#and i might have to file taxes and pay bills but at least i can do this much

[astrobei]

adult responsibilities are gross but i do like the fact that i can decide i want a piercing and then just like. get that piercing???

[theundertalenebulartheory]

WELL THE POWER AND INTERNET ARE STILL OUT IDK WHEN ITS COMING BACK AND THE NEW CHAPTER IS HAUNTING MEEEEE SO HERE IT IS YOU CAN HAVE IT IN TUNGLR FORMAT UNTIL THE POWER COMES BACK AND I CAN GET THE NEW CHAPTER UP ON AO3

Chapter 23: In Which We Go Camping Again And Nothing Catches On Fire This Time Except A Few Faces

((There will be a little Present Day Blurb in the Summary Section when this chapter goes up on AO3 as well as some End Of Chapter notes about how very normal I’m feeling about the Summer Newsletter))

You’d taken up journaling. There wasn’t, exactly, a whole lot you could do about the whole Time Travel thing. And whether or not you woke up one day or another you weren’t entirely sure you’d be able to tell the difference between the first and 50th time you’d lived a specific day.

But there was the thing about certain things just kindof existing in your knowledge bank that you kept coming back to. Which meant that you’d learned them in the first place.

Which brought you to the journal. Even if you didn’t exactly have a lot of confidence that *what* you wrote could be maintained from one timeline to the next (otherwise you assumed you’d be finding a paper trail of some kind lying conspicuously around the house) but if you could somehow internalize what you were writing about, then maybe... maybe you could at least start over with a bigger toolbox than what you’d had previously.

Along those same lines, you’d also taken Papyrus up on his offer to really start training you in earnest. There was so, so much to do. Bills to pay. Taxes to file. Portfolios to submit. But Papyrus made time for you, and you made time for him. And as you did, you started to notice things that you wondered if maybe you’d already noticed before.

Like the fact that reading was hard for him. And articulating some of his thoughts could be a bit of a challenge. There was that whole Junior Jumble thing too, and that particular bullet point got double underlined in your fancy new journal. He was just too smart for that to NOT mean something.

Paps wasn’t the only one under the microscope. Sans, too, was exhibiting some behaviors that you’d started to jot down on a page in your new book. First of all, the man couldn’t read a map to save his life. He just needed to BE there. Or have been there. But where he’d been and where he needed to go were almost two completely separate things. It was almost like whatever filing system his brain used for how to get to places was totally removed from the actual 3D space itself. You‘d even asked him one time if he was inside a new house, couldn’t he just estimate the distance between himself and a backyard just outside that he’d never been to before and shortcut there? Nope. Only places he’s been, or places he can, in any given moment, actively see. There was also the sarcasm, tone-deaf thing too. But that one got a question mark next to it in your notes. That one might have been more of a cultural difference... except that Papyrus was the most sassy and sarcastic person you knew. So the note stayed regardless.

You’d been taking other notes too. Notes about things you’d been learning from Muffet. Things you’d been learning on your own as you tried to do what Muffet explained and then messed it up horrifically. To your credit, though, the look on Papyrus’ face when you accidentally messed up his bullet pattern because you’d managed to create a funnel that caught and redirected every one of them was freaking hilarious.

Slightly less hilarious was the loss of HP when the far end of that funnel was connected to your soul and you took an entire field of bullets right in the chest all at once.

And so a note ended up in the journal. But as winter changed to spring and your university graduation drew nearer, you found yourself drawn to a date. An event, rather. Which is what you’d been looking for in your philosophical discussions with Sans. A landmark of some kind. And here it was.

A meteor shower.

You discussed it with Papyrus and Sans and the three of you decided that Sans needed the trip the most (in spite of what he argued to the contrary) and so the two of you would go together. Especially when the possibility of bringing everyone else along got brought up and both you And Papyrus suddenly got extremely cagey for no discernable reason and suddenly you very much wanted to stay home.

You didn’t.

But you were tempted. Papyrus decided to stay home though. There was something… something undeniably anxiety-inducing about the day that none of you could put your finger on. So Pap stayed. And you and Sans went to see the meteor shower.

Your old beater absolutely was Not going to make the trip, but you had an uncle with a truck that was willing to trade you vehicles for one weekend so you could go see the stars. You picked up Sans and his telescope from Toriel’s McMansion of a home at 4 AM Friday morning, noticing the way he eyed all the totes and bags in the truck bed somewhat disbelievingly. But he climbed in after securing the box for his telescope with some spare bungee cords and buckled up without verbally questioning it all too much.

“Alright, we’ve got road snacks in the center console, a little baby cooler on the back seat with drinks, and you’ve had all the pit-stops you’re going to need for a few hours?”

“ ‘m good.” His voice was extra low and graveled so early in the morning and you did your best to keep the effect that was having on you down to a minimum.

“Awesome. You’re totally ok to nap for a few hours, by the way, once we make it out of Ebbott. I’m way too hype for this trip to even be slightly sleepy so you go to sleep for a bit. It’s gonna be a solid 8 hours in the car even once we’re past the way station. Might as well nap for some of it.”

As if on queue he stifled a yawn, settling into the seat to get comfortable and adjusting the angle of the seat backing. “nah, i’m awake.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Super awake. At 4 AM. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“you’ve never met anyone as awake as I am right now.”

“Sure.”

Thankfully the waystation wasn’t busy at this time of the morning, and Sans was able to shortcut to the roof of the building without issue. You passed inspection with no issues, and Sans dropped through your roof to land easily in the passenger’s seat once you were rolling past it. You had a nice laugh about it together, but after that you didn’t even make it onto the freeway before he was softly snoring. It took a little station surfing, but soon enough there was a smooth jazz radio station to keep the road noise from being too distracting for him. This was a pretty big deal, and you didn’t want anyone to start the day off on a sour note. He was going out on a limb, doing a one-on-one trip with you after all of the soul-bond weirdness had finally started to settle down and your relationship friendship was finally starting to get easier again. The least you could do is make sure he started the day well rested.

It was funny though. What soft snoring sounds he was making for the first 20 or so minutes of the drive changed a little bit, smoothing out into almost soundless deep breathing after some time driving. You weren’t 100% sure how to feel about that, but you shrugged it off without taking it too much to heart. He stayed asleep until the sun was well over the horizon, the strategic way you’d arranged the sun visor to block the worst of the rays finally failing as the freeway turned in just the right direction to evade your best attempts to keep his face out of the sun.

Blearily, he came to, and you made sure to continue bobbing your head side-to-side along with the music even as there was motion in your periphery. You let him look around and rub his face on his own terms without calling attention to it, letting him decide when he was ready to engage with you. It took a minute, but not as long as you thought maybe it would take, before he finally yawned out loud and grumbled a little to himself. You finally peeked over at him, caught his eye, smiled, and kept driving.

“never took you for a smooth jazz type.”

“No?”

“nah.” His voice was still rough with sleep, and you reminded yourself silently that you REALLY needed to get a grip on yourself if you were going to survive the weekend.

“It’s nice to study to. Lo-fi, smooth jazz, instrumental covers of pop songs. It’s also nice to have on as background napping music.”

“…ah. you didn’t have to do that. i can sleep through anything.”

You hummed thoughtfully, switching the radio station to something a little less… well, a little more like something you would prefer to listen to for hours at a time. “Maybe. But you had to get up early. And you’re going to be up late.”

"hopefully. kindof hard to watch a meteor shower when its daytime.”

You rolled your eyes at him fondly and shook your head. “Alright, wise guy. I spy with my little eye something red.”

Between the car games you knew, songs on the radio that you liked, (a check-in phone call to alleviate some of the itching in the back of your brain) and the snacks, eight hours in the car flew by faster than you thought it would. You made it to the campsite just after noon, and even with Sans’ inexperience in the ways of Tent Poles you had a nice little campsite set up just in time for lunch. Your totes of pillows and blankets didn’t go into the tents, though. Not yet, anyways. Those you dumped out into the bed of the truck and made a lovely stargazing nest out of. There was a little nature walk and a stream to play in nearby your site that took up most of the afternoon, and by the time Sans had somehow soundly beaten you at ‘how many frogs can I catch’ (you had your suspicions that maybe some shortcuts and trickery had been involved, but you couldn’t be too mad about it when he smiled like that) it was time to stoke up a fire and cook dinner. You checked in with Papyrus again, and discovered that Toriel had started feeling apprehensive also and had started doing some gardening outside.

Regrettably, it turned out that Sans was the kind of heathen that liked his marshmallow burnt to a crisp even after you made him a perfectly golden-brown masterpiece of a mallow. But he seemed to have fun with the process, and really that was all that mattered. You did too, it had been years since you’d been camping (as far as you remembered). It brought back tons of great memories, some of which hadn’t been so great when you’d been going through them but made for hilarious stories now that you were older and time had smoothed the rough edges. Nothing actually terrible, of course. But plenty enough awkward and miserable that Sans actually fell out of his camp chair laughing as you really hammed up the retelling of the time that your parents had taken your family camping during ‘monsoon season’ and a microburst had chased the lot of you underneath the upside-down shell of your tent after the wind had snapped 100% of your tent poles.

Regaling him with stories of misadventures in camping as a kid ate away at the hours of the early evening, as did another check-in phonecall to Pap and Tori.

“you think that whatever might have happened in that past timeline... it was bad?” Sans asked as you hung up your fourth check-in phonecall of the night, firelight dancing over his bones.

You sighed and rubbed your hand over your face, knowing logically that you were clearly having some kind of mental breakdown over nothing at all but grateful that it wasn’t just you experiencing a bout of unexplainable anxiety tonight. “It’s got to be, right? Especially with Pap and Tori feeling it too. But we don’t know what it is. And that’s the tricky part, isn’t it? We don’t know if it’s some kind of earthquake that’s going to strike or if like... we did all come camping together before and Frisk fell and broke their leg. There’s just this feeling of... I just need to check on them. All of them. And if I don’t, then something bad might happen. And if it’s a feeling that extends to all of them, then that kindof feels... big, you know? Like it’s not just that I need to check on Papyrus, because if that’s the feeling I had then it would make sense that Papyrus was the one that something bad happened to. Right?”

Sans nodded, looking grimly down into the fire. “we can go back if you want to.”

“No,” you shook your head quickly and settled back into your folding chair. “I want to be here. And I know that they’ve all got each other. I think I just need to stop scratching the itch, you know? They’ll call if something happens. And if something happens, we can always jump right home. But we’re here, it’s a beautiful night, and I’m having fun. I want to see the meteor shower.”

“well... long time between now and then.”

You checked your watch and grinned. “Yeah, but the stars are pretty great even before it’s time for the meteor shower to really kick into gear. Actually, we’re probably far enough past sunset now to get started. Most of the light pollution should be gone now. Wanna see something cool?”

“sure.”

You winked at him as you stood up and grabbed the bucket of stream water, dousing the fire with a spectacular hiss.

The effect was almost instantaneous, as your bucket of water reduced the firepit to a smoking black ring, the sky above you burst into life. Your attention was on the ring of stones at first, checking for any glowing embers you might have missed (Smokey the Bear was NOT going to be disappointed in you tonight!) but you could hear the gasp next to you. And you remembered your first time coming out to one of these truly Dark Sky Zones. Your own father dumping water on the fire and the way you’d quite literally fallen over yourself trying to crane your neck far enough to take it all in.

Satisfied that you’d sufficiently soaked the coals, you carefully reached out to touch his shoulder to catch his attention. He tilted his head your direction a few degrees, but didn’t take his eyes off of the sky.

“Hey. Your eyes aren’t quite adjusted to the dark yet. Close your eyes for like… 20 seconds to let them adjust a little, then try again. I promise it’s worth it.”

“heh. seems… pretty worth it already. but… ok.”

He was loathe to peel his gaze away from the stars for even a second, but with some effort he eventually closed his eyes. With a near-giddy grin, you took his arm.

“Keep ‘em closed. No tricks. I’m just going to guide you towards the truck. It’ll be worth it. Just keep your eyes closed for a bit longer, and when we get to the truck don’t peek. Use the chance to get up into the truckbed as a chance for you eyes to adjust a little more. The dark blankets will help kindof… force your eyes to finish adjusting to the dark. Then you can look. Promise.”

You guided him expertly and carefully, in spite of his grumbling about it, back to the pickup truck and the blanket nest you’d built earlier in the day. He looked down just long enough to climb into it, but as soon as he was settled among the pillows his face was turned heaven-ward again. You settled in too, and finally let the weight of being the responsible host slide off of your shoulders enough to relax into the moment and gaze at the trillions of stars that made the sky glow like the very best and most impressive NASA satellite images available. But with a depth and grandeur that no photo could ever capture.

It was cool, of course. Grand and spectacular and majestic and poetic and whatnot. But… you couldn’t keep your head from lolling to the side so you could watch Sans.

His eye sockets had never been so wide. And his eye lights practically filled the whole space. They were so bright, too. Brighter than a whole handful of stars. Bright enough that you could almost see the rims of his sockets glowing with just how intensely he was focused on taking in absolutely every single detail. If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess he was having the equivalent of a religious experience as his gaze swept reverently across the Milky Way.

You let him be.

You kept watching him, but you did so silently. He’d never looked so relaxed in his life, nor had he ever looked so small. The usual softness to his figure held up by some kind of magic that gave him such a huggable shape day in and day out was completely abandoned and his clothing draped loosely over his bones in a way that showed off just how little mass he really actually had. You’d never actually seen his shirt fall into the gap between his pelvis and his ribs, even when he had been sleeping in the car. But his sleeves, his shirt, his shorts, everything draped over his bones and nothing more than his bones and he looked so, so small. So slight. Like a stiff breeze might blow him away. And you had to fight the urge to bundle him up in your arms and burrito him in a blanket just to make sure some bluejay didn’t grab him by the spine and fly off with him (hour of the night notwithstanding.)

After what felt like 30 minutes you watched him tug one of his mittens off and then lift his hand towards the heavens, reaching out for the stars. It was deeply endearing, and you grinned to yourself. That was one of the funny things about stargazing that you couldn’t anticipate just by looking at pictures of the stars. If you watched them, flat on your back, for long enough… you started to get a sense for depth. You could start to feel just how vast, like watching the sea stretch out all the way to the horizon, the expanse was. Incomprehensible though it was. And in that vastness… there was you. Little old you. Floating in the middle of all of it.

And since you were floating… couldn’t you just… you could almost just… if you could just reach a little further, then, maybe…

It was funny how such immeasurable intensity could mess with your head. Logically, of course, you knew you couldn’t. But your heart still wanted so desperately to believe that it was right there. And as you watched Sans reach, starlight glittering through the hole in his palm, you let your gaze follow the line of his hand heavenward again.

“Feels so close, doesn’t it? So close but so far.”

“… yeah.”

“Hey.”

“hm.”

“Just a fair warning,” you kept your voice low, so as not to disturb the moment, but you could feel his eyes slide over to you anyways. “Looking at this many stars all at once tends to make people wax philosophical. And being up late with someone tends to lead to really deep and personal conversations. So just like… a fair warning that you’re going to be really tempted to start talking about eternity and the multiverse theory and the insignificance of our existence and all that. Which I am totally down for. But if you’re not, this is your disclaimer now. This is the deep end of the pool, my guy.”

He huffed a laugh and shook his head, settling back into the pillows. “good to know.”

There really wasn’t anything like a sky bursting with stars on a cool and clear night. The Milky Way stretched the full length of it, well and truly glowing with life and energy. It had been years since you’d been out here, but the view was no less awe-inspiring than it was when you were half as tall and dozens of times more carefree. The memory was a gift you cherished, and the way it had molded your worldview couldn’t be bought with all the gold and silver under Mount Ebott. How many lives would be so different if more people could come out to a place like this and watch such a spectacular parade of stars and feel, profoundly, how small your place was in the cosmos every few years or so?

“I’m sorry.”

“… don’t be.”

