#non-union shop

[tomorrowusa]

Fake union members and fake signs at Trump's astroturf event in Michigan on Wednesday.

The Detroit News reported: “One individual in the crowd who held a sign that said ‘union members for Trump’ acknowledged that she wasn’t a union member when approached by a reporter after the event. “Another person with a sign that read ‘auto workers for Trump’ said he wasn’t an auto worker when asked for an interview. Both people didn’t provide their names.” The paper said between 400 and 500 people attended the event, at a non-unionised automotive parts supplier in Clinton Township.

It's a good guess that those Trump signs weren't union made.

[mood2you]

"the union is so useless it costs $100" if you came here without knowing CA labor laws you should have leant them in Orientation

[kittyit]

"The suffragettes are instructive. Their tactic of choice was property destruction. Decades of patient pressure on the Parliament to give women the vote had yielded nothing, and so in 1903, under the slogan 'Deeds not words, the Women's Social and Political Union was founded. Five years later, two WSPU members undertook the first militant action: breaking windowpanes in the prime minister's residence. One of them told the police she would bring a bomb the next time. Fed up with their own fruitless deputations to Parliament, the suffragettes soon specialised in 'the argument of the broken pane', sending hundreds of well-dressed women down streets to smash every window they passed. In the most concentrated volley, in March 1912, Emmeline Pankhurst and her crews brought much of central London to a standstill by shattering the fronts of jewellers, silversmiths, Hamleys toy shop and dozens of other businesses. They also torched letterboxes around the capital. Shocked Londoners saw pillars filled with paperthrowing up flames, the work of some activist having thrown in a parcel soaked in kerosene and a lit match.

Militancy was at the core of suffragette identity: 'To be militant in some form, or other, is a moral obligation, Pankhurst lectured. 'It is a duty which every woman will owe her own conscience and self-respect, to women who are less fortunate than she is herself, and to all who are to come after her.' The latest full-body portrait of the movement, Diane Atkinson's Rise Up, Women!, gives an encyclopedic listing of militant actions: suffragettes forcing the prime minister out of his car and dousing him with pepper, hurling a stone at the fanlight above Winston Churchill's door, setting upon statues and paintings with hammers and axes, planting bombs on sites along the routes of royal visits, fighting policemen with staves, charging against hostile politicians with dogwhips, breaking the windows in prison cells. Such deeds went hand in hand with mass mobilisation. The suffragettes put up mammoth rallies, ran their own presses, went on hunger strikes: deploying the gamut of non-violent and militant action.

After the hope of attaining the vote by constitutional means was dashed once more in early 1913, the movement switched gears. In a systematic campaign of arson, the suffragettes set fire to or blew up villas, tea pavilions, boathouses, hotels, haystacks, churches, post offices, aque-ducts, theatres and a liberal range of other targets aroundthe country. Over the course of a year and a half, the WSPU claimed responsibility for 337 such attacks. Few culprits were apprehended. Not a single life was lost; only empty buildings were set ablaze. The suffragettes took great pains to avoid injuring people. But they considered the situation urgent enough to justify incendiarism - votes for women, Pankhurst explained, were of such pressing importance that we had to discredit the Government and Parliament in the eyes of the world; we had to spoil English sports, hurt businesses, destroy valuable property, demor-alise the world of society, shame the churches, upset the whole orderly conduct of life. Some attacks probably went unclaimed. One historian suspects that the suffragettes were behind one of the most spectacular blazes of the period: a fire in a Tyneside coal wharf, in which the facilities for loading coal were completely gutted. They did, however, claim responsibility for the burning of motor cars and a steam yacht."

- How to Blow Up a Pipeline, pg 40-42

[reasonsforhope]

"For the first time in almost 60 years, a state has formally overturned a so-called “right to work” law, clearing the way for workers to organize new union locals, collectively bargain, and make their voices heard at election time.

This week, Michigan finalized the process of eliminating a decade-old “right to work” law, which began with the shift in control of the state legislature from anti-union Republicans to pro-union Democrats following the 2022 election. “This moment has been decades in the making,” declared Michigan AFL-CIO President Ron Bieber. “By standing up and taking their power back, at the ballot box and in the workplace, workers have made it clear Michigan is and always will be the beating heart of the modern American labor movement.”

[Note: The article doesn't actually explain it, so anyway, "right to work" laws are powerful and deceptively named pieces of anti-union legislation. What right to work laws do is ban "union shops," or companies where every worker that benefits from a union is required to pay dues to the union. Right-to-work laws really undermine the leverage and especially the funding of unions, by letting non-union members receive most of the benefits of a union without helping sustain them. Sources: x, x, x, x]

In addition to formally scrapping the anti-labor law on Tuesday [February 13, 2024], Michigan also restored prevailing-wage protections for construction workers, expanded collective bargaining rights for public school employees, and restored organizing rights for graduate student research assistants at the state’s public colleges and universities. But even amid all of these wins for labor, it was the overturning of the “right to work” law that caught the attention of unions nationwide...

Now, the tide has begun to turn—beginning in a state with a rich labor history. And that’s got the attention of union activists and working-class people nationwide...

At a time when the labor movement is showing renewed vigor—and notching a string of high-profile victories, including last year’s successful strike by the United Auto Workers union against the Big Three carmakers, the historic UPS contract victory by the Teamsters, the SAG-AFTRA strike win in a struggle over abuses of AI technology in particular and the future of work in general, and the explosion of grassroots union organizing at workplaces across the country—the overturning of Michigan’s “right to work” law and the implementation of a sweeping pro-union agenda provides tangible evidence of how much has changed in recent years for workers and their unions...

By the mid-2010s, 27 states had “right to work” laws on the books.

But then, as a new generation of workers embraced “Fight for 15” organizing to raise wages, and campaigns to sign up workers at Starbucks and Amazon began to take off, the corporate-sponsored crusade to enact “right to work” measures stalled. New Hampshire’s legislature blocked a proposed “right to work” law in 2017 (and again in 2021), despite the fact that the measure was promoted by Republican Governor Chris Sununu. And in 2018, Missouri voters rejected a “right to work” referendum by a 67-33 margin.

Preventing anti-union legislation from being enacted and implemented is one thing, however. Actually overturning an existing law is something else altogether.

But that’s what happened in Michigan after 2022 voting saw the reelection of Governor Gretchen Whitmer, a labor ally, and—thanks to the overturning of gerrymandered legislative district maps that had favored the GOP—the election of Democratic majorities in the state House and state Senate. For the first time in four decades, the Democrats controlled all the major levers of power in Michigan, and they used them to implement a sweeping pro-labor agenda. That was a significant shift for Michigan, to be sure. But it was also an indication of what could be done in other states across the Great Lakes region, and nationwide.

“Michigan Democrats took full control of the state government for the first time in 40 years. They used that power to repeal the state’s ‘right to work’ law,” explained a delighted former US secretary of labor Robert Reich, who added, “This is why we have to show up for our state and local elections.”"

-via The Nation, February 16, 2024

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Boeing’s deliberately defective fleet of flying sky-wreckage

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (May 2) in WINNIPEG, then Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

Boeing's 787 "Dreamliner" is manufactured far from the company's Seattle facility, in a non-union shop in Charleston, South Carolina. At that shop, there is a cage full of defective parts that have been pulled from production because they are not airworthy.

Hundreds of parts from that Material Review Segregation Area (MRSA) were secretly pulled from that cage and installed on aircraft that are currently plying the world's skies. Among them, sections 47/48 of a 787 – the last four rows of the plane, along with its galley and rear toilets. As Moe Tkacik writes in her excellent piece on Boeing's lethally corrupt culture of financialization and whistleblower intimidation, this is a big ass chunk of an airplane, and there's no way it could go missing from the MRSA cage without a lot of people knowing about it:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-04-30-whistleblower-laws-protect-lawbreakers/

More: MRSA parts are prominently emblazoned with red marks denoting them as defective and unsafe. For a plane to escape Boeing's production line and find its way to a civilian airport near you with these defective parts installed, many people will have to see and ignore this literal red flag.

The MRSA cage was a special concern of John "Swampy" Barnett, the Boeing whistleblower who is alleged to have killed himself in March. Tkacik's earlier profile of Swampy paints a picture of a fearless, stubborn engineer who refused to go along to get along, refused to allow himself to become inured to Boeing's growing culture of profits over safety:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-03-28-suicide-mission-boeing/

Boeing is America's last aviation company and its single largest exporter. After the company was allowed to merge with its rival McDonnell-Douglas in 1997, the combined company came under MDD's notoriously financially oriented management culture. MDD CEO Harry Stonecipher became Boeing's CEO in the early 2000s. Stonecipher was a protege of Jack Welch, the man who destroyed General Electric with cuts to quality and workforce and aggressive union-busting, a classic Mafia-style "bust-out" that devoured the company's seed corn and left it a barren wasteland:

https://qz.com/1776080/how-the-mcdonnell-douglas-boeing-merger-led-to-the-737-max-crisis

Post-merger, Boeing became increasingly infected with MDD's culture. The company chased cheap, less-skilled labor to other countries and to America's great onshore-offshore sacrifice zone, the "right-to-work" American south, where bosses can fire uppity workers who balked at criminal orders, without the hassle of a union grievance.

Stonecipher was succeeded by Jim "Prince Jim" McNerney, ex-3M CEO, another Jack Welch protege (Welch spawned a botnet of sociopath looters who seized control of the country's largest, most successful firms, and drove them into the ground). McNerney had a cute name for the company's senior engineers: "phenomenally talented assholes." He created a program to help his managers force these skilled workers – everyone a Boeing who knew how to build a plane – out of the company.

