#or where wages were keeping up with the cost of living

[ashanimus]

I mean, if I was deliberately ignorant about basically everything happening around me I would probably be significantly less depressed too

[hyperlexichypatia]

This is a semi spinoff of this post, but really its own thought.

When a job pays less than a living wage, it generally attracts one of two types of employees:

Desperate people (usually poor and/or otherwise marginalized or with barriers to employment), who will take any job, no matter how bad, because they need the money, or

Independently wealthy people (usually well-off retirees, students being supported by their families, or women with well-off husbands*), who don't care about the pay scale because they don't need the money anyway.**

And sometimes, organizations will intentionally keep a job low-paying or non-paying with the deliberate intent of narrowing their pool to that second category.

People sometimes bring this up when discussing the salaries of elected officials -- yes, most politicians are paid more than most "regular people," but they're not paid enough to sustain the expensive lifestyle politicians have to maintain, and that's on purpose. It's not an oversight, and it's not primarily about cost-cutting. It's a deliberate barrier to ensure that only rich people can run for office.

The same is true, albeit to less severe effect, of unpaid internships -- the benefit of "hiring" an unpaid intern isn't (just) that you don't have to pay them; it's also that you can ensure that all your workers are rich, or at least middle-class.

When nonprofits brag about how little of their budget goes to "overhead" and "salaries", as if those terms were synonymous with "waste," what they're really saying is "All our employees are financially comfortable enough that they don't worry about being underpaid. Our staff has no socioeconomic diversity, and probably very little ethnic or cultural diversity." ***

This isn't a secret. I'm not blowing anything wide open here. People very openly admit that they think underpaid workers are better, because they're "not in it for the money." This is frequently cited as a reason, for example, that private school teachers are "better" than public school teachers -- they're paid less, so they're not "in it for the money," so they must be working out of the goodness of their hearts. I keep seeing these cursed ads for a pet-sitting service where the petsitters aren't paid, which is a selling point, because they're "not in it for the money."

"In it for the money" is the worst thing a worker could be, of course. Heaven forbid they be so greedy and entitled and selfish as to expect their full-time labor to enable them to pay for basic living expenses. I get this all the time as a public library worker, when I point out how underfunded and underpaid we are. "But... you're not doing it for the money, right?" And I'm supposed to laugh and say "No, no, I'd do it for free, of course!"

Except, see, I have these pesky little human needs, like food. And I can't get a cart full of groceries and explain to the cashier that I don't have any money, but I have just so much job satisfaction!

And it's gendered, of course it's gendered. The subtext of "But you're not doing it for the money, of course" is "But how much pin money do you really need, little lady? Doesn't your husband give you a proper allowance?"

Conceptually, it's just an extension of the upper-class cultural norm that "polite" (rich) people "don't talk about money" (because if you have to think about how much money you have or how much you need, you're insufficiently rich).

*Gendered language very much intentional.

**Disabled people are more likely to be in the first category (most disabled people are poor, and being disabled is expensive), but are usually talked about as if they're in the second category. We're told that disabled people sorting clothing for $1.03 an hour are "So happy to be here" and "Just want to be included," and it's not like they need the money, since, as we all know, disability benefits are ample and generous [heavy sarcasm].

***Unless, of course, they're a nonprofit whose "mission" involves "job placement," in which case what they're saying is "We exploit the poor and desperate people we're purporting to help." Either way, "We pay our employees like crap" is nothing to brag about.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What kind of bubble is AI?

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "What Kind of Bubble is AI?" All economic bubbles are hugely destructive, but some of them leave behind wreckage that can be salvaged for useful purposes, while others leave nothing behind but ashes:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Think about some 21st century bubbles. The dotcom bubble was a terrible tragedy, one that drained the coffers of pension funds and other institutional investors and wiped out retail investors who were gulled by Superbowl Ads. But there was a lot left behind after the dotcoms were wiped out: cheap servers, office furniture and space, but far more importantly, a generation of young people who'd been trained as web makers, leaving nontechnical degree programs to learn HTML, perl and python. This created a whole cohort of technologists from non-technical backgrounds, a first in technological history. Many of these people became the vanguard of a more inclusive and humane tech development movement, and they were able to make interesting and useful services and products in an environment where raw materials – compute, bandwidth, space and talent – were available at firesale prices.

Contrast this with the crypto bubble. It, too, destroyed the fortunes of institutional and individual investors through fraud and Superbowl Ads. It, too, lured in nontechnical people to learn esoteric disciplines at investor expense. But apart from a smattering of Rust programmers, the main residue of crypto is bad digital art and worse Austrian economics.

Or think of Worldcom vs Enron. Both bubbles were built on pure fraud, but Enron's fraud left nothing behind but a string of suspicious deaths. By contrast, Worldcom's fraud was a Big Store con that required laying a ton of fiber that is still in the ground to this day, and is being bought and used at pennies on the dollar.

AI is definitely a bubble. As I write in the column, if you fly into SFO and rent a car and drive north to San Francisco or south to Silicon Valley, every single billboard is advertising an "AI" startup, many of which are not even using anything that can be remotely characterized as AI. That's amazing, considering what a meaningless buzzword AI already is.

So which kind of bubble is AI? When it pops, will something useful be left behind, or will it go away altogether? To be sure, there's a legion of technologists who are learning Tensorflow and Pytorch. These nominally open source tools are bound, respectively, to Google and Facebook's AI environments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

But if those environments go away, those programming skills become a lot less useful. Live, large-scale Big Tech AI projects are shockingly expensive to run. Some of their costs are fixed – collecting, labeling and processing training data – but the running costs for each query are prodigious. There's a massive primary energy bill for the servers, a nearly as large energy bill for the chillers, and a titanic wage bill for the specialized technical staff involved.

Once investor subsidies dry up, will the real-world, non-hyperbolic applications for AI be enough to cover these running costs? AI applications can be plotted on a 2X2 grid whose axes are "value" (how much customers will pay for them) and "risk tolerance" (how perfect the product needs to be).

Charging teenaged D&D players $10 month for an image generator that creates epic illustrations of their characters fighting monsters is low value and very risk tolerant (teenagers aren't overly worried about six-fingered swordspeople with three pupils in each eye). Charging scammy spamfarms $500/month for a text generator that spits out dull, search-algorithm-pleasing narratives to appear over recipes is likewise low-value and highly risk tolerant (your customer doesn't care if the text is nonsense). Charging visually impaired people $100 month for an app that plays a text-to-speech description of anything they point their cameras at is low-value and moderately risk tolerant ("that's your blue shirt" when it's green is not a big deal, while "the street is safe to cross" when it's not is a much bigger one).

Morganstanley doesn't talk about the trillions the AI industry will be worth some day because of these applications. These are just spinoffs from the main event, a collection of extremely high-value applications. Think of self-driving cars or radiology bots that analyze chest x-rays and characterize masses as cancerous or noncancerous.

These are high value – but only if they are also risk-tolerant. The pitch for self-driving cars is "fire most drivers and replace them with 'humans in the loop' who intervene at critical junctures." That's the risk-tolerant version of self-driving cars, and it's a failure. More than $100b has been incinerated chasing self-driving cars, and cars are nowhere near driving themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Quite the reverse, in fact. Cruise was just forced to quit the field after one of their cars maimed a woman – a pedestrian who had not opted into being part of a high-risk AI experiment – and dragged her body 20 feet through the streets of San Francisco. Afterwards, it emerged that Cruise had replaced the single low-waged driver who would normally be paid to operate a taxi with 1.5 high-waged skilled technicians who remotely oversaw each of its vehicles:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/03/technology/cruise-general-motors-self-driving-cars.html

The self-driving pitch isn't that your car will correct your own human errors (like an alarm that sounds when you activate your turn signal while someone is in your blind-spot). Self-driving isn't about using automation to augment human skill – it's about replacing humans. There's no business case for spending hundreds of billions on better safety systems for cars (there's a human case for it, though!). The only way the price-tag justifies itself is if paid drivers can be fired and replaced with software that costs less than their wages.

What about radiologists? Radiologists certainly make mistakes from time to time, and if there's a computer vision system that makes different mistakes than the sort that humans make, they could be a cheap way of generating second opinions that trigger re-examination by a human radiologist. But no AI investor thinks their return will come from selling hospitals that reduce the number of X-rays each radiologist processes every day, as a second-opinion-generating system would. Rather, the value of AI radiologists comes from firing most of your human radiologists and replacing them with software whose judgments are cursorily double-checked by a human whose "automation blindness" will turn them into an OK-button-mashing automaton:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

The profit-generating pitch for high-value AI applications lies in creating "reverse centaurs": humans who serve as appendages for automation that operates at a speed and scale that is unrelated to the capacity or needs of the worker:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

But unless these high-value applications are intrinsically risk-tolerant, they are poor candidates for automation. Cruise was able to nonconsensually enlist the population of San Francisco in an experimental murderbot development program thanks to the vast sums of money sloshing around the industry. Some of this money funds the inevitabilist narrative that self-driving cars are coming, it's only a matter of when, not if, and so SF had better get in the autonomous vehicle or get run over by the forces of history.

Once the bubble pops (all bubbles pop), AI applications will have to rise or fall on their actual merits, not their promise. The odds are stacked against the long-term survival of high-value, risk-intolerant AI applications.

The problem for AI is that while there are a lot of risk-tolerant applications, they're almost all low-value; while nearly all the high-value applications are risk-intolerant. Once AI has to be profitable – once investors withdraw their subsidies from money-losing ventures – the risk-tolerant applications need to be sufficient to run those tremendously expensive servers in those brutally expensive data-centers tended by exceptionally expensive technical workers.

If they aren't, then the business case for running those servers goes away, and so do the servers – and so do all those risk-tolerant, low-value applications. It doesn't matter if helping blind people make sense of their surroundings is socially beneficial. It doesn't matter if teenaged gamers love their epic character art. It doesn't even matter how horny scammers are for generating AI nonsense SEO websites:

https://twitter.com/jakezward/status/1728032634037567509

These applications are all riding on the coattails of the big AI models that are being built and operated at a loss in order to be profitable. If they remain unprofitable long enough, the private sector will no longer pay to operate them.

Now, there are smaller models, models that stand alone and run on commodity hardware. These would persist even after the AI bubble bursts, because most of their costs are setup costs that have already been borne by the well-funded companies who created them. These models are limited, of course, though the communities that have formed around them have pushed those limits in surprising ways, far beyond their original manufacturers' beliefs about their capacity. These communities will continue to push those limits for as long as they find the models useful.

These standalone, "toy" models are derived from the big models, though. When the AI bubble bursts and the private sector no longer subsidizes mass-scale model creation, it will cease to spin out more sophisticated models that run on commodity hardware (it's possible that Federated learning and other techniques for spreading out the work of making large-scale models will fill the gap).

So what kind of bubble is the AI bubble? What will we salvage from its wreckage? Perhaps the communities who've invested in becoming experts in Pytorch and Tensorflow will wrestle them away from their corporate masters and make them generally useful. Certainly, a lot of people will have gained skills in applying statistical techniques.

But there will also be a lot of unsalvageable wreckage. As big AI models get integrated into the processes of the productive economy, AI becomes a source of systemic risk. The only thing worse than having an automated process that is rendered dangerous or erratic based on AI integration is to have that process fail entirely because the AI suddenly disappeared, a collapse that is too precipitous for former AI customers to engineer a soft landing for their systems.

