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zyafics · 5 months ago

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PLAY FAKE | part twelve

MASTERLIST (series) | Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, asshole, and has mood swings.

You had no choice. Newly orphaned with two acquired guardianship, on the brink of homelessness, you caved into desperation. You started to steal; pick-pocketing unsuspecting tourons and swiping valuables at island parties.

The latter is how you came across Aaron. He saw you stole from one of his clients and struck up a conversation. You thought you would be arrested, or done worse as retribution, but he gave you his number to contact. Said you could call him if you were strapped for some cash. When you learned more about him through JJ—and how Luke owed him money once, leading to a bad dispute that ended in the loss of his job and a black eye—you realized you were dealing with a bad guy.

The consensus was to stay away from Aaron because of his shady conduction of business and excessive use of violence. But you were in a deadlock. No one would offer you a loan because of your bad credit and you were on the cusp of losing your family's legacy. So, you did it.

Now, it's back to bite you in the ass. The reason why loan sharks are dangerous is their exorbitantly high interest rates and lack of regard for the law. If you're unable to pay them back within strict deadlines, they will double the initial amount you owe and go to extreme lengths to threaten friends and family for payback. It's a tactic that works best because you can't turn to the police.

When you finish your anecdote, the atmosphere falls into an eerily silence. You can hear the sound of a pin drop or the soft laughter of your sisters three doors down. You're perched on the end of Rafe's bed while he's leaning against his desk, back pressed against the counter, digesting your words.

Your throat feels dry. It wasn't even a long explanation but something about the way Rafe's watching you, his eyes never straying, and the lack of response afterward. You feel like you're burning under his gaze.

This must be how he felt when you were silent.

"Say something," you urge, voice smaller than intended. His eyes shift and observes the look on your face with an indiscernible expression.

"How much did you borrow?"

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth before answering. "30K."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters under his breath, exhaling sharply. Guilt gnaws at your stomach and your eyes pinch with a wave of sodden emotions. This is one of the reasons why you hesitate to tell him; you don't want him to take your burden as his.

You sigh tightly. "I told you it's bad."

"Does this mean you owe him sixty grand now?"

"No." You shake your head. "I paid back ten."

The numbers still aren't optimal. "So forty then?"

"No," You blurt out, before retracting. "I think. I–I don't know. He hasn't contacted me..." You trail off, not wanting to imagine your debt doubled. If you had paid the required amount, as scripted in your contract, within the due date, you would've been fine. Now, you're in an ambiguous grey zone with no clear direction on where to go next.

"But when he does?"

You look up from your crestfallen gaze to find Rafe's jaw set, his eyes searching your face. Frustration rolls off his strong demeanor, and you take it as a sign of his irritation—at your negligence—that you can't help but feel obligated to alleviate the feeling. "It's fine." You say evenly. "I'll figure it out."

"It's not that." He declares roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose, and exhaling another deep breath. Recognizing his own turbulent emotions are flaring, he doesn't want to take it out on you. "I offered you money. We could've avoided this. At the start of our deal, I offered you—"

You cut him off. "I know."

His expression is sharp. "Then why didn't you take it?"

"I—" You draw in shaky breath, fingers grabbing at the sheets beneath you and tightening them into fists. "I had a plan."

"You had a plan?" Rafe repeats, his voice dripping with disbelief. While he's trying to be patient with you, he can't gauge how your mind works. How it's so set on an independent mode that now—even now—you seem to want to do it all alone. "Does it look like your plan is working?"

This time, it came harsher than he intended, and he wanted to take it back immediately but it was too late. His words were laced with a certain venom that spewed onto you.

But instead of being upset, your own anger erupts.

"Were you going to drop 20K for a couple of fake dates?" You snap, standing from your own seat. You knew what you had done was moronic and you can't take it back but you did have a plan. When Rafe doesn't give you a proper answer, you take his silence as complicity. "Exactly. It would've been stupid on your end and I would've never agreed to such a ridiculous deal. I've already made that mistake once."

He knows you just called him stupid, but Rafe can't stop the rising smile on his lips. In your scorn, you're almost back to your old self.

"Why are you smiling?" You cross your arms, attempting to maintain your level of authority, but his grin broadens. "Stop it."

"I miss you."

Your heart stutters and all your momentum drops. Rafe uses the opportunity to cross the small distance and capture your face in his palm and you lean into his touch, shoulders sagging. You can't believe you're reduced to putty in his hands.