McNerney's big idea was to get rid of "phenomenally talented assholes" and outsource the Dreamliner's design to Boeing's suppliers, who were utterly dependent on the company and could easily be pushed around (McNerney didn't care that most of these companies lacked engineering departments). This resulted in a $80b cost overrun, and a last-minute scramble to save the 787 by shipping a "cleanup crew" from Seattle to South Carolina, in the hopes that those "phenomenally talented assholes" could save McNerney's ass.

Swampy was part of the cleanup crew. He was terrified by what he saw there. Boeing had convinced the FAA to let them company perform its own inspections, replacing independent government inspectors with Boeing employees. The company would mark its own homework, and it swore that it wouldn't cheat.

Boeing cheated. Swampy dutifully reported the legion of safety violations he witnessed and was banished to babysit the MRSA, an assignment his managers viewed as a punishment that would isolate Swampy from the criminality he refused to stop reporting. Instead, Swampy audited the MRSA, and discovered that at least 420 defective aviation components had gone missing from the cage, presumably to be installed in planes that were behind schedule. Swampy then audited the keys to the MRSA and learned that hundreds of keys were "floating around" the Charleston facility. Virtually anyone could liberate a defective part and install it into an airplane without any paper trail.

Swampy's bosses had a plan for dealing with this. They ordered Swampy to "pencil whip" the investigations of 420 missing defective components and close the cases without actually figuring out what happened to them. Swampy refused.

Instead, Swampy took his concerns to a departmental meeting where 12 managers were present and announced that "if we can’t find them, any that we can’t find, we need to report it to the FAA." The only response came from a supervisor, who said, "We’re not going to report anything to the FAA."

The thing is, Swampy wasn't just protecting the lives of the passengers in those defective aircraft – he was also protecting Boeing employees. Under Sec 38 of the US Criminal Code, it's a 15-year felony to make any "materially false writing, entry, certification, document, record, data plate, label, or electronic communication concerning any aircraft or space vehicle part."

(When Swampy told a meeting that he took this seriously because "the paperwork is just as important as the aircraft" the room erupted in laughter.)

Swampy sent his own inspectors to the factory floor, and they discovered "dozens of red-painted defective parts installed on planes."

Swampy blew the whistle. How did the 787 – and the rest of Boeing's defective flying turkeys – escape the hangar and find their way into commercial airlines' fleets? Tkacik blames a 2000 whistleblower law called AIR21 that:

creates such byzantine procedures, locates adjudication power in such an outgunned federal agency, and gives whistleblowers such a narrow chance of success that it effectively immunizes airplane manufacturers, of which there is one in the United States, from suffering any legal repercussions from the testimony of their own workers.

By his own estimation, Swampy was ordered to commit two felonies per week for six years. Tkacik explains that this kind of operation relies on a culture of ignorance – managers must not document their orders, and workers must not be made aware of the law. Whistleblowers like Swampy, who spoke the unspeakable, were sidelined (an assessment by one of Swampy's managers called him "one of the best" and finished that "leadership would give hugs and high fives all around at his departure").

Multiple whistleblowers were singled out for retaliation and forced departure. William Hobek, a quality manager who refused to "pencil whip" the missing, massive 47-48 assembly that had wandered away from the MRSA cage, was given a "weak" performance review and fired despite an HR manager admitting that it was bogus.

Another quality manager, Cynthia Kitchens, filed an ethics complaint against manager Elton Wright who responded to her persistent reporting of defects on the line by shoving her against a wall and shouting that Boeing was "a good ol’ boys’ club and you need to get on board." Kitchens was fired in 2016. She had cancer at the time.

John Woods, yet another quality engineer, was fired after he refused to sign off on a corner-cutting process to repair a fuselage – the FAA later backed up his judgment.

Then there's Sam Salehpour, the 787 quality engineer whose tearful Congressional testimony described more corner-cutting on fuselage repairs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PP0xhIe1LFE

Salehpour's boss followed the Boeing playbook to the letter: Salehpour was constantly harangued and bullied, and he was isolated from colleagues who might concur with his assessment. When Salehpour announced that he would give Congressional testimony, his car was sabotaged under mysterious circumstances.

It's a playbook. Salehpour's experience isn't unusual at Boeing. Two other engineers, working on the 787 Organization Designation Authorization, held up production by insisting that the company fix the planes' onboard navigation computers. Their boss gave them a terrible performance review, admitting that top management was furious at the delays and had ordered him to punish the engineers. The engineers' union grievance failed, with Boeing concluding that this conduct – which they admitted to – didn't rise to the level of retaliation.

As Tkacik points out, these engineers and managers that Boeing targeted for intimidation and retaliation are the very same staff who are supposed to be performing inspections of behalf of the FAA. In other words, Boeing has spent years attacking its own regulator, with total impunity.

But it's not just the FAA who've failed to take action – it's also the DOJ, who have consistently declined to bring prosecutions in most cases, and who settled the rare case they did bring with "deferred prosecution agreements." This pattern was true under Trump's DOJ and continued under Biden's tenure. Biden's prosecutors have been so lackluster that a federal judge "publicly rebuked the DOJ for failing to take seriously the reputational damage its conduct throughout the Boeing case was inflicting on the agency."

Meanwhile, there's the AIR21 rule, a "whistleblower" rule that actually protects Boeing from whistleblowers. Under AIR21, an aviation whistleblower who is retaliated against by their employer must first try to resolve their problem internally. If that fails, the whistleblower has only one course of action: file an OSHA complaint within 90 days (if HR takes more than 90 days to resolve your internal complaint, you can no have no further recourse). If you manage to raise a complaint with OSHA, it is heard by a secret tribunal that has no subpoena power and routinely takes five years to rule on cases, and rules against whistleblowers 97% of the time.

Boeing whistleblowers who missed the 90-day cutoff have filled the South Carolina courts with last-ditch attempts to hold the company to account. When they lose these cases – as is routine, given Boeing's enormous legal muscle and AIR21's legal handcuffs – they are often ordered to pay Boeing's legal costs.

Tkacik cites Swampy's lawyer, Rob Turkewitz, who says Swampy was the only one of Boeing's whistleblowers who was "savvy, meticulous, and fast-moving enough to bring an AIR 21 case capable of jumping through all the hoops" to file an AIR21 case, which then took seven years. Turkewitz calls Boeing South Carolina "a criminal enterprise."

That's a conclusion that's hard to argue with. Take Boeing's excuse for not producing the documentation of its slapdash reinstallation of the Alaska Air door plug that fell off its plane in flight: the company says it's not criminally liable for failing to provide the paperwork, because it never documented the repair. Not documenting the repair is also a crime.

You might have heard that there's some accountability coming to the Boeing boardroom, with the ouster of CEO David Calhoun. Calhoun's likely successor is Patrick Shanahan, whom Tkacik describes as "the architect of the ethos that governed the 787 program" and whom her source called "a classic schoolyard bully."

If Shanahan's name rings a bell, it might be because he was almost Trump's Secretary of Defense, but that was derailed by the news that he had "emphatically defended" his 17 year old son after the boy nearly beat his mother to death with a baseball bat. Shanahan is presently CEO of Spirit Aerospace, who made the door-plug that fell out of the Alaska Airlines 737 Max.

Boeing is a company where senior managers only fail up and where whistleblowers are terrorized in and out of the workplace. One of Tkacik's sources noticed his car shimmying. The source, an ex-787 worker who'd been fired after raising safety complaints, had tried to bring an AIR21 complaint, but withdrew it out of fear of being bankrupted if he was ordered to pay Boeing's legal costs. When the whistleblower pulled over, he discovered that two of the lug-nuts had been removed from one of his wheels.

The whistleblower texted Tkcacik to say (not for the first time): "If anything happens, I'm not suicidal."

Boeing is a primary aerospace contractor to the US government. It's clear that its management – and investors – consider it too big to jail. It's also clear that they know it's too big to fail – after all, the company did a $43b stock buyback, then got billions in a publicly funded buyback.

Boeing is, effectively, a government agency that is run for the benefit of its investors. It performs its own safety inspections. It investigates its own criminal violations of safety rules. It loots its own coffers and then refills them at public expense.

Meanwhile, the company has filled our skies with at least 420 airplanes with defective, red-painted parts that were locked up in the MRSA cage, then snuck out and fitted to an airplane that you or someone you love could fly on the next time you take your family on vacation or fly somewhere for work.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/01/boeing-boeing/#mrsa

Image: Tom Axford 1 (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Blue_sky_with_wisps_of_cloud_on_a_clear_summer_morning.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

--

Clemens Vasters (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:N7379E_-_Boeing_737_MAX_9.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[presidentstalkeyes]

Pines Family Headcanons (Take 2)

I know I already did something like this, but that was a while ago and my headcanons have evolved since then, and my fixation brain is in Pines mode again so here we go! (Mostly focused on the Mystery Twins but with some attention to the older generations scattered about)

Past:

The first member of the Pines family to arrive in America in the 1800s was Gabriel Penzak, a Sephardic Jew from somewhere in the Balkans. His last name was changed to Pines at Ellis Island, and his family later assimilated into the majority-Ashkenazi Jewish community in New Jersey. He was the father of Elmer Pines and grandfather of Filbrick.

Filbrick was the youngest of four brothers (the others were Philip, Fillmore and Fulton). He was the 'weakest' of the four, compensating with his intellect and business sense. He was also born with highly sensitive eyesight - flashes of light would blind him for hours - requiring dark glasses later in life.

His eyesight also meant he was passed over for the draft in WWII. Since all three of his brothers died in the war, this possibly saved his life. As a young man, he operated and maintained film projectors at a traveling carnival, under a boss who taught him many tricks (and bore a resentment towards 'freak show' acts, viewing them as talentless). It was here he met - and accidentally impregnated - his future wife Caryn.

