#has customer service declined

[shatteredfears-arch]

ahem happy happy birthday i know you're having an absolutely miserable day but know that you are one of my oldest and dearest friends and you mean so much to me. i would give you the biggest hug were i across the country and i hope that things start to get better for you because you deserve better especially on your day. love you lots and i am thinking of you xox

im a month late responding to my own birth messages i'm a fRAUD howdy milove! thank you v v much! it got better a few days later overall (b/uild a b/ear ftw) but boy howdy was december a wild month thank you thank you thank you!!!!

[wishful-sinful-9]

Could I request some lumberjack Logan? Wolverine Origins movie was inspired to have a 1970s Logan lumberjack in the Canadian Rockies

I've been eyeing up this request since I received it so here's some thoughts I have 👀

You're working in a diner in this little town, earning barely enough to afford rent for the tiny apartment you live in where nothing stays unbroken for long. Nevertheless, the view of the mountains is breathtaking, the air fresh, the people friendly.

Then, one morning, Logan steps through the door.

He's all thick dark hair, muscles bulging through the sleeves of his flannel shirt, eyes intense and trained on you.

You ask him if he'd like a menu, flushing as you can't quite meet his gaze. He declines, asks for a simple black coffee.

As you dart off to fetch a fresh pot, he wonders how the hell he'd lived this long around this tiny town and managed to miss you. Smiling at your regulars, playing The Beatles on the jukebox, humming along as you serve customers.

Logan begins to come to the diner nearly every morning.

You start chatting, getting to know eachother, and you let slip your sink is broken. Logan grunts, "I'll fix it." And ignores when you insist it's a non-issue.

You put on your Joan Baez record and drink a beer on your couch, squirming a little at the idea of a man being in your space.

"Fixed," Logan states, picking up his jacket. You insist he stays for dinner.

When he leaves, he tells you to let him know when something else breaks, so you do.

You now have a handy man who only accepts home-cooked meals as repayment for his services. You wonder if you should be weary of this gruff, grumbling, cigar-smoking, emotionally distant man who shows up at your door in under ten minutes when you call. But somehow you aren't.

You go on a walk one day and pass the site Logan works on. It's a hot August day, so he's wearing a white tank top - you spot him through the trees, a light sheen of sweat on his skin, the muscles in his back and arm working in such a way it makes your entire body flush hot.

When he catches sight of you on the path, he sets down his axe and trudges towards you, much to your horror. Oh god, he must have seen you staring!

He looms over you, face expressionless. Your knees feel weak.

"I noticed a fault in your plumbing. I'll come by later to fix it." he simply says.

"Okay," you squeak.

When he returns to his work, you having hurried on down the path, he is greeted by the grinning faces of his coworkers.

"Who was that?" "Didn't know you had someone at home, Logan!" "Lucky man, did you see her ti-"

"Shut it." he barks, and picks up his axe.

He tries his best not to think about how good you looked in that little sundress of yours.

Think I'm going to expand on this more!! If anyone has any ideas/thoughts abt lumberjack!logan feel free to drop them in my ask box ;)

[cevansbrat0007]

On the Clock

Summary: Ari stops by for a snack while he's out chasing a lead.

Warnings: Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Oral Sex (fem rec), Finger Fucking, Ass Slapping, Ass Grabbing, Handcuffs (mentioned), Overstimulation (implied), Cursing, Pet Names, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are sincerely appreciated.

___

“Oh God, I–Beast!”

Your fist slams down on the desk as your legs threaten to give out from under you. It was all too much. Between each sinful flick of his tongue, and the delicate precision of his thick fingers roughly pumping in and out of your dripping pussy… 

You weren’t sure if you were actually going to survive. 

“Gimme one more, Bird. Just one.” Ari’s free hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp crack echoing through your tiny stockroom and spilling out into the shop. “You can do it.” 

A muffled sob escapes as you cling to the cool, flat surface for dear life while that same hand delivers another blow – this time giving your cheek a hard squeeze after it lands. His punishing grip all but ensuring that you’ll be heading home with fresh bruises, although he has yet to hear you complain. 

Especially after he just got done telling you that all your sweet curves belonged to him anyway. A fact that you were no longer as interested in disputing as you once used to be. Maybe it was because you enjoyed wearing his marks almost as much as he enjoyed giving them to you.  

The filthy wet squelch of his fingers as they ruthlessly fuck your cunt, along with with the sounds of your desperate cries, has you feeling grateful that there’s no one around to witness just how pitiful you must look. 

Of course you have Ari to thank for that, whose quick thinking brought you to this very moment. 

Which involves him kneeling between your parted thighs, eating your pussy from the back. Devouring you as if his life depends on it. And for all you knew, it did.

Because when Ari had sent you a message at 11:57am asking if you were free for a quick snack, you’d had no idea that he’d been referring to this. But then again, you also hadn’t had time to respond, what with you trying to box up orders for several waiting customers. 

Which meant that you’d been just as surprised as anyone when he strolled through the doors of Baubles & Quills less than ten minutes later, with his badge displayed on his hip and a scowl etched across his ruggedly handsome face.

Confused by his sudden presence, you’d offered him a brief smile before suggesting that he might be more comfortable waiting for you in the back. Of course your bounty hunter had declined, muttering something about “being on the clock”. And then he’d stood off in the corner glowering at the small group of patrons that were steadily occupying your time. 

Precious time that was apparently reserved for him.

Shaking your head, you’d simply returned your attention to running your business. If Ari had questions that needed answering before you were slated to see him tonight, then he was going to have to wait his turn. Afterall, you had bills to pay for both this place as well as your own home. And providing quality customer service was one way to ensure that you would be able to do all of that on time and in full.

However, that’s not to say that you weren’t affected by his presence. It was almost impossible to ignore the weight of his heavy gaze. Especially since your body felt the need to respond accordingly against your own best interests.

From your quickening pulse and pebbled nipples, to your slightly shaking hands and damp panties, your bounty hunter was not the type to be so easily relegated to the background. Nor was he the kind of man who would allow himself to be forgotten either.

Which was why you then witnessed Ari escort your last patron, the lovely Ms. Greta Thurman who was also pushing 80, out to her car with all the patience of a saint. Only for him to return seconds later, this time locking the door behind him and flipping your sign around to signal that the shop was closed – without your fucking permission.

You’d opened your mouth, fully prepared to protest such gross mistreatment. Only to swiftly think better of it the moment you’d gotten a good look at his face. And then he’d motioned for you to join him back in the stockroom, which had been roughly twenty minutes ago. And now…

Now, you were growing increasingly convinced you were going to die. And yet, the Beast at your back had the nerve to keep demanding that you give him one more. Always just one more. 

“Poor little Bird.” Ari hums, sounding slightly out of breath. But he doesn’t let that stop him, especially when he feels you clench around his fingers when they strum over that special spot inside you. “You might be done, but your pussy wants more.” His pointed tongue goes back to rhythmically lashing at your sensitive clit. 

Again and again. It was enough to drive a woman crazy.

“It’s so good, Beast! S’good!” You mewl, your short, blunt nails scraping against the desk. “S’goo–fuckfuckfuck!” Your ability to form coherent sentences has long since abandoned you, leaving you a sweaty, blubbering mess as your body works overtime to process the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“My greedy girl.” His harsh growl has your knees about ready to buckle. “Greediest pussy I’ve ever had.” Sensing you’re about to collapse, he removes his fingers from your wet heat, making you whine. And then he goes back to squeezing and kneading your ass, loving the way you rise up on your toes as he holds you open for his assault.

“Ari!” You continue to whine, wishing you still had his fingers buried deep in your cunt, even as your impending orgasm looms. He growls again in response, the heady vibrations pulsing through your entire overly stimulated body.

You try to run – attempting to climb over the desk in search of refuge – only for your bounty hunter to drag you back. 

“Try that shit again and I’ll cuff you.” Is the only gruff warning you receive before he goes back to lapping at your honeyed folds. The vulgar sounds he makes as he sucks and slurps at your heated flesh, demonstrating just how committed he is to his task.

And he positively hated being interrupted. Your vision blurs when he reaches around to stroke talented fingers along your swollen nub, taking special care not to send you over the edge until he felt you were ready.

Asshole.

Your hips continue to writhe and buck beneath his assault, but you don’t try to run again. And this time when your orgasm washes over you, it feels so good it hurts. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream as wave after wave of bliss sends your nerve endings buzzing. 

It was hands down some of the most exquisite pleasure you had ever experienced. 

Eventually Ari relaxes his hold, albeit rather reluctantly, before giving you a minute or two to get your bearings. “Thank you, baby.” He murmurs, the husky timbre of his voice sending another small jolt of white-hot electricity pulsing through you as he goes to stand up. “That should be enough to get me through.” 

“Huh?” Comes your weak reply. Frankly, he’s lucky to even get that. Right now you could barely function, let alone string together a damn sentence. But then it registers that he’s leaving. 

Even though he hadn’t –

“I really hate to eat and run, but I’m afraid I’m on the clock.” He winks at you, taking a moment to twirl your ruined panties around his index finger. “Just needed a taste of something sweet first.” He then tucks the garment into the back pocket of his jeans. 

At this rate, your entire underwear drawer was going to be empty before the month’s end. Which meant that you were going to have to put your foot down and demand he return them. At least a few pairs anyway. The brute wouldn’t be happy until you were walking around this town going commando. 

“Oh.” You mumble, feeling a pang of disappointment as you push your damp curls off of your forehead. “Um, okay.” But as quickly as it comes, it’s replaced by a fresh surge of heat in your belly when you finally notice the wetness still darkening his beard. Something he didn’t seem too worried about fixing.

“Aw, don’t look so disappointed, Bird.” His big hands go to frame your face, pulling you close to capture your lips in a heartfelt kiss that has you practically melting. And you can’t help the sliver of female satisfaction that slowly unfurls inside of you when you catch a hint of your warm, earthy scent on his skin. 

Because whether you realized it or not, you’d just marked your territory in a way no other woman could possibly compete with. This Beast was all yours for the time being. 

“There we go.” Grinning when you finally relax, your gentle giant pecks your lips one last time before stepping away from you. He winces slightly, adjusting his straining erection through his jeans, inwardly cursing the fact he had an appointment across town that he was probably already late for. “I’ll be at your place no later than 8:00pm with takeout from Mi Patron. Text me what you want and then be sure to call when you’re locking up, okay?”

“Okay, Ari.” You breathe, your teeth going to nibble at your bottom lip. “It’s a date.” On impulse, you raise up on your toes and wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him down for one last kiss – which he eagerly accepts without an ounce of fight. 

“Sorry.” Is all you say when you finally allow yourselves to come up for air. In truth, you weren’t feeling even remotely apologetic. But you did have an image to maintain so… “Must’ve lost my balance.”

“Right.” Ari whistles low, shaking his head as he pins you with a knowing look. “I’ll see you later. Behave while I’m gone, sweet girl.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads in the direction of your front door. Leaving you alone to make peace with the fact that you were falling for this man.

“I’m doomed.” You mutter, staring down at your bare toes while you debate your next move. On one hand, you supposed you could always skip town. But given his profession, you reasoned he’d be able to track you down with relative ease. 

Well, there went that option. With a sigh you bend down to pick up your capris so you can go about making yourself look presentable again, sans panties. The way you saw it, the only choice you had left was to go down swinging. Which made sense. And if that was the case, then…

“I’m taking you down with me, Levinson.”