“Someone needs to be. I can’t fathom how… a thousand years ago, this would have been what our ancestors would have seen every single night. How can you see something like this every single night and treat people like that? Put them under a mountain?”

“now who’s being all philosophical?”

“Oh, it’s me, for sure. That warning was for you in case you didn’t really want to share anything deep, but it was also a warning for you that I AM going to get all deep. Super deep.”

“that’s what she said.” You could hear the grin in his voice, and you were half tempted to sit up and wiggle your eyebrows at him, but you weren’t quite done admiring the view yet. You’d just started to notice a star moving a tiny bit faster than the other ones and you were suspecting maybe you were looking at a planet that you didn’t want to lose sight of just yet. Definitely not fast enough to be a satellite, but maybe a planet.

“Nice… Vaguely Related Side Note: Conceptually I understand the mechanics of how a strap-on works. But there’s also this little nagging voice in the back of my head that says,” at this point Sans started to crack up but you kept going undisturbed, “if you were actually to put one of those on… the specific location where the dildo would sit isn’t actually supported by any bone structure. The bone structure sits too low to actually provide support where you’d need it. Right? It’d be like strapping it onto your – Sans I’m being serious, stop giggling – strapping it onto your stomach. It’s all soft tissue right there! Wouldn’t that be uncomfortable?”

He managed to string something together in response, but it was nearly impossible to understand through his wheezing. Something about a harness and weight distribution and something called a ‘symphasis.’ “No, I GET the harness part, but still. Like… there’s going to be a concentrated amount of force on a non-reinforced part of your body. You gotta consider the pounds per square inch.”

His wheezing devolved into a deep and rolling laughter and he doubled over into a fetal position with the force of it. “i didn’t realize that this is what you meant when you said we were going to get deep,” he coughed and continued to giggle, barely holding onto his composure. “the harness has like… a plate. not a plate, what word am i looking for? a triangle. a patch. that’s not it either. a base. spreads out the surface area on the bone structure.”

“Ah, that would help.” You finally pulled your eyes away from the maybe-planet and watched his laughter fade into a smile, humor still working towards smoothing out the exhaustion usually carved into his face. You were really starting to get to know the subtle micro-expressions that tugged at his skeletal grin, and for once this one looked genuinely pleased with no reserved hints of worry or masking. “Glad to hear from the expert. I was really worried there. One less mystery of the universe to worry about now.”

He snorted, a strange sound without all the internal nasal structures that normally came with being human-shaped, but a close enough approximation to the sound that you could tell what he’d meant to do. “didn’t know you came star-gazing with a… sex-pert.”

“Better you than me,” you joked. “People get DEEPLY uncomfortable with people in public education having hobbies other than like… jigsaw puzzles and knitting. Gotta prepare for the next 30 years of G-rated fun only.”

“ok, but you and alphys killed that jigsaw the other night, though.”

“That is entirely beside the point,” you countered with a very put-upon frown. Sans just snickered, and you couldn’t help the urge to lean over and rest your head on his shoulder. This had been what you’d been wanting so badly when you invited him to come with you. Sure, the two of you had spent hours together debating the finer points of timeline shenanigans. But it really did seem to eat at him. If you had to hazard a guess, he was maybe even starting to show symptoms of depression. Not that you’d call him out on it, of course. But that didn’t mean you were just going to lay down and let the man just BE depressed either. So... you brought him camping. Some sunshine. Some fresh air. Change of scenery. And a sky full of stars to get lost under. An excuse to pull out his old telescope, ready and waiting for you just beside the pickup truck.

“My grandma could knit,” you mused out loud after a comfortable silence had settled between you. “She tried to teach all the grandkids how to do it. Emphasis on tried, anyways. I never could get it. She tried when I was like… seven? Bored out of my mind, couldn’t grasp the concept. Grandma loved to make dolls for her great grandkids. None of the boys ever really liked dolls so she actually went online and found these patterns to knit Transformers so they wouldn’t feel left out. What’s funny about that, though, is once she started making them then all the grandkids wanted one. Even ones who’d already gotten a regular doll. And then their friends wanted one. She thought about starting an online business before her health tanked. I still have mine in my closet. It’s cool.”

Sans shifted, and when you peeked over at him, he was looking at you with the corners of his smile falling a little bit downwards. “is she… uh…”

“Yeah. She passed on a couple of years ago.”

“sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Your eyes sparkled with the ability to parrot his own words back at him. The sparkle didn’t last, though, and you turned your eyes back to the stars. “She was really sick, and she hated wasting away. She was one week away from 100 years old. I kept telling everyone we needed to have an early party for her. 100 years is a pretty big deal. But… people were busy. It happens.”

“sounds like you two were close.”

“Oh, sure. I lived with her.” You put your hands behind your head and started looking for any constellations you could remember. The peak of the meteor shower wasn’t going to be until much, much later in the night. “One year after starting Uni is when Grandma’s health tanked. Everyone else either had families or stuff going on or was too young. They were going to put her in a home,” you caught yourself, identifying that Sans might not have the social context to know what that implied. So, you amended, “a, uh, a communal elderly living center that’s expensive as hell and has like... staff and nurses and stuff like that to take care of the old people’s needs. But it’s also… kindof famous for being the place you drop old people off and then abandon them until they die because you’re paying all this money for nurses and staff to take care of them. Just... shuck that responsibility off on someone else. Which sucks.”

“that’s... horrible. humans really do that?”

“Not everybody, for sure. But it’s not uncommon either. And to be fair, nobody in my family wanted that for her, but grandma needed help and nobody else was really in a great place to step up and do the 24/7 care thing that she needed. Which is part of the reason old people end up in those care centers in the first place. Everyone’s so poor and busy trying to get by that they literally can’t keep up with the level of care that a lot of really old people need. Even if it’s their own flesh-and-blood family. So… I... said I’d do it. I moved in just after finishing my second spring semester. Spent seven years doing 24/7 care for her. Meds, bathing, diapers, the whole bit. She got social security checks in the mail and a veterans check because of grandpa, and I used them to pay the bills and feed us both. Buy her meds and stuff. The aunts and uncles would come over sometimes but... not for very long. Fifteen, maybe thirty minutes. Then they’d be gone again for months.

“It was about… oh… maybe... Year 5 of just the two of us, barely any visitors ever, when Grandma met with the people managing her trust and included in her will a laughably low sale price for the house contingent upon her passing and first right of refusal for me. It was still more than I could really, actually afford, but… in today’s market? I couldn’t pass it up. I’d be the world’s biggest idiot to let that offer slip through my fingers, no matter how hard it was going to be to make it work.

“So, here I am. A decade behind all my peers. Just barely finishing my degree. Working 2 jobs that I get paid for and one that I don’t. I love Science Saturdays and it looked amazing on my resume, but doing a whole job for free really sucks while trying to maintain a scholarship. I’m glad it’s over and I’m finally a graduate. I thought about still doing it through the summer but... nah. I think that chapter of my life is done.”

“wait… you don’t get paid for that?”

“Nope. I don’t. 100% volunteer hours. Which… again, great resume builder. Great for getting experience with coordinating and managing and such. Great for building connections and networking and the like. No dinero, though. Nothin’ but pictures where my money used to be. The real money maker is the waitressing gig, but that comes and goes too. Did you know that most restaurants pay about $2 an hour and whatever you make in tips has to be reported to the IRS so you can get a year’s worth of taxes all billed at once on April 15th?”

“that’s messed up.”

“It is, but on the bright side I’ve gotten SO responsible with money. Budget game off the charts. Color-coded Excel spreadsheets and everything. Quicken could never.” He chuckled softly, but you could almost hear the gears turning in his head. Putting puzzle pieces together. Connecting dots. You braced for the inevitable pity or sympathy or whatever aww-that’s-so-sad sentiment might come out of him next.

“what keeps you going?”

You blinked at the Milky Way, surprised. It took a minute of thought, but eventually you said, “Spite.” He barked a laugh and you snickered along with him. “No, but really. Hope, probably. It’s just… got to get better. I don’t want to live like this forever. It has to end. Or… change, I guess. Not end. Gotta beat grandma’s record. I want… friends. TIME. Room to breathe. I want to take a fencing class. I want to learn another language. I want to paint again. I want to go dancing with friends and bake them cookies and have dumb inside jokes. I don’t want to be lonely until I die. There’s so much out there to see and do and learn and experience and I’m stuck with my nose to the grindstone and it’s got to mean something. I’m just holding onto that with a white-knuckled grip until my fingers bleed. The hope that it gets better. And if it won’t get better on its own then damn it, I’m going to make it get better.”

Sans shook his head. “perseverance.”

“Heh. Yeah. Funny how that works out. But that does leave me with some questions, though.”

“oh?”

He turned more fully to you, propping himself up on his elbow, and you matched his pose with a mischievous sparkle in your eye. “Absolutely. I mean, you use blue magic, right? Like a bright, sky-blue?”

“cyan.”

“Right, right,” you nodded. “I can’t quite remember what that one is though. Cyan stands for ‘cute,’ right?”

The glowing blush that erupted over his zygomatic arches was, indeed, cyan. And you waggled your eyebrows at his sputtering. “Yep. Definitely stands for cute.”

Sans laughed and rolled onto his back, ducking into the hood of his jacket to hide his embarrassment. “patience, actually.”

“Oh?” You chased after him, leaning over him and bracing an arm on the other side of his ribcage so you could grin down at his furious blush. “You know Pap would tell you patience is just a fancy word for laziness.”

Sans snickered, the blush fading a little now that you’d had the good grace to turn the conversation to safer topics. “probably. even if...”

“...if nothing could be further from the truth,” you answered along with him, matching his cadence, your eyebrows pinching together in confusion as the words sprang unbidden from your throat. A flash of a frown passed over Sans’ face, his eye lights constricting, but he shrugged it off after a moment of tension.

“guess we know I’ve said that before.”

“Or I have,” you offered, but he shook his head.

“nah. i've said it a few times. thought it a few times. that's a ‘me’ thing.”

You tilted your head to the side and tucked a few fingers into the mitten still holding onto the edge of his hood. You wanted to make sure he could feel your sincerity. “I believe it, too. You work really hard. I don’t know why you let Pap call you lazy all the time.”

Sans’ smile grew soft and fond, and his eye lights fuzzed at the edges. He held your eye for a moment longer before turning to the grand display overhead. “he’s not wrong. usually. he knows when i need a good pick-me-up. not that i'm very heavy. he's the best. i can see why you like him.”

You caught something unsaid in his comment. Well, a few things. Sans never had been very forthcoming with any kind of details about his mental or emotional health, so the pick-me-up comment and the deflecting joke about his weight was probably the closest you'd ever get to him admitting that he struggled with either of those things. But there’s some additional deflection and redirection in there too that makes you want to pin him down and hold his face in your hands and press your feelings for him directly into his soul so he knew, unequivocally, that he was important too. That it isn’t and never will be a competition. That you loved him, that you trusted him, that...

“I like you both,” you clarified instead, and the soft blush across his zygomatic arches returned. “I think you both are great, in your own ways. You’re... a pair. A matched set.”

Sans’ eye lights drifted back to meet your eyes, his expression shifting in the dark. There was something searching and vulnerable in it, so you continued. “You don’t have one without the other. Unless you want to be. But you’re both better when you’re together. You... complete each other. Even if you do drive each other crazy. Humans have a phrase... two sides to the same coin. You’re kindof like that.”

Sans huffed a little laugh and his head rolled into your joined hands. Acting on a whim, you slipped your fingers out of his grip and traced your fingers over his blush until you were cupping his cheek in your palm. Your thumb brushed over the pearlescent pseudo-bone, or whatever bone-like structure his magic was made out of, and he nuzzled into your hand with a sigh.

“Tell me about Patience magic? I want to know more about you.” Sans’ expression was impossibly soft already, but somehow he melted even more into the blanket nest at your prompt.

“heh. uh. alright." He wiggled a little to get comfortable, hands pillowing behind his head. “well. uh. you've probably figured this out, but the soul traits don’t totally match with the modern use of the word. meanings change over time. so patience magic is mostly about opportunity, really. waiting for just the right moment. knowing what the right moment even is.”

You grinned down at him. “Oooooh, so that’s why your comedic timing is so good.”

His lazy wink was so genuine and dazzling, you almost leaned in to kiss the humored crinkle at the corners of his mouth. But you didn’t. “it helps, yeah.”

You rested your head on your shoulder and your smile turned coy. “Is there anything else it helps with?”

His eye lights constricted a fraction, and he traded some of the humor in his smile for intensity. “a few things. opportunities are all over the place, you know. you just gotta know what you’re looking for.”

One of his hands came to rest on the forearm you were using to brace yourself over him. “And what is it that you’re looking for?”

He didn’t answer right away, his eye lights drifting through the endless sea of stars above you with a faraway pensiveness that silently stretched out between you like the blanket of nightfall. “it changes,” he finally murmured. “but i think these days it’s just, uh... the simple life. good friends. bad food. terrible jokes. home. belonging.”

You allowed your hand slide from his cheek down to rest on his ribcage instead, noticing not for the first time just how quiet and still he was without breath or heartbeat. It’s different. But different didn’t have to be negative. Different could be a positive thing too. “Does that mean you don’t feel like you’ve found it yet?”

His eye lights shifted to meet yours, and he winked again after a second of thought. “you don’t ever stop looking for terrible jokes. or bad food. or good friends.”

More unspoken words hiding between the lines. More half-truths and deflection. You’d be a little annoyed with it if you didn’t get the sense that there was something aching terribly in his soul that he was trying desperately to bury. You’d caught little flashes of that cavern in his chest here and there over the past few months of working together about the timeline problem, and you couldn’t help but feel profoundly sad that he’d carried that for so long. It had been years since monsters had come up to the surface. And he was still dealing with it.

So, he could have a little deflection. As a treat.

“I dunno, I think maybe you’ve already learned a lifetime’s worth of terrible jokes,” you teased. And Sans was all too eager to latch onto the ‘out’ you’d offered with both hands.

“no way. a guy can never have too many terrible jokes.”

“Nope. You have too many. How’s anybody supposed to surprise you with a new joke if you already know them all?”

“its not about whether it’s new or not. you can still get a guy with a classic. its about timing, remember? patience?”

Your grin stretched with promises of mischief as your eyes playfully half-lidded. You leaned into his space a little and shifted to cage him in with your arms on either side of him. “You always did like the classics.”

His smile faltered a little as he took in your new position over him and his eye lights constricted a little. “the, uh, kids are calling ‘em ‘vintage’ now.”

You nodded, leaning in a little more. “Vintage, Retro, Nostalgic is another one I’ve heard. I think I like ‘classic’ the best though.”

“yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” You cupped his cheek again, and a quiet thrill rolled through your core at the way his eye lights were starting to dilate and fuzz at the edges. “Can I show you one of my favorite ‘classics’?”

He nodded, sockets wide with anticipation, and shifted to prop himself up on his elbows. His chin tilted up as you closed the distance between you and... redirected at the last second. The hand on his cheek held him still while you blew an impressively loud and wet raspberry on his smooth forehead and then dissolved into a fit of giggles, which only intensified as you caught the shocked, light-less void of his empty sockets staring back at you. It only took a second or two for his eye lights to blink back into existence, and he sat up as you collapsed on his lap laughing.

“what was that?” You tried to wheeze out an apology, but now Sans was shifting to cage you in with a mischeivous glint to his grin. “that’s it? that’s all you’ve got? oh boy. nobody challenges the legendary fart master like that and gets away with it.”

He sucked in a huge breath and smooshed his face into your neck, making you squeal even before anything had happened. But rather than the wet reverberation of a challenging raspberry, the perfect recreation of a squeaky-toy duck quack sounded. Two of them, actually. It was so startling and unexpected that you collapsed into his lap again, a new peal of laughter ringing out into the night.

“oh. uh. geez. wrong one. hang on. let me try again.”