Caryn Romanoff's parents were Pavel, a grizzled sailor, and Tanya, a fortune-teller - both Ukrainian Jews who fled to America to escape persecution from Stalin's Soviet Union. She also had two siblings - older brother Dimitri, a troublemaker and later hatchet-man for the Mafia (never a made man due to his non-Italian ancestry, but close enough for his family to disown him) and little sister Shprintze, who was married three times and had five children in total, all of them named after Roman emperors (except for her only daughter Cleopatra).

Filbrick and Caryn's first son was Shermie, born in 1947. Their second sons, Stanford and Stanley, came 8 years later in 1954. Shermie was a star athlete in high school and always kinda distant from his little brothers, in addition to being Filbrick's obvious favourite. Also a notorious flirt and brought many girls back to the pawn shop (and distracting Stanford from his homework with the resulting noises), and tattled on Stanley for bringing a possum into the store, forcing him to let Shanklin go. Was later drafted into the Vietnam War in the 60s, missing out on Stan's eviction from the house. When he returned from the war, the first thing he did after finding out he was a brother short was to track down Ford and deck him in the face.

While in Hawaii on R&R, Shermie started a relationship with a local waitress called Wikiola Kale. After getting pregnant with his daughter, Wikiola got a plane ticket all the way to NJ to ask Shermie's parents to look after the child, being too poor to raise a child herself. Filbrick almost slammed the door in her face until Caryn intervened. The baby - Louise - was the one in Caryn's arms the night Stan was kicked out.

Louise Pines first grew up in Glass Shard, then moved to L.A. after her dad married a rich businesswoman called Fiona Safesmith (the relationship with Wikiola having not worked out). Fiona was a less-than-ideal stepmom, trying to force her daughter to go into acting and disparaging her interest in DD&D and mystery novels. She also cheated on her husband after an old war injury acted up and he lost the use of his legs, and later went to prison for tax fraud.

Louise would later get a degree in criminology and met a computer geek, amateur ufologist and 'radical cool dude' called Emile Sauvageon (who ran away from a strict, isolated religious family). They started a relationship and had twins in 1999: Mason and Mabel.

Present:

Dipper and Mabel's full names are Mason Emile Pines and Mabel Louise Pines, respectively.

Lou and Em only moved to Piedmont on Shermie's recommendation (and with his money). They would regularly clash with their neighbours for their 'weird' habits (and refusing to maintain their lawn). They considered themselves the arch-enemies of the local HWA.

Em worked at a fancy silicon valley tech start-up, while Lou was a private investigator (the boring realistic kind that mostly deals with insurance fraud and the occasional adulterer).

When he was little, Emile used to wow his son with stories about he was secretly an awesome space pirate with a cosmic ancestry, evidenced by Dipper's birthmark. And Dipper believed him. Really believed him. When his dad finally told him the truth, he did not take it well. Dipper also butted heads with his mom a lot over the existence of the supernatural - she would encourage him to examine things rather than blindly accept them, but he'd often think she was just doubting him for no reason. In short, he had some trust issues with his parents.

Dipper did have some friends in elementary school, but most of them moved away, and in middle school he alienated his fellow nerds after he was kicked out of the tabletop gaming club for being too rules lawyer-y. The resulting slump also lead to him falling behind on band practice.

Mabel is asexual and aromantic, but didn't realize it until much later. Finding she was drifting apart from her friends, she wrongfully attributed it to not having a crush (in truth they simply started to see her as immature and embarassing to be around - you know how kids can get :V). Not wanting to be 'left behind', she dedicated the summer in Gravity Falls to getting a romance as 'proof' that she was a totally grown-up big gal now (while her only reference material were 80s animated comedies and age-inappropriate romance novels).

Mabel very nearly didn't get to go to Gravity Falls at all - she was in danger of being forced to go to summer school due to poor grades (unlike her brother - and like her Grunkle Stan - she experienced great difficulty with any subject involving figures and rote memorization, especially math, the sciences, and computer studies). Only a week of late-night cram sessions spared her from this fate.

Contributing to the above, she also suffered from a form of anterograde amnesia - she would easily forget things that happened just the day before - sometimes even less - until presented with a reminder, usually in the form of an object or person, often her brother. She originally started scrapbooking to help her remember things. This wasn't diagnosed until a year after that summer.

Dipper was in the Boy Scouts in 2011. He hated the experience, camping out in the woods with no games or books, not relating to the other boys and resenting being ordered around by his hardass ex-army Scoutmaster. But he did get a merit badge in astro-navigation, so that's something.

Mabel had a brief stint in the Girl Scouts as well. She quit after an attempt to sell cookies somehow ended with her troop being chased out of a neighbourhood by a knife-wielding maniac in a bathrobe. To this day she's only told Dipper the full story.

One time, Dipper watched Small Soldiers and subsequently destroyed all his action figures checking them for military control chips. He was also banned from Chuck E. Cheese after his 7th birthday when he checked the animatronics for anything suspicious and made Pasquale's head fall off in front of everyone (on the same trip, Mabel tried to get the animatronic band freed from their exploitative contract so they could pursue their true musical potential).

One of Mabel's favourite movies is Rocky IV. For a long time she genuinely believed that's how the Cold War ended and was very disappointed to learn that wasn't the case.

Mabel had a bug-catching phase when she was 10, spurred on by all the creepy-crawlies that would nest in their unmaintained lawn. She'd catch bugs in jars and invite them to have tea and review movies with her. This came to an end after one of the jars smashed and released fireflies all over the house. She was finding descendants of Francisco the Firefly living in the basement as late as 2014.

Lou and Em were not getting divorced - they merely had a fight about paying off their mortgage after Em lost his job, and Dipper simply overreacted and assumed the worst. They sent the kids away that summer while they got their affairs in order. In the end, they had to sell the house and move into a cheaper apartment in Oakland.

Future:

When they first returned from Gravity Falls, the twins' grades took a nosedive as they had difficulty re-adjusting to mundane life, experiencing frequent traumatic episodes and refusing to follow instructions. Their parents had to be called in multiple times after both twins got into a fight in the hallway because another kid made up some dumb rumour that they'd joined a cult or had been abused by their 'creepy uncle', or were just faking their episodes for attention. They were only spared mandatory counseling thanks to emergency 'how to pretend to be normal' coaching from the Grunks.

Dipper has to start wearing glasses a few months after leaving Gravity Falls. Mabel of course made fun of this, thinking that only the male Pineses turn short-sighted (and forgetting about her mom). She had to start wearing glasses at 16, to which Dipper only replied by smugly grinning at her.

In high school, Mabel started a knitting club, which ended up being the most popular club in school - mostly because she insisted that it was a safe space for anyone, and anyone who tried anything funny would have their lives made hell. In her clubroom, nerds, preps, goths and jocks sat side-by-side in peace.

Mabel also took up sports, especially wrestling, becoming captain of the girls' wrestling team by Junior year. She took up a high-protein diet to build her strength - this combined with a childhood spent binging candy finally catching up to her lead to her putting on a lot of weight. By adulthood she's developed what she calls a 'sumo bod' - chubby, but strong (and great for hugs).

Meanwhile, Dipper took up track and gymnastics while regularly going to the gym - to the shock of everyone, as getting pre-Gravity Falls Dipper to exercise was like pulling teeth. If he was gonna have to brave another apocalypse, he didn't want to be saddled with noodle arms. By his 20s, the combination of his 'baby face' with his square jaw and muscular body has attracted a good amount of attention from girls (and boys) - attention he is alternately mildly perturbed by or totally oblivious to.

Dipper also devoted extra effort to his art skills, hoping to achieve the same level as Ford. Sometimes he'd climb up onto rooftops to get a good view of the landscape to draw, and then add a completely gratuitous monster because why not?

Despite his best efforts, Dipper was never able to overcome Mabel's height advantage. In fact, in their teen years she gained a few extra inches on him.

Dipper still regularly wears hats even as an adult - though he's no longer self-conscious about his birthmark, he's been wearing hats for so long it feels weird not to. It's like his 'thing' - Mabel has her sweaters, he has his hats.

Past his school years, Dipper mostly goes by Mason, especially with strangers - 'Dipper' is reserved for friends and family.

Dipper got a doctorate in forensic science at college, and also interned at a coroner's office. He also did some work as a runner on a film set, but the experience at the Used To Be About History Channel soured him on show business. Instead, after getting his doctorate he decided to take up Ford's offer to apprentice under him from years before, hoping to become a paranormal investigator in his own right (incidentally, Candy Chiu took the same offer, and now they work together).

Mabel went to college too, but didn't particularly want to, only going because she felt pressured. She ended up dropping out after the first year and still feels aimless, not knowing what to do with her life. She currently still lives with her parents and has a decently fulfilling job at an independent haberdashery (sweaters will always be there for her), but she's not sure that's what she wants to do.

Both twins are adored by Soos and Melody's 6-year-old kids (also twins) - they're considered honourary Uncle DipDip and Aunt MayMay.

When he turned 16, Soos gave Dipper his old truck - as much as he liked it, he can't exactly stick his kids in the cargo bay. Mabel meanwhile drives the Mabel-Mobile, an old Soviet military van painted pink with a huge shooting star mural, plus a liberal amount of graffitti and bumper stickers. Where she got it remains a mystery - not even she seems to remember.

Mabel has a serious weakness for booze. She experimented a lot with various substances during her brief time at college, but cocktails really stuck. When she's drunk, she tends to shift between giddy and sentimental, grumpy and ranty, and depressed and regretful. You know she's had too much when she starts singing about 'Lady Apocalypse'.

Dipper never got as into that stuff himself, but he was introduced to weed by Wendy, relying on it to calm his anxieties during exam season. He's currently trying to wean himself off it by means of alternate herbal cigarettes.

Waddles had to be sent back to Gravity Falls after a few years, since he rapidly grew too big to keep at Piedmont. He currently lives in a lean-to next to the Shack that Soos built. He still regularly sees Gompers, to Mabel's delight.

