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secretmellowblog · 11 months

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On the subject of the Titanic ‘submersible’ that was lost in the deep with all its wealthy tourists— it’s so insane/eerie in hindsight to read this article from the Smithsonian that interviews the CEO Stockton Rush long before the disaster.

Despite the Smithsonian supposedly being an organization that cares about science and truth, and the fact that there were SO MANY obvious red flags from the beginning and so many people criticizing the company…..the article is a puff piece uncritically glorifying the CEO’s obviously terrible submersible project. It compares him in glowing terms to Elon Musk. It is an article about how private ventures like those of Stockton Rush and Elon Musk can and should be the future of the world.

We’ve obviously learned now that there were whistleblowers at the company who were warning for a long time that Stockton Rush’s submersible was unsafe— only to be fired and then sued. It makes sense the submersible was so unsafe, because the CEO in this interview is open about how he has no background in underwater engineering and is annoyed by quote “regulations that needlessly prioritize passenger safety.”

Soon after, the private [submersible] market died too, Rush found, for two reasons that were “understandable but illogical.” First, subs gained a reputation for danger. Working on offshore rigs in harsh locations like the North Sea, saturation divers, who breathe gas mixtures to avoid diving sicknesses, would be taken in subs to work at great depths. It was the world’s most perilous job, with frequent fatalities. (“It wasn’t the sub’s fault,” says Rush.) To save lives, the industries moved toward using underwater robots to perform the same work.

Second, tourist subs, which could once be skippered by anyone with a U.S. Coast Guard captain’s license, were regulated by the Passenger Vessel Safety Act of 1993, which imposed rigorous new manufacturing and inspection requirements and prohibited dives below 150 feet. The law was well-meaning, Rush says, but he believes it needlessly prioritized passenger safety over commercial innovation (a position a less adventurous submariner might find open to debate). “There hasn’t been an injury in the commercial sub industry in over 35 years. It’s obscenely safe, because they have all these regulations. But it also hasn’t innovated or grown—because they have all these regulations.”

The fact that Stockton Rush (who was piloting the submarine when the disaster happened) is on record complaining about the evils of regulations that prioritize people’s safety, and the Smithsonian uncritically regurgitated that rhetoric in their glowing puff piece about how rich tycoons like Elon Musk and Stockton Rush are going to save the world is just…..in hindsight of how everything ended it’s just so much horrible black comedy? It’s like a satire about the dangers of uncritically worshipping the rich.

It is mentioned in the article that Rush chose to make his submersible in a different shape, and with a different (cheaper) material than is usually used for submersibles. The article frames this as a result of daring innovation, and not of negligence/ignorance. This passage in particular, which in context is supposed to portray Rush’s critics as joyless naysayers who were proven wrong by the noble tycoon, is pretty foreboding in hindsight:

Rush planned to pilot the sub himself, which critics said was an unnecessary risk: Under pressure, the experimental carbon fiber hull might, in the jargon of the sub world, “collapse catastrophically.”

And then!!

The exact problem that happened to Titan this weekend, happened on Titan’s very first test voyage to the Titanic! The experimental carbon fiber hull had an issue and it caused communications to break down!

The dive was going according to plan until about 10,000 feet, when the descent unexpectedly halted, possibly, Rush says, because the density of the salt water added extra buoyancy to the carbon fiber hull. He now used thrusters to drive Titan deeper, which interfered with the communications system, and he lost contact with the support crew. He recalls the next hour in hallucinogenic terms. “It was like being on the Starship Enterprise,” he says. “There were these particles going by, like stars. Every so often a jellyfish would go whipping by. It was the childhood dream.”

Both Rush and the article writer treat this as a fun quirky story, instead of a serious safety failure and red flag with his experimental macgyvered regulation-flaunting submersible.

Other highlights from the article include:

Stockton rush saying that if 3/4 of the planet is water, why haven’t we monetized it?

Stockton saying we will “colonize the ocean long before we colonize space”

Lots of weird pro colonialism stuff in general??? This article loves colonialism and thinks it’s cool

Rush saying he plans for this to eventually help find more underwater resources for the US to exploit and profit from

Elon musk comparisons. The article writer does not mention that Elon Musk’s rockets explode and therefore it would be a bad idea to get in one of them, because that would imply it’s a bad idea to get into the submersible

Stockton rush seeing himself as Captain Kirk

The article writer comparing the tourists who plan to join Rush to Englishmen who went on colonialist journeys to Africa as if that’s like, a good thing. So much pro colonialism stuff in this article

So many sentences about Stockton Rush being handsome when he literally just looks like some guy

The article beginning with an editor’s note from years later disclaiming that the extraordinary submersible they’re advertising in this article is uh. It’s now uhhhh

But yeah it really does just bring home how so many organizations that supposedly care about scientific truth or journalistic integrity are willing to uncritically platform propaganda for wealthy CEOS. It’s frustrating how easily people fall for the fake myths that careless wealthy people invent for themselves, and even more frustrating that supposedly respectable institutions will platform irresponsible lies that end up getting people killed.

Rush is such an obvious and simple example of this, and his negligence is “only” killing five people including himself. But to me it feels like a cautionary tale to bear in mind when it comes to uncritical puff piece media coverage of similar “daring tycoon innovations” by people like Bezos or Musk.

#titanic #oceangate #titanic submersible #sorry this is just so fascinating to me #it’s like a parody or piece of satire #if it were in a novel it would feel like the symbolism was too obvious and on the nose

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namazunomegami · 5 months

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Mélange

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuta x gn!reader

Synopsis: Sometimes humans are not above animals. Sometimes they burn to fulfill the same basic needs and not strive for more in the moment. A full belly, safety, procreation. What happens when all three of them need to be satisfied? Tinged with spice. Under the influence of an unknown substance.

CW: aphrodisiac, dubcon, slight somnophilia, feral and animalistic Yuta, he has cannibalistic thoughts, licking, lovebites, scratching, biting, slight pain, handjob, premature ejaculation, fingering, Reader can feel Yuta’s ring during fingering, slight dacryphilia if you squint, implied multiple rounds, porn with feelings, good old unprotected sex + creampie, both Reader and Yuta are ultra possessive in their own toxic way <33

WC: 3.6k

Credits: my dearest @notveryrussian for proofreading this mess and doing a bit of rework on the tenses <33 the cannibalcore pics are from pinterest

Song rec: needles and pins by deftones and gibson girl by ethel cain both give a nice vibe to the fic as we slowly transition from Yuta's POV to Reader's POV

A/N: Can't believe I'm posting my first one shot here 🥹 After so many unsuccessful attempts to wrap up multichaptered fics, at least, this one messy smut got finished. My first ever finished fic 🥹 And the first to get completed in a relatively short time. Yes, a week is a short time for me. And happy holidays to y’all, this is gonna be the last fic in this year so expect only shitposts from me from now on lmao.

Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

Minors do not interact or else I'm gonna go apeshit, also a seperate warning for heavy dark content as usual. If there's anything mentioned in the tags that you're not comfortable with, this is not your fic.

Many sorcerers envy the title of special grade. Yuta thinks these people deserve a separate Naraka in Hell. They don’t realize the immense responsibility, they can’t fathom the challenges, the danger of the missions. The threat those curses pose. They only care about the power he carries.

During today’s mission, Yuta realized he’s not entirely an unstoppable force. Even someone like him is weak to certain fighting styles, he can’t counter everything with his wide range of copied techniques. This curse’s grade was well deserved. Whenever the katana slashed deep into it’s skin, a strange kind of gas was emitted from the wounds. Though he eventually exorcised the curse, he did breathe in the weird, sweet-smelling substance. The scent was hard to resist, it felt like the perfect mixture of all his favorite smells, inviting and comforting. However, he trusted his body to withstand the temptation, reinforced to near perfection with cursed energy and the usage of reversed cursed technique.

There was no problem until he finished reporting back to the higher ups and was on the way home. Maybe it was just the fatigue, the late summer heat, the humidity of the night but something made him feel weird. Almost sick. A thin veil of sweat glistened on his skin, his cheeks, ears and upper body were flushed. His chest was heaving, a burning, aching sensation tormented him between his legs, throbbing with a synced rhythm to his heartbeat. All his thoughts narrowed down to one single, inherently primal thing. A need. A hunger.

Shame and confusion swelled inside his chest. How can he lose his composure? How can he want it so badly? If he wasn’t so wired for monogamy, he would have fucked anyone who moved. And with every passing minute the feeling was getting worse. Descending slowly to the brink of madness. Hell, he was close to wheezing and growling like a rabid dog. He already had no patience to find the right key to the door. He could break that shit, he definitely could. He had no idea why, but he could stop himself from doing that. Maybe the insane price to get it fixed.

But the comfort of his home isn’t helping him. He can’t calm down, he can’t unwind. On the contrary, everything intensifies the strange urge in him to act territorial. But it’s only natural when he grew up feeling like he didn’t have anything he could call his own, whether it’s a material possession or a person. Every comprehensible thought vanished from his head. Leaving only the instincts. The need to claim. He immediately goes to the bedroom, not even bothering to have a quick shower or a light meal.

He gazes at your sleeping form, unknowing and peaceful. Innocent and vulnerable like a newborn lamb and he’s… he wouldn’t compare himself to a wolf, he’s a more vicious predator than that, all starved and keen on capturing its prey. Your limbs are thrown in every direction on the mattress, a thin, silk blanket barely concealing your body, but you’re hugging a some of it to your chest. Like you’re missing him, finding solace in the way the material is touching you. The windows are wide open, hoping that the night air can cool you down.

Yuta caught himself almost drooling at the sight. He can’t stop himself, he can’t fight the shameless thoughts plaguing him. The need, the want is stronger than what he deems right in the moment. His steps are quiet, that part of the floor that normally creaks is now completely silent. He looms over you, like a sinful, ungodly spirit, your very own kanashibari that’s bound to you. His weight is pressing down on the mattress ever so slightly, caging your form between his arms. He breathes in the smell of your freshly showered skin. A mixture of heady vanilla, milk and honey. He mindlessly licks a stripe up your thigh, wanting to taste you, to bite you, to tear out a big chunk of your flesh with his teeth to satisfy this torturous hunger he feels for you. More than anything he wants to devour you. Completely. Have you all for himself. The thought alone makes his dick so hard it’s outright painful.

He ascends towards your hips, leaving soft yet wet kisses that make you twitch in your sleep. Yuta swears that he’s more sensitive to all stimuli, his senses are working at their maximum capacity. He’s able to feel every morsel, every particle of you. The soft peach fuzz, the bumps, the ridges of your stretch marks, their pearl-like glistening texture flowing on the surface of your skin like a river. The material of your shorts, loose and thin, he can feel the seams on the band of your underwear through the fabric. Where the bones bend, where flesh folds. Your smell. Not just from the shower gel and the laundry detergent but your natural scent, so strong he believes it’s some kind of weird pheromone that’s driving him wild. To the point he almost considers nudging his nose between your legs, just like dogs do when they smell blood there.

Maybe it’s not entirely wrong to claim you this way. He can spare you from this more primal side of him, you won’t get to see it and despise him for it. It’s enough if he deals with the shame alone, self-deprecation is his ultimate talent afterall. But that can wait until after he finished soothing this excruciating itch. Because now the last remnant of his resolve goes out the window.

He pulls up your shirt all the way up to your chest. His shirt to be exact. It makes his heart flutter, a piece of him enveloping you, makes the boundaries between your sense of selves blend and blur. The thought of you using his stuff as your own feels so right, so promising.

He practically glues his face to the expanse of your stomach. The flesh is so soft between his teeth, feels so good to bite on it, so easy to suck on it until the skin turns a deep purple.

And maybe… maybe he can lower his crotch onto your knees. Just a little. Just for a little friction…

You stir, opening your eyes slowly, tiredness and confusion are still heavy on your expression. And then you feel teeth nipping at your stomach, fingers digging into the dips of your hips firmly, some wetness here and there along your leg.

Your first response is fear.

You start to squirm and fuss, kicking your legs up in the air, not even thinking about who’s doing this to you until Yuta grips your shoulders and pushes you back into the sheets, keeping you still by the weight of his own body, shushing you. You can feel his nails penetrating the skin, branding the crescent Moon itself into your flesh.

“It’s me, don’t panic.”