Another huge breath of air, and this time he mashed his face against your cheek. An old-timey car horn AWOOGA’d and you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes with how hard you were laughing. “well that’s just embarrassing. hold on, i got it this time.”

On and on he went, cycling through an entire soundboard’s worth of cartoon gag noises as he “tried” against a dozen different parts of your body until you had to cry ‘uncle’ for the stitch in your side and the way your ribcage was starting to ache. He watched you catch your breath, sweaty and tear-streaked mess that you were, with such fond adoration that it didn’t take long for you to be the one blushing furiously and wiggling deeper into the blanket nest to try to hide your face once your breathing had returned to normal again.

“hey.” You peeked up at him, face aching from the strain of laughing for 10 minutes straight but helpless against the magnetic pull of his easy smile.

“Hey.”

“i think i got one more in me.” He brushed a few strands of hair off of your forehead with a conspiratorial wink. “i’m pretty sure i’m gonna get it right this time.”

Backlit by a billion blazing stars, none of which could ever compare to the way his warm and bright eye lights glittered in the void of his crinkled eye sockets, how could you ever even think to say no? At your murmured assent, he leaned in one more time. A thin, malleable approximation of lips touched yours. You rose up on your elbows to meet him.

And the softest sound slipped between you. You tilted your head to the side to help guide him further in to the moment, and he met your movement with the tentative touch of his mittened hand against the base of your skull. Just as the ribcage your palm slipped across was new in its cool stillness, the lack of breath cascading over your cheeks worried the back of your mind right at about the juncture where his grip was tugging gently at your hair. You had to peek to make sure everything was alright, which was a bit of a feat to accomplish with how close your faces were pressed together. But his sockets were closed and loose, so far as you could tell, and your eyes slipped closed again at the soft sound of satisfaction that bubbled up from his chest.

You weren’t the only one to have the thought to check, though, and after a moment he pulled away to search your face, his eye lights bright and fuzzy. “your breathing tickles.”

You snickered, leaning in to nuzzle him tenderly. “Distracted much?”

“kinda!” He snickered in return and teasingly pinched your nose. You batted his hand away and pressed a kiss to his teeth.

“You like it.”

He leaned in, chasing after you with a low noise of disappointment when you pulled away. “dunno. might need to try it again.”

You hummed thoughtfully, pressing your forehead to his with a teasing smile. “Need more data before you can determine correlation or causation?”

“a good scientist… something something, c’mere~” It was maybe a little bit hard to kiss you while you were laughing, even with both of his hands cradling your face and pulling you back in to him, but Sans was grinning without complaint too. And you decided, then, that quite possibly your very favorite feeling in the world was the sensation of your smile dancing with his. And you two danced.

And danced.

As do all things, the silent song under the stars eventually faded and you peppered his face with little freckles of kisses before pestering him to set up the telescope. He told you the story of how he used to prank people underground with it while he pulled it out of its box and set it up, and he told you about the wishing stones he used to point it towards while finding something to point it towards in the new expanse of endless sky.

He actually whooped with excitement when he found Saturn, and the two of you spent nearly an hour taking turns looking at it through his telescope and talking about what you could see. What you couldn’t see. The icy moons and the satellites that had visited it. You had terrible cell reception but you managed to grab some articles from the internet, and you took turns reading them out loud to each other while looking at the planet. Sharing pictures and ideas and theories.

Sans had a blast pointing his telescope in every direction he could for another hour after that, but nothing had been quite as cool or exciting as being able to see Saturn and it’s rings. Flashes of light were beginning to streak across the sky more quickly than they had been in the hours prior. One every 10 minutes or so. And Sans, having satisfied his need for adventure for one night, finally put away the telescope and joined you in the nest again so you could watch for meteors.

You snuggled up to his side and he looped an arm around you, both of you feeling a lot more snuggly in the increasing cool of the midnight hour. His magic was back, now. Inexplicable softness to his form filling out his sleeves and his shirt again, making him extra snuggly to cuddle.

And if, between the flashes of light streaking across the sky, your lips wanted to cuddle too, then who were you to fight the siren song of his cheek and jaw?

Sans giggled as you tickled your way, with feather-light kisses, over his jawline until you met his teeth. He answered your bid for affection with one of his own, gently nuzzling you and pulling you closer so he could do so properly. A contented sigh ghosted over his face and he snorted, shaking his head at the tickling dance of breath rolling over his bones. It was adorable, and endearing, and you took his cheeks in your hands so you could kiss his forehead.

“Sans?”

“mmm?”

You kissed his forehead again, and then pulled away to search his hazy eye lights. “Is this ok?”

“mm?” The crests over his eye sockets knit together in confusion. “uh… yeah? why? ‘s something wrong?”

You nuzzled him again, but resisted the urge to follow it up with a kiss. “You we’re just… weirded out by the whole past-relationship-in-another-time thing. And you freaked out a little when I accidentally did the soul connection thing. I dunno. I just want to make sure this is something you want and not something I’m like… pressuring you into?”

He shook his head and buried his face into your hands further. “nah. it was weird at first. just… uh, nerves, i guess. cold feet. happened kinda fast. but i get it now.”

You tipped your head to the side and waited for him to continue. It took him a moment to think about things, and eventually he added, “it just, uh, was hard to wrap my head around. one day we were on equal footing, then the next it was like a switch flipped. i couldn’t get how you could just suddenly trust somebody so much. much less a guy like me. but the timelines, you know. it makes logical sense, but that still didn’t make it feel right. just, uh, took me a little time. to get it. get how it happened. and why. get how real it was for you. that it wasn’t just a fluke you’d forget too. since you didn’t forget, and since it was… is real for you. i dunno. guess… it started to grow on me. it’s nice. you’re nice. and being with you is nice. and it just keeps being nice. i want to be with you more, no matter if we spend five minutes or five hours together, and i think that means it might be worth giving all this a try. once i got that, then… everything else was just… easy. natural. it’s easy being with you, and i like how it makes me feel.”

You blushed as he spoke and ducked your head a little, but you still kept your hands on his face with a shy smile. When he was finished you touched your lips to his teeth, and sat up.

Touched your fingertips to your sternum.

And then… you pulled.

Sans’ eye lights vanished from his sockets as the intensity of color from your purple soul sucked the color right out of everything else around you. It floated between you, and your hand hovered underneath it instinctively even though it was perfectly happy to float there all by itself.

“You don’t have to. I don’t ever want you to feel pressured to do anything, ever, for any reason. But I trust you with my soul. I have for a while, now.”

Sans’ eye lights dropped to your soul, wide and fuzzy, and he wheezed a little. Coughed. Wheezed again. Then laughed, a boyish smile shyly playing across his face.

“really?”

You nodded, and he carefully slipped his mittens off. His bare phalanges cupped under your soul, and he looked at it with just as much reverence as he’d regarded the stars. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you nodded towards your soul to make sure he knew he had your express permission to touch, if he wanted to. His eye lights dropped back down to your soul and his hands inched a little closer, surrounding your soul so closely all it would take is the faintest movement for him to brush the surface.

But after a long moment, he relaxed his grip and his hands fell away. Sans sighed, leaning in but not touching.

“i want to. your soul is breathtaking. i want this. but… i… can’t do the same. it wouldn’t be fair to you. i want this, and i want to try this. us. being an ‘us’ instead of just a ‘you and i.’ but i can’t offer you this. my soul. yet. maybe… maybe ever. it’s… it’s complicated.”

His face scrunched with regret and disappointment, and his expression so vulnerably begged for understanding in the glow of your soul. You really wanted to leap across the space between you and crush him to your chest and pour into him every assurance that you didn’t care if he couldn’t do the same. Yet, or ever. That you still cared about him and loved him and wanted to share yourself with him. All of yourself. And that it was ok if he wasn’t there yet. Maybe… maybe in another time he could be ready. And maybe this was the only time you’d ever get, and that was ok too.

What you actually did was take his hands in yours and cup them around your soul again, but with your grip steady and firm under his phalanges and metacarpals keeping his hands from escaping. His eyes grew wide again as you brought his hands closer to the Purple Heart floating between you, stopping just before touching once again.

“I respect your decision,” you quietly responded. “But I need you to understand that I don’t ask for anything from you because I need it paid back. You don’t owe me anything. You never have, and you never will. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for, but I’m not offering this with my fingers crossed that it’ll somehow change the power balance here. I’m offering because I love you. I’m offering because I want you to know me and know how much I trust you. No other reason. And if that changes your mind, I want you to know that tonight, or any other night, the offer is still open.”

Sans pulled in a shaky breath and let it slowly slide out from between his teeth. His eye lights were so impossibly huge in his sockets, so warm and fuzzy, you were half expecting to see a little moisture collecting in the corners. They slid down to look at your soul again, almost painfully vibrant in the inky night, and he sighed.

“not… not tonight. it hurts, how much i want to. but i wouldn’t feel right about it. maybe… soon, though. i just need to feel less, uh, like it’s going to change things if you can’t hold mine too. that’s just going to take some think time. it’s not you, it’s me. you know?”

You nodded again and gently released your hold on his hands, the pair of them falling away from your soul as it returned to your chest. You tugged him to you as you nestled back into the blankets again, your eyes adjusting to the dark over the next few minutes of comfortable silence. He settled under your arm, and the two of you fell asleep under the flashing streaks of falling stars.

[cornfieldofbabylon]

Nebraska Legislature Bills for the first session of 2023

Updated as of 3/25/2023

One of the main objectives of this blog will be to monitor the bills currently introduced and making their way through the legislature. Specifically, I will be keeping an eye on ‘good’ legislation that either reduces government authoritarianism or defends conservative values, bad legislation that advances far-left agendas and other legislation that may be suspicious or have generally bad ideas. 

Out of the 800+ items of legislation they craped out this session, many of them aren’t named in a decent way or given a useful summary to help you understand what they do without reading the whole thing. This makes it very hard to comb through the whole mess it try to identify the legislation that might actually be worth reading and separate it out from the “heres a bill to correct a grammar error in that thing we wrote 50 years ago about regulating obscure banking transactions” bills.

Furthermore, it seems that while a few really great items of legislation have been introduced this session, the committee process is planning to mostly ignore them to instead advance completely ignorant and petty nonsense like “Pet Insurance” regulation. And the SJWs from Omaha and Lincoln have declared that they are going to filibuster EVERY bill that makes it to the floor for debate, not because they actually care about most of them, but just to slow the entire legislature down to a crawl so that nothing can get done. Any bill not marked as a “priority” probably has no chance to pass this session, and with many pointless ones (yes, including “Pet Insurance”) being marked as priority, there is a high chance that most of the good legislation won’t see the light of day. 

Good/Conservative Legislation:

LB43 - “Require hearing officers and judges to interpret statutes and regulations to limit agency power and maximize individual liberty.” This could be a HUGE benefit, if it does what it claims it will do. Clarifying that the law should be interpreted to limit the power of unelected bureaucrats and give maximum consideration to individual liberties would greatly aid in battling nonsense like what we saw during the “pandemic” of the last few years. This may be the smartest piece of legislation proposed for the entire session. Status: Had a hearing on February 9th and now apparently being ignored. Not marked as a priority and therefore probably has no chance. 

LB71 & LB374 - Two laws to protect the rights of parents and force public schools to make their teaching materials available to parents for review. Generally a good idea and would likely help to combat leftist indoctrination taking place in public schools... but my honest take is that this is still missing the point. The real solution is to get the government out of the business of “education” entirely by encouraging and empowering parents to homeschool and/or send their kids to private schools of their own choosing.   Status: 71 was marked as priority and advanced to the general file, so it has a small chance of success. 374 has not been touched in almost two months and is probably going to be ignored for the rest of the session. 

LB143 - Eliminate daylight savings time. Short, simple and makes sense.  Status: Actually made it to the general file but is not marked as a priority and is thus probably going to be ignored. 

LB177 - “My choice, My Student” Act. A school choice bill. Unlike the other items of education mentioned above, this one is a slightly better approach to the problem of public schools, while still being a few steps away from perfect. It would allow public funding to be used to pay for private schools, tutors, computers and other educational expenses. In other words, rather than public schools exclusively deciding where your tax dollars go, you get to decide what to do with at least some of it (but not all of it). Although some people are promoting this as helping homeschoolers, it doesn’t actually explicitly mention homeschooling, and thus doesn’t alter the existing laws about homeschooling in the state. The law also doesn’t fully defund public schools if parents withdraw their kids either, as it has language in it about “stabilizing” public school funding and still allowing public schools to demand more funding. So this still would not end public schools and only marginally help parents who are trying to get kids out of public schools.  Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on. 

LB178 - Would require “display” of “the national motto” in public schools. The motto in question being “In God We Trust.” While this would be an obvious slap in the face to atheistic teachers and their leftist agendas, it would also undoubtedly cause a massive controversy and inevitable lawsuits from numerous activist groups. I don’t think this would pass and could easily be more trouble than it’s worth. As I said above, the solution is to get kids out of public schools entirely, not troll the teachers.  Status:  Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on.

LB194 - “Second Amendment Protection Act.” It would prevent state and local law enforcement from aiding the federal government to enforce gun control laws/regulations. Keep in mind this doesn’t prevent federal law enforcement from still enforcing gun control, but without state and local authorities to assist them it would be much harder to do. A good first step, but we should be doing much more to distance ourselves from the federal government agenda. Status:  Actually made it to the general file but is not marked as a priority and is thus probably going to be ignored.  

LB228 & LB230 - Voter ID. Good idea. Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on.

LB277 - “First Freedom Act.” That is to say, “first freedom” means the right to freedom of religion. This would provide a lot of broad protections for religious freedom and limit the power of the government to punish or censor people for their religious beliefs. No doubt it would be highly controversial and result in a vast array of activist causes claiming it is “racist” and “homophobic” in some way. It also specifically mentions allowing Native Americans to wear tribal religious items in public schools. The language of the bill is a bit weak and does still allow the government to get away with shady things if they cite a “compelling” reason... Status: Made it to the general file and has been marked a priority. So there is a small chance for success here. 

LB371 - Ban children at drag shows.  Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on.

LB457 - Require video surveillance of vote counting in elections. Makes sense.  Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on.

LB574 - “Let Them Grow Act.” Restricts sex change surgeries on minors. Status: This bill has become the central battlefield for the session. The SJWs constantly rant and rave about it every day, even when debating completely unrelated issues. Republicans just barely managed to get it passed the first round of voting and may or may not have enough votes to get it all the way to the finish line. In response the SJWs have vowed to not only filibuster this bill each time it comes up for a vote, but filibuster ALL bills to slow the legislature down so much that they can’t pass anything.

LB575 - “Sports and Spaces Act” - Keep sports divided by gender and prevent “transgender” players from switching sides.  Status: It had a hearing a long time ago and has been marked a priority, but the committee has not allowed it to advance. 

LB626 - Nebraska Heartbeat Act. Pro-life anti-abortion legislation similar to what other states have been launching in response to Roe being overturned. You can already tell democrats are SUPER MAD about it, as they have been spamming it with amendments and demands to “indefinitely postpone” it.  Status: Another major battlefield. It has been marked a priority and placed on the general file, but hasn’t made it to a floor debate yet. 

LB636 - Prevents crazy left-wing efforts to ban natural gas and propane. Hank Hill would approve.  Status: Had a hearing on February 8th and now apparently being ignored. Not marked a priority and thus probably dead. 

LB642 - Would require the Nebraska National Guard to allow soldiers who were kicked out for refusing to take COVID vaccines to reenlist. This is good, but I wish they would go one step further and also allow soldiers from other branches and states to join the Nebraska National Guard if they were kicked from their previous branch due to COVID mandates.  Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on.

LB730 - “Fair Access to Financial Services Act.” Prevents banks from punishing conservatives by closing their accounts and/or otherwise refusing to do business with them.  Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on. .

LB743 - “Investment Neutrality in Public Funds Act.” Opposes big corporations using social justice motives (particularly global warming propaganda) in their investment schemes.  Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on.