This is a blind spot in our policymakers debates about AI. The smart policymakers are asking questions about fairness, algorithmic bias, and fraud. The foolish policymakers are ensnared in fantasies about "AI safety," AKA "Will the chatbot become a superintelligence that turns the whole human race into paperclips?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

But no one is asking, "What will we do if" – when – "the AI bubble pops and most of this stuff disappears overnight?"

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/2023/12/19/bubblenomics/#pop

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

tom_bullock (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/tombullock/25173469495/

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

[thebibliosphere]

I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?

I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.

I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.

We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.

If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.

Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.

They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.

And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.

The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.

So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.

That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.

Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.

They're not.

If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.

Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?

[certified-bi]

Okay all my thoughts because some people have been saying that not supporting this change is not supporting artist and creators and as an artist fuck that.

1. Audiences owe you nothing. You have to convince them to engage with your creation not the other way around. This is something both the nonprofit theatre I work with recognizes and huge companies realize. It's just part of life. There are so many talented people in the world making amazing art, videos, music, writings, and on and on, and there's only so much time in the day. I'm not saying you shouldn't know your worth, just that being flippant about how little you care about those who can't pay isn't a good move. On that note...

2. PR is everything. If you haven't made a visible effort to push patreon, channel memberships or other avenues of making money, don't be suprised that your creation that was previously accessible to those without extra cash and to those who can't support foreign subscriptions due either to conversions or because it simply doesn't work, being made private isn't popular. There's a big leap from "We want to have more artistic control" to "We can't afford to make our content accessible to most of our audience," and people are smart enough to see this. You either have to make budget cuts or give into sponsors. This isn't unique to Watcher, it's part of literally every production from broadway, to Hollywood, to YouTube. Unless you can fund it yourself or get viewers to pay(which given how many are already strapped for cash...) that's life.

Not to mention they simply do not have enough followers to make the switch to a paid only site(dropping the first epsiode only on YouTube isn't going to draw people in, they're just going to say "oh why start if I'm not going to see the rest" and not watch) especially not one that is buggy and a security risk. Even if the switch had been supported its not going to end well. The only reason services like nebula and dropout work is because of the large amount of series and creators and the fact those creators still are partly on YouTube so new people are drawn in.

3. As for the price, 6 dollars a month is a not a good starting price for only their content and that's as someone who pays for nebula. I'd be paying the same amount for a fraction of the access to others work. Actually it'd be twice as much. And before someone says "it's only a coffee-" that's for you. Not everyone has your lifestyle. And with every other patreon and subscription service that says the same thing, it all adds up and I simply don't think 60 dollars for 48 videos a year on a subscription basis where you don't get to keep the videos if your situation changes, some of which don't appeal to every viewer is a good move. If you were able to buy physical copies of your favorite series they've made that'd be different, but that's not what this is.

4. I do believe that the employees deserve a livable wage. I also did not hire them. It is not on the viewers that they hired more people than they could afford to. They can charge that much if they want to to try and balance this out. They also shouldn't be suprised if not many can or will sign up. They also don't have to be based in L.A. L.A has ridiculous costs associated with it, and quite honestly it doesn't really add much to the content. I'm not saying they need to move to the middle of nowhere Kansas. Simply that living and basing your studio in a super expensive city and then being suprised money is tight is just weird.

5. Something that occurs to me is that they might get more views if their playlists were better set up. Only some series are given playlists. It'd be easier to find all of the series and binge them if they didn't just show off their more popular shows. Honestly the only draw the streaming site has to me is that the series are actually labeled well.

Do I think the weird ass energy towards Steven is necessary? No. He's not the only one at the company and they're all adults. I actually liked grocery run and homemade, and like to see them back. The parascoial attachment to Ryan and Shane is annoying in people's criticisms, but that doesn't make them completely wrong. If you're going to brand yourself as the anti capalist underdogs you can't get away with being dismissive of your poorer fans. The dissonance is what is causing this backlash and makes you look like hypocrites. I definitely think Steven is turning into the fall guy which is fucked up, his statement and the fact dish granted is one of those shows that make people uncomfortable about wealth flexs doesn't help matters.

[bunny-jpeg]

hi bunny!!! can i submit a request for kevin magnussen? something like a mafia!au where he’s big and scary except for when he’s with reader?💞

kevin magnussen

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, mafia boss!kevin, size difference/kink, doggy style, protective!kevin, reader doesn't know he's mafia, creepy men, mentions of blood and violence, body worship

thank you lovely anon for this idea! i know i usually get bakery submissions, but i do accept other ideas you might have! so this was a pleasant surprise in my inbox!

coming to copenhagen wasn't on your bucket list of dreams. while it was for some, you only took the job because the hours were better. and after a nasty break up only a few months prior, it felt like a good idea to be in another part of the globe. while you missed family, there was something about the unknown that made you pack your belongings (and cat) and head to denmark.

you knew living abroad would have its risks. they were put to rest when you met a tattooed gentleman with the kindest eyes. his name was kevin, kevin magnussen

kevin was an interesting man. you had met him after a blind date fell through and he was at a nearby table by himself. he was waiting for 'friends', but didn't mind spending some time with you. before his 'friends' arrived he ordered you some dessert for after your meal.

he also slipped you a business card and said, "if you need anything in this city, let me know." then smiled at you. the address on the card led to a mechanics shop and kevin told you he owned and "worked" here, but you never saw too many cars come through.

but any questions were met with smiles and promises. you felt a little safer in the city when you were kevin. you one time asked him, "it seems like everyone looks at you when we walk together. or maybe i'm just imagining things."

even though you became accustomed to the public transport of the city. kevin was more than happy to pick you up or drop you off even places like the grocery store. you didn't want to think about all the times he bought you groceries. one time he made you grab another pack of salmon and not to look at the cost. he told you that you can freeze it for a few months. your throat tightened when you saw the price at the check out. but kevin simply paid without a second glance.

maybe you were used to people in your country being paid pennies. you chalked everything up to better wages in denmark.

  “you don't have to pay for things, kevin! really, this job i do pays well enough.” you held onto the front of his zip-up jacket as he carried your groceries back to your apartment. you still didn't know what he saw in you. but, if you couldn't give him the money back, then you'd simply have to keep him smiling. not that it was hard, even your worst jokes made him laugh and wrap his arms around you.

kevin seemed weird, but you found it endearing. when he was all smiles with you, in front of the family he was serious. he could be cold, methodic, dangerous. the light that he brought into your world were the same as the shadows he put into the underbelly of the city. people looked when you went down the street, because it wasn't very often to see him out on the streets. especially with someone so…. cute. 

but, there was something that lingered inside of the danish man you met. kevin saw it with his own two eyes when he entered the bar to meet with you one night. he saw a man at your table trying to chat you up. even with your back turned to kevin, he knew you were uncomfortable. nobody liked unwanted sexual advances.

but you weren't budging giving this man an inch, instead waving him off and eventually he took the cue to leave. but not before he touched you at the small of your back which made you lean away from him in disgust.

kevin saw your mouth move and then take a sip of your drink. at least kevin knew that you could stand up for yourself a little bit. at least enough to get this creep to go away.

eventually he did and when he walked away, kevin followed. no one was touching his girl. you were your own woman of course, you did as you pleased with kevin's support. but, most of the city should've know by now. you were under magnussen protection.

you were too occupied with your drink when the man left for you to notice that kevin had saw the entire thing. and instead of meeting you at your table, he followed the man in the washroom.

kevin wasn't the mechanic he told you he was. the tattoos weren't just from the lifestyle of fixing cars. they all meant something, his past, present and future. his family. his life. the head of an important family in the country. he rolled up his sleeves and the man who was flirting with you noticed him.

"almost done, man." he said as he turned off the tap and shook his hands to dry them. kevin crossed the small bathroom and instantly his fist was in the other man's face. causing him to sprawl out on the tiled floor of the bathroom.

kevin got on one knee down to the other man's level. he grabbed him by the front of the shirt and said, "don't, don't, don't yell." he pulled the bloodied man a little closer, his nose obviously broken, "you're going to leave this place. and you're not going to come back. you do not touch a woman without her permission."

"but i-"

"shh, shh, shh. i saw what you clipped to the back of her pants. a tracker? gps? going to follow her home? kidnap her? sell her? answer me." his voice was firm.

the man looked shaken and bleeding, he was trembling like a leaf at the end of fall. kevin was dangerously close, but didn't want to get blood all over himself. he didn't want you to worry.

"keep yourself out of here. if you don't. not even your dental records will be able to identify you. and if you want a date so badly, stop being a fucking creep." then dropped the man and got up.

the man nodded before he propped himself up against the bottom of the sink. he wiped his bleeding nose and before he could get a word in, kevin was gone.

"min elskede!" kevin's words could be heard and made you look over. you perked up a little bit as your boyfriend sat across from you. you were all smiles now in his presence.

"what happened to your hand?" you asked as you carefully took his hand in yours. you examined the red across his knuckle.

kevin rubbed the top of your head with his other hand, "oh, nothing. i wasn't looking at got it right at the corner of a door. you can kiss it if you want?"

you giggled a little then brought his knuckle to your lips, "what would you do without me, kevin?"

"oh, i don't know. i'd be lost." he smiled back at you.

-

back at your apartment, you were trying to get your socks off. they had little flowers printed on them and were a lovely pair. but it was hard with kevin's lips on your skin.

you squirmed a little and broke the kiss, "please, honey. let me get my clothes off." then burst into giggles when his lips got onto your neck. you ran your fingers through his hair and laughed.

"i can't help it, you're so beautiful." he admitted before he managed to pry himself away from you to let you get undressed. as he undid his button up shirt, he watched you struggle to get out of your jeans and chuckled softly to himself. beautiful little thing you were.

"oh shush." you said as you slipped off your panties, feeling kevin's eyes on you, "i'm alright looking. nothing to write home about."

he took you and pulled him to your chest. he kept those strong arms around you, as if he didn't punch a guy in the face earlier that evening. but, that was simply a part of his life. he had a punch that could kill, but with you. he was so sweet.

eventually you wiggled out of his grasp and got yourself in a further state of undress. soon you naked body was exposed to him and you could feel his hungry gaze on you.

you said as you looked at him, "i'm not a piece of meat, honey."

he reached for you and pulled your naked body next to his. he kissed at your face with such love and said, "of course you're not. you're too important to be meat." then trailed kisses across your body.

you laughed, "oh, c'mon!" you squirmed a little bit and arched your back. your nails rubbed against his scalp. his hips shifted a little bit and his cock rubbed against your thigh.

he knew that if anyone in the family saw him in that moment, they'd think he was a totally different man. the mean boss of the family was reduced to getting head scratches while he worshiped your breasts with his lips.

he said sweet things against you, watching your squirm when his tongue touched your left nipple. he watched your reaction for a moment before he closed his eyes and started to really suck on it. leaving wet trails behind.

his large hands kneaded your breasts and he felt his back arch against you. you felt hot all over and you moaned a little louder. two lovers naked in bed together.

you ran your hands up and down his shoulders, you knew both arms were heavily tattooed. you moaned against his lips before he pulled away and moved away from you. he got you onto your elbows and knees with your ass in the air.

he groped your ass cheek a little bit as he stroked his cock a little bit before he got closer to you once more and rubbed his hard cock up against your slick pussy. he listened to your sweet noises which only excited him more when he slipped his cock in. the angle let him get quite deep inside of you.