You’d recognize this voice anywhere, but you blinked a few times just to clear your vision. The striking white of his coat is easy to spot, even in the dimly lit darkness of the room.

“Yuta…?”

Your voice is an ode, a blessing. Even when it’s hoarse and faint after waking up. He bends down and kisses your temple, nuzzling into your hairline, breathing in your scent. His body feels oddly warm, almost overly so, radiating through you. Through your spine, to the very center of your being and that’s when you notice that you’re a little bit… hot and bothered. What has he done to you while you were asleep?

“I’m so sorry…” he whispers an apology. But his voice is just… it’s like his mind is not entirely here. Something is hurting him and he’s trying to conceal it. Barely. You can hear his voice is hitched from the deep breath he takes, in a futile affort to calm himself. “Have you been sleeping for long?”

He asks you for the sake of it, there’s no genuine interest behind it. Even if you were sleeping for hours, it wouldn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop. He genuinely feels like he’ll die if he can’t get it out of his system. He snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, listening to the rhythm of life coursing through your veins. The thought of puncturing your jugular with his teeth is so irresistible. He must do it… It’ll drive him insane if he won’t.

“N-not really.” your answer is weak, all your strength is used to move your arm freely, trying to locate your phone on the bedside table. The light coming from the screen almost blinds you as you’re checking the time. “I went to bed about… half an hour ago.”

He dips his fingers right into the hollow dips between your ribs, he kneads the skin in a way that has his nails slightly scratching you. And then you realize that you’re almost entirely topless.

He traps your earlobe with his teeth, sucking on the soft tissue.

“Y-Yuta…” your voice is more reprimanding that you want it to be. But your patience is starting to run thin. You want to know what the fuck is wrong with him, he never did anything like this before. Even if he’s horny as hell he would ask for your permission because that’s the way he is.

Instead of giving you an answer he bites your neck. Hard. It hurts, it makes you yelp. Shit, that’s gonna leave a mark. And he growls, just like a wild animal.

You squirm, you jolt, trying to get away from the source of your pain with a prolonged hiss. Only one hand of his is enough to stop you from fussing while the other fondles your chest. Your nipple is caught between his fingers, he twists it slightly. You can’t see it getting red, hard and swollen. His moves are awkward and tactless, but somehow they help with soothing the sharp pain in your neck. Your tensed body eases up a little.

He kicks the inner side of your knee with his own, creating a little space in between them, then forces your legs apart with one smooth movement. As he tries to settle right under your core, you feel him brushing the apex of your thigh.

He’s so painfully hard.

You’re sure he can read the instinctual reactions of your body. The rush of adrenaline, your pulse, how your heart is almost breaking your ribs with every beat. You’re getting more and more aware of your surroundings because you have no idea what will happen to you. He pins your wrists down on the bed. He doesn’t want you to escape.

What has gotten into him? Where’s your shy and gentle man, your sweet little angel? The one who needs so much guidance, who gets so awkward about his lack of experience compared to you. The one you need to encourage to talk about what he likes since you won’t judge him for it. Well, angels shouldn’t be benevolent and sweet, right? They’re the soldiers of god after all. And the depth of his psyche is still very much a mystery to you…

“I don’t want to hurt you… I just need you.”

He has no control over his own thoughts, everything on his mind gets blabbered out. Not just that he needs you, but that he wants to fuck you (he rarely uses that word so you’re even more baffled), that he wants to eat you up, bite for bite, digest you so nobody else can have you.

It sounds devoted yet utterly terrifying.

“You’re-“

He’s scary. Well, you knew this prior to crawling into his life. What people thought about him, one rumor more unhinged than the other and you have no idea how much truth there was to them. Everyone has some sort of admiration, respect for him or repulsion of him. You just tend to forget sometimes, how malicious his cursed energy feels, how his eyes never reflect the light, looking outright dead. But it’s all so contradictory to his personality… you know that you’re dear to him, he’s willing to risk everything for his friends, he’s so starved for connection, to carve himself a place within people’s hearts. You blamed the whole phenomenon on Rika. And you took pride in yourself, for taming a monster.

“I feel so…” he suspires, trying his best to contain himself. “… weird.”

And he’s a kind monster indeed, even now, controlling his impulses as he humps your thigh like a feral dog.

“I don’t know if I’m able to hold back, so I need to know….”

His voice is desperate, almost a plea. He’s afraid of himself too. With the last bit of his sanity, he wants to make sure that it’s alright for you, whatever he has in store for you.

You don’t protest.

His lips crash into yours in a violent, hungry kiss. Your teeth clang together, he shoves his entire tongue in your mouth. He grabs the hem of your shorts, peeling off anything that covers you below the waist. You hear the fabric tear. It’s the same with his own clothes too, in a few blinks of your eyes he’s already stark naked.

He takes your hand, pulls it towards him, you can feel him in your palm. So hot, hard and swollen to the touch. He closes your fingers around him and his hips start moving back and forth, fucking himself into your grip. You smear the precum along his length with your fingertips, squeezing lightly when you feel the base. It has him moaning, breathily, more vocal than he usually is. He’s so sensitive, his pace quickens and his voice is thinner, almost like a whimper.

And he groans. Unexpectedly. It bursts deep from his throat. You feel his cum pooling in your palm. Though you may be surprised, you don’t make a big deal about it. You search for tissues on the bedside table to clean your hand like nothing happened.

“Feelin’ okay?”

Your voice is calming, tender, it warms his heart but the mere sight of his cum on your hand makes the blood rush to his dick again.

You sit up to caress his face. You open your mouth to question him, but he won’t let you start your aftercare routine.

“It’s… not enough.”

He grabs your thigh, hooking your leg over his shoulder, giving him better access to your naked core. Your back falls onto the mattress again.

“I’ll take care of you.”

It’s a promise, you’re sure of it.

His fingertips sink into your folds, relief ripples through him when he finds them already wet. He goes all out on you, his thumb circles your clit and two fingers dip in at your entrance, waiting to loosen you up so they can be pushed inside. His nails gently caress your inner thigh, it’s a tickling sensation, goosebumps dot your skin, a sigh dies on your lips. Treating it as a sign, his fingers start stretching your walls. They curl and curl inside you to the point of the cold band of his ring touching your folds, your essence soiling the stainless metal. The symbol of the haunting spirit of his first love. Childish love that it is, unserious, all just a game. The promises… the word forever holds no weight. Or maybe it does but they have no idea how hard it is to maintain those vows.

Can you ever compare to Rika in his eyes? Have the same effect over him? You don’t dare to talk about it just yet. No, the nature of your relationship is not the same. Childhood love is not like adult love, you just want some reassurance. You want to feel important.

And your reassurance is soaking that wretched finger with your juices. Make that wretched ring yours. He spreads his fingers inside you, scissoring you apart, eagerly working to prepare you. You’re holding onto the sheets and the pillows desperately, your body feels so volatile you might as well float away.

When he pulls out you feel hollow, incomplete. But he won’t keep you waiting long. The head of his cock feels like salvation. Scorching hot and wet with the mixed arousal. And he completes you with one smooth thrust. You’re whole, fulfilled, a merged existence worth suffering over. He’s throbbing deep within your walls, pulsating through your nerves. You can’t tell if the noise coming out of him is a moan, a whine, or a growl, you only know that it’s bordering on bestial. Filled with need, an ache, coupled with something beyond your comprehension.

He drills into you, there’s so much strength and resilience in him, it almost makes you scared. But something else also swells inside your chest. An unknown kind of excitement, a thrill, it makes you feverish, wired. The dissonance between his absolutely feral state and the fact that he’d never hurt you. Or maybe he would, in a way that you’d like it. Nobody could bite through your throat with such force that your windpipe breaks, only him, him and no one else.

He holds you at the back of your pelvic bone, lifts you up in an utterly perfect angle. You mewl him that it feels so good, so perfect, so raw. You love this feeling so much. You get completely lost and immersed in it.

“…it?”

His voice is faint yet his broken self-worth shines through it. Poor soul… You didn’t pay attention to his most important desire. He’s a parasite living off of your kind words, but nothing can make him as blissful as knowing you love him, despite everything he despises about himself. And you’ll feed him. Prove it to him that he matters more than the things he does to you.

“Oh Yuta, my sweet…” the rest of the sentence gets stuck in your throat as you open your arms and he crashes into your embrace like a lost, lonely puppy. You hug him tightly, brushing through his locks with a free hand. The sweat makes the strands stick together. “Of course I love you, don’t be silly.”

He might as well have been a puppy in his previous life. And now your words eased his guilt about his temporary condition. He gained your forgiveness.

What he does next is much more instinctual. He folds you in half, where your knees bend, is pressed right against his traps, your heels graze the middle of his back. Now his thrusts have weight, uncovering spots that even you had no idea that existed inside of you. Tears of joy prickle in your eyes, calling upon whatever deity’s name you can think of, off the top of your head. You can swear his pace increases at the sight. It’s so intense a broken cry erupts from your throat.

He thrusts right into a sweet spot, which has you melting and trembling. Please is the only word your lips can form. At this point, you couldn’t care less about the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together or the squelching noises that make the whole act sloppy, shameless and primal, you only want to reach your peak, and you’re not far from it as you’re clenching around him with a rhythm that you have no control over.

It crashes, it ruptures, sudden, sharp and hot like an electric spark. A scream empties your lungs, but Yuta muffles it with sealing his mouth onto yours. You feel yourself getting filled as you’re convulsing around his length.

After he fucks you through your orgasm you feel yourself shaking, your whole body is limp, numb, drifting slowly to sleep. You’re both soaked in sweat, your bodies stick together but there’s a need to bond further in each other’s embrace. You plant a kiss between his locks, praising him, telling him you love him. Satisfaction clouds your mind, like a soft, pillowy pink mist.

However, his cock is still not soft.

“I have no idea what has gotten into you.” you tell him, marveling, as you’re still catching on your breath. “I like it though, but you owe me an explanation.”

He handles you gently, like you’re some precious thing, made from glass, fragile. Your body is like a ragdoll’s, he has you lying on your stomach, lazily, flatly, you might as well fuse together with the mattress. Calloused fingers are drawing nonfigurative shapes on your shoulder blades.

“I’ll tell you right after we finish.”

Your blood runs cold for a moment.

“Again? Yuta, for the love of god I’m exhausted.” you whine.

He apologetically kisses your spine.

“Just this one, okay? Please? I’ll do all the work, I’ll make it quick. You only need to relax, you can sleep even.”

You want to tell him that sounds a little bit creepy, but you don’t have the strength to talk. He kisses the two shallow dimples right above your tailbone. His gaze lingers on your folds, admiring how red and swollen you are.

“If you manage to make me cum again, you deserve a fucking award.” you comment, face nuzzled into the pillow, your voice is obviously snarky.

You can feel teeth sinking into the flesh of your asscheek. The mark that is burning on your neck found it’s pair. He presses down your overly sensitive clit with his thumb, balancing the pain out with pleasure. But it gets overstimulated so easily, you feel the need to bite the pillow.