LB807 - One license plate per vehicle (Nebraska currently gives out two plates for your vehicle). I imagine the purpose of this from the government perspective was to save money since they are proposing a bunch of stupid new license plate changes this year and it would save money to only produce half as many plates. But the benefit for US is that you would only be legally obligated to have one plate on your car (likely on the rear) and would thus be harder for automated speed enforcement devices (and other monitoring technology) to catch. A small but important win for us if it passes.  Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on.

LR24CA - A constitutional amendment that would eliminate the “Board of Education” and give the governor the power to directly appoint the Commissioner of Education. Generally a good move in my opinion, as the board of education simply serves as leftist activism and giving control of education directly to the governor (which in Nebraska will likely always be a Republican) would greatly limit the power of left wing activists. Unlike the other proposals above regarding education, this would also benefit homeschoolers and private schools, as it may reduce government intrusion into those areas.  Status: Had a hearing but nothing further accomplished. Not marked a priority and probably will be ignored from now on.

.

Suspicious or otherwise questionable...

LB75 - Adds to some existing laws and gives the department of “Health and Human Services” the power to investigate “severe maternal morbidity.” Given that it is simply expanding powers they already have the change here is minor, but I dislike the idea of any expansion of bureaucrat power and don’t honestly trust “Health and Human Services” to be an unbiased investigator into such things. Sketch at best.

LB163 - A mishmash of various things to punish the department of corrections for being a terrible agency with no idea what they hell they are doing. This would include likely ripping their plans for a shiny new prison out from under them. I’m a bit torn on this. On the one hand it would be amusing because NDCS is an admittedly terrible agency which deserves to be punished. But on the other hand this legislation (and several others I won’t list here) are honestly going to do more to punish the rank and file employees rather than the administrators who are actually at fault. 

LR20CA - A constitutional amendment to include a “right to privacy” in the state constitution. Its very short and actually sounds good, as it “shall not be infringed without a compelling state interest.” But on the other hand it is introduced by a democrat and endorsed by two other democrats, so there must be some ulterior motive. A supposed “right to privacy” was behind the previous supreme court Roe ruling that effectively legalized abortion, so this could very well be some under the table method of trying to sneak abortion into the state constitution.

LR22CA - Giving themselves a third term in office. You didn’t do anything productive with your first two terms and now you want a third? You must be joking. 

And there are quite a few other items of introduced legislation which are “suspicious” to say the least, but I will omit them for the sake of brevity. Hopefully most of them will just die in committees. 

.

BAD and/or Obvious SJW Activism:

LB22 - The first of THREE proposals for legal weed this session. Yeesh Democrats, just admit you want to get high and go away.  Status: Appears to be getting ignored. Not a priority. 

LB53 - SJW Holiday.  Status: Sadly made it to the general file, but has not been marked a priority, so hopefully SJWs will screw their own bill with all their filibusters. 

LB54 - “Racial impact statements” on all future legislation. Basically just a way for SJW activists to give official commentary on legislation they don’t like.  Status: Appears to be getting ignored, for now.

LB161 - Supposedly “prohibits” private employers from “contact tracing” of their employees, UNLESS a “state of emergency” is declared... Status: Made it to the general file but is not marked a priority, so hopefully it won’t get any further. 

LB169 & LB670 - Adds “gender identity or sexual orientation” to Nebraska anti-discrimination laws. Every unique snowflake with tight pants will want you to bake them a cake and will sue if you refuse. Status: No major progress on either, yet. 

LB179 - Ban “Conversion Therapy.”  Status: Had a hearing but doesn’t appear anything further will happen with it. 

LB291 - “Require implicit bias or diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) training” for pretty much anyone who is required to get any kind of special “license” from the government for their job. DEI is one of the terms leftists use for Social Justice Warrior brainwashing. It basically teaches people that they are inherently racist just for being alive and that they can only atone for their crimes by putting a rainbow flag in their front yard. And this bill would require darn near everyone in Nebraska to take this training, including asbestos abatement professionals. Because we all know how many people get discriminated against by those naughty asbestos abatement professionals, don’t we?  Status: Had a hearing but doesn’t appear anything further will happen with it.

LB316 - Removes terms like “man” and “woman” from laws pertaining to marriage. Gay marriage maneuvering.  Status: Had a hearing but doesn’t appear anything further will happen with it.

LB588 - Legal (medical) weed. Toke up for your glaucoma bro! Status: Had a hearing but doesn’t appear anything further will happen with it.

LB634 - Legal weed, Colorado style. As someone from Colorado, let me assure you that you DO NOT WANT THIS.  Status: Had a hearing but doesn’t appear anything further will happen with it.

LB668 - Allows “mental health professionals” (“the experts”) to place anyone they want “into emergency protective custody.” These “professionals” are the people who no longer say that claiming to be a different gender is a mental illness but that refusing to be vaccinated IS a mental illness. Now the government effectively wants to give these people the power to arrest you without being charged of any crime and leave you with limited options to defend yourself. EXTREMELY BAD. Status: Had a hearing but doesn’t appear anything further will happen with it.

LR18CA & LR19CA - Constitutional amendments for abortion.  Status: The lefty senators are trying to get it moved to the Judiciary committee where they think they have a better shot at getting it past the committee. 

LR26CA - Remove marriage from the state constitution. Proposed by a Democrat and supported by other Democrats. Obviously more maneuvering to weaken Nebraska’s stance on Marriage and pave the way for the federal government to enforce far-left positions on this issue.  Status: Had a hearing but doesn’t appear anything further will happen with it.

Analysis:

Sadly, a very big chunk of what was introduced is really amazingly pointless. There were 800+ items of legislation introduced and only perhaps three dozen or so were even worth the paper it took to print them. We live in an age where our most basic and essential freedoms are being stripped away from us, but even supposedly conservative Republican senators are busy talking about how to regulate PET INSURANCE. That is just so infuriating. Get your priorities straightened out!

Democrats seem to have accepted the fact that their own proposed bills are likely dead in the water and will never make it out of committee. So their only objective as the small but incredibly vocal minority is to sabotage any chance of ANY bill getting passed. If they can’t get things their way, then nobody gets anything. The babies throw their tantrums every day when debating every bill, effectively filibustering every debate and slowing progress to almost nothing. Any bill not marked as a priority is basically already doomed. Some of the ones marked priority still may not make it. Republicans don’t seem to have a strategy to combat this other than to quietly put up with it, call for cloture as soon as the rules allow and pray they have the votes to move a bill to the next step. 

At this point, if a bill wasn’t marked a priority, assume it won’t pass during this session. We have a small chance to still get wins on banning transgender surgeries for minors and restricting abortion, but a lot of the really good legislation that could have protected us from future government authoritarianism such as what we have seen the last few years isn’t going to even get debated much less passed.  

[dailyrandomwriter]

Day 198

The past week and some posts that showed up on my Tumblr feed makes me want to rant a bit about how some politicians' platform of making sure those ‘who need the service’ makes me want to scream bullshit. How people’s stories of that one fucker who does game the system as an example why we should be more regulations makes me want to deadpan ask if gatekeeping thousands of people in need makes it any better.

And to anyone who says, I was poor and I got out of it, or I got government help, you either had indirect support, more money than you realized or you were very lucky because here is why:

Where I live, most government applications/forms are digital, specifically they are fucking PDF files, the file type originally created by Adobe.

Most people do not have a license to Adobe, and speaking as someone who has decent tech skills, Adobe has shit customer service for their free version, making it difficult to install.

And that is assuming you have a computer, which most people do not have. With the advent of the smartphone, computers are once more a luxury or business item. Most people do not own a computer or laptop.

Most people don’t own a fucking printer if they own a computer or laptop.

And if you’re disabled, you better hope to god you have a family doctor, because funding applications for disability tax, medical devices and support require a doctor’s input.

Assuming your doctor doesn’t charge you 50+ dollars for them to do the damn paperwork.

Yes, that is a thing that happens. My doctor, the angel that she is, doesn't charge me a cent, but I’ve had to take calls where families were asking if the doctor who gave them the diagnosis could sign paperwork because their own was going to charge them 50 dollars for it. I’ve heard through the grapevine it can be as high as 150 dollars.

This doesn’t even take into account that someone who may not be able to afford a car, who might not be living on a public transit main line, who might be so poor they might not have consist Internet, cellphone, or afford a bus pass would need to take these forms to a doctor to sign, and then mail them because the government still lives in the 90s sometimes.

And if you think I’m overstating how big of an issue this is, think about it this way. These social systems were supposed to be designed with the poorest of the poor in mind. The people who have to decide if they’re going to eat as opposed to having heating, electricity or a roof over their heads. That doesn’t even account for the Internet or phone costs in order to do things like pay bills, fill out government forms and find jobs. These are the people who are counting their money down to the bus tickets they need in order to go to work, because the 90 dollars for the monthly bus pass can pay for two weeks of groceries if you’re just one person and you buy very, very cheaply. But not too cheaply because dried and canned goods take time to cook into a proper meal, and you’re spending at least 45 minutes on that bus one way, assuming you live on the mainline (god help you if you live on an obscure route).

In the face of all that, do you really think that the people ‘who need the service’ are really getting that service?

Or getting enough for that matter.

[batfamscreaming]

So I've been thinking about this post a lot and how to make it and I figure I'll just throw a shot out in the dark

Reasons why Bruce Wayne is a multi-millionaire, rather than a billionaire:

pays his workers a reasonable wage with benefits.

the post could literally end here but we'll keep going

a billion dollars is the new shorthand for 'big amount of money' but you don't actually need to be a billionaire to be stupid rich. In mid 2021, Caitlyn Jenner's net worth is $100 million. Beyonce is $500 million. Keanu "I have enough money for the next few centuries" Reeves? $360 million.

Harris Rosen, who provides free preschool and college tuition, living, and educational expenses for any kids in Tangelo Park who gets into post-highschool education in Florida? $200 million.

A 'net worth' is different then 'how much does someone have in the bank.' It includes properties (so most of Harris Rosen's money is probably actually the chain of hotels he owns and the land they are on, which is why the scope of his program is a specific town) and intellectual property licenses (like the Beatles' Discography), etc. This all falls under the title of 'assets,' which are things that are expensive without actually being spendable cash. You could use the worth of an asset to buy things, in the same way you can use your gamestation to pay rent-- you sell it. So Bruce's net worth is going to be a combination of how much he is actively making from his CEO job, and the combined assets he owns. If he owns any stocks or bonds (he has children, he absolutely has a few saving bonds for them) those are also part of his net worth.

Things Bruce owns:

1 v big mansion house & surrounding property

probably a few vacation homes/safehouses in other states and countries

Several tall buildings and research facilities

at least one processing plant but probably more

that's probably at least like. 500 million or whatever in assets. To set up a lab building right now, it's probably 150mil just for the structure, but again, he only owns one very fancy house, and most of Wayne Industries has been built up over a few generations, so it came cheaper to him over time; he didn't buy all of this at once. You wouldn't call someone rich for affording to eat, after all, but if you had them buy all the food they would eat over the course of their life at once? It would be a stupid huge amount of money. So the actual cost of the land and equipment are counted in assets, but the labor, setup, amenities, etc are not. They're part of the cost.

As for income generated, I'm gonna admit right now that I do not know how much any specific business may be worth, but Walmart claims to have made 548 million in revenue in 2020 (revenue is all money taken in; it ignores wages and expenditures like actually buying things to stock shelves with) and that's literally the top of the Fortune 500 list. Sam Walton had a net worth of 8.6 billion in 1992 when he died. Costco, 10th on the list, has founder James Sinegal, whose net worth is.... 1 billion. There are 490 other spots on the list. The CEOs are taking a paycheck out of that revenue gained, minus again, all employees and expenditures. Over time, the CEO paycheck has built up their networth.

"but wait" you say. "Bruce Wayne does the justice league's financials. what about all the JL stuff he's bought?"

So Bruce Wayne does eventually come out as the JL's benefactor, which probably makes his taxes a lot easier to file, but for a long time people didn't know about it, and as they're also I guess a separate business? Or a charity?? they don't count towards his personal wealth. So the JL is absolutely a sinkhole of money, especially because of the Fucking Space Station. This man goes through a lot of money. James Sinegal, while a defender of the 1.50c costco hotdog, has never funded a Fucking Space Station or Zod's damage bill. This bitch literally can't save up that much money.

Like, you could argue that the Watchtower and all the batmobiles/computers/etc aren't assets on paper because of hidden identities, and you might have a point there, but for him to sell them (and thus make money off them) he'd have to first come out as owning them, putting them on the paper, so it feels like a bit of a stalemate for me. Like, you can steal the mona lisa, but you can't count the mona lisa as an asset without admitting you have possession of the mona lisa (which you shouldn't, thus getting you in Trouble.)

So I'm not counting the Bat and Friends stuff. Very strictly the public-facing stuff. That means also that Bruce Wayne has a lot of either very strange purchases on his accounts, or he's hidden the purchases for the JL somehow, which is impressive, considering he had to hide enough money over time to create the Fucking Space Station.

So what I'm saying here is: is Bruce Wayne a billionaire? No. A billion is more than we think and he is too busy spending to hoard that much wealth. But is Bruce Wayne a money launderer? Yes.

[homunculus-argument]

I honestly like how the way Finland is set up doesn’t... Really punish you for being stupid. You don’t have to figure out how to file your taxes, they mail you a pre-filled tax statement of how they assume you’re doing and you only have to correct that in the parts that they got wrong. At my first job the people who did my job interview straight-up handed me the instructions on how to join the labour union of our field - the small fee for being a member would automatically be cut from my pay so that’s not a bill I have to worry about. The workplace has someone working for the union that you can complain to directly, if you think something at your job isn’t fair.

 This also covers health care, which also covers mental health. If you have a solid contract, you can’t be fired for mental health issues, whatever way they manifest. They’ll put you on sick leave and arrange you help, or at the very least encourage you to get help. Psychiatric help is free.

 If you’re male, the military service might be a strain, but they screen for mental health too and if you genuinely can’t handle it, you’re let off. All you have to do is to be honest. It’s also not hard to weasel your way out if you’re clever and motivated to do so. Also plenty of young people who weren’t really motivated about anything in life but who are good at following instructions end up finding a good career in the army.

 There’s probably more examples, these are just from my own life.

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 4/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

John Byers steps out onto the porch of the mercantile as Mulder sets the brake in place on the carriage.  “Twice in one day, Mulder, is anything the matter?” he asks.

“Nothing at all,” Mulder answers.  “Is Susannah about?”

“She’s just inside.”

Mulder steps down from the carriage as John calls to his wife.  Susannah appears as Mulder is assisting Katherine down from her seat.  The first time Mulder met the Byers he wondered how they ever came to be married.  John is small and meek, dark-haired, keeps a well-trimmed beard and is fastidious about his person and his store.  Susannah is fair-haired and fair-skinned, taller than her husband and broader in the shoulders.  She is boisterous and jovial and, Mulder knows, hungry for friendships.

“Please allow me to introduce my neighbor, Katherine Wilis,” Mulder says.  “You may have heard that her husband met an unfortunate end just a few days ago.”

John looks at Mulder quizzically and Susannah practically leaps from the porch to take Katherine’s arm and embrace her.  “So lovely to meet you,” she says.  “I’m Susannah, and this is my husband John.  We run the mercantile here and if there’s ever anything we can do for you, you just let us know.”

“Actually,” Mulder says.  “Mrs. Willis is going to have to see to some affairs regarding her homestead and I thought, well, since Franklin is away at school, it may not be too much trouble for you if she could stay here for a night or two to sort things out.”

“Oh, yes!” Susannah says.  “Yes, please come right in and we’ll get you settled.”

Unsurprisingly, Susannah whisks Katherine away.  Mulder meets John’s eyes for a brief moment and then turns away to untie the valise from the hold under the seat.

