☆ “Yes, baby, right there. You’re making me feel so good.”

☆ after, he’ll make you ride him and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

☆ “You feel so good, baby. So big, I can’t take it.”

☆ your words are always enough to send him into a frenzy.

☆ he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and bucking into you until he cums.

☆ when you guys are done having sex, he’ll cuddle into your side and lay his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

☆ these are the moments when he talks and you just listen, only chiming in occasionally.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

YAP 🗣️YAP 🗣️YAP🗣️

thank you for this request I luv that I’m cementing my legacy as a certified yapper 😏

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[naamahdarling]

I honestly don't know how to begin explaining how deeply worrisome the funding freeze is despite it being blocked in court.

Not much news is out there yet. Nobody seems to know what the fuck is happening. It's doing it's job, sowing chaos, fear, and despair.

Already, it's looking like a lot of critical agencies are going to be freezing operations (saw rumblings about possibly the EPA) until their shit can be audited to make sure it complies with this administration's efforts to start morally sanitizing things by first going after any program that supports trans people and reproductive rights.

They're literally bribing federal employees to quit -- saying that if federal employees leave their jobs before Feb. 6, they get 7 months' pay to do so. The loss of staff (and possible FIRING of staff after that date) and their inevitable replacement with people loyal to this administration is going to affect programs like SNAP and Social Security EVEN THOUGH they are exempt from the wider freeze. This is going to cause a lot of problems. This is going to make it easier to go after these programs in the future, by weakening them from within.

Don't give up.

Speak up, make calls, yes your voice matters in red states because PEOPLE THERE RELY HEAVILY ON FEDERALLY FUNDED PROGRAMS THAT HAVE NOT BEEN EXEMPTED.

Kids, the elderly, the disabled, the unhoused, the sick, NEED YOU to speak up. NOW.

Wanna help trans kids? Push back to make sure this doesn't get worse while you work to get that shit straightened out. They aren't going to be HELPED if their families can't get SNAP because the portal is down or there's no one to process applications, or their housing funding from a small org gets tied up, and they get evicted.

We can affect this. If your calls and protestations can help even ONE local program, like Meals on Wheels, stay secure, you have done something absolutely vital. And make no mistake, we are going to have a LOT of allies on the red side in this. That's why I think we can make a difference and slow things down. Which, yes, is still a victory. Make peace with that, hope for a massive change, be satisfied delaying their efforts.

Learned helplessness needs to go out the window. Take some time to get over the first reaction and get your feet under you. Then move.

[sketching-fox]

Super excited to share that I have residency as an artist for Stands Shop on their Fanfaire site.

I've posted two unique pieces for this project (Good Omens and Castiel). I hope you love them!!!

Fanfaire Site

We will be donating a portion of every purchase to Meals on Wheels, an organization that helps the elderly have access to nutritious meals.

[mugiwara-lucy]

As if that deranged orange pedophile FUCKING the GLOBAL economy wasn't bad enough; him and his Muskrat sidekick have SLASHED MEALS ON WHEELS:

Do you fucking realize how many LOW INCOME, ELDERLY AND DISABLED PEOPLE WILL GO HUNGRY BECAUSE OF THIS?!?!

I am so fucking mad right now. And the MAGAs have the BALLS to cheer on their death of USAID and say "It's time for America to take care of Americans" and "America First!". How the FUCK is this America first??

And Shitbreak and Muskrat have the AUDACITY to go on Fox News and cry about people not liking them? Yeah when you MISMANAGE a pandemic, cut USAID that has led to NUMEROUS OVERSEAS DEATHS as well as slashing THOUSANDS of jobs; yeah people won't be nice to you and I HOPE you lose EVERYTHING you fucking Ketamine junkie.

And while ALL this destruction is going on? Shitbreak's USELESS, RAPING, "I would date my daughter" ass is GOLFING:

What the fuck is he good for again?

This summer.....shit is REALLY gonna hit the fan.

[mariacallous]

The Social Services Block Grant (SSBG) may be eliminated in the reconciliation process. This issue brief describes the block grant, its history and funding levels, and how those funds are used by states. On many occasions, Republicans have endorsed block grant funding as the ideal funding structure to provide monies to states. 

The SSBG, also known by many as Title XX (Title Twenty), is a federal financing structure that directs funding to states and local governments to help support a variety of social services serving low-income children and older adults. The SSBG has been through numerous legislative changes since the 1950s, going from an entitlement to a block grant. The two most notable features of this block grant are: flexibility, directing states to govern their programs; and its fixed annual funding levels, which are not adjusted for inflation. If SSBG federal funding is eliminated or substantially reduced, it is unlikely that states will increase their own funding levels for the programs that the grant currently supports. Consequently, low-income families will bear the brunt of funding reductions.

The SSBG has already been drastically cut in funding as well, slashed from its highest level of nearly $3 billion in 1979 to $1.7 billion in 2025, a cut of about 43%.1 If adjusted for inflation and child and elderly poverty, there has been an 89% reduction.2

While SSBG funding has decreased over the last 70 years, the critical need for these services and funding within states remains. SSBG funding covers programs that support eight high-level service areas (HSLAs): child welfare, self-sufficiency, counseling and support, special services for disabled individuals, daycare for children, vulnerable and elderly adults (including home-delivered meals, known as “Meals on Wheels”), health services, and additional housing, legal, and prevention services.3 The total SSBG expenditures of $2.66 billion in 2022 served about 20 million individuals, representing 9.2 million children and 11 million adults.4 The SSBG is critical in funding child welfare infrastructure and represents on average 10% of federal child welfare funding through child protective services and foster care, and constitutes even larger portions of child welfare funds in specific states.5 Older adults receive another significant portion of SSBG funding, with $237 million allocated to supporting older adults through adult daycare and other services intended to prevent extensive and expensive hospitalization and nursing home visits.6

This brief explores the historical and current impact of legislative and budgetary decisions on the SSBG and why proposed cuts could be harmful to low-income families and the valuable services that the SSBG provides.