END

___

Unofficial Tag List

@daykrisr99

@identity2212

[currymanganese]

Richie's journey is not over

I've done my fair share of hating on Richie, but @caiusmarciuscoriolanus 's and @post-woke 's meta on him has gotten to me. As a companion piece to this post about Carmy's future in the culinary world here, here's why I think Richie may be the one to actually leave the industry someday, or at least that he may find a fulfilling secondary vocation by the end of the series.

1. Along with Marcus, but to a greater extent, Richie is Carmy's narrative foil, if Carmy stays in the restaurant world, as Carmy's foil, Richie may want to leave someday:

Before the start of the series and in season one, he was the dutiful "son/brother"-figure that stayed in Chicago and stuck it out with Mikey (since Mikey pushed Carmy away) while Carmy globe-trotted and became a master at his craft. He resents Carmy for not coming to Mikey's funeral and for being MIA after his death, and perhaps also for being absent from pitching into the family business even prior to Mikey's death and the business' decline. He also resented the changes Carmy, and by extension, Sydney, made to the restaurant during season one, and by the beginning of season two expresses insecurities about his place in the restaurant, and by extension, his place in Carmy and the Berzattos' life. Hence, in season two Richie goes out of his way to have Carmy's reassurance that he would not be "dropped" and he also apologized to Natalie for some unspecified long-standing slight or slights, and enjoyed a much improved relationship with the surviving Berzatto siblings until his argument with Carmy in "The Bear".

During this war of words, after Richie called Carmy, Donna, Carmy retaliated by claiming that he should've cut Richie off, that Richie wouldn't be able to make a living or support his child without him, and accused him of being a leech with an obsession with the Berzatto family. Regardless of whether Carmy truly believes these things about Richie or not, and regardless of whether they are true or not, the venom behind this outburst may have left Richie questioning his security at The Bear, and the sincerity of Carmy's earlier promise to not abandon him, which has silently been one of Richie's greatest fears since season one, with his admission to Carmy in Braciole that,

"You're all I have left."

Also, keep in mind, season two already began with Richie questioning his purpose and place at The Bear, while Carmy ended the season questioning his vocation and his place at the restaurant,

"Maybe I'm just not cut out for this."

Similarly, their love interests / the women from their pasts are associated with one another, Carmy's (now ex) girlfriend , Claire, and Richie's ex-wife, Tiffany:

"Tiff used to babysit Claire!"

Since both Richie and Carmy reached a turning point professionally and experienced upheavals in their relationship(s) in season two (with each other and with their love interests a la Claire breaking up with Carmy, and Tiff informing Richie that she's moving on and getting married), we'll have to wait until the dust settles in season 3 or beyond to see whether the words Carmy spoke in anger to Richie may push him away, even if only temporarily, to the point that Richie may be moved to "abandon Carmy / The Berzattos / the restaurant before they abandon me", or even to see if he has truly found the answer to his question of what his purpose and vocation is in life, and whether that lies in customer service and working the expo or overseeing the front of house at The Bear, or elsewhere.

It's also interesting to me that the book Richie is shown reading in Season 2, 'Unreasonable Hospitality: The Remarkable Power of Giving People More Than They Expect', by Will Guidara, apparently stresses the value of imparting a sense of excellence and care for one's customers and peers / working relationships no matter the industry, and highlights that the lessons the author learned in the restaurant/hospitality industry can also be applicable to other fields.

Which leads me to my next point;

2. I believe that Richie serves as an author avatar for Christopher Storer himself on some level, and Storer ultimately left the food service industry to become a writer/ director and work in the film industry, hence it's another reason that it would not come as a surprise to me if Richie ends up leaving The Bear, even if it's only temporarily:

C Storer has expressed before in podcast interviews that Richie's character is based on his older male cousins growing up, with whom he enjoyed spending time with in his teens as an escape from his own dysfunctional home life as a child of divorced parents that lived with a mother struggling with addiction. This explains the "Cousin" moniker and surrogate brother role Richie occupies in Carmy's life clearly enough. However, I also think that Richie and Mikey to some degree, (as Storer also struggled with substance abuse in the past) may be partially based on Storer's own life before he found his vocation and settled into a relationship with his long term partner, Gillian Jacobs, who, interestingly, stars as Richie's ex-wife Tiffany in the show.

This is just speculation on my part, but there is something in Richie's dynamic with The Berzattos that may be a reflection of, or at least partially inspired by C Storer and his younger sister, Courtney's, real life surrogate family, the Zuccheros; which is the family that owns Mr. Beef, the Italian sandwich shop that show and The Original Beef of Chicagoland is based on.

According to Joanna Calo in this podcast, see around the 48 minute mark, Chris and Courtney Storer worked at Mr. Beef when they were younger, before Chris left the food industry to become a writer/director and moved to LA. However, Chris Storer has maintained a friendship with the current owner of Mr. Beef, Christopher Zucchero, since kindergarten, and the pilot of The Bear was filmed on location in Mr. Beef, the rest of season one was filmed in a set that was a faithful recreation of Mr. Beef's premises, and Chris Zucchero also had a cameo appearance as ChiChi, Carmy's meat connect that haggled with him in the season one pilot.

As if all this wasn't enough of powerful testament to the bond that the Storers have with the Zuccheros, Chris Zucchero has stated in interviews that Chris Storer used to direct him and their friends to do recreations of movie scenes when they played together as children, and that there was never a doubt in his mind that Storer would've become a film director someday, a level of faith which mirrors Carmy's faith in Richie's people skills and his aptitude for a new role front of house. Chris Storer also promised Chris Zucchero to make a show about Mr. Beef years ago, and The Bear is a fulfillment of that promise.

The former proprietor of Mr. Beef, Chris Zucchero's father, Joseph Zucchero, also seems to have had a fatherly relationship with the Storers (Chris Storer has disclosed that he and his siblings did not have a close relationship with their own father after their parents' divorce), and particularly with Courtney Storer. Chris Zucchero has even joked in interviews that his father loved Courtney more than his own children, and that Zucchero Sr. served as a surrogate father to many in his community.

In my opinion, even if Richie shares no other connection to Chris Storer's life and personality, beyond Richie being an amalgamation of the cousins Chris Storer grew up with; the tight-knit bond of devotion and affection between Richie and Mikey and The Berzattos certainly appears to be somewhat reminiscent of Christopher Storer's own loyalty to his longtime friend, Chris Zucchero's family.

As such, this may be completely off-base, but hear me out;

3. What if Richie's character journey eventually mirrors Christopher Storer's personal career trajectory and takes him on the path of becoming a writer, perhaps even to the point of publishing a heartfelt article about, or story inspired by: his life, his job, Mikey, The Berzattos, The Original Beef and The Bear?

Since we are unfamiliar with much of Richie's backstory and skillset beyond his time in the restaurant, I'm basing this possible career shift on one aspect of Richie's personal interests we are privy to; Richie appears to be surprisingly well-read, and it is generally assumed that excellent authors tend to be avid readers, just as renowned filmmakers tend to be cinephiles themselves.

In the pilot episode - when the creators took time to create character establishing moments for Carmy, and most of the regular cast, despite Richie's initial abrasive interactions with Carmy, Richie is shown to also be affable and well liked, or at least respected, by the staff and prompts them to have an informal icebreaker over Syd's family meal by asking them to express what they are thankful for.

This moment establishes Tina's (at the time hidden) sentimental heart of gold when she answers, "I'm thankful for all y'all mfs! 😜", and Marcus and Ebra's sense of humour and easy rapport with Richie /their irreverence and lack of fear of him when Marcus makes a joke at Richie's expense and Ebra chimes in to mock his body odour. However, when Richie's turn to express what he's thankful for, out of all the possible people or things the writers could've used to telegraph what is important to Richie, and who he is as a person, in this moment Richie says he's thankful for the classic sci-fi author, Philip K. Dick; who famously wrote the dystopian novel 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?'' which ultimately served as the inspiration for many sci-fi works, including the Blade Runner films. Even if he intended for his answer to be light-hearted or flippant, it may be a case of "the truth being hidden in jest" that he expressed gratitude, not for his daughter, not for any other relationship or personal possession, but for Mr. Philip K. Dick.

In season one Richie makes another offhand/indirect reference to this sci fi author and his story, by addressing the crew as, "replicants" (a term for lifelike artificial humans from Blade Runner, i.e. robots) when he shows up late to the staff meeting wherein Carmy is about to initiate the brigade system by delegating Syd to lead the crew. Since these are two sci-fi story references that Richie makes within the first 3 episodes of the show, after season one would be forgiven for just thinking that Richie may be a fan of classic sci-fi books or films and nothing else, however, season 2 shifted this understanding of Richie's characterization for me when, again, he references yet another renowned writer/novel in the season 2 pilot.

Thanks to fans on The Bear's subreddit - it appears that the writing he referenced this time was Haruki Murakami's 'Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Year's of Pilgrimage' as he paraphrases the story, including the main character being deserted by friends because of a lack of a 'life /interest' besides "trains". Richie uses the book to effectively articulate his own feelings of aimlessness, and fear of abandonment to Carmy. This conversation with Carmy where Richie uses the book as a tool to communicate his own anxiety/ need for reassurance to Carmy also ultimately served as a catalyst for Richie being sent on the opportunity to stage at the 3 Michelin star restaurant in season 2 episode seven.

It is during this episode that Richie undergoes some much needed character development, and is shown studiously reading Unreasonable Hospitality in a montage as he undergoes his metamorphosis into the earnest, professional, and essential FOH/BOH team member with renewed confidence that we see him as in episodes 8-10; apologising to Nat, helping her to vet the new FOH potential hires, even taking over the expo on the soft opening night and helping Sydney to avert disaster as she takes over functioning in Carmy's stead in the season finale. When addressing the new FOH staff prior to the soft open he again quotes a novel by a renowned author with existentialist themes, 'Siddhartha' by Herman Hesse as he urges the new staff to, "listen better".

Whether Richie eventually leaves the industry or The Bear or not remains to be seen, but I'm looking forward to seeing where his character development will take him, and I'm looking forward to Season 3 and beyond.

It is now clear to me, underneath all Richie's machismo bluster and bravado lies a surprising level of perceptiveness, a philosophic/existential curiosity and sensitivity that, in addition to his love for reading and gift for gab, may potentially lend itself to him developing a compelling written voice should he ever have the desire to write stories of his own.

Perhaps he may be steered to do so if he seeks out counselling for himself, whether via Al-anon or otherwise; as journalling / writing and tapping into a creative pursuit is often recommended as a coping mechanism for processing trauma/grief?

I also think that, much in the same way that Carmy confessed to seeing his cooking as an art and a means of communication in his Al-anon monologue in Braciole in Season 1; it is telling that Richie repeatedly uses what he has read as a means to express himself and communicate with others in some of the moments that he is most happy, uninhibited, sincere, and/or vulnerable.

P.S. @thoughtfulchaos773 Thanks for the nudge - I dug this out of my drafts because of you - stay wonderful 😊❤️

If you've read this, thanks for reading and feel free to chime in!

[fuck-customers]

Oh man, I can't believe some people.

I was ringing up this old couple, and the first thing out of the woman's mouth was "What time do you close?" I told her it was 11, and then she looked me dead in the eye and demanded of me(in the rudest tone possible): "What time did you start your shift?"

I looked up for a half a second and straight up told her that(while apologizing mind you) that I don't tell people I don't know my schedule for safety concerns.