“It seems you’ve taken responsibility for the Willis widow,” John says.

“I suppose you can say that,” Mulder answers.  “I’ve asked her to marry me.”

“Marry you!  And she’s taken you up on this lunatic proposal?”

“She said she’d like to think about it.”

“This is the most astonishingly foolish thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Maybe it’s foolish or I’m just soft.  You were right about the forthcoming eviction.  She’s got no claim on the homestead and you should have seen the place, John.  The old sod house is barely standing.  I think she’s putting on a brave front, but she has less than nothing.  If you could have seen her face when I showed up there, I’m almost certain she thought I had come to collect her for debtor’s prison.”

“Why not just send her back to her people, if you want to help?”

“She says she has none.”

“You’re talking about a lifelong commitment here, Mulder.  Do you really want to put yourself in that position?  Or her?”

“I would escort her to Fort Worth myself if I thought she’d be safe or do well there on her own, but she’s in unfamiliar territory amongst strangers.  Anyone could take advantage.”

“And that’s not what you’re doing?”

”Is that what it seems to you I’m doing?”

“I don’t know, but proposing to a woman you’ve only known for a handful of hours?  Couldn’t you at least do a little courting first?”

“Actually, I proposed to her within ten minutes of knowing her.”  Mulder takes the valise out of the hold and then puts a hand on John’s shoulder.  “I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, and I know it seems rash, but I did think things through.  You know I can’t hire her on as a cook or housemaid, which is what I’d do if I was back east.  Bringing a young, single woman, widowed or not, onto a ranch with six bachelors?  You know what that would look like, out here.  Bringing a bride onto a ranch, now that’s a different story and no one would bat an eyelash.”

“I can tell you’re intent on looking out for her and I think it’s admirable, but to yoke yourself to her just because she’s run into trouble?.”

“There’s another reason too.”

“Oh?”

“I happen to like her.  Now, I’m going to bring this bag in for her and then I’m going to head over to see Skinner before he closes for the day.  Please, don’t mention to Katherine that I’ve gone on to the bank.”

John sniffs lightly and smooths down his shirtfront.  “You know I’m not one to meddle in people’s affairs.”

Mulder laughs and claps John on the shoulder.  It is well known that John Byers is the town gossip and is very rarely able to keep his opinions to himself, if their conversation just now is any indication.  He heads into the store to find Katherine and discovers her in the back room with Susannah, who’s making what appears to be tea and cookies.  He holds the valise up to her as a greeting.

“Ladies, I’ll be going now.  Katherine, I’ll be by tomorrow morning to bring you over to Mr. Skinner.”

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“Susannah, I’m going to trust you to outfit Katherine with whatever she might need and put it on the account.”

“Oh no,” Katherine protests.  “I don’t need anything.”

“Sure you do.  Boots, stockings, material, and I’m sure there are lady soaps or tinctures or baubles of some kind you could make use of.”

“That’s really unnecessary, I don’t-”

“Susannah, excuse us for just a moment.”  Mulder gently cups Katherine’s elbow and leads her away out of earshot.  He speaks low and close to her to make sure the conversation stays private.  “If you accept my proposal, or you do not, either way there are things you’re going to need to get yourself started.  You would do me an honor if you would allow me to ease that burden for you.”

“Then I should like to pay you back.”

“You can pay me back by making sure you put good use to the things you buy.”

“It won’t be anything frivolous, I promise that.”

“It could be as frivolous as you like, as long as you enjoy it.”

“I don’t understand why you’re helping me with so much and I can’t even do anything for you in return.”

“I’ve enjoyed your company thus far, and that’s more than enough.”  He hands her the valise and finds that he has to restrain himself from leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Alright.”

He’s feeling pretty sure of himself until he leaves the mercantile and then he gets to thinking about what Byers had said and suddenly he’s less confident.  He does want to marry her, he’s resolved on that, but what if what’s best for her is that he can offer her other options, not just one of marriage?  She should have as many choices as she can, not just one.

He’s brooding a bit when he walks into the bank and waves his hat at Walter Skinner in greeting, trying not to scowl as he does.  The bespectacled bank manager frowns a little, but he’s always frowning, in Mulder’s estimation.

“Mr. Mulder,” Skinner says, ushering him towards the side office and to his desk to sit.  “What can I do for you today?”

“I’m sure you’re aware that my neighbor, Jack Willis, passed on rather abruptly a few days ago.”

“Yes, I am well aware of that.”  Skinner pushes his spectacles up his nose and then clasps his hands together and sits tall in his chair across from Mulder.

“What kind of trouble is Mrs. Willis looking at with the land?”

“You know I can’t discuss the accounts of other landholders with you.”

“Well, I’ll be bringing Katherine Willis by tomorrow morning to discuss the terms of the lease with you, but I’d like to know exactly how much is owed before I transfer the money.”

“You’re going to settle her account?  What exactly are your intentions?”

“Only to bring the account to good standing so that Mrs. Willis may receive a fair price for transferring ownership.”

“There hasn’t been a single payment made on that lease.”

“And if I were to take it over, would the option to purchase be readily available or do I need to wait the five years to put in for it?”

Skinner gets up from his desk and moves to a filing cabinet.  He rifles through it for a few moments and then pulls out a folder and sits down again.  He takes a blank piece of paper from his desk drawer, wets the tip of a graphite pencil with his tongue, and then sets to work on some figures.

“You’re looking at 320 acres, last valuation at two dollars an acre.  The amount owed is currently 64 dollars, plus taxes and penalties. It’ll be roughly 85 dollars to take over the lease and 736 dollars to take the option.”

“Good.  Transfer the 85 now to the account.  Tomorrow, I’d like you to please inform Mrs. Willis that the lease was paid timely, and in full by her late husband.  How long will it take to transfer the title as beneficiary?”

“A few weeks.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know what’s become of Jack Willis’ remains, would you?”

“I hear they’re keeping him in the icehouse until the undertaker comes through.”

“I guess that means Mr. Carter is handling the arrangements.  You see him, you tell him he can send the bill on to me.”

“I’ve known you to do some strange things over the years, Mulder, but you’re going to extraordinary lengths to get a piece of land you could probably purchase at half the price at auction.”

“It’s not about the money.  Right now I’m going to do everything I can to make sure Katherine Willis is taken care of.”

Skinner sits back in his chair and crosses his arms.  “This woman have something over you?”

“Not at all.  I only met her this morning.”

Skinner raises his brows and then shakes his head.  He puts the paper with the figures he’s written into the folder from the filing cabinet and then clasps his hands together again and rests them on top of the folder.

“It’s your money,” Skinner says.

“Just be sure to tell Mrs. Willis that her husband kept the account in good standing tomorrow.”  Mulder stands and puts his hat back on.  “Pleasure doing business with you, Skinner.”

“Mr. Mulder.”

↭

Susannah is a chatty one, Katherine thinks.  Through two cups of tea, she’s heard about how her new friend met her husband, how they moved from Philadelphia to Texas ten years ago, how her eldest son is studying journalism at a college in Missouri and dreams of operating his own newspaper, and how her youngest son intends to take on the family business one day.  It’s a relief that Susannah likes to talk and doesn’t pry.  Mulder was right when he said that Susannah would be delighted for a lady friend.

“What can you tell me about Mr. Mulder?” Katherine asks.

“I think he’s been out here about four or five years now,” Susannah says, resting her teacup on her saucer to answer.  “He’s built up a nice little ranch.  Our John Jr. had riding lessons from him a few years back when he got old enough to start making deliveries with the wagon.”

“He’s been very kind to me.  I wonder if it’s not...put on somehow?”

“Mulder?  No, what you see is what you get with Mulder.”

“He asked me to marry him.”

Susannah freezes with her teacup almost to her lips and her eyes grow wide.  She lowers her cup once again and it rattles against the saucer.  “Well, my goodness,” she says.  “I didn’t even know the two of you were friendly.”

“We actually just met earlier today.”

“Gracious.”  Susannah cocks her head as though considering the offer.  “That does seem quite in character for Mulder, though.”

“How so?”

“I think he’s the kind of man who gives in to impulse.”

“Hm.”  Katherine frowns just a little and ponders on that over her tea.

“Oh no, dear, not in a silly or reckless way.  Well, let me see.  I was thinking about a time we used to receive deliveries from a company in Fort Worth.  The delivery man, Alex was his name, we’d only had him come in a handful of times, but there was one time that Mulder happened to be in the store and he told Alex something about his horse.  I think it was that it was the wrong horse for the job, or something to that effect.  Alex didn’t seem to acknowledge the advice one way or the other, but the next time he came through, we all heard this fuss outside and naturally, I assumed it was probably just a ruckus spilled out of the saloon, but Mulder had Alex off his wagon in the dirt, had a switch that he was busting up over his knee, and yelling at the man that if he ever saw him beating a horse again he would take the switch to him instead of busting it up the next time.”

Katherine feels herself shrinking just a little.  She has had far too much of irrational, temperamental men in her life and she won’t take on another.  “Is he often violent?” she asks.

“Not at all!  I’m only trying to explain that Mulder is not a passive man.  He wouldn’t stand by and let an animal be mistreated and most folks will.  He took that horse from Alex, paid him money for it too, I believe, and then bought him a ticket back to Fort Worth on the stagecoach.  And I think he sent one of the boys from out on the ranch to make sure the rest of his deliveries were made.”

“I met the men today before we came here.  They seem awfully devoted to him.”

“Yes, I would say that’s true.  From what I can tell he treats them very well.  Whenever he happens to be in the store he seems to find something he thinks they need.”

“He’s obviously very generous.”

“Oh, don’t let him come in on a day when some of the local children might be here.  They walk away with bags of penny candy.  Speaking of generosity, he told me to make sure I outfit you and you know I just remembered we got in some new calico I think would suit you fine.  Let’s go and have a look at it.”

“Susannah,” Katherine says, putting her hand lightly on Susannah’s arm to hold her off from getting up just yet.  “With all that you know about Mr. Mulder, do you think I should accept his proposal?”

“I don’t know.  I can’t imagine marrying a man I just met, but I will tell you that I think Mulder is a decent man.  I don’t know of any vices he has.  Definitely doesn’t partake of alcohol, he’s never purchased tobacco, and I don’t even think he’s set foot in the saloon.  And it’s unlikely to be for religious purposes as he’s never been to service.  Will any of that make him a good husband?  I can’t say.”

Katherine nods.  She isn’t looking for a good husband, or any husband at all, really, she just doesn’t want another bad one.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Cherry Coke Special: Two

Bucky stirred his coffee idly and listened to Steve on the other end. His right hand was currently having a conniption. Bucky was on his second prayer for patience.

“Stevie,” he cut in, “Take a breath, punk. Look. It’s late. We’re not gonna be able to do anything about it until morning. And if we have to write this off as a loss, well. That’s just one less thing to pay for when we file taxes.”

He listened for a minute, “I know that,” he answered, “Christ. Take a Xanax and a nap.” He hangs up shortly after and smiles at you as you refill his coffee. You’re tired today, he can tell. You’re moving a little slow. Like your feet hurt and maybe your backaches. “Thanks, Y/N,” he murmured. 

You make a soft noise and give him a smile. “You okay?” he asks gently. 

“Just a long day,” you tell him, tilting your head to stretch your neck. “Just trying to make it to my day off.”

Bucky nods, “Got any plans?”

“Whatever Rory wants to do, I guess,” you say, shrugging, going to see to your other table real quick.

Rory. It had been weeks and never once had Bucky seen him come see you at work just to say hi. He only ever came in to get money. Or food. Or complain that something in the house wasn’t done. And god help you if you didn’t have cash on you. Enough to buy whatever it was he wanted. He was a whiny little shit. And he didn’t deserve a girl like you. Didn’t deserve a girl that worked that hard for him. Bucky wished he could find a girl like you. One that loyal and kind.

“What about what you wanna do, Sugar?” he asks, as you go to buss the table across from his,

“I mean, he’s doing all the hard work,” you say. You don’t look at him. You shrug and focus on your table. And Bucky gets the sense that he crossed a line somewhere. Your tone has changed, just slightly, getting a little flatter. The work equivalent of getting defensive, he figured. But he doesn’t care.

“This ain’t work?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

You don’t answer, and he just watches you for a second. If it were one of his crew, he’d be yelling and demanding that they answer him. But he’s seen what happens when someone raises their voice at you. It a great big drunk guy one night. Belligerent. Rude. You’d been lagging a little. Hands full running the front of the house, tables full, and just you to serve them. He’d shouted at you, and you’d just. Shut down. Hustling to keep going and ignore the yelling. Bucky had had a quiet word with the guy. Reminding him of his manners. He hated that look on your face. The deer in the headlights, panicked look. 

If it were anyone else, he’d demand answers. But it’s Friday. It’s payday, and so Rory will be here to get money. For what, Bucky doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand why the guy can’t work somewhere. He doesn’t understand why the guy is so okay with you working like a dog to keep the bills paid. Then has the gall to complain at you for getting your nails done or buying yourself a little treat. 

He hates it.

If he had his way, you’d get whatever you wanted. Hell, you’d not have to work again unless you wanted to. You could do whatever little pretty girl things you wanted to do, and Bucky would be thrilled to let you. As long as it meant coming home to your kisses. 

As if one Cue, just when Bucky is about to ask you something else, Rory waltzes through the door. Like he always does. With a cocky smile and a swagger, he hasn’t earned. You have a quiet conversation with him at the register, and he’s getting loud. Really loud as you frantically try to get him to lower his voice when people turn to look. Bucky tenses when he reaches towards you and grabs your forearm to jerk you closer, getting in your face. You look startled. And ashamed. And hurt. And Bucky would love to find this punk in a dark alley one night. 

But, when a polite elderly couple steps to the counter to pay, he half pushes you away from him and slinks out. Bucky takes advantage of your distraction with other customers and follows him. 

“Hey,” he shouts, following him out of sight of the door.

Rory stops, and half turns, lighting a cigarette, “Yeah?”

“That your girl in there?” Bucky asked casually. Up close, Rory looks like he might be high. And he smells like a perfume that isn’t yours. And Bucky feels his heartache for you. 

“Yeah, what of it?” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“You make a habit of grabbing her like that?” Bucky said, folding his arms.

Rory snorts, “The fuck do you care?”

“I can because you shouldn’t be doing it... Someone,” he says, pausing meaningfully, “Might get the wrong idea.” Bucky's voice had sunk to a predatory whisper, and Rory’s back stiffened.

“Someone, huh?” he said, puffing himself up. 

“Someone a lot less nice than me,” he warned, “I see you do that again, and I’ll break your fucking hand.”

Rory went to swing at him, and Bucky stepped out of the way deftly, letting his fist meet brick. It’s a shitty punch. One that Bucky can practically hear breaking his hand, “I mean. Unless you do it for me,” he laughs.”

“Fuck you,” he said, “Like I haven’t seen you in here before. All that money and you’re slumming it trying to get with Y/N? What’s wrong? Tiny dick?”

Bucky smiled. It was a transparent attempt to get under his skin. 

“You think that bitch’ll ever-” Less transparent. And it worked. Bucky cracked him in the jaw. Hard. 

“One more word,” Bucky warns, “And they’ll never find your body.”

He can’t deal with that piece of shit insulting you. Insinuating that you’re less than class. Using anything that’ not an endearment instead of your name. That he can’t stomach. 

Rory picked himself up off the ground and Bucky stayed, arms folded, staring, “You treat her right,” he said, “Or I’m gonna get angry.”

____________________

Bucky slips back into the diner and adjusts his jacket before sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee. 

You’d kept going as if nothing happened. But he could hear your phone ringing behind the counter. It gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and he prayed you didn’t hear it. Or at least wouldn’t answer at work. 

He wasn’t ashamed of what he had done and he’d do it again. And again if he had to. He just hated the idea that he might have made it worse for you. That worried him. So he picked up his own phone and waited for it to ring.