Wendy also got both twins into tattoos, convincing Mabel to get a huge shooting star on her upper right arm. For her 18th birthday she also got a special pair of tats on the forearms - a pair of arrows with the right marked 'Fasten In Case Of Hug!'. Dipper was reluctant at first, but caved when Mabel designed him a 'pine tree heart' emblem, which he wears on his right shoulder.

Both twins are in a special 'Never Mind All That' group chat, along with almost everyone else in the Zodiac, plus Candy and Grenda (but not Gideon). Mabel had the idea for a 'hotline' of sorts that they could message whenever the old post-apocalypse trauma started acting up - knowing from experience how important is to have people to remind you they're there.

Every year on the anniversary of the end of Weirdmageddon, both twins visit Bill's petrified body, and scribble tally marks on his face - one for each year, alternating between Dipper's blue marker and Mabel's pink one (this is something I've already mentioned elsewhere but I felt like it deserved to be at the end. :P)

[iww-gnv]

A federal labor judge ruled Thursday that Starbucks broke the law by providing raises and additional benefits for non-union workers last year without offering those same increases to unionized staff. The ruling, first reported by Bloomberg, is a decision on the latest in a trend of allegations that Starbucks went through with a vast union-busting campaign in 2021 and 2022 as its shops increasingly considered joining an upstart barista union. Specifically, the judge ruled that the company violated the National Labor Relations Act last August by giving non-union workers a raise to at least $15 an hour, but did not extend the raises to unionized staff.

[neragranic]

COMMISSIONS - KO-FI - CARRD - WEBSITE - REDBUBBLE SHOP - TWITTER - INSTAGRAM - YOUTUBE

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Dandelion Union Leaders stylization project is finally done!

Took longer than expected and it has been a ride, but I can’t say I didn’t have fun.

This piece was one of my early ventures into stylization and also one that showed me, even better, that stylizing can be freeing.

My favorites are probably Elrena and Strelitzia! Ones I’d like to re-draw most are Brain and Ventus!

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Art process pictures are posted on my Art Process Tumblr

For the art process video tune in to my Youtube Channel!

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Obnoxious watermarks have become a necessity due to AI theft, so you’re stuck with them - however, there is a Ko-Fi membership available with non-watermarked art by me (still signed though)

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Chapter 3 - To Have and To Hold

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

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Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Weddings should be joyous occasions but the union of two families only brings about distant memories and yearning for a life that could have been. Stolen glances and longing stares across the room, and finally finding yourself face to face with the one person who can change the future.

18+ Only! Minors DNI! (Future smut and mature themes!)

CW: Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Pet names. Slow burn. Exes to lovers. Mutual pining. Angst. Lots of tension. Spousal abuse - reader is assaulted and choked.

WC: 5.9K

Days at the gallery quickly turned into long nights. Sometimes not going home until the wee hours of the morning. After the last few interactions with Nik you decided it was best to avoid him altogether.

He'd never set foot in here, for which you were grateful. It was your own oasis from a life that was suddenly so stifling, drowning you without a life preserver in sight.

It was easy enough, the two of you had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for a couple of years now.

You would rather take an acid bath than let him touch you. Sex became completely non-existent when he'd started coming home with lipstick stained collars and trying to push himself onto you knowing he'd just fucked God knows who else, any illusion of a loving, dedicated husband completely dissolved.

You hadn't seen or heard from Steve since the day he'd bought that painting. You found yourself wondering where he might have hung it. It was one of your favorites and knowing it went to a good home warmed your heart.

Abigail knocked you from your current train of thought when she walked over to you with a massive bouquet of white roses.

“Mrs. Petrov, these were just delivered for you, though the card says Ms. Alexander. An old client perhaps?” You shifted the flowers from her arms as she spoke, their delicate scent faintly surrounding you.

“Thank you.” You called out, already heading to your office.

You gently laid them down on the desk, plucking the card from between the soft petals.

You couldn't help the smile that crept across your face as you opened it to read the contents, already suspecting who they were from. No one else in this town would dare use your surname anymore.

Passed the flower shop and thought of you. Hope they brighten your day.

S.H.

You immediately looked for an empty vase in the storage closet to display them on your desk, hiding the card away in the bottom drawer.

It wasn't unusual for clients to send you flowers from time to time, so it didn't seem out of the ordinary.

Much to your delight, it didn't stop there. A fresh bouquet was delivered every few days from that point forward. Not just roses, something unique each time all accompanied with a personalized note signed S.H.

His small way of showing you he was still here while reluctantly maintaining his distance.

For two weeks the flowers and notes never ceased but you still hadn't seen Steve.

There was a wedding slated for the weekend between two prominent families that you had to attend.

Finding yourself in need of a new dress, you were browsing the brightly lit showroom, admiring a very beautiful lilac colored floor length gown in the corner when he spoke.

“That's not your color. Much too pale. What about that one?” You rolled your eyes as he pointed to a deep red, lacey, eye-catching number across the store.

“It's for a wedding, Steven. The attention shouldn't be on me.” You quipped. “And that shows far too much skin.” Turning away, as you began to rummage through a few dresses on the rack.

“If you say so, but you're the only one I'll be looking at.” You stopped, hands stilling on the silk in front of you as you processed his words.

“You're going Saturday?” Managing to squeak out, despite the sudden lump in your throat.

It shouldn't really come as a surprise. All of the big named families had been invited. Maybe you were expecting Steve to be more like Richard in that regard. Send his well wishes but decline the invitation.

“Of course, Dove. Can't miss the wedding of the century. A Gambino marrying a Stratori? It's unheard-of.” He made a mock gasping sound that made you snort a small laugh.

“You should have seen the looks at my…” trailing off when you realized what you were about to say. It wasn't so long ago an Alexander marrying a Petrov was big news.

“Anyway, doesn't matter. I won't be going if I don't find something to wear.” Quickly changing the subject back to the matter at hand.

“Trust me, you'll look good in anything. Wear a potato sack and you’ll still be the most beautiful woman there.” His doting words and simple praises never let up when he was around you.

Your soft blushing and sweet smiles only encouraged him further, reminding him of the younger versions of you both. These moments he would hang onto for forever if need be.

You stared at him a moment, the way the sun filtering through the window cast a glow around him, appearing almost ethereal. His skin tanned by an Italian sun, making his freckles and moles only more prominent. Those same ones you would trace across his back, finding the constellations hidden within.

Your lips twitched at the thought of kissing those same marks, as a deeper blush crept your cheeks that had you quickly looking back to the dresses laid out before you, clearing your throat.

“Steve, I…” Mouth snapping closed when you weren't sure what you were attempting to say.

“What is it, tesoro?” Looking back at you expectantly, eyes soft, giving you his full attention.

“Thank you for the flowers. They're lovely, all of them, but you don't have to do that.” Your gaze drops momentarily as he regards you for a moment.

“Let me ask you something. Do they make you smile?”

“Well, of course.” A grin lifting the edges of your mouth you couldn't contain.

“Then yes, Dove. I have to send them. At least I know for one fleeting moment of the day I've had the pleasure of making you smile.”

You both stilled for a moment, silently gazing at one another.

“Excuse me? Can I help either of you?” One of the associates had walked over, interrupting the small moment.

You smiled at her, asking for a couple of dresses to try on in your size.

“Right away, Mrs. Petrov. And for you sir?” Looking back toward Steve, eyeing him up and down as she spoke. A small scowl of contempt passed over her momentarily, oblivious to who she was speaking to.

“Nothing for me today, thank you. I'll see myself out, momentarily.”

She nodded and walked toward the back to gather the dresses you had asked for.

“I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then.” Finally looking back to him, reluctantly getting ready to take your leave and follow her into the dressing room.

“Of course, Dove.” He says, leaning in close. “I still think the red would be a better choice.” Voice dropping an octave lower, winking as a shameless grin spread across his face.

His persistence had you fondly rolling your eyes, but a grin matching his own spread across your features.

“I think I'll find something a little less salacious but thank you for the suggestion.” Laughing as you walked away, a sound that was like music to his ears as he took his leave.

You glanced back once more, as you reached the back, but he was already gone.

The associate had gotten a large, very well-lit room ready for you. The dresses you had asked for were already on display, hung up across the back wall as you entered.

“This should be all of them. Will there be anything else Mrs. Petrov? Shall I stay and help you try any of them on?” She asked kindly.

“That won’t be necessary but thank you.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with some of the fanciest garments that money could buy yet you stood there feeling hollow, sighing deeply to yourself.

You slid the first dress from its silk hanger. A lilac gown with beautifully beaded detail on the bodice. Once you had managed to get it on, you stood in front of the mirror with a grimace. Steve was right, it was much too pale. You hated that he was right. A man who barely knows you anymore and still knows too much.

It was much the same as you tried on each one of the expensive gowns. None of them seemed quite right. Either the color was off, or it didn’t fit quite right leaving you empty handed on the way out.

Later that afternoon, the sun was setting low, as you worked through a few things before you would reluctantly head home for the evening.

Abigail enthusiastically walked toward you with a large black box, wrapped with a red, silk ribbon and a large matching bow on top.

“Mrs. Petrov, this was just delivered for you. It's from Figueroa.”

The dress shop you had visited earlier in the day. Confusion spread across your face, as you took it from her opting to open it in your office and dismissing her for the day.

You gently lifted the edges, immediately met with matching red tissue paper and a small, white card that simply read: This was ALWAYS your color. See you tomorrow.

You pushed aside the wrapping to reveal a deep, burgundy colored gown held within. The material was a beautiful velvet, soft to the touch, letting your fingers melt into the fabric as you pulled it from the box. It was stunning. A mermaid cut, with long sleeves dropped for the sweetheart neckline that would show some cleavage. It was sexy yet stayed somewhat moderate.