Woman acted like I shot both her and her husband and she yelled at me to shut up. Went on to complain to my manager about "how that cashier has terrible customer service skills".

I'm just standing here confused because when did it become common social practice to give randos your work schedule? And to get offended when they(politely!) decline.

Posted by admin Rodney

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being suspicious of a coworker buying me food?

I (18 FtM) work at a retail store. one of my coworkers "Bob" (40s-50s M) has a bad reputation for being unnecessarily argumentative/rude with customers and has allegedly sexually harassed coworkers. he's decently nice to me most of the time, but I view him as a generally shitty person and try to limit interactions with him

Bob semi-frequently buys snacks for other coworkers to share. for example, he once bought grapes for a group of coworkers bc one coworker mentioned wanting some. he has also bought packs of oreos and similar things for people to share. he's never said why he does this and is the only person who will randomly buy food for people. I always decline when Bob offers me food because I have many allergies which he is aware of

now for the actual AITA. yesterday, Bob bought me gluten free oreos. when he first offered me them, I thought it was a prank and was suspicious. he explained it was because he felt bad that I couldn't eat most of the snacks he had bought in the past, so I at that point I just thanked him politely and took them

immediately after this, I went to chat with another coworker about Bob buying me oreos. she agreed it was pretty weird. a few hours later, she ended up joking to Bob that I said it was suspicious that he bought me oreos. this is true, I said that and I did feel that way. Bob seemed to be genuinely hurt by this – not angry, just slightly sad

when I was leaving for the night, Bob approached me to ask if I wasn't taking the oreos home. I realized that I had forgotten them at the guest service desk. this was just me being genuinely forgetful, but he again seemed slightly sad. after that I retrieved the oreos and did bring them home

I haven't seen him since bc this literally happened yesterday, but I'm honestly feeling bad about the whole thing. he was trying to be nice to me, but I was too suspicious of him to just be polite and take them. but at the same time, he's not a great guy and I feel that it's reasonable for me to be suspicious of a man who is decades older than me randomly buying me food. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[simply-ivanka]

Press Failure Inflates the Debate

Coverage of the Harris campaign is biased.

Worse than that, it’s malpractice.

By William McGurn Wall Street Journal

Presidential debates typically don’t determine the outcomes of elections, notwithstanding the large television audiences they draw and the dramatic moments they produce. But Tuesday night’s dustup between Donald Trump and Kamala Harris may be different.

Press failure has inflated it into the seminal event of the Trump-Harris race. Because reporters haven’t insisted that Ms. Harris answer basic questions, the debate, moderated by ABC News, may provide the only moment in the 2024 election when Americans get to see how Ms. Harris performs under pressure.

This failure would be appalling at any time, but the circumstances of Ms. Harris’s campaign turn simple media bias into journalistic malpractice. The vice president secured the top slot on the Democratic ticket without having to contest a single primary—and therefore without having to lay out and defend her record. This leaves her largely unknown to American voters, a situation Ms. Harris is now exploiting to reinvent herself as a moderate challenger rather than a woke incumbent.

In addition, Ms. Harris is a mother lode of unanswered questions on most of the issues that once defined her. This includes her previous support for everything from defunding the police and banning plastic straws to getting rid of Immigration and Customs Enforcement and starting from “scratch,” stances she now apparently disavows.

An appearance by Sen. Tom Cotton (R., Ark.) on ABC’s “This Week” in August shows how the press lets her off the hook. When Mr. Cotton brought up Ms. Harris’s support for eliminating private health insurance, which the Medicare for All policy she espoused in 2019 would do, host Jonathan Karl interjected that Ms. Harris has said she no longer holds that position. Mr. Cotton pushed back. “She has not said that,” he correctly pointed out. “Anonymous aides,” he said, may have said that she no longer holds the position she once did, but we haven’t heard it from the candidate herself.

Ditto the big CNN interview, for which Ms. Harris brought along running mate Tim Walz to cut in to the time she would have to take questions. Moderator Dana Bash did make a show of asking why Ms. Harris flipped on fracking. But she wasn’t pressed on her biggest non-answer of the evening—“My values have not changed.”

It’s unlikely Ms. Bash or CNN would accept such an evasion from Mr. Trump or his running mate, JD Vance. When Mr. Vance did his own interview with Ms. Bash, she rightly grilled him on abortion and comments he made about Mr. Walz’s characterization of his service in the Minnesota National Guard. But it’s worth watching the two interviews to see the very different tones Ms. Bash took toward Mr. Vance and Ms. Harris.

In short, Ms. Harris is getting a pass. Bad enough that 56 days from the election, she still isn’t giving interviews or holding news conferences. The far greater scandal is that a free press isn’t demanding that she do so.

It’s hard to fault Ms. Harris. Her strategy is a sign that she knows her liabilities. Her campaign is trying to get through the next eight weeks avoiding events where she might have to answer an unscripted question or explain details of, say, inflation. Team Harris knows they don’t go very well for her.

Take the recent rollout of her economic platform, most notable for her call for a federal ban on “price gouging.” Even the Washington Post called her plan full of “populist gimmicks.” And former Obama administration economist Jason Furman told the New York Times that it is “not sensible policy.” Message taken: Better to stick to fuzzy, feel-good themes like “joy” or to call Mr. Trump a felon.

It isn’t the first time a Democratic presidential candidate has benefited from a domesticated press. One reason Ms. Harris is her party’s nominee is that the press covered up President Biden’s mental decline. By the time the June 27 debate with Mr. Trump exposed Mr. Biden’s condition for all the American people to see, it was too late for primaries. It was much the same in 2020, when the New York Post broke the story of Hunter Biden’s laptop three weeks before the election. Because the computer contained evidence of Hunter’s sleazy overseas business dealings while his dad was vice president, the press buried it.

Today the received wisdom is that sooner or later Ms. Harris will have to give interviews and press conferences like a normal candidate. Perhaps. But she has a decent shot at winning the White House because her campaign is running out the clock before anyone can ask her a tough question.

On Tuesday night at the National Constitution Center in Philadelphia, Ms. Harris and Mr. Trump will have at it for 90 minutes. Ironically the low expectations for Ms. Harris may be an advantage. All she has to do is not humiliate herself and her performance will be hailed as a triumph.

If the press corps did its job, we’d all know more of what we need to know about Kamala Harris and what kind of president she’d make. But because it won’t, it’s all on Donald Trump to do that job himself.

[4am-enha]

pouring.

description/tags: heavily inspired by a scene from the kdrama “something in the rain” on netflix. reader is basically a coffee addict who meets someone new in the cafe on their break, but there’s a rainstorm outside. heavy on acts of service jay in this, cheesy romantically suggested gestures, rain, umbrellas, proximity, catching feelings, old fashion love.

genre: fluffy, fluff, & more fluff!

pairing: jay x reader (y/n), gender neutral reader.

warnings: none that i am aware of :P

wc≈ 2.3k, one shot format

preview: “The tension between you was so thick, you could almost suffocate. But maybe it was just you getting in your own head. This didn’t have to be a slightly intimate interaction, he could just be being friendly.”

You were on a no-caffeine streak for a while now. Almost a week. Maybe it wasn’t really that impressive, but a week of no coffee for you was never heard of before. You were actually really proud of it and began bragging to people how you hadn’t touched a drop of caffeine, and how you intended not to touch any for at least a month.

But that all came crumbling down today. You were so sluggish, it was actual torture to not drink any coffee this morning. What really did not help were the strangely dark clouds outside and the type of air that just fills you with grogginess for the whole day. Winter was approaching pretty fast this year, so that would explain this type of weather. These days, it felt like it was dark when you left for work, and dark when you returned home.

All your progress, ruined, before it had even really gotten somewhere just for one cup of your favourite pick-me-up drink this morning. Was it really worth it?

Absolutely.

To be completely honest, you did hesitate for a moment about it outside the door of your favourite regular cafe, but as soon as that beautiful smell of coffee beans hit your nose, and the warm embrace of the cozy cafe ambiance with just one-half step inside of the building hugged you- you were completely convinced it was all going to be more than just a little worth it. You actually physically felt yourself hold back an urge to skip inside with excitement.

“Please hold it for me!” A man's voice urged from behind you. Of course, you held it for him. He was quite tall and looked very neat and put together. Well, ignoring the slight panic in his eyes and the messy bundle of things in his arms.

“Thank you! I’m sorry, my bag has just come loose and I'm trying to hold all the stuff in,” he laughed nervously as he walked past you into the cafe.

“No problem,” you laughed lightly back.

You approached the pale, slender cashier who immediately recognized you, “Y/n? It’s been a while. Where have you been?”

“It’s only been a week, Sunghoon, don’t be dramatic,” you joked.

“Well, what can I get you? The usual?”

“Yes please!” You beamed.

He smiled, “Alright! Cash or card?”

You pulled out your card and handed it to the barista, zoning into empty space as you waited for the payment to go through.

“Oh, do you have another card? This one declined.”

“Oh my gosh, what?” You took the card back from him, realising you had brought an expired card with you. You were so tired this morning, you didn’t check what you had picked up before you left for your break. You felt around your pockets for a minute, but deep down you hopelessly knew you had left all other cards and cash in your bag which was sitting pretty under your work desk.

By now, there were a few customers behind you. You didn’t want to make things complicated.

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to cancel my order-“

“Allow me,” the guy you had held the door for earlier came forward from behind you in the line and tapped his card against the machine.

“Oh my goodness, no! Please cancel that!” You panicked and yelled at Sunghoon, the barista.

“Wait, don't! Please, let me pay for it. It’s nothing, really!” The generous guy joined in with a panicked response.

“But-“

“Okay not trying to be rude here guys, but can you decide. Please?” Sunghoon pleaded. He was not paid well enough for this and other customers were already mumbling and grumbling amongst themselves in line.

You looked at the stranger with an apologetic face, but he only continued to reassure you that it was okay. He really insisted on paying. You nodded at Sunghoon in approval of not cancelling the payment after all.

Sunghoon then continued to take the man's order, leaving you and the stranger standing awkwardly beside each other waiting for the drinks to be made.

“You really didn’t have to do that you know,” you began, breaking the silence.

“I wanted to,” he smiled and paused for a moment, “what’s your name by the way? I don’t believe I have ever seen you around here before.”

“Oh really? That’s a surprise. I’m always out and about, and as for this cafe I’m kind of a regular,” you smiled.

He hummed in understanding, “I could guess by the way the barista seemed to know you.”

You laughed, “Yeah, I suppose it's a little obvious.”

“And your name?”

“Oh sorry, it’s y/n. How about you?”

“You can call me Jay.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jay.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, y/n,” he held out his hand for a handshake, but you misunderstood and gave him a high-five instead. It took him by surprise, but he laughed it off.

“Oh I'm so sorry I thought you were asking for-“

Jay interrupted you by suddenly shifting his hand to complete your high-five, “No need to be embarrassed, I’ll take a high-five too.”

You laughed about it together and then began some more small talk for a few remaining minutes discussing the usually boringly common topics like work, and how long you’ve lived here, except you actually enjoyed it more than you expected to. You were glad that you had made the choice to ruin your caffeine-sober streak today. Meeting new people was refreshing.

But since your job practically required you to talk to new people every day, and this was something you did daily- maybe it was just Jay that was refreshing. He was actually very intriguing, and not just because he was admittedly pretty to look at. You couldn’t really put it into the right words, but something about the way he talked and used so many unique minor expressions really caught your attention. He was so polite too. Attentive. Thoughtful. A nice outcast from the stereotypical modern type of men you were used to seeing everywhere these days.