[keystonecare]

Healthy meals on wheels for seniors in Benton county Iowa, Tama county Iowa. Meals on wheels volunteer, meals on wheels for the elderly at $6.00 per meal. Enjoy home delivered meals service for seniors over the lunch hour.

[persephinae]

I also get bombarded with news articles about all the shit our shit government is doing on my work computer, despite diligently blocking ma//ga articles, and these people have no fucking empathy or common sense.

The government disbanded the department that funds meals on wheels and helping people in need with their heating bills, and these people have made up a guy to be pissed off at and they're not going to ever stop being mad at them as they shout "GET A JOB" at programs designed to help the elderly and those who lost their jobs due to sickness/cancer etc

They made up some "black welfare queen/poor white trash" in their minds and by God, they're going to punish that person

Imagine screaming at some 90 yo and telling them to get a fucking job or just fucking die already

They never imagine a world where they're in the wrong and have no empathy or compassion, but also never think about the fact that they could be in that position some day.

It hurts my heart that so many people are needlessly suffering because of these assholes

[aishangotome]

Ellis Twilight: Chapter 11

Chapter 10 Premium Story

--I didn't have any more nightmares until I woke up the next morning.

Kate: "Thank you."

I express my gratitude in sign language to the maid who helped me change clothes.

(I'm glad Ellis taught me.)

The servants at Crown Castle are all deaf.

Ellis had told me that they are thoroughly vetted to prevent them from being exposed to information that could endanger their lives.

Considering my own situation, which I accidentally stumbled upon, it made sense that they would limit their hiring pool.

Maid: "You're welcome. Please let us pamper you, especially when you're injured."

Maid: "Kate used to do everything herself, from dressing to cleaning..."

Maid: "From now on, please let me help you more."

The maid said this with a bright smile and hand gestures, then left the room with a smile, carrying a basket containing my nightgown and sheets.

(My leg... is it still swollen?)

Pain shoots through me when I move it, and I can't help but grimace.

Just then, there's a knock from the door that had just closed, and--

Ellis: Good morning, Kate.

It was Ellis who peeked his head in.

Kate: Ellis! Good morning. Yesterday--

I was about to say "I'm sorry" but then I remembered him telling me "no apologies."

Kate: ...Thank you for everything.

Ellis: You're welcome. Did my magic work?

*flashback*

Ellis: ...Want me to cast a spell for you to have good dreams?

*back to present*

My forehead, where Ellis's lips touched yesterday, feels slightly warm.

(It was a sensation that seemed to repaint the anxieties that had turned my heart gray with warm colors.)

I felt like there was more to it than that, but...

I pretended not to notice and gently tucked away the feelings that couldn't be put into words.

Kate: Yeah, it worked perfectly! Thanks to you, I slept soundly.

Ellis: That's good.

(Ellis seems more energetic than yesterday, too.)

I'm relieved that the anxious and somewhat precarious atmosphere I saw in him last night has faded.

Ellis: Well then, let's go.

Kate: Go? Where... and what's that?

I lower my gaze to see Ellis holding something unfamiliar in both hands.

Ellis: A secret weapon.

-

Sunlight streamed through the glass arches, casting vivid shadows on the ground. This was Leadenhall Market, the oldest market in London.

Ellis: I said I'd bring you your meal, but... since it's such nice weather, I thought it might be nice to eat outside.

Ellis: We promised to go out for something delicious, too. And... how's the ride?

Kate: It's really... how do I put it, this is...

Ellis's "secret weapon" smoothly glided through the market with me on board. It was a contraption I had never seen before, like a chair with wheels attached.

Kate: It's so effortless, it almost feels like cheating...

Ellis: ...Hehe. You're so serious, Kate.

His laughter, pushing the "secret weapon," reached me from behind, and I glanced back at him.

Kate: You'll understand once you ride it too, Ellis.

Even at my accusing gaze, Ellis just smiled.

Ellis: Well then, maybe I'll have you push me around once you've recovered.

Kate: ! You said it! It's a promise.

Ellis: Yeah, it's a promise.

Ellis, laughing cheerfully, pushed the "secret weapon," or rather, the "wheelchair," through the market. This vehicle wasn't very common yet, but I heard it was a tool being developed as a means of transportation for injured or elderly people.

Kate: How did you get your hands on such a rare thing so quickly?

Ellis: I made it.

Kate: You made it!?

(Something this complex, bigger than a chair and with wheels?)

I blinked, and Ellis tilted his head, giving me an ambiguous smile.

Ellis: A long time ago... I researched a lot, so I remembered how to do it.

The chair was comfortable, soft, and the wheels turned smoothly. It was so comfortable that I couldn't believe it was something you could buy.

Kate: Why did you research so much? Did someone get hurt?

Ellis: Hm? Ah... yeah.

He usually tells me a lot when I ask, but for some reason, Ellis hesitated a little and--.

Ellis: ............

He finally fell silent, and I looked up, worried. But from this angle, looking up at him from below, I couldn't see his expression clearly.

(What kind of face is Ellis making right now...?)

Ellis didn't seem to notice my gaze.