You brace yourself with a deep breath through your nose. You’re going to pay him back next time, you promise yourself that you’ll make a begging, crying mess out of him, and the thought makes you chuckle.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #yuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #do not perceive me please idk how I came up with the whole cannibalcore pipeline #yuta okkotsu x you #jjk x reader #meesa writes

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botanyshitposts · 9 months

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Opinion on the US's Cogs damn obsession with corn?

don't know what you're talking about specifically but my understanding of US agricultural policy in general is that being a farmer in capitalism sucks and has since colonization and for a long time the US government tried to make it suck less with subsidies which sometimes work (because people get paid predictably regardless of demand and its less like gambling with crops) but sometimes go over really badly (because then too many people grow it and the price per bushel goes down and then government has too much corn) and then a couple times they got rid of all the subsides and related regulations and that REALLY didnt work (because then the price just crashed hard and with nothing to compensate them a bunch of farmers, many of whom were in debt for other farming-related reasons, couldnt get paid and actually had to foreclose their farms, which accelerated the long-standing trend of farms getting foreclosed on and then being bought out by bigger farms that then ended up running INSANE multi million dollar operations, sometimes even on farms in other states where the owners do not live, in communities they do not contribute to) and they had to backpedal on it and then eventually they just started on the current system where you simply pass a farm bill every 10-12 years instead of yearly or biyearly and that way you simply dont have to think about it, and then when it is election time you go stand by a cornfield for a while for tv. it does not fix the huge enormous farms buying out smaller farms problem or any of the complicated related problems but it DOES put it off for longer which is more important.

sometimes also you (USAID for instance) can give the too-much-corn you have from farm subsidies to a foreign country as a 'gift' and say youre just being a helpful little guy, but in the process of doing so undercut the local farmers in that country because they cant compete with free stuff but that's cool because then the foreign country can't really survive as well without US agricultural aid and you can manipulate them to do imperialism better AND you have more demand for the corn which might raise the price per bushel in the US. also sometimes the corn is fed to livestock en masse because the meat is worth more and sometimes its made into gas or high fructose corn syrup, and sometimes the price is so low per bushel that the insurance on the field is worth more than the actual corn.

but. i CANNOT stress enough that the most important thing about corn is that you can stand next to it on tv and if you cant do that, maybe you can stand next to a guy who is around it a lot and say you are helping him.

in my relatively uneducated opinion the most epic way to solve this complex multi-century interdisciplinary push and pull of supply and demand would be to just pay farmers a salary through the state since youre already paying out massive state subsidies for crops you dont need anyway and the farmers are performing a vital service and that way you can guarantee people a consistent salary AND control how much of each thing gets planted so you dont have a massive stockpile at all times AND you reward individual people instead of paying out large amounts of money to whatever massive operation sells the most corn by virtue of being big, but if you dont want to do that then the second best thing is to just pass another mediocre farm bill whos inflexible 10-ish year lifespan makes it impossible for it to respond well to changes in market demand and that way you can just put off making tough decisions and instead stand next to a guy and a cornfield on tv again. which as we have covered is the most important part of american agriculture

#you know?#(i took an agricultural history class in college. dont remember everything but i remember my overall impression was this)#asks #plont asks

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 7 months

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AITA for refusing to pay mere 15 bucks for a while?

I (34F) started working at a supermarket, everyone is friendly and nice there. This one woman (29F) in particular was very nice, shy and doesn't talk too much but I liked her so much and wanted to be friends. I approached her and we hung out everyday, and we even commute together because I don't drive. I assumed it should be free because it's not my car and i shouldn't be responsible for it but offered to pay a part of her gas bills anyway since it's a she was nice enough to match my schedule and sacrifice a part of her time to pick me up and drop me off, we agreed that she would only drive me if she was free so it wasn't a commitment, and i only needed her for evening shifts because my husband is available on morning shifts. Her only condition that I should never be late because she's always on time and I promised her that.

To thank her properly I even bought food for her everyday, the same sandwiches and cakes I like. I'm not sure if she like them too but I can guess because we seemed to have a similar taste in food. The first couple of days she accepted them with a simple thank you but she told me I shouldn't had to. By the third day she started to reject them insisting that I shouldn't have to, and that she brings her own lunch with her. I insisted on her to accept my gifts and she did reluctantly but told me to stop doing again, because it's my money and i should spend it on myself. I told her we are friends and what's mine belongs to her, and wondered if the food I pick didn't suit her taste so I asked her if she liked it or I should buy different things for her. She said she liked them actually she just didn't want me to spend my money needlessly. I continued buying her food everyday regardless. She stopped thanking me for my act of kindness and awkwardly accepting the food, and every single time she tells me I shouldn't do it again but I insist. This continued on for 2 weeks until she told me she wanted to diet, and I should stop buying her food and specially cake because she is trying to lose weight. I agreed but asked her about her diet so I know what to buy her, but she refused to tell me and I stopped buying food for her.

After a while I started commuting with her on morning shifts too because i can get home faster than with my husband but I noticed she wasn't always available because she make many plans after work. She just informs me she has plans but never tells me what they are, so I started to think she's lying and get sad about it. I never confront her because that's not my style so I just tell her it's fine then vent to my other friends about how she keeps ignoring me. That's not the only reason I think she's ignoring me mind you, she also sometimes doesn't hang out with me during breaks.

She found out what I told other friends and got mad at me insisting that I was lying, she said she was just busy sometimes and can't hang out all the time or that she didn't want to disturb me when I was hanging out with other friends, she also reminded me that she isn't obliged to drive me around all the time because that's not what we agreed on.

We had another fight for something irrelevant but we made up, however I felt that we were growing distant after that. She hanged out with me less and less, because I told her she didn't have to sacrificer her plans for my sake ever and that we I don't have to match our schedule anymore, but I still felt sad about it. I knew venting to my other friends would anger her so I kept my mouth shut this time, so she doesn't accuse me of lying again.

We still commute together specially in evenings shifts, but not too much in morning shifts because she keeps having plans. I don't complain about it even when my husband is unavailable.

I received a message saying she hesitated to tell me something but she had to increase the price for our commute if I still wanted to be with her, and the price she set was insane! 2.5 bucks for each ride meaning I had to pay 5 bucks everyday day! she said driving isn't just about gas and that gas is already expensive because her car isn't economy and specially because we live in a hot climate and we need the AC all the time. I didn't like it and tried arguing with her over it, but she didn't budge and I didn't want to lose our friendship over it and tried to forget about it and I actually did forget it so after a month she told me I had to pay 75 buck for the entire month and I got angry because it was too much. For reference this is not the US and 75 bucks is more than enough for gas, my husband's car needs 50 bucks monthly but her car probably needs about 100 bucks and i'm paying 75% of that! She reminded that it was the price she set and she calculated it carefully so she doesn't accidentally charge me for extra rides. For the next couple of month I only commuted with her when necessary and had to pay around 50 buck each month. Also because I pay her much more I thought I might as well get the most of these ride so I always did grocery shopping after work while she waited for me. It's just 15 minutes usually and she shops sometimes too so why can't I? I started doing grocery whenever I needed without asking for her permission even though she asks mine when needs to shop, but after all I'm the one who practically pays for our rides. She's using me for gas so I might as well use her, I felt I should have never suggested helping her with gas, I'd get free rides and these problems would never happen.

I always ask her how much I owe her immediately after getting our paychecks on the 27th, but I need a few days to prepare the cash so I don't pay until after a week usually. We had a fight because she claimed I was always "late" so I decided to finally stop commuting with her, I paid her the 40 bucks I owed her for that month after I stopped talking to her. It was the start of a new month I never rode with her or talked with her, yet when we got our paychecks she told me I owed her 15 buck! I called her out on her lies and told her to stop using me and stealing my money because I haven't commuted with her for the entire month, but she told me it was for the 28th, 29th and 1st day, three days after the paycheck so they would be paid the next month.

I did the math and realized she was not making it up, I didn't apologize for accusing her because I'm still right, she's very greedy for charging me that much. I didn't pay the 15 bucks because that's such an insignificant amount and it didn't matter. She sent an angry message the next month saying she wants her money and I was overstepping boundaries because "I'm getting too comfortable at her expense". I called her out for annoying me just for the sake of 15 bucks, I don't know why that's important to her. I told her I regret even suggesting to pay her, she blew up on me saying it was common sense to pay the driver and that I'm the one who assumed I was riding for free. She claimed she actually told me about the money beforehand but I embarrassed her by assuming she was giving me free rides, and that her embarrassment caused her to not charge me enough at first. I don't remember any of that, I know I have a week memory but I think she is making all that up to get my 15 bucks, so I refused to pay. I reminded her that I bought food for her everyday and she was so ungrateful for that, which proved I'm generous but she's greedy. I also told it's her fault she allowed and forced me to ride her car!

I blocked her number before she replied so I don't know how she responded to that but I decided to go to HR. Unfortunately HR said our commute is none of there business and my ex-friend had the right to charge me as much as she wanted to, and if I didn't agree to that price I shouldn't have rode in her car in the first place!

I paid the money after that, I even gave her 30 bucks because I'm generous and told her to stop bothering me. She refused to take them because I only owed her 15 bucks but I left before she could return the money. She's TA for charging me too much and being ungrateful but am I also?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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hollowwish · 2 months

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I don't really like. Politics post much but I wanna say something. Because the 2020 election was bad. This year is already worse and it's only March

As a queer trans american (who lives in the south, no less, and has to hear the dumbest anti biden propaganda you've ever heard) a republican getting in office is actually doomsday for me. I'm literally horrified of it. It gives me horrible anxiety for days on end and makes me feel physically sick. And if it happens I will not be able to leave immediately like I would want to.

The republicans want to kill me and i have known this since I was thirteen years old and i have just had to live with it. I have to just live with the thought as long as I'm in america. They want to kill me and all my queer friends and every other minority group they hate, they already took away abortion they have already started. And they are going to if we put them in office. Please please god do not let them put Trump in office again. I do not care who is in there, anyone but a republican. I will take almost anyone else but them.

Its to the point where I don't really care that a bunch of swfities are apparently voting democrat because Taylor said so. Yeah that's fucking insane but also it keeps literally the most evil man in this country out of office. Beggars can't be choosers I suppose.

Everyone around me is so sure of a Trump victory. They want him to fix the gas prices and things like that. People I thought were my friends really truly do not care what anti lgbt laws or whatever other horrible law they would make, as long as their personal problems get fixed. And I'm really really hoping that's not the case and that his victory is not already assured because I do not know what would happen and I am scared.

Please don't put him back in office. Just. Please. It's all I ask.

#ren posting #politics #I don't know why I'm posting this really #Because I'm scared. To vent. To get the anxiety and the shakes out #Maybe hope that the cries of a scared highschooler will change someone's mind. I don't know #Anyone but him please #us elections #I don't know what else to tag and I don't really care #Just gonna forget I made this post and move on with my night I think

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

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Stop the World and Melt with You//Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

✨One minute, you're bawling your eyes out in 2023, and the next thing you know--you're at a gas station with guy named Eddie, in a town that feels stuck in the 80's. The thought of traveling back in time hasn't occurred to you yet; maybe because it's way more than that.

Series Masterlist

✨Based in an alternative universe, I think the only triggers are that reader is terribly sad in the beginning and is having a hard time remembering things. Slow build. Mention of dad passing away. Word count: 2.9k

A/N: I'm not sure if I will turn this into a series, or if it will stay as a little weird piece floating in the ether 💕 (update: link to part 2 above)

----------

So, there you are, crying in your truck. Not that pretty kind of sniffling where a single tear runs down your cheek and your eyes glisten, but massive, snotty, choking sobs. Gasping, wailing, shoulders bouncing, wringing your hands on the steering wheel. You were crying so hard, you missed your exit. At least, you must have, because the exit numbers jumped from 12 to 14 in the time it took for you to wipe your eyes, mascara stinging, your throat raw. The song playing is full of hopeful love (Melt with You by Modern English) and you scream at the radio like a banshee, scrambling to turn it off.

You slow down and get over to the furthest lane, hands at 10 and 2, eyes squinting, ready to take that exit 15 to Empress Landing Road that your GPS keeps squawking about. The rain is coming down in sheets now, mirroring the tears that have run down your neck and soaked the collar of your gray sweatshirt. You approach the bend and take the exit, winding your way around to a two-way stop sign, and that’s when you lose all of the bars on your phone and a flat message cross the screen says: NO SIGNAL.

“What the hell,” you mutter to yourself, making sure no one is behind you before you reach over to grab your phone and bring it to your face for a closer look. No cell service and no wifi; perfect. Just what you were hoping for on this day of our lord, the worst day of your life. Not the actual worst, but close: when you lost your dad six months ago to cancer, that was the worst. It would all be a walk in the park from there for the rest of your life as far as bad days went.

You keep waiting for your phone to find it’s way back to the network, but you drive a couple miles and still nothing. The windshield wipers are flapping, and your head is throbbing to the beat. It doesn’t make you feel any better to look down and realize you’re almost out of gas and are about two minutes from coasting on Empty. You’ve got seven dollars in your wallet, but then there’s a couple hundred in your checking, and also the emergency credit card with an impressive $500 limit. All of that needs to be stretched out for another week until next payday.

Coming up on your left, you see a sign for “Gary’s Garage” right next to a double garage mechanics shop and a two pump gas station. You’re not sure if you have the luxury of pricing gallons of gas right now, with the way you’re about to be stuck on the side of the road, but out of habit, you check the prices on the sign anyway.

Wait...you try to focus your eyes, thinking maybe you’re seeing things, or perhaps one of the numbers on the sign had fallen off. There is no way gas is 5.7 cents a gallon, that’s insane. You figure maybe someone just put and extra zero in the front, so you hit your blinker and pull over your old truck bouncing down through a large puddle.