"kev!" your back arched a little, "oh. wow! every time." you hit your fist against the bed for a moment. your back arched a little more and you held onto the covers under you.

kevin licked his lips as he kept both hands on you. he loved the feeling of your cunt around his cock. it was his little slice of heaven. all the money from being in the family was something, but to have your sweetness around him made everything feel so much better.

"you're so pretty." he said softly, "you are the most gorgeous thing i had ever laid eyes on. i think about you all day, how much i love you and care for you." he pressed his chest agaisnt your back, then kissed at the back of your shoulders as he rutted against you.

he could feel the pound of his heart as he continued to move against you. his breathing was heavy against your skin as you buried your face into the soft pillows. the pillows he bought for you because you talked so much about how they were just so soft. and you hated to admit that since sleeping with them, your sleeps have improved.

he watched you move a little bit and whine into the covers. you sounded so pretty as he rutted against you. he kissed your shoulders once more.

"please, kev. honey!" you whined.

"you're so beautiful, my love."

his movements continued and the heat in the room grew, especially between the two of you. you could feel the sweat of his chest on your back as he wrapped his arms around you. he kept you close to him as he picked up the pace.

he pushed your further into the bed and worked at your hips. his cock slipped in and out of you perfectly. you were a dream around his cock. the creaking of the bed under you as the two of you made love under the low light of your bedroom.

it was comfortable, it wasn't painful in every way. and it was so good to feel your lover so closely. you panted heavily into the pillows and clutched it tightly. your noises were muffled as he moved. he pressed further into you and knew he wasn't going to last long.

a man capable of such violence was so docile around you. he wanted you so badly. he needed you more than he needed almost anything. his heart sang for you, and when he was away he tried to get home to you as soon as possible.

the dangerous life was common for him, but he didn't want to scare you off. if you knew the truth, would you hate him? would you run away or to the police? would you leave kevin?

he loved you so much, the idea of losing you made him almost scared. he pressed into you as much as he could and fucked you with heavy thrusts. he heard you pant heavily into the covers as he felt the pleasure in his brain.

you whined more as you felt orgasm hit you like a train. you said to your lover, "please, kevin. i love you."

he kissed your cheek and said, "good. because i love you too." then gave a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you with one final movement of his hips. he came with a groan before he slowed to a stop. he rested his face against your shoulder and just let himself feel you for a moment.

"i love you so much." you groaned.

kevin slipped out of you and laid out beside you. you laid next to him and let him wrap himself up around you. like a protective blanket. he pressed soft kisses against you and melted against your heated skin.

he said with his voice close to your ear, "i promise to protect you forever." then kissed the shell of your ear, "all of my days and all of my nights."

you giggled and turned in his arms, "sounds like you're trying to propose to me." your cheeks warmed at the thought.

he smiled down at you, "maybe, but i'll need a ring first." maybe he'll slowly let you into his world. to be closer to him than ever. he wanted you for a lifetime, to love you was an honour as he kept you in his arms while you both calmed down from your climaxes, "it's a secret for now." he said, "have to give you a little surprise."

you buried your face in his chest and giggled, "oh my god, kevin!" you squirmed a little bit on the bed, "you don't need to propose! really! i'm fine being your girlfriend." the idea of marriage made your cheeks hot!

he held your back and smiled into your hair, "even if it is just a ring, you deserve something nice. and if it is pretty enough then no idiot men at the bar will try to make you uncomfortable." he thought about the tracker he took off of you. being married to you was the end goal, but to protect you was a constant in his mind.

he kissed you, tomorrow he'll go ring shopping before his meetings. it'll be a hard choice to pick the perfect ring, but only the best for you. <3

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale's White Satin Pumps Are Ridiculous (And I love them)

So this is a continuation of the lengthy rant I posted here about Aziraphale's outfit in the Bastille scene of GO and all the ways it would have pissed people in Revolutionary Paris off. I got to the shoes and realized they needed their own post.

Aziraphale's Blessed Little White Satin Pumps

To recap: in 1793, Paris is in control of The People, who are making up for decades of oppression and poverty by beheading the fuck out of everyone remotely nobility-adjacent. And into this mess strolls one Angel in white satin heels.

Some facts about this style of shoe:

The buckle means they're specifically court shoes as opposed to streetwear. Buckles were out of fashion unless you were hanging out with royalty and needed to look fancy. Everyday shoes had laces by this point.

This heel style for men is specifically called Louis Heels because they were popularized by Louis XVI. Y'know... the king Paris just beheaded in 1793. Here's a pair in a similar style from the late 18th century:

One big difference you may notice in Aziraphale's shoes and the ones above is that the ones above are normal, practical leather whereas Aziraphale is wearing white satin shoes. This is because Aziraphale is ridiculous.

The Allure of White Satin Shoes

In this modern world of laundry machines and affordable shoes I feel that people do not fully understand how absolutely over-the-top ridiculous a pair of white satin shoes would be to people in 1793.

First off lets address the fact that they're white:

If you have ever known anyone who was super into sneakers, you know that keeping white shoes white is a full-time job. It was even more so in the 18th century. The fact that Aziraphale is wearing perfectly clean white shoes says one thing: "I am rich enough to be able to pay someone to clean these, and to replace them when they invariably get stained."

And they would get stained. Oh would they get stained.

Because he is not wearing them for their intended function - lazing around indoors. No, he is wearing them on the streets of 18th Century Paris. And 18th Century Paris was fucking disgusting.

Kind of like how London had its famed London Smog, Paris had its own brand of filth. A unique Parisian muck made up of mixtures of mud, offal from the slaughterhouses, animal waste, human waste, household garbage, and rotting dead animals, all mashed down into what a British visitor called, "A thick, black, unctuous oil, that where it sticks no art can wash it off."

Voltaire said: "We blush with shame to see the public markets, set up in narrow streets, displaying their filth, spreading infection, and causing continual disorders…" and called Paris a city, "Partly of gold and partly of muck."

This is a city with over a million people, with no central plumbing, and no public sanitation laws. Households threw their waste in the streets. Businesses like tanneries and slaughterhouses threw their waste right out into the streets. Horses were the main mode of transportation and nobody was cleaning up after them. It was apparently a thriving hustle that Parisian beggars would hang out in the worst areas with big pieces of wood, and charge wealthy people money to walk on the board over the worst puddles of filth.

That's where Aziraphale is wearing his pristine little white satin shoes. In a city so gross it has its own world-renowned stinking black mud.

And on the subject of those shoes, lets look at the satin part... By the 18th Century, France was no longer dependent on Asia for its silk and satin. There was domestic production, but it was still expensive. A book about the cost of living published in London in 1770 lists the price for a single yard of satin at just over 18 shillings. For comparison, here are some other things you could get for 18 shillings in London at the time:

two box seats at Covent Garden

six barrels of oysters

a really nice wig

a week's wages for a skilled tradesman

15 steak dinners

3 secondhand coats So the outer fabric alone on Aziraphale's shoes cost what it would take a skilled worker about a week to make. Again, that's just for the fabric. Since the shoes themselves were high quality, would be handmade, and required skilled labor, the shoes themselves would be expensive even without the satin. In 1788 a pair of leather gentleman's court shoes cost about 6 livres in France. By comparison, a pound of bread, which was considered a day's food for a peasant, cost roughly 10 sous. So we'll roughly estimate that Aziraphale's shoes without the satin cost the equivalent of 12 days worth of food for an average person.

And, I cannot stress this enough, he is wearing these white shoes, which could easily feed an entire family for weeks, in a city that is abso-fucking-lutely filthy with stinking, staining, sticky mud.

Aziraphale's shoes, probably:

I mean - imagine you're a normal everyday French peasant during the Revolution. You spend decades struggling to feed your family, and some dingbat walks up to you in white court shoes styled after the king you just executed. Shoes that cost more than you make in a month, which he is wearing around your notoriously filthy city with apparently 0 fucks given for the fact that they will be absolutely ruined and will have to be thrown away. (Obviously Aziraphale could just miracle them clean but you're a revolutionary peasant, you don't know that.)

And then this walking audacity asks you for cake.

Aziraphale, hon, you are so lucky they decided to try to execute you and not just like. jump your dumb ass in an alley and steal your pretty little white satin shoes.

[kurishiri]

02 ┊ A life worse than garbage, a thirst to live

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— jude⌛'s past records, record #2.

— cw: domestic child abuse and neglect, implied starvation.

To my father and older brother, my younger sister and I were just burdensome packages left behind by our mother.

Adverse to the mere sight of us, they pushed us to the attic more and more.

Jude’s father: Ahh, bloody hell. Ya lot worse than garbage, not bringin’ back a single pence.

Jude’s father: Better count your fortunes for not gettin’ offed and stay where ya at.

Jude: ...God dammit——

Jude’s little sister: *cough*...

Jude: Hey... you doin’ okay?

Jude’s little sister: You’re probably worse off, big brother.

Jude: *cough*... this ain’t nothin’.

Jude’s little sister: Ahaha, there ya go, acting tough.

Though we repeatedly went through high fevers and attacks, nobody reached their hand to us.

We were not even given a crumb of food, I would pilfer some leftovers from my father and brother.

But, even so, there were times when there weren’t even leftovers...

(At this rate she’s gonna die.)

I had never once stained my hands with evil that went against moral principles.

But at that point, we had no other choice.

They were notorious nobles who struck a hard bargain with the port workers with unjust wages.

I nabbed an expensive-looking pocket watch from their pockets, and ran as fast as I could.

Then, I went to pawn it.

(If I sell it, I’m sure I can get some food.)

(I gotta hurry and take this back to her.)

Pawnshop owner: This is a phoney.

Jude: Huh?

J: No way that’s true. Go n’ look at it more carefully!

Pawnshop owner: No, there is no room for doubt. It has left me in a bit of pickle, with how many bad products have been circulating these days.

Pawnshop owner: ——Even so, just how did you get your hands on this? Don’t tell me you stole it...

Jude: ...tch.

Pawnshop owner: H-hey, wait a minute!

I only stopped when I reached an alleyway.

That pocket watch turned out to be a sham that couldn’t make a single pence.

Jude: Hah... truly... what a shame...

I wanted to save my younger sister, and yet I couldn’t. I wanted to oppose, and yet I couldn’t.

(I don’t even know how to crawl out...)

There, a dog was looking at me.

Jude: The hell are ya lookin’ at, go n’ scram!

The moment I shouted, I felt a shock.

(This would make me the same as those bastards who raise their hands on those weaker than ‘em.)

My heart painted black, it deteriorated and festered.

I even envied that dog, who ran about outside.

The environment was so harsh there was no way to recover from this illness, and on top of that, the attacks would grow worse.

Both my sister and I wandered between life and death countless times.

And every time, the gazes of my father and brother would pierce through me.

——‘If only they had died,’ they thought.

And that was why I was going to die trying.

But, willpower alone could not keep a human alive.

(At this rate, she and I——will die.)

Then, one day, a single doctor arrived at the port.

I heard he was an oddball who often came to examine the workers as charity work.

And so, I took my sister to ask him in person to help.

The doctor, who introduced himself as Oswald, looked at us with a crease between his brows.