Either way, this random interchange completely altered your day into something ten times better than it had originally been.

Coincidentally, your drinks were ready and called at the same time. Jay carefully passed you your drink while picking up his own, being cautious to not accidentally burn you with the hot cup. You thanked him once more and both headed out toward the door. Jay held it for you this time, arguing that it was only equal for him to do so since you had held the door for him on the way in.

Your smile quickly faded as you noticed the heavy rain that had begun a little while ago pouring down in front of you. You hadn’t noticed it right away because of the cafe marquee that slightly protected the street and kept the outer entrance dry. You sighed, staring in disbelief that you were going to have to spend the rest of work today in soaked clothes.

“Something wrong?” Jay questioned upon seeing your face flush with worry.

He made you jump a little because you had sort of expected him to be gone by now. You thought he had left immediately when you had exchanged some final thank yous and goodbyes at the door on the way out. When actually, he had stuck around for a minute to see you off.

“Oh no, it’s just that I have to walk in this horrible weather,” you replied defeatedly.

Jay thought for a moment, “wait here.”

You widen your eyes in confusion and surprise as you watch Jay run straight into the rain, completely soaking himself and his coffee within seconds only to disappear around the corner for a few minutes.

You kept checking your phone for the time, wondering if he was even going to come back or if you should just leave. You didn’t even know what he was doing or why he had asked you to wait here.

Meanwhile, Jay was rushing around the local mini-store for umbrellas. Finally, when he found them he picked up the closest two. One for you, and one for him. But then, he looked at the pair of them and put one back with a cheesy smile that showed that he had some sort of motive behind the peculiar decision.

Eventually, Jay returned, walking toward you in the rain, holding a single closed umbrella with floppy drenched hair, clothes tightly stuck to him, and a bright smile. It made your cheeks feel warm as you smiled shyly back.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, “you’re ridiculous and insane. You went into the rain to fetch an umbrella?”

“It would appear I did,” he laughed lightly too, handing you the umbrella.

“Why did you only get one? You should take this,” you tried to hand it back to him but he refused and pushed it away with a frown and disapproving shake of his head.

You tried again, “Please, you’ve already done a lot for me this morning. It’s not that bad, I can dry off at work.”

“Let’s share it then,” he suggested, taking the umbrella and holding it up for the both of you, “you said earlier that your workplace was the same way as mine anyway.”

“Oh, well alright then,” you felt yourself blush involuntarily as you began walking very closely, side by side together.

At first, it was awkward and a little uncomfortable, but that feeling didn’t stick around for long. Jay made conversation here and there, making it easy to follow along and it made you feel more confident about being almost attached by the hip to someone you met under an hour ago. Sometimes it would fall silent, but it was a comfortable silence. You would both drift off into your own thoughts for a minute or two.

You had no idea what Jay was thinking about, but you wondered if maybe he was thinking similar things to you. Maybe the situation just wasn’t awkward at all to him, and you were just overthinking it. You couldn't help but be curious about what he thought of you. Hopefully, you made a good impression, and hopefully, he was as comfortable as you were right now.

It was just now that you were noticing how good he smelled for the first time. He smelt as clean and fresh as he looked. His cologne was potent through his wet shirt.

He smelled expensive.

You also noted how tall he was beside you. After some sneaky glances here and there, you saw how sharp his jawline really was. It was as unreal as it had looked from a distance.

When you went to glance over at him again, he caught you. Instantaneously, your eyes snapped forward to avoid it, but he was already softly chuckling upon catching you staring.

“If you have questions, you can ask them, you know,” he laughed.

You laughed in embarrassment, nodding.

Jay began to elaborate, “It's just because you were looking-“

“I thought I saw a bug,” you lied with rosy cheeks.

“You’re a bad liar.”

“No really, I’m telling the truth!”

“Okay, I’ll believe you,” he smiled, seeing right through your attempt to cover up your obvious stares.

The tension between you was so thick, you could almost suffocate. But maybe it was just you getting in your own head. This didn’t have to be a slightly intimate interaction, he could just be being friendly.

As if you were an open book and Jay was reading your mind, he looked over to you.

“You keep drifting out from under the umbrella. Isn’t your shoulder getting wet?”

“A little but it's fine,” you shrugged.

“Come closer, I won't hurt you” he went to put his arm around you to pull you in but he hesitated, “may I?”

You could swear that your face was painted red with blush now, but you nodded anyway and let it happen. He was ever so gentle, making sure he wasn’t pushing it too far. Keeping his arm around you but loosely just in case you might change your mind.

You continued to walk like that together with uncontrollable smiles plastered on each of your faces until you reached the outside of your work building. It was such a peaceful moment that you would surely hold onto it for a very long time after the fact. It had been a while since you felt this rush of emotion that you were so sure had left you years ago.

The rain had cleared up now, spitting slightly still, but nothing compared to what it had been. Jay walked you up to where it was sheltered so that you wouldn’t have to get a single drop of rain on you. You felt bad that he was still very much soaked, while you looked as if you hadn’t been outside at all today.

“Thank you, again, Jay,” you stood in front of him.

“No, thank you, y/n.”

You fiddled with your hands a little, looking down, “perhaps, could I take your number so that I can pay you back later?”

Jay chuckled, “You can have my number, but you’re not paying me back.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, handing him your phone anyway to type in his number.

You then both briefly waved goodbye and you began walking into your building, hiding a giddy smile.

“Y/N!”

You turned quickly to the sound of Jay yelling your name and ran back towards him.

He held out the umbrella to you, “Take this. It’s yours now.”

Without argument, you took the umbrella and waved goodbye once more. You didn’t turn back this time, but you could feel Jay’s eyes on you- watching to make sure you got in with no problems before walking away himself.

Later on, you found yourself staring at the brightly coloured umbrella leaning against your work desk.

You drifted into the thought of the umbrella and a certain guy, with a smile lingering on your lips.

note: as always, any feedback/notes are appreciated~!thank you so much for reading!! i hope you have an amazing day/night ^^ finally, i got another singular member one shot out. i kinda liked this one. let me know what you guys thought of it. also, don’t forget to tune into orange blood nov 17th! WHOS EXCITED (I AM).

[batterymaster01]

The Astutocentaurini & Death Part 2: Utility Vessels

As discussed before, the Astutocentaurini believe in the idea of two deaths: death of the self (the head) and death of the vessel (the body). But how are headless citizens dealt with while still alive? Following self-death, the vessel of an Athyrmatherian has the potential to live for a long time under controlled conditions, anywhere from a year to nearly a century, depending on the creature's species and age. The feudal societies of the world have thus converged on a similar solution: At some point in their adult life, a person will usually be required to sign a will in which they can either decline or agree to posthumously donate their vessels to society. These repurposed vessels are known as "utility vessels."

A utility vessel can be considered an archaic sort of biotechnology, an organic automaton that can be sold and used for various purposes. When awaiting ownership or rental by an employer, they are typically housed and maintained in storage facilities called "body shops," eerily reminiscent of auto shops in their presentation and purpose. They can even be modified surgically and "mechanically" to certain degrees if permitted by a will, although more extensive cases of body modification can be rather controversial. Despite this apparent commoditization, utility vessels are treated with an odd yet palpable sense of respect and reverence, which is culturally analogous to our respect for the dead. Indeed, the very shops they are sold by tend to be subsidiaries of the same funeral homes that house their deceased selves, and employers are legally obligated to return dead vessels so they can be buried in the same graves. With each use, utility vessels are paid in money for their services, and some laws and regulations advise against any particular uses that may be deemed indignant to the former persons. It is also common for utility vessels to be dressed in lavish and beautiful garbs or intricately carved bioplastic shells that match their cultural backgrounds. The centerpiece of these decorations is a custom-carved "persona," a fake head that, in addition to functioning as a feeding tube, serves as a symbolic reminder of the person the vessel used to be attached to.

Under native legal definitions, utility vessels are usually classified into three types based on their composition and functionality. Type "A" utility vessels consist of the thoracic, upper, and lower abdominal zooids, with the thoracic zooid housing a ganglion that makes them autonomous enough to perform specific tasks in response to certain stimuli. This allows them to haul or carry loads similar to pack animals, with the behaviors being conditioned through rhythmic ground vibrations and rewards of liquid food. Type "B" utility vessels consist of only the upper and lower abdominal zooids, and they lack autonomy outside metabolic regulation and basic righting and balancing. Due to this, they have to be pulled or pushed manually like living carts, and they are mostly used to carry lighter loads or to act as portable bases for more stationary equipment. Type "C" utility vessels are essentially any singular zooid that is separated from a composite, and they are typically relegated to use as a surgery stock for organ transplants, zooid replacements, and sometimes to "construct" more complete utility vessels.

[octuscle]

I was walking around and noticed a shop I never recognised. I think it was called CHAVTF. Should I go in?

CHAVTF? I can highly recommend it. Great selection of cool gear and competent and very courteous service. Tyler has a good eye for what suits your type. You can really trust him without reservation.

When you enter CHAVTF, it's very busy. All cabins are occupied. And the fellow you suspect is Tyler is obviously very busy. Nevertheless, he asks you how he can help you. You tell him that you were advised to ask for Tyler, that you need advice. "Mate, I'm Tyler. But call me Ty. What's your name, friend?" You reply that your name is Darren. "Daz, that's nice! you're not uh minute early. Can you grab da size xl camouflage tracksuit from storage for da fellow in locker room 4?" You answer "Sure thing" and go into storage. Fuck, how do you know where the warehouse is. But the tracksuits are cool. You'll have to try that one on later, too. You go to locker room 4 and hand the tracksuit through the curtain. Tyler asks you to check out the customers at the cash register. He will mark up the prices of the new stuff for a while.

The store is really running like clockwork today. There must be five or six scallies in line at the register. Sucks when you can't take care of the fellows the way you want to. You would have liked to help one or two of them change. Ty comes over, gives you a fistbump and says you're a lifesaver. Thank you for supporting him. He didn't expect so many customers. But then he says with a grin that you should better not serve here in your silly preppy clothes. You laugh and ask him what he expects when he calls you up from coffee at your parents' house and brings you into the store. Ty asks when your dad started placing value on that sort of thing. The last time you were there for dinner, he was still wearing that sweaty tank top from boxing practice. "Mate, that wasn't Sunday. Sometimes my mother gets her way, too," you reply with a grin. Ty tells you that there's a tracksuit in the social room that a customer has returned. You can put it on. Size S, should fit. Your fat pads are melting. When you put on the tracksuit, you weigh just 110 pounds at 6 feet. Skin, muscles and bones.

The next few hours are a bone-crushing job. The city is full of tourists and since there has just been money from the welfare office, all the chavs are also liquid. No idea how many steps you have walked between the warehouse, the cash register and the changing rooms. But by closing time, you've just managed three or four cigarette breaks. Ty and you take a deep breath as you lock the door at 6:00 pm. While Ty closes the register, you clean up a bit. Fuck, the place looks like a battlefield. And tomorrow you have the early shift. Then it would be cool if you could start with neat shelves and clean dressing rooms.

Ty asks you if you still want to come to the pub for a beer. You decline with thanks. You still have to train a class at your father's boxing school. Next time. Ty gives you your salary and hugs you. "See you tomorrow!" "You bet."