(Usually, he would notice right away and meet my eyes...)

He was staring blankly ahead, and he was definitely acting differently than usual.

(...Maybe it was a painful memory.)

The face I saw last night – anxious, as if he was in pain himself – suddenly flashed through my mind.

(I shouldn't have asked so casually.)

It's frustrating that I don't know how to make him smile, the one who makes me smile more than anyone else.

I stopped pursuing the matter further, returned my gaze forward, and felt the vibrations of the wheels against the ground when – I suddenly realized.

(Amazing...)

(To maneuver a wheelchair through such a crowded town without bumping into anything or making sudden turns...)

As if by magic, the wheelchair weaved through the market.

Kate: ...Even when you're lost in thought, you're so kind, Ellis.

Ellis: ………… Huh?

Kate: Not making it sway too much to avoid making me feel sick, not going over bumps too quickly to avoid hurting me...

Kate: I can tell just by riding it, from every movement of the chair.

Ellis: ............

I smiled at him, surprised with wide eyes, and faced forward again.

(Oh... this is really troubling.)

I should have known that the way Ellis looked at me that day at the picnic wasn't like that.

(It's hard not to fall for someone like him.)

I swallowed the feelings that were faintly aching deep in my chest, the feelings I knew would be crushed before they could blossom.

Right now, I just wanted Ellis to smile.

That's why--.

Kate: I still feel a little guilty for being pampered like this, but...

Kate: I'm happy to be taken care of like this.

I leaned back against the backrest, closed my eyes, and surrendered myself to the ride.

Kate: I'm having so much fun going out with you, Ellis.

(To respond to Ellis's kindness, wishing for my happiness...)

(I'm sure the best way is to convey 100% of the happiness I'm feeling.)

Perhaps my feelings reached him, because a smile returned to Ellis's face.

Ellis: ………… Yeah.

Ellis: I'm happy to be out with you too, Kate.

I felt his gaze on me from behind, and I looked up slightly to see his slightly long bangs swaying.

Ellis: Shall we go for a walk after we eat?

Kate: But Ellis, what about your work?

Kate: Speaking of which, is it okay for you to be away from Jude right now?

According to the schedule I noted in my notebook, he should still be working today.

Ellis: I'm taking a break from assisting the president for a while.

Kate: Does that mean... I'm causing you trouble?

Ellis: Not at all. I wanted to do this.

Ellis: Jude also told me to take responsibility and look after you.

Kate: Eh!? Jude said that...?

Ellis: Yeah. Jude was also there when you got hurt.

Ellis: Maybe lending me to you is Jude's way of taking responsibility.

Indeed, from the beginning, Jude had told Ellis, "You got her involved, so you deal with the consequences."

In the sense of "not being indebted," I had come to understand that Jude, despite being an arrogant sadist, was a man of his word.

So, it made sense that he would tell Ellis to look after me.

(The kidnapping case has been solved, and there's no work or missions for a while.)

(Resting with Ellis until my injury heals...)

(--Somehow, that sounds...)

Ellis: It's like a vacation just for the two of us.

Kate: ...!

I jumped in my chair when he whispered in my ear from behind.

Kate: Oh, you're saying that again.

Ellis: I thought we were thinking the same thing... Were we not?

Ellis laughed cheerfully and tilted his head.

Kate: ...You got it.

Ellis: Hehe, I knew it.

(If he doesn't like me and we're not lovers, then...)

(Ellis is... a perplexing person.)

Sunlight glittered down on us as we looked at each other.

Ellis: Maybe I'll just enjoy this as a regular vacation with you.

Ellis: After lunch, is there anywhere you'd like to go?

(Since we're here, I'd like to go somewhere I haven't been with Ellis yet, but...)

Kate: Hmm... Nothing comes to mind right away.

Ellis: Then, shall we go wherever the path takes us?

Streaks of light enveloped Ellis like a staircase ascending to heaven.

Kate: Wherever?

Ellis: Yes, that's right. Wherever, until all your dark feelings are blown away.

After a late brunch at a lovely restaurant, we walked aimlessly.

We window-shopped, passed by sparkling green parks,

a riverbank bustling with boats, a towering temple, and many other sights...

Engrossed in conversation, we somehow arrived at the outskirts of London before we knew it, but we didn't want to stop moving forward.

Ellis: We've reached the top.

Kate: Wow...!

It was a meadow filled with vibrant flowers as far as the eye could see.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet scent of flowers and the warmth of the setting sun.

Ellis: What do you think?

Kate: It feels amazing...!

Ellis: Yeah, I think so too.

Our eyes met briefly, and Ellis gave a mischievous smile--and spun the "secret weapon" around in a wide circle.

Kate: Whoa!

Kate: Ah, did you just... play a little prank on me?

Ellis: ...Did I get caught?

Ellis: You looked so cute having fun, I couldn't help but tease you a little.

(Ah...)

(...He makes that kind of face too, huh?)

It felt like an expression I'd never seen before, and my heart pounded uncontrollably.

(Is Ellis surprisingly mischievous?)

"Ellis's emotions and desires are a secret" –– I recalled the words Roger once told me.

I felt like the lid of that secret box had just slid open a little, and I caught a glimpse of what was inside.

(I want to see more. But... it's also a little scary.)

Because if I discover any more new sides to Ellis... If I fall for him any more than this, it'll be troublesome.

Ellis: I'm sorry, was that scary?

Kate: No! Because I know you're in control, Ellis.

Ellis: ......

Kate: Just like you said, all my dark feelings have been blown away.