You didn't remember seeing this one in the store because it would have surely caught your eye.

Steve always had good taste. It came as no surprise he chose something that you would have picked out for yourself.

You hid the card in the desk, amongst the ones that have accompanied the flowers, hiding away any evidence of where the dress had come from. Your insides twisted at the thought of hiding him away forever. It was never meant to be this way with Steve.

You gripped the edges of the box on the ride home with a permanent smile etched across your face at the thought of seeing him tomorrow, if only for a brief moment, you would be the one to make him smile.

You sat in silence, staring out the window, ignoring the grunts and protests from Nik.

“I shouldn't even be going to this stupid wedding. I've got shit to do at the club tonight.” Huffing out like a petulant child, pushing his back further into the seat.

You simply rolled your eyes and tried to picture yourself literally anywhere else. The thought of spending the entire evening by his side turned your stomach. All dolled up to be HIS arm candy, but it would be your secret who you were dressed FOR.

“Hey, are you going to talk to me? You've got to play the part sometime tonight.” He grabbed for your hand, but you swiftly moved away from his touch at the faintest brush.

“I'll play along in public, but do not fucking touch me when we are alone. I don't know where your filthy hands have been. Or who they've been in, for that matter.” You spat, already over his behavior.

He let out a deep, hearty laugh, throwing his head back.

“Someone is feisty. I like it.” Grabbing your knee, laughing once again when you pushed him away. “Oh, come on baby. Give us a kiss.”

“Fuck off, Nik.” You hissed.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. The feeling is mutual.” He straightened back up in his seat, promptly lighting a cigarette, blowing the smoke your way.

“Do you mind? I don't want to smell like smoke before we get there.” Waving it away from you and your face, letting out a small cough.

“Aw, don't want your new dress to smell like smoke?” He chuckled, pinching the fabric at your side. “Poor baby.”

Your hand tightened around the clutch you held in your lap, as you closed your eyes holding back your anger as best you could, seething just below the surface. You just had to get through a couple of hours, saying pleasantries and having lighthearted conversation while rubbing a few elbows with certain people.

Calming your nerves as best you could, taking a few deep breaths and slowly opening your eyes once more.

Nik was distracted on his phone, leaving you for a few moments of peace before you pulled up to the venue.

The driver came around to open his door first, but Nik made no attempt to come around to your side to let you out, making the driver go around to open your door as well. A real gentleman.

“Let's get this over with. I've got shit to do.” Finally coming to stand beside you, extending his elbow for you to take.

“You've already said that.” You hissed, reluctantly taking his arm as you headed toward the entrance. “Just fucking behave Nik, you can't act like an ass in front people tonight.”

As much as you hated your husband, he still had a portion of business to uphold with many of the attendees tonight. Your father's reputation was at stake just being associated with the prick.

“I'll do as I damn well please.” He hissed back through gritted teeth, glaring down at you as you entered the large room. Ignoring him, you will yourself to throw on the best fake smile that you could muster.

The wedding was being held downtown, at one of the oldest buildings. Its gothic architecture and high ceilings were a beautiful backdrop for a wedding.

Nik made a beeline for some of his associates, immediately grabbing some champagne from one of the waitresses as he pulled you along. It didn’t go unnoticed the way he so blatantly eyed her up and down as he passed.

You busied yourself looking around at the decor, sipping your own champagne trying to ignore the conversation he was having around you. Some things you couldn’t understand at all as he spoke in his native tongue. When you had first gotten married you took an interest in learning Russian but that quickly subsided as your marriage started falling apart.

The room quieted down to a dull murmur when he entered. His very presence commanded the attention of everyone present. Heads began to turn his way, all clambering to catch a glimpse of the so-called prodigal son of Richard Harrington as he made his entrance, his first public outing since the funeral.

He ignored the hushed whispers around him, walking in with Eddie falling right in behind him, the crowd parting as he made his way to pay respect to the happy couple.

He looked as handsome as ever sporting a black suit, with his hair slicked back and quaffed perfectly but his burgundy shirt and tie beneath his buttoned suit jacket is what really caught your eye. It was the exact color of your dress. A detail that brought a small smile to your face.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” Nik scoffed, as some of the other men chuckled, pulling your attention back to the small group.

He downed the rest of his champagne, eyes never leaving Steve, following his movements across the crowded space.

“I need something a little more stiff, come on.” He grabbed your arm, pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar, dragging you along beside him. The abruptness caught you off guard. For a moment, you wabbled on your heels.

“Nik, you need to take it easy tonight.” You whispered through gritted teeth.

“And you,” he hissed. “Should shut the fuck up.” He gripped your arm a little tighter as you reached the bar tucked away in the corner before ordering a bourbon, downing it in one gulp, slamming the glass back down. He would never outwardly push it out in the open like this, showing his true colors but it was surprising, nonetheless.

He finally relinquished his grip to grab his next one, turning to meet his associates as they began to huddle around him, picking up their conversations from before leaving him to ignore you once more.

Steve spotted you as soon as he walked through the door, smirking to himself. The dress he had picked out fit you spectacularly, showing off your curves while staying somewhat modest. You were breathtaking.

Reluctantly, his attention drew back to the matter at hand as he made his way through the crowd to greet the wedding party and their family, wishing them the best.

Steve quickly made his rounds, shaking hands and chatting with some familiar faces or some new introducing themselves, but he couldn't keep his eyes off of you.

He and Eddie grabbed some flutes of champagne, chatting amongst themselves in the corner where he temporarily lost you in the crowd, but quickly caught up with you again heading toward the bar with Nik.

His jaw ticked seeing the way he gripped you, pulling you alongside him.

Eddie noticed how he stiffened, following his line of vision over to you just in time for them both to witness his hold on you grow a little more harsh.

Steve took a step before Eddie moved abruptly in front of him, halting him with a palm to his chest.

“Steve. Not here.” Eddie warned, as he looked past him once more. You had already moved away from Nik, standing to the side of the bar.

Eddie was right. This was not the time or place to lose his head, but it didn't mean they couldn't have a little chat.

You heard him before you saw him, heart promptly leaping into your throat when you realized he was headed in your direction, but he only caught your gaze nodding slightly and greeted Nik instead.

Realizing you could do nothing but stand there and watch as the scene unfolds, you downed the rest of your champagne bracing for the worst.

“Nik, gentlemen. How are we all doing this evening?” Asking with that charming Harrington tone, as Eddie hung slightly behind them, hands in his pockets, looking relaxed but you could tell he was anything but.

Nik’s amusement seemed to fade, his smile dropping, moving the glass to his lips for another sip. He stood up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders to the other man.

“Harrington.” Nodding back, as the others stated their own greetings.

“Didn't expect you to show up here. Your father never came to shit like this.” He sneered.

“Well, little Niki, like I told you the other day, we aren't our fathers. And I, for one, am striving to be a better man than he was. We should all strive to be better men, right?” Leveling his gaze right at your husband as he spoke.

A flash of anger split Nik's face before regaining his composure, already a little too much to drink to effectively conceal his emotions. The nickname he gained in his youth that he had come to detest, trying to live up to the elder Nikolai, his father, always falling in his shadow. Something that he and Steve had in common however they chose very different avenues to deal with it.

“Right.” Scoffing, as he set his glass back to the bar, taking a small step toward Steve, once again squaring his shoulders. “Any suggestions on how I should go about that, since you're doling out the advice today? I'm all ears.”

“I don't know, Nik. Maybe the old ways of handling business are outdated? Kind of like, oh I don't know?” Pausing, pretending to think for a moment. “Raising a hand to your spouse to keep them in line? That shit just doesn't work and makes you look bad.”

Your cheeks suddenly heated at the bluntness of his insinuation, hoping no one looked over at you.

“And what the fuck would you know about business? Last time I checked, you were still riding daddy's coattails.” Leaning further into Steve’s space as he spoke trying to make himself more intimidating, but he stood his ground, not so easily dissuaded.

Eddie made to move forward, but Steve quickly held a hand out, halting him.

Nik's raised voice began garnering a little attention their way as you scanned the other guests standing close by.

“I'm just saying.” Taking a step toward Nik this time, both men practically nose to nose. “Sometimes it's better to get with the program, or you could lose everything.”

“Are you threatening me?” Nik spat.

Steve let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped back, reminding himself once more that he couldn’t lose it here.

“Trust me, you would know if it's a threat. Just some friendly advice.” He clapped him on the arm as if they were old chums, sharing a good laugh which only infuriated Nik further.

“You can take your friendly advice and shove it u…” One of Nik's associates got in between the two and tried to calm him down. Steve was trying to goad him to gauge his reaction and he had taken the bait flawlessly.

“Well, gentlemen if you'll excuse me, we are here for a wedding after all.” He nodded, as he and Eddie headed back across the room, leaving you a little speechless in the process.

“I don't know who the fuck he thinks he is.” Nik began to rant, so you decided to leave him and make your way to your chair for the ceremony. You also hoped he would cool off before coming to find you as other guests began to fill the empty seats around you.

You caught Steve out of the corner of your eye as he passed, taking a seat across the aisle, one row up on the end.

The ceremony was beautiful with a blushing young bride and a handsome groom. They seemed genuinely happy and for their sakes you hoped it were true.

You couldn't help but feel sadness now thinking back to your own wedding. The joy and hopefulness that day brought only to be a complete fabrication.

As the couple said their vows, your eyes found his across the aisle, as if he had already been looking toward you. There seemed to be a sadness etched within him as well, his eyes lacking their usual sparkle.

Images flashed and danced through your mind of a life that could have been. A fall wedding, surrounded by your closest friends and family. Honeymooning on the Italian coast and coming back to a home full of love and promise without any doubts.

Steve would have given you the world without any hesitation. He loved fiercely, willing to do whatever it took to make you happy. He made it so damn easy to see what a bright future lay ahead for both of you.