Trying to regain some sense of control, you avert your gaze from his face, and both your palms flatten against his chest. "You're mean, Rafe."

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmurs, running the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. "What was your plan?"

Part of you didn't want to tell him, to withhold the information, but when he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, the earnest look behind them shatters that desire. With your heart leaping in your throat, you explain slowly. "When you get Cameron Development, the plan was that I was gonna get a steady income as your regular caterer. Therefore, when payments were due, I would have a reliable source of income."

His breath hitches at the implication behind your words. Rafe's expression hardens. "That's dependent on me getting the company."

You keep his gaze. "I know."

"You based your entire plan on me?"

You can't exactly decipher the tone behind his sentence, and you feel the need to lower your gaze to his chest, grabbing a handful of his shirt. You mumble, "You make it sound like it's stupid."

"It's not—" He grabs your chin again, forcing your gaze up to his. Your eyes are soft and big, while his darkened one scans your face, trying to read your intent. He asks lowly, "You believe in me that much?"

Your voice is gentle when you answer. "Of course."

His heart sings. Rafe can't believe what he's hearing, or rather what he's not. It's the same subtle underlying language he's used to translating; the unspoken. Your entire plan is contingent on his success. That means your trust in him started since the beginning of our arrangement.

He never had someone who had that much faith in him that they would bet it all. It's an indescribable feeling, that's first met with doubt, before transforming into something else. To know someone is always in his corner, always rooting for his success, always believing in him.

Fuck.

He's in love with you.

His eyes stray to your lips and the urge to kiss you overwhelms him. His actions have always been better at demonstrating his emotions than his words ever can. But he resists with a couple of measured breaths. Then, he nods once. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

You're in a dazed state. "We?"

He doesn't want you to think you have to do this all alone. You have him now. "Yeah, but later. I can't focus right now."

Before you can seek clarification, his other hand cradles your cheek and Rafe slams his lips onto yours.

It catches you by surprise and a small moan slips out that Rafe swallows. He wants you. Mind, body, and soul. All of it—the taste of you, the feeling of your skin on his, your words against the column of his throat. He wants to feel you writhing beneath him with pleasure, to save all your best memories for him, and to know that you're completely and unequivocally his.

Rafe parts, just a breath of distance, and whispers against your swollen lips. "God, I miss you."

Your fingers thread through his hair. "I've been here."

His eyes are hungry. "Not what I meant."

He silences any reaction by resuming the kiss, forcing you backward against the bed, and your back lands on the mattress with a soft thump. Rafe hovers over you, his weight pressed comfortably against your body while he kisses you like a starved man.

Even if you don't say it, you missed him too. The feeling of him against you, your heart meeting his at precise beats. When Rafe moves to plant kisses along the curve of your neck, a small whine escapes you. You want to feel his lips on yours, to feel his warmth on your tongue, but he wants to satisfy every inch of you.

His hand starts to caress the hem of your shirt—his shirt—pushing up the fabric to reveal more of your exposed stomach to your bare breasts. With little words spoken, like a coordinated dance, you move enough for Rafe to pull the material completely off of you.

"Shit," he swears, taking a moment to take you in, "I'm never going to get used to this." Then, he descends to your nipples and captures one between his teeth.

You let out another moan, feeling his tongue swirl around your sensitive bud, clashing with the metal barbell. Your legs spread wider, allowing Rafe to slot between your thighs. The boxers he let you borrow are thin, and you feel his hardened erection rocking against your heated core.

Your fingers find the button of his jeans. "Rafe," you whisper, aching with desire. "I need this off."

"Need, huh?" He teases, his hot breath fans against the valley of your breasts and you shiver. "Tell me how much you need me, baby."

He wants to hear it all. Even if it's fake, even if it's just dirty talk spoken during sex. For a brief, fleeting moment, he wants to pretend you need him as much as he needs you.

You draw your hands up to cup either side of his face, forcing him off your tits and tilting his gaze to yours. "Rafe Cameron, I need you inside me. Badly."

Hearing the desperation behind your voice—and his name rolling off your tongue, Rafe removes his clothes and helps you out of yours. Before you have the chance to say anything else, Rafe's fingers are between your folds, spreading them apart, and a sound of satisfaction is heard from the back of his throat. "God, you're wet."