Ellis: I see... That's good.

As we gazed at the scenery for a while, the sun, burning like a ball of fire, sank into the cityscape, which looked like a silhouette.

(What a beautiful twilight...)

I wanted to keep watching this scenery with him forever, but with each blink, the sky turned into the colors of night.

Kate: ...But, we should head back soon.

(The day went by so quickly.)

It felt like the peaceful, calm, and happy time was melting into the night.

(It's a little sad...)

Ellis: We don't have to go back.

Kate: Eh...?

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 12

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to leave me a tip here or buy me a coffee through the "Leave a Tip" button on my navigation bar!

[minosbull]

Disgusting. Depraved. Unpardonable.

[savage-daughter-of-nikitie]

So next on the chopping block, Meals On Wheels and LAHEAP (a program that provides money to help pay heating bills for low income people in the winter.) It just gets more and more heartless and disgusting.

[orsinium-scholar]

For the ask meme, delayed burial?

They were a lovely couple, out here in the backroads of Whiterun. The elderly imperial and his pretty altmer wife had offered Larkash a hot meal and a hearth to sleep in on his travels in exchange for some chores, and with his horse currently halfway down the digestive tract of a troll, he had few options available anyway.

He was halfway through the bucket of peas he had to shell when he heard Curwe tsk under her breath.

"Oh...that little man is still out there..." she twitched the curtain aside, her face worried.

"What little man?" Larkash asked.

Vantus joined his wife at the window and scowled.

"Godsdammit! I told that pest no! He keeps pestering me to fix his bloody wagon wheel, but there's no chance I'm going near that thing. He says it's his mothers coffin, but there could be anything in that thing, and I'm not getting involved. And he creeps me out anyway..."

Larkash set down the basket of peas and cracked his neck.

"Let me talk to this fellow."

One hand on the handle of his dagger, he stepped outside.

He was a few paces away from the man, a small slim fellow in old fashioned jesters gear, when he looked up at Larkash, and Larkash.

Froze.

The fellow was short and fine boned, a back he could have broken easily, but the eyes were the eyes of a mad thing, the eyes of the frail man at the bar who everyone avoided like death, who would kick and gouge and bite and stab long after anyone would have accepted defeat, the eyes of someone who was no stranger to cruelty and pain.

This little jester was a problem.

"Are you...alright?"

"Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! Stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving. At rest, but too still!"

Larkash flinched at the shrill, squeaky voice.

"Pardon?"

"Poor Cicero is stuck. Can't you see? I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well, not her. Her corpse! She's quite dead. I'm taking mother to a new home. A new crypt. But... aggh! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke! Don't you see?"

The little man...Cicero? Began to dance a shuffling little jig out of frustration. Larkash's keen ears heard the soft clink of metal under his absurd jesters garb. Unbidden, his eyes moved to the cart, where a heavy crate sat in the back. It was a...strange way to carry a corpse, shoved in a crate like that. Everything about this little creature was unsettling.

"Alright then...I'll just. Go and get you some help..."

The little fellow seemed delighted, and Larkash plastered a fixed grin on his face as he accepted an enthusiastic handshake.

(The coldness of sharp metal under the sleeve, the rictus in the smile...)

He fought the urge to back away slowly, forcing himself to turn and walk back towards the farm house like everything was fine.

The skin on his back felt like it was trying to crawl off.

Back in the cool farmhouse, he suddenly became aware he was soaked in sweat.

"Well?" The old farmer said. "Did you tell that little weirdo to push off?"

"Sir, let me ask you this...do you really want that man still hanging around your house when it gets dark?"

Silence fell over the farmhouse.

"...Curwe, get my tools from the shed."

.....

Hours later, Cicero was gone, riding down the dusty roads on his newly repaired wagon wheel. Larkash watched him go, hardly daring to blink until his cart was gone, the coins he'd been paid left on the table. He refused to touch them, who knew where they'd come from?

He slept lightly that night, hand on his hammer as his sharp ears strained for any sound out of the ordinary, just in case the little man came back.

It was hard to admit, in the dead of night, that he'd been in more danger he'd ever been in his entire life that day.

[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

You are mine, I’ve been drowning in you

★ Chapter 1 of 15, 4283 words

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ warnings: none

— 17 April, 2018

The wheels on the metal cart Este struggled to push were in dire need of some grease. She winced at the loud squeaking noise it made, as her shoulders jumped up to soften the blow to her ears. It was decades old, the shop’s equipment, so Este was used to it. Bubbles emerged underneath the orange carpet as it bunched up and refused to let the heavy product across the store. 

Nietzsche, Seneca, and Aurelius were just a few of the dozens of surnames sitting before her already drooping eyes, waiting patiently to return to the philosophy section on the quiet Tuesday morning. A seven-in-the-morning start time was odd for Este, as she had grown accustomed to coming in past midday and closing up the shop in the evening. But, the night before, her boss rang her and begged her to come in bright and early; since he’d forgotten that his daughter's piano performance was a matinee. He promised to cover the evening for her instead.

Samuel, her boss, was the forty-something year old owner of Greenhouse Books who usually covered mornings. He only hired the once teenage Este in attempts to save the live plants scattered across his store, since he was horrible at caring for them himself, and customers started to complain. But almost eight years later, she loved nothing more than the musty smell of used literature, and lived a quiet, content life surrounded by it. 

The change of pace was bizarre. Sam almost always dealt with the non-fiction areas of the store. She felt oddly unfamiliar shelving what she had to that day, even with the years of experience under her belt. Her tan cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. Memoirs could be seen in her hands often but never philosophy, and the difficult to pronounce names didn't help her bare minimum knowledge on the genre. 