You are quite pleased as you wait for the train. New tracksuit, 120 pounds of extra cash and an afternoon without your parents. Sunday could have gone worse.

Pic found @scallychavlad88

[allprocarpetsteamers]

Breathe Easy: The Importance Of Air Duct Cleaning In Las Vegas

Are you breathing easy in Las Vegas? The air around us is crucial to our health and well-being, yet it's often overlooked. In this bustling city of lights, ensuring the quality of the air we breathe is essential. Join us as we delve into the world of air duct cleaning and discover why it's a game-changer for your indoor environment. Let's explore how clean Air Duct Cleaning Las Vegas home or business!

The Impact Of Poor Indoor Air Quality

Poor indoor air quality can significantly impact your health and well-being. When your air ducts are filled with dust, allergens, and pollutants, the air circulating in your home becomes contaminated. This can lead to respiratory issues, allergies, and other health problems for you and your family.

Breathing in polluted air consistently can aggravate existing conditions like asthma or allergies. It can also cause headaches, fatigue, and irritation of the eyes, nose, and throat. Additionally, poor indoor air quality may contribute to an overall decline in indoor comfort levels.

If addressed, indoor air quality can improve over time as contaminants continue to accumulate in the ductwork. This is why regular air duct cleaning is essential to maintain a healthy living environment for you and your loved ones.

Benefits Of Regular Air Duct Cleaning

When it comes to maintaining a healthy indoor environment, regular air duct cleaning is an essential component. Over time, dust, dirt, pet dander, and other contaminants can accumulate in your air ducts. These pollutants affect the quality of the air you breathe and the efficiency of your HVAC system.

Investing in regular air duct cleaning can improve the overall air quality in your home or office. Clean air ducts help reduce allergens and irritants that can exacerbate respiratory conditions like asthma or allergies. Additionally, they promote better airflow throughout your space, leading to improved energy efficiency and lower utility bills.

Moreover, regular air duct maintenance can extend your HVAC system's lifespan. When debris builds up in the ductwork, it forces the system to work harder to heat or cool your space, which can result in premature wear and tear on components. Ensuring that your air ducts are clean helps prevent unnecessary strain on your HVAC unit and reduces the risk of costly repairs.

Choosing A Reliable And Efficient Air Duct Cleaning Service In Las Vegas

Reliability and efficiency are key factors to consider when selecting an air duct cleaning service in Las Vegas. With the abundance of options available, it can be overwhelming to make the right choice.

Start by researching companies online and reading customer reviews to understand their reputation. Look for a company that is licensed and insured and has experienced technicians who use industry-standard equipment.

Ask about their process – a reputable service provider will conduct a thorough inspection before starting the cleaning process. Please inquire about additional services they offer, such as mold remediation or dryer vent cleaning.

Remember to request a detailed quote upfront with no hidden fees. A trustworthy company will provide transparency regarding its pricing structure.

Choosing a reliable and efficient air duct cleaning service in Las Vegas is essential for maintaining good indoor air quality and ensuring your HVAC system operates at its best.

Conclusion

In Las Vegas, where clean air is essential for comfort and health, air duct cleaning plays a vital role in maintaining good indoor air quality. Regular cleaning keeps your HVAC system clear of dust, debris, and contaminants so you can quickly know that the air circulating in your home is fresh and clean.

Choosing a reliable and efficient air duct cleaning service in Las Vegas ensures the job is done thoroughly and professionally. With the benefits of improved indoor air quality, energy efficiency, cost savings, and overall well-being at stake, investing in regular air duct cleaning pays off in more ways than one.

Don't wait until poor indoor air quality affects your health or increases energy bills. Take proactive steps to ensure your HVAC system runs efficiently by scheduling regular air duct cleaning with trusted professionals. Your lungs—and wallet—will thank you!

[vex-bittys]

When Life Gives You Skeletons: Chapter 1: The Customer Service Blues

One day things can be going (relatively) fine, and the next, you've lost your job, your home, and all of your possessions. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, right? What if life gives you skeletons instead?

(Warning: domestic violence)

The worst part of customer service, in your opinion, is the customers, followed in a close second by the concept of service in the form of appeasing the aforementioned customers regardless of how ridiculous their complaints are. Still, rent, bills, and student loans require funds, so here you are with a friendly smile plastered onto your face asking an elderly woman what you can help her with today. Your eyes dart nervously to the clock on the screen in front of you. Your coworker still hasn't returned from his break, and your shift ends in less than five minutes. That's plenty of time to handle one little old lady, right?

You couldn't be more wrong.

She introduces herself by telling you how long she's been shopping at this store location (longer than you've been alive, according to her) and how she's severely disappointed with the declining quality of her shopping experiences. You apologize, stopping yourself from suggesting that she just shop elsewhere in time for her to scold you for interrupting.

Apparently she intends to monologue about everything that has ever been wrong with the world in general and this shopping trip in particular. She's got quite the laundry list of grievances and no time for your hollow platitudes. Your customer service smile never wavers despite the fact that the last few seconds of your shift are ticking by, and you have a bus to catch to get home.

Grandma Grumps-A-Lot takes issue with the cleanliness of the store (litter in the parking lot!); you nod. There's no peanut butter either (a travesty)! You explain that due to a recall for salmonella contamination, most of the peanut butter had to be removed from the shelves. She sharply chastises you for interrupting again and argues that you (personally?) should have a contingency plan for salmonella contamination. Recalls, you want to shout. Recalls are a contingency plan for salmonella contamination.  You swallow a frustrated sigh. Just. Keep. Smiling.

You spot your coworker returning from his break, but you've already started working with the elderly woman. You can't just walk away while she's in the middle of a sentence, as tempting as the thought may be. Your coworker shoots you a sympathetic glance as he steps behind the service counter. Meanwhile, the agitated old lady has moved on to a new topic.

"I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that new Monster Foods section there in the Specialty Foods aisle! Why would you sell items for monsters? Nobody wants those things shopping at our grocery stores!" She pauses as if waiting for you to agree with her, but you are more than happy to be one more disappointment tacked onto her day.

"We strive to provide the best selection of grocery products to all of our valued customers, regardless of species," you reply in a saccharine sweet voice. Monsters emerged from the Underground over five years ago, and Ebbott City was a melting pot of cultures already. Why did some people still have such a problem accepting them? You'd actually enjoyed watching monster customers start visiting the store! Besides, management hadn't removed any human products to make room for the items; they only reduced the on-hand amount of certain, less-popular items. Nobody really needs to buy sixty boxes of gluten-free penne at a time. Forty boxes is plenty.

The elderly woman scowls, narrowing her already-beady little eyes. "I don't appreciate your tone, Missy! You must be one of those types." She turns to your coworker for confirmation, but he simply shrugs. With no one to support her anti-monster rhetoric, she switches topics.

"You've also raised prices again." She waves her receipt at you as if expecting you to be able to read the tiny print on a moving object. She begins pointing at individual lines of the receipt and listing the price differences one by one. "I'm on a fixed income. I can't afford to spend more and more every month on groceries."

You can relate. You've been feeling the grocery sticker shock just the same as everyone else, so you are genuine in your response, not that it placates her. "I'm sorry, but unfortunately there's nothing I can do about how the store sets its prices."

"Maybe you should call someone over who can do something then," she snaps.

Finally, an opportunity to make your escape! You turn to your coworker and ask him to call a manager over for your dissatisfied customer, then apologize in the same saccharine tone as earlier, stating that you've reached the end of your shift. With the elderly woman still sputtering in disbelief at your flippant behavior, you make a mad dash to the employee area to grab your purse and jacket from your locker and clock out.

A cold autumn rain has already started by the time you leave your workplace. The bus is scheduled to arrive any second now, and you hear the pneumatic hiss of air brakes when you're still halfway across the parking lot. You wave frantically and shout, sprinting towards the bus stop, but the hulking vehicle pulls away before you can reach it.

The person who disembarked from the bus, a cashier from your workplace, shakes her head sadly at you. "Just missed it," she comments unhelpfully, and now you're faced with a dilemma. 

You can spend way too much of your hard-earned wages on a taxi or ride-share. You can wait in the store's breakroom in your cold, damp clothes for the next bus which isn't due for over an hour, or you can walk home in the rain for free. The walk will take you almost an hour, but at least you'll be making forward progress. Besides, it's not raining that hard, and you have a jacket! You decide to walk.

It only takes half an hour for you to seriously regret your decision. The overcast sky causes the temperature to drop to downright chilly levels, and the occasional gusts of wind aren't helping. The light rain has become an outright downpour, leaving you soaked through your jacket and clothes, and you're freezing. You hug yourself, rubbing your upper arms and shivering against the cold. You hope that tucking your purse under your armpit at least keeps your phone from getting waterlogged. It's going to be a miserable walk home.

Thankfully an angel arrives, though he's not what you would have expected in a million years. A car pulls to the side of the road, hazard lights flashing. The driver's side door opens, and a skeleton monster steps out, calling to you over the roof of his very fancy and most likely extremely expensive vehicle. "ya look half drowned 'n three-quarters frozen, human. hop in." Thanks to the rain obscuring his features, all you can see of his face are two glowing red eyelights.

Normally, you'd be wary of a stranger offering you a ride, but monsters are supposed to be kind and gentle by nature… and you are half drowned and three-quarters frozen. You open the passenger side door and sink into the leather seat, closing the door quickly behind you to prevent a deluge of rain from pouring in. The skeleton settles back into his seat, pressing a few buttons to get deliciously warm air blowing on you from the vents. Even the seats are heated, pulsing with a gentle warmth against your butt and back.

The skeleton lets you warm up for awhile before he says anything, and when he does speak, it's a simple introduction. "name's red," he rumbles in a deep, gruff voice. You tell him your name with a small, grateful smile. By this time you've noticed his wide grin of shark-like teeth, including a gold-plated one. It matches the gold spikes on the collar around his neck perfectly. This skeleton definitely has a specific look going for him, but you don't judge. You went through a hardcore sequins and glitter phase in high school that you'd rather forget about.

Red holds out his hand to you, but it isn't for a handshake. He's offering you a business card. You scan the card, then reread it more slowly to make sure your eyes aren't playing tricks on you. RED SERIF, Head Engineer, Research and Development,  Ebbott Institute of Science and Technology. This guy, this skeleton who is wearing basketball shorts and a well-worn heavy jacket that smells faintly of mustard is the head engineer at the most prestigious engineering school in the country? You're impressed, both by the credentials and the fact that you feel completely at ease around this skeleton monster despite a lifetime of warnings against getting into a stranger's car.

Fingers numb, you struggle (successfully!) to tuck the card into your thankfully mostly-dry purse before turning back to the skeleton. You want to avoid an awkward silence, but you can't think of a good conversation starter because this guy is a literal genius. Instead, you eloquently blurt out the first thing that pops into your head.

“I've never seen a skeleton monster before.” Nice. That's sure to impress him. Before you can die of embarrassment, he chuckles in that rough, deep voice of his.

“always happy t’pop a human’s skeleton cherry.” You snort, not expecting the innuendo. The humor puts you at ease.

You're watching him out of the corner of your eye, your curiosity building. “How do you fill out your clothes like that?” You blurt it out before you realize that he might be sensitive about his physique, but he chuckles again.

“ladies dig th’ dad bod.” Red shrugs. “y'can touch it if ya want.”

You happily accept the invitation, reaching out with a slightly thawed finger to prod the skeleton’s stomach. It feels… normal? There's some give, and even through his shirt, you feel a pleasant warmth radiating from him.