The rain shower lets up, thankfully, because there is no awning over where you need to pump your gas. You get out and pause at how old the gas tanks are. Nothing digital, all black and white flip numbers like on those old alarm clocks, and no where to pay outside. After looking at both of the tanks and scratching your head for a good minute or so, you turn to go inside when you see someone walking over from the garage.

He’s about your age, wearing dark gray coveralls that match the color of the overcast sky, long, curly dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and a blue banana on his head. He’s wiping is hands on a rag as his eyes widen at you, getting closer, close enough for you to see that his lips are soft and full, and his eyes are dark but kind.

“This way, follow me,” He tells you, motioning with a twitch of his head, cleaning down between the webs of his fingers as he goes.

You do as he says, in through the glass doors to a small space with two vending machines and a desk with an old fashioned cash register. You notice that the soda machine offers the drink TAB, which is a diet drink you haven’t seen around since you were just a kid. On the window sill behind him, there is a tiny black and white TV the size of a toaster with a vintage daytime soap opera on.

He reaches into a brown lunch sack on the window sill and puts a pretzel into his mouth. “How much do you want?” He asks, the pretzel drying up his mouth so he can’t enunciate as well. He grabs for an open can of Pepsi sitting near the TV to wash it down, and you can see that the creases on the skin of his hands seem to be stained with grease and dirt. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I forgot to eat today.”

“It’s alright,” you see that the name on his coveralls reads: Eddie. “I just realized that I forgot to eat today, too,” you say, putting a hand on your stomach.

His tongue slips along his teeth under his lips to make sure there is no pretzel goo stuck behind as he looks at you, waiting for an answer to his question, but then he pulls a box of tissues out from under the counter and passes it to you.

“You’ve got…” he points to his eyes and makes a circle around one of them, and then points to you. “...from the rain probably but…”

Oh god, no. You realize that you never took a look at your face in the rear view before you got out of the truck. You’re so used to paying at the pump and getting the hell out of there without having to talk to anyone, you weren’t prepared to meet a cute guy in overalls.

“Um, thank you,” you say, self-consciously, sticking the tip of your tongue out to moisten the tissue so that you can wipe under your eyes. You look around and don’t see any type of reflective service to check and see if you got it all, but Eddie assures you:

“You got it,” he says with a wink. And then he stands there waiting, and you forgot what he asked you again, but finally…

“Gas! Right,” you look out at your truck, knowing what a gas guzzler she is. “Do you take debit cards?”

His forehead tightens, not sure he heard you correctly. “We take credit cards, sure.”

He reaches down to the same shelf where the tissue box had been and pulls out an archaic credit card machine that presses the credit card numbers onto the receipt with carbon paper. They haven’t been around in...20 years? Maybe more?

You wonder how this mom and pop, completely analogue service station, has been able to stay in business by keeping everything so simple. He sees that your hand trembles as you look through your wallet, realizing you don’t have the cash you thought you had, and then touching the credit card, trying to do the math in your head.

“We also take trade,” he tells you, matter-of-fact, tapping his finger on the wood table top, as if that’s another world wide form of modern currency.

“Trade?” Your mouth drops open a bit, your eyes shifting around, hoping he doesn’t mean sexual favors. But for him in particular, though, you might consider it.

“If...if you don’t have cash, I mean. You can just give me something in trade for the gas.”

You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “I’m sure your boss wouldn’t like that.”

“How do you know I’m not the boss?” He asks, squaring his shoulders, crossing his arms at his chest, but then a little smirk pulls up one side of his mouth. Slowly, his smile widens, disarmingly, and it helps you to drop your guard.

“God, I’m having the worst day,” you confess to him on an exhale, your shoulders sinking, angry at yourself for feeling tears building in your eyes again. “You ever have one of those days when everything feels off and everything goes wrong?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I’d say that’s pretty much every other day for me,” he gestures around with his free hand, and then he steadies his eyes on you and nibbles at his lip.

You choke back a sob that is lingering in your throat.

“Listen, what about this,” he is making a little circle on the table with his finger as he talks. “What if I get your gas for you, and then you let me take you to dinner?”

Your head snaps up, your bloodshot eyes meeting his. “Like...a date?”

He shrugs. “Or, just two people eating together. Whichever sounds better to you, princess.”

You inadvertently make a sloshing sound in your throat, jerking back a small spasm of tears. “I have to...I have get back home.”

Eddie’s eyes look momentarily set with sadness, but then he blinks, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“Where...where is home?” He asks you

You tilt your head as you try to remember, and it feels like trying to recall the colors of a marble lost down a dark well, never to be seen again. Was it red and green or blue and yellow? Did it have sparkles or was it clear with yellow speckles? You know there are so many possibilities in your brain somewhere, but you can’t find it.

“I..I don’t remember,” you cringe as you say it, placing your hand on your forehead to see if you have a temperature.

You snap your eyes up to his. “Hold on, just a second,” and then you pop open the snap on your wallet, your eyebrows knitting together as you turn it horizontally to grab your driver’s license.

“Wait, it should be right here,” you realize that that your ID isn’t in your wallet, neither are your credit cards or your cash. You spread the folds of your wallet open and shake it out on top of the counter, waiting for things to fall out.

Something yellow softly trembles from one of the slits in your wallet folds, and then flutters to the desk, landing between you and Eddie:

It’s the flattened flower from a daffodil; its the only thing in your wallet.

You and Eddie both stare at the flattened flower, and then Eddie picks it up, bringing it to his nose:

“This,” he raises his eyebrow, pinching it delicately, presenting it out like a prize. “This we can trade for. Daffodils don’t grow here this time of the year. This will get you a full tank.”

***

When you open the door to return to your truck, there are little kids scampering away, and one has your license plates clutched to their chest. All of them have long hair and over sized clothes that don’t fit, and the one with the dirty Hawkins basketball jersey seems to growl at you as they scamper across the road.

“Hey!” You scream. “Give that back!”

You start to head after them, but they are already disappearing into the corn fields and Eddie puts his hand on your arm. “Foreigner plates are always the first to go, sweetheart,” he tells you, as if it should be obvious. “They are worth a lot in trade. I thought I would have time to warn you.”

As your brain is trying to assess the situation, you come back to something he said. “Um...foreigner? Is that what you call someone who lives one state away?”

Eddie opens your gas cap and sticks the nozzle into your tank, and then he gives you a smile that you can’t read. “Which state are you in now, princess?”

“Well,” you rest your thigh against the bumper, forehead creased in thought, reaching one finger up to press thoughtfully against your mouth. There is a huge chunk of your memory, of the past 24 years of your life that you simply cannot recall.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie reaches out and squeezes your arm. He ducks his head down to try and get you to meet his eyes. “I’m sure it will all come back to you.”

“I feel like…” you search his face; it’s familiar in a way that makes you feel comforted, even though he is a stranger. “...like I was upset about something, but now I can’t remember what it was.”

He releases your arm, lifting his chin with a grin. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? You just need some food and some rest.”

“Sure, if you say so.” you are bothered, but you also like the feeling of not having anything weigh on your mind. You’re just in this moment, here with Eddie, in this strange place, without any plates on your vehicle.

Eddie pumps your gas for you while you sit with your legs dangling out of the passenger seat to talk to him.

“When you check in at the motel, let Claudia know that you’re a friend of mine, hopefully she’ll give you a deal,” Eddie tells you. But, then he squints, “Mmmmh, or she also might charge you more, depends on her mood.”

“Motel?” You cock you head, confused.

“Oh, well,” Eddie sticks his free hand in his pocket. “I figured you’d be staying at The Grove because it’s the only motel in town.”

You remember a motel, that rings a bell. “Yeah,” you tell him, feeling a little better, like maybe things were coming back to you. “I am staying at a motel. I just forgot the name.”

You reach over to grab your phone so that you can put The Grove Motel into your GPS when you realize it’s not on the dash mount, and you can’t find it anywhere. With a curse, you realize that those kids must’ve taken it. Next to you on the seat is your suitcase, and your overnight back with toiletries and snacks is on the floorboard, and you are grateful they didn’t have time to take those. Your phone was insured for theft, and so you figured you’d just deal with that back at the motel.

“Okay, well, thank you,” you say to Eddie as you shut the heavy metal door to your truck, manually rolling your window down to continue talking with him. “I guess I’ll...see you later? You said that the diner is next door to the motel?”

Eddie nods, wiping his hands again. “It’s just a block away, connected to the bowling alley with the big, neon sign. You can’t miss it.”

He also said he would keep an eye out for your phone (in his head, he’s picturing a handheld landline with a cord, and doesn’t know why you had one in your truck) and your plates, in case anyone tries to trade them for gas or garage services; this happens a lot, apparently. Eddie gave you directions to the motel, which was basically a straight shot a couple miles down the road, and then you waved goodbye out the window as you pulled back onto the highway. You swore you turned the radio off earlier, but the same song Melt with You by Modern English is playing again, and you give it a curious look before turning the dial to find another station. Static and then...Master of Puppets by Metallica...a news story quoting Chief Jim Hopper...strange electric buzzing...the song Running up that hill (make a deal with god) by Kate Bush….more static...and then what sounds like two young kids talking back and forth on their walkie-talkies.

You snap the radio off just in time to make room to pass by 4 young kids hurrying along on their bikes. Ahead of you on the horizon, the sunset glows pink, purple, and orange, and a strange certainty washes over you, assuring you that you’ve been here before.

Eddie stands in the same place, watching you go, excitement and fear gripping his heart. He stuffs the rag into his back pocket and goes to twirl one of the rings on his hand like he normally does, but then he remembers they are all in a dish inside the shop.

A tall, scruffy, older man with a full head of gray hair and a mustache walks over from the garage to stand next to him. He’s in a pair of jeans with a dark blue, button-down shirt that has “Gary” embroidered on the pocket.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Another one,” Gary says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Eddie nods his head, silently, squinting as tiny flecks of raindrops hit his face, watching your brake lights tap as you pass a group of kids.

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Eddie says, biting his cheek in thought. “Just like the others.”

“She will,” Gary assures him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “When the time is right, it will all come back to her. Poor thing.”

#eddiemunson #stranger things #stranger things eddie #hawkins #fem reader #eddie munson fluff

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phoenixyfriend · 1 year

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Ko-Fi Prompt from Eli:

do landlords have price wars? it seems like with the insane way rents are going it wouldn't be hard for them to undercut competition. but it also doesnt feel like thats happening.

Oh, this is a fun one. Let's talk about price elasticity!

Note: I will be including graphs in this post. While it's helpful as a visual aid, there is no way to describe it that actually helps explain the premise that isn't already in the post's body of text. As such, I will not be providing image descriptions beyond the short sentence before or after stating what it's meant to represent, since further information wouldn't be of any use to those with screen readers.

In the field of microeconomics, one of the basic models everyone learns is the supply and demand curve. Here's a visual example:

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Traditionally, a product with an elastic price is one where demand fluctuates directly in response to cost, isolated from other factors*. A basic example is affordable luxury goods, say, a nice steak. If the cost goes up by a dollar, a certain portion of the population will decide it's no longer worth the cost, and will switch to something cheaper, like a chicken breast, instead.

* Other factors include, but are not limited to, luxury appeal, subsidized costs, and the lipstick effect. This post is already pretty long, so I can't go into many details on those situations.

The Demand curve is specifically a visualization of how much of a product can be sold for, not necessarily how much the product can be sold in quantity. As a general rule, it's easier to think of Price as the independent factor for Demand (and quantity as the dependent), and quantity as the independent factor for Supply (and price as the dependent).

With a traditional S&D curve, the intersection of the Supply and Demand curves is the optimal price point from both ends. The X-axis is supply quantity, which a lot of people find unintuitive... but that's where it's been for years and that's where it's staying.

If there is a great quantity of a product, with healthy competition levels, then the supply line moves to the right. The intersection of the lines then drops, and prices go down, as businesses lower prices to gain more customers.

If there is a small quantity of a product, due to limited raw materials or unique patents or skills, then the supply line moves to the left, and they can charge more for the product.

Here is a visual of what I mean by the supply curve moving:

(Source: Wikimedia Commons)

The text is fairly small, so I'll describe here: The image states that factors that can increase supply (shift to the right) include favorable conditions for production, falling input prices, improved technology, and lower taxes or regulation costs. The second graph describes a decrease in supply, causing a shift to the left, the factors of which are the exact inverse of the first graph for increased supply.