Oswald: A continuous administration is needed for your illnesses.

Jude: ‘Administration’... so you’re sayin’ it’ll cost a lot?

J: Ugh, again? It’s all money this, money that.

Jude’s little sister: Let’s go back, okay? *cough* I’m fine.

Jude: No way you’re ‘fine.’

(That’s right... once again...)

I wanted to save my younger sister, and yet I couldn’t. I wanted to oppose, and yet I couldn’t.

And yet, I had no way of knowing how to crawl out.

But, even so, if I gave up now——

I picked up a liquor bottle that had fallen on the ground, shattering it.

Then, I pointed it at the doctor before me.

Jude: I’ll give ya more in return. So give that medicine to me.

to be continued…

← prev next →

masterlist🌙 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

[reasonsforhope]

Seven thousand more UAW members just walked off the job, expanding the strike to two more plants. Twenty-five thousand autoworkers are now on strike, and the walkout could continue to escalate if the Big Three don’t budge in negotiations.

[UAW president Shawn] Fain announced that Stellantis would be spared this time. The union had been expected to strike all three companies, but, said Region 1 director LaShawn English, three minutes before Fain was scheduled to go on Facebook Live, the UAW received frantic emails from company representatives.

[Note: Love that for the UAW. Also laughing so hard. Three minutes before the next round of strikes were annouced!!]

According to Fain, Stellantis made “significant progress” on cost-of-living allowances, the right not to cross a picket line, and the right to strike over product commitments and plant closures. “We are excited about this momentum at Stellantis and hope it continues,” Fain said...

“See You Next Week — Maybe?”

“These guys wanted to go out a long time ago,” said Cody Zaremba, a Local 602 member at the Lansing GM plant after the news broke that his plant would be joining the strike. “We’re ready. Everybody, truly, I believe, in the entire membership. They’re one with what’s going on.”

Five thousand workers at thirty-eight parts distribution centers across twenty-one states have been on strike since last Friday [September 22, 2023], along with thirteen thousand at three assembly plants in Michigan, Ohio, and Missouri who walked out on September 15. (See a map of all struck facilities here.) ...

The UAW is now calling on community supporters to organize small teams to canvass dealerships that sell and repair Big Three cars and trucks. On Tuesday, the union issued a canvassing tool kit with instructions, flyers, press releases, and talking points.

In negotiations with Ford and GM, autoworkers have clinched some important gains. Among them is an agreement by both companies to end at least one of the many tiers in current contracts, putting workers at certain parts plants back on the same wage scale as assembly workers. The top rate for Big Three assembly workers is currently around $32...

Ford was spared in last week’s escalation, because bargainers there had made further progress on gains for workers.

But today, the UAW once again called out workers at Ford and GM, putting some muscle behind its bold demands — a big wage boost, a shorter workweek, elimination of tiers, cost-of-living adjustments tied to inflation, protection from plant closures, conversion of temps to permanent employees, and the restoration of retiree health care and benefit-defined pensions to all workers.

-via Jacobin, September 29, 2023. Article continues below.

Keep Them Guessing

This year, for the first time in recent history, the union has played the three auto companies against each other with its strike strategy, departing from the union’s tradition of choosing one target company and patterning an agreement at the other two.

The stand-up strike strategy draws inspiration from an approach known as CHAOS (Create Havoc Around Our System), first deployed in 1993 by Alaska Airlines flight attendants, who announced they would be striking random flights. Although they struck only seven flights in a two-month period, Alaska had to send scabs on every plane, just in case. The unpredictability drew enormous media attention and drove management up the wall. Meanwhile the union was able to conserve its strength and minimize risk.

The companies miscalculated where the UAW was going to strike first, stockpiling engines and shipping them cross-country to the wrong facilities. Autoworkers relished the self-inflicted supply chain chaos on UAW Facebook groups and other social media platforms.

Nonstrikers’ morale on the factory floor has gotten a boost from rank and filers organizing to refuse voluntary overtime. With support both from Fain and the reform caucus Unite All Workers for Democracy (UAWD), workers have been encouraging each other to “Eight and Skate,” meaning to turn down extra work and decline to do management any favors.

Majority Public Support

A majority of Americans support the UAW strikers, and the Big Three have taken a PR hit since the strike began, according to a new survey conducted by the business intelligence firm Caliber.

“Eighty-seven percent of respondents told us they were aware of the strike,” Caliber CEO Shahar Silbershatz told the Intercept. “It’s clear the strike is not just causing commercial repercussions, but reputational repercussions as well.”

These reputational repercussions will only worsen...

"We Can Unmake It"

Fain didn't pull any punches in his speech... “That’s what’s different about working-class people. Whether we’re building cars or trucks or running parts distribution centers; whether we’re writing movies or performing TV shows... we do the heavy lifting. We do the real work. Not the CEOs, not the executives.

"And though we don’t know it, that’s what power is. We have the power. The world is of our making. The economy is of our making. This industry is of our making.

“And as we’ve shown, when we withhold our labor, we can unmake it.”

-via Jacobin, September 29, 2023

[1toreyouapart]

What It Cost

****THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY BASED ON REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THE PEOPLE OR MUSIC MENTIONED IN THIS STORY OUTSIDE OF LILITH AND SADIE AND MAYBE A COUPLE OTHERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT UP FOR FANFIC INVOLVING REAL PEOPLE***

Terrible summary: Five years since she last spoke to him. Since she last saw him. Now his face and his voice is everywhere. She can't escape him.

Five years ago Noah destroyed her and the life they had built. Now he’s back and seeking to make amends. As much as she wants to say that it's too little too late, is it?

CW/TW: Angst, mention of addiction, cheating. Mention of character death. Language. Smut (later on). PinV, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it, friends), oral (f&m receiving). All smutty warnings happen later on, so I’ll update TW/CW warning labels as those parts are written and posted. If I forget anything, please let me know so I can fix it! Thank you!

Masterlist

11-Noah

Everyone's chatter and laughter in the living room drowned out the doubts circling in his head. What if he wasn't able to fix what he had broken? Or what if she just told him to fuck off and leave her alone? Was he even capable of being a better person? Or was he always going to keep making the same mistakes?

Shaking his head as though to shake off the thoughts he picked up Lily's water, the entire reason he was even in the kitchen, and headed back for the living room. Sometimes his brain could be a real bitch. Here he had everything he could want, well, almost everything, and his brain was going crazy on him. Everyone was together again, Lily was spending more and time there and with him in general. But yet those old worries were back and wearing a new face.

Slightly annoyed he dropped back down in front of her, passing the glass of water up to her. Her free hand lightly scratched his scalp in thanks and he had to fight the urge to just lay his head in her lap. He was grateful, thrilled even, that there was a group hangout happening again. But he wished like hell that it was just the two of them. Everything made more sense when it was just them.

The other day they had quite literally spent the entire day laying in his bed binge watching Supernatural, her favorite show. For hours they had laid there, talking, laughing, only untangling themselves from each other when necessary. Everything had made perfect sense then. But now? Surrounded by all their friends? Where he couldn't hold her and kiss her like he wanted? He had to settle for sitting near her or at her feet so that Sadie, who sat happily perched in Jolly's lap, didn't freak out and start asking questions. Questions neither of them knew the answer to.

"Noah?" Lily's voice cut through the noise in his head. "Why don't we trade spots? You've been on the floor all afternoon."

"Nope. You getting hungry?" He asked, avoiding the real question. She'd picked up on his tension. Damn it.

"I'm okay." She answered simply before getting up off the couch. "You're obviously uncomfortable. Get up there."

"No. I'm fine. You sit there."

Lily simply rolled her eyes, passing her water off to Sadie who watched them, eyebrow raised. Great. Just what he needed. Now Sadie would be on a mission to corner him and drill him about everything. And judging by the look she was currently giving Lily, her too.

She stepped between his legs, forcing them open to make space for her as she sat down, her back against his chest. Sadie passed the water back to her, shooting him a pointed look. All he could do was nod his head towards her and let Lily settle into him. So much for avoiding the questions.

Her hand rested on his thigh, squeezing. A small comfort in the battle being waged inside his head. All he wanted was for everything to be exactly as it had been. To be able to hold her the exact way he had before. To not care who was watching. Lily shifted, twisting and lifting herself to whisper in his ear.

"You're tense. Are you okay?"

All he could do was nod, not daring to say anything. What would he say? That he was terrified of fucking whatever this was up? Or that he wanted everyone to go away so that it was just the two of them?

“You’re a terrible liar,” she whispered, settling back into her spot.

Lilith’s hand slowly traveled over to his where she began lightly tracing the tattoos there. Something she had done any time he was anxious before. It gave him something to focus on rather than the thoughts swirling in his head. Slowly the raving thoughts stopped and his body started to relax, his breathing beginning to slow. Just as slowly as she had traced the artwork on his hand she slid her hand under his, palm up, and intertwined her fingers with his.

“You two are awfully cozy,” Sadie quipped. Though there was no malice in her voice. Instead her gaze was soft as she watched them.

“We’ve decided we can be friends.” Lilith shrugged against him, her voice calm and even.

“Babe, their business is their own,” Jolly interjected.

“I know. I’m not saying anything bad. Just an observation.”

Sadie’s eyes landed on his, and while she seemed pleased, there was a silent warning hidden there. One that said don’t fuck up again.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

Hellooooo? Is anyone alive? Is ok if you do... A part two of the yandere fierce deity? Please?

Order up!

Ngl this was actually really difficult to write! Y’all seemed to like Part one, so here’s the continuation!

Tw: Described murder and violence, obsession

Hope you enjoy~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The sigil had since faded from the back wall of your home. It had taken many moons and many storms before the blood had truly faded. But it wasn’t gone. You picked up on the marking more and more, the swooping V shape with two lines intercepting. You saw it carved into the trees you tapped for sap, in the bones of the elks still left at your door and —perhaps most concerning— scratched into your skin. You awoke to it after awaking from a nap, and it came with a sense of all-consuming numbness. You bled, despite no knife piercing your skin and felt a hollow pain looking at the wound… but the gash itself was not painful. The scab on your palm itched as you walked through the markets, and despite switching the hand that held the basket, it only seemed to worsen. An itch is not bad so much as it is annoying. An instinctive feeling to pick and prod until a disturbance is removed. But the sensation has festered into thorns digging into your nerve with every graze of another’s hand.

“That’ll be… 300 total” The farmer handed over the produce youd carefully picked out, a frown of dismay pulling at your lips.

“That’s double last time” His smile faltered and his eyes darted far behind you, glassing over for a moment. He breathed out until his lungs had no more to give and his lips fell shut. It was only when you were about to turn around to see what had enraptured him that his tongue farted over his lips and he picked back up where he’d left off

“Sorry you must understand, it’s-“ His voice faded into the chatter of the crowd, a low hum fading into the back of your mind with a throbbing pain. So much for living here all your life, there was no reason for produce to cost half your wages. It’s not like anyone in this hamlet made much, nor was there any reason for one to struggle. The is community held up on its ties, it's only as useful as its people make it.

“Keep- Just keep it.” You would’ve felt bad at the way he sunk in on his feet with upset, but it was beyond your responsibility to help. Not without proper food in your stomach. You’d need to forage if you had near any hopes of not starving through the week. And so, basket in hand, you returned to the eerie empty of the wood.

