#neighborhoods and communities destroyed for people like this

[robertreich]

How Wall Street Priced You Out of a Home

Rent is skyrocketing and home buying is out of reach for millions. One big reason why? Wall Street.

Hedge funds and private equity firms have been buying up hundreds of thousands of homes that would otherwise be purchased by people. Wall Street’s appetite for housing ramped up after the 2008 financial crisis. As you’ll recall, the Street’s excessive greed created a housing bubble that burst. Millions of people lost their homes to foreclosure.

Did the Street learn a lesson? Of course not. It got bailed out. Then it began picking off the scraps of the housing market it had just destroyed, gobbling up foreclosed homes at fire-sale prices — which it then sold or rented for big profits.

Investor purchases hit their peak in 2022, accounting for around 28% of all home sales in America.

Home buyers frequently reported being outbid by cash offers made by investors. So called “iBuyers” used algorithms to instantly buy homes before offers could even be made by actual humans.

If the present trend continues, by 2030, Wall Street investors may control 40% of U.S. single-family rental homes.

Partly as a result, homeownership — a cornerstone of generational wealth and a big part of the American dream — is increasingly out of reach for a large number of Americans, especially young people.

Now, Wall Street’s feasting has slowed recently due to rising home prices — even the wolves of Wall Street are falling victim to sticker shock. But that hasn’t stopped them from specifically targeting more modestly priced homes — buying up a record share of the country’s most affordable homes at the end of 2023.

They’ve also been most active in bigger cities, particularly in the Sun Belt, which has become an increasingly expensive place to live. And they’re pointedly going after neighborhoods that are home to communities of color.

For example, in one diverse neighborhood in Charlotte, North Carolina, Wall Street-backed investors bought half of the homes that sold in 2021 and 2022. On a single block, investors bought every house but one, and turned them into rentals.

Folks, it’s a vicious cycle: First you’re outbid by investors, then you may be stuck renting from them at excessive prices that leave you with even less money to put up for a new home. Rinse. Repeat.

Now I want to be clear: This is just one part of the problem with housing in America. The lack of supply is considered the biggest reason why home prices and rents have soared — and are outpacing recent wage gains. But Wall Street sinking its teeth into whatever is left on the market is making the supply problem even worse.

So what can we do about this? Start by getting Wall Street out of our homes.

Democrats have introduced a bill in both houses of Congress to ban hedge funds and private equity firms from buying or owning single-family homes.

If signed into law, this could increase the supply of homes available to individual buyers — thereby making housing more affordable.

President Biden has also made it a priority to tackle the housing crisis, proposing billions in funding to increase the supply of homes and tax credits to help actual people buy them.

Now I have no delusions that any of this will be easy to get done. But these plans provide a roadmap of where the country could head — under the right leadership.

So many Americans I meet these days are cynical about the country. I understand their cynicism. But cynicism can be a self-fulfilling prophecy if it means giving up the fight.

The captains of American industry and Wall Street would like nothing better than for the rest of us to give up that fight, so they can take it all.

I say we keep fighting.

#youtube #housing #homes #economy #corporations #Wall Street #money #finance #video #videos

[mahoushojoe]

saw a tiktok of like the view of the pyramids of giza from an airplane, and there was this foreigner in the comments talking about how its so strange and wrong that people live so close by the pyramids and how those houses should be cleared away from such an important monument, and like. idk how to tell people that to them, egypt is a cool museum, but to actual egyptians, who are majority extremely poor and live short, shitty lives btw, it is their Home that they Live In and have Lived In For Centuries and that they are under no obligation to uproot their lives and their lifestyles to preserve an orientalist hypercapitalist hellscape Experience(tm) for foreigners who never got over the mummy (1999)

#in order to please tourists and foreign investors the government is currently gentrifying Many areas in egypt btw #bulldozing these incredibly old well loved neighborhoods and taking away civilians' rights to enjoy even a view of the nile #so forgive me if i get touchy about foreigners complaining when the dirty brown egyptians are clogging their picturesque pyramids view #the tourism industry while being a source of income for many egyptians is still the cause of so much suffering #and genuine crises in egyptian identity and the way we view our heritage #idk its just. the gentrification has really gotten started these days and im just sad. im just sad for us. #neighborhoods and communities destroyed for people like this #people will always be more important than this dumb 'egyptian' aesthetic #foreigners have such a weird weird way of talking about egypt and egyptians #ughhh whatever #egypt #gentrification #egyptology #tourism #orientalism

[soon-palestine]

In a statement that was shared with The Nation, a group of 25 HLR editors expressed their concerns about the decision. “At a time when the Law Review was facing a public intimidation and harassment campaign, the journal’s leadership intervened to stop publication,” they wrote. “The body of editors—none of whom are Palestinian—voted to sustain that decision. We are unaware of any other solicited piece that has been revoked by the Law Review in this way. “ When asked for comment, the leadership of the Harvard Law Review referred The Nation to a message posted on the journal’s website. “Like every academic journal, the Harvard Law Review has rigorous editorial processes governing how it solicits, evaluates, and determines when and whether to publish a piece…” the note began. ”Last week, the full body met and deliberated over whether to publish a particular Blog piece that had been solicited by two editors. A substantial majority voted not to proceed with publication.” Today, The Nation is sharing the piece that the Harvard Law Review refused to run. Some may claim that the invocation of genocide, especially in Gaza, is fraught. But does one have to wait for a genocide to be successfully completed to name it? This logic contributes to the politics of denial. When it comes to Gaza, there is a sense of moral hypocrisy that undergirds Western epistemological approaches, one which mutes the ability to name the violence inflicted upon Palestinians. But naming injustice is crucial to claiming justice. If the international community takes its crimes seriously, then the discussion about the unfolding genocide in Gaza is not a matter of mere semantics. The UN Genocide Convention defines the crime of genocide as certain acts “committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such.” These acts include “killing members of a protected group” or “causing serious bodily or mental harm” or “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.” Numerous statements made by top Israeli politicians affirm their intentions. There is a forming consensus among leading scholars in the field of genocide studies that “these statements could easily be construed as indicating a genocidal intent,” as Omer Bartov, an authority in the field, writes. More importantly, genocide is the material reality of Palestinians in Gaza: an entrapped, displaced, starved, water-deprived population of 2.3 million facing massive bombardments and a carnage in one of the most densely populated areas in the world. Over 11,000 people have already been killed. That is one person out of every 200 people in Gaza. Tens of thousands are injured, and over 45% of homes in Gaza have been destroyed. The United Nations Secretary General said that Gaza is becoming a “graveyard for children,” but a cessation of the carnage—a ceasefire—remains elusive. Israel continues to blatantly violate international law: dropping white phosphorus from the sky, dispersing death in all directions, shedding blood, shelling neighborhoods, striking schools, hospitals, and universities, bombing churches and mosques, wiping out families, and ethnically cleansing an entire region in both callous and systemic manner. What do you call this? The Center for Constitutional Rights issued a thorough, 44-page, factual and legal analysis, asserting that “there is a plausible and credible case that Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinian population in Gaza.” Raz Segal, a historian of the Holocaust and genocide studies, calls the situation in Gaza “a textbook case of Genocide unfolding in front of our eyes.”

#palestine #gaza #free palestine #end the the colonialism #end the occupation #harvard #harvard law review #genocide

[bioethicists]

beer killed my father . he had a disease which destroyed his body and strained his relationships with his wife, his friends, and his children. Alcohol destroys everything it touches, theres a reason you see so many liquor stores in poor neighborhoods. don’t be fucking obtuse. Prohibition obviously doesn’t work, but I wish alcohol was taxed higher. And i want the CEO of Heineken on the guillotine right after Jeff Bezos.

before anything, i want to let you know that i am incredibly sorry about your father. alcohol has decimated entire generations of my family, played a crucial role in the neglectful family structure i spent the first 19 years of my life suffering under, + played a minor but not insignificant role in my brother's death. i would never undermine or dismiss that in anyone.

i used to feel very similarly to you, in large part because my mother is a recovering alcoholic who raised me to believe that alcohol is a magic poison which turns people into monsters + i, being her child, probably inherited a disease which would also turn me into a monster if i chose to drink. it's a deeply painful + understandable response to the pain that alcohol can cause.

my first question is, does alcohol really "destroy everything it touches"? are there not millions of people who engage with alcohol, in varying degrees of recreational use, who experience minimal or no negative impacts? or do you believe that everyone who drinks alcohol in any capacity is experiencing severe destruction in their lives as a result? does the existence of people for whom alcohol enriches their lives (or is a neutral presence) at all invalidate your experience, or your father's?

my second question is, you've identified that there are 'so many liquor stores in poor neighborhoods' (i would add there is a lot of alcohol in rich neighborhoods, just distributed in less stigmatized ways, like boutique wineries + fancy bars), do you think that companies are strategically attempting to create alcohol dependencies among poor people, or do you think that poverty creates the pain, hopelessness, + desperation which can fuel an alcohol habit (which is then exacerbated by intergenerational trauma + community alcohol culture).

i feel no allegiance to liquor companies- they absolutely do make the bulk of their profits off of people who are drinking in a way that is destroying their lives (unsure if i trust the exact scope of the research in that link but i trust the gist). however, liquor companies love the disease model, because it exempts them from responsibility. if alcoholism is truly a genetic disease, then liquor companies, bars, package stores hold no fault in the development of destructive drinking habits + community norms (natasha Schüll discusses this in her book about gambling addiction)- the people were already sick + would be getting it somewhere else, anyway, right? but as you have correctly identified, liquor companies help create the structures which turn alcohol use into an accessible + normalized mode of self-destruction.

my third question is, will taxing liquor help the real problem? yes, it reduces alcohol consumption, but does it reduce addiction? or does it make cheapskates like me say "i'm not fucking paying for that" while individuals who consume alcohol compulsively either eat the cost or turn to more illicit ways of obtaining alcohol. or, rephrased, is the problem that alcohol is too accessible? is alcohol a magical poison which turns 'normal' people into 'alcoholics'? alternatively, is alcoholism a genetic condition, unrelated to any outside circumstances, which is triggered by drinking?

or: is alcoholism one of many ways in which people who are experiencing hopelessness, pain, grief, poverty, trauma, etc use to numb themselves, harm themselves, + make life feel more bearable? at this point, i do believe there is at least a temperament factor which makes people more likely to use substances over other forms of escape (hence why my brother used substances while i turned to anorexia + do not struggle with substance use). are we actually addressing the problem if we make it more expensive (thus, mind you, further impoverishing people with alcohol addictions!)? or are we shifting the pain these people are experiencing to either other avenues (opioids, other drugs, totally different ways of coping which are often just as destructive) or an unregulated, underground alcohol market.

the way you are viewing alcohol, alcohol is a unique substance which is manufacturing or feeding illness in people in order to make them behave in ways which destroy their lives + the lives of others. the way i am viewing it, alcohol is a presence which can fill a void that is being created in people's lives as a response to structural, communal, or social suffering. when alcohol is painted as the cause of this pain, we are able to look the other way from a which world is structured to cause an immense amount of people to suffer needlessly. at the same time, the common sense observation that many of us engage with alcohol in ways which do not destroy our lives, as well as the knowledge that prohibition does not work, prevents the erasure of alcohol from public or private life.

who benefits from the belief that alcohol is a uniquely corrupting substance? what lessons did we actually learn from prohibition- is trying to do it to a lesser degree (make alcohol less accessible) actually going to do anything? when the price of opioids went up due to dea crackdowns, did people stop buying opioids or did the market flood with cheap + deadly fentanyl? is the problem that people are drinking or that they are suffering?