You are. Your arousal coats his digits, and with a slow stroke of his hand, your hips buck into his palm that rest against your clit.

"Rafe," you whine, knowing he's toying with you. His fingers stroke your pussy, but not enough pressure to give rise to your climax. "Inside, please. I'll be so good."

He grins and retracts his hand. When he lines his swollen cock against your entrance, he pauses for a moment. Rafe's eyes connect with yours. "Did you take your pill?"

When Rafe went out this early morning, with your sisters, he went to the pharmacy to pick up some birth control for you. It currently sits on his desk, opened and with one missing tablet. "I did."

"Good, I need to feel all of you."

Without another word, he thrusts into you, causing your back to arch off the mattress.

Rafe doesn't go hard and fast like normal but instead bends forward to capture your lips against his teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest regardless, the feeling of your walls wrapped around him, the way he fills you—like a puzzle finding its missing piece—makes your head spin.

"Feel so fucking good," he whispers against your heated skin, his hand reaching out to take yours, intertwining with your fingers. "Can't believe I almost lost this."

You can't believe it either, but you couldn't say it. Rafe angles himself where his cock hits right against your cervix, causing your head to tip back and dig into the sheets, moaning wildly at the pleasure. Rafe easily kisses you to swallow the noise of your open mouth, reminding you that your sisters are just a couple of doors over.

You should care. You really should. But you don't. You need him. Closer. Harder. Faster. Your legs wrap around his torso, trapping him. "Need you," you whimper, as each thrust grows more choppy. "Need you so fucking bad, Rafe."

He can't control himself. Removing his constraint of trying to keep it sentimental, to keep it sweet. He loves how desperate you need him. How rough you want it. His pace quickens with the rut of his hips, and you feel the familiar white-hot pleasure searing through your body, climaxing.

"More," you beg, arms wrapped around his neck, fingers clawing against his back muscles. You're removing all the space between him and you, until there's nothing but skin-on-skin. "Please, more."

"Baby, I'll give you everything," he grunts breathily, scraping his teeth against the curve of your neck, hitting a sensitive spot that leaves you whining. "Everything and more if you'd let me."

Something about his words twists inside you and you come hard. Rafe feels you clenching around him, so tight, that it causes him to slow his thrust but the pleasure is unbearable. Easily, he follows after, coming inside you with the familiar hot cum filling you up.

Rafe lands on top of you, careful not to crush you under his weight. You welcome it, nonetheless, liking the way he presses against you. Both your breaths are heavy, clambering to catch up on missing air, and Rafe's still inside you. You like that too.

Your hands are still intertwined, and you're the first to retract from the hold to place your warm palm against the side of his profile, causing his head to lift to meet your gaze. He's settled between the valley of your breasts, his stubble tickling your skin, and you take the moment to lean forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

It feels sentimental. Vulnerable. Almost too real.

"Okay, now get off," you say jokingly, undercutting the tension in the room. Rafe scoffs but listens, rolling off, slipping out of you. The loss of him makes you frown, but you quickly wipe away the expression as you turn on your side, facing him.

Rafe studies you. This time, the sex felt different. More. He'll never say it, in fear of it scaring you away, but he truly never felt as vulnerable as he did moments ago when he was inside you. The memories flooding through him could easily get him hard again, but he tries to distract himself, taking a strand of your hair between his fingers.

You smile softly, noting how mesmerized he is with your hair. Of the color and the texture. It draws you into your thoughts, and you're suddenly reminded of a question that's been stuck in your head for the past twenty-four hours.

You say his name, causing him to stop and look at you. "Why were you with Leila the other night?"

"She called me." He answers truthfully, and before you can question him further, he adds. "I was coming over anyways."

This surprises you. "You were?"

"Couldn't leave you like that."

"You didn't stop me."

"I know, I fucked that up," Rafe admits, eyes scanning over your face, trying to express his sincerity.

You study him, recognizing his truth, but you still have some doubts. Another question about your relationship hangs in the air, and as your lips part, Rafe recognizes the question before you even have the chance to ask.

"We're not broken up."

A sense of relief fills you, but there's also the remnant of heartache.

Your voice is soft. "I said a break."

"We're not doing that either."

You don't know if you can separate from him. You don't know if you want to. But you wanted this extra layer of protection, just in case. "If you were worried, I was still committed to doing all the things you needed with Ward—"

"I don't care." He sharply cuts you off. "If someone asks you who you're with, don't answer that it's complicated. It's not. You're with me, got it?"