The thicket was empty. The berry bushels had since been picked clean by the birds and the wild sprouts trampled or rotted in the soil. It was foolish of you to hope that perhaps whoever kept leaving you meat —your only source of sustenance— could provide you with something that could possibly go with it. Your spice cupboard is beginning to run dry and you had nothing aside from the carcass left behind to prepare.

“If only I had some potatoes… carrots… something- anything!” You threw your wicker basket to the ground, the thin fibres crackling. Anger burned within the humid draws of your breath, seeping into your lungs and through your blood and settling among your being. Thunder rolled in the far distance, but the wind had already made its way to you. The whispery gusts combed through the long grasses and shook the old trees, the wood croaking and groaning. The path back home was no different than it had been recently. No humdrum that followed life, only the cawing of crows. But, rather disappointingly, even they had disappeared as of late. The shadowing of the storm mounted atop your already heavy-hung gloom. It seemed as if every living thing, even those that surpassed mortality had vacated the forest. And as you pushed inward to the unkempt of the wild, you could only feel like you were leaving yourself to the execution block. Your legs faltered and trampled, your limbs felt stiff. And like a corpse of those slaughtered, you fell.

The deity knew that mortals were cruel. He didn’t need much knowledge about the world to know that fact. With such a gift of consciousness, Hylia’s creations were tainted with such bitter malice. That is what made them mortal. Their innate ability to surpass their better moral to kill and to hurt. He saw it every time someone used the likeness of his face. He saw the blood. He felt their drive— to stick cool, unforgiving metal within another. To crack and break and destroy the fragility of the world. The fragility of other people. Hunt or be hunted as it was. There was no matter for if they were above animalistic intent, for they were every bit predator and prey as the wolves and the rabbits. That is why he is so keen on protecting you. Only you have been so kind and pure —A divine among mortals, he’s certain— and such purity can only be tainted within a world so vile. The mortals even admit to it. Making their societies guard such fragility from the maw of itself. It was only himself he could trust to be your guard. Only he could be trusted to deliver you from such a system. He knew the cruelty of mortals upon one another. But for you to be denied sustenance? That was sacrilegious. Did they not understand that they were blessed to have been with you? If that was such a case then perhaps they weren’t worth the salvation you offered. The wretched mortals should bow at your feet, stumble over eachother and themselves to leave you offerings. For one to deny themselves such a right is to deny one’s god. And so, as the twists of his blade delicately carved out the heart of the worthless farm boy, he hoped this would serve a sufficient offering. He could afford to spend more time with you tonight with the storm’s onset. The rain would do most of the work cleaning the blood. The body would mingle from the earth from whence it came and be no more. Maybe if the damned was lucky, his blood could nurture the soil to make plants that you could eat from. Maybe then he’d have paid penance for his sins. Heart and produce in hand, he displayed them all lovingly in your discarded wicker basket and left it looped around the elk horn. He held his offering in one arm and your limp body in the other, carrying you the way to your little temple. The basket was hastily discarded upon the porch —though he doubted you cared much about the presentation— and he tucked you into bed. On his exit he wrangled the body so it would be easier for your untrained limbs to carry indoors. Offerings should be prepared to the highest degree— and you only deserved the best. He’d deliver the world to you exactly as you’d expected of him. Although the procurement of spices would certainly take a while longer, he’d meet your demands in full. Such is what’s expected of him as he’s courting you. Such is the way of devotion.

[ghostfilecabinet]

I've thought about this a little bit, and it feels like a cop out, but truly I can see both sides.

On one hand, it's a fledgling company who wants to make art in a way they feel proud of. It's all well and good for us to say "we were here when the text was blue and yellow and we don't care about production value", but as someone who in her own right creates - whether its gifs or writing or silly little scrapbook pages - it's about creating something you believe is of the highest quality you can create.

Not only that, it's also about being a company that can support its employees and pay them a more-than living wage. It's potentially about being able to fulfill promises to people who had invested in Watcher in the beginning, though I know less about that.

To say that 'they make bank' with patreon and sponsorships and merch when they support a staff of over 20 people is potentially untrue. What seems like corporate greed can have several layers.

On the other hand, it's not an overreaction for fans to feel abandoned and disregarded - especially those in non-Western countries, as well as younger fans.

Fans feeling bitter at being told that USD5.99 is an amount 'anybody and everybody can afford' isn't unreasonable. It's a large amount for many fans who live in countries where several USD is a quarter of what they earn in a month, or even for people who are at stages in their life where everything they earn has to go into keeping themselves fed and housed.

Imagine a life where you struggle so much to meet your own needs, where some of your only comforts is sitting down at the end of the day and watching people talk about conspiracies or shout at air in abandoned buildings, only to see that was being taken away from you (and by the very system that's been holding you hostage and making you miserable)? I can see why people would lash out. Why it would seem like these people who joked about eating the rich and understanding privilege have been lying all along.

To me, both of these things - creatives turning away from a highly controlled space like YouTube with its low financial returns, and fans hating that content that used to be free now has to cost them money and reading that as capitalist predatory behaviour, all stem from the same issue, which is that money and art are intertwined. Whether this is terrible and insidious or just a fact of life is another point of mixed feelings, for me.

The point is: I understand why Watcher is doing this. I understand why people don't want Watcher to do this.

Do I think it's a good thing? I'm not sure. How much will their content change? Their reasoning is feeling that they're having to make content for both their fans and advertisers, so that creates an expectation that making this decision will change what they put out in a positive way. That's added pressure. Another thing is that there is a narrative they're pushing of doing this for their audience, while of course making it inaccessible to a potentially large chunk of them. How will that bridge be crossed? These questions definitely need answering, but they need time to be answered. I'm withholding judgement until these get answered for me, and I'm ready to be patient.

Do I think it was the smart thing for them to do in the long run? I have no idea. I want it to be, because I don't want them to fail and decide to give up. It's not a nice feeling to see artists give up on making their art be their livelihood.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Anne Applebaum :: @anneapplebaum

This was the moment that mattered. Trump's political movement relies on total impunity for liars, and mostly gets it. The lies bind them together, cement their feeling of power.

* * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 1, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Oct 02, 2024

More than 45,000 U.S. dock workers went on strike today for the first time since 1977, nearly 50 years ago. The International Longshoremen's Association union, which represents 45,000 port workers, is negotiating with the United States Maritime Alliance (USMX) employer group over a new contract. The strike will shut down 36 ports from Maine to Texas, affecting about half the country’s shipping. Analysts from J.P. Morgan estimate that the strike could cost the U.S. economy about $5 billion a day. The strikers have said they will continue to unload military cargo.

Dockworkers want a 77% increase in pay over six years and better benefits, while USMX has said it has offered to increase wages by nearly 50%, triple employer contributions to retirement plans, and improve health care options. In the Washington Post, economics columnist Heather Long pointed out that the big issue at stake is the automation that threatens union jobs.

Although the strike threatens to slow the economy depending on how long it lasts, President Joe Biden has refused requests to force the strikers back to work, reiterating his support for collective bargaining. He noted that ocean carriers have made record profits since the pandemic—sometimes in excess of 800% over prepandemic levels—and that executive compensation and shareholder profits have reflected those profits. “It’s only fair that workers, who put themselves at risk during the pandemic to keep ports open, see a meaningful increase in their wages as well,” Biden said in a statement.  

In the presidential contest, the Trump-Vance campaign is trying to preserve its false narrative. In Wisconsin today, Trump accused Vice President Harris of murder—although he appeared to get confused about the victim—and claimed that she has a phone app on which the heads of cartels can get information about where to drop undocumented immigrants. He also said that Kim Jong Un of North Korea is trying to kill him.

When asked if he should have been tougher on Iran after it launched ballistic missiles in 2020 on U.S. forces in Iraq, leaving more than 100 U.S. soldiers injured, Trump rejected the idea that soldiers with traumatic brain injuries were actually hurt. He said “they had a headache” and said he thought the attack “was a very nice thing because they didn’t want us to retaliate.”

Trump also backed out of a scheduled interview with 60 Minutes that correspondent Scott Pelley was slated to conduct on Thursday. 60 Minutes noted that for more than 50 years, the show has invited both campaigns to appear on the broadcast before the election and this year, both campaigns agreed to an interview. Trump’s spokesperson complained that 60 Minutes “insisted on doing live fact checking, which is unprecedented.” Vice President Kamala Harris will participate in her interview as planned. 

The campaign’s resistance to independent fact checking of their false narrative came up in tonight’s vice presidential debate on CBS between Minnesota governor Tim Walz, Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris’s running mate, and Ohio senator J.D. Vance, running mate for Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump. CBS Evening News anchor Norah O'Donnell and Face the Nation moderator and chief foreign affairs correspondent Margaret Brennan moderated the debate.

Walz’s goal in the debate was to do no harm to Vice President Harris’s campaign, and he achieved that. Vance’s goal was harder: to give people a reason to vote for Donald Trump. It is doubtful he moved any needles there. 

The moments that did stand out in the debate put a spotlight on Vance’s tenuous relationship with the truth. When Vance lied again about the migrants in Springfield, Ohio, who are in the United States legally, Brennan added: "Just to clarify for our viewers, Springfield, Ohio, does have a large number of Haitian migrants who have legal status."

Vance responded: "The rules were that you guys weren't going to fact-check.”

There were two other big moments of the evening, both based in lies. First, Vance claimed that Trump, who tried repeatedly to repeal or weaken the Affordable Care Act, “saved” it. Then, Walz asked Vance directly if Trump lost the 2020 presidential election. Vance refused to answer, saying he is “focused on the future,” and warned that “the threat of censorship” is the real problem in the U.S. 

Walz said: “That’s a damning non-answer.” 

Former chair of the Republican Party Michael Steele said after the debate: “I don't care where you are on policy…. If you cannot in 2024 answer that question, you are unfit for office.”

It was significant that Vance tried to avoid saying either that Trump won in 2020—a litmus test for MAGA Republicans—or that he lost, a reflection of reality. While this debate probably didn’t move a lot of voters for the 2024 election, what it did do was make Vance look like a far more viable candidate than his running mate. Waffling on the Big Lie seemed designed to preserve his candidacy for future elections.

It seems likely that the message behind Vance’s smooth performance wasn’t lost on Trump. As the debate was going on, Trump posted: “The GREAT Pete Rose just died. He was one of the most magnificent baseball players ever to play the game. He paid the price! Major League Baseball should have allowed him into the Hall of Fame many years ago. Do it now, before his funeral!” 

Former Cincinnati Reds baseball player Rose died yesterday at 83. 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[mostlysignssomeportents]

No, Uber's (still) not profitable

Going to Defcon this weekend? I'm giving a keynote, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse," on Saturday at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

Bezzle (n): 1. "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it" (JK Gabraith) 2. Uber.

Uber was, is, and always will be a bezzle. There are just intrinsic limitations to the profits available to operating a taxi fleet, even if you can misclassify your employees as contractors and steal their wages, even as you force them to bear the cost of buying and maintaining your taxis.

The magic of early Uber – when taxi rides were incredibly cheap, and there were always cars available, and drivers made generous livings behind the wheel – wasn't magic at all. It was just predatory pricing.