#substance use #harm reduction #drugs // #alcohol // #death //

[disillusioneddanny]

Crackling Flames and Humming Electricity

Prompt courtesy of @stealingyourbones Jason gets his neck sliced by Bruce’s batarang. It irreversibly damaged his vocal cords.

Pros: He can still use ghost speak

Cons: None of his family knows ghost speak (as it’s sounds aren’t for living men to understand)

It had been an accident when it happened. That’s what Bruce had said anyway. He had been so focused on saving Joker from being killed by Red Hood that he hadn’t even realized what he had done to his son . That he had permanently disabled Jason in a way that could never be repaired.

The slice to his throat had destroyed his vocal chords. He hadn’t been able to say a single word in over a year now. After a year of vocal therapy, Jason had learned how to do these strange chirps and growls, these weird noises that didn’t seem to come from his throat at all but moreso his very being let out the noises. The only problem was that no one understood what he was saying.

Cass had been a blessing and had taken the time to teach Jason how to successfully sign. She had taken it on as her mission as the only other person in the family who was mute to make sure that Jason could effectively communicate.

He hadn’t been back at the manor since the accident, hadn’t been around Bruce since it happened. But each of his siblings had come to check on him, they checked in on him every so often and they had even managed to develop their own way of understanding the strange rumblings that came from Jason’s body that were now his only form of vocal communication.

A chirp meant that he was happy.

Two chirps was a yes.

A short growl was no.

A long snarling growl? He was pissed and you better leave him the fuck alone.

It wasn’t the best, but it worked when they spoke with him on comms. They couldn’t understand any of the other noises that came from Jason, the wails, the crackling of fire that somehow espaped him sometimes. A sound that could only be described as the sound of smoke itself slipping through the air. They were sounds that didn’t have names, there were no true words to describe the noises that would come from Jason at times.

His family tried. Oh his siblings desperately tried to understand this new way of communication with their brother but none of it was effective. No one truly understood him anymore. Not even Cass could always understand what Jason was trying to explain in his broken sounds and strange chirps.

That had all changed one fateful day, though.

Jason had gone to pick up a coffee from the only functioning shop in Crime Alley. It had just opened a few weeks before and he had been meaning to try it out. Wanted to see the brave bastard willing to open up such a pretty coffee and tea shop in the middle of Crime Alley of places. Something had been tugging at Jason’s gut about the place, almost as though it was calling Jason here, like he needed to be at the coffe shop.

Seriously, though, as he inspected the layout, it looked like the kinda place to be opened in one of the fancier neighborhoods in Gotham, not Red Hood’s home.

Red Hood had managed to keep his operations running even after the accident. If anything, it had made his people even more loyal to him. Those closest even taking the time to learn sign language just so that they could communicate and translate. They had all seen the way he had tried to take down Joker, only for the fucking Batman attempt to murder him just to save the very man who tormented the people of Gotham. Of course, the people of Crime Alley were more commonly his victims, less likely to be noticed if they were murdered, less likely to be taken seriously.

So it had come as a personal offense to all of them when Red Hood had been nearly killed. They had all respected Red Hood even more after it had happened, realizing that not only had he gone against the bat, but he had done it and lived out of pure spite.

Jason slipped through the door of the shop, Phantom’s Oasis it was called and looked around. Dark black metal chairs and tables lined the walls, Boston ivy grew along the charcoal grey walls. Any parts that were not covered by ivy were covered by bookshelves overfilled with books. And while tables and chairs lined the walls, comfy, overstuffed chairs filled the corners with small coffee tables, the middle of the area sat large velvet green couches. It was like it was the perfect oasis for Jason.

He made it up to the back counter where a single employee stood cleaning the counter. He was young, probably just a year or two younger that Jason. He was tall and lanky with deep black hair pulled back in a pony tail, showing off the shaved sides of his head. Cosmic themed earrings hung from his lobes and cartilage and when the man glanced up, Jason was also surprised to find a ring on either nostril in the man’s nose along with a septum piercing. For all that his looks screamed edgy, though, he exuded nothing but safety and warmth. Something in Jason’s very being ached to be close to the man.

Unable to stop himself he released a soft sound, the sound of walls breaking under strong flames. The man’s head shot up and he smiled at Jason before releasing a sound of his own.

It was the sound of the stirrings of a storm. Hello, it said. How are you?

“You know what I’m saying?” Jason asked, only the words came out in the sound of a roaring flame, those of a bonfire finally growing higher and higher. He signed the words as well causing the barista to grin in response.

“Of course I do, we’re the same,” he explained through sounds of a building creaking against harsh winds.

A childlike peel rang from Jason’s mouth unable to stop himself. It was the laughter of a child who thought Robin was magic. The laughter of someone who had finally found someone who understood him.

“How?” Jason asked, tilting his head to the side, his heart racing.

The barista smiled and a single black painted finger nail beckoned him closer.

In English the man whispered in Jason’s ear once he approached. “Because just like you, I died wrong and came back wrong,” he murmured before he pulled away and took in Jason’s form. “It’s why you were drawn here.”

Smoke crackled in the air showing Jason’s curiosity, his confusion.

The barista smiled. “You don’t know what you are, do you?” after a shake of Jason’s head the man smiled. “Jason Todd, you are an extraordinary being that is both of life and death. A being that has lost more than he ever gained but continued on stubbornly, refusing to back down. You were called to Phantom’s Oasis because your core heard my ghost speak and like calls to like.”

Ghost speak? Is that what the sounds that escaped Jason were? A language of those who had died and come back wrong? Or didn’t come back at all judging by the name. The sound of fire crackling filled the empty coffee shop.

“I’m Danny, by the way. Now, what would you like to drink? I can make it real quick, close up shop and we can talk.”

The crackling of a sparkler escaped Jason’s being causing Danny’s noseto wrinkle in amusement. “You’ve got yoursel a fire core, huh?”

Pops and crackles slipped from Jason, showing his curiosity.

“Order first, then I’ll answer your questions,” Danny said in the form of the sounds of electricity crackling through the air.

Jason frowned and started to sign his order only for Danny to push his hands down. “Use your words,” he said quietly. “I’ll understand.” The sounds that came from Danny were reminiscent of an old generator turning on for the first time in years, the electricity hummed the words out for Jason to understand.

Rustling and crinkling of a fire’s flames going out sounded throughout the room. “Vanilla late with sweet cream,” it said to Danny.

The hum of white noise came through in response, telling him that Danny understood as he got to work. He waved a hand causing Jason to look back as the door to the shop locked itself.

“I’m a halfa,” Danny told him through the sizzling of lightning that had just hit the earth. “You are what feels like a revenant. Someone who died a brutal death and came back to seek revenge. You have someone we ectoplasmic entities call a core.”

Jason listened as Danny spoke in sounds of crackling electricity and quiet hums of white noise as he explained ghost cores to Jason. Ghost cores were their very being, they were created in result of the person’s death. In their examples, Danny had died by electocution, it was why his ghost speak sounded like electricity coursing in the air and lighting crackling angrily and wildly. He didn’t need Jason to confirm before he had said that the revenant had died in a fire of some sort. He explained that all ghosts had the basic chirps and growls for ghost speak but that the rest was specific to their cores as they were all different.

It wasn’t Jason making the noises that came out of him but his very core himself. For the first time in a year, though, Jason was finally able to speak to someone without sign, to use his words to explain what happened to him, the pain he had gone through when realizing that his father would rather kill him than let him get revenge. He had finally found someone who understood the ache of not being able to exact revenge on the person who had killed him.

For the first time in Jason’s life, he had finally found someone who understood. Danny had sat there drinking his own London Fog as he listened to Jason’s tell. Responding in chirps, whistles and a gentle hum of running appliances. He gave insight and advice, had even given Jason his number explaining that yes, they could use ghost speak over the phone as well.

He had never felt so seen in all of his life.

Maybe that explained why he kept coming back to the coffee shop. Every day he would come, order his coffee, using a language that just he and Danny knew and curled up on a couch and read for hours, feeling at peace in a way he hadn’t experienced since he had died.

Maybe it explained why he went out on a limb and asked Danny on a date, demanding that the halfa come over to his place for dinner.

Of course, Danny had only agreed if Jason promised to make the halfa’s favorite. The night had quickly ended with their cores singing for one another as their legs tangled together under the safety of Jason’s blankets.

Rustling and crackling of a candle flame sounded through the room as electricity hummed along with it, creating a symphony of white noise that Jason loved more than anything in the world. The noises provided a sense of comfort and safety unlike anything he had ever experienced. He wanted to drown in the sounds, drown in the sounds of Danny’s crackling electricity that whispered promises of happiness and safety. Just as the whispering flames of Jason’s core told Danny stories of love and promises of companionship, holding him close, wrapping around him in a warm comforting blanket.

The air crackled around Jason as he stood in the kitchen quietly making breakfast, revelling in the feeling of Danny surrounding him from all sides.

His fire chirped at the halfa in curiosity. One or two it asked him.

Two, electricity said with a charged hum, thin arms snaked around Jason’s waist.

“I think you’re going to have to invite me over more often,” lightning crackled, a crash exploding from Danny in a way that made Jason shiver in delight.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you leave,” fire roared, flames licking high in the air, causing wood to shatter and break under the heat. Danny just chuckled and kissed the side of his neck softly.

Electricity flowed from Danny along with a series of chirps, whistles and growls, telling Jason he had no problem with staying by Jason’s side.

#dead on main #dead on main ship #dis writes #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp

[lambentplume]

Maui Fires & How to Support Relief Efforts

(Posted on 8/10/23) Hi, I'm Jae and my family is from Lāhainā. I watched my hometown burn down this week. The fires caused immeasurable loss in my community so I'd like to spread awareness of the situation as well as provide links to support local organizations directly assisting survivors. I'm pretty sure most of my following is Not local so I'm writing with intent to inform people outside the situation, but if you're reading this and happen to have family in the affected area that isn't accounted for, message me and I can send you the links to the missing persons tracking docs + more localized info!! If you'd like to skip down to how to help and follow community organizations, scroll to the bottom of the post after the image.

Earlier this week, Hurricane Dora passed south of the Hawaiian Islands, bringing strong wind gusts that caused property damage across the islands. On Tuesday August 8, high winds caused sparks to fly in the middle of Lāhainā town, knocking out power lines and immediately igniting drought-ridden grasses. The fire spread quickly and destroyed the entire center of town, the harbor, and multiple neighborhoods including Hawaiian Homes (housing specifically for Native Hawaiians), parts of Lahainaluna, basically all of Front Street, and low-income housing units. There is only one public road in and out of town, and after a very hectic evacuation period that road has been mostly closed off except to emergency responders, thus it is extremely difficult for anyone to leave town to get help. The nearest hospital is 20 miles away in Wailuku, and most grocery stores in town have burnt down.