He's addressing the moment when Kelce asked if you were in a relationship with Rafe and you answered vaguely. It must've been stuck in his mind. Rafe never set perimeters on who knows the truth behind your little farce, only that his father remains oblivious, but you guess it also extends to the rest of the Kook public.

You don't answer him, not wanting to taint the aftermath of good sex with discussions about logistics and labels. You want to enjoy the fleeting moment, even if it's all you get.

Rafe sees your silence and softens his voice. His hand cups the side of your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "You're mine, you know that?"

You do, but you don't think it's in the way Rafe realizes. The lines are so blurred, you don't know what's real or fake anymore. You don't know if this is a sentiment shared during intimacy or a parade with the public, or if he does want you. Asking for clarification has burned you twice and you'd rather not put yourself in that situation again.

You're silently asking Rafe to tell you more. To give you more words. To speak. If he reveals that he has feelings for you, telling you he wants you—truly wants you—beyond this arrangement, you would be his. All his.

But Rafe's never been the one to willingly talk and reveal things. You have to break an arm and a leg for him to consider giving you the time of day. You rather not break your heart too.

A banging on the locked bedroom door absolutes you from answering him. "Rafey!" Amara screams from the hallway, "You promised you'd see my dress!"

"Dress?" You turn away from the door. "What dress?"

Rafe says nothing, but the small smirk on his face reveals everything. "Rafe. What did you get them?"

You didn't go with your sisters on their early morning excursion with Rafe. You were too tired and were catching up on sleep. When you woke up, they were already back and had been gleefully locked away in the guest bedroom the entire afternoon.

"Don't worry about it."

Rafe slips off the bed and gets redressed while you watch. You admire the planes and ridges of his chest, and when he finishes, he picks your clothes off the floor and throws them at you, telling you to get up too.

You do, and after you're no longer bared and exposed on his king-sized bed, Rafe unlocks the door to reveal an impatient Amara standing behind the door. She's carrying a foreign doll between your arms; something handmade and name-branded, something she definitely didn't have before.

"Rafe..." You warn lowly, but it lacks the critical threat behind its tone. He just grins at your attempt, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of his bedroom. Amara leads you to the living room, where the registration of how much Rafe bought your sisters comes to light.

Scatters of large shopping bags, of various shops and boutiques you never heard the name of, litter across the floor. Leilani is sitting on one of the couches, messing with something in her hands. A phone. Amara’s ruffling through one of the bags, trying to find her dress.

You turn back to Rafe. "You got to be kidding."

"Just because you won't let me buy you nice things doesn't mean you should deprive your sisters of that opportunity," Rafe shrugs, taking a seat on the closest couch, and tugging you along. There's plenty of room on the cushioned chair, but Rafe decides to pull you onto his lap.

You don't even mind; you like your spot on his lap. His arm lazily wraps around your waist while your legs dangle off the side. While Amara recruited Leila along to search for their dresses—because they have that much stuff—Rafe playfully bites your exposed shoulder.

Finally finding their princess gowns and diamond tiaras, Amara grabs Leilani's hand and drags her off to the nearest bathroom. They're giggling while they skip away, bouncing on their feet, behaving the exact opposite of what you expected them to be after a traumatic experience.

"They're happy."

"Of course they are." He scoffs, "We spent the entire morning ransacking every store downtown, buying everything they set their eyes on."

You chuckle softly, and gratitude passes through you. "You didn't have to do that."

"Nah, I had to," Rafe slides you closer. "Got to stay on their good side, you know?"

You shake your head, hiding a smile. The sound of a door opening is heard and you turn to the source of the sound, expecting to see your sisters return with their costumes, but instead find the sudden appearance of Sarah Cameron standing in the middle of the foyer.

"Sarah." Rafe stiffens under you, surprise evident in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my house, Rafe," She says with the roll of her eyes.

"It hasn't been your house since you ran away three months ago," he snaps, a hardness to his words. "Where's your Pogue boyfriend now?"

She ignores her brother, shifting her attention to you. "Who are you?"

You feel like you're caught in the crossfire of their rivalry. Before you get the chance to answer, Rafe cuts in for you.

"She's my girlfriend," Rafe sneers, his arm tightening around your waist. "Which is none of your business."