Nonetheless, she squeezed a final book by Camus into the tightly packed bay and turned to wheel the cart back across the now permanently rippled carpet. Yikes. She'd have to tell Sam to get it stretched again or maybe ask him to just quit putting so many books on each cart at once.

“Oh well,” she muttered and tucked a wavy strand of her black hair behind her ear. “It’ll add to the charm.” 

Interrupting the conversation Este was holding with nobody but herself, an elderly woman brushed through the front door.

“Good morning!” the woman exclaimed, smiling as she attempted to control her white hair that had been swept around by the Manchester wind.

“Morning! Watch your step, almost tripped on that ripple myself,” Este warned, perking up her voice to make a polite impression. 

Wrinkles appeared near the woman’s eyes as she laughed and thanked Este gratefully, before asking for the whereabouts of Louise Penny’s books. After outstretching her arm and pointing over to the mystery section, the still half-asleep 26-year-old stationed herself back behind the counter.

An inconsistent flow of customer interactions continued throughout the day before Este found herself closing the store for thirty minutes to eat her lunch and brew a quick coffee. She flipped the sign in the window to the side that read ‘closed’ and then pranced to the back room to start their Nespresso for an americano. Leftover Thai food from last night's takeaway was scarfed into her stomach as she decided to eat in her spot behind the counter, enjoying the sun streaming in instead of hiding in the back.

Watching people walk past Greenhouse on the pavement was her daily entertainment; but it quickly backfired as Este remembered that the people walking by could actually see her too. Some pairs of eyes lingered on her a bit too long—out of curiosity, Este assumed—and it made her feel a bit like a zoo animal. So, she thought it’d be best to finish her meal in the back room; but before she could get there, someone tugged on the door trying to enter. It was locked of course, but her pushover mentality jumped up to open it anyway. 

She hurriedly greeted the young man on the other side, mustering up an apology in her head. “I’m so sorry, I was just closed up for lunch! You’re welcome to come on in, I’m finishing up right away—”

He interrupted with a similar apologetic tone in his voice. “Oh—you’re on break! Please, no worries, I can come back another time. Enjoy your lunch!”

“Thank you, but I promise I don’t mind at all. Please come on in!” she argued, but he stepped backwards promptly and insisted on coming back later.

“I insist, you deserve your break. I’m sure this shop won’t disappear on me—no biggie. Seriously,” he finished, slipping his hand back into the pocket of his trench coat. 

Este looked at the tattoo poking out of his sleeve. It said ‘DAD’. She stopped herself from staring and shot him one last ‘thank you’ while a soft smile lit up his face.

She let out a breath after the nervous and slightly desperate exchange, watching the man walk away. I may as well have begged him to stay on my hands and knees... Este thought to herself and cringed. Her eyes lingered as he ran his fingers through his hair and jogged to cross the street to enter the Starbucks that sat opposite her. 

He could’ve read the sign, to be fair. 

— April 21, 2018

After that lonesome Tuesday shift, some relief accompanied Este through the week as her typical evening hours were welcomed back into her schedule. 

But, a pestering curiosity ate into Este's subconscious. She wondered if the 'DAD'-tattoo-having, lunch-break-interrupting guy ever came back in and whether he found what he was looking for. Maybe he had even more tattoos, and enjoyed reading Nietzsche, unlike her.

She always thought there was excitement within mystery. This fascination shined through with her habit of seeing intriguing strangers and creating little lives for them. Este did it all the time when meeting customers, since it was difficult (and far too existential) for her to conceptualise each person on Earth living a life just as thoroughly as her own. Were they not just entities who showed up to walk into her sight and then out of it again? How could they experience unique anxieties, have a favourite food, or dislike their mum's maiden name?

Este never had any luck accepting that reality, so she felt comfort through the creativity of just deciding what these strangers were like, using it as a way to pass time in the bookstore. She insisted that the Louise Penny woman from that early morning had countless amounts of cats, rarely leaving a stray on the street. She probably lived an eventful youth, travelling around the world, never having time for children, with the biggest sweet tooth known to humankind.

But he was different. Este struggled to pin any quirky and made-up attributes to the striking stranger. Nothing she stirred up in her mind felt like it fit. She began to think that maybe she was too curious to know the real answers to be able to come up with any make-believe ones. As rare as this struggle was for Este, the mere seconds-long interaction from earlier in the week slowly faltered from her memory.

✴

“It should arrive in, maybe, four to five business days. Can’t be sure with the post, though. Perfect. We’ll be in touch—my pleasure. Buh-bye.”

The blue Post-It note crumpled in her hand as Este finally made the last call on the order-in list Sam left for her. A sigh escaped her lips as she let herself relax into the bulk of her shift, only 45 minutes in so far.

She took a leisurely lap around the shop and dragged her fingertips over the greenery—some hanging, some sitting on any spare patch of carpet, others sprawled along the shelves—taking note of their growing crunchiness. Her eyes widened as she tried to recall the last time she’d watered them. It had been a while. Walking to the back, Este opened the leftmost cupboard in the kitchenette to grab their large glass pitcher.

Caring for the plants served as a great way to make the clock tick faster on a particularly slow day for Greenhouse. A customer would walk in no less than an hour after the previous one, and preferred to silently browse—Este's favourite type of shopper. But later, when she was due to close in a short half-hour, a pair of familiar eyes met hers through the front window.