As of Thursday, August 10, over 1,000 acres have been burned and 271 structures (including homes, schools, and other community gathering places) have been destroyed. Cell service is still extremely spotty, many of the surrounding neighborhoods deemed safe for evacuees are still without utilities. There are currently confirmed 53 deaths but that number is expected to increase as search-and-rescue efforts continue. Countless families have been displaced and many have lost the homes they lived in for generations. Places of deep historical significance have been reduced to ash, including the gravesites of Hawaiian royalty, the old Lāhainā courthouse where items of cultural significance were stored, and Na ‘Aikane o Maui Cultural Center. To add further context: Lāhainā has a population of about 13,000 residents. EVERYONE I know has been impacted in some way--at best forced to evacuate, at worst their house was burnt to the foundation, they cannot find a loved one, etc. I'm still trying to track down family members and it's been over two days. My neighbors down the street had homes last week and now many don't have ANYTHING. The hotels are taking in residents (tourists are also being STRONGLY urged to leave so that locals can recover). Without open access to the rest of the island, Lāhainā residents are now dependent on whatever people had in their homes already as well as disaster relief efforts coming in, but it's been difficult to organize and mobilize due to the location + conditions. People who have made it out are in shelters where no blankets or medicine were provided. Friends and acquaintances from neighbor islands are preparing aid to send over. Community response has been incredible, but the toll on the town has been immeasurable. My parents were desperately walking through town yesterday, my mom sounded absolutely hollow talking about it on the phone with me. It's horrifying. Below is a satellite map with data from the NASA Fire Information for Resource Management System showing the impacted areas from the past week; all of the red blotches were on fire at some point in the last three days.

Here are ways you can help:

If you have the means to donate:

Here are three donation sites verified by Maui Rapid Response, which also lists FAQs for people who are wondering about next steps.

Hawaiʻi Community Foundation - Maui Strong Fund accepts international credit cards. Maui United Way

Maui Mutual Aid Non-monetary ways to support:

If you know anyone who is planning to travel to ANY Hawaiian island, not just Maui, tell them to cancel their trip. Resources are extremely limited as is. Advocate for climate change mitigation efforts locally, wherever that is for you. The fire was exacerbated by drought conditions that have worsened due to climate change.

Lastly, remember that these are people's HOMES that burned, and Native Hawaiian cultural artifacts that have been lost. Stop thinking of Hawaiʻi (or any "tourist destination" location, really) as an "escape" or a "paradise." If that's the only way you recognized my home... I'm glad I got your attention somehow, but I would ask that you challenge that perspective and prioritize local and native voices. For transparency, I don't currently live in Lāhainā, I've been following efforts from Honolulu. My parents and brother have been updating me and I've been following friends and family who are doing immediate response work. I'm doing my best to find reliable and current sources, but if I need to update something, please let me know. If you're going to try to convince me that tourism is necessary for our recovery, news flash ***IT'S NOT***!

Thanks for reading.

#please feel free to reblog! i don't know how tagging works here anymore! #maui fires #officially reported death count increased WHILE I WAS WRITING THE POST btw. this is bonkers. #if you want to start tourism discourse in my inbox you have to donate the cost of a plane ticket and send a screenshot to me #i have sources at the ready btw. i'd say don't try me but i mean my hometown could use a couple hundred bucks!!

[freelancearsonist]

oblivion

➔ Dave York x gn!Reader - 2.2k

➔ Dave left years ago to keep you safe from him. Now, he comes back to finally claim what’s his.

➔ Rated MA for kinda dark fic?????, gn!reader (no pronouns or anatomy described), reader is able-bodied but otherwise is physically a blank slate, infidelity (Dave cheats on his wife w/ reader), smut, choking, biting, blood, this is the midnight mass au that no one asked for [pls let me know if i missed any warnings you think should be included :)]

➔ Thank you to my love @ozarkthedog for this prompt, if you're reading this ily <3

Everyone is leaving this island–your home–in droves. The seas are drenched in oil, and there’s nothing left to fish or net. People are moving on to bigger, better things. But not you; you’ve never enjoyed the mainland, never craved the just-another-face-in-the-crowd feeling of those big cities. You love your little small town, even if most of it is gone now.

You go for your nightly walk, and the loneliness gets to you for the first time since the spill. There’s no lights on in house windows, no kids playing out in front yards. It’s just you as the sun goes down, casting everything in fiery red and orange brilliance.

Some nights seem darker than others, regardless of the star visibility or the moon’s phase. It’s almost like the air swells and surrounds you until it feels like a thick, dark blanket. It can be almost stifling; and those nights never quite leave your mind.

That’s what it feels like tonight, and for no discernable reason. There’s a wicked sense of foreboding–even more so than you’ve come to be accustomed to. It ramps up even more so when you see the only other house in the neighborhood with lights on: Dave’s house.

Dave left with his wife and daughters two years ago, long before the spill destroyed the island’s economy. No one’s stepped foot in it since–you figured it just never sold. But certainly it hasn’t sold now; who would want to move to the island at a time like this?

Curiosity gets the better of you, maybe because a traitorous little part of your brain wonders if it’s Dave. If he’s finally come back for some reason, if he’s here to fix things. That nagging little hope keeps you up at night more often than you care to admit; that he might return and you’d get a second chance. Either way, you don’t think twice about walking up the short driveway to knock on his door.

It’s completely silent for a long few minutes; long enough that you almost knock again. But maybe this is just some fluke thing, an electrical malfunction or something that turned his lights on. He swore he’d never be back, after all. It’s just wishful thinking.

It started on your night walks. He jogged the same route every single night after the girls went to bed, and eventually his jog slowed to a walk when he would come alongside you. You’d walk side by side and talk about anything and everything, vent about work or life and tell each other little stories. Before too long, you knew him better than anyone, and it was all completely by accident. Just the neighborly kindness of him slowing his pace to chit chat with you.

And then this man who you shared nothing with besides a nightly exercise route, after weeks of small talk every single evening, kissed you. In the middle of a street, in the middle of a very small island community where every single person knew every single thing about every other person; a community where every single person knew that Dave was married, and that he wasn’t married to you.

You dragged him home to scold him somewhere that no prying ears would catch it, and somehow you ended up in bed underneath him. All desperately breathless kisses and deeply earth-shattering thrusts and muffled moans of pleasure.

He whispered that no one had ever made him feel so alive before, that he’d never wanted someone more. And you wanted to believe him, so you did.

Miraculously, no one ever found out; not about that first time, and not about the million times after. No one ever found out about all the times that you swore up and down it could never happen again, only to fall right back onto your knees for him. No one ever found out about the time that he finally agreed with you, and the way you cried yourself to sleep when he stuck to it and didn’t catch up to you on your walk the next night. No one ever found out about how the next night after that, he caught up to you and begged for you–for your forgiveness, for the feelings that only you had ever been able to make him feel.

And for a while, it was enough. Being his at night under secrecy of darkness was plenty; until all of a sudden it wasn’t. Until you would bump into his wife at the market and nearly have a panicked breakdown by the time you got home, wondering just how much she knew. Until he would say things that were heavier and heavier–things that translated to something akin to ‘I love you’ without actually being the words. Until he had to leave for a work assignment.

He’d be gone for a week. That was all. A simple job, he’d explained. Somewhere overseas, but that was really all he said. He never liked to talk to you about his work much. He said he’d be back before you could even miss him.

But it was a month before he returned, and he came back different.

Withdrawn, dark eyes darker than usual, sunkissed golden skin looking a little insipid. You tried to convince yourself that he was just coming down with a cold, that the way he’d put his hand around your neck just to feel your pulse thrum under his fingertips and squeeze a little tighter than comfortable wasn’t related; that the way he nearly broke skin from biting into your shoulder so hard wasn’t anything to be concerned about; that the way he seemed to have doubled strength while he was away wasn’t cause for alarm.

You lied to yourself because it was easier than the truth; whatever had happened on his assignment, he wasn’t the same man anymore. The man you had started to fall in love with, circumstances be damned, was long gone.

But it came to a point where the truth couldn’t be avoided any longer, because the inevitable can’t be postponed indefinitely. Ignorance is only bliss until the truth comes unapologetically crashing in.

He fucked you so relentlessly it scared you. The hands that had once held you so gently were pushing you into positions far past your comfortable range, his hips were thrusting hard and deep enough to bruise. He saw the tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes and called you pathetic; and just like that, you knew your Dave York was gone. Where to, you weren’t sure. But something in his roughness, in the way he wanted to hurt you, made you sure he was never coming back.

You pushed him off of you and told him to get the fuck out. For a moment–one flickering, horribly tension-fraught moment–you didn’t think he would. The most terrified you’d ever been in your life was when you looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but violence.

For a moment, you didn’t know what he was going to do. And then he hastily pulled on his clothes and slammed the door shut behind him without a word.

You didn’t see him on your walk the next night, and the following night after that there was a U-Haul parked in front of his house. Part of you was relieved at the sight of boxes and furniture being lugged out of the front door into the box truck; another, more complicated part of you wanted to fall to your knees right there in the street and start screaming.

You felt his presence before you saw him–just behind you to the left, out of your field of view. You didn’t turn to look at him; you couldn’t stand to see his face when you asked, “Why?”

“There are worse ways to hurt you than leaving,” he murmured, low and deep. “If leaving is what I have to do to keep you safe, then I’m never fucking coming back.”

You turned at that, because what the fuck was that supposed to mean? What would he have to keep you safe from?

You saw so much sadness in his brown eyes that you nearly broke down sobbing. You knew right then that it was over. There was no begging him to stay, no changing his mind. You didn’t even really know if you actually wanted him to stay, at that point.

He walked away to help the movers lug a couch before you got a chance to say anything; no ‘I love you’, no ‘I’ll miss you’, not even a simple ‘goodbye’.

By morning his family was gone, him included. His house stood empty for two years with not a sign from him. Until tonight.

The living room lights cast a warm yellow glow over the front yard in the dark even through the obscurity of dusty window blinds. You’re tempted to peek through and see if you can tell what’s going on inside after standing on the stoop unacknowledged for a few minutes; just as you make the decision to snoop, the front door opens.

It’s him. It’s really fucking him. He hasn’t changed even the slightest bit. His brown hair is still cut short and neatly styled, his handsome face is impeccably shaved. His dark brown eyes are just like you remember them, from before; the hatred and violence they held those last few days isn’t there anymore.

He whispers your name, and then his eyes flash. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I am,” you reply, on guard. “This is my home.”

His fingers twitch on the doorknob, like he’s contemplating shutting you out. “I didn’t know anyone was still here. I wouldn’t have come back.”

“Why did you come back?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

His eyes shift for a moment, jaw set firmly. “It’s the only place I have left.”

He doesn’t have to put it any clearer than that for you to know that his wife isn’t in the picture anymore. You wonder what happened between them, but a selfish little part of you is triumphant at the fact that he came to you.

Except he didn’t, not really. He said himself that he didn’t think anyone was left. That he wouldn’t have come otherwise. Why wouldn’t he have come?

“You need to go,” he says firmly, moving to shut the door in your face. But your hand shoots out before you can really even contemplate it.

Now, you say what you wish you would’ve had the courage to say all those years ago. “I missed you, Dave.”

You can see his patience is waning–his hand flexes anxiously against the door but he doesn’t say anything quite yet, and you know his is your only chance for closure.

“You said, before you left, that you were protecting me by leaving. What do you have to protect me from?”

“Myself,” he growls. His eyes flash dangerously, the same way they did two years ago.

“What…”

“Each man kills the thing he loves, honey,” he murmurs, stepping closer. It feels like he’s towering over you now, looming ominously. You don’t remember him being this imposing before he left. “And I… I loved you.”