"Gee, Rafe, really a great welcome home party," Sarah says sarcastically, adjusting the large bag over her shoulders, which you presumed is stuffed with her things. She looks back at you. "You're the Pogue my dad mentioned, right? The one who owns the bar near the docks?"

Something about the Cameron siblings minimizing you to a social class. Nonetheless, you nod. "Cool. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry you have to deal with that one," she points to her brother, who's shooting daggers at his little sister. She ignores the look. "Well, I hope you had a good... shopping trip. I'm going to go unpack."

Before you have a chance to correct her, she walks away, and Rafe shouts after her. "Don't unload too much, just in case you wanna run away again," he reminds, to which Sarah responds with a flip of her middle finger, turning onto the stairwell and disappearing.

You don't know how to deal with a Rafe post-Sarah, especially because you've heard of his long-winded rambles about the golden child. You don't even want to step into it, because what Rafe feels for his younger sister is none of your business. It's his complicated family. You can't fix that.

Instead, you pull him back to Earth, turning his head away and tilting his gaze back onto you. His heated eyes, darkened and full of resentment and anger, soften upon meeting yours, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Leaning into him, the both of you say nothing, doing nothing, until Amara and Leilani emerge from the dressing room with glamorous princess gowns and a crown over their head. Then, they did a little show for you.

The moments spent with you make him forget about his issue with his sister. With her return and what it means to the company. Who earns in favor with their father.

She’ll be a problem for another day.

Not realizing how true those words will be.

★ part thirteen ★

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qqueenofhades · 4 months ago

Note

I am FULLY ONBOARD the Harris/Waltz train, tho before this i was leaning towards Mark Kelly (AZ is a swing state! He's an ASTRONAUT!) If you want or have time, no pressure, but any thoughts on what makes Waltz a better pick?

I like Mark Kelly too, and since he's married to Gabby Giffords (having run for public office after she got shot and could no longer do so) he would have been an amazing pick in terms of supporting the first female POTUS. But he is a less charismatic public speaker than Walz (for whatever that's worth, but politics is a mess of Aesthetics and Vibes that matter as much and/or more than actual facts) and more moderate/conservative. He's been a great senator and picking him would defuse some of the BORDER IMMIGRATION BLAH BLAH!!! scaremongering that Republicans love to run on, but it would also leave open the possibility of losing a special election and other dangers with the Democratic senate that we really need to minimize. So Walz is a better choice for that alone, but also:

He really has serious progressive credentials as governor, even if he was a fairly mainstream Democrat (who flipped a rural red House district in Minnesota that Democrats have not been able to win again after he left) during his 12 years in the House. This is an INCOMPLETE LIST of what he was able to do in two years with a one-seat Democratic majority in Minnesota:

A Climate Action Plan that included:

Investing in energy infrastructure

100% carbon-free electricity by 2040 goal

Transition off of fossil fuels and onto clean energy resources

Building more electric vehicle charging stations

Providing funding to help workers acquire new skills through apprenticeship programs in clean energy fields

Direct state funding for transit

Money for rail

Tax credit for e-bikes

Permitting form to fast-track clean energy projects

And that was in addition to:

Codified abortion access in Minnesota

Guaranteed paid sick time and paid family and medical leave

Funded replacing ALL LEAD PIPES IN THE STATE

Free school breakfasts and lunches for all

Made public college free

Stronger labor protections

Drivers’ Licenses for All

Voting Rights Act to reverse recent court rulings that make voting harder, including restored voting rights to convicted felons

Banning medical debt from credit bureaus

The "Taylor Swift Bill" requiring all ticket "junk fees" be shown up front

Banning most "junk fees"

No book bans

Protection for tipped workers

Banned non-competes

Legalized recreational cannabis

Gun control, including increased penalties for straw purchases of firearms, expanded background checks and enacted red-flag laws, passing gun safety measures that the GOP has thwarted for years

Made MN a Trans Refuge State, and required health plans to cover “medically necessary gender-affirming care.”