Serving as a much more casual alternative to a trench coat, a bright yellow puffer jacket clad Matty this time around. He reached out a hand to try the door, similarly to his actions earlier in the week. Hesitating, he glanced over at the sign in the glass. It read ‘open’, thankfully, so he swung it wide and slid through. His curly hair slightly bounced back and forth as a memory of the awkward encounter came to the front of his mind, attempting to shake it out.

The last thing he wanted to do on his quick trip was to almost break and enter a locally praised small business. Good god, was that embarrassing, Matty thought.

After it happened, he waited in line at the Starbucks across the street and physically cringed—knowing that there was not a single chance he'd be stepping back into the shop on that same day. Enough damage to his ego had been done.

Every time he took a stroll through Manchester, to slow down the pace of his normally high-speed life, Greenhouse piqued his interest. Its charming energy inspired him to walk in a handful of times over the years; meeting the tall and bright blond owner with a small smile each time. So, he couldn't stop his feet from carrying him back down to the bookshop across from the Starbucks. 

Matty was certain that he had never seen that particular worker before he'd disturbed her lunch, despite shopping at Greenhouse in the past. He would’ve remembered the fullness of her cheeks and her wavy black hair. As his eyes graced her a second time, now in the glow of the few lamps illuminating the shop instead of the late morning natural brightness, he gave her an acknowledging (and apologetic) smile and nod.

Este recognized him instantly and waved her hand lightly. “Evening,” she said, her single dimple showing up as she sent a smile back.

“Evening,” he replied casually. “Do you guys have an essay section? I never know where to look.”

Racking her brain for any essay recommendations and finding none, she answered him. “Yeah! It's just in the left back corner over there,” she pointed. “Rather small though, we don't tend to receive many essays nowadays and I can't say I've read any myself.”

He glanced over to where she pointed and nodded his head in realisation, eyes travelling back to hers. Normally, Matty would head over silently and go about his night—but a sudden urge to hear her speak again took over, and his feet stayed in place. 

“Really? Not the essay type?”

“Not at all,” she shyly admitted, stepping out from behind the counter and deciding to go and show him the section herself. Este felt like he was striking a conversation with the intention of it lasting, so she chose to comply. Not that she needed much convincing. 

He had a certain amiability to him, and even with the limited interaction they'd had together, Este felt it radiate. His eyebrows rose in curiosity and she knew he was listening deeply to their light small talk, which they fell into with ease. More apologies for the momentous Tuesday lunch incident were spewed between them before they learned the other's favourite genres, and the reason Matty had never seen her in the shop before. He made a mental note to come in the evening again next time.

Este liked the few greys hiding in his curly hair and was jealous of his jacket, planning to ask him where it was from if he ever came back in again (since maybe it was too early for that kind of thing). The way he said 'em' instead of 'um' was silly.

Matty couldn't stop staring at her dimple and accidentally smiled back every time it appeared on the left side of her face. In the couple steps they took, he counted up the 4 times she reached to fidget with her necklace. He thought it was a dragonfly, but wasn't completely sure.

“Here they are.” Her eyes scanned the few dozen essay anthologies that sat on the shelves, rather dusty. “Honestly not sure if you'll find anything good here. Can't recall the last time I saw anyone even browsing the section,” she admitted bluntly with a smile, poking fun at his odd reading taste.

Este’s playfulness dragged the edges of his mouth upwards, with his slightly crooked teeth on display. 

“Thanks anyway,” he replied with a chuckle, but dragged his tone out—leaving space to let her finish his sentence, silently asking for her name.

She didn't quite get the memo, spouting a quick 'no worries' and flashing him another smile. Her eyes locked with his for a couple seconds as her body turned to lift a pile of books that were clearly out of place. Este had work to do, after all.

He wasn’t too concerned that he didn’t have a name to pair with her face, since he figured he’d remember her anyway. Keeping reserved on his time off, striking conversation wasn't something Matty often did—especially with strangers— but he felt strangely at home within the musty smelling book shop. Its warm lighting and orange carpet eased his eyes. It helped that he was entranced by its smiley staff, too.

Raising his finger to the shelf to help his eyes drag over the sideways book titles, he searched for something to read on the train back to London. He read them one by one. Something about evolution, something by Virginia Woolf. No, no. 

“Jesus is the Way: Essays on His Master Plan,” he read aloud to himself as he picked up and inspected the brown novel. “Definitely no.”

Wandering around the shelves after no luck with any essays, Matty turned on his phone to grab the time. He'd been inside Greenhouse for no more than 20 minutes, but had to get back to start packing for his early train ride the next morning. He picked at the skin surrounding his nail beds with his teeth, out of habit, as he decided whether he should say something to the girl behind the counter before leaving.

She had just finished moving the stack of books she had lifted earlier, the abundance of them taking a couple trips. The heavy lifting forced her to catch her breath after she was done, cheeks slightly flushed. Matty noticed the tinge of pink in them and observed the way it mixed with her tanned skin. A subtle anxiety crept behind his ears while he walked past the register, stopping right in front.

“You weren't lying, the essay selection here is actually pretty shite,” he joked to catch her attention.

Este laughed at herself and raised her hands in the air next to her shoulders. “I mean, I'm no liar.” Her eyebrows raised and she shrugged, hands still in the air, as if saying 'I told you so'. “Nothing else caught your eye?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Nope. Guess I'll just never read a book ever again. Thanks…” More sarcasm dripped from his voice as he hoped she'd fill in the space he left for her name, for a second time.

“Este,” she completed. “And hey, next time you should just have a better taste in books and then maybe you won't have to scour the essay section for something to read.”