A good example of a shift in supply resulting in a change in cost is gas: prices go up when supplies go down, whether due to higher taxes/regulations (e.g. the current refusal to trade with Russia), or disappearing raw materials (diminishing quantities of oil and natural gas, as finite, unrenewable resources). Comparatively, other forms of energy, like solar, have had their quantity lines shift to the right (cheaper) as the technology becomes more efficient and cheaper to produc.

Now, in areas that genuinely do not have enough housing, this is part of why prices go up: options are limited enough that they can get away with charging more. Due to zoning laws, construction costs, etc. they cannot add more housing, and so the supply curve is further to the left (pricier).

Here is a similar example image for the Demand curve, and how it shifts:

(Source: Wikimedia Commons)

The factors, here, are more intuitive. If demand goes up for reasons like trends, population, rise in general disposable income, changes in the costs of competitors or accessories, or expectations of investment viability, then the demand curve shifts to the right, and costs can increase without losing market share. For the reverse causes, the curve shifts to the right, and fewer people are willing to buy at that same cost.

Let's consider laptop computers: they have gotten more popular. A larger portion of the population has reason to buy them than twenty years ago. For that reason, the price can go up without necessarily losing market share (shifting to the right). However, income across the board has dropped, and there is a reasonably cheaper substitute (smartphones) for some uses, so the demand is lower (shifting to the left).

If you are in a city where there are suddenly a lot of people moving in for some shiny new company, then there is a greater population trying to buy, and so the demand curve shifts to the right, and prices can safely go up without losing market share.

...but that's with elastic pricing and competition.

Elastic pricing and costs are for most traditional goods. For specific foods, you can usually just... buy something else. If a plague wiped out half the crop of lettuce for the season, the costs will rise on the supply side (shift to the left), but there are unaffected substitutes, like broccoli and cabbage and tomato, for general use, so demand will also drop (also shift to the left). This means that prices go higher, but they are further to the left for both, meaning the quantity sold is lower.

Selling four million units at $3 vs. selling two million units at $6. The final amount of money changing hands is the same, but it's at a different cost and quantity.

Summary:

Supply moves to the left: less product, higher price from the seller to cover costs

Supply moves to the right: more product with healthy competition, lower price from the seller

Demand moves to the left: less interest in the product, customers need a lower price to buy the same amount

Demand moves to the right: more interest in the product, customers will tolerate a higher price to buy the same amount

But again, this is for elastic products.

What's an inelastic product?

Well... housing, actually, but let's start on the other side this time.

Products with inelastic demand are ones where customers cannot respond to changes in cost or supply. It doesn't matter if the cost goes sky high, and you know the profit is 96% because the cost of production is 4% of the price you paid; you can't afford to not buy it.

You know how insulin prices in the US spent decades being prohibitively expensive because diabetic individuals could not survive without buying it? That's inelastic demand.

(Source: Wikimedia Commons)

If you look at the image above, you see a 'perfectly' inelastic demand curve. It is a straight, vertical line, where the quantity is immovably stuck at 150 no matter how high the cost goes.

In the real world, very, very few products are perfectly inelastic. Even insulin is... well, some people can move abroad. Not many, so it's pretty close to vertical, but some.

With housing, demand is fairly inelastic. The vast, vast majority of people do need housing. There are very few substitutes for this need, and while there is a range of prices and options, it does sort of... flatten out early.

If you demand that people spend $3000/month in order to live within 50 miles of their place of work, and everyone else is also demanding $3000/month, then there aren't any other options. The person either gets a new job elsewhere, spends a few hours a day on a commute, or pays those $3000.

Inelastic supply is the other side of that coin. The very limited quantity, and the high costs of expanding that supply, mean that the line shifts pretty far to the left, causing prices to rise. The line is also nearly vertical. With housing, there exists an argument that it is often cheaper to let the apartment sit empty than to rent it out too cheaply, due to maintenance costs and property taxes or what have you. Unless there's an exorbitant mortgage that needs to be contributed to by the tenants, though, those numbers don't quite work out.

So... if the Demand curve is nearly vertical, and the Supply curve is also nearly vertical, and there are no viable substitutes other than exiting the market entirely, you have a situation where the Supply side has nearly all the power and an excuse for why they're raising prices that doesn't actually reflect the reality.

Because there's plenty of housing being built, just, you know, not in the tax bracket that needs it. (Remember, a very large portion of Billionaire's row is currently unoccupied.)

You could argue that this is a form of price-fixing, which is an illegal act in which competitors in the same industry agree to collectively raise, lower, or stabilize pricing of a product. If 90% of microprocessor companies raise their prices simultaneously without cause, consumers will have to bite the bullet and buy the product at that new cost, as there aren't enough substitutes to find another option.

(If this sounds like a monopoly to you, good job! It's the same principle: control pricing for enough of the market that you can raise it higher than demand justifies. It's just done by making deals with the competitor instead of buying them out.)

However, due to the shape of the supply and demand curves in this housing market, and the very gradual way in which this situation has developed, it's not really a deliberate, organized price-fix, just something that came about as landlords realized that tenant's rights and alternate options (e.g. the council/public housing, affordable housing lotteries) weren't keeping up with their ability to continue to nudge prices upwards without losing out on money.

(Most of the time. Price-fixing does still happen, in pockets.)

Long story short: landlords don't have price wars because the demand curve is so inelastic that they can basically get away with anything.

(Prompt me on ko-fi!)

#economics #housing #housing industry #supply and demand #supply curves #demand curves #ko fi prompts #economics prompts #microeconomics #phoenix posts

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ouatsqincorrect · 7 months

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ok so I’ve gone through 1x02 and there definitely aren’t as many hidden details as there were in 1x01 but here are the ones I was able to find

1. Gas prices are only 95¢ because Storybrooke is still stuck in 1983

2. these things don’t really mean anything but Henry has a couple model planes and a record player so it’s some nice insight into his character

3. there’s apparently tennis news in Storybrooke? also the newspaper is only 75¢ and somehow the damage Emma did to the sign is worth $1,200. the paper also tells us Emma crashed the bug at 3am and the road that the town line is on is called Route 1 (we see the paper in the scene before with Sidney and I wanna know what’s in the “Storybrooke Fun Facts” section)

4. there are A LOT of umbrellas in Archie’s office (like this picture isn’t all of them) and he has a display of pipes on the wall which is a nod to the original Pinocchio

also, you can’t really see it in this photo but at the top of the room, there’s forest wallpaper, kind of like the ones at granny’s and in Regina’s office and got to hand it to the set designers, they did a good job making Storybrooke feel like a fairytale realm trapped in our world

5. there’s a heart box on Regina’s desk

6. also in Regina’s office, of course, we have her horse statue and the bowl of apples

7. there are SO many clocks in this season as a whole, but this episode was just insane

we start the episode with the clock tower moving from 8:16 to 7:53 and then pretty much every scene (in present time) then on has a clock or multiple clocks in it

like here in Regina’s room (I counted 6 in Henry’s room)

and in these two Emma and Henry scenes, there’s these shots in front of Standard Clocks (in the first one, Henry’s telling Emma about her role in the storybook and in the second one, they’re walking away from Archie’s office after Emma burned the pages)

#ouat rambles

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hometoursandotherstuff · 9 months

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While this may look like a lovely, house it's actually a WTH House. You've never seen a reno job like this. Think columns and posts. 2008 build in Marietta, Georgia, this 5bds, 5ba home is priced at $923K (Nope.) The home may have not actually been built in 2008, b/c sometimes, the real estate will give the year that it was completely renovated.

The first thing we notice is that they cut part of the 2nd floor to make a 2-story entrance hall.

You can't convince me that this doesn't look like a funeral home setup.

Here is the first glimpse of the posts. Apparently, they cut out every wall that existed and, without regard for support walls, they just left all the corners and made them into posts. Note the silly little wainscoting.

Ah! I was wondering what those few inches of light above fireplace were. It's what may have been a 2nd fl. bedroom window.

This is insane. 3-pronged posts all over the place. They even cut around the doorways. (Well, at least you can see the original footprint of the house.)

This is the view from the new 2-story entrance.

Upstairs, they cut a few pieces of wall out of the hallway and also made a small balcony on the right.

View from the balcony.

They opened it up to make it open concept. I'm sorry, but open concept isn't a maze of posts. Somehow they get the place to stand up.

I love the wood here in the hall, and that they left the niche. (I'm wondering if that wasn't a dumbwaiter, though.) What I don't like, is the stupid frame they put around the light switch.

Oh, this is cool. After a big meal, step into the hearth and burn those calories.

Don't worry, it's private- they can't see you from the kitchen table b/c it's blocked by a flatscreen on the dining table.

The kitchen is new, of course. This would make a nice bar, rather than a small appliance parking lot.

Here, they're showing off the "beamed/coffered" ceiling they made with beadboard and molding.

The bedrooms are small, but they have nice shutters.

What a great idea, they can steam the clothes.

Just so ya know, the other bedrooms have plain ceilings.

Look at the mini park at the end of the street.

https://www.movoto.com/marietta-ga/309-fairbrook-cir-ne-marietta-ga-30067/pid_d015kdllbh/

#WTH house #home renovation #houses #house tours #home tour

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menalez · 5 months

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this article is so illuminating and shows why so many of us believe this is a genocide-- according to the own words of IDF soldiers and israeli govt and their actions. they are admitting repeatedly that they sometimes target civilian areas and civilians and cultural heritage sites intentionally, knowing hamas is not there, in a twisted attempt of turning creating civil pressure on hamas.

Compared to previous Israeli assaults on Gaza, the current war — which Israel has named “Operation Iron Swords,” and which began in the wake of the Hamas-led assault on southern Israel on October 7 — has seen the army significantly expand its bombing of targets that are not distinctly military in nature. These include private residences as well as public buildings, infrastructure, and high-rise blocks, which sources say the army defines as “power targets” (“matarot otzem”). The bombing of power targets, according to intelligence sources who had first-hand experience with its application in Gaza in the past, is mainly intended to harm Palestinian civil society: to “create a shock” that, among other things, will reverberate powerfully and “lead civilians to put pressure on Hamas,” as one source put it.

theyre literally intentionally terrorising and killing palestinian civilians hoping it will somehow cause palestinians to somehow do the job of getting hamas for israel. instead of actually just.......idk.......trying to get hamas.

Several of the sources, who spoke to +972 and Local Call on the condition of anonymity, confirmed that the Israeli army has files on the vast majority of potential targets in Gaza — including homes — which stipulate the number of civilians who are likely to be killed in an attack on a particular target. This number is calculated and known in advance to the army’s intelligence units, who also know shortly before carrying out an attack roughly how many civilians are certain to be killed. In one case discussed by the sources, the Israeli military command knowingly approved the killing of hundreds of Palestinian civilians in an attempt to assassinate a single top Hamas military commander. “The numbers increased from dozens of civilian deaths [permitted] as collateral damage as part of an attack on a senior official in previous operations, to hundreds of civilian deaths as collateral damage,” said one source. “Nothing happens by accident,” said another source. “When a 3-year-old girl is killed in a home in Gaza, it’s because someone in the army decided it wasn’t a big deal for her to be killed — that it was a price worth paying in order to hit [another] target. We are not Hamas. These are not random rockets. Everything is intentional. We know exactly how much collateral damage there is in every home.”

the usage of "we are not hamas" to say that they are intentionally choosing to kill civilians instead of doing so at random is.. insane. "we are not hamas" should be followed by being more humane, not.. "we decided killing hundreds of palestinian civilians is worth it to get 1 single hamas member!"

According to the sources, the increasing use of AI-based systems like Habsora allows the army to carry out strikes on residential homes where a single Hamas member lives on a massive scale, even those who are junior Hamas operatives. Yet testimonies of Palestinians in Gaza suggest that since October 7, the army has also attacked many private residences where there was no known or apparent member of Hamas or any other militant group residing. Such strikes, sources confirmed to +972 and Local Call, can knowingly kill entire families in the process.

so, unshockingly, they are sometimes killing everyone within a building over some potential 1 hamas member, and sometimes there isnt a singular hamas member known in that building. so it could just be purely civilians being killed.