“How?” You make exaggerated hand gestures encompassing the entirety of his somehow both skeletal and squishy body. Thanks to the warmed temperature of your skin and the still frigid dampness of your clothing, your gesturing appendages begin to shake.

Red's sharp-toothed grin widens. Lifting up his shirt and jacket to reveal only bones beneath the fabric, he simply says “magic” and winks.

You ignore your increasing shivering to point out the obvious. “You can wink?!”

“so c'n you.”

“I have eyelids!”

With a deadpan look, Red congratulates you on your eyelids. There's a beat of silence, then you erupt into laughter. Now wearing a smug smirk, the skeleton reaches forward, turning the heating vents on his side of the car towards you and cranking the temperature up to full blast. It feels like heaven.

You bask in the added warmth for awhile before resuming the banter. “You trying to cook me before you eat me, Hannibal?”

Red somehow lifts a brow bone, which you are not even going to ask about at this point, before responding with: “knock, knock.”

You answer automatically. “Who's there?”

“chianti.”

“Chianti who?”

“chianti you help me peel these fava beans?” 

The punchline hits its target, and you laugh hard. Red doesn't let up, telling you rapidfire knock-knock jokes until you can barely breathe through your laughter. He switches to regular jokes since you're no longer able to respond to his verbal knocks. You don't even notice how close he's leaning, but then his gruff voice fades to silence.

Suddenly, you find yourself back to reality, sitting in a warm car with a skeleton monster during a downpour… except the harsh pattering of rain has stopped. The clouds begin to dissipate, leaving behind weak evening sunlight that reminds you that you are supposed to be walking home.

Red leans back and settles himself in the driver's seat. He speaks before you manage to gather your thoughts. “now that yer a little drier and warmer, howzabout a ride home?" 

You consider the offer. A knight in oh-so-casual armor has swept in on a dark steed-car to rescue you from the perils of inclement weather, and now he wishes to escort you back to your budget castle? Feeling surprisingly safe with Sir Red Serif, you give him directions to your home and buckle up for the ride.

The middle-class area where you work slowly transitions to the low-income neighborhood where you live. Green lawns become brown lawns which eventually become unkempt patches of dirt in front of high-rise brick apartments and tightly crammed together houses with peeling paint and broken windows. Red’s fancy car stands out amongst the collection of native vehicles which are all older than you and have the rust and dents to prove it.

You aren’t ashamed of where you live. It’s certainly not the worst corner of Ebbott City; it’s just where people live when they’re going through hard times, like you. The rent is cheap, and the sounds of barking dogs and arguing families can easily be drowned out with headphones. Living here means you have the opportunity to save up for something better in the future, hopefully not too far in the future.

“Right here.” You instruct Red to park in front of a rundown white one and a half story house with a piece of plywood covering a missing downstairs window. The lack of a car out front lets you know that your upstairs roommates aren't home. They could be working, partying, or even in jail; as long as they aren't eating your groceries or throwing up on your laundry, you don't particularly care.

You turn to your skeleton chauffeur to thank him for the rescue and the ride, but he's staring at you with such intensity in his glowing red eyelights that you forget how to speak for a moment. He blinks somehow (seriously, does he have some kind of bone eyelids?), and the spell is broken.

“Thank you.” You smile warmly at him, unbuckling your seatbelt though you find that you're in no rush to exit the vehicle.

“don't mention it.” Red waves away your gratitude. “seriously, don't mention it. i gotta reputation t’maintain.” His gruff words and rumbling voice make you chuckle.

A fist slams against the passenger window, instantly killing your laughter. You whip your head around just in time to see your door yanked open, revealing your other roommate, Jay. His face is red with rage, and he's yelling at Red.

“Get the fuck away from her, you fucking freak!” Your roommate grabs your upper arm in a painfully tight grip and tries to pull you out of the car, but you trip and end up hitting the hard packed mud with your knees and free hand. Your shoulder wrenches from the impact. The pain intensifies as he drags you to your feet without loosening his death grip. 

Jay also doesn't stop berating Red who is suddenly right in front of him, snarling in his face. How did he move so fast and so quietly? You don't have time to ponder this great mystery of the universe because if you don't diffuse the situation, these boys are going to start fighting, and Red doesn't look like a guy who loses brawls.

“Go the fuck back underground where you belong!” Jay releases your arm to give the skeleton monster a hefty shove. Red doesn't budge; he doesn't even take his hands out of his pockets. Your suspicions of his badassery have been confirmed.

“ya talk a big game f’r a guy throwin’ a lady around,” Red growls. His eyelights vanish, and for the first time since meeting him, you realize that he might actually be dangerous. “an’ if y'keep it up, yer gonna have a b a d  t i m e.”

Skeleton and human face off, chests almost touching despite the fact that Jay is at least a head taller than Red. The tension of barely restrained violence permeates the air around them. If you don't intervene, you just know something bad is about to happen.

You step between the two posturing males, forcing them apart and bringing their angry focus towards you. Red’s eyelights reignite, and his snarl evaporates. Jay bristles, reaching out to push you aside, but you dodge, not wanting him to set Red off again.

“Red just gave me a ride home because it was raining,” you quickly explain to Jay. Keeping your roommate in your peripheral vision, you then address Red, hoping he understands that you're just trying to keep the situation calm rather than dismissing his kind actions. “Thanks for the ride.”

Turning back to your roommate, you place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him backwards towards your shared home. He grumbles the entire time, and you absently reassure him. Just before you enter the house, you spare a last glance at Red.

The skeleton monster is returning to his car at a pace that can only be described as a trudge. Guilt uses its Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique on you, and you silently promise to find a way to apologize to Red. For now, you've got your sights set on confronting your roommate about his tirade.

The door has barely finished closing behind you, and you're already shouting. “What the fuck, Jay?”

Your roommate throws your words back at you with an added accusation as a bonus: “”What the fuck? How can you choose a monster over me?”

You stare, shocked into a loss for words, but the loss doesn't last long. “I didn't choose a monster over anything! A kind-hearted guy saw me walking in the rain and offered me a ride home. He was being nice, something you obviously know nothing about!”

“I can't believe you fell for that bullshit,” Jay snaps, flopping down on the couch. “Those freaks want you to think they're all sweet and harmless. As soon as we let our guards down, they'll kill us all.” He reaches for something on the coffee table in front of him- a glass bottle of amber liquid. Great. As if his speciesist attitude and short fuse aren't enough, he's throwing literal fuel onto the proverbial fire.

You're too tired, dirty, and hungry to deal with pointless arguments and ridiculous conspiracy theories. As soon as Jay tips back the bottle and takes a long drink, the possibility of reasoning with him goes right out the window… just like one of the end tables went out the front window the last time he drank and started slinging accusations. Hopefully he won't break anything this time.

Grumbling under your breath, you retreat to your bedroom to change into your comfiest oversized shirt, a nice change from your damp, muddy work ensemble. Nobody needs to know you aren't wearing pants; the shirt is long enough that it could be hiding shorts. You creep into the kitchen, ignoring Jay who is yelling at the television for some imagined personal slight. Sure enough, your upstairs roommates have pilfered your supply of microwave meals as well as an entire brand new package of deli meat. Looks like PB&J is what's for dinner.

You munch your sandwich on your way back to your room, and the sweet deliciousness revitalizes you. You fish around in your purse until you find Red's business card, planning to send him an email until you notice that the contact information includes his cell phone number. You dig your own phone out of your purse, and your fingers tap rapidly across the screen. Hooray for texting!

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

You: Hi, this is the soggy human that you gave a ride to earlier. I just wanted to apologize for what happened. My roommate is an asshole and an idiot.

You decide not to wait for a response because the shower is singing a siren song to you with promises of hot, steamy water and luxurious scented soap lather. The shower ends up being so relaxing that you can barely stay awake when you emerge from it. You see a new message alert on your phone, but you ignore it in favor of collapsing onto your bed. Conversations can wait until you've had your hard-earned after work nap!

You awaken with a jolt, sensing that something is off. The door to your room is open, allowing a rectangle of muted light to sneak in from the living room and throw sinister shadows over a hunched figure rifling through the belongings on your nightstand. Even in the dim lighting, you recognize Jay. 

Your room should represent privacy and safety, and Jay's intrusion (while you slept!) makes your stomach churn. You try to leap out of bed, but the covers trip you up. You lurch towards your roommate who doesn't seem to care that you've caught him mid-snoop.

“Get out of my room,” you yell, barely regaining your balance before you crash into him. The strong scent of liquor hits you like a freight train. How much did he drink before deciding this was a good idea?

“Are you fucking him?” Jay's voice is low and angry. He throws your phone at you, and you scramble to catch it before it hits the floor. 

“Fucking? What?” Your sleep-hazed brain struggles to catch up with your incensed roommate's train of thought. Ignoring you, Jay starts digging in your purse again. “Hey!” Unacceptable!

You reach for your purse, but Jay backs away, out of your bedroom and into the living room. You follow him, right as he begins a loud rant, each word carried to you on an alcohol-soaked breath.

“I knew you were going behind my fucking back. Why else would you turn me down?” You manage to snatch your purse, and after a brief tugging match, Jay releases it. You hope things will cool down now. Nope. “Never thought you were a monster fucker though.” Jay's rage explodes. “Fucking traitor!”

As he screams the word traitor, Jay grabs the front of your shirt and slams you against the wall. He lets go immediately, and once again you think that perhaps things will cool down, though you're shaking from the level of violence your roommate exudes.

“Traitor,” Jay snarls again, smashing a fist into the wall next to your head. You clutch your purse and phone to your chest though they offer no real protection.  “Monster fucker!” Another punch to the wall. “Whore!” Jay latches onto your arms and shakes you. This time when he releases you, you're ready. 

Throwing yourself forward, you shove Jay backwards with the entire weight of your body and quickly dart into the bathroom. You barely have time to lock the door before he hurls himself into it, making the entire door shake in its frame. The knob rattles as he tries to open it the proper way. Fortunately, the lock is strong. Unfortunately, the door itself is not.

Jay pounds against the door with his fist, causing the wood to strain and splinter. A rain of kicks and punches further weaken the flimsy barrier. You panic as cracks appear and bow inward. He's going to break down the door!

You fumble with your phone, dropping your purse in the process. Your trembling hands can't manage your stupid unlock screen, and your panicked brain doesn't even register the emergency call button. You need to hurry! A fist smashes through the door. Your phone falls from your clumsy hands as you watch Jay tearing the door apart. You drop to your hands and knees to find it.

This time, you manage to get it unlocked, but Jay is forcing his way through the mangled door. You hit the call button reflexively, screaming at Jay to stop.

There's nowhere else to run. 

Your roommate's hands close around your throat.

READ ON AO3

INDEX | NEXT

[sixshotsinatumbllr]

Rating Good Omens Characters by whether I would employ them in my IRL cafe or not.

Aziraphale: 100% would employ. He'd be on service, taking orders and running them out. Also, we have a small retail book corner, which I am currently failing at making work, so Aziraphale can also get that going (he'd be great at sourcing books, not so great at selling them). He is not allowed to perform his magic act though, which makes him sad. Sorry Azi.

Crowley: Absolutely yes. That (infernal being) knows their coffee. The ywould be a shit-hot barista. Sadly, they get fired after a week because the only person in my life that is snarkier and grumpier than Crowley is my husband (the actual owner of the cafe, I'm just along for the ride). They get into too many arguments and Crowley quits majestically. But we really appreciated the handful of times they yeeted someone off into another dimension when they were difficult customers.