Matty's quick wit shot a response back immediately, the friendly banter continuing. “I don't recall you offering any recommendations for me,” he argued.

A chuckle escaped her lips as her dimple appeared again, a smile brightening her face. 

Since he couldn't help it, he smiled right back. “I'm Matty, by the way.”

She studied the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and pictured them becoming more noticeable when he laughs. He seemed like the type to laugh with his whole body; like he felt things deeply.

“Well Matty, I'd be happy to recommend something of my taste if you could find an essay anthology that won't make me want to rip my hair out of boredom,” Este posed. 

He pointed at her, beginning to turn his body towards the door, his feet shuffling over.

“If that's a promise, then I'll be back.” Flashing another smile, Matty exited and ended the conversation there.

The door shut behind him as he let out a shaky breath, inhaling deeply for the first time in the past couple minutes. I should've said goodbye before leaving. Was saying that ‘I’ll be back’ weird? Was it creepy? he overthought. It was quite out of the blue to care so much about a short interaction with a stranger, but he found himself considering both what he did say and could have said to Este on his journey back.

As Matty stepped into his messy Airbnb, he thought about his itinerary for the following day and noticed a rare wave of dread tickling the back of his neck. After getting back to London, he'd be knee deep in work; likely living in the studio, pushing through the thick of writing and recording his third album. Out of context, four months sounded like plenty of time to finish it, but his trip back to his old stomping grounds—originally taken to bask in some calm before the storm—left a lot of space for thinking. The pressure was overwhelming.

Too much time spent diving through his own thoughts was never good for Matty. Things that he agreed were settled suddenly needed tweaking, making the newly 29-year-old eager to get back to work. The pure magnitude of it all was what he found himself to dread, the high expectations weighing on his conscience.His art only continued to explore genres (or the lack thereof), and fleeted with ambition—the only way to keep him sane—and the new instalment of The 1975 embraced that more than ever. 

It's far too early to be worried about criticism, Matty decided internally, trying to fit a fifth pair of shoes into his suitcase.

He considered the surprisingly effortless exchange he shared with Este just an hour previous to his last-minute packing, and how it was the first he initiated while on his own in a long while. For a moment, he had no record to worry about, or deadlines to meet, and enjoyed the simple company of another person. Through the stress of his industrious life, Matty had a habit of forgetting that the naivety of moments like those in Greenhouse Books is sometimes all he needs for a surge of inspiration. The Greenhouse girl served as a good reminder. 

A suddenly buoyant outlook for A Brief Inquiry accompanied Matty and his now fully zipped black luggage on the floor of his lounge. His tired hands reached for his phone and opened up Instagram, signing into his burner account, the official one still dormant and set to reactivate closer to the album release. The only intention he had on the social media app that night was to slyly search 'este' into his explore page, but none were the Este. 

Must be a couple of other Este’s on the internet, I guess, Matty thought.

Before bed that night, he laid his head on his pillow, as a small spark of motivation soothed the pressure of the coming future.

— May 31, 2018

“The couch definitely can't go in that corner,” Este argued. “Everyone would break their necks trying to watch the T.V.” She sipped on her tea, elbows propped behind her on the kitchen island. “Seriously, Cate, tell me how you can be a graphic designer without having even a slight eye for interiors. It's appalling, honestly.”

A moment of silence sat between the two flatmates as they looked at each other, Cate’s jaw hanging open. “How about you tell me how you can be such a bitch and still live under the same roof as me?” she fired back playfully. “I'm gonna strangle you one day.” Her hands rose, forming an imaginary chokehold as the two laughed some more.

Cate joined Este in the kitchen to see the same view of their living room, tilting her head. Their brand new couch sat awkwardly in the centre of the space, both of them failing to realise how big it was before buying it online. Sweat once glistened at both of their foreheads as they rearranged all of the furniture that sat in front of the T.V., attempting to find some sort of solution, and ultimately playing a game of living room Tetris to try and fit the couch somewhere.

They were so focused that they did it all in silence, only exchanging short phrases like ‘to your left, a couple of centimetres,’ and ‘hold that corner while I fix the rug’. But, after two hours of effort, the girls sat back to assess the damage and have a tea break.

“You know,” started Este. “Maybe this big project you're up for will earn you some extra cash and we can afford to get a new coffee table, too. That's really the issue here, honestly. It's awkward and bulky. We need a cute and dainty ovular one, or something, maybe the couch will fit then,” she suggested.

The red-haired girl raised her eyebrows. “You’ve found the culprit, babe. That coffee table needs to go.” Cate confirmed. “Might be a while for that merch collection to pay out, though. We haven’t even started it yet. Think we can survive with this gargantuan thing until September?”

“I guess we’ll have to.”

After they chose to ignore the furniture situation for the night, Este started bringing ingredients out of the cupboards to make herself dinner. She plonked a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs plonked onto the counter, with Cate watching in amusement. 

“Eggs? At 7:30pm?” Cate asked judgmentally.

“Listen, breakfast for dinner is normal for me. You should know this by now.” Este shrugged and flicked on their gas stove to start satisfying her hunger. “You ate already—and without me, so this is actually none of your business,” she said. 

A dash of oil was drizzled into the pan and Este stepped back to wait for it to heat up.

“Still think it’s weird.”

Este rolled her eyes. “You can quit judging me and divert that energy to being on AUX, if you don't mind. Been in a drought lately, just listening to the same stuff over and over,” Este suggested, getting most of her music recommendations from roommate’s much more eclectic taste. She handed over their JBL speaker that was sitting on the island, prompting Cate to pair her phone and fill the silence.