Uber lost $0.41 on every dollar they brought in, lighting $33b of its investors' cash on fire. Most of that money came from the Saudi royals, funneled through Softbank, who brought you such bezzles as WeWork – a boring real-estate company masquerading as a high-growth tech company, just as Uber was a boring taxi company masquerading as a tech company.

Predatory pricing used to be illegal, but Chicago School economists convinced judges to stop enforcing the law on the grounds that predatory pricing was impossible because no rational actor would choose to lose money. They (willfully) ignored the obvious possibility that a VC fund could invest in a money-losing business and use predatory pricing to convince retail investors that a pile of shit of sufficient size must have a pony under it somewhere.

This venture predation let investors – like Prince Bone Saw – cash out to suckers, leaving behind a money-losing business that had to invent ever-sweatier accounting tricks and implausible narratives to keep the suckers on the line while they blew town. A bezzle, in other words:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/19/fake-it-till-you-make-it/#millennial-lifestyle-subsidy

Uber is a true bezzle innovator, coming up with all kinds of fairy tales and sci-fi gimmicks to explain how they would convert their money-loser into a profitable business. They spent $2.5b on self-driving cars, producing a vehicle whose mean distance between fatal crashes was half a mile. Then they paid another company $400 million to take this self-licking ice-cream cone off their hands:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Amazingly, self-driving cars were among the more plausible of Uber's plans. They pissed away hundreds of millions on California's Proposition 22 to institutionalize worker misclassification, only to have the rule struck down because they couldn't be bothered to draft it properly. Then they did it again in Massachusetts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/15/simple-as-abc/#a-big-ask

Remember when Uber was going to plug the holes in its balance sheet with flying cars? Flying cars! Maybe they were just trying to soften us up for their IPO, where they advised investors that the only way they'd ever be profitable is if they could replace every train, bus and tram ride in the world:

https://48hills.org/2019/05/ubers-plans-include-attacking-public-transit/

Honestly, the only way that seems remotely plausible is when it's put next to flying cars for comparison. I guess we can be grateful that they never promised us jetpacks, or, you know, teleportation. Just imagine the market opportunity they could have ascribed to astral projection!

Narrative capitalism has its limits. Once Uber went public, it had to produce financial disclosures that showed the line going up, lest the bezzle come to an end. These balance-sheet tricks were as varied as they were transparent, but the financial press kept falling for them, serving as dutiful stenographers for a string of triumphant press-releases announcing Uber's long-delayed entry into the league of companies that don't lose more money every single day.

One person Uber has never fooled is Hubert Horan, a transportation analyst with decades of experience who's had Uber's number since the very start, and who has done yeoman service puncturing every one of these financial "disclosures," methodically sifting through the pile of shit to prove that there is no pony hiding in it.

In 2021, Horan showed how Uber had burned through nearly all of its cash reserves, signaling an end to its subsidy for drivers and rides, which would also inevitably end the bezzle:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/10/unter/#bezzle-no-more

In mid, 2022, Horan showed how the "profit" Uber trumpeted came from selling off failed companies it had acquired to other dying rideshare companies, which paid in their own grossly inflated stock:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/05/a-lousy-taxi/#a-giant-asterisk

At the end of 2022, Horan showed how Uber invented a made-up, nonstandard metric, called "EBITDA profitability," which allowed them to lose billions and still declare themselves to be profitable, a lie that would have been obvious if they'd reported their earnings using Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/11/bezzlers-gonna-bezzle/#gryft

Like clockwork, Uber has just announced – once again – that it is profitable, and once again, the press has credulously repeated the claim. So once again, Horan has published one of his magisterial debunkings on Naked Capitalism:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/08/hubert-horan-can-uber-ever-deliver-part-thirty-three-uber-isnt-really-profitable-yet-but-is-getting-closer-the-antitrust-case-against-uber.html

Uber's $394m gains this quarter come from paper gains to untradable shares in its loss-making rivals – Didi, Grab, Aurora – who swapped stock with Uber in exchange for Uber's own loss-making overseas divisions. Yes, it's that stupid: Uber holds shares in dying companies that no one wants to buy. It declared those shares to have gained value, and on that basis, reported a profit.

Truly, any big number multiplied by an imaginary number can be turned into an even bigger number.

Now, Uber also reported "margin improvements" – that is, it says that it loses less on every journey. But it didn't explain how it made those improvements. But we know how the company did it: they made rides more expensive and cut the pay to their drivers. A 2.9m ride in Manhattan is now $50 – if you get a bargain! The base price is more like $70:

https://www.wired.com/story/uber-ceo-will-always-say-his-company-sucks/

The number of Uber drivers on the road has a direct relationship to the pay Uber offers those drivers. But that pay has been steeply declining, and with it, the availability of Ubers. A couple weeks ago, I found myself at the Burbank train station unable to get an Uber at all, with the app timing out repeatedly and announcing "no drivers available."

Normally, you can get a yellow taxi at the station, but years of Uber's predatory pricing has caused a drawdown of the local taxi-fleet, so there were no taxis available at the cab-rank or by dispatch. It took me an hour to get a cab home. Uber's bezzle destroyed local taxis and local transit – and replaced them with worse taxis that cost more.

Uber won't say why its margins are improving, but it can't be coming from scale. Before the pandemic, Uber had far more rides, and worse margins. Uber has diseconomies of scale: when you lose money on every ride, adding more rides increases your losses, not your profits.

Meanwhile, Lyft – Uber's also-ran competitor – saw its margins worsen over the same period. Lyft has always been worse at lying about it finances than Uber, but it is in essentially the exact same business (right down to the drivers and cars – many drivers have both apps on their phones). So Lyft's financials offer a good peek at Uber's true earnings picture.

Lyft is actually slightly better off than Uber overall. It spent less money on expensive props for its long con – flying cars, robotaxis, scooters, overseas clones – and abandoned them before Uber did. Lyft also fired 24% of its staff at the end of 2022, which should have improved its margins by cutting its costs.

Uber pays its drivers less. Like Lyft, Uber practices algorithmic wage discrimination, Veena Dubal's term describing the illegal practice of offering workers different payouts for the same work. Uber's algorithm seeks out "pickers" who are choosy about which rides they take, and converts them to "ants" (who take every ride offered) by paying them more for the same job, until they drop all their other gigs, whereupon the algorithm cuts their pay back to the rates paid to ants:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

All told, wage theft and wage cuts by Uber transferred $1b/quarter from labor to Uber's shareholders. Historically, Uber linked fares to driver pay – think of surge pricing, where Uber charged riders more for peak times and passed some of that premium onto drivers. But now Uber trumpets a custom pricing algorithm that is the inverse of its driver payment system, calculating riders' willingness to pay and repricing every ride based on how desperate they think you are.

This pricing is a per se antitrust violation of Section 2 of the Sherman Act, America's original antitrust law. That's important because Sherman 2 is one of the few antitrust laws that we never stopped enforcing, unlike the laws banning predator pricing:

https://ilr.law.uiowa.edu/sites/ilr.law.uiowa.edu/files/2023-02/Woodcock.pdf

Uber claims an 11% margin improvement. 6-7% of that comes from algorithmic price discrimination and service cutbacks, letting it take 29% of every dollar the driver earns (up from 22%). Uber CEO Dara Khosrowshahi himself says that this is as high as the take can get – over 30%, and drivers will delete the app.

Uber's food delivery service – a baling wire-and-spit Frankenstein's monster of several food apps it bought and glued together – is a loser even by the standards of the sector, which is unprofitable as a whole and experiencing an unbroken slide of declining demand.

Put it all together and you get a picture of the kind of taxi company Uber really is: one that charges more than traditional cabs, pays drivers less, and has fewer cars on the road at times of peak demand, especially in the neighborhoods that traditional taxis had always underserved. In other words, Uber has broken every one of its promises.

We replaced the "evil taxi cartel" with an "evil taxi monopolist." And it's still losing money.

Even if Lyft goes under – as seems inevitable – Uber can't attain real profitability by scooping up its passengers and drivers. When you're losing money on every ride, you just can't make it up in volume.

Image: JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LA_BREA_TAR_PITS,_LOS_ANGELES.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

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/2023/08/09/accounting-gimmicks/#unter

Image: JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LA_BREA_TAR_PITS,_LOS_ANGELES.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[randomshyperson]

New Romantics - Chapter One - Wanda Maximoff Series

Summary: Trapped in a loveless relationship that has cost her friendships, Wanda watches her senior year of school turn upside down after a party. She will make new friends and may end up learning that not every relationship is doomed to failure.

Warnings: (+16), straight and toxic relationships, making out, underage drinking, language, co-dependency, conversations about insecurity and self-worth, attempted romantic comedy, unrequited love at first, friends to lovers. | Words: 4.236k

Skamverse Collection | Series Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

--//--

Chapter One - Parties and Makeups

“The global mentality is moving toward free world trade and increased market liberalism. A world full of opportunities. A world where dreams can come true. It sounds fantastic, and it is fantastic. For a very small percentage of us. But for the vast, poor majority, the capitalist system only means one thing: death and suffering. While we live out our days thoughtlessly and stuff ourselves with cheap food. The poor people of the earth struggle in factories. Wages are forced down to the minimum, while the work hours keep increasing. Unionization is illegal, and the working conditions are intolerable. Before applauding freedom, we must remember one thing: Our over-consuming society stands on the shoulders of the coffee beans from Peru. We gorge on cheap food produced by underpaid children hands from India[...]”

Novi Grad, Monday, 1:00 pm.

"So what do you think?"

Wanda licked her lips, trying to choose the right words to define the monologue her boyfriend has been reading the last few minutes. Vision stares at her in anticipation.

"It's smart." She says, and he gives a soft laugh.

"Is that all? Don't you think I should change something?"

She sighs, shrugging. "I don't know, it's just good." She murmurs, thinking for a moment before adding. "Maybe exclude cheap food? You used it twice..."

Vision leans over to look at the paper. "No, you see, because that's a technique to emphasize the idea I picked up..."

Wanda stopped listening - Yes, she hated doing it, especially at how often it happened. But her attention was diverted to the other side of the courtyard, where a group of girls was leaving the school building. Most of them didn't notice that Wanda was watching, but one of them did. Eve, once she realized it, assumed an icy expression that made Wanda's stomach churn. The girl next to her was Jean Grey, and as soon as she followed her friend's gaze, she raised her middle finger in Wanda's direction before continuing walking.

Wanda swallowed dryly and looked away. Vision cleared his throat, waving in front of his girlfriend's eyes to attract her attention.

"Hey, don't let that get to you." He tried, leaning in to peck her cheek. "Okay?"

"Forget about it." Wanda forced a smile, kissing him. Vision smiled, enjoying the closure of the subject much more than she did since the one who had to deal with the free hatred was not him. The boy pulled away a little to take a breath before deepening the kiss, but a sheet of paper was placed between their faces and caused them both to jump away.

"No more making out my sister." It was Pietro, shoving the test in their faces. He wasn't alone, Clint Barton was with him, and he was the first to greet Vision. Pietro leaned on the railing behind where they were standing, "How did you go in the Geography assignment?"

Clint greeted Wanda with a kiss on the cheek, and Vision answered the older twin with a proud smile, "I got an A+."

"Typical." Pietro retorted chuckling. "What about you, sestra?"

Wanda sighs, gripping the handle of her backpack tighter as if the crumpled test at the bottom was going to jump out and give away her lie. "Hmm, I got a C minus."