Another source said that a senior intelligence officer told his officers after October 7 that the goal was to “kill as many Hamas operatives as possible,” for which the criteria around harming Palestinian civilians were significantly relaxed. As such, there are “cases in which we shell based on a wide cellular pinpointing of where the target is, killing civilians. This is often done to save time, instead of doing a little more work to get a more accurate pinpointing,” said the source.

so they can be more accurate and precise with their attacks, as should be obvious for a highly sophisticated military, but they decide its better to just kill thousands of civilians if it saves them time.

From the first moment after the October 7 attack, decisionmakers in Israel openly declared that the response would be of a completely different magnitude to previous military operations in Gaza, with the stated aim of totally eradicating Hamas. “The emphasis is on damage and not on accuracy,” said IDF Spokesperson Daniel Hagari on Oct. 9. The army swiftly translated those declarations into actions.

The third is “power targets,” which includes high-rises and residential towers in the heart of cities, and public buildings such as universities, banks, and government offices. The idea behind hitting such targets, say three intelligence sources who were involved in planning or conducting strikes on power targets in the past, is that a deliberate attack on Palestinian society will exert “civil pressure” on Hamas.

they are deliberately destroying palestinian culture and history and society, hoping it will somehow create more pressure on hamas. 0 regard for palestinians' well-beings and safety and existence and they keep saying this over & over again

The final category consists of “family homes” or “operatives’ homes.” The stated purpose of these attacks is to destroy private residences in order to assassinate a single resident suspected of being a Hamas or Islamic Jihad operative. However, in the current war, Palestinian testimonies assert that some of the families that were killed did not include any operatives from these organizations. In the early stages of the current war, the Israeli army appears to have given particular attention to the third and fourth categories of targets. According to statements on Oct. 11 by the IDF Spokesperson, during the first five days of fighting, half of the targets bombed — 1,329 out of a total 2,687 — were deemed power targets.

so half of their targets were specifically intended to terrorise palestinian civilians and weren't actually attacks on hamas.

“We are asked to look for high-rise buildings with half a floor that can be attributed to Hamas,” said one source who took part in previous Israeli offensives in Gaza. “Sometimes it is a militant group’s spokesperson’s office, or a point where operatives meet. I understood that the floor is an excuse that allows the army to cause a lot of destruction in Gaza. That is what they told us. “If they would tell the whole world that the [Islamic Jihad] offices on the 10th floor are not important as a target, but that its existence is a justification to bring down the entire high-rise with the aim of pressuring civilian families who live in it in order to put pressure on terrorist organizations, this would itself be seen as terrorism. So they do not say it,” the source added.

the goal of their destruction of residential buildings isn't even about getting a hamas member who may or may not be there, its terrorism against palestinians.

Various sources who served in IDF intelligence units said that at least until the current war, army protocols allowed for attacking power targets only when the buildings were empty of residents at the time of the strike. However, testimonies and videos from Gaza suggest that since October 7, some of these targets have been attacked without prior notice being given to their occupants, killing entire families as a result.

unshockingly its as palestinians in gaza have been saying: they get attacked with no warning and countless civilian deaths occur as a result.

According to the Israeli army, during the first five days of fighting it dropped 6,000 bombs on the Strip, with a total weight of about 4,000 tons. Media outlets reported that the army had wiped out entire neighborhoods; according to the Gaza-based Al Mezan Center for Human Rights, these attacks led to “the complete destruction of residential neighborhoods, the destruction of infrastructure, and the mass killing of residents.” As documented by Al Mezan and numerous images coming out of Gaza, Israel bombed the Islamic University of Gaza, the Palestinian Bar Association, a UN building for an educational program for outstanding students, a building belonging to the Palestine Telecommunications Company, the Ministry of National Economy, the Ministry of Culture, roads, and dozens of high-rise buildings and homes — especially in Gaza’s northern neighborhoods.

Yet despite the unbridled Israeli bombardment, the damage to Hamas’ military infrastructure in northern Gaza during the first days of the war appears to have been very minimal. Indeed, intelligence sources told +972 and Local Call that military targets that were part of power targets have previously been used many times as a fig leaf for harming the civilian population. “Hamas is everywhere in Gaza; there is no building that does not have something of Hamas in it, so if you want to find a way to turn a high-rise into a target, you will be able to do so,” said one former intelligence official.

they admit they use the excuse of hamas to justify attacking overwhelmingly civilian areas.

Indeed, according to sources who were involved in the compiling of power targets in previous wars, although the target file usually contains some kind of alleged association with Hamas or other militant groups, striking the target functions primarily as a “means that allows damage to civil society.” The sources understood, some explicitly and some implicitly, that damage to civilians is the real purpose of these attacks.

According to the doctrine — developed by former IDF Chief of Staff Gadi Eizenkot, who is now a Knesset member and part of the current war cabinet — in a war against guerrilla groups such as Hamas or Hezbollah, Israel must use disproportionate and overwhelming force while targeting civilian and government infrastructure in order to establish deterrence and force the civilian population to pressure the groups to end their attacks. The concept of “power targets” seems to have emanated from this same logic. The first time the Israeli army publicly defined power targets in Gaza was at the end of Operation Protective Edge in 2014. The army bombed four buildings during the last four days of the war — three residential multi-story buildings in Gaza City, and a high-rise in Rafah. The security establishment explained at the time that the attacks were intended to convey to the Palestinians of Gaza that “nothing is immune anymore,” and to put pressure on Hamas to agree to a ceasefire. “The evidence we collected shows that the massive destruction [of the buildings] was carried out deliberately, and without any military justification,” stated an Amnesty report in late 2014.

Not only has the current war seen Israel attack an unprecedented number of power targets, it has also seen the army abandon prior policies that aimed at avoiding harm to civilians. Whereas previously the army’s official procedure was that it was possible to attack power targets only after all civilians had been evacuated from them, testimonies from Palestinian residents in Gaza indicate that, since October 7, Israel has attacked high-rises with their residents still inside, or without having taken significant steps to evacuate them, leading to many civilian deaths. Such attacks very often result in the killing of entire families, as experienced in previous offensives; according to an investigation by AP conducted after the 2014 war, about 89 percent of those killed in the aerial bombings of family homes were unarmed residents, and most of them were children and women.

However, evidence from Gaza suggests that some high-rises — which we assume to have been power targets — were toppled without prior warning. +972 and Local Call located at least two cases during the current war in which entire residential high-rises were bombed and collapsed without warning, and one case in which, according to the evidence, a high-rise building collapsed on civilians who were inside.

therefore palestinian civilians are being killed without even being given warnings, just for the sake of terrorising other palestinians and hopefully pressuring hamas.

Six days later, on Oct. 31, the eight-story Al-Mohandseen residential building was bombed without warning. Between 30 and 45 bodies were reportedly recovered from the ruins on the first day. One baby was found alive, without his parents. Journalists estimated that over 150 people were killed in the attack, as many remained buried under the rubble. The building used to stand in Nuseirat Refugee Camp, south of Wadi Gaza — in the supposed “safe zone” to which Israel directed the Palestinians who fled their homes in northern and central Gaza — and therefore served as temporary shelter for the displaced, according to testimonies.

so theyre also attacking "safe zones".

According to an investigation by Amnesty International, on Oct. 9, Israel shelled at least three multi-story buildings, as well as an open flea market on a crowded street in the Jabaliya Refugee Camp, killing at least 69 people. “The bodies were burned … I didn’t want to look, I was scared of looking at Imad’s face,” said the father of a child who was killed. “The bodies were scattered on the floor. Everyone was looking for their children in these piles. I recognized my son only by his trousers. I wanted to bury him immediately, so I carried my son and got him out.” According to Amnesty’s investigation, the army said that the attack on the market area was aimed at a mosque “where there were Hamas operatives.” However, according to the same investigation, satellite images do not show a mosque in the vicinity.

independent investigations are finding inconsistencies between IDF claims and reality.

According to the IDF Spokesperson, by Nov. 10, during the first 35 days of fighting, Israel attacked a total of 15,000 targets in Gaza. Based on multiple sources, this is a very high figure compared to the four previous major operations in the Strip. During Guardian of the Walls in 2021, Israel attacked 1,500 targets in 11 days. In Protective Edge in 2014, which lasted 51 days, Israel struck between 5,266 and 6,231 targets. During Pillar of Defense in 2012, about 1,500 targets were attacked over eight days. In Cast Lead” in 2008, Israel struck 3,400 targets in 22 days. Intelligence sources who served in the previous operations also told +972 and Local Call that, for 10 days in 2021 and three weeks in 2014, an attack rate of 100 to 200 targets per day led to a situation in which the Israeli Air Force had no targets of military value left. Why, then, after nearly two months, has the Israeli army not yet run out of targets in the current war?

Israeli analysts have admitted that the military effectiveness of these kinds of disproportionate aerial attacks is limited. Two weeks after the start of the bombings in Gaza (and before the ground invasion) — after the bodies of 1,903 children, approximately 1,000 women, and 187 elderly men were counted in the Gaza Strip — Israeli commentator Avi Issacharoff tweeted: “As hard as it is to hear, on the 14th day of fighting, it does not appear that the military arm of Hamas has been significantly harmed. The most significant damage to the military leadership is the assassination of [Hamas commander] Ayman Nofal.”

i did not share all of the article so u can feel free to read all of it but it just confirms what many of us know to be the horrific and cruel acts of the IDF.

#genocide #palestine #israel #free gaza

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tehriel · 1 year

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Commissioned (Terzo x Reader x Sodo)

It is completely finished!

Blurb

Reader is afab nonbinary.

Against your better judgment, you take on a portrait commission with suspicious beginnings. You are an atheist thrust into the world of Satanism as you meet and paint for the earth's most charming antipope. Will you walk away with your worldview untainted? Or will your little chats with Papa Emeritus the Third leave you changed forever? And what of his ghouls~? —Who is that in your motel window your first night in town?

This fic likes cheeky banter, discourse and character driven plot. It's an extremely slow burn featuring Terzo, Sodo—and a little Swiss. It’s about 110k words to get lost in~

You can find the piece here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44321002/chapters/111461152

Below is the first chapter! I hope you like it :3

Chapter 1 - A message from the clergy

[Message from the clergy]

Dear ______

I am writing regarding a one-on-one portrait our clergy would like to commission. I am attaching a calendar. Would these dates suit you?

In his name,

Sister Imperator

Ahoy!

Sister Imperator, thank you for your interest in my work. I have attached a pricing sheet. If pricing is okay with you, then we talk about dates.

-_______

[Message from the clergy]

Dear ______

We have seen your work, and we want you regardless of cost. Do any of these dates suffice?

In his name,

Sister Imperator

Thank you for getting back to me so promptly, Sister.

I recently had my schedule cleared, actually. Any of those dates should suffice. Depending on size, I will need two to four separate sessions with the model, rounding up to about 10 hours for a small piece going upwards of 18 hours in person for bigger. It's all in my pricing guide.

If it is interstate, I will need lodging. It is my personal preference that I do not stay with you in your home, of course. And finally, I would like half up front and half once the painting is completed.

If these conditions meet your expectations, I have attached my contract.

-_______

[Message from the clergy]

Dear _____

We look forward to meeting you at the Mountview Cathedral next week.

In his name,

Sister Imperator

***

Fuck. It was a drive. It was a whole long ass drive with hours to contemplate just how many red flags you ignored in taking the job. It’s not like you had a choice; you needed the pay. You didn't want to admit it, but you also needed to get out of state.

‘Sister Imperator’ had been weirdly pushy and lightning quick to respond—you had to hard ignore the alarm bells ringing. It was difficult, almost as if your right ear had developed tinnitus as some physical manifestation of alarm. There was a low tuning-fork hum reading over each email.

You thought you might scare the sister off with your prices; most people saw your work online and how effortless it seems in your time-lapse videos and happily told you to go to hell after seeing your prices. Making those videos look effortless took a lot of time, practice, student loans and editing. Then there were the travel expenses. People just don't do sit-in portraiture anymore. And for a good reason, you would have to be a little insane to pick it up.

Most people had you paint from photos, which was fine and a staple for your income. But meeting a person and painting them, knowing a facade of them, and there are many facades to a person—just hit differently. And the job came with such an eccentric clientele; you'd painted a man who wanted to pose in a suit made of squirrels, a woman and her five Pekingese all in matching attire. Once, your commission was gifted to an old person to be painted amongst the forest they had saved. They had wanted to be seen as a fairy. It was beautiful. That all seemed so far away now.