You hadn't noticed a tear escaping until it rolled down your cheek, and onto your hand situated in your lap, suddenly bringing you crashing back to reality.

He was still looking at you when you diverted your gaze away, because it was all too much. Your chest ached as the couple kissed, concluding their vows and made their way down the aisle, now united in holy matrimony with smiles gracing their happy faces. It was suddenly too suffocating.

“I have to go to the restroom.” Excusing yourself from Nik’s side, not waiting for his response, quickly dashing out the side door into the empty hallway.

You breathed a small sigh of relief, briefly pausing, your hand leaning against the wall to steady yourself and regain some composure.

You willed yourself to conceal your emotions as you began to make your way down the corridor but as you rounded the corner someone grabbed your forearm. Your back was suddenly met with a warm chest, taking you by surprise. Their large hand clasping over your mouth stifling any noise from escaping you, as they step further back with you in tow, closing the door.

Before you had time to react, his soothing voice washed over you.

“It's okay, Dove. It's just me.” His lips so close, ghosting the shell of your ear as he spoke. He waited a moment for it to register before he removed his hand from your face, finding the light switch.

“Steve! What the hell?” Saying as you swung around to face him, your pulse racing from the small scare. He had pulled you into a small, dimly lit utility closet, away from prying eyes and just big enough for the two of you.

“I'm sorry, honey it's the only place I could get you alone.” He shrugged, shifting toward you, with a small pout.

“I shouldn't be in here.” You reached for the handle, but he was quick to place his hand overtop yours, effectively halting your movement.

“I couldn't let you leave without telling you how beautiful you look.” He whispered, closing the small gap between you, his hand coming to rest on your hip, heat radiating from his palm. His touch was searing, even through the fabric of your gown.

“I saw this on the way out of the shop and had them match the shirt and tie perfectly.” He inches just a little more into your space, releasing the hold on your hand so he could plant it firmly to your lower back pushing you further into him.

Your hands find the expanse of his chest, holding yourself steady, feeling as though your knees could give out at any moment. He had unbuttoned his suit jacket, your palms finding the warmth beneath, flat against his silk shirt.

He didn't need to utter it aloud. The dress. The tie. It was his way of subtly staking claim to you. You were and always had been his.

“Steve, what are you doing? You can't exactly woo a married woman. Especially one married to someone as powerful as Nik. He…” You stopped, when you saw the look in his eyes, utterly and completely gone for you.

“I don't have to woo what's already mine.” His voice low and husky, dripping with desire.

“That’s very presumptuous of you, Mr. Harrington.” You breathed out, trying to maintain your cool but even you could hear the waiver in your voice.

No matter the distance or time, you couldn't forget this man no matter how hard you tried. He would simply not let you. It felt like torture to be this close to him now, yet so far away.

Your head kept telling you that you needed to run, but you couldn't find it in yourself to move. You were transfixed, gazing up into his golden, mossy framed orbs.

You let your eyes trail his features. A small scar above his left eyebrow that had been there for years, a memento of his childhood. The way his lips had the perfect cupid's bow and remembering just the way he tastes.

He leans down looking for any sign of trepidation, finding none; your face mirroring his own, full of unspoken adoration.

“You're not denying it, tesoro. Just tell me you want this, as much as I do.” His nose traces down the slope of yours as he speaks. Your heart hammering so hard in your chest, you were sure he could hear it beating.

“Amore mio.” You whisper, top lip grazing his, releasing a shuddering breath before the realization of what you'd just said fully hit.

You'd never spoken those simple words to anyone else, only ever reserved for Steve. He had taught you some phrases in Italian, mostly sweet talk. You were always his tesoro mio and he, your amore mio.

You lean back, clasping a hand over your mouth as he was fully leaning in, eyes closed, lips chasing yours.

“Oh my God!” You gasp out, pressing yourself backward, stumbling a bit in your heels but he catches your elbow as you regain your balance.

“Dove?” He asks, voice low, coming out a little timidly.

“I… We can't do this Steve!” He can see your internal conflict and what he can only infer as fear written all over your face. It dawns on him then. The way you had winced when he grabbed your arm at the gallery. The way Nik had pulled you through the room earlier.

“Dove, did he hurt you?” His hand on your elbow begins to draw you back in, laying his other to your jaw, coaxing your face toward him but you still refuse to look up, eyes cast downward.

“No, Steve. You just… you don't know what he's capable of.” Your eyes grow glossy, tears threatening to spill over your lashes and ruining your makeup.

“Hey, honey, I'm not worried about him.” He does his best to soothe you, speaking softly. “If anyone should be worried, it's him. You hear me? Look at me.” Gently, his thumb grazes your bottom lip.

“Dove, look at me.” Pleading one last time, his voice was raw and pained.

“Steve, I can't…” Your eyes finally meet his, tears spilling out and down your cheeks. He does his best to wipe them away when his hands come to cup your cheeks. “I…I’m sor…”

“Shhh… no need for that, tesoro mio.” He doesn't want to let you go, but he's afraid of pushing you further away.

He leans in, warm lips press into your forehead as your eyes close. A tender embrace, your hand coming to grip his wrist holding him in place for a moment longer before quietly slipping from his hold.

You wipe your tears, pausing with your hand on the handle, looking back over your shoulder at him.

“It's better if you stay away from me.” Whispering out without waiting for a reply, quickly opening the door and checking the hall before stepping out. Your footsteps are the only sound echoing down the corridor as you walk toward the restroom to clean yourself up.

The interaction only lasted a few minutes, but the feeling of his hands and lips still lingered on your skin.

“It's better if you stay away from me.”

He blows out a deep breath but doesn't say anything.

Better for who? He bitterly thinks. Certainly not better for him. You're all he's thought about since returning. It's driving him insane.

He can't bring himself to think about you with Nik. The asshole getting to have you all to himself. He can touch, kiss or bed you anytime he pleases. The thought makes him sick, but the brief interaction solidifies what he already knew to be true.

When he heard “amore mio” glide past your lips so easily, he knew he still had you. His heart ached to hear you say that just once more, something he hadn't heard uttered in so long, nearly taking his breath away. You're still his.

He waits a few more moments, letting you get ahead of him before he makes sure the coast is clear and exits the closet.

Heading in the opposite direction and rounding the corner, he spots Eddie leaning against the wall smirking at him.

“Everything okay, boss?” His grin drops, shoving himself off the wall seeing the annoyed look plastered to Steve's face. Not what he had expected.

“No, but it will be. We're leaving.” Grunting out as he continues to walk, leaving Eddie to catch up to his stride.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, wiping the makeup that had run. It took a few minutes, but you made yourself presentable.

Nik was waiting for you right outside the bathroom, crossing his arms giving you a death glare when you spotted him.

“What the hell have you been doing?” He hissed.

“I had to pee, and the wedding made me emotional, so I cleaned myself up. I can't go to the reception looking like a mess.” Responding, as you headed past him, but he grabbed your arm. The one he's so fond to take here lately when you get out of line.

“We're going home.” He spat, getting in your face for a moment before a cruel smile stretched across his face as his whole demeanor changed.

“Kitten, I know you're tired, it's been a long hard day.” Ushering you out into the reception area, pulling you through the crowd toward the exit, holding tightly to your wrist as if you would try to flee at any moment.

The car was already waiting outside, as he ushered you inside and slammed the door. You held your breath when he sat down beside you and began to loosen his tie, unbuttoning the restricting collar.

Silence for a few moments as you head back home to your prison.

“Do you think I'm fucking stupid?” He finally asks, turning his head slowly toward you.

“Wh– What?” You asked meekly, shrinking into yourself.

“I asked if you think I'm fucking stupid?” Enunciating each word a little slower and more clipped.

You furrowed your brow, trying to decipher where he was going. Had he seen you and Steve exit the closet?

“Where'd the dress come from?”

“My dress?” You tried to stay calm, looking down at the velvet fabric. He'd put those small crumbs together.

“The dress Y/N. That fucker bought it for you, didn't he? Didn't think I'd notice his goddamn matching shirt and tie? You two think you're really cute.” He clenched his fists on his lap, as his jaw ticked. He was anything but calm right now and the dam was about to burst.

“Nik… I…” He suddenly lunged at you, hand around your throat pushing you back into the seat. You gasped out in surprise, as he pressed in just a little harder, fingers flexing and cutting off your air supply. Your hand flew up to clutch at his, grasping and desperately trying to pry him away.

He leaned in close, gritting his teeth as he spoke.

“Its like you want me the fucking hurt you, leaving me no choice. Pull a stunt like that again, and not even your father will be able to protect you.”

He eases back, placing a chaste kiss to your temple before releasing his hold on you. Your airway opened, leaving you gasping in a heavy breath while letting out a small, choked sob.

“I warned you.” His last words for the evening, before lighting a cigarette and thoroughly ignoring you, taking a phone call leaving you to sulk in the corner.

He dropped you off at home, no doubt heading to his club, but you were grateful to be left alone for the night hoping for some miracle that he wouldn’t come back home at all.

You drew yourself a hot bath, letting the magnitude of everything that had transpired wash over you.

The wedding brought up so many morose thoughts and feelings. Steve blatantly threatening Nik, Nik threatening you, it was all too much.

Your fingertips graze your cheek where his hand had been not long ago. If you closed your eyes, you could feel him still, imaging he was here with you. His touch had electrified you. Something you had never felt with anyone else. A feeling of being totally alive. The gray, dreary past melting and giving way to a future full of bright color.

“Steve.” You whispered out, pulling your knees into your chest, as you cried.

Lying to yourself would be useless. Steve was everything that Nik never was or would be. Years apart and he still holds your heart. You were still in love with him, just knowing he felt the same was all you needed.

You had to think of a plan, while still trying to maintain your distance until Nik was out of the picture.