The trio made sounds of trouble, and Wanda rolled her eyes. Pietro gave a little chuckle. "Papa will be so disappointed..." He teased, receiving an impatient sigh in return.

"What about you? Did you get an A?" She inquired. Pietro chuckled.

"No, but I'm an athlete." He reasoned. "I don't need the brains when I have the muscles." The boys thought it was funny but Wanda rolled her eyes at the foolishness.

"Okay, Pietro, keep believing that one."

"Better than having neither..." He teased low, and Clint pulled him out of the range when Wanda threatened to push him into the railing. Vision laughed, holding his girlfriend by the waist.

"We're going to Barton, see you later?" Vision announces, and she takes her attention from her brother who walked a few feet with Clint to the boy in front of her.

"I thought you were going over to my place."

Vision shrugs. "I went to your house yesterday, Wanda. And the day before, and before, and before..."

"I get it." She cuts in with a clumsy laugh. She kisses him quickly. "Call me later?"

He smiles, nodding before kissing her intensely. Pietro gets in the way again, asking him to hurry up. Vision leaves with the boys, and Wanda stands at the school entrance, alone for a few minutes even after they have turned the corner.

Novi Grad, Monday, 8:00 pm.

"Don't forget to feed little Chaos, that stinky cat." 

Wanda smiled at her father's message, typing that she had already done so before turning her face to the other side of the bed, where an orange cat was sleeping heavily. She reached out, and scratched him behind the ears, receiving a purr in return.

"Papa is being mean, you smell good, Chaos." She says to the kitten, who doesn't wake up. Then sounds of door and keys ring out in the apartment, and Wanda leaves her cell phone on the mattress before getting up and leaving the bedroom.

Pietro is dropping off his shoes in the doorway. "Hey, good evening. Is Papa home yet?"

She denies it, hands in her sweatshirt pockets. "Double shift. Were you at Barton until now?"

The boy chuckled shortly, letting his jacket hang down and turning his back to go to the kitchen. "Ne (no), I left hours ago."

Wanda frowned, the image of Vision chatting messages and unanswered calls in her head. "Vis left too? I tried calling him..."

"I don't babysit your boyfriend, Wanda." Pietro cuts her off from the refrigerator door, and she swallows dryly ready to leave the kitchen. He regrets his aggressiveness and sighs. "I left early because Crystal wanted to talk. Or rather, fight. I'm sorry for taking it out on you."

Wanda shakes her head. "No problem. Are you guys okay?"

Pietro takes out the dinner saved for him to heat up in the microwave, shrugging. "She dumped me for the ninth time, but she didn't throw anything at me this time so I'd say that was progress."

Wanda sighs. "What was the problem now?"

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. "I don't know, she saw me talking to the new girl at school and thought I was being too nice. She's as hot as she is crazy."

"Don't be sexist Pietro, it doesn't make you any cooler." Wanda retorts turning her back on him, and the twin rolls his eyes again, focusing on dinner.

Wanda returns to her room, and Chaos is stretching out on her bed. He's lying on top of her cell phone now, and she has to push him slightly to get the device. She tries to call, but Vision doesn't answer like all the other times.

Before she can go back to watching the paused video classes on her laptop, there is someone on her porch.

Wanda rushes over to help her boyfriend get inside.

"Weird, it seems to have gotten harder to do that." He comments on the small tear in his jeans made by the railing and Wanda laughs lightly.

"Maybe you just need to exercise more." She teases, making him chuckle. He kisses her, pushing his way inside, but Wanda pulls away with the excuse that she is helping him take off his backpack and jacket. When he sits down on the bed to pet Chaos before kicking the cat out of the room, Wanda asks. "Where were you?"

Vision begins removing his shoes. "At Barton's."

"Until so late?"

The boy lets out a confused laugh, raising an eyebrow at her. "You know his mother is never home to care. Pretty much like your daddy..."

"I tried calling you." She insists. 

He sighs wearily. "My cell phone died."

"Clint didn't have a charger?"

Vision laughs. "No, Wanda, he couldn't find it or whatever. What's this, huh? Some kind of interrogation?"

She swallows dryly, looking away, "No, I just... I was worried."

"Well, don't be, I'm right here." He retorts with a smile. "And you, well, you're quite far away..."

She laughs shortly, moving closer to sit on his lap. He is the one who initiates the kiss, and she cuts him off when she is starting to get out of breath. "Let me get the door." She gasps as she gets up, and Vision just nods.

But when Wanda returns, he notices the study items next to the laptop on the bed, and there is a test with a red note in his hands, and a little smile on his face. "I thought you said you got a C minus, Miss."

Wanda snatched the paper from his hand with rosy cheeks to the red F who seemed to mock her as much as her boyfriend. "Shut up." She says, and he gives up tormenting her when she kisses him again.

Novi Grad, Wednesday, 9:30 am.

"Hey, Wanda." 

The greeting comes accompanied by a tap on the shoulder because the brunette is wearing headphones. Wanda pulls out both items at once, looking at her colleague, Darcy Lewis, with curiosity.

"Hi, Darcy, good morning."

The one with glasses smiles. "Are you going to the welcome party on Friday? You didn't confirm the invitation on Facebook, and Jane is being a bit uptight about the organization. She and Thor are taking care of the drinks." Wanda superficially recognized the names mentioned, they were popular people at school, but they were not her friends. She looked at the book - Dracula - in her lap for a second before turning back to Darcy.

"I don't know, I'll probably..."

"What, be reading on a Friday night?" The girl interrupts with teasing, but not mean smile. "You know, I have nothing against interesting habits, but the welcome party is the first opportunity to meet new friends at the very beginning of the year. This, and also to show the spirit of solidarity with the new freshmen who will fund our graduation. It’s important they know who you are, even if you have chosen to adopt the position of the emo geek of this school. Right?”

Wanda hesitates, half unsure of what to say about the whole thing. Before she can think how to respond, Jane - who was addressing other tables in the study area - approaches Darcy.

"Can you believe Thor told me that Loki just texted that he's taking some friends? What part of Students only did he not understand? The principal won't be happy to hear that they had strangers at the party." Jane blurts out angrily, offering a forced smile of greeting to Wanda before returning to typing on her cell phone. Darcy clears her throat.

"The end of the world really." Murmurs the one with the glasses. "See you Friday, Maximoff?"

"I think so." Wanda retorts, and Darcy smiles, offering her a wink before leaving with her friend.

Wanda doesn't have much time to get back to reading in peace. The class bell soon rings, and she has to collect her unfinished book to get to the next class.

Novi Grad, Wednesday, 5:41 pm.

Watching Vision play soccer with his friends is never fun, but Wanda doesn't complain anyway.

She busies herself with her book, finding it definitely more interesting than watching the boys, and it is only at the first break that Vision interrupts her.

She complains about the kiss because he is sweaty.

"You look pretty when you're focused, you know that?" he compliments, hands resting at her side. She twitches her nose.

"Am I not pretty at other times?"

He chuckles. "Don't be silly, being pretty is your greatest talent." He retorts, and she forces a smile, trying not to look bothered by the phrase. He doesn't notice, moving away to get a bottle of water. 

The soccer field is not empty, but Wanda doesn't know the kids there besides Clint, and her twin obviously. She has seen some of them, but they were Vis's friends and not hers. So she has a big empty space around her in the stands.

Stealing glances at the surrounding groups of friends and couples, Wanda sighs before turning her gaze back to her boyfriend.

"Vis, will you go with me to the school welcome party?"

He makes a confused face, finishing a large sip of water before retorting, "That cheesy thing? Why do you even want to go to that, we've never attended it before."

She frowns softly. "It's not cheesy. It's important that the freshmen get to know us now, they are responsible for over half of the fundraising for the graduation trip-"

"Didn't your father say he was going to pay for yours?" He interrupts her with a raised eyebrow. 

Wanda sighs. "Yes, but I'm not going to think only of myself-"

"I have money too." He cuts in again shrugging. "Clint works, Pietro is your brother so he's insured too. You don't have to care about a dumb party full of brats, Wanda." He mocks with a chuckle, leaning in to kiss her, but Wanda turns her face away. Vis doesn't notice, distracted by the boys rushing him to get back to playing, and Wanda sighs at the thought that he almost never notices anything that bothers her. 

"I just think it would be nice to meet new people." She murmurs, and he sighs, looking down at the field and nodding that he's going already.

"Well, I guess we could drop in for a few hours, free booze is a nice thing..." He suggests, and her face immediately lights up. Vis extends a hand to her strands of hair. "But you have to do something for me."

She frowns. "What?" 

"Can my brother spend Easter with us?"

Wanda's excited expression drops. "Seriously? Can I bring mine?" She retorts wryly and angrily, closing the book. Vision sighs helplessly.

"Baby, come on..." She rolls her eyes, starting to put things away. "Hey, I know I said I didn't want anyone bothering us, but Dad grounded Tony and I don't want to leave him alone for the whole holiday..."

"If Tony would stop screwing up he wouldn't be grounded." Wanda retorts now standing up, with her backpack in her hands. Vision chuckles, making puppy dog eyes at her. 

"Please, darling. A party for a party." He negotiates, and she rolls her eyes.

"Okay, fine." She agrees, and he grins, grabbing her by the waist to spin her in the air despite her protests. With the delay, Clint approaches them, just as sweaty as his friend.

"Come on man, you two can hook up after the game." Says the boy, busy with the water as Vision lets go of Wanda with little grace, who pulls down the hem of her skirt with her cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment. 

"I'm celebrating, Wanda has agreed to let Tony spend Easter at her family Cabin." Vision tells. Wanda wryly chuckles:

"Maybe you'd like to come too, it seems the holiday for two has turned into a holiday for everyone." 

Clint chuckles, wiping his mouth before commenting, "How did he convince you, Maximoff?"

She sighs. "He's taking me to the welcoming party on Friday." She says, and Vision shrugs, but Clint frowns.

"Friday? Don't you have that fancy dinner with your dad and the uni people? You haven't shut up about it for months." Clint recalls and Vision puts his hand to his head. 

"Oh, shit, it's true. Baby, I completely forgot..."

"Whatever." She says wearily with her hands in the air lightly. "See you tomorrow, Clint." He said leaving, and Vision patted the back of his friend's head before following his girlfriend.

Novi Grad, Friday, 07:12 pm.

"I'm already at the restaurant, good thing I wore a suit. Try to go to the party, it will be good for you." 

Wanda reread the message for the ninth time, trying to understand what in the last sentence bothered her so much. She sighed, looking at the little Chaos adjusting himself on her bed.

"What do you think, buddy? Do you think I should go to a stupid party?" She asks the cat, who doesn't even meow back. 

Wanda risks checking Instagram, only to be bombarded with pictures in her feed about the school party, which grew in popularity apparently because Loki wasn't the only one who took other than students.

She glanced around her messy room, and at the paused sitcom on her laptop. The Addams Family was not being efficient in distracting her tonight. Vision was at a dinner party with her father's contacts from Europe's top universities, Pietro was sleeping over at Crystal's because they got back together the day before, and Clint was supposed to be working. And there were no other friends.

Wanda forced herself to her feet. She could do this. New friends at a party, right? It shouldn't be that hard.

She got ready in record time and changed from her comfortable sweatshirt into a wine-colored cotton dress. Maybe it didn't scream friendly energy, but it definitely made her look pretty. 