“Nat,” he said quietly, “I need you to put surveillance together for me.”

“Rumlow?” she asked, instantly alert.

“Diner girl,” Bucky clarified, “I think I might have fucked up.” 

Tags:

@lancsnerd @thorfanficwriter @thehyperactiveteen, @queenoftheunderdark

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 29: I think I need a Doctor [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27][28]

There were many benefits of being immortal and immune to disease, aging, and the sorts of bodily decline that flesh was heir to. 

However. 

That did not apply if you were, say, hit by a car on the way across the street to fetch a pastry, and knocked unconscious, and rushed to the emergency room.

Aziraphale came to looking up at a white ceiling full of whiter lights, surrounded by bright stark white walls and curtains, and the smell of antiseptic, and for a moment he thought he was in Heaven, again. 

He panicked. 

And that was before he noticed the plastic tubing in his throat. 

His heart rate spiked, and the monitors he was wired to began their shrill calls, sending two nurses scurrying in to speak with him. 

“Mr. Fell, it’s alright. There’s been a little accident, but you’re going to be okay.” The first assured him. 

He could not speak but he did his best to still, and wrinkled his brow in the hopes of communicating his ongoing confusion at the circumstances that led him to this. 

He reached up and touched the tube coming out of his mouth, gently so as not to upset it, but intentionally so as to make his question known. 

“We need to leave that in just a bit longer.” The second nurse told him, looking apologetic. “You took some damage I’m afraid, and one of your lungs had collapsed by the time you got here.”

Aziraphale greatly doubted it was still collapsed, but he couldn’t say as much. He simply and obediently moved his hands away. 

“Mr. Fell, we know who you are from your shop, but I’m afraid you have no medical file that we could find. Do you use a different name, or perhaps have a family member we could contact to get your information from?” 

The business of records was always a problem-- Aziraphale was such rubbish at tracking when one alias was meant to be dead of old age and the next needed to take over and, being as he was usually safe from all but the most severe of harm, he had no need to go to the doctors or a hospital. 

And he wasn’t sure what to do about that-- he couldn’t suddenly miracle records into existence, if he didn’t know what was meant to be inside of them. As for a family member…

He wondered if Crowley would know any better than he would, and knew that foisting the problem off onto him would not be a kindness, but at the same time, no doubt he was wondering what had come of Aziraphale, and, given recent happenings, had probably whipped himself into a frenzy of concern some time ago. 

Aziraphale raised a finger, and the first nurse came closer, offering him a pen and pad. 

Azirpahale wrote down “Call Anthony Crowley- tell him where I am.” And scrawled Crowley’s mobile number beneath it. 

That done, he made a point of collapsing back against his pillows, feigning exhaustion. It seemed to work; the nurses looked sympathetic, and the second nurse tucked him in, checking to make sure everything seemed as comfortable as possible. 

“You rest, we’ll take care of letting him know.” He lifted a small grey box, also attached to a wire, but this one running to the bed. “If you need anything, just go ahead and press this button-- it’ll send us an alert, and one of us will come to help.” 

Aziraphale nodded at him, making his eyes smile even if his mouth was thoroughly hindered. 

“What a nice man.” The first nurse said, after they left the room, her voice still audible in the hall. “I can’t believe some of the yelp reviews for his store.”

“You never know,” the second nurse followed up. “People are different when they’ve been injured. It’s humbling, isn’t it?” 

Aziraphale sighed and leaned back, resting his eyes while he waited for Crowley to show up and spring him out.

It didn’t take long; as expected the demon was beside himself with worry, so when he burst through the door, paying little heed to the nurse trailing behind him trying to ask questions like, 

“Do you happen to know his full name, next of kin-- what’s your relation to the patient--?”

Instead, he focused in on the sight Aziraphale made, laying on his back, intubated, hands laced together quite calmly and resting on his stomach, listening to some panel show or other. 

“Oh, angel, you’ve only gone and done it this time, haven’t you?” He asked. He gestured upwards and the nurse stopped with his questioning.

“I’ll just… leave the two of you be, shall I?” He said, and quickly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

With another quick demonic miracle, the tube was laying on the table by Aziraphale’s side. He worked his jaw, delighted to be free of the damned thing. 

“Ah, Crowley, hello.” He smiled up at him peevishly. “Apparently I was hit by a car!” 

“Well there’s no need to sound so bloody delighted about it, had I known you would enjoy it so much I’d have offered years ago!” 

Aziraphale pouted. “I’m not delighted, per say, it’s just that it’s such a new experience, and one that’s… admittedly the tube was quite awful, but… you can only imagine my relief when I woke up to this and discovered it wasn’t heaven.”

That seemed to knock all the bluster from Crowley’s sails. He looked around. “Knew I hated hospital for a reason.” He mumbled. 

“I’m afraid it gets worse, too-- they know I’m ‘Mr. Fell’, but I’ve no records or proof of existence.”

“File taxes, don’t you?” Crowley asked sharply, and Aziraphale laughed. 

“That’s nothing to do with being counted as a real person, and you know it. So. How do we get out of here?” 

“I think… malpractice.” Crowley said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “A case of mistaken identity, perhaps.” 

With a quick miracle or five, Crowley was back out the door, this time dragging Aziraphale with him, leaving screaming machinery in his wake. 

“Who admitted him?” Crowley demanded, in full drama and fury mode.

“He was brought in by ambulance.” The woman nurse from earlier said, standing up to him quite handily despite her shorter stature. 

“There’s been some mistake.” Aziraphale said simply, and she stared at him. 

“Your lung was collapsed! There was internal damage-- how--?”

“I think you’ve the wrong man.” He said apologetically. “You called me Mister Fell, if I recall?” 

“That’s right, Mr. Fell of Fell and Co books!” Her voice had gone up a bit in shock. 

“Here’s his wallet right here.” Crowley said, holding out what was definitely Crowley’s wallet, but contained a brand new fake identification card with Aziraphale’s face and some new name on it.

“Alright, Herman, be that as it may, it does not change the fact that I saw you with blood coming out of your mouth.”

“Well he hasn’t any now. And he might have said as much, if you hadn’t needlessly put aquarium bits down his throat!” Crowley hadn’t dropped the act of angry partner, and Aziraphale knew it was his time to step in and play good cop-- or angel, as the case may be. 

“Now, dear, they were only trying to help. But as you can see, I am fine, and really, it seems your treatment was most unnecessary. Is there anything we can do to just… sweep this whole affair under the rug? I understand things are hectic, but I don’t want a bill, and I’m sure you don’t want some sort of court proceedings, so…” He smiled benignly. 

The poor woman looked shaken, and finally sighed. “Just go. Not much I can do if we don’t know who you are, is there?”

Aziraphale gave her a winning smile. 

“Thank you, dear. You have a lovely day now!” He gave her a little blessing-- her feet wouldn’t ache after long shifts anymore, and she would be off bedpan duties for the foreseeable future. It was the least he could do in exchange for all the trouble they’d caused. 

“What were you after that got you hit like that anyway?” Crowley asked mildly as they got into the Bentley. 

“Oh-- my pastry! It must have been hit as well!” The thought was upsetting to Aziraphale, and Crowley heaved a sigh. 

“Are you still in the mood for pastry, or would you rather something else?” 

Aziraphale thought about it. “Perhaps a curry. Not takeaway, though, I want to sit down somewhere and soak in the atmosphere.” And the spice would help to burn away all of the antiseptic scent that clung to him. 

Crowley nodded and took the next right. “Remind me to show you how to put emergency contacts in your phone, in case it happens again.” He said. 

“Oh… I think that’s back at the shop.” Aziraphale mumbled, feeling quite sheepish. Crowley handed the mobile in question to him, and Aziraphale pocketed it a little shame facedly. 

“Dishoom, then?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale brightened right back up. 

“Oh yes, let’s!”

[raywritesthings]

Death and Taxes

My Writing Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Eleventh Doctor, River Song, Clara Oswald, Kate Stewart Pairing: Eleventh Doctor/River Song Summary: River wants a house now that she's out of prison, and the Doctor must embark on the dreaded task of personal finance. / Canon Compliant *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

He took Professor Song to see the premiere of the Galactic Federation Symphony. The musicians consisted of Draconians, Alpha Centaurians, and humans, with an Ice Warrior serving as conductor. It was a pleasant evening, music and champagne — the latter of which he did not partake in, content to watch his wife sip at her flute with a smile curving her lips. Much better than the first time they’d met after Manhattan. Even so, they carefully danced around the subject of his travels or companions. It hardly mattered; Clara was home with the children again, so he may as well have been alone.

“So then, back to the Luna University? Or perhaps dancing under the Karaveen Nebula? The night is still young,” the Doctor remarked as he led them arm in arm back through the TARDIS doors.

“Actually, Doctor, I’ve got a matter of business to discuss with you,” River countered in a way that surprisingly enough did not at all sound like an innuendo, and he was getting rather good at picking those up from her.

“Oh?”

She slipped her hand into his, and they walked past the console, up into the corridor and through a door which today led into his study. He perched himself on the corner of his desk, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankle.

“Well, Professor Song, what can I do for you?”

She smirked. “I was hoping you'd ask.” Then she pulled out a stack of paper and files far too large to have fit in an ordinary clutch and set them down just to the right of him with a very heavy thud.

The Doctor blinked. “What’s this?”

“It's what I need you to do for me,” she answered. “I’m buying a house near the university, and there's a lot that needs filled out as far as mortgage payments and property taxes are concerned. Not to mention the loan I’ve got to take from the bank. You’ll have to co-sign on that, by the way.”

The Doctor, whose lip had been curling in distaste with every word she spoke, looked at her with wide eyes. “Co-sign?”

River gave a well-worn sigh. “Yes, Sweetie. I get a better deal if someone does, and you being my husband makes you the ideal candidate. Joint filing.”

“Taxes?” He echoed numbly, thumbing through the stack once. There were all sorts of official looking titles and tiny boxes and very fine print he would most certainly need Amy's glasses for. The Doctor shook his head. “No. No, I haven’t done taxes in — well, er, come to think of it I’m not sure I’ve ever done them. I won’t start now.”

“And what am I supposed to do then? Sleep in my office?”

“Well, no,” he acknowledged. “Couldn't you just — I mean it's not like you haven't before — couldn't you, ah, find some money somewhere?”

“Oh yes, that’ll go over lovely. Paying off my mortgage with undisclosed income. Then they can arrest me again for tax evasion — that’ll be twenty life sentences at least.” Her unimpressed look morphed into something a little more earnest, a little more beseeching. “I’m only trying to get a life after prison started, Doctor.”

Oh. Well, that just wasn’t fair. There really was no faulting her, was there? After all she'd done for him in saving his life, River Song was just asking for a little aid in getting the next chapter of hers going. The last chapter, of which he could never tell her even as it drew ever nearer.

The Doctor stared. River stared back, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched imperiously.

“So, you’ll bring it round the next time you stop by? Lovely.” Without another word, much less waiting for his response, she turned and swept from the room.

“River. River!”

When after a moment she did not return, the Doctor was forced to half-run to catch her up in the console room, where she was already working the controls.

“River, I am homeless. Stateless. Planetless, even! My estate consists of a Type 40 Time Capsule, and it's stolen property.”

“You think my credit’s much better, honey? I'm an ex-con.” She glanced back at him, curls falling in a wave down her shoulder. It was quite the look. “Seeing as we both know how that happened I shouldn't think it’d be that unreasonable of a request.”

The Doctor’s mouth fell open, but nothing came immediately to mind.

River smirked. “I didn’t think so.” The time rotor pulsed once more, then quieted, about the only indication they’d landed whenever his wife was the one driving. Then she continued down the ramp to the doors.

“You could always stay.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and yet hopeless as he knew it was he carried on. “Keep a vortex manipulator onboard, pop over to the University whenever you felt like teaching, then back here. You’re welcome here.”

You’re wanted here, was what he wished to say.

River had paused in front of the doors, and when she turned around this time she looked pained. “Thank you, Sweetie. But we both know that isn't what we are.”

How could they know without ever having tried it? That, at least, he managed to reign in. She already thought him enough of a sentimental old fool, after all.

“I’ll have to have a look around the place sometime,” he came up with instead. “Seeing as it’ll be half mine.”

“Oh honey, that's a promise,” River replied with a wink, and he dredged up a smile just for her. Then she was out the doors and out of his life once again. The Doctor bowed his head briefly, then reached for the dematerialization lever to head back into the Vortex.

Returning to his desk, the Doctor eyed up the stack that waited for him. To his view, it appeared to tower over everything else, particularly once he’d taken his seat. His Everest. He blew out a breath and took out her mother’s glasses. “Right then. Taxes.” The Doctor shrugged. “How hard can they be, really?”

—-

Taxes, as it turned out, could be very hard.

The forms were printed as tiny as he’d suspected and were twice as tricky. To fill one out, he needed to know something called a credit score. The Doctor did not know what a credit score was, and when he asked Clara her eyes went the biggest he’d ever seen them.

“Why do you want to know something like that?”

“Idle curiosity.”

Clara snorted and turned away. He never actually got an answer.

There was a helpline number in incredibly small print at the bottom of the phone. The Doctor liked helplines. A helpline had directed his new friend into his life. Or back into it. He still didn’t know exactly how he had met Clara twice before without her remembering it.

Nevertheless, the Doctor called the number. There was a funny automated voice someone had tried to make sound like a human but seemingly gave up halfway through, and it listed off a whole lot of options and numbers to press accordingly. The Doctor waited until the end of the list, where it told him that if he stayed on the line a real person might actually talk to him. That was much better.

He was tapping his toes along with a very mellow xylophone playing a repetitive verse for several minutes before the music abruptly cut off.

“This is Keisha with Lunar Revenue, how may I help you this morning?”

The Doctor jumped and nearly fumbled the phone. “Keisha! Ha! Yes, you can help me. I need to know what a credit score is.”

“What a credit score is or what your credit score is, sir?”

“Both, preferably.”

There was a pause.

“Uh, well, a credit score is a number a person’s given based on their financial history, and depends on factors like bill payments or outstanding loans,” she explained slowly, as though waiting for him to stop and assure her he understood at any moment. “And to get your credit score, I’m going to need some information from you, sir. Can I have your name?”

“The Doctor,” he readily supplied.

“Alright, and first and last name, sir?”

“No, no,” he said, waving a hand cheerily though it presumably made no difference to her. “Just the Doctor.”

“I’m afraid that’s not a name, sir.”

“Well, of course it isn’t just a name. It’s my name. It’d be silly if you had multiple people running around calling themselves the Doctor — there’s already enough of me doing that.”

There was another long pause. “Well, sir, I will try to find your information in our system, but it might take some time.”

“How much?”

“If you could please hold.”

“Er, yes? Hold what?” He pulled the phone back to look at the receiver. “Keisha? Hello?”

Keisha’s voice had been replaced by the xylophone. And maybe some strings.

“Keisha,” the Doctor grumbled under his breath. He sighed and set the phone down on its side, where he could still make out the music. The Doctor paced around a bit on the main platform, then up on the second level. He went down below to do some maintenance, then came back up.

The music was still playing. He hated waiting.

“Right, okay. Time to jump the line.”

The Doctor hung up the phone. A short trip through the Vortex later and he was striding out into a very tiny cubicle in which was sat a very startled woman with very nice, intricate braids woven into her hair.

“Keisha, right?” The Doctor checked. “I was on the phone with you an hour and a half ago. The Doctor, remember?”

“How did you—”

“I was in the neighborhood. Listen, the way I see it, the faster we get this all sorted out is the less time we have to spend on it, right? So let’s sort it out.” He dropped the files on her desk and gestured at them. “That’s everything I’ve got so far, but I can’t get anywhere without the credit score.”

“This is to co-sign for a house?” She asked after briefly skimming the top form. She was either very clever or just very literate. Possibly both.

“Yes, my wife wants one. It seems very tedious, but her 150th is coming up, so.” He shrugged.