This was a very dangerous game, but you couldn't bear the thought of letting him go a second time.

No, you wouldn't let that happen this time.

Taglist: @micheledawn1975 @girlwiththerubyslippers @thecreelhouse @teen--marvel @taccobelle

Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

[utilitycaster]

Thank you for writing up that post about the engagement of the alleged themes in campaign 3. I've seen the argument for them and honestly that plus some of the C3 stuff has almost made me feel weird playing a cleric in this setting. The implications just are so unfortunate if it really is the angle they're going for?

Hi anon,

So I have two thoughts on this. The first is that like...it's actually really difficult to make a story set in a fantasy world that deals with racism and colonialism because you have to develop fantasy racism and colonialism, which is a really fucking unpleasant headspace to exist in! And then, if you do, you have what I alluded to in tags on a different post today, where you will get people up in arms about how D&D or an actual play show or a fantasy work depicts orcs or goblins as racist or antisemitic stereotypes and then it's crickets when it comes to any real-world support of black or Jewish people. Chuck Klosterman said sci fi is philosophy for stupid people, and I disagree, but I do think speculative fiction is frequently sociology, anthropology, and geopolitics for stupid people, particularly if it's a setting with a lot of magic and fantasy races vs say, works like Butler's Patternist series, or a lot of Latin American magical realism, or (girl who just finished Disco Elysium voice) Disco Elysium, where there's a lot more grounding in our reality. I think this post covers the concept of real vs mythic, and I think the Critical Role stuff with the gods is in the realm of the mythic and people are trying to force it into a very human narrative. And yeah, the implications are really unfortunate if you do.

I think it's worth noting that a lot of high-profile (and beloved) TTRPG/AP projects from actual people from colonized cultures imagine a world in which they were never colonized (I am far from an expert but just off the top of my head: Coyote and Crow; Into the Motherlands; Desiquest; Islands of Sina Una) rather than make a story where a bunch of mostly white characters explain how they are the victims of colonization from two separate sources and only really focus on the one that's way less obvious and true but don't worry they're GONNA FIX IT, maybe, idk, should we open this door? I just don't know! golly gee this is tough!

The second related thought is just that D&D isn't a game that is well-suited to dismantling complex political structures either on a narrative or literal level and also it's pretend so you can do what you want forever. I mean don't call other people slurs while playing it but if we're talking in-world? I genuinely think that people who are unabashed murderhobos in D&D are often perfectly fine, generous, and lovely people in real life, and a lot of people who are like "I unionized the goblins! We're playing non-combat D&D! I de-escalate every situation" are often the sort of person to claim it's ableist to suggest that perhaps you should try to use reusable shopping bags. Like, are you living your values in your real life and capable of critical thought? then who cares if your D&D character is kind of a dick, or the show you are watching doesn't align perfectly with what you believe? And I find people who get overly hung up on how good and virtuous they are for their media consumption tend to be compensating for a lack, or at best a deep insecurity, about how they comport themselves in their real life.

so anyway yeah if the cast actually is like "yes i see this as a decolonialist work" I am going to have Thoughts and Pretty Harsh Critiques but to grant the CR cast the benefit of the doubt here, I think it's just...a mythic, epic scale story that draws from interesting sources (creation myths, the idea of a world created as an envious reflection by a sealed hunger) and didn't come together very well. I cannot extend that same benefit of the doubt to those fans who have argued otherwise, however.

[tomorrowusa]

Don't be fooled by phony support for labor from billionaires like Donald Trump.

Contrary to what a few media outlets reported, Trump did NOT speak to striking UAW workers. The owner of a non-union shop invited him to hold what amounted to a campaign rally at his building.

The Media Falls for Trump’s Labor Lies

[O]nce you strip away Trump’s bluster, you see a recognizably Republican creature. His labor lies are proof. The former president wanted people to believe he was speaking to striking auto workers, but the UAW had not invited him and its president, Shawn Fain, had sharply criticized Trump. The press fell for Trump’s lies anyway. [ ... ] Here’s what else we know about Trump and labor. His Labor Secretary, Eugene Scalia, was resolutely anti-union and anti-worker. Scalia rewrote “dozens of rules that were put in place to protect workers” The New Yorker reported, and during his tenure, OSHA “explicitly told employers that none of its COVID-19 recommendations impose new legal obligations.” Under Trump, the National Labor Relations Board reversed some Obama-era regulations that made it easier for workers to organize. Politico itself reported in 2018 that the Trump administration was “rolling back worker safety protections affecting underground mine safety inspections, offshore oil rigs and line speeds in meat processing plants, among others.” On labor, Trump is an orthodox conservative. We know that Trump’s “mixed legacy” with labor is, in fact, clear. He likes to sound like a populist, but he is a proven conman. Yet those facts are relatively absent from mainstream coverage right now. Why are political reporters still making such basic mistakes? Why are they even furnishing his lies? Trump’s claims deserve skepticism, at minimum, like any politician. As long as Republican voters prefer Trump in spite of his anti-worker record, and Republican lawmakers are still anti-union, we can hardly speak of “a long coming convergence between his own party and union members,” as Politico does. [ ... ] As my colleague Eric Levitz recently argued, a paper or news channel can find it difficult to cover Trump “without sounding like a shrill, dull, Democratic propaganda outlet.” Therefore the media “comports itself as an amnesiac, or an abusive household committed to keeping up appearances, losing itself in the old routines, in an effortful approximation of normality until it almost forgets what it doesn’t want to know.” In such circumstances, the press should ask itself if objectivity is even possible, let alone desirable. The truth will not long withstand business as usual.

While pretending to be pro-US labor, Trump merchandise was being made in China during his administration.

Trump flags: Made in China

Trump treats his own workers like shit, he considers them disposable and screws them out of their rightful benefits.

How Trump's Casino Bankruptcies Screwed His Workers out of Millions in Retirement Savings Trump made out like a bandit, but his employees paid the price.

[theroyalsims]

IBRAHIM “PEEVED”

The Earl of Harvelle, a.k.a Ibrahim, a.k.a. Countess Eleanore’s husband, a.k.a. the former Crown Prince of Al-Simhara is said to be displeased at his non-role in the Royal family. 

Multiple sources claim that Ibrahim is quite displeased with how he and his wife are being treated within the royal family. His biggest source of annoyance these days, is reportedly seeing "certain people" being placed well ahead and above him, when clearly, as a former Crown Prince, his track record shows that he’s more than capable to represent the Crown In a more official capacity. 

Royal watchers were quick to conclude that the “certain people” referred to is none other than Prince Gus. It can be recalled that prior to marrying Anya, Gus was made a Knight of the Realm. He was later officially made a Prince of Brindleton by HM. And a few months ago, it was announced that he has been given his first set of royal patronages by The Queen. 

Perhaps adding insult to injury, earlier last month, Prince Gus was invited by Prince Alistair, along with Prince Nicky, on a major project.

The insider also reveals that Ibrahim is reportedly "insulted" by the low title gifted to them by the Queen:

"He was a future King, but now, all he has is a small cottage in the country and a useless, lowly title. He thinks being called the Earl of Harvelle is both an insult and a joke, and he'd really rather be address by his name. He's convinced that someone of his former status deserves, at the very least, a dukedom, especially considering that the son of a train conductor and a gift shop clerk was made both a knight and a prince of the realm."

The rumoured jealousy emanating from the Earl has become a hot topic online. One commenter wrote:

“Who says guys can’t be petty! Ibby, you gotta try harder, babe. You think you being sneaky, not naming names when we all know you talkin ‘bout Prince Gus-Gus! The timing is OFFFFFF! We just know Ibby’s GREEEN with ENVYYYYY! LOVE TO SEE IT!

Another royal watcher remarked:

"Ibrahim being a petty little diva just goes to show that he and Eleanore DO belong together! I pity little Ella who has to grow up with two narcissists."

Palace insiders, however, are said to be left confused by Ibrahim’s frustrations. A well-placed palace source reveals:

“We honestly don’t know where this is coming from because the entire situation - their marriage, their place in the family - were thoroughly explained to them by The Queen herself before they tied the knot. It was agreed that they will remain to be private citizens, and and their children will not be in the line of succession. They were also clearly informed that any titles given to them by HM shall be taken on in an honorary capacity, and that they will not, in any way, be representing the Crown. At that time, they were very understanding and were very grateful for HM and the royals’ acceptance of their union. Now, things have changed, and Ibrahim is no longer happy.”

Could the rise of Prince Gus in ranks have been the reason for Ibrahim’s sudden displeasure? We kinda see how it may be a little upsetting for a former Crown Prince who now has to bow to a commoner-turned-future consort, but ultimately, it was his decision to leave his life in Al-Simhara behind to build a life with Eleanore here in Brindleton. Is he regretting that, too?

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 12 July 1979, Olive Morris, feminist, squatter and activist in the Brixton Black Panthers, died aged just 27. Born in Jamaica, Morris moved to the UK aged 9 to be with her forklift operator father and factory shop steward mother. One of her earliest political actions was at 17 when she intervened when police in Brixton, south London, were arresting a Black man for an alleged parking offence. She was racially abused and physically attacked by officers, then arrested, fined and given a three month suspended sentence for two years. In her short life Morris played a leading role in radical movements in Britain, getting involved with and helping found numerous groups and projects like the Black Women's Mutual Aid Group. She also was critical of the white left and union movement, which spouted rhetoric about "unity". But in reality, at employers like Standard Telephones and Cables, they defended practices like lower pay for Black workers, and scabbed on Black workers' strikes. About single issue anti-fascist groups, Morris said: “Not a single problem associated with racialism, unemployment, police violence and homelessness can be settled by ‘rocking’ against the fascists, the police or the army… The fight against racism and fascism is completely bound up with the fight to overthrow capitalism, the system that breeds both.” In 1978, she became unwell, and was then diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. She succumbed the following year. You can learn more about racism in the British workers' movement, and how it was fought against and radically altered by the Grunwick strike in our podcast episodes 67-68: https://workingclasshistory.com/podcast/grunwick-strike-1976/ https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=660349202804965&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[sirnotappearinginthistumbl]

Dear Trader Joe’s: You’re Fired

You know, I was really fond of your Trader Joe’s stores when I first shopped there. Lots of great stuff! Usually reasonable prices! Cool shirts! Generally happy workers!