You glanced at a sticker pasted in the window of the gas station. It was going to be one of those kinds of towns. It read, ‘they will rise again.’ Crucifix and all. You adjusted the enamel pronouns pin on your lapel. Both the sticker and your pin said ‘they’; maybe these people would be open-minded kind of rise again.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I use the key to your bathroom? The door said to ask,” your voice came out shitty and meek. You were just tired.

“Rightio,” the gas attendant was an older man. He was chewing something—surely not tobacco. He passed over the key; it had a hefty wooden tag to save anyone from making off with it. “You got gas?”

“Uh yeah, number 3, thanks.” You put the key in your pocket and felt his eyes dip to your chest.

“Oh.” He said, as in, ‘oh, you’re one of those’. So it would be like that. “Here you are. Gas is on me, kid.”

Or maybe it wouldn’t be like that? Nope, he handed you a pamphlet that said ‘Mountview holy trinity’. “Oh.” You said, as in, ‘oh, you’re giving me a pamphlet on a religion that could probably hate me.’ “Thank you very much—I am actually painting for a church in town, so that’s..” you didn’t need to tell him your whole thing, but you had, and you were.

“Not that damned cathedral,” he eyed you warily.

“No, I don’t think so, no….” you waved off. Yes, that one, whatever that meant. You knew Catholics and Christians were not really into each other, but you’d thought most of the vitriol had been lost to history. Then again, you were beginning to think this town might have been stuck in history, like a mosquito in amber. You watched him chew. “Cool, I’ll, uh, see about this.” You pointed to the key. “Thank you again for the gas.”

The worst part of the entire interaction was coming back to him after your stop to the bathroom. You had to return the key and inform him that someone had overflowed the toilet.

***

You had to tilt your head to take in all of the cathedral. Something was off about it; maybe it was darker than you were used to, most cathedrals were gothic, but this was gothic in italics. It was jagged and waiting.. for something. Or maybe there was something off about all churches with inflated infrastructure. Maybe you should have 'inflated’ your prices. You binned the thought as soon as you had it; money and asking for it… made your skin crawl sometimes. The pricing sheet asked for the money for you, so you did not have to.

You rubbed your right ear as it had decided to start ringing again.

“You must be ______,” came a call from the entrance while you were wrapped in the tallness of it all. She was an older woman, her hair greying and pulled back. She had the shape of a kindly woman but with something cold creeping into her smile.

You felt your car keys in your hand. You could still deny your name and drive as many hours as it took to return home. You could shake a pride flag at the church’s face and run for the hills. You squeezed the keys for grounding before slowly delivering them to your pocket. “I am,” you heard yourself say. It'd been a while since you used your voice; why did you think it would be deeper? Commanding? Noticeable. You cleared your throat. “Yes, are you Sister…” fuck, you had forgotten her name from the emails. Super professional of you.

“Sister Imperator, yes, it's a pleasure to meet you. Come, follow me; I'll take you to Papa.”

You were about to thumb over to your shitty van where all your supplies were hiding, 'I need to set up, where can I…’ and/or 'I've been driving for hours and would like to know where I'm staying so that I can freshen up,’ all died in your throat as the woman turned around. You had no choice but to follow her into the building.

“Is ‘Papa’ the person whom I will be painting?” You asked, catching up, absently shining the ‘they/them’ pin on your overalls. Saying ‘Papa’ as a full-grown human being clenched something within you—and not in a super good way.

“Yes, Papa Emeritus the third, he ascended to the ranks of Papa as of last year and has not yet had a portrait painted for the hall.”

You heard most of what she had said, only then noting the Italian accent. You admittedly spent more of your time openly gawking at the ceiling, then gawking at the stained glass windows and the paintings. Did they have the right painter? You had confidence in your work, but these were named artists, named. Masterworks. You made a ‘ffff’ fizzling sound as you held back swearing in a holy place.

Holy place. The iconography only then caught up with you. That was a lot of cloven hooves for a holy place. “That's nice,” is all you thought to say faintly. ‘That's nice he ascended to the highest of high unholy ranks, good for that guy.’ A kind of peace came with the satanic-ness of it all. At least you could flap all your favourite pride flags, and no one would bat an eye. Would they?

“Yes, I understand our ways might not be for everyone, but I hope you will give him your utmost respect, regardless.”

Your head snapped back from scrutinising passing satanic depictions for signs of gayness. “I am always professional regarding belief systems; it will not affect the outcome of my work.” ‘Unless you somehow turn out to be a nazi,’ You added silently.

“Good, good.” She seemed to smile genuinely before the cold crept back into her face, sending a chill to your spine, “This is his office here. He knows to expect you. I hope together you'll make something beautiful for our church.”

Why did everything she had to say creep you out like that? “I will do my best to do that,” you nodded and held yourself back from using a thumbs-up to secure the awkwardness.

“I will find you before our mass to give you the directions to your motel,” she nodded and began walking away. “Again, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

You could read people well; maybe she couldn't. You were shitting yourself, being left in the dead centre of an unknown church, about to bother the head of the said church, without backup. “Pleasure meeting you right back,” you grinned nonetheless with your super normal situation. It's called masking, baby~

Her clipped footsteps began disappearing down the stone-tiled hallway. When silence fell, you could really take in the surrounding church ambience. Yep, it was a church. The incense smelt of something in your childhood. The eyes of statues and portraits looked down on you as if they knew you were not supposed to be there.

You blinked at the aged wooden door; it was detailed with a plaque that read ‘Papa Emeritus III’. This was the most uncomfortable opening commission you've ever been through, and one guy wanted to show off his dead arachnid collection to you. Maybe it was more of a tie then? You swore quietly to yourself before you knocked on the door. The hollow knuckle-on-wood sound gave you flashbacks of a principal's office.

“Not on a mass night,” came a slow answer and a slight groan.

You folded your arms and frowned at what that could mean. Outwardly you looked like a person annoyed by the woodgrain of a door.

“I feel you judging me, Sister,” his voice was an ashy sound. “My days before mass are my own, si?”

What does an unholy minister do a day before mass? Some search answers in your mind come up lewd, and others come up sadistic. You look up and down the hallway for Sister Imperator. Then and there, you were a child lost in a supermarket. You sighed softly and remembered you were an adult in an adult situation. “Sorry, I'm an artist—your, uh, Sister said you were expecting me.”

“You’re sorry you’re an artist?” Came the voice on the other side of the door.

“Eh, I have my days,” you shrug.

The ashy voice on the over side of the wood seemed to enjoy that, with a huff of laughter.

He had a nice laugh, smoky. Maybe painting this ‘Papa’ guy wouldn’t be so bad.

“Give me but a moment, artist. I have to make myself, eh, decent.”

Lewd. Definitely lewd; that's what satanic priests do before mass. “Oh, sure, good. Yep.” You stepped far away from the door to give him privacy. “Take uh, your time.” You did not feel like painting someone half way through the job. Standing so long for a painting while being irritable and unsatisfied does not a good portrait make.

You turned on your heel. You went for your AirPods, played something thrashy to mimic the surroundings, and began treating the area as you would a gallery. Ahead you saw the dancing sunshine of windswept branches through stained glass. You stepped into the light and let the colours paint you in rainbows. The lead lighting portrayed an angelic person with arms around a small boy. It could have passed for any religion—save for the smeared Latin and small horns on the child’s forehead.

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“Cheezus, chrimany!” You flinched, pulling a bud from your ear. A shorter masculine figure had suddenly appeared in your peripherals. His voice was marred by the fabric and metallic devil’s mask he wore. The mask must have been a church thing—were you supposed to be masked?

The green eyes behind the mask squinted in amusement.

“Were you just waiting to do that or..?”

He shook his head innocently, “are you supposed to be here?” He asked again.

“I really don’t know at this stage, is anyone supposed to be anywhere?” You pulled a straight face, and he tilted his head slightly, “I’m painting a ‘Papa’(?) or supposed to be. You're not him, right?”

The figure dressed formally in all black and suspenders shook his head slowly. He had a lean figure, kind of like a short, straight stick. It was a nice stick.

You appreciated him for a moment, figuring out his shapes and lines before you realised what you were doing and grimaced to yourself. You did that often. Intimidated by the shiny mask, you hid in humour, “And you,” you gesture around, “you supposed to be here? If not, I could keep a secret,” you winked and tried to be playful.

“I am supposed to be here,” he answered, not entirely playing into your shenanigans.

“Ah,” you nod sagely. You looked around, realising your new companion wanted to stay and watch you. “So this you then?” You point at the horned baby in the led lighting and back to his horned mask.

He smiled then, not that you could see his lips, only hear it in his, “no.”

“Oh?” You arch a brow and point to the blackened scripture, “says right here, this be the baby who would sneak up on people admiring its own depiction.” You tapped the glass like you knew what you were talking about. As if you were not just wasting time. As if you weren’t waiting for your satanic portrait model to finish fucking maybe nine people in the room down the hall.

The devil saddled closer to you with a sly look, “So you read the dead language?”

“It's not dead; it's right there.”

He huffed slightly. “What is your name? For the registry.”

“I was supposed to sign in?” You frowned.

“You were signed in, whether you know it or not, which means you're protected while you're here.”

Protected from…? You bit your lips together; why did he seem more sinister than before? “_____ ______,” you replied, trying to read what lay beyond the mask. “And yours? Something in the old language? Something with no vowels and a couple hissing noises?”

“Sodomiser,” there was a slight growl in his throat.

You nodded profoundly, “Oh, like, you just put that right out there, huh?” That was like calling yourself by your kinks, ‘hey, I'm buttstuff’ or ‘hey, I'm one of those pink flamingos you find on front lawns.’ Could happen. “Did I pass your registration, uh, Mr Sodomiser?”

The red light of the window glinted in the mask as he nodded, and you were suddenly captivated by the reflection. It would be interesting to paint, but the lighting was fleeting. Taking that moment in paint would be impossible. And you were then aware of how close he lingered; if he wasn't wearing a mask, would you have let him so close? He seemed to want to scare you, and you weren't impenetrable, but masks didn't scare you. It was what lay underneath that was genuinely terrifying. Wait, was he sniffing you? “Call me Sodo.”

“Can do,” you rapidly turned back to the window and shoved your hands back into your overalls, suddenly self-conscious about how a drive like that would leave you smelling. “Uh, am I supposed to be wearing one of those?” You figured to ask while watching the leaves shift in the wind before gesturing to where his mask had been moments ago but was then missing. You looked around curiously; the guy had just… vanished.

“Ah, you must be my eh, little painter,” came a voice through a mist of incense from down the hall. “Sorry about that… uhh…” he ended up shrugging.

“Oh.” Was all you had to say. As in, ‘‘oh’, that's what a Papa of a satanic clergy looks like.’ He was not much taller than the masked man that had just left you, but the popey hat did lend to height. He was dressed rather popey all over, with a long, dark cloak patterned religiously. He had a simplistic skull face paint; it was fresh, and you could only imagine how it looked moments ago. “Yes, I'm ______.” You offered a professional handshake—people liked those.

“I'm Papa Emeritus, the congregation calls me Papa, so please, call me Papa.” He took your hand in his in a way you weren't expecting, lifting it to his lips. You only then noticed his heterochromia as he captured your eyes in his, one eye stark white and the other shifted green to hazel in the rainbow bath of the window.

“Oh, okay,” not missing a beat, you took his leather-clad hand and bowed to kiss the back of it.

He lightly cocked his head as you returned his hand back to him.

“Thought we were just…people don’t return the kiss?”

“No, not usually.”

You nod slowly, “it doesn't seem fair though. Was it… nice anyway? Or are you more give than take? I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to act. I've done religious portraiture, sure, but….”

“Does our church scare you?” He raised his chin and bored into you with his white iris. “It’s not often Sister looks outside the congregation for hire.” His Italian accent brought a musicality to his words.

“Scared? Not really, but you seem….” You gestured around, “like a Pope? Like a lot bigger of a deal than I am qualified for. That’s a big deal,” you point to the elaborate painting your painting would supposedly share a wall with, “that looks like a huge deal,” you address the window. “Just look how I talk, that’s not really.. this..” you floundered with your hands again.

“Big deal, eh?” He relaxed and shrugged a little, “Sister usually knows what she likes, and she likes you, but you are correct; this is a huge deal,” some of his words sounded like growls. It wasn’t temperament, it was animal. His robes billowed as he stepped to take in the stained glass beside you, “do you know the story of Archon the fallen?”