Nina: Obviously. She has the experience for the job (unlike probably all the other characters); and she has the personality for it. She'd be the one that gets all the good gossip from the customers and be able to handle it be stupid busy. She'd be our number one reliable employee. My husband and Nina would also fight and snark but they'd both feel refreshed by it.

Gabriel: NAH.

Jim: Also NAH, but we'd probably put him on for a week of work placement through a job placement agency to help him out a bit, because he clearly needs it. Unfortunately, he becomes a liability because he drinks too many hot chocolates on shift and that costs us too much in stock.

Beezlebub: I'd really like to, but the council food inspector won't allow it with all the flies that come with zir.

Famine: I think Famine would be a food rep. These people come around from food wholesalers to introduce us to new products. A lot of these seem pretty questionable. I reckon Famine's taken Ciao on the road after the Notpocalypse for something new to do. He's a very polite and enthusiastic rep, but we politely decline his products. The following week, a critical potato shortage hits the market and we have trouble sourcing good quality chips, a key menu item in the cafe.

Furfur: I wouldn't give him a job even though he appears to have a solid set of organisational skills, because he personally irritates me. But then he becomes a regular customer, coming in for a large cap everyday, pays in the low-denomination coins, takes up an entire table of six for two hours, and then asks for a bag of coffee to be ground in the middle of the lunch rush.

Maggie: she'd be in charge of the playlist. (at least, after Crowley quits in a fury, up until then he'd hogged the spotify and dictated all of the music- and miracles it to continue even when he's not on shift. There's slightly less Queen than there is on our playlist currently). She'd be a day barista one or two days a week. I reckon Maggie and Aziraphale would be the Monday server/barista duo.

Every now and then, the playlist gets possessed for a few hours and none of us can do anything about it but let it pass and see what Crowley's digging musically these days.

The Metatron: Absolutely not. In fact, he's banned from coming within 500 metres of us and our oat milk supply.

[mariacallous]

Stories about AI-generated political content are like stories about people drunkenly setting off fireworks: There’s a good chance they’ll end in disaster. WIRED is tracking AI usage in political campaigns across the world, and so far examples include pornographic deepfakes and misinformation-spewing chatbots. It’s gotten to the point where the US Federal Communications Commission has proposed mandatory disclosures for AI use in television and radio ads.

Despite concerns, some US political campaigns are embracing generative AI tools. There’s a growing category of AI-generated political content flying under the radar this election cycle, developed by startups including Denver-based BattlegroundAI, which uses generative AI to come up with digital advertising copy at a rapid clip. “Hundreds of ads in minutes,” its website proclaims.

BattlegroundAI positions itself as a tool specifically for progressive campaigns—no MAGA types allowed. And it is moving fast: It launched a private beta only six weeks ago and a public beta just last week. Cofounder and CEO Maya Hutchinson is currently at the Democratic National Convention trying to attract more clients. So far, the company has around 60, she says. (The service has a freemium model, with an upgraded option for $19 a month.)

“It’s kind of like having an extra intern on your team,” Hutchinson, a marketer who got her start on the digital team for President Obama’s reelection campaign, tells WIRED. We’re sitting at a picnic table inside the McCormick Place Convention Center in Chicago, and she’s raising her voice to be heard over music blasting from a nearby speaker. “If you’re running ads on Facebook or Google, or developing YouTube scripts, we help you do that in a very structured fashion.”

BattlegroundAI’s interface asks users to select from five different popular large language models—including ChatGPT, Claude, and Anthropic—to generate answers; it then asks users to further customize their results by selecting for tone and “creativity level,” as well as how many variations on a single prompt they might want. It also offers guidance on whom to target and helps craft messages geared toward specialized audiences for a variety of preselected issues, including infrastructure, women’s health, and public safety.

BattlegroundAI declined to provide any examples of actual political ads created using its services. However, WIRED tested the product by creating a campaign aimed at extremely left-leaning adults aged 88 to 99 on the issue of media freedom. “Don't let fake news pull the wool over your bifocals!” one of the suggested ads began.

BattlegroundAI offers only text generation—no AI images or audio. The company adheres to various regulations around the use of AI in political ads.

“What makes Battleground so well suited for politics is it’s very much built with those rules in mind,” says Andy Barr, managing director for Uplift, a Democratic digital ad agency. Barr says Uplift has been testing the BattlegroundAI beta for a few weeks. “It’s helpful with idea generation,” he says. The agency hasn’t yet released any ads using Battleground copy yet, but it has already used it to develop concepts, Barr adds.

I confess to Hutchinson that if I were a politician, I would be scared to use BattlegroundAI. Generative AI tools are known to “hallucinate,” a polite way of saying that they sometimes make things up out of whole cloth. (They bullshit, to use academic parlance.) I ask how she’s ensuring that the political content BattlegroundAI generates is accurate.

“Nothing is automated,” she replies. Hutchinson notes that BattlegroundAI’s copy is a starting-off point, and that humans from campaigns are meant to review and approve it before it goes out. “You might not have a lot of time, or a huge team, but you’re definitely reviewing it.”

Of course, there’s a rising movement opposing how AI companies train their products on art, writing, and other creative work without asking for permission. I ask Hutchinson what she’d say to people who might oppose how tools like ChatGPT are trained. “Those are incredibly valid concerns,” she says. “We need to talk to Congress. We need to talk to our elected officials.”

I ask whether BattlegroundAI is looking at offering language models that train on only public domain or licensed data. “Always open to that,” she says. “We also need to give folks, especially those who are under time constraints, in resource-constrained environments, the best tools that are available to them, too. We want to have consistent results for users and high-quality information—so the more models that are available, I think the better for everybody.”

And how would Hutchinson respond to people in the progressive movement—who generally align themselves with the labor movement—objecting to automating ad copywriting? “Obviously valid concerns,” she says. “Fears that come with the advent of any new technology—we’re afraid of the computer, of the light bulb.”

Hutchinson lays out her stance: She doesn’t see this as a replacement for human labor so much as a way to reduce grunt work. “I worked in advertising for a very long time, and there's so many elements of it that are repetitive, that are honestly draining of creativity,” she says. “AI takes away the boring elements.” She sees BattlegroundAI as a helpmeet for overstretched and underfunded teams.

Taylor Coots, a Kentucky-based political strategist who recently began using the service, describes it as “very sophisticated,” and says it helps identify groups of target voters and ways to tailor messaging to reach them in a way that would otherwise be difficult for small campaigns. In battleground races in gerrymandered districts, where progressive candidates are major underdogs, budgets are tight. “We don’t have millions of dollars,” he says. “Any opportunities we have for efficiencies, we’re looking for those.”

Will voters care if the writing in digital political ads they see is generated with the help of AI? “I'm not sure there is anything more unethical about having AI generate content than there is having unnamed staff or interns generate content,” says Peter Loge, an associate professor and program director at George Washington University who founded a project on ethics in political communication.

“If one could mandate that all political writing done with the help of AI be disclosed, then logically you would have to mandate that all political writing”—such as emails, ads, and op-eds—“not done by the candidate be disclosed,” he adds.

Still, Loge has concerns about what AI does to public trust on a macro level, and how it might impact the way people respond to political messaging going forward. “One risk of AI is less what the technology does, and more how people feel about what it does,” he says. “People have been faking images and making stuff up for as long as we've had politics. The recent attention on generative AI has increased peoples' already incredibly high levels of cynicism and distrust. If everything can be fake, then maybe nothing is true.”

Hutchinson, meanwhile, is focused on her company’s shorter-term impact. “We really want to help people now,” she says. “We’re trying to move as fast as we can.”

[bomberqueen17]

Liveblogging the Aubreyad: Book 3, HMS Surprise (part 1)

This one, I made notes on my phone while listening to the audiobook, so we shall see how well I distill them.

The series is hitting its stride now as a series, I think. M&C was kind of oneshottish, no real expectation of continuation; Post Captain was the pleased "oh! i get another one? great!" where he then crammed in three books' worth into one, and now HMS S is "ah. this is a series! Settle this plot down, then." pacing-wise.

So we pick up with politicians wrangling over the aftermath of the previous book, which had seemed to end so tidily and on such a happy note. Of course that is not the end-- there's a series now.

So at the end of the previous book, Jack was one of five captains sharing out a prize of some several million pounds, and this would have made him enormously wealthy and guaranteed his marriage. Of course.

In the opening scene of this one we hear that, legally, Spain had not declared war on Britain at the time, so legally, that money is not prize money, so legally, it should just be kept entirely for the government and not distributed to the sailors and officers who actually did the fighting at all, despite that being the well-established custom of the day. Legally, see, they don't have to hand it out, even though the people who designed the mission, and the people who executed the mission, all felt certain that it was a legit prize at the time and acted accordingly.

Stephen's friend Sir Joseph, head of Naval Intelligence, is arguing that of course it should be prize money, for large numbers of very good reasons, not least that he designed the mission with that in mind.

But the new First Lord of the Admiralty is a civilian politician. And he openly mentions Stephen Maturin's name, despite the fact that Sir Joseph had stressed to him that the man is a confidential agent. The First Lord does not catch the hint. And then he asks who the captains are, and remembers that Jack Aubrey's father is an opposition member in Parliament, and immediately Sir Joseph knows that it's over; this is political wrangling now, and this man will make a decision that harms the national interest and the morale of the service and everything else simply because General Aubrey is a politician he does not like.

So there is no prize money. And Jack is not out of debt. And cannot marry Sophie. And, far far far worse, Stephen's name is now exposed to a crowd of non-confidential people of no particular discretion, particularly marked as a secret agent with knowledge of Spanish affairs.

Anyway-- zooming out from that crackerjack first scene, and it is despite how it sounds, it's really well-told political intrigue with a very good layering of easy-to-understand, easy-to-deplore bullshit (and Admiral Harte gets his shitty little nose in there being a massive hypocrite, have no fear) -- the general situation is thus:

Jack, still in the Lively, is in the Med bottling up the French fleet in Toulon, and is engaged to Sophie-- legally, with all kinds of avaricious wrangles from Mrs. Williams, all the terms and conditions he acquiesced to unprotesting, so that Sophie will legally own most of their joint property. Diana has run off to India with Canning; Stephen has been collecting intelligence on them, though mostly it seems for the purpose of hurting himself with it. Stephen is to go to Minorca to do more intelligence stuff despite the fact that his name has been exposed-- the news will not have reached them, Stephen says coolly, declining to cancel the mission.

The Lively has a schoolmaster to oversee the young gentlemen's lessons. (Prior to being a midshipman, a young gentleman will be expected to have served three years of sea time, with the status of First Class Volunteer; many are listed as servants during this time, and many of them do not actually report to the ship during this time-- entering a friend's son on one's books to say he was on a ship long enough that when he joins he can just start as a midshipman with no waste of time is a perfectly accepted kind of little fraud, very common in Jack's social circles. "Young gentleman" as a category seems to include both the volunteers and rated midshipmen. But the Lively has a number of quite young gentlemen actually aboard, including the five-year-old [or, seven. he was five in the previous book but in this book, some weeks later, he is now seven] son of one of the lieutenants, as he came home from a voyage to find his wife dead and no family remaining to care for the child, so the little boy has been onboard ever since. Apparently Babbington may actually have still been a volunteer during some of the events of Master and Commander, but of course this is not consistently represented. I fully support an author doing whatever the hell he wants with timelines, and it is absolutely consistent with the inconsistency of historical records, LOL.)