“I loved you, too,” you whisper. Hindsight is funny like that–your brain reveals in hindsight what your heart can’t reveal in the moment. “We can… we can make this work, Dave.”

You should be more hesitant. You should remember how scared of him you were at the end, how strange it is for him to show up here in the middle of the night all alone. You should wonder why he’s back here now, when everyone else is gone.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growls, all the while moving closer to you as if you have a magnetism he can’t avoid. “I’ve changed.”

“I’m asking for a second chance,” you plead as you set your hands on his strong, solid chest. He’s so achingly close now, and yet he still won’t touch you. “I’ve changed too, I’m… I’m willing to make this work if you are.”

He licks his lips, dark eyes focused… on your neck? Why is he looking there of all places? 

He notices that he’s been caught when his eyes flicker up to meet your gaze. He just stares at you for a moment, then two, so close that each breath you exhale mingles with his.

And then suddenly he’s leaning in. You let your eyes flutter shut, awaiting the sweet sensation of his lips on yours after so long; but it never comes. You wait, and you wait, and then you feel something puncture the side of your neck.

It’s sharp, and it hurts. Your eyes snap open and all you can see is Dave; his body curls around yours as he gulps eagerly from your punctured artery. A weak hand comes up to nudge his head halfheartedly–somewhere in the back of your mind, you delight in the softness of his hair between your fingers again after so long–but his arms wrap tightly around your waist to keep you in place and your weak resistance is futile.

He was right, you think as your vision blurs around the edges. You really didn’t have a clue what you were asking for.

➔ moodboard by @ozarkthedog

➔ beta: @futuraa-free and @mothandpidgeon (thank u so much my loves <3)

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#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york one shot #the equalizer 2 #the equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #cece writes

[antiwhores]

Surrendered! - Bakugou x villain!reader

——-

A villain who dynamite couldn’t catch? Crazy. Especially a villain that cant even villain right.

This has been sitting in the drafts for months. I just decided to finish it because I’ve been gone for a bit. Short drabble

You were possibly the most annoying fucking villain ever. Bakugou would die on that hill.

You had built quite a name for yourself in the villain society. You were known as Dynamite’s archenemy; or migma. Because you were the only villain he couldn’t get rid of. You were actually rather respected in the villain community for it.

The government calls you a villain but some people would say you’re more of an anti hero than a villain.

Its not as if you kill people or anything. You are no mass murderer - you have never killed someone. Nor do you have any planes to take over the city or destroy all heros. You have never put a civilian in danger. In fact, you’re known to help people. Sometimes during intense battles you’ll even swoop in to get civilians and maybe throw off the villains from a far. You’re just… mildly infuriating.

Your evil doings are just stupid pranks with your stupid quirk that you had no license to use. And it absolutely infuriated Katsuki.

Some of your most well known feats are as such:

you hacked into the Japan news broadcast just to stream a video of you doing horrible karaoke of old 2000s albums.

You broke into hero Dynamites agency, stole some computers and made sure to keep their location on. Then you sent the whole agency on a wild goose chase to find them and what they hoped was you.

You cut the power in the building of one of the most important hero celebrations and award ceremonies right when they were announcing the number one hero.

You planted a harmless but rapidly spreading pineapple species in low income neighborhoods. They spread like flowers in the cracks of a fluorescent city in no time. Apparently its “vandalism” but everyone got to eat for a bit.

Everything you have done, it was to piss off a certain group of people.

Dynamite started chasing you around about 3 years ago when he was climbing the ranks after UA. And in all these years he has never been able to catch you.

You are the only thing that he cant win against because you always have an idea.

So naturally, he’s heavily on guard when he follows you down a busy street. A quirk was imprinted on him to completely mask his identity. He was like a whole new person.

Little did he know that you knew it was him. He can hide his face and voice but he can’t hide his booming presence.

Too bad you didn’t have time to indulge in some teasing with him. You had just done another one of your crimes a week ago and you had to see someone. It wasn’t too bad this time, you just blew up a building that was destroying the local echo system. No one was hurt, you evacuated everyone.

This person you had to see had key information on another man you needed to find. So you hoped that Dynamite would fuck off long enough for the quick conversation to end as you stood in an alleyway.

The man spoke to you in your mind. A telekinetic.

When he was done, he spoke aloud.

He took out a cigarette and lit it, offering you one. You refused. “Also, I’m sure you know this lass but…” He puffs out smoke to the opposite side of you and points directly at the wall Dynamites hiding behind. “That man has been following us for quite a bit!”

Dynamite barely holds back his sharp intake of breath. He thought that he was being to slick! What the fuck is up with you and your friends? At least you didn’t know who he was.

“Yeah,” you giggled, “thats my best-friend.” You spun towards him, lifting your hands to project your voice. “Where are your manners? Following a lady! Come say hello Dynamite!”

Damn it all.

In a split second he’s on you but you’re even faster. You’re suddenly behind him, embracing him in a tight hug.

“I haven’t seen you in like 6 months, Dynamite!” You squeal. “I was afraid you moved on to those other stupid villains. Like that bitch Movaro. You know, she tried to kill me!”

He’s been held in this grip before and he knows you have no intention of running away until he cuffs you so he just lets you speak into his neck.

“Serves you fucking right.” He reached behind his back and drags you off by your hoodie with one hand. You just let him hold you off the ground in front of him with a smile.

Although he hates to admit it, he’s grown quite attached to you. These past 3 years have been… weird. All he thinks about is how he wants to jail you already. But jailing you seems so wrong for him. You’re a villain, sure, but no extra has avoided him successfully for 3 years straight like you have.

He slams you against the wall and pins you there, preparing for a move to escape. You just smile at him though, “I have good news!”

You put your hands up and behind your head, “I give up!”

#mha x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader

[junkdrawernoggin]

Welcome Home, Frank?

So I know I just posted but I have another thought. So, we know Frank is our lil bug dude. His whole scheme is butterflies and bugs and gardening. We also know he is the straight-man to pretty much all of the other characters. He is the only one who doesn’t seem to be in on the type of humor the show rewards and the other characters understand. He is also the only character we don’t have an origin for which is specifically called out in his intro card. Much like Wally, he seems a little out of place for the show minus his connection with Julie and Eddie. 

That makes it extra interesting that the audio clips are found by collecting bugs. Could it be that Wally is not actually the only character capable of breaking the 4th wall? Is it possible Frank is trying to communicate with the viewer?

My only real doubt for this theory is that through the audio we know that Frank likes Wally, or at least gets along with him well enough. So if he is trying to somehow warn the viewer, who is he warning the viewer about? 

However we do know he does *not* like Barnaby. Doesn’t understand him. And it’s implied that Wally has done *something* to Barnaby. Obviously Clown’s website is not canon, but it can inform us on maybe some original ideas. Well there’s the big photo of Wally puppeteering Barnaby’s decapitated body. There’s a lot of odd little details about Wally controlling/changing Barnaby. SO here’s where I’m gonna go a little crazy with this theory

Maybe Welcome Home is a wreck-it-ralph turbo type story. This isn’t the first time this theory has been brought up, but It’s maybe the first time it’s been suggested that FRANK was the one who was replaced as the main character. We don’t have an origin, maybe because Frank was the first one to live in the neighborhood? He’s the odd one out to all the other characters, down to his color scheme. I think a children’s show about a grumpy guy living in this fun town and learning how to open up and have fun would be awesome. Basically if Sesame Street was about Oscar. 

So we know that somehow Home has some level of control over Wally. So whatever power Home has/was created by on the real world side of things destroys any old content (black paint/goo) because Wally isn’t the main character of those. It inserts Wally into this TV show for whatever purpose. Frank is relegated to just another neighbor. The power works on Frank, convinces him that Wally has always been here, or has always been the heart of the neighborhood. 

BUT, it doesn’t convince him that Barnaby is right. Maybe in the original show Barnaby and FRANK were actually the main dynamic duo as opposites. Wally is new, so there’s nothing for Frank to compare to. But maybe some part of Frank remembers a different Barnaby. One that wasn’t best friends with Wally. And since I guess in this theory the characters have some level of consciousness, Frank turns to the only people who might listen to him, the viewers! He gives them what hints and clues he can that *something* is wrong. He may not even be sure what. 

So yeah that is my real far end crazy theory. There’s probably a bunch of things that disprove it, but it was fun to think about since I do adore Frank as a character. If you take away anything from this, let it be my theory that Frank at least has some ability to break the 4th wall and is the one helping us uncover the secrets. 

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home puppet show #welcome home spoilers #welcome home update #welcome home frank #wh frank #frank frankly #welcome home theory #wally darling

[odinsblog]

Tens of thousands of people visit Bank of America stadium to watch the Carolina Panthers play football each year – never realizing they are walking on top of lost remnants of a once-thriving Black neighborhood established in the aftermath of the Civil War.

The stadium itself is built directly atop a relic of segregated healthcare: Good Samaritan Hospital, the first private hospital built in North Carolina to serve Black patients. Built in 1891, this historic hospital was one of the oldest of its kind in the United States.

It was also the site of one of the “most horrific racial incidents in Charlotte's history,” according to Dan Aldridge, professor of History and Africana Studies at Davidson College.

A mob of 30 to 35 armed, white men invaded the hospital, dragging a man out of the hospital and into the streets – and shooting him dead in front of the building.

The concept of “urban renewal” destroyed Black neighborhoods, communities, businesses and homes all across North Carolina, especially between 1949 and 1974.

Durham, for example, once had a prominent Black Wall Street, where Black businesses flourished; however, the historic community was almost completely destroyed by construction of the Durham Freeway.

Likewise, Raleigh once had 13 historic Freedmen's Villages, built entirely by men and women freed from slavery in the aftermath of emancipation. Today, only two are remaining, and Oberlin Village, the largest one, was cut in half by the construction of Wade Avenue.

Similarly, Charlotte's Brooklyn community was built by men and women freed from slavery in the late 1800s. Like many Black communities around the state, it was forced into an awful geographical location – on low-lying land where flooding, sewage and sanitation issues made life hazardous.

According to history in the Charlotte Library, the Brooklyn area was first identified on maps as ‘Logtown’ in the late 1800s – a name that matches closely with titles given to similar freedmen villages in the Triangle area, which were often called slang names like ‘Slabtown’ or ‘Save Rent’ due to their inexpensive homes.

In the 1900s, the area became known as Brooklyn, “a name that would become synonymous with the Black community until urban renewal.”

“It's a tragedy that so many stadiums were built on sites that were once Black communities,” said Aldridge. “They're poor neighborhoods. They're struggling neighborhoods. I won't romanticize them by claiming they're all like Black Wall Street, but they were people's homes and people's communities, and they were taken from them.”

Many historically significant Black sites were lost in urban renewal; likewise, many Black communities were forced to build in geographically unfit areas, making growing wealth and property more difficult – and more easily lost over time.

At its peak, Brooklyn was home to:

Charlotte's first Black public school

Charlotte's only Black high school

The city's first free library for Black patrons

The first companies to offer white collar jobs to Black workers

The first private hospital for Black citizens in Charlotte

Today, football players run up and down the Bank of America field for the amusement of thousands of cheering fans. However, in 1913, over a century ago, that same land had a very different story.