But now the shine is off the rose. Some of your stuff is still great, sure, but most of it I can find elsewhere. Many of your prices are above what I’d pay elsewhere. The shirts are still decent, but nothing like the sea of Hawaiian-themed prints of the aughts.

That’s not enough to make me stop shopping at your stores.

Your employees are not so happy any more and are trying to unionize. They’ve encouraged shoppers like me to keep coming to your stores because they are invested in keeping the business going. That could keep me coming to the store.

In response, you have tried telling your employees that you’re still a great place to work. Their reply? “Nah, if you were we wouldn’t need to unionize.”

That’s not enough to make me stop working at your stores either, because your workers asked. Support the workers!

But now, in your attempts to stop your labor force from unionizing, you’re trying to undermine the National Labor Relations Act and the National Labor Relations Board in court, trying to get them declared unconstitutional.

Unions help raise all workers wages. The more unions and union employees are out there, the more the wages go up for both union and non-union employees.

You are actively trying to undermine the wages of not just your employees, but also many of your customers, myself included — just so you can sock another seven to eight figures in your bank account every year.

So, in short: it’s not me, it’s you. You’re trying to hurt me, my family and my community. That is more than enough to make me stop shopping at your stores, and plenty enough to make me want you to leave my community.

You’re fired, Trader Joe’s. Good luck finding another sucker to shop in your stores.

Oh, and Amazon and Muskrat? I haven’t forgotten you. Your walking papers are in process.

[democratthatlovesguns]

How greed is the main factor driving inflation.

And why didn't the Biden administration rollback the tariffs that the Trump administration set in place, if it would have reduced inflation?

Okay so, unlike MAGA republicans, the Biden administration knows that it's important to listen to expert economists on topics in which they recognize they have a great deal of bias. And the Biden administration knows how to weigh the options available and determine what is best for everyone regardless of political party.

The truth is, removal of the Trump tariffs would only have improved inflation slightly and temporarily, but the cost of removal would possibly come at great risk to the American people. That is what the experts said, and their expertise was what Biden trusted in keeping the tariffs; it was not because they were the magic potion solution to a recovering economy that Trump would have you believe.

Biden's actions, of course, are in great contrast to Trump and let's state just one example, Obamacare. Trump was shown and told many times that repealing Obamacare would result in very negative outcomes for a lot of Americans. Did he give one fuck about that? NO. He tried multiple times to repeal the law completely, and replace it with "a concept of a plan."

Back to inflation.

In the last three years, late 2021 to present, many people saw themselves rethinking their careers and their choices in life - without taking money too much into consideration. Great news for opportunist assholes like Kevin O'Leary.

What happens when a large portion of the population decides to "reinvent" themselves? Usually it means they're willing to take a pay cut to obtain an entry level position in a career they always wanted or wanted to at least try OR it means that they take a leap and try to run their own business.

That's great news to owners and shareholders of large corporations: A large wave of entry level applicants to non-union jobs. Greed dictates, as Kevin O'Leary does, that you should fire the guy working forty-hour weeks and earning his living wage after twenty years of consistent quality work; greed says "fire that guy and hire two new guys at minimum wage and if you can, no overtime pay."

And the greed does not end there.

Using "inflation" as a pretext large corporations were able to drive down the price of labor across the supply chain. Look at how many owner operators in the trucking business went out of business ... Look at why Yellow Logistics went bankrupt - they could not pay the living wage "rate" that the union needed for it's workers. A surplus of available labor in the industry resulted in starvation wages, literally. Read some of the stories out there, there were truckers literally paying to take loads instead of earning from taking loads.

And it wasn't just the truckers, people in the background like freight brokers also took big hits "because ... inflation."

So what did assholes like Kevin O'Leary do to help consumers and small businesses?

Owners and shareholders were enjoying substantial savings in manufacturing labor, transport, retail workers, all granted because "inflation" and people became scared of losing their jobs. Did they pass on the savings to consumers? Sure, in the MAGA world with alternative facts (fiction) that's presumably what they did. In the real world, they jacked up prices ... "because ... inflation."

Small retail business didn't stand a chance either. Large retailers could always negotiate massive discounts on wholesale purchases that mom and pop shops could never leverage to compete with. Anybody starting a small retail business soon found it was better to go out out business than continue to lose money.

So corporate leaders enjoyed substantial savings across the board and continued to raise prices for consumers ...

AND THEN THEY REPORTED RECORD PROFITS! IN SOME INSTANCES, MANY TIMES THEIR WILDEST PROJECTIONS.

Look at the collusion in the meat industry and companies like Pepsi and Coca Cola if you need more details.

Yet, Elon is able to convince half of the American people that "big cuts" are necessary to reduce America's debt. He's certainly not going to cut money that gets funneled to his pockets, for sure. He is going to cut social security and Medicare because we all know how frivolously old people spend their money. I mean, I understand.

It's like Senator Ron Johnson said, "Senior citizens have misused social security and that's why I want it to sunset."

TBH, many a time, I have had to drive to the club ... the strip club ... to drag grandma out of there. She's in there all like "make it rain bitches" while tossing fitties and hundeds in the air and buying everyone round after round of cognac. Grandma is all like, "fitties for them titties"! And I'm all like, "Grandma you incorrigible lesbo! What about your insulin and your rent?!" [I can use the word lesbo because I have zero lesbian friends ... That's not my preference, I just have a "military look" and people make assumptions (not unfounded).]

Anyway, so what do they do when Kamala Harris states that safeguards against price gouging should be rolled out to help the American people, and that corporations should be taxed more to pay for social benefits like health care and education (that will never be paid through bullshit trickle down economics)? They send a complete dumbass anti-Semitic asshole like Mel Gibson to call Kamala Harris low IQ and stupid when it comes to economics.

To clarify, Kamala Harris understands economics much better than Mel Gibson ever will. She also understands greed and what it can drive innocent sounding people to do.

Yes, ideally, corporations would pay zero tax ... But in such an ideal world, everyone employed by the corporation from the janitor to the CEO would earn enough from a forty hour work week (not a one hundred hour work week as proposed by Elon) to afford housing, food, health care, transportation, and everyone would still have a little left over for a Sunday steak dinner with the family and a little entertainment. This ideal world will never come to be, not because it's impossible, but because greedy assholes like Elon don't believe workers "deserve" such an existence as lowly employees.

WE DON'T TAX CORPORATIONS TO BE ASSHOLES, WE TAX THEM BECAUSE WE WANT THEM TO PAY THEIR FAIR SHARE OF THE SOCIAL SERVICES THEIR WORKERS AND THEIR FAMILIES HAVE EARNED.

The people that will suffer the most under Elon's rule on government spending will be the children, the elderly, the mentally or physically disabled. When you cast your vote, have them in mind, and ask yourself how much should they suffer so that Trump, Elon, and their billionaire friends can grow their "ego" wealth.

[the-cimmerians]

A federal judge in Texas recently blocked a new Federal Trade Commission rule that would have prohibited new employee non-compete agreements starting September 4. Judge Ada Brown of the Northern District of Texas ruled on August 20 that the FTC lacked the power to prevent employers from requiring even entry-level fast food workers to enter into really stupid contracts that prohibit them from getting better jobs at competing businesses. And maybe, given recent Supreme Court rulings, the FTC has no power to regulate anything at all, you never know.

Noncompete agreements were supposedly needed to keep executives and industrial secret-havers from stealing important “trade secrets” — like “Arby’s Arby-Q barbecue sandwiches contain no more than 30 percent roadkill” — and giving them to competing businesses. But for workers below the management level, the agreements all too frequently suppressed wages and kept people from changing jobs or starting their own businesses. That’s why Joe Biden started calling for an end to the damn things since his 2023 State of the Union address.

Backers of the FTC rule argued that existing intellectual property laws do a fine job of protecting genuine trade secrets, and that for the vast majority of folks, noncompete agreements amounted to cartel-style barriers to competition. The agency estimated the rule could potentially increase wages by as much as $488 billion over the next decade, amounting to a $524 annual wage increase for the average worker.

But businesses of all sorts, mostly Big, and the US Chamber of Commerce objected, arguing that stifling competition is the American way, and that the FTC has no business interfering with how they break their workers’ spirits and keep wages down. Judge Brown held that the FTC “exceeded its statutory authority,” that the rule was “arbitrary and capricious,” an attitude that is reserved solely for petty dictator jackwad bosses, and that the rule would “cause irreparable harm” to said jackwad plaintiffs.

When the rule was introduced in April, FTC Chair Lina M. Khan argued that the “freedom to change jobs is core to economic liberty and to a competitive, thriving economy,” and that noncompete agreements unfairly limited workers’ freedom to seek higher wages and better work conditions, and that noncompetes were bad for business too, “depriving businesses of a talent pool that they need to build and expand.”

The ruling is pretty much guaranteed to go to the US Supreme Court, because in July, a different federal judge in Pennsylvania upheld the FTC rule, noting in that case that “The FTC's substantive rulemaking authority has been confirmed by circuit courts interpreting the FTC Act, as well as by Congress when it enacted its 1975 and 1980 Amendments to the Act,” which sounds convincing enough until you remember that was a long time ago and the Supreme Court now believes businesses can do almost anything they want.

If we’re lucky, the case may eventually be resolved without the Supremes deciding that indentured servitude is also legal again.