Chaos meowed at her when she stood in front of the mirror, and Wanda thought she was good to go. She texted to Vision that she was going to have fun knowing he wasn't going to answer tonight before she left.

Novi Grad, Friday, 08:40 pm.

Music from the loudspeakers echoed throughout the room. The welcoming committee did a good job, because they had booked the whole night at the Panther Club, two blocks away from the school, and the place was completely full.

Wanda managed to get in at the ticket booth with her school ID and was given a different wristband for being of legal age. She imagined that this would guarantee alcoholic drinks for her inside the bar, but she doubted very much that anyone was respecting these rules of the amount of drunk freshmen around.

She was trying to have a good time. She didn't rely too much on the colorful drink that the bartender said was alcohol-free and decided to enjoy the Club's trademark live music show.

It wasn't exactly her idea of fun, being around hundreds of drunken teenagers, but Wanda tried to ignore the discomfort of her own boots to dance a little. 

It was not a good idea.

She returned to the bar area after three songs way too long for the good health of her toes and was considering leaving when she recognized the red-haired figure only a few feet away.

Jean was waiting for her drink, and saw Wanda out of the corner of her eye, assuming a defensive posture.

"Hi." Wanda greeted, receiving only an icy stare in return before the redhead looked forward again. Wanda sighed, "Jean, please. You can't ignore me forever."

"Not forever, it's already senior year." She retorts coldly, turning her body toward Wanda, one arm resting on the counter. The brunette swallows dryly, but the redhead smiles wickedly, the other hand reaching out to push the strands of brown hair behind the smaller girl's shoulder. "What do you want from me, Maximoff? A chance to stab my back, too?"

Wanda tenses her jaw, her eyes burning. "Please don't be like this." She pleads and takes on courage. "I miss you, you know. And Eve... Please just say something."

Jean licks her lips and tucks a strand of hair behind Wanda's ear before lowering her hands. She looks her in the eyes.

"Next time, try to use less eyeliner. You're looking like a slut." She declares, turning away before Wanda can really process what was said to her.

She feels her throat tighten with the urge to start crying and takes a deep breath. And then she feels a presence behind her.

"Very nice friend you have." Ironizes an unknown voice. Wanda turns around and is surprised by a slightly familiar face. 

You smile and stare back at her. "Did you know that girls who call others girls sluts are statically more likely to get chlamydia?"

Wanda frowns slightly. "Really?"

You grin "No, but it would be fun karma." You say, and it is her turn to chuckle. You then extend your hand to her. "I'm Y/N, we're in the same Literature class."

"Oh, that's right. The new girl." Wanda murmurs finally realizing where she recognizes the face from. "I'm Wanda."

"I know." You retort biting back a smile and when she blinks curiously, you half-heartedly clarify, "Your brother, Pietro, right? He's been very considerate of the new students, even the ones who aren't freshmen. He pointed you out in the courtyard once."

Wanda nods, a little out of frame. She wasn't very good at socializing, especially with those she thought were kind of attractive.

You noticed her distance and cleared your throat. "Just for the record, Wanda, and well, I'm no makeup expert but..." You extended your hand again, this time to her face, wiping with the tip of your finger a bit of eyeliner smeared by the tear she let fall. "I wouldn't say you look slutly, I'd say you look quite beautiful."

You compliment, and Wanda feels a shiver spread through her body. So surprised by her own reaction, she can barely smile back when you do so in farewell, leaving the bar.

She decides to run to the bathroom and check her makeup even though her legs are still shaking a little.

The sound of the party is muffled inside, and Wanda sighs as she sees her own reflection. She wants to believe what you said, but since Jean treated her like that, it's been a little difficult. 

With a wet piece of paper, she carefully removes the eyeliner, and just as she is finishing, she hears a soft cry coming from one of the booths.

Worried, Wanda throws the paper in the trash and follows the sound. "Hello?" she needs to call out another two times for the girl to sniffle and answer.

"Hey."

"Sorry to bother you, but are you okay?" It's kind of a silly question to ask someone who is crying in the bathroom, but it's the best that Wanda handles. And the girl seems to enjoy the kindness.

"Yeah, just... it's stupid." She replies in a small voice.

"Can you open the door for me for a minute?" There is a pause, but the keyhole unlocks and the girl pushes the door slightly. Wanda offers her an understanding expression and pulls her by the hand. "Come, I can help with the smudged makeup." The girl agrees to be led out of the booth, to the sinks. "I'm Wanda, by the way."

"I know, your brother is pretty popular." Mumbles the other one sniffling softly. Wanda smiles, "I'm Yelena. Can you call someone for me? The team captain?"

"Oh, sure." Wanda assures, kind of getting the impression that the girl is kicking her out, kind of uncomfortable with the attention.

She leaves Yelena and heads back to the party, spending a good ten minutes asking about this team captain to the people around - most of them too drunk to know - until finally one of the third-year girls points to a tall boy at the back of the club. "The only captain I know is Steve Rogers, sweetie. That pretty boy over there."

Wanda approached him in a circle of people, it was as uncomfortable as she expected. Steve, at least, seemed like a nice guy and followed her with some concern about that girl crying in the bathroom.

But when Wanda returned, Yelena was not alone. Another blonde girl was finishing helping her with her make-up.

"[...] you and Kate need to stop this push and pull, that's what I think." Advised the stranger. Yelena sighed.

"She left me crying in a bathroom, I'll never speak to her again."

"Come on Yelena..."

"Sorry." Wanda interrupts the interaction with Steve trailing behind her. "I brought your friend, Yelena. The team captain."

The two look at her as if she is crazy. Yelena points to the other, "This is my friend. Carol Danvers, captain of the basketball team."

Steve nods. "What's up, Carol?" he greeted her with a smile half confused by the whole thing. 

"Oh, I didn't know we had more than one...team." Wanda mumbles clumsily, and Yelena sighs half impatiently.

"Look, thanks anyway, it's the thought that counts. But we were in the middle of a conversation here..."

"God, you're so rude when you're mad at Kate." Carol complains. "Come on, Natasha was looking for you. Thanks again, sweetie." The blonde pulls her friend out of the bathroom, and Wanda decides she has had enough for the night.

She makes her way out of the bar, but on the street, she realizes that Steve Rogers has followed her the whole way.

"Hey, sorry, are you Jarvis Stark's girlfriend?" He asks and she takes her time assimilating her boyfriend's real name instead of the nickname everyone has used since elementary school. 

"Yeah, why?"

Steve smiles awkwardly. "Any chance you have his brother's number?"

Wanda has a good few seconds of pure surprise before muttering that she really wasn't talking to Tony. The blond gets a little disappointed but forces a smile. 

"Sorry, see you at school." She babbles, honestly tired from this night.

[mymindisverycomplicated]

Why "Right Where You Left Me" by Taylor Swift is the Perfect Song for Remus Lupin

On my second listen to Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift, a thought struck me: “This song is about Remus Lupin!” Think about it—he's the one left behind after all his friends are gone, and he never truly moves on, at least from what we see in canon. The emotional weight of his stagnation mirrors the heartbreak and frozen-in-time longing that Taylor sings about. The song captures his pain, his longing for a time when the Marauders were whole, and his struggle to reconcile with a present that feels empty without them. It’s hauntingly fitting for him, isn’t it?

This meta-analysis explores that connection—how Right Where You Left Me captures the essence of Remus’ pain, grief, and inability to move forward after the loss of the Marauders. So often, these aspects of his character are overlooked in both canon and fandom, but they are integral to understanding who he is and how he struggled so deeply in the years leading up to Prisoner of Azkaban. I also wrote a one-shot about Remus in the winter break during PoA that was inspired by this song and conveys its aspects.

Read on to see just how perfectly Taylor Swift’s lyrics align with Remus’ story—and why this song feels like it was written just for him.

Version 1:

Friends break up, friends get married (Peter's unofficial breakup with the Marauders when he betrays them as the Secret Keeper; James and Lily’s marriage before their tragic deaths)

Strangers get born, strangers get buried (Harry and the other wizarding children born during the war represent new beginnings, while the many deaths from the First Wizarding War remind us of the cost of that era.)

Trends change, rumors fly through new skies (Time passes after the war, and the wizarding world tries to move on.)

But I'm right where you left me (Remus is left behind and emotionally stuck in time after losing James, seeing Sirius imprisoned, and Peter disappearing. The weight of those events keeps him trapped in the past.)

Matches burn after the other (Life goes on for others, symbolized by matches burning, while Remus remains stagnant.)

Pages turn and stick to each other (Time may move forward, but for Remus, it feels messy and unresolved, like a story he can't finish.)

Wages earned and lessons learned (He spends years working odd jobs and learning hard lessons about survival, eventually landing the teaching position at Hogwarts.)

But I, I'm right where you left me (Even with the passage of time, Remus remains emotionally tied to the memories of his youth and the Marauders’ era.)

Chorus:

Help, I'm still at the restaurantStill sitting in a corner I haunt (Remus is still mentally revisiting moments from when everything was okay, unable to move on.)

Cross-legged in the dim light (A quiet, sorrowful image of someone who feels out of place in the present but at home in their grief.)

They say, "What a sad sight" (Those who know him pity him, seeing his pain but unable to truly understand the depth of it.)

I, I swear you could hear a hairpin drop Right when I felt the moment stop (This lyric perfectly reflects the moment Remus discovers Peter is alive. It’s a shattering revelation that forces him to confront long-held beliefs.)

Glass shattered on the white cloth (This lyric reflects Remus’ mind being blown once he realizes Peter’s betrayal.)

Everybody moved on, I stayed there (While the wizarding world tries to rebuild and move forward, Remus remains anchored to the past, emotionally frozen.)

Dust collected on my pinned-up hair They expected me to find somewhere (Dumbledore, McGonagall, and even Snape expect him to move on and live his life, but Remus struggles to do so.)

Some perspective, but I sat and stared (Despite the advice and expectations of others, he remains emotionally stuck, reliving the past.)

Right where you left me (This refrain encapsulates Remus’s grief and inability to move forward. He’s forever stuck in the moment when his world fell apart.)

You left me no, oh, you left me no You left me no choice but to stay here forever (The betrayals, losses, and trauma in Remus’s life leave him feeling trapped. Moving on seems impossible given the enormity of what he’s endured.)

For the second verse/bridge, I modified it a bit to fit Remus' story more and I even changed a bit of the pre-chorus. Here are the changes:

Did you hear about the boy who got frozenTime went for everybody else he won’t know itHe’s still seventeen inside his fantasiesHow it’s supposed to beDid you hear about the boy who lives in delusionWakes up every day where time’s an illusion,He’s still seventeen inside his fantasy and you’re sitting in front of me

At the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I hauntHands folded just so tight , everything used to be rightI, I could feel my stomach dropWhen I saw those boys, like shadows they stoppedGlass shattered on the white clothEverybody moved on

I, I stayed there Time weighed heavy on me, life’s cruel snare Memories we shared, they hang in the air Echoes of laughter, but I’m unaware Cause I'm right where I cause no harm, mind my business If our bond died young, I can't bear witness And it's been so long But if you ever think of what’s been gone I'm right where you left me You left me no, oh, you left me no You left me no choice but to stay here forever

Remus is a man stuck in time, and this song is the perfect soundtrack to his sorrow. 🐺#remus lupin