(continue reading) related ↵ related ↵

#politics #urban renewal #structural racism #carolina panthers #bank of america #bank of america stadium #panthers stadium #good samaritan hospital #black wall street #blacklivesmatter #racism #erasure #displacement #north carolina #systemic racism #brooklyn nc #brooklyn north carolina #black history #football #nfl #nfl football #whitewashing history

[cultofdixon]

That’s one hell of a goodbye

Negan Smith • She/Her Pronouns • Youngest Dixon!Reader • You miss your brothers. You were separated from them since the beginning…then this “savior” found you and grew a liking to you that he did everything to bring your family back. No one said…that blood wasn’t going to be shed for such • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Anxiety / Injuries

Requested by: Anon

Negan stepped out of his car walking the old yet familiar neighborhood to clear his head when he heard footsteps, fast paced ones. He quickly picked up his own to follow the sound and when he reached the house he normally visits, a woman aimed her gun directly at him trying her best to keep standing even if by the looks of it. Her leg was bothering her.

“I ain’t here to hurt yea. I’m unarmed” this was true. On these trips he takes alone, he leaves his gun and knife in his car.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. You’re hurt. I can—-“

“I’m just peachy. Were you following me?!”

“I don’t even know who you are, darling—“

“DONT CALL ME THAT” She snaps, causing herself to stumble a bit as she lowers her gun to crouch a bit gripping her leg. “Fuck”

Negan slowly approaches her as she gave up trying to aim her gun but she did stumble back trying to avoid him getting to her. “Listen. I’ve got a community. With a doctor. He can patch yea up”

“You think I’ll just roll over and trust you right off the bat?” She scoffs continuing to pull herself away.

“No. But this could be a start.” He extended his hand and the woman hesitantly took it. Letting him full on pick her up so that none of the weight would rest on her leg.

Next thing the woman knew she was being carried into this building that looked like an old factory, but she was taken to a well set up room. Something she never exactly had but it looked like the rooms she stayed in when wandering the destroyed world.

“Who’s that Negan?”

“She needed help, mind getting the doctor and tell him to meet in my room?”

“Sure. Is she—-“

“She ain’t a danger. Ain’t bit either.” Negan states pushing the door open with his back and laying the woman down on his bed as she quickly sat up.

“Your name is Negan?”

“Heard it before?”

“No, you don’t look like a Negan…that’s all”

“What do I look like?” Negan laughs. “A Jeff?”

“Not that either” She laughs a bit bringing herself to the edge of the bed. “Just a unique name I guess”

“What’s yours? Given I brought yea here and getting the doc to check you out”

“Right. Right! Makes sense to share my name too…it’s Y/N. Y/N Dixon”

Negan sat in the conference room staring at Simon after being told about the massacre in one of their outposts. The grip on his bat could’ve snapped it in half if he continued to hold it as tight as he did.

“Get the vans ready, and given these people have some connection with our man Gregory in the Hilltop?” Negan gave Simon a look only he understood. “Go get the patrols to keep an eye on these people. Block a few roads. Narrow them in until my big reveal”

“On it, boss” Simon states making his leave as Negan notice him hold the door for a moment to let Y/N in.

The big bad scary leader of the Saviors took his bat and set it aside pushing his seat back enough to give his woman to bring herself onto his lap.

“Were you eavesdropping again?”

“Mm. I know the demon like things you do behind closed doors when I’m not around you.” Y/N brought her arm around his shoulders as he held his head low when she said such. “What happened to turning a new leaf Smith?”

“A lot of my people died. I can’t just turn a blind eye”

“Hm. Sometimes I wish I never learned about what you’ve done. But that would be asking the universe for a lot now wouldn’t it?”

“Are you leaving again?” Negan frowns keeping her close as she messes with the scarf around his neck eventually tugging it off. “Takin’ a piece of me with yea?”

“Mhm. I won’t be gone for long this time. I have a lead”

“Oh? Are you going to tell me about it?”

“Nope”

“Then all I ask is for yea to take a radio and be safe.” Negan gently rubs circles on her back as Y/N gently held his chin forcing him to look at her.

“Don’t do anything too risky, Negan”

And with that she got up from his lap leaving the room to go finish getting ready. Leaving Negan to contemplate everything.

“You’re leaving” Negan frowns finding Y/N rummaging through one of many pantries. She was fascinated by how much the community had but part of her was leaving from something she heard.

“Yeah. I have to find my brothers. I’m not going to give up even if the burning feeling in my chest is telling me something bad happened to them or they stopped looking for me”

“You can always come back to the Sanctuary. There will always—-“

“Listen. Negan…I don’t understand you” Y/N stops stuffing her pack giving him a saddened look. “When you helped me here, I thought I was getting myself into a positive situation…but then I found out you have wives and you’ve killed hundreds. You expect me to ignore that? I’ve been here a month and you’ve kept so much from me. Hell you’ve kept an entire side of the community away from me just so I wouldn’t see who you actually are”

“You don’t know who I actually am because before all this? I was just another deadbeat”

“That doesn’t excuse your actions”

“But I’m gonna be honest with you. From here on out”

Y/N gave him a confused look as he slowly approaches her keeping a respectable distance as well.

“Ever since yea came here. I stopped doing my usual bullshit. Inflicting fear onto those I have under my thumb. My right hand has an ego of his own and makes one of the communities I “rule over” go through hell all on his own. Not saying I don’t take responsibility. I just have too long a leash on the man. Besides. The wives yea knew about? Aren’t my wives anymore. They’ll be pissed and not for the fact that I took them as my trophies but because of the hell I put them through. I haven’t killed a soul since you arrived”

“Will you continue if I leave?”

“I wouldn’t force yea to stay if I said yes. But then again, I wouldn’t. You’ve changed me but none of them will ever forgive me”

“You’re going to keep your rule on these people? These communities? And for what? It’s the end of the world. No one is going to want a president. All they’d want is to survive. Remain safe”

“I’m changing a lot. But I know for a fact, I will act on my anger”

Negan sat in the RV that they highjacked from this man named Eugene who was a sobbing mess sitting in his spot in the line up while the Saviors got the rest of this man’s group in line. Including revealing those they’ve caught in one of the vans they brought.

“Negan?”

The man quickly scrambled getting his personal radio out to reply that he was there. His anxiety built when he heard Y/N on the other line.

“My lead was a dead end.”

“I’m sorry darling…you’ll find uh Daryl right? You’ll find him soon”

“Most likely only him. I doubt Merle is still around…it’s a lawless time. Someone probably took out his racist ass”

“Are you heading home?”

“Yeah. Gonna check on Sherry when I get back and give the doc the meds I found”

“I wish I was there to greet yea when you get back…” Negan frowns when she didn’t immediately reply back in any way but he soon heard a sigh. “Y/N?”

“You’re acting on your anger, Negan.”

And her end turned off. Negan gripped onto the radio tightly before putting it away and right on cue he heard the knock from his right hand.

It escalated. It escalated fast and a man is dead. A man is dead and Negan got a shiner from this brute that should’ve had a hard time getting up given the blood loss from his gunshot wound. The leader of the saviors turned to the now pinned brute while a few sobbed over the death of their friend, their love. He crouched to his level seeing him struggle against those keeping him down.

“You have quite the balls on yea, dontcha?” Negan exhaled a short lived laugh as the brute continued to struggle while one of his men, Dwight readied the crossbow in his hand right at his head.

“Daryl has caused us a lot of trouble. Give me the word and I’ll—-“

“Daryl?” Fuck. Fuck fuck F U C K! Negan shouted in his head as he kept a front when internalizing he wished he was dying. “Yea have a last name or what?”

“Like I’ll tell yea” Daryl struggled some more noticing Negan’s grip on his bat get to the level of a white knuckle grip.

“Is it Dixon?” Negan frowns as the silence grew louder especially when Daryl stopped struggling against his men. Simon took note of what he was seeing as he took his radio adjusting the frequency to match the private one between him and Y/N. Something Negan didn’t know that Simon wrote down for his own future gain.

“Daryl Dixon” Negan repeats over and over with spaced out moments until Daryl nodded. “Do these people know you also have a sister? Y/N Dixon”

Rick and Michonne instantly shot a look to Daryl as his body went limp but not from added injury, but from the shock of how much this monster knew about his personal life. Rick turned to his people as they were going through everything that was happening personally and united but he tried to find a way to get them out of there that when he shot Michonne a look, she shook her head. Knowing what was going on in his mind and how it will most likely kill Daryl if he acted…then he wouldn’t be able to reunite with his remaining living blood.

But that didn’t stop Negan from acting on his anger. His anger toward Daryl’s action and toward his own.

Once Daryl was pulled back to his spot in the line up and the man couldn’t help the silent tears that spilled as they only got worse when Negan held his bat with both hands and simply gave up.

“Back to it”

Then another life was taken, causing more pain than he had initially thought. But in his mind he had to make a point…

He’ll never change Y/N frowns holding the radio in her hands as her own tears fell from her eyes. “Simon”

Simon took a step away from the group once the RV drove off with Negan and Rick. Raising his radio to his face. “Yeah?”

“You’re a monster for this”

“Someone has to tell you the truth”

“Is he taking Daryl back to the Sanctuary?”

“Most likely”

“ETA?”

“I’ll chime in when we leave.” Then Simon turns his end of the radio off looking over to Daryl who kept his attention glued to the life that was taken, that he’ll forever take the blame for.

When Negan showed the leader of their group that he means business and that he’ll be going back to how he ran things. He returned to the Sanctuary before the vans did as he was greeted by a saddened Y/N.

“Darling…”

“You killed people…almost killed my brother?”

He held his head down as Y/N brought herself close looking up at him watching how hard he tried to avoid her beautiful E/C eyes.

“Negan did you—-“ Then her attention quickly turned to the banging on the van that suddenly her older brother Daryl stumbled out of. “Daryl. Oh my god Daryl!”

The youngest Dixon quickly ran to her older brother dropping to her knees in order to hug him. The second he latched on the best he could, he fell silent knowing a few tears fell that once his mind was sure it wasn’t playing tricks. He tightened his grasp on her.

“He killed some of my friends, Trouble” He whispers feeling her hold onto him tighter from her end as her tears spilled but hidden in his shoulder that she soon realized was injured.

“You’re hurt”

“Y/N…we have to leave” He whispered.

“You need to see the doctor. I’ll—-“ then Y/N was pulled away by Negan causing the rage to stir in her brother but he was quickly pulled away by a few saviors and then taken to see the doctor they have. “Let go”

“No. He’s gonna see the doc. Then put in your room. Alright?”

Y/N frowns thrashing in Negan’s grasp until he finally let go when it was just the two of them in the loading dock. The tears spilled down her cheeks causing the knife to dig deeper in the man’s chest.

It didn’t take long for Daryl to get patched up and tossed in this unfamiliar room but there were a few things that stood out to him. The first thing he picked up was an old Polaroid of Y/N when she was little and forced her brothers to join the picture. Merle of course not looking at it and Daryl only complying because it was his sister. Then her army green jacket with a patch on the arm for the biker gang Merle was temporarily in. And a few things that were most likely found in the now but scream his sister. Then she finally entered the room met with an angry yet confused older brother.

“You fucking that guy?”

“Woah! No!”

“Are you sure?! Cuz how do you have all of this with a monster like—-“

“Because he changed for me! He changed for me. Then your group triggered that part of his mind that I can’t reach…”

“Why didn’t yea kill him when you first realized—-“

“I didn’t realize until a month of being here and I’ve been here for six now…I—-“

“STOP SAYING YOU THOUGHT HE CHANGED! You learned the hard way just like I did when it came to Merle saying he’d never do meth again. He “changed” but never truly did.”