You shook your head and looked up into the eyes of the angel. You couldn't place gender upon them, which was comforting somehow.

“It is said that after the bible age, prophets became obsolete. Who would believe them after all, hum?” He raised a brow at you, his hands clasped behind his back.

You looked away shyly; you didn't mean to oppose his belief system, but you don't get to choose what you believe in, and for you, it was nothing.

“We have newer stories from a war waged between heaven and hell in the after. In this one, the archangel Archon fell to protect what hell believed would be their next weapon. A prince of hell. Atmos.”

“Weapon… That’s a kid.”

Papa Emeritus smiled slightly, “Archon felt the same; as a testament to free will above all else, Archon saw the child their people were fighting to kill and found him blameless. The child was yet to be any kind of weapon. Archon believed no one decides our future so they saved and hid Atmos. Granted him free will to become a weapon or not, and for it, their wings were stripped. Archon stands for the ultimate rebellion, that fate is a lie.” He growled the word ‘lie’ in a way that ran through your gut.

“Mmm, that doesn't seem so scary,” you said softly, looking into the angel’s face for a new perspective.

Papa turned, and you shared a look. You saw a shimmer of the facade you would paint.

Then you blinked, “but I somehow have to create a painting that can share a wall with that.” you flailed a hand at only the most incredible stained glass window ever.

“I am telling you, if Sister thinks you are able, you are more than able. Come, I know a place where you can set up.”

***

“So how would you like to be seen, P-papa?” you stumbled with his name because, honestly, it didn't want to come out of your lips.

His makeup skewed as he quirked his brow at your slip-up. You’d already had him move through poses and had taken photos for him to see. Your mirror was set up, your canvas… The room you were set into was a study—you think. There was a desk, an eclectic collection of skulls and bones, bookcases and an ornate chair. Taken from behind the desk, the chair was something akin to a throne.

“I am unsure what you mean, caro Pittore.” He leaned against the desk beside you and was peering at your phone. He seemed to know how to pose for a picture, but a painting was different; you had to be comfortable with no intricate hand gestures you could not hold for hours. Definitely no arms out.

“Suppose it's for your clergy. How do you want them to see you, powerful, infallible?” You skip past photos taken early on where it seemed he wanted to claw at you through the camera with the golden-tipped fingernails attached to every finger of his leather gloves.

“A storyteller?” you asked simultaneously as he said, “fuckable.”

“What did you say?” He asked.

“I said storyteller, you told me a story out there, I know it's not your whole being, but it's the facade I have of you, and it was nice… I think I know what you said, but run that by me again.”

“I said, fuckable,” he admitted, “inviting, you know? This is a house of sin, si? I want to invite sin.”

You slowly looked up at him from your phone. And blinked. “You want me to paint you a calling card?”

He smiled slowly. “Non?” He said in a particular way that meant he very much wanted you to paint a calling card.

“I can do it,” you suppose, “now how fuckable are we going? I've painted boudoir before, never a religious figure but, first time for everything.” You sat upon the throne and made a boudoir pose. “oh, or this…” you showed off your buns riding the throne backward and looking back at the mirror in your super attractive stained overalls. “Ooo, ahhh, so fabulous.”

“Okay, okay, I see,” Papa chuckled. “Take a couple steps back, a storyteller, huh? You said it is a facade? I’ve been called alotta things, but not storyteller. Books are more the cardinals thing.”

You stop posing, “Yeah, it comes with the job, right? You stand up before mass and tell a proverb, tell what you see in it, add a dash of charisma, and make it alluring; I can’t paint all of you; of course, I can only paint what I see. People are diamonds, multifaceted; this will be one facet or façade—of you.” And you had just gone on a passion rant in front of a new client. You internally grimaced.

He looked into the middle distance in ponder before responding, “I like alluring,” he admitted.

You realised you were just putting on your usual act for your client to make them feel at ease in the space, but he was really looking at you. You realised how you were sitting, realised the silence and moved more meekly away from the throne. “Then take a seat, Papa; make sure you're comfortable.” His eyes were on yours as he passed. His warm shoulder slightly brushed yours as he took his throne. At first, he was just sitting, then looking in the mirror, he arranged his robes, shifting his legs apart to rest a hand on his thigh and lean back in his chair.

“What do you think, caro pittore? Does it say, eh, let Papa tell you a story? Is it alluring? Hmm?”

You felt your ears go pink, “Yes, all of those, but this hand,” the one not welcoming the viewer to his thigh, “it's not really—” He touched it to his chin, and you shook your head, then he touched a finger to his mouth, “still… oooo, skull.” You hurried over and picked up a very human skull. “Something with this.” You passed it over, and he held it in one palm. “Oh, I saw this piece on Pinterest where there was a rosary coming out of it, not that we have to physically do that; I can add that later. But it means I can draw attention to your… ‘not-crucifix’(?)”

“Grucifix,” he quietly corrected, eyes following you around the room as you inspected for props.

“Oh, you learn something new every day… uh, is this important?” Sat on a tall bookshelf was a helmet like the one the man in the hallway had been wearing. You shifted a wall-riding ladder to get a better look.

“It's one of the masks our ghouls wear.”

“Does it seem like something you want to be portrayed with?” You moved your head to watch the sheen before taking it down towards Papa. You wanted to paint the colours of the stained glass window in it.

“I know what to do with it,” You were hyper-aware of his movements as he took his hand away from his thigh and received the mask from you to put it beneath his boot before replacing his hand.

“Uh, not a fan of ‘ghouls’? What are they about anyway? I met…..” you then pulled a straight face knowing what you had to say, “I met ‘Sodo’ in the hallway earlier.”

“I hope he, eh, played nice? I love my ghouls, and sometimes, they love being stepped on. They’re something like the church’s protectors; some help lead our rituals.”

Your brain was left behind when he admitted to stepping on ghouls. “Oh, good. Good, good, good, good, good. Yeah, he played.” You supposed.

“Sodo is… how to put.. eh uno stronzo corto--small and fucking angry,” he laughed sympathetically.

You hadn’t quite got angry from Sodo, maybe a bit cold. You snapped more photos on your phone and were reviewing them when you felt Papa come in close behind to look. He was quite a curious man. For some reason, the incense peeling off his body didn't seem stuffy when it often did for you. You could also smell the leather of his gloves.

“You, uh, like this pose?” He asked about the one your brain decided to stutter on, his voice lower with proximity.

“Yeah,” your voice was faint before returning to yourself, “yes, the background and the lighting just need some adjustment. In the afternoons, we should get some nice lighting through that window; I'll bring some diffusers.. maybe something coloured to mimic the stained glass outside.” You looked up and found him staring at you with his mismatched eyes.

You paused.

He paused.

“I should…”

“You should…”

You weren't about to be caught in another spider’s web. “I should grab my equipment. You’re going to be stuck in that chair for a while… go, you know,” you gestured about, “whatever you need to do, give me an hour or so,” you nodded and gave Papa a sparkly thumbs up.

“hmm, I wasn’t wholly thrilled about Sister making this appointment, but uh, it seems I am changing my mind.”

“Good, we like a willing participant,” you said with all your sparkly masking ignoring the mood he was trying to set. Keep up the energy, keep up the image, keep up the unthreatening. Hide your teeth. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it :3

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pearldog30 · 1 year

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halloo! how would tf141 & alejandro & könig would react when their s/o thinks aloud and babbles sometimes?

The guys with a s/o who babbles and thanks loudly.

Ghost, Soap, Konig, Alejandro.

Ty Soo much for the request! Also I'm going to put it I don't know if you read the rules, but I don't write relationship-wise for price, gas. but everybody else I will gladly do it. I hope it is still what you've wanted and I hope you enjoy, my friend! 🖤

Other works 👉Master list

Warnings| fluff.

Ghost 👻

When he first caught you babbling to yourself, it caught him by surprise. He had to take a step back, and look at you to make sure he heard you right. And that he wasn't going insane

Now goes for the talking out loudly he knew you did it sometimes when he wasn't around. but he always somehow heard you cross the house. He kind of found it cute in a way, the way you would talk under your breath about something that needed to get done, or how something was irritating you. and you didn't know he was standing there listening. (Let's be honest here. this man is even a ghost in his own home, you don't even realize he's there watching you most of the time.)

when you started getting comfortable doing it around him, at first he was annoyed with it, but after a while he got used to it, and then started finding it kind of cute in a way. the fact that you trusted him so much to babble/thinking loudly, saying random words around him, Made his heart stop.

Since you do it so much, you don't realize you're doing it until he's just staring at you. taking in whatever words you're saying, and it always makes you embarrassed, which he notices it always makes him chuckle to himself. and he packs you lightly on the back, as a way of saying don't stop keep doing it.

Talking to yourself, or just muttering random words, puts him at ease. it reminds him that he's not on the battlefield, he's at home safe with you.

Soap🧼

RIP your sanity that's all I got to say. because the second he hears any sort of talking to yourself, or babbling, when you don't think he's around. he is going to listen and laugh to himself, Making you snap out of whatever you're doing.

If he hears you talking out loud to yourself about whatever. he'll casually butt in making you stop, and look at him. he's a little shit for it and he knows it.

however if he doesn't feel like chiming in. and you realize he's around, which usually makes you stop from embarrassment. he just looks at you confused and goes "ayy Bonnie keep talking, please I was enjoying it" giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes ever.

High-key records it when you're babbling random words, because he finds it so cute. It also helps calm his mind when he's deployed, or on mission. to play it back to have something calming to listen to, he doesn't care what you're saying even if you're mad at him. your voice is just so calming.

Depending on how much you do it around him, he'll pick up on the habit. the guys give him shit for it, but he doesn't care. he just thinks it brings you too close together.

With the recordings you don't know this but, he shows it to ghost or price. because he thinks it's so cute. they have seen countless videos of you sleep talking, or saying random words while doing household chores, and they're getting concerned.

Alejandro 🔥

When he first heard you do it, he would respond. not knowing you were talking to yourself, and not him. you would look at him surprised, and he would just reply with "what?" Which just caused in awkward staring

Although he can't fully make fun of you for it because he low key, HIGH KEY sometimes does it himself although hes more so lots of Spanish cursing and or screaming/grunting to himself. Then really talking, babbling, like you.

It didn't take him long to realize that's just something you do, so he learned not to interrupt you so he can listen to your calming voice. he will however if you do it more so in the shower, stand outside the shower door and listen without you noticing.

He also low-key tells Rudy about it. Rudy's starting to get annoyed with how much he talks about it. He finds it weird that he has a low key obsession with it.

He also learned that by listening to you ramble he knows, what you want that day/what needs to get done. and when you come back, whatever you needed done/whatever you wanted is right in front of you. you often question how he knows (completely forgetting you talk to yourself)

He also a lot like all the guys finds it extremely cute. so he will find ways to tease you about it, he often babbles back to you like a baby, which either ends up in him getting a smack in the back of the head, or you turning bright red.

Konig⭐

A lot like Alejandro he'll hear you babbling to yourself in another room so he'll go in thinking you were calling for him/talking to him. and when he asks what's wrong, you give him a embarrassed look at the fact he caught you, but he still confused on why you're embarrassed.

"Sunshine didn't you call for me?" He says, in his sweet soft accent he has for you. and you shyly have to explain it to him that you talk to yourself/babble to yourself. And for some reason, this just makes something in him warm up, he just finds it so adorable.

It took him a really long time to get used to you talking/babbling to yourself. cuz every time he'd be like did you need something. so be patient with him he's trying.

Key low key loves, loves, LOVES, when you talk to yourself he just finds it so entertaining, on what goes through your little mind.

Will encourage you to do it more. He's hesitant at first to ask you but when he does you glow a bright red. But he just tries to soothe your worries with "darling please, you're talking is calming for me" he says as a light blush spreads across his face.

He will walk around with headphones in. and you think he's watching/listening to whatever on his phone. but in reality it's just an excuse so he can be in the same room as you, and listen to you talk to yourself. without getting caught or being embarrassed.

And that's going to be the end for this I know Konig's was probably shit, but I tried with him I really did. anyways if y'all want to request remember requests are always open, and I'm happy to take them! I hope you are having a good day/night wherever you are. reblogs, and comments are always appreciated 🖤

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