“I could say the exact same! What’s with the month of May? I’ve come across literally nothing new, or even remotely good,” she complained. “But hey, I think it’s Annie Mac time on Radio 1 right now. Maybe I’ll stick that on and she’ll give us some hope.”

Este flipped over her egg with a spatula and then pointed it at Cate, approving her good idea. “I trust that woman with my life, Cate. You know I’d never say no to my girl Annie,” she gushed. 

Cate laughed and put on the radio, the two falling into conversation about nothing in particular as Annie Mac spouted on about her hottest record of May.

“The whole song seems to be about you looking back, and the observations of growing older, and what you’re learning—and the lessons learned.”

“That’s true.”

“So, we’ve just confirmed that you are obsessed with growing older.”

“I’m obsessed with—I mean—it’s not about me growing older, because I mean Annie, look at my face. I look alright.”

“Babe, you look like you’re about 22!”

“Right, you heard it here first. Matt Healy looks 22, that’s the headline I want to see!”

Cate walked back over to the couch and collapsed onto it, tired from the whole debacle. It made no sense in their living room, but damn, was it comfortable. She closed her eyes and basked in the fluffiness of the brand new cushion, eventually hearing a song start. Its piercing guitar riff cut into her brain and she found herself cringing at how exposed it was; but the fast beat of the song intrigued her. It felt so in-your-face, that laying down (fully relaxed with her eyes shut) felt like the complete wrong way to take it in.

She stood up suddenly and looked over at Este, who was deep in thought. Cate snapped her out of it, and said, “This song makes me feel like I have tachycardia.”

Her roommate looked up at her, now out of her trance, and laughed out loud at her best friend’s reference to the condition where your heart beats too fast. “You’re so right,” she agreed, sliding her fully cooked eggs onto the couple of slices of toast. Este couldn't help but nod her head with the rhythm.

“Tachycardia, like, in a good way, though.” Cate complimented.

It continued to the chorus and as it spewed optimistic lyrics, Este and Cate caught each other's eyes again. The line, “Won’t you give yourself a try?” repeated over and over, and in unison, they began dancing like maniacs.

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[adultswim2021]

Soul Quest Overdrive #2: “Meals on Wheels” | February 25, 2010 | S01E01

Soul Quest Overdrive continues to be bad, but this one’s not quite as bad as the original pilot. It does take a hit from the inclusion of noted retard Gavin McInnes as a soccer ball doing a Scottish accent. This one, at the very least, has a plot that sorta resembles a typical absurd Adult Swim style plot. 

The plot: the bible guys are doing Meals on Wheels, but they are just cheaply delivering dog food to senior citizens so they can steal from them. When they arrive at the house of one of the oldsies Bert tries to steal pills, only to discover they are flea meds and aren’t altering his consciousness effectively. The old man behaves more and more dog-like until it’s revealed that he actually is a small dog controlling a human robot body. He escaped dog planet, and a spaceship with dog soldiers on it come down to apprehend him. The soccer ball removes him and his fellow outreachers’ ribs after watching all the dog soldiers successfully lick their own nards. They show the blood!!!

I gave this one tepid praise for resembling the humor of–I’ll just say it!!!–Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I mostly mean this as far as the plot is concerned. The intimidating dog soldiers showing up and immediately tying themselves up by grooming their groins is fairly ATHF. Speaking of ATHF, they show the original Bible Fruit episode on the TV at one point. How fun.

That also sorta hints at the main issue this show has; so much of it, and I mean, SO MUCH OF IT, reminds me of other cartoons. The elderly man rapes Bert like Handbanana. Mortimer quotes “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few” from Star Trek, which was a South Park joke over a decade before this. And the intelligent dog in a robot costume is ripped directly off from Rick and Morty. These craven psychos went into the near future to steal. How dare they.

I remember seeing this back when, and was puzzled by the inclusion of the soccer ball character, and had to look up Gavin McInnes, probably pissed off that there was seemingly an interloper in this cast of comedy people I sorta respect. I forget what the exact chronology is here, but I recalled seeing "Dos and Don’ts" videos (A Vice feature dedicated to mocking people wearing uncool fashion; a concept that does worse than nothing for me) hosted by Gavin featuring nearly all of these people. I remember Kristen Schaal saying she hated dudes with a lotta bad tattoos, and then going “oh, wait, sorry” because she was talking to one. I recall Jay “January 6th” Johnston being in one of the videos… (solemnly) a portent of things to come.

Fun fact: My Fox-News-obsessed father once told me he admired Gavin McInnes which really puzzled me because the only thing I knew him from was this and a handful of Vice videos that repulsed me. This is how I learned that McInnes went right-wing. I have to give the guy credit: I can’t think of a single other person who did such a 180° turn politically and remained exactly as hated by me as he was before.

What’s worse is his character sorta adds nothing to the show. Bert is basically the Master Shake of the show and McInnes is like, a second Master Shake but worse? He’s just a drunk guy who, at one point, screams “PUNK’S NOT DEAD!” and thrashes around. It sorta seems like they were literally trying to make an actual COOL character. It’s the sort of comedy that people who aren’t funny try to write. “What if there was a crazy guy who did crazy stuff who liked all the same bands as me”. 

Those following along will note that this is the second of two "pilots" they used for this show for this contest. When the show aired for real, it aired as the second of four episodes (not counting the Gavin-less pilot episode). Like the not-for-television pilot episode, it's half the length of a quarter-hour Adult Swim show. And yet, still too long.