Y/N turned away to avoid her tears being noticed because she knew Daryl would be upset with himself and apologize. But he was just being honest.

“He saved me Daryl…he…kept me from losing myself when I had endless runs to look for you” She frowns keeping her head down. “I know you and your friends will never forgive him. I can’t for going back on his word…”

“Y/N…you know this place” Daryl frowns grabbing his sister’s shoulders to get her to look at him. “We need to leave and tear this place down with it”

“I can help you leave…but I’m not leaving with you”

“Y/N”

“Daryl” Y/N brushed his hands off of her looking him dead in the eye with the seriousness she held even in this weird reunion. “If I leave without a word, he’ll come after all of you”

“Please…we’ll end him and you go out free”

“The thing is Dar, I’m not trapped.”

The two didn’t share a word for a few days and Daryl was brought to a cell. But suddenly his door opened and Dwight was with Sherry in their streets. The man gave Daryl his crossbow and vest back as Sherry shined a light on blueprints of the building they found. The two that caused a lot of hell for him before the Sanctuary, were now the two helping him out but little did Daryl know that their escape was planned by his sister.

That kept Negan busy, but also in the know of what the future plan is.

“He’ll come after me, darling. I’ll never be safe even when it’s just the two of us”

“Well, you’re leaving this hell behind. You’ll always be haunted, but you’ll never be alone. And knowing my brother…”

He knows when to stop looking

Daryl stood beside Rick and Maggie, including a few of the community heads that were once under Negan’s thumb watching the place burn once they got all the good people out. He took in a deep breath before walking away from the scene ignoring the concerned questions from his family.

As the fire continues to go and the smoke rises from the ruins of the Sanctuary, Y/N stood within the nearby tree line watching everyone leave in the night as she felt Negan gently take her hand after burying his bat for his own sort of send off. She carefully takes out the Polaroid from before looking at it and remembering the past she never thought she’d wish to go back to knowing she never will.

This was one hell of a goodbye

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #negan smith #negan smith fanfiction #negan smith x reader #I sort of have a love hate relationship with this fic lol

[sintiancat]

Tord laughed, looking down at Edd and Matt from his giant robot.

‘’Hey, Edd! Thanks for holding onto this for me!’’ He shouts, smiling from ear to ear. ‘’I’ll have to go now though. The world’s not going to take over itself!’’

‘’But I thought we were… I thought we were friends!’’ Edd shouts, salty tears quickly leaving his eyes.

The old friend he’s known for so long and cherished with all his heart, betraying him.

Just like that.

Like it never meant something for him.

‘’HA! No? What would I need friends for when I’ve got this!’’ He cackles, but stops abruptly. His eyes widening as he remembered something important.

‘’Mh. But you know... there is something- no, someone I do need.’’ He says, his eyes darting around the neighborhood. ‘’I need her.’’ He mumbles, his eyes continuing to search desperately for her.

Edd and Matt look at each other, agitated and worried.

Some seconds pass by, and the silence only becomes louder.

Everyone seems to wait for something.

...

But nothing happens.

You don’t appear.

‘’CUT!’’ The director announces, promptly standing up from his seat. His hands rubbing his lower back, as he stretched.

‘’Ugh. Where’s the main love interest? She was supposed to enter scene as soon as he said that!’’ He frowns, reading the script one more time as he shouts your name.

You jolt, head turning abruptly at the mention of your name

You looked like a deer caught in headlights, and when you made eye contact with the director, you slowly left the pastry you were about to eat back with the rest of the food on set.

‘’What?’’ You frown, ‘’I’m not supposed to enter scene yet.’’ You huff, about to take the pastry again.

Except you can't.

You feel a hand rest on your shoulder, beckoning you to turn around as you hear someone say your name soon after. ‘’The script changed’’ Paul informs you, his thick eyebrows furrowing to show his confusion ‘’Edd was supposed to tell you this morning.’’

You tilt your head, ‘’He didn’t’’

‘’I did!’’ Edd says, approaching the two of you. ‘’When we were having breakfast, remember?’’

Your eyes squint as you recall the events of this morning. When Edd was eating the promotional cereal ‘’Eddsworld’’.

‘’I just remember you talking with your mouth full.’’ You blink, ‘’You should really stop doing that by the way, we can’t understand you and you know how annoyed Tom gets after.’’ Edd laughs, nodding.

‘’I know, I know.’’ He sighs, his lips parting to comment again. But instead, he only gasps.

‘’Where’s Tom?’’

Paul eyes widens, his cigar about to fall of as he wastes no time to run to the set. Edd rushing to do the same.

‘’Oh shit. Don’t tell me you guys left him inside the debris?!’’ You panic, following after the two to help your friend out of the destroyed house.

Matt and the director were already there, lifting the remains of the house to get Tom out.

Well, the director was the one lifting. Matt was panicking as he called Tom’s name horrified.

With more of the crew helping you quickly took him out, the man with spiky hair groaning in pain.

Matt and you sigh, a bit more relieved at the sight of Tom, who was at least still conscious enough to curse.

From the corner of your eye, you see how some crew members help Tord step off the giant robot, the Norwegian running towards Tom to make sure he wasn’t badly injured.

Tord lifts him up, seating him down so a crewmate could quickly aid him.

Tom tries not to wince as he feels the alcohol-soaked cotton ball touch his injury.

‘’I didn’t receive the signal,’’ He hisses, ‘’I stayed there for whole five minutes.’’

‘’There was not clear communication.’’ The director huffs, crossing his arms. ‘’Someone forgot to inform people about the change in script.’’

Edd looks away, whistling as he kicks a pebble.

‘’Why am I not surprised…’’ You hear someone mutter

Sighing, you crouch down at Tom’s level.

‘’Tom.’’

‘’Yeah?’’ He looks your way, his tired eyes making eye contact with you.

You have a tiny smile on your face, as you lean closer to him.

Your lips parting to whisper into his ear.

‘’Idiot. I fucking told you to accept the stunt double.’’ You pull his ear

---

heres my two cents to the ew x reader community. i dont think ive ever seen an actor au in the fandom tbh

also hi tumblr how do u

#eddsworld x reader #ew x reader #x reader #x female reader #x you #actor au #eddsworld actor au

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Rural towns and poor urban neighborhoods are being devoured by dollar stores

Across America, rural communities and big cities alike are passing ordinances limiting the expansion of dollar stores, which use a mix of illegal predatory tactics, labor abuse, and monopoly consolidation to destroy the few community grocery stores that survived the Walmart plague and turn poor places into food deserts.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

"The Dollar Store Invasion," is a new Institute For Local Self Reliance (ILSR) report by Stacy Mitchell, Kennedy Smith and Susan Holmberg. It paints a detailed, infuriating portrait of the dollar store playback, and sets out a roadmap of tactics that work and have been proven in dozens of places, rural and urban:

https://cdn.ilsr.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/ILSR-Report-The-Dollar-Store-Invasion-2023.pdf

The impact of dollar stores is plainly stated in the introduction: "dollar stores drive grocery stores and other retailers out of business, leave more people without access to fresh food, extract wealth from local economies, sow crime and violence, and further erode the prospects of the communities they target."

This new report builds on ILSR's longstanding and excellent case-studies, augmenting them with the work of academic geographers who are just starting to literally map out the dollar store playbook, identifying the way that a dollar stores will target, say, the last grocery store in a Black neighborhood and literally surround it, like hyenas cornering weakened prey. This tactic is repeated whenever a new grocer opens in the neighborhood: dollar stores "carpet bomb" the surrounding blocks, ensuring that the new store closes as quickly as it opens.

One important observation is the relationship between these precarious neighborhood grocers and Walmart and its other big-box competitors. Deregulation allowed Walmart to ring cities with giant stores that relied on "predatory buying" (wholesale terms that allowed Walmart to sell goods more cheaply than its competitors bought them, and also rendered its suppliers brittle and sickly, and forced down the wages of those suppliers' workers). This was the high cost of low prices: neighborhoods lost their local grocers, and community dollars ceased to circulate in the community, flowing to Walmart and its billionaire owners, who spent it on union busting and political campaigns for far-right causes, including the defunding of public schools.

This is the landscape where the dollar stores took root: a nation already sickened by an apex predator, which left a productive niche for jackals to pick off the weakened survivors. Wall Street loved the look of this: the Private equity giant KKR took over Dollar General in 2007 and went on a acquisition and expansion bonanza. Even after KKR formally divested itself of Dollar General, the company's hit-man Michael M Calbert stayed on the board, rising to chairman.

The dollar store market is a duopoly. Dollar General's rival is Dollar Tree, another gelatinous cube of a company that grew by absorbing many of its competitors, using Wall Street's money. These acquisitions are now notorious for the weaknesses they exposed in antitrust practice. For example, when Dollar Tree bought Family Dollar, growing to 14,000 stores, the FTC waved the merger through on condition that the new business sell off 330 of them. These ineffectual and pointless merger conditions are emblematic of the inadequacy of antitrust as it was practiced from the Reagan administration until the sea-change under Biden, and Dollar Tree/Family Dollar is the poster child for more muscular enforcement.

The duopoly has only grown since then. Today, Dollar General and Dollar Tree have more than 34,000 US outlets - more than Starbucks, #Walmart, McDonalds and Target - combined.

Destroying a community's grocery store rips out its heart. Neighborhoods without decent access to groceries impose a tax on their already-struggling residents, forcing them to spend hours traveling to more affluent places, or living off the highly processed, deceptively priced (more on this later) goods for sale on the dollar store shelves.

Take Cleveland, once served by a small family chain called Dave's Market that had served its communities since the 1920s. Dave's store in the Collinwood neighborhood was targeted by Family Dollar and Dollar General, which opened seven stores within two miles of the Dave's outlet. The dollar stores targeted the only profitable part of Dave's business - the packaged goods (fresh produce is a money-loser, subsidized by packaged good).

The dollar stores used a mix of predatory buying and "cheater sizes" (packaged goods that are 10-20% smaller than those sold in regular outlets, which are not available to other retailers) to sell goods at prices that Dave's couldn't match, driving Dave's out of business.

Typical dollar stores stock no fresh produce or meat. If your only grocer is a dollar store, your only groceries are highly processed, packaged foods, often sold in deceptive single-serving sizes that actually cost more per ounce than the products that the defunct neighborhood grocer once sold.

Dollar stores don't just target existing food deserts - they create them. Dollar stores preferentially target Black and brown neighborhoods with just a single grocer and then they use predatory pricing (subsidizing the cost of goods and selling them at a loss) and predatory buying to force that grocery store under and tip the neighborhood into food desert status.

Dollar stores don't just target Black and brown urban centers; they also go after rural communities. The commonality here is that both places are likely to be served by independent grocers, not chains, and these indies can't afford a pricing war with the Wall Street-backed dollar store duopoly.

As mentioned, the "predatory buying" of dollar stores is illegal - it was outlawed in 1936 under the Robinson-Patman Act, which required wholesalers to offer goods to all merchants on the same terms. 40 years ago, we stopped enforcing those laws, leading the rise and rise of big box stores and the destruction of the American Main Street.

The lawmakers who passed Robinson-Patman knew what they were doing. They were aware of what contemporary economists call "the waterbed effect," where wholesalers cover the losses from their massive discounts to major retailers by hiking prices on smaller stores, making them even less competitive and driving more market consolidation.