Pay increase for Uber and Lyft drivers

Elimination of the so-called “gay panic defense”

A ban on “doxxing” election workers

A prohibition on “swatting” elected officials

In March, during the height of the Gaza/uncommitted primary protests against Biden, Walz said that young people should be listened to and they had a right to be speaking up and the situation in Gaza was horrible and intolerable, without directly slamming Biden or getting involved in the issue in a way to draw negative headlines. Regardless of what you think about any of it, that is a very deft way to handle it and pairs well with Kamala's better responsiveness on the Gaza issue overall. That was a big part of the reason why Gen Z/younger voters were very excited about Walz despite him being an "old" (actually the same age as Kamala but he has joked that teaching high school for 20 years will do that to a guy) white guy. If half the battle in politics is making the right pick to excite your core voters and reach out to new ones, then Harris nailed it. As I have said in earlier posts, there was just too much energy with young voters FINALLY checking in when Harris became the candidate, to risk introducing a big ideological split with Shapiro.

Aside from that: the most insufferable Smart White-Bro Political Pundits (TM) are big mad about Walz, many Never Trumper Republicans thought they were entitled to a "moderate" in exchange for oh-so-generously lending us their vote against Trump and not run the risk that we might end up with someone *gasp* progressive, and the regular MAGA Republicans are hysterical, which means they're terrified. It's also incredibly hard to paint Literal Midwestern Stereotype Dad (football coach, social studies high school teacher, military veteran, etc) as THE EVIL END OF AMERICA in the way they desperately want to do, though the fact that they're trying shows that they've got literally nothing. The fact that Kamala picked Walz against the PREVAILING WISDOM!!! that she had to take Shapiro (for whatever reason that might have been) is also a good sign, because by far the most genuine and extensive enthusiasm that I have seen from Democratic voters, especially those feeling burned out or disillusioned or angry with specific policy choices of the current administration, was for Walz. Having everyone excited for the pick beforehand, effectively using the "weird" line, and rallying behind the guy, only for her to actually go for him, is inspiring. It makes people feel like they're being heard and the Democrats have decided to win by being progressive, and not just endlessly Catering To The (Imaginary) Middle as they have always been told to do (and often done). That alone is MASSIVE.

Walz is tremendously funny, personable, has Democrats from AOC to Joe Manchin praising it (again, shocking), was right out the gate supporting Kamala, has already been majorly successful on TV, was by far the most progressive-on-policy picks of the VP finalists, is incredibly, hilariously wholesome and small-town Midwestern (he's the JD Vance that they wish JD Vance was), and is already sending ActBlue gangbusters with donations again. And when you're getting this kind of response on the Cursed Bird Hellsite, just:

Just. I don't know what's happening either. But let's enjoy it, and then work hard, because we gotta fucking do this and for possibly the first time this entire year, I really think we might. Heck yeah.

#post-it-free #ask #politics for ts #kamala harris 2024 #harris walz 2024

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2-dsimp · 1 month ago

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D͟͟͟͞͞͞A͟͟͟͞͞͞R͟͟͟͞͞͞L͟͟͟͞͞͞I͟͟͟͞͞͞N͟͟͟͞͞͞G͟͟͟͞͞͞ C͟͟͟͞͞͞A͟͟͟͞͞͞F͟͟͟͞͞͞E͟͟͟͞͞͞: F͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞a͟͟͟͞͞͞t͟͟͟͞͞͞u͟͟͟͞͞͞r͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞g͟͟͟͞͞͞ t͟͟͟͞͞͞h͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞ Y͟͟͟͞͞͞a͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞d͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞r͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞ V͟͟͟͞͞͞I͟͟͟͞͞͞P͟͟͟͞͞͞ O͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞ P͟͟͟͞͞͞o͟͟͟͞͞͞l͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞c͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞m͟͟͟͞͞͞a͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞

“So that’s it? All I need to do is just sign the NDA? And I can start working at the Darling cafe? There’s no need for my job interview at all?” You asked, in an apprehensive manner. Looking down at the sheet of paper which was placed in front of you by the smiley masked man who went by the name of Smiles.

“Yup! No need for a job interview or anything remotely tedious! You’ve already been approved by me, the head honcho of this particular Darling cafe branch. So there’s no need.” Your soon-to-be boss sounded off with a humorous tone in his airy voice that wasn’t muffled behind the mask. He merely spun a pen between his gloved fingers as if he was on autopilot. His other hand propping up his chin as he stared at you from his eye holes.

“All I require is for you to work wholeheartedly as a fine Darling in our establishment! Simple enough yeah?” He added, his tone carefree as he then leaned back within his office chair. His legs were crossed, while his arms moved to the back of his head.

This was your golden ticket out of debt! Your father being the deadbeat he was shifted all his debt onto you. His eldest child so that he could live Scot free and mooching off of the poor souls he swindled out of their money. To