Anyway-- Jack also actually went to sea as a volunteer very young, and the ship he was on did not have a competent schoolmaster, so he has suffered his entire life from not a very good education. He is sitting in on the young gentlemen's lessons ostensibly because he is concerned for them and wants to ensure they learn what they must, but in practice, he is taking advantage of this opportunity to get a proper thorough grounding in his own education, belatedly, and is thereby unlocking a real true love of mathematics, heretofore only instinctively guessed-at.

The Lively has seen long prior service in the South Pacific, and as such has a number of Asian crew members aboard. (So we do now see the word Chinaman occur, which unlike Indiaman does refer to humans, but is used as a neutral descriptor; I will nevertheless henceforth be avoiding its use, though to be fair I think it only occurs once in the book anyway.) Jack is pleased with the Chinese and Malayan crewmen, largely, as they all are unfailingly polite and have a number of useful skills, and are excellent seamen. But he finds out during an elaborate cutting-out expedition that many of them had formerly been pirates; they slaughter their opponents with absolutely stunning efficiency in a quite practiced manner despite how little combat the Lively itself has seen.

They make for Minorca to pick up Stephen but he does not make the rendezvous. Another Catalan man appears, and says Stephen has been taken, and is being tortured by the French in Port Mahon. Jack knows the city. With the Catalans, he sets up a rescue mission, and frees the prisoners, burns the house (coincidentally, the house where Captain and Molly Harte used to live), and rescues Stephen, who has had all his fingernails pulled out and has been stretched on a rack. (Touchingly, he has hallucinated Jack coming in to rescue him before, and so when it truly happens, is surprisingly calm, mistaking it for another hallucination.) It is a taut little action, badass as fuck. The officers of the Lively are disappointed when Jack won't take them, but this is not an official sanctioned expedition and there will be no glory, no report, no credit, no advancement of career-- it is simply a pragmatic necessity, and he wants only people who know the ground (his own people, Killick and Bonden) plus enough to pad out the numbers to make it work, so he takes those of the Chinese and Malay pirates who choose to volunteer, since this is just the ticket for them. (All of them volunteer.)

(A side note. The Catalan who helps them is named Joan. The audiobook narrator pronounces this Catalan man's name, which in Spanish would be Juan, and is pronounced the same, as the English woman's name Joan. Come on Simon. I believed in you.)

They get Stephen and get out, and we resume the tale in England with Stephen staying at an inn in Portsmouth. The Lively has been handed back over to her real captain, Hammond, at Gibraltar.

Jack is immediately arrested for debt as he tries to get the invalid Stephen into a carriage to go from Portsmouth to London, so off he goes to a sponging-house, hero or no; he goes quietly and resignedly. Sir Joseph Blaine is shocked to hear that heroic Jack is imprisoned; he had arranged for at least a consolation, an ex gratia payment, for the captains who were denied prize rights over the Spanish treasure, but it comes out that the agent has been slow in paying it out, and Jack is helpless without it. Blaine resolves to see it settled, at least, and does-- Jack is released. At least provisionally; there are other debts.

Sir Joseph, in his gratitude for Stephen's rescue, gets Jack another ship-- HMS Surprise, on an errand to carry an emissary to Kampong. It's a good long mission in a lovely ship (in which Jack served as a midshipman long ago), and he hopes it will give Jack's affairs time to settle.

Stephen turns to Bonden, asking him to write a letter for him, since his hands are so injured, and it comes out abruptly that Bonden is illiterate.

'Bonden,' cried Stephen, 'take pen and ink, and write -' 'Write, sir?' cried Bonden. 'Yes. Sit square to your paper, and write: Landsdowne Crescent - Barret Bonden, are you brought by the lee?' 'Why, yes, sir; that I am - fair broached-to. Though I can read pretty quick, if in broad print; I can make out a watch-bill.' 'Never mind. I shall show you the way of it when we are at sea, however: it is no great matter - look at the fools who write all day long - but it is useful, by land. You can ride a horse, sure?' 'Which I have rid a horse, sir; and three or four times, too, when ashore.'

Bonden takes the message on foot, and goes and fetches Sophie and Pullings, Sophie to write the letter from Stephen to Jack, and Pullings to carry it. This allows them to arrange for Sophie to come along to the rendezvous, so that she can see and speak to Jack briefly without her mother's knowledge. Jack had tried to release her from the engagement when his renewed troubles with debt became apparent, but she wished to refuse, but could not speak to him directly about it, so this is their chance.

She sneaks out at night and goes in the coach with Stephen, and there gets a half an hour (well, forty-five minutes; Stephen with the timepiece is soft-hearted) of conversation with Jack before they must part ways, her to go home and sneak back in to her house, Stephen and Jack to go on to the Surprise, waiting in Plymouth.

The Surprise makes her way off around the world, saddled with a moderately ineffectual but amiable first lieutenant named Hervey who has influential friends, and a second lieutenant named Nicolls who is inoffensive if clearly suffering from major depression, but with Tom Pullings as the third lieutenant, competent and familiar. They are becalmed awhile, and Jack teaches Stephen to swim-- badly, but at all, which is an accomplishment.

'Did you see me?' [Stephen] cried as Jack came nearer. 'I swam the entire length: four hundred and twenty strokes without a pause!' 'Well done,' said Jack, swinging himself into the boat with an easy roll. 'Well done indeed.' Each stroke must have propelled Stephen a little less than three inches, for the Surprise was only a twenty-eight gun ship, a sixth-rate of 579 tons - the kind so harshly called a jackass frigate by those not belonging to her. 'Should you like to come aboard? Let me give you a hand.'

Some of the men get scurvy. They run short of supplies and are down to eating rats, which they euphemistically term "millers" out of absurd delicacy. Stephen has pet rats, he is feeding them madder as an experiment.

They find St. Paul's Rocks, where Stephen begs to be put ashore for a moment to study the birds. Jack declines, as it is Sunday and one cannot ask the men to work on Sunday, but the second lieutenant Nicolls volunteers to take him over in the little rowboat for a few hours.

A sudden squall damages the ship and washes poor depressed Nicolls away, along with the little boat; Stephen survives, but is stranded, and the Surprise driven away by the wind. Some undefined time later (two days?), Babbington comes in the barge with Bonden and others rowing double-banked in a great hurry straight into the eye of the wind where the ship herself could not come, certain the Doctor must be dead but hoping against hope to find him. They do, alive, and bring him back to the ship.

Stephen claims that the extreme heat on the shelter-less rock has worked miracles on his torture-twisted tendons.

'I wish you joy of your rescue, Doctor,' said Mr Atkins, the only man aboard who was not pleased to see the barge return: Stephen was attached to the mission in an artfully vague capacity, and the envoy's instructions required him to seek Dr Maturin's advice; Mr Atkins's advice or indeed presence was nowhere mentioned and he was consumed with jealousy. 'May I fetch you a towel or some other garment?'- with a look at Stephen's scrofulous shrunken belly. 'You are very officious, sir; but this is the garment in which I shall appear before God; I find it answers pretty well. It may be termed my birthday suit.' 'That has choked the bugger off,' said Pullings to Babbington, just above his breath, out of a motionless face. 'That is one in his bleeding eye.'

During Stephen's absence, however, he finds that someone has stolen his rats, and he is furious.

Babbington is given an acting promotion to lieutenant to replace Nicolls. His perfect delight in this is marred only by his guilt at having, along with the rest of the larboard midshipmen's berth, eaten Stephen's rats, and he blubberingly confesses. Stephen revenges himself only mildly for this offense.

Jack wished to avoid putting ashore in Brazil, to avoid official delays, but Stephen suggests they just find a village and buy green stuff there, which works. Stephen of course has to go ashore. He promises not to return with any vampires, but in the event comes back with a three-toed sloth, which does not like Jack. Jack wins it over by giving it grog, in time-honored sailor fashion. Stephen discovers this and is indignant, leading to possibly the funniest line in this book:

Stephen looked sharply round, saw the decanter, smelt to the sloth, and cried, 'Jack, you have debauched my sloth.'

The dignitaries aboard are annoying and take up an enormous amount of space, including Jack's entire great cabin, so that he must room with Stephen in a smaller space. The envoy himself, a Mr. Stanhope, is dignified and kind (though a bit remote: "Once he had established that Jack and Hervey were connected with families he knew, he treated them as human beings; all the others as dogs - but as good, quite intelligent dogs in a dog-loving community"), but his head secretary, Mr. Atkins, is an officious, self-important, tale-bearing busybody universally loathed onboard.

Stephen teaches Bonden to read and write. They have their lessons up in the top, for privacy-- Bonden is not keen to be mocked on his scholarly habits, and hides the book when the midshipman Callow comes up to deliver a message. Stephen doesn't notice this.

They get, finally, to the high latitudes, where there is a huge blow, though Stephen is consoled by finally seeing the albatross. The dignitaries complain that the ship leaks and demand better accomodations. Stephen refuses to pass the message and tells the officious secretary to go tell Jack himself. The man declines to do this, as Jack is currently lashed to the wheel in the driving rain working like hell round the clock with all hands to keep the ship from broaching-to and foundering, and indeed shortly after winds up clinging for his life to a broken mast in the front of the ship trying like hell to keep the sea from overwhelming them. Surprise is damaged internally, her timbers strained, and they have to limp the rest of the way. Not a single rat is left in the ship, the stores are dangerously low.

I wasn't going to do this but I'm going to divide this. I swear I'll get better at making these short. I'm kind of doing a... rehabilitative exercise on my ability to write, here. Coming up is part two, Bombay! With critical updates on How Many Indiamen Tom Pullings Has Been In! And you'll never guess who gets the clap!

[popfizzles]

Very interested in what plink, sleepytime, and canody get up to from day to day! Do they have jobs? What’s their go to hobby?

Sleepytime and Cain are both Isle 2 carnival workers!!!

Cain Canody mans the shooting gallery. Something like a very cute pop-gun stand, maybe darts or ball-toss too? He's super high-energy, charming, and genuinely very sweet to customers! He'll give out small finger prizes to people just for trying.

You know what they say; be rootin', be tootin', and by god, be shootin', but most of all, be kind!!

I think Canody has a history with Bettigan, and were both tempted by the Devil around the same time. But where Bettigan accepted the offer in chase of riches, Canody declined and lost his best friend because of it. Bettigan probably taught him how to play poker.

Sleepytime on the other hand is probably more of an everyman around the carnival, kind of the type of intern you can put anywhere and they just do whatever you need. They can do ride operation, or janitorial services, or other miscellaneous things!

Given that they can stay awake on the job, of course.

This is of course due to the fact that during their free time at night, Sleepytime finds themselves in dark forests and deep into the Isles' mausoleums, discovering things that need to be discovered. It's a real shame that Sleepytime is so very scared of anything vaguely spooky. <:)

Plink is an odd case. They don't really have a place anywhere on Inkwell. And they look so out of place, like they don't belong in this time period at all..! They sound and act so young too, they can't be older than 10.

Plink sort of drifts from place to place, and nobody knows where they go to rest or feel safe. They don't seem to have family or people watching over them. And when asked, Plink responds in the way any child would, not really answering or giving any helpful information.

Darwin and his friends buy Plink food when they can, and keep an eye on the little jackal however possible.

Who knows what their real situation is, though.