“Right…” She rolled her shoulders and opened up a new window on her computer, which was a flat screen embedded into the cubicle wall. “This is your first time filing with us?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll need to open an account. Let me see what I can find in terms of identification.”

After some tapping on the screen interspersed with checking some of the things he had written down, she turned back around in her chair.

“We have on file here that you’re dead.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, that would be spoilers for me. See, I clearly haven’t died yet.” The Doctor splayed his arms wide in demonstration. It wasn’t as though he could tell her that what they had on record was his fake death. That just wouldn’t do.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Keisha.

“Neither am I, most days. But since I am not dead, could I have the information I need to fill out the paperwork for my wife?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Even if I ignore the claim that you’re dead, you don’t seem to have a record of any credit.”

He rocked back on his heels, hands planted at his waist. “Well, how exactly do you go about getting one?”

“Making purchases and paying them back,” She answered blandly. “Loans. That sort of thing.”

“That’s what people do?”

“Yes. Usually with money they make at their jobs, sir.”

Well, there was a thought. “I’ve had one of those! Maybe they can get me a credit score.”

“Maybe, sir.”

“Alright, then, I’ll be back in a mo’,” he told her, seizing the stack of papers River had given him once more, though he staggered under the additional weight as Keisha through another heavy-looking file. “What’s this, then?”

“Life insurance policy. You may want to take one out before you are dead, sir.”

The Doctor considered, then shook his head. “I’ll be dead before I’d have sorted it out, I expect.” At least he hoped.

Just a quick trip, and then he might soon have all this bureaucratic nonsense out of his life. If the Time Lords could see him now.

The things one did for love.

—-

Kate Stewart had been enjoying a cuppa at her desk until the peace and quiet was shattered by the sound of a wheezing engine, and the papers in front of her were scattered in a sudden strong wind.

She looked up to find the TARDIS materializing right in her office doorway.

“Kate!” The Doctor came bounding out the doors in a purple coat and vest this time, though the bowtie, it seemed, was a constant. She mentally made a note to add that to the file.

“Doctor, this is a surprise. Are we under attack?”

“Not at all, just looking for a bit of assistance.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “With?”

“Taxes,” he answered plainly. Kate nearly fell out of her chair. “River’s eyeing up a house near the Luna University, and there’s a whole thing about payments and whatnot that she’s asked me to sign on for with her, but I haven’t got much in the way of financial history.”

Kate scrambled for a pen and a notepad to start writing this down. At the top of the page, she labeled River? with a large circle surrounding the name.

“See, as of now I have absolutely horrible credit because there’s very little way for me to establish a record of buying and paying for things,” he continued on. “But then I thought, you know who has records? UNIT has records! Loads of records. Records by the bucketful! Surely if anyone has a record of me holding a steady position where I incurred expenses and compensated them, it’ll be UNIT.” The Doctor paused and looked at her. “So would you happen to have something like that?”

“Er, yes, I imagine.” Kate placed a call down to their records keeper, then asked for a pot of tea to be put on while they waited. Her own cup, she requested to be made particularly strong.

“So, you’re buying a house?” She asked to make conversation.

“River’s buying the house,” he corrected her.

“Still, not very like you.” He had lived on Earth for years while working full-time with UNIT and had, by all accounts, slept in the TARDIS parked in his lab.

“Yes, well, River has a habit of making me do things not very like me,” he said, in a tone that was as exasperated as it was fond. He perked up as their records keeper entered with a very old cardboard box. “There we go. Excellent! Give the man a raise.”

“You won’t be getting a raise, Jeremy,” she informed the records keeper matter-of-factly. He nodded and left the room.

The Doctor had popped the lid of the box and was thumbing through the papers. “Credit, credit… not actually sure where I’m meant to find it. Ah well, Keisha will know.” He replaced the lid and hauled the whole box into his arms. “Thanks very much, Kate.”

“Actually, Doctor, since we’re on the subject and if my recollection serves me, we don’t seem to have an accurate date on when you held the lab position with us. Would you be able to—”

The Time Lord was already walking back into his box, and he waved a hand over his shoulder. “Oh, just pick one.”

Kate’s sigh was covered by the departing TARDIS engines.

—-

Clara entered the TARDIS Wednesday morning with a skip in her step. “Mine turn to pick, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Chin Boy agreed, stepping away from the controls as though ceding them to her. She wasn’t actually going to fly this thing, mind. No matter what he’d said about the old cow starting to warm up to her. “Where to?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Clara lifted her old book out of her satchel and hugged it to her chest for a moment. Then, just as she’d opened the cover, the phone rang outside.

“That’s odd.” She knew she’d called him on it, before, but just how many people knew that number anyway? Apart from that woman in the shop, she supposed.

“Ah, hold the thought, Clara,” he said, hurrying around her with a slide of the heels and leaving the ship. “Hello? It has? Approved? Keisha, I could kiss you!”

“Not a snog box, my arse,” Clara muttered under her breath. She hurried to the doorway and leaned out. “Oi, mind not shouting for the whole street to hear?” Artie and Angie were getting curious enough about where she always went on her days off, especially since the latter claimed Clara never used to go anywhere at all.

The Doctor put his hand over the bottom of the phone. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least. “Just got some very good news for one Professor Song.”

Clara raised her eyebrows. “Friend of yours?”

He nodded distractedly, then half-turned away as he continued to speak into the phone. “Yes. Yes, I can stop by. I’ll take the papers over myself to have them signed. You’ve been a saint, Keisha, you’ll do great things. I’m sure of it. Keep working wonders. Yes, bye-bye.”

He hung up the phone and dropped back against the doors with relief as though he’d just completed a marathon.

“You okay?” She asked wryly.

He popped right back up. “Okay? I’m more than okay on this day of days.”

“Right, this day where we’re apparently going to fill paperwork with professors?”

The Doctor paused. “Er, no. I’ll take care of that. Alone.” He tugged at his ear, looking uncomfortable with twitching limbs.

“Something the matter?”

“What? No, nothing. Just, best for me to pay a private visit.” He nodded to himself. “Yeah.”

Perhaps Professor Song didn’t like unfamiliar visitors. Clara pictured a stuffy, studious bloke surrounded by bookshelves and nodded to herself.

“Well then, I suppose I will pick after all. Any further expected interruptions?” She asked, fixing him with a mock arch look.

“None whatsoever.” He gestured back inside of the box. “Lead on, Clara.”

The leader, was she? She quite liked the sound of that.

—-

River did not like being led places. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” was all he said, his breath tickling her ear while his hands rested over her eyes. Oh, he was infuriating sometimes.

“You know I can get out of this any time I like.”

“Yes. And you can get out… now!” He pulled his hands back, and River stood blinking at a front door.

Not just any front door. Her front door. The one she wanted.

“You just fancied a look, then?” He hadn’t brought up the favor she’d asked of him, though she knew by their diaries that he had been asked, and River hadn’t brought it up either. She didn’t want to be too pushy, or else he’d get his back up. It was his way. 

“Nope,” he told her, then withdrew a pen and a form from his vest pocket. “Sign here, please.”

His signature was already affixed under where she was meant to. “Is this…?”

“It’s yours. Already is, actually, I’ve jumped us ahead a few days after I’ve filed the papers, which I’ll do after you sign them. You are the proud owner of four walls, a door and the dimensionally-proportional space contained therein.”

River numbly took the pen and paper and signed her name. It hardly seemed real. It felt like a dream.

She’d never had a home of her own. There was the TARDIS, of course, but no one owned her. Her mother’s childhood home had been Amy’s house and same as her dad’s. Her parent’s place — well, there had been a guest room she’d used now and then. So had other people. They all knew she didn’t live there with them.

But this… this was a space for her to be and to do with as she pleased. She could put things up on the walls or in a drawer without worrying about them being monitored by the Silence or taken during a cell inspection or missing the next time she met up with a younger version of her husband.

“Why anyone would want to be is beyond me, of course,” he was saying now with an exaggerated sniff. He was putting on a show to hide how secretly pleased he was as she gazed on him in wonder.

A part of her had thought he’d never do it.

“You have the keys?” A second later, they were dangling in front of her face, and River snatched them out of the air. She hurried to throw open the door and entered. A sitting room, kitchen, table with chairs. A hallway leading back towards a bed and bath. Tiny and utterly mundane and beautiful.

“You don’t have to go and file those right away, do you?” She asked, reaching back blindly for his hand. He grasped hers loosely in his, twining their fingers.

“No, not right away. Why, have a celebration in mind? We could watch telly, pick out new paint colors…”

River looked back at him with a smirk. “I was thinking we could break in the rooms, honey.”

It was her husband who smirked right back at her. “Now you’re talking.” He kicked the door shut with a ridiculous flail of one leg and was in her arms the next breath.

“Home, Sweetie, Home,” River whispered against his lips.

—-

The Doctor waved goodbye to Clara as she exited the TARDIS once more. They’d had an interesting time of things in the Sombrero Galaxy which, disappointingly, had not included sombreros. But they’d made it back in one piece; frankly, he counted it a mark of success each time Clara came back in one piece. He wasn’t sure whether the third time really was the charm in her case or not, but he was very sure he couldn’t lose her the same way he had lost the other two Claras. Not when he’d already lost so much.

Before he could take off again, there was a flash of light that caused him to duck down under the console for a moment before realizing it wasn’t coming at him. Instead, it hovered across the room, slowly taking shape.

Ah, a delivery. He occasionally received deliveries — perhaps that fez he’d ordered was finally here — but when the light faded, it was not a mechanized courier who stood there, but a letter that dropped to the floor.

The Doctor hurried round to that side of the console and picked it up. It was labeled with the logo of Lunar Revenue. He pinched the bridge of his nose and opened the envelope, bracing himself for what new form or inquiry he needed to fill.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. It read:

Dear The Doctor,

Lunar Services was notified June 7th of the passing of Professor R. Song, the borrower of an outstanding loan on a residence. While we are deeply saddened for your loss, as co-signer you have inherited the remaining balance of that loan. If you wish to have the property taken as collateral to settle the debt, no further action need be taken. Please be advised that this may harm your credit score.

If you would like to continue paying the remaining balance and retain the property, please contact one of our Customer Care Reps at the following number.

He didn’t read the number, for the letter slipped from his fingertips and fluttered to the floor. His hand went to his lips. He had known, yes, that this day was coming, but he hadn’t thought- he’d never expected—

He’d never realized he would be notified of his own wife’s death with such an afterthought.

Anger flaring up within him, he kicked at the letter. It skidded across the floor and stopped, the outline of the tread of his boots printed over one corner. The envelope went next in the opposite direction. It looked rather pitiful and useless, which matched his mood.

He sunk down on the steps and didn’t hear the door opening again. But he heard Clara’s voice. “Everything alright? You haven’t gone yet.”

The Doctor leapt up as if scalded, spinning on his toes as his face contorted in an effort to force the water welling up in his eyes back down. Clara was bending down towards the letter from Lunar Services.

“Don’t touch that!”

She jumped back as he tore it from her grasp, pressing it to his chest. “No need to get tetchy,” she snapped, though she seemed taken aback when their eyes met. “Chin Boy?”

Clara reached towards him, but he stepped back, turning to brace a hand on the control panel as he tucked the letter away.

“Sorry. Just some… private correspondence,” he muttered to the buttons and levers.

“Was it from Professor Song?”

His head bowed, bracing himself.

“I only saw the name, I didn’t read anything else,” Clara hurried to say.

A breath released. She hadn’t seen. He didn’t have to talk about this, this thing he had never talked about ever. “yes, it was from Professor Song,” he lied, and the lie came easy.

“Okay. Well… I guess I’ll leave you to answer it.” She said, and he could hear her drift one foot back towards the door.

“Thank you, Clara,” he said, and he looked once at her over his shoulder. “See ya Wednesday.”

“See ya,” she echoed, the barest of smiles gracing her lips, a mark that he’d at least done a little to reassure her. When the door closed a second time, he immediately pulled the lever to dematerialize. He couldn’t afford to stick around again by mistake.

Once safely alone, the Doctor took out the letter again, eyes scanning over the words. If you would like to continue paying the remaining balance and retain the property… Retain the property?

It had been River’s house, not his. River would be in every room. Her things and the scent of her perfume and the sound of her laugh — just thinking of it was enough to fill his lungs and head so much that he could hardly breathe, could hardly think.

If you wish to have the property taken as collateral to settle the debt, no further action need be taken. Please be advised that this may harm your credit score, the letter said, and that felt better. No action could be taken. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could change.

The Doctor marched back to his study and opened a drawer. He placed the letter inside as far back as it would fit, then shut it. He knew already that he would never open it again nor speak to anyone from Lunar Services, tax evasion and bad credit be damned.

He’d never wanted the score or the house. He just wanted her. Now he would have none.

[foreverlogical]

To battle the economic crash from the coronavirus pandemic, Congress is sending Americans cash. The deal just hammered out will send $1,200 to every adult making under a certain income threshold, and $500 for every child. But will the money actually get to everyone?

In many cases, it turns out, it could take weeks or months. And many of the poorest and most vulnerable Americans will face further difficulties once the check arrives.

"The Treasury Department is expected to begin directly depositing checks within a few weeks of the bill's passing," The New York Times reported. "But mailed payments will take one or two weeks longer, Republican Senate aides said Wednesday." It sounds like the mailed checks, for individuals who don't have bank information already on file with the IRS, could take up to two months, and earlier reports suggested they could take up to four. And that time frame doesn't even get to the question of people who may be too poor to have filed taxes, who may move a lot, or who may not have reliable housing, and whose address has to be pieced together from Social Security data or the Veterans Administration.

Meanwhile, one out of every four U.S. households either has no bank account or has real trouble accessing one, which adds further hurdles to actually being able to use the money. "You'll have to cash that check, and take that cash and put it into a money order again to pay your bills," Mehsra Baradaran, a professor at the University of California at Irvine who studies banking inclusion and inequality, told The Week. That process will impose further fees, not to mention the costs, time, and effort required to physically go from the check casher to the utility and landlord's offices to pay bills and rent.

Senate Democrats, including Sen. Sherrod Brown's office, tried to do something about this. Baradaran helped Brown draft a provision that would give any American who needed it a free banking account — available at any local bank or post office — in which the $1,200 aid could be directly dropped. Others in the House, like Rep. Rashida Tlaib (D-Mich.), have their own proposals to do something similar. Ultimately, none of this made it into the Senate deal, which has now passed the House and is headed to President Trump for signing. But Brown and Tlaib have also introduced their proposals as standalone bills. And we really need to fix this, for both moral and economic reasons.

Around 8.4 million U.S. households (or 6.5 percent) are "unbanked," meaning they have no bank account at all. Another 24.2 million households (18.7 percent) are "underbanked," meaning they technically have a bank account but have real difficulty using it. As Baradaran explained, low-income Americans' finances don't mesh well with banks' business models, which are designed more for the steady income flows of the middle class. Less fortunate Americans are constantly hit with fees for things like overdrafts or not having enough money in their accounts. Nor are they particularly profitable for banks, so many institutions have simply abandoned those communities, leaving people with either no banking option, or a branch that's 50 miles away. Regulations used to require banks to keep a branch in every community, but those rules were dismantled in the 1990s, and "those voids were filled with payday lenders and check cashers" as Baradaran put it. Those outfits charge even more onerous fees and interest rates for their services.

Imagine the U.S. payments system as three concentric networks, with each network serving different groups — and each of very different quality. The innermost circle links the Treasury Department and the Federal Reserve with the major private banks, and those banks to each other. This network can settle transactions extremely fast, say three to five days. (There are efforts afoot to get this down to 24 hours or less.)

The next network out is essentially the public-facing side of the private banking system — it's what connects individuals and households and businesses to the banks. This is the network that can get everyone their direct deposits in a few weeks.