When dollar stores invade your town or neighborhood, they don't just destroy the food choices, they also come for neighborhood jobs. Where a community grocer typically employs 12 or more people, Dollar General employs about 8 per store. Those workers are paid less, too: 92% of Dollar General's workers earn less than $15/h, making Dollar General the worst employer of the 66 large service-sector firms.

Dollar stores also lean heavily into the tactic of turning nearly every role at its store into a "management" job, because managers aren't entitled to overtime pay. That's how you can be the "manger" of a dollar store and take home $40,000 a year while working more than 40 hours every single week.

Understaffing stores turns them into crime magnets. Shootings at dollar stores are routine. Between 2014-21, 485 people were shot at dollar stores - 156 of them died. Understaffed warehouses are vermin magnets. In the Eastern District of Arkansas, Family Dollar was subpoenaed after a rat infestation at its distribution centers that contaminated the food, medicines and cosmetics at 400 stores.

The ILSR doesn't just document the collapse of American communities - it fights back, so this report ends with a lengthy section on proven tactics and future directions for repelling the dollar store invasion. Since 2019, 75 communities have blocked proposals for new dollar stores - more than 50 of those cases happened in 2021/22.

54 towns, from Birmingham, AB to Fort Worth, TX to  Kansas City, KS, have passed laws to "sharply restrict new dollar stores, typically by barring them from opening within one to two miles of an existing dollar store."

To build on this momentum, the authors call for a "reinvigoration of antitrust laws," especially the Robinson-Patman Act. Banning predatory buying would go far to creating a level playing field for independent grocers hoping to fight off a dollar store infestation.

Further, we need the FTC and Department of Justice Antitrust Divition to block mergers between dollar-store chains and unwind the anticompetitve mergers that were negligently waved through under previous administrations (thankfully, top enforcers like Jonathan Kantor and Lina Khan are on top of this!).

We need to free up capital for community banks that will back community grocers. That means rolling back the bank deregulation of the 1980s/90s that allowed for bank consolidation and preferential treatment for large corporations, while reducing lending to small businesses and destroying regional banks. Congress should cap the market share any bank can hold, break up the biggest banks, and require banks to preference loans for community businesses. We also need to end private equity and Wall Street's rollup bonanza.

All of that sounds like a tall order - and it is! But the good news is that it's not just groceries at stake here. Every kind of community business, from pet groomers to hairdressers to funeral homes, falls into the antitrust "Twilight Zone," of acquisitions under $101m. With 60% of Boomer-owned businesses expected to sell in the coming decade, 2.9m businesses employing 32m American workers are slated to be gobbled up by private equity:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

Whether you're burying a loved one, getting dialysis, getting your cat fixed or having your dog's nails trimmed, you are already likely to be patronizing a business that has been captured by private equity, where the service is worse, the prices are higher and the workers earn less for harder jobs. Everyone has a stake in financial regulation. We are all in this fight, except for the eminently guillotineable PE barons, and you know, fuck those guys

At the state level, the authors propose new muscular enforcement regimes and new laws to protect small businesses from unfair competition. They also call on states to increase the power of local governments to reject new dollar store applications, amending land use guidelines to require "cultivating net economic growth, ensuring that everyone has access to healthy food, and protecting environmental resources.

If all of this has you as fired up as it got me this morning, check out ILSR's "How to Stop Dollar Stores in Your Community" resources:

http://ilsr.org/dollar-stores

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon’s Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they’re DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

Image: Mike McBey (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/158652122@N02/38893547595/

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

[Image ID: A ghost town; it is towered over by a haunted castle with a Dollar General sign on it, with the shadow of Count Orlock cast over its tower. One of its turrets is being struck by lightning.]

#pluralistic #shrinkflation #institute for local self reliance #ilsr #dollar tree #dollar general #dollar stores #groceries #food deserts #kkr #pe #private equity #predatory buying #predatory pricing #Robinson-Patman Act #consolidation #monopoly #monopsony #care labor

[dawnanddorisqna]

Hey, thanks for putting up an ask blog! Don't know if tumblr is the best place to put it for social media engagement, but then again Neil Gaiman seems to be enjoying himself so who am I to judge?

I have a whole bunch of questions, and I'm not sure if it'd be annoying to flood your inbox with them, so feel free to pick and choose any of these to reply.

Questions for Dawn: who would you consider to be the animated 'it' girl right now?

What do you think about the recent trend of 'fleshwashing' that Disney has been pushing when it comes to remakes? Is this part of a bias against toons when it comes to casting?

In your opinion, who do you think is the best 'old-school' toon who still actively performs? Questions for Doris: Has toontown managed to avoid the plague of gentrification that hit a lot of other older neighborhoods in LA?

Is there a union for animated actors? If there is, how effective is it in your opinion? Have things gotten better or worse for animated actors over the years?

Did you ever get to know your animator? If not, would you have wanted to know them?

We should probably get a reddit at some point. Everyone on tumblr has been amazing though. We do have an instagram, @dawn_doodle and @dorisdoodle_toon.

There's also a fanmade discord! One we need to check on more after we're done...preparing some new things.

Who do I think is the current it girl of animation? It changes so fast, but my vote right now is POMNI! Who doesn't feel like Pomni like daily? Also, indie!

Check back in a month when my answer may change again!

What do we think of all these live action remakes? I still don't mind them too much, but Avatar on netflix might be unnecessary. I'm starting to wear thin. Doris gave a rambling answer on this before and I don't think her opinion has changed.

Best old School toon still in business? I think we actually have an agreement on this one and that's this 2D Girl boss!

Was Toon town able to avoid any gentrification? Here's Doris with a history lesson:

As some people know, ToonTown was left to the toons, and that was great. We could vote for changes in the town and run it ourselves, but that didn't mean we were separate from California and certain laws. So it was devastating when it was decided that the land we lived on wasn't fully ours and the decision to build a freeway system was still being considered. This was in the 50s and I had already moved out of ToonTown, but I heard about the protests and letters written to Earl Warren.

None of it helped, and in 1956, Eisenhower signed the highway act and a freeway was constructed. So the town wasn't as saved as the movie "Who Frames Roger Rabbit" lets you believe.

Since the toons owned ToonTown, they couldn't just completely destroy it. We were just told to move. So the town is split up into districts. There's one near Disneyland, another a few streets from Universal. Always near studios. They like keeping an eye on their assets. So at least we got to keep the town in some way.

Is there a union for toons? There have been attempts. But in the end were considered intellectual property of the studios. fully owned and by contract from the moment the first line is sketched. A lot of older toons have a little more freedom from those contracts. By older, I'm talking Bugs Bunny and the Peanuts kids. That's starting to get harder though as studios are stating to hold a tighter grip on animation. It's less a creative thought process and more business. Doris says it's colder in a behind closed doors way. I say that cold is starting to leak into the outside. So yeah, no union, especially for newly drawn stars, and well...things aren't exactly getting better.

Did we get to know our creators?

Doris did!

We all do I guess while being drawn. but it's not as personal now. I was kinda made through a committee. So there are artists who really care and I would've wanted to get to know them, but there are also execs, studio owners, managers, all hovering around to check on their investment. And once approved, you are under studio control. It's nice if the artists can stick around at the studio, but most times they're laid off once the creation is done and they need to go work at another place. This goes into that whole colder thing. From what Doris has shown me, it was a little more fun before. Animators and toons would just hang out I guess.

They would even have fun with their voice actors.

Today, studios want big celebrities to give us our voices. So they usually come in to lay down the track and then leave with the paycheck. Not all though, I heard Jack Black like to see the characters he's given a voice too. It just doesn't happen often.

Sorry it took a while to get to your question! We're trying to get a few things going right now so our timing is way off.

Also, a list of questions is always good, keep em coming!

#animation #toontown #doris doodle #dawn doodle #cartoon #doris and dawn #doris #animated #discord #the simpsons #roger rabbit #don bluth #richard Williams #the amazing digital circus pomni #pomni #lore #toon lore #Doodleverse

[sepdet]

(I don't usually break copyright for journalists, who deserve to make a living through their writing the same as other authors, but this paywalled article mentions a few native Hawaiian relief efforts that need funding)

Native Hawaiians organize aid for Maui fire victims as government lags

Reis Thebault, Washington Post [12Aug 2023]

LAHAINA, Hawaii — The boats kept coming. One by one, cruisers and catamarans eased toward the beach in Kahana, a small and tightknit neighborhood just north of Maui’s hardest-hit areas.

Each one was laden with supplies: generators, propane tanks, trash bags full of clothing and ready-to-eat meals. And each one was greeted by two dozen people, the first among them wading waist-deep into the ocean to retrieve provisions from the boat and pass them down the chain, which wound its way to shore.

[Hawaii utility faces scrutiny for not cutting power to reduce fire risks]

The entire operation buzzed with urgent efficiency. But this was not the National Guard, or the Federal Emergency Management Agency, nor state or local government. This was scores of residents, led mostly by native Hawaiians, who had battled immense grief and unreliable communications to coordinate a large-scale disaster relief effort serving everyone in need after Tuesday’s ruinous Maui fire.

And this, a parade of boats that brought desperate locals thousands of pounds of supplies, was one of many.

“There’s no government agency helping us — this is it,” said Jareth Lumlung, a native Hawaiian who helped arrange the de facto donation hub. “This is our home, our community.”

[Live updates on Hawaiian wildfires]

In the days since a ferocious wildfire decimated whole swaths of Maui, including the historic west island town of Lahaina, those who live here have said they’ve received little help from the county and state, small entities which are struggling to respond to an unprecedented calamity.

For people whose cultural traditions have been threatened by American colonization and the state’s embrace of tourism and development, government help was never expected. Instead, the community has relied on itself.

Many, native Hawaiians in particular, see the absence of visible official support as a continuation of long-standing frustrations and pain, which began with the destructive arrival of Europeans and lives on in struggles over water rights.

The displacement of native Hawaiians is a particularly acute concern now, as much of the island has been targeted for gentrification, driving up the costs of living and forcing many native Hawaiians to move to mainland cities like Las Vegas.

[After five hours in ocean, Maui fire survivor is ‘blessed to be alive’]

Government officials have said they were focused on putting out the flames, housing and feeding survivors in evacuation centers outside the burn zone, protecting damaged areas, clearing roads in and around the town and helping to restore essential utilities. Some of the aid is out of reach of survivors, however, because they lack transportation or working phones to alert them about services. In Lahaina, the private efforts have been more visible, survivors said.

Hawaii Gov. Josh Green (D) estimated that nearly all of Lahaina had been destroyed. But in Kahana, the town’s spirit remained completely alive.

“If you take away all Hawaiians, there’ll be no more Hawaii,” Lumlung said. “It’ll be just a place. This is what it’s all about right here. We’re all raised the same way; this is something that’s just naturally instilled. You don’t have to be asked to do these things.”

Residents gather at Napili Plaza in Lahaina, Hawaii, to connect to Starlink satellites to contact their loved ones on Friday. (Mengshin Lin for The Washington Post)

The supply boats began arriving on Wednesday, as first responders were still battling the blaze and recovering bodies amid burned-out homes and businesses. Two days later, they hadn’t slowed. On Friday, they began arriving early, and volunteers had tents set up to sort the goods: a pile of men’s pants here, a pyramid of diapers there and vast mounds of bottled water.

“We lost everything. We lost our town,” said Jerica Naki, whose home in Lahaina was destroyed. “That’s why we’re here.”