This situation is already rather remarkable, since we have a public system — the first innermost network — that no one but big private banks are allowed to participate in. Meanwhile, private for-profit banks get the privilege of being the middle-man between that public system and the actual public. "There's no reason banks should be that middle man unless they're mandated to give everyone an account, and they're not," Baradaran noted.

Things are even worse out at the fringes of the circles of inclusion. That's the third network that serves the unbanked and the underbanked and people less directly tied into the second network. This is where people have to wait two months for a check in the mail, cash it with a bank if they're lucky, and otherwise go through the whole obstacle course of check cashers and payday lenders and money orders.

At a minimum, we should plug the people in the third fringe network directly into the first, which is what Brown's bill would do. Under that proposal, when your check got mailed to you, you could pick it up at the post office and open a simple banking account — free, no fees, no minimums — that would plug you directly into the Fed and Treasury Department's payment system. You could cash your check right there and use the money via a debit card that would come with the account, without dealing with any profit-seeking third parties.

Providing a public option for basic banking services via the U.S. Postal Service is an idea that's actually been floating around for a while — in fact America did do that, from 1911 to 1966. (There are also proposals to just give every American an account with the Federal Reserve directly.) Baradaran said her "dream version would be every post office would have this option" — i.e. use this scheme to take every American in both the second and third networks, and plug them directly into the first, innermost network. But Brown's more limited bill would've at least plugged the third network's unbanked and underbanked into that first inner network.

Admittedly, this wouldn't completely solve the initial problem of how fast the checks go out. But it would help, and it would end the obstacles and exploitation that marginalized Americans face when using the money. And if Congress needs to authorize more of these payments — which will almost certainly be needed — the bank accounts will now be in place.

Tlaib's bill is even more ambitious: It would give every American a pre-paid debit card that would plug directly into that inner network, and that Congress and the Treasury Department could automatically refill with money whenever they wanted. In fact, Tlaib's proposal called for four payments of $2,000 each to every person of all ages. "It's trying to provide a novel infrastructure through the pre-paid cards, to get past the limitations of direct deposit or mailing checks," Rohan Grey, president of the Modern Money Network, who helped Tlaib's office draft the proposal, told The Week. (News reports tended to ignore this aspect of Tlaib's bill, focusing instead on its unusual financing mechanism: have the Treasury Department mint trillion-dollar coins and deposit them with the Fed to avoid having to issue new debt.)

The U.S. government already uses similar debit card systems for programs like food stamps, so the basic infrastructure is in place. Between mailing the cards and making them available for distribution at banks and post offices and schools and the like, Tlaib's proposal might actually have been able to get the first payment out even faster. And again, further payments would be automatic, and the debit card system could be integrated with a postal banking public option or Fed-accounts-for-all down the line.

Unfortunately, as I mentioned, none of these ideas made it into the final package. It's not clear why, but we can speculate: lobbyists for industries like payday lenders have clout on Capitol Hill, and these proposals would be an existential threat to their industry. For the moment, the ease and reliability of that inner network remains a privilege reserved for the powers of the banking and financial industries, while we mere citizens have to deal with the private banking system on its terms — and the least fortunate among us are left out in the cold entirely.

Many of the millions who have already lost jobs probably need money now. Even people who still have jobs, but who don't earn much, face a coming cascade of hardships, from the need for food, rent, utility bills, and more. (The government also didn't do itself any favors by making the money means-tested, which will add further time for government agencies to calculate what everyone is owed.) Millions of human beings will suffer because of the delay. Meanwhile, the longer it takes for that money to hit people's pocketbooks, the more time there is for the negative feedback loop of job loss leading to less spending leading to business closures leading to more job loss to build on itself, deepening the hole the economy will eventually have to dig out of.

But Congress can always pass more bills, and by all accounts the coronavirus crisis will last long enough that political pressure for more cash aid to average Americans will likely become overwhelming. The sooner we can stand up a fast and simple public banking option for all, the faster we can get aid out to everyone — both in this crisis and the next.

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VISIT WEBSITE

[eloarei]

To expound that previous statement:  I just got a call from a very nice debt collector, informing me that my $10,000 emergency hospital bill has gone to collections. Honestly, of all the people I’ve managed to talk to about the issue these past four months, he definitely seemed the most willing to actually speak with me, so hey, points to him.  So. I’m frustrated. You see, I’ve known about this bill roughly since the day after they ushered me out of the hospital. They were very prompt in issuing it! But do you know what they weren’t prompt at? Processing my financial aid claim. I started the process literally before I got the bill. It was long and tedious process for several reasons, including but not limited to:  1. Due to Covid, nobody could actually enter the hospital to discuss financial aid with the aid department. Therefore, everything had to be done through phone and email.  2. It took days, sometimes a week or more, for anyone to get back to us, ever. Email some documents? Gotta wait a week to see if they got ‘em. Got a question about the paperwork? If you’re lucky, someone will call you about it in 3 days. Maybe.  3. I have a weird schedule, working at night. These offices are open almost exclusively when I’m sleeping, and at at least one point it seemed that they turned their fax machines off while they were out of the office.  4. I’m pretty poor, alright, but I do have a job. I’m self-employed. I work with my husband. Nobody sends us a W-2 and we don’t have pay stubs. We file taxes! but apparently?? that’s not enough?? What IS enough? No idea, because it was impossible to get anyone to answer our questions.  SO. Everything is going to collections. There doesn’t seem to be a damn person I can talk to, because 1. nobody answers their phone or calls you back  2. offices closed due to Covid  3. nobody knows a damn thing about handling self-employed people  4. “married, filing jointly” is apparently a goddam mystery??  Luckily, nothing I own is on loan (tiny house and old car both paid in cash), so they’ll have a hard time trying to repossess anything. And I don’t really give that much of a dang about my credit score. But still, I’d like to get this handled. I might see if Medicaid handles stuff retroactively like this; from what I hear, they can, but once it goes to collections, I’m doubtful.  I’m not extremely beat up about this. Mostly I’m frustrated. It was insulting enough that my body miscarried so bad I needed 8 ice-cold bags of emergency saline (ugh, so weird, I’m telling ya), but then for the system not to help me out with a nearly $12k charge? (Which, btw? Close to what I make in a year.)  I know the financial aid system can work. My husband used it when they charged him $8k to prescribe the wrong antibiotics for an infection. But that was back when we could actually go and sit our asses down in front of them and they couldn’t ignore us. This quarantine makes it awfully convenient for them to pretend we’re not there. =\ 

[yenomquyn]

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[keelanrosa]

i need someone to ELI5 how “send the young and healthy and not-vulnerable people back to work” would actually be totally great for the economy while also not actually infecting shittons of people.

Because the most vocal about it seem to be acting like the economy will just... Be Normal if the young and healthy and only the young and healthy are working and going out? In which case y’all are under some severe misconceptions about both how many seniors are still working and how many immunocompromised/asthmatic/otherwise vulnerable people have jobs. And even people who are fully retired and/or on disability go shopping and out to eat and to the movies and otherwise contribute to the economy in public and social ways. And that’s not even taking into account other people who live with them! Like “Okay the less-vulnerable can go back to normal! Young healthy teachers can go back to work, young healthy kids can go out, and the schools can open again! Oh but Annie’s being raised by her grandparents so uuh does she... not go back to school for so long she ends up permanently behind her peers, or do we just cross our fingers and hope she doesn’t infect Poppop?”

I just don’t believe you can full-blown drop all those people from the economy and not have broad effects and even if i’m wrong about that, the pro-economy people who aren’t acting outright homicidal about it are trying to argue poverty and destitution can kill and y’all right! It can! So if we don’t want already vulnerable people to die of poverty or disease we need a damn robust system to help them and how, exactly, do we help all of them and only them? Okay, everyone over a certain age gets what they need to survive this, even that’s not possible for every single elderly person and only elderly people (how do the homeless manage it? the ones who don’t have ID with which to prove their age? the ones who have been struggling to get a job already as the bills pile up but as far as the bureaurocrat-in-charge can see, social security is enough for them?) but at least the ones who filed taxes last year are probably gonna be straightforward to manage. Oh but also gotta help everyone with a pre-existing condition which makes them extra-vulnerable (and how do you prove that right now? I was asked for an extra physical and a doctor’s signature for saying on government paperwork i have a disability which just makes it harder -- not even impossible -- for me to hold down a job and lmao yeah doctors have nothing better to do right now than a few thousand physicals and filling out a few thousand extra pages of paperwork i guess? Nvm how are all the people who are losing their employer-covered healthcare paying for it?). But to prevent people from infecting their families we also need to help anyone who lives with those people so uh okay get Grandma or your immunocompromised spouse covered first, then submit more paperwork proving a) they’re covered and b) you live together and should be getting the benefits necessary to live while off work as well. It could take months just for young people with pre-existing conditions to prove they need help, nvm the people who live with them proving they also need help to avoid becoming a disease vector, and in the meantime people gotta eat and if jobs are open again a lot of people will just hope for the best and take the risk and that is not exactly gonna help slow down the contagion rate.

And then there’s still going to be people with jobs where a lot of customers are staying home and so their work ends up laying people off and are we supposed to just... do nothing about unemployment and hope the supply/demand of the job market balances out? like “yeah there’s fewer jobs available but also fewer people working so it’s fine”? It very well might shake out that way but do we really want to be betting on that in a country where health insurance is so heavily tied to employers?

I mean i can see “send as many people as possible back to work” as an “every little bit helps” measure but i can’t see it being fully effective even from a purely economic standpoint without also having full-blown fucking universal benefits, be that UBI or food stamps or rent control or debt forgiveness or universal healthcare or all-of-the-above-and-more combined with active encouragement for individuals to stay home and for companies/schools/etc to keep up viable systems for remote work/study/etc. And if we need benefits and remote systems in place anyway they should as much as possible be there before just. flinging open the economy. Have we not learned enough from “not having paid sick leave means sick people come to work in jobs they really shouldn’t because they feel like they don’t have a choice”? That’s already a problem during flu season, it’s not gonna be less of one while a highly contagious disease for which we have neither a vaccine nor herd immunity is going around.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Congress is about to embark on a huge spending spree. Last Thursday, after the Trump administration announced that it supports a stimulus package to help individuals and businesses affected by the coronavirus pandemic, Senate Republicans unveiled a massive spending bill that includes a controversial provision: direct cash payments to many Americans.

The legislation is still in flux, and Republicans and Democrats have clashed on the details of the payments, like who should get checks, whether they should go out more than once, and how much they should be for — but it seems likely that some form of direct cash relief will end up in the final package.

On the surface, the idea of sending checks to Americans stricken by a vast and sudden economic slowdown feels like a pretty obvious first step. The unemployment crisis is unfolding at a terrifying speed, and people need money. So why not simply give it to them? There’s also some evidence that the checks are increasingly popular with Americans as the massive economic fallout of the coronavirus pandemic comes into focus. A poll conducted March 16-17 by liberal think tank Data for Progress showed that support for $1,000 cash payments to Americans has skyrocketed since early March, with 58 percent of the country now in favor.

But is an influx of cash actually the best way to cushion workers from what seems likely to be the most dramatic shock in recent memory? The consensus, based on my conversations with almost a dozen economic experts, is that it can’t hurt to go ahead and send out checks. But that probably shouldn’t be our only — or even our primary — economic response. There are preexisting systems, like unemployment insurance programs, that can quickly get money to the people who are losing their jobs. And in the short term, focusing on shoring up those systems could be just as important as determining how big a windfall Americans should get in the mail.

“Right now, the risk of overreach is negligible and the risk of doing too little is very high,” said Indivar Dutta-Gupta, the co-director of the Georgetown Center on Poverty and Inequality. “So stimulus checks should really just be one part of a much broader effort to help the tens of millions of people who are going to be hurt economically by this pandemic.”

On Thursday, after the Senate Republicans’ economic proposal was unveiled, Republican Sen. Richard Shelby questioned the value of sending out a slew of payments over a more targeted approach. “I personally think that if we are going to help people, we ought to direct the cash payments maybe as a supplement to unemployment, not to the people that are still working every day,” Shelby said. Extra funding for the unemployment system is one of the options Congress is considering.

He had a surprising amount of company among some of the left-leaning experts I spoke with, who said the unemployment insurance system needs a lot of help. “I’m not opposed to sending out checks, but it’s not an especially efficient way of helping people right now,” said Michele Evermore, a senior policy analyst at the National Employment Law Project. “We have a system that is literally designed to help people who have become unemployed, so we should be focusing on making sure that system is capable of responding to the huge surge of people who are relying on it.”

Shoring up the unemployment insurance system came up in almost every conversation I had. And that’s because the system is already threatening to buckle as the number of people applying for unemployment benefits spikes. According to the Department of Labor, new filings for job losses rose 33 percent for the week ending on March 14. And that data doesn’t even cover last week, when businesses across the country temporarily shuttered and a tidal wave of layoffs followed. The state offices that administer unemployment benefits are unprepared to meet the demand in multiple ways — across the country last week, websites crashed, phone lines jammed, and lines snaked outside unemployment offices. And many states don’t have the funds to handle a surge in unemployment claims without assistance from the federal government.

Congress already allocated $1 billion in funds to help states ramp up their capacity to dole out unemployment benefits in a bill that passed last week. But experts said there’s a lot more that could be done to use the unemployment insurance system to get money to people quickly. For instance, only about 27 percent of unemployed Americans actually received benefits in 2016, in part because of the complicated maze of restrictions that people face when they apply. Some states are already starting to remove barriers — like waiting periods or some eligibility requirements — to ensure that more people qualify. During the last recession, the federal government also pitched in money to help cover the ballooning cost of the state unemployment insurance programs, and it seemed to pay off, according to studies that were conducted later.

Arindrajit Dube, an economics professor at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, suggested increasing the amount of money that recipients are eligible for, too. Right now, unemployment insurance only replaces between one-third and one-half of a person’s income. In normal times, Dube said, the payments should be capped around 50 percent of workers’ normal wages — if the benefits were more generous, people might not look very hard for another job. The trouble is that right now, we have the opposite problem. “We want people not to work for health reasons,” he said. “So for our purposes in this very specific and unique moment, having a generous payout accomplishes exactly what we want it to.”

Putting more money in Americans’ pockets through stimulus payments could help too, Dube said — unless the checks simply can’t get out to people as quickly as they need them. During the 2008 financial crisis, Congress sent a tax rebate out to many Americans, which is similar to what’s being proposed now. A study conducted in the wake of the payments found that the rebates did raise consumer spending. But the checks didn’t actually arrive at people’s homes until several months after the legislation had passed, which could be a big problem for low-wage workers, who often have minimal savings.

There are other ways to get funds to low-income Americans, Dutta-Gupta told me — for example, by putting more money onto the cards that food stamp recipients use to buy groceries. Angela Rachidi, a Rowe scholar at the right-leaning American Enterprise Institute, meanwhile, favors funneling money to poor families through an emergency version of the earned income tax credit, a subsidy that supplements the earnings of low-income workers when they file their taxes. “These are the people who are least likely to be able to work from home, and many of them are single parents, which means they may need to take time off work to watch their children,” Rachidi said. “We already know they’re vulnerable — why not focus on them first?”

The problem with more targeted interventions is that, inevitably, they leave some people out. Freelancers and independent contractors working in the “gig economy,” for example, don’t usually qualify for unemployment insurance. Part-time workers also can’t get access to unemployment benefits in some states. And there are plenty of people who will be financially harmed by the economic shutdown, but who won’t necessarily lose a job. “The economic need is going to be tremendous, and unemployment is only one piece of it,” said Andrew Stettner, a senior fellow at the left-leaning Century Foundation. “Some people are graduating from college and might have trouble finding work. You might lose overtime or a bonus.”

But Stettner added that from his perspective, the stimulus checks are only one piece of the puzzle. “There isn’t one single way to shore up people’s incomes right now,” he said. “We need to be broad and targeted. On its own, a $1,000 check is not going to solve many people’s problems right now.”