On this day, the volunteer boats largely came from neighboring islands, Oahu and Molokai, northwest of Maui in the Hawaiian archipelago, traveling far on choppy seas. Naki was helping sort donations and she described an emotional whirlwind, from escaping with nothing to seeing a staggering amount of volunteer support for those who have been displaced like her.

[These maps show where wildfires are burning in Hawaii]

“A lot of us are born and raised here,” Naki said, looking around as the chain of volunteers hauled in boxes of tinned sausage. “There’s a l xd ot of pride in Lahaina, so it hurts, a lot. But this is all we have here now, each other, and we’re making do.”

As the response has worn on, the greatest needs have shifted. There is now plenty of nonperishable food and bottled water. Generators, fuel and Starlink satellite internet systems would be most useful, volunteers say.

Sheryl Nakanelua knew instinctively where she needed to go when she fled her Lahaina home as flames spread. She made her way to Kahana and set up a tent across from Lumlung’s house, where she’ll stay until her family is let back into her subdivision, one of the few that was spared.

“This is our family place, it’s home,” she said of the Kahana neighborhood. “This is the best part to be at. It’s what’s keeping us positive.”

Other such spots have popped up. Napili Plaza, once a destination for groceries, ribs and tattoos, is now a donation drop-off center. And some 100 cars lined up for free gas near the town’s former railroad station. Coordinating the boats and other donation sites is a massive task that involves maddening games of phone tag in a place largely without cell service and requires a relentless dedication and extensive Rolodex.

Residents like Zane Schweitzer have both. Schweitzer, whose family has lived around Lahaina for generations, has spent nearly every hour of the last 48 working his walkie-talkie and phone, frantically arranging aid from around Maui, Hawaii and the mainland. Working with the Oahu-based youth nonprofit Na Kama Kai, he helped coordinate one of Friday’s largest deliveries.

Officials said most of Lahaina, the historic town in West Maui, was destroyed when hurricane winds pushed fires to the coast.

On the south side of Lahaina, in Olowalu, Eddy and Sam Garcia are transforming their groundbreaking sustainable farm into a shelter for those who have lost their homes. The married couple, who themselves have lost farmland and fruit crops worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, are setting up temporary housing, a massive solar power system and a satellite internet connection that they’ll open to anyone who needs it.

“In the immediate moment, people need shelter, they need food, they need water, they need a place to get on the internet so they can look for their loved ones,” said Eddy Garcia, who grew up in Lahaina. “We’re shifting all of our attention to trying to feed and house our neighbors.”

The Olowalu farm is uniquely well-prepared to handle this sort of disaster. Run by the Garcias’ nonprofit, Regenerative Education Centers, it was already operating off the grid, with its own power, plumbing and food. The nonprofit has launched a fundraiser to help pay for the fire effort, which will continue as long as there’s a need.

The property, even after being raked by the fire’s severe winds, is verdant and shaded by tall mango trees. On Friday, volunteers and staff readied the farm to fill any needs. They butchered and smoked a wild pig, set up new solar panels and scoured the internet for portable toilets. Eddy Garcia whirred with adrenaline, his satellite-connected cellphone ringing every few minutes with someone offering help.

For locals like him, helping his neighbors is not only about their survival, but about preserving the island’s identity and keeping it livable for those whose families have been here for generations.

“It’s not about these giant hotels on the beach and all the big companies, but trying to take care of local people,” he said. “This is not a visitor’s destination spot, this is the kingdom of Hawaii. That hit the heart of it in Lahaina. It hurts to even talk about it.”

His phone rang again and he stood up to leave.

“I’m like a ball of rubber bands right now,” he said, “and the only thing keeping me going is I got to organize these things.”

——

[More photos and links to the latest news in and after article]

#maui fires #lahaina #relief efforts

[c-is-for-circinate]

Ok so regarding the stranger things extended universe, i definitely want to know more about nancy and her storyline, like does this become her career ? investigating government conspiracies? And how does she feel about it? About not living a more peaceful life after everything?

After something like Hawkins, there are three ways to go if you want to keep sane, Nancy thinks. Or, well. As sane as any of them are, now.

Some of them went out into the world ready to grab life and joy with both hands and all their teeth, the memory of how close death came to devouring them enough to spur them on to devour life right back. (Eddie's playing Boston next week, wants to know if she'll go to his show; Max and El, last Nancy heard, are learning to surf.) Some of them went out into the world still full of combat reflexes they didn't mean to keep and tripped into a new fight, a slower quieter more mundane one. (She saw the photos Jonathan took last time he visited Steve and Robin in Chicago, the protests last month, the signs, the flags.) And some of them...well. Some of them left the lessons of Hawkins a little less behind than that.

They won in Hawkins, inasmuch as burned-out buildings and the town memorials and the deep scars cutting through a still-damaged downtown count as winning. That battle's fought and won and done. But Nancy hasn't forgotten who started it, and it wasn't Henry Creel.

(She'll argue with Dustin about it, over a mountain of fried shrimp and a pitcher of beer he's somehow old enough to legally buy, because Dustin's always cared more about the how than the why. He thinks the important lesson of Hawkins is that the laws of physics known by everybody across the global scientific community are wrong. They spend an hour and a half going back and forth about Oppenheimer and Eisenhower, Regan and Brezhnev and Martin Brenner, because one of the only differences between Vecna and a nuclear bomb is still the fact that nobody thinks Vecna could exist, but Dustin is wrong about why that's important.)

Science can do a thousand things nobody thinks it can do. Science can split an atom. Science can split dimensions. It doesn't matter why it's possible; it doesn't even really matter what's possible, beyond the fact that massive governments with thousands of soldiers and billions of dollars can always kill when they want to. Whether it's a bomb or a child experiment or a gas leak.

What matters, every time, is that people are dead. What matters is that the public needs to know.

Nancy makes her name in college breaking a story about illegal sewage dumping near a residential neighborhood before the Boston Globe even has it. She gets a professor fired for plagiarism. She almost gets expelled for libel when she tries to run a story about date rape on campus. (She almost gets caught slashing tires, after that one, but she learned from the best. Erica Sinclair taught her plenty about stealth, and Murray's been trying to drive in the idea of patience since the first time they met.)

It's not about monsters, it was never about monsters. There aren't any more monsters, Nancy thinks. (She keeps a licensed handgun in a shoebox in her apartment, because she ran out of ammo for the Makarov years ago, because monsters aren't the only things that like to threaten too-curious reporters in the middle of the night, and because you never know.) It's always been about the people the monsters destroy.

Nobody will ever believe the story of what destroyed Hawkins, probably. (Maybe someday they'll declassify. Nancy has a four-hundred-page memoir under lock and key in the safe where she doesn't store her gun, if the world ever gets there. Maybe she'll just pass it down to Mike's grandchildren.) But people know now that it was Hawkins National Lab. That some kind of government weapons research, right there on Indiana soil, broke a small town in half. That's something.

Nancy graduates college and interns anywhere she can get a foot in the door. The Globe. The Times. The Washington Post. The Post, finally, sticks. There's an editor there who loves to give new reporters just enough slack in their leashes to hang themselves with, so they can fill the back of the paper with issue-selling scandal and then have somebody to fire if the wrong person in power gets upset. Nancy does three months of research, jotting off puff pieces and human interest stories about charity work and bills with no opposition, quietly filling up file folders of photos and receipts and evidence that nobody can prove she didn't obtain legally. Her first headline runs on a Tuesday morning and gets a White House senior staffer fired by Thursday afternoon.

It could have gotten her clearing out her desk by the end of Friday, but Nancy was careful. Nancy was smart. It chafes from the inside out, like a blister on her soul, but she knows all about water it down. She could've implicated a dozen elected officials in this, and ten of them would have skated right by with no trouble, just plenty of cause to make Nancy trouble right back. (There are already people in Washington who know her name. Nancy knows there are files about her in the Pentagon.) So she's careful, she's delicate, and she implies nothing at all about anybody she can't demolish outright. She waters it down. It gets her a promotion.

.

Nancy doesn't drink icewater vodka, herself. She likes whiskey instead, in her coffee, in her tea. She talks on the phone with Murray Bauman at only the most irregular intervals, and he sneers at her in a way that Nancy's pretty sure translates, on Murray's tongue, to a colleague's respect. She tries not to lie. She's better at it, nowadays.

Nancy is hungry, has always been hungry. Has always been starving, one way or another, all the way back when she was twelve years old thirsting for adventure in the basement with her little brother, fifteen and ravenous for a challenge, an experience, the chance to grow up. She's choked on what she thought she wanted enough times that you'd think she'd learn by now. Mostly what it's done is toughen her teeth and teach her to chew.

She wants truth, and she can have it for herself, if she's good enough. If she doesn't try to force-feed it to the rest of the world too hard. She wants respect, she wants justice, she's selfish and selfless and hungry for all of it.

She wants to not be so afraid. She wants to not be so alone. She wants, sometimes, just once in a while, to be a little bit quiet and a little bit soft and rest.

It didn't work with Jonathan the same way it didn't work with Steve, or Liam, or Casey, or Diane. Nancy aches to be a little less alone, but she doesn't starve for it. Never once in her life has she been hungry for a person the way she's hungry for everything else. Never once in her life has she actually fallen in love back.

But Jonathan is at her front door again, because Jonathan is a yo-yo to all the people he's ever loved: backing off to give them time and space to grow, rocketing off into the world alone just for a little while, just as long as he can bear it, and then slinging himself back. Back to her again, this time.

Jonathan knows the score. Knows she loves him as much as she's ever loved anybody, other than Barb and Mike and her mother and Holly. And if it's not hunger -- if the closest Nancy has ever gotten to hunger for another person tends to happen in that oh-so-very, very discreet bar where Nancy can wear a perfectly-tailored suit and buy whiskey sours for girls in short skirts with no nightmares behind their eyes -- well, Nancy's never wanted most of them past the next morning anyway.

So sometimes Jonathan is on her couch and sometimes he's in her bed, and sometimes they fuck and sometimes all they do is sleep. When she needs a photojournalist, he's never once let her down. When she has nightmares, she wakes up just as terrified, but it's so much easier to pull herself together with someone to pull it together for. And Nancy Wheeler has never been in love, will never be in love, but she doesn't know what it could possibly have to offer that she could want more than that.

.

Does Nancy like her life? Wrong question. Stupid question. Better to ask if Nancy would have it any other way -- and well, yeah, she'd have a president who didn't sexually harass interns, a national defense budget that wasn't ten times the size of the department of education's, and a coffeemaker in the office that didn't get grounds in everything. She'd live in a world that didn't need her, find a new thing to be hungry about. Maybe she and Barb would both be on track for tenure by now.

In this world, she has half a dozen Pulitzer nominations and a Polk Award on her bookshelf. She has a locked filing cabinet full of other people's secrets and a locked safe full of her own. There's a file with her name on it somewhere in the Pentagon, although she hasn't managed to sneak in to read it yet. She's pretty sure the files on her desk about Pentagon staff are thicker.

#asked and answered #C writes stuff #the ST EU #Nancy Wheeler #yes this is part of one large extended universe #but I also stand by it as a general Nancy post-canon headcanon #let Nancy be aro and sort of gay and sort of ace and complicated about it #also let her choose to occasionally fuck boys about it anyway #:D #thank you for this prompt! #this was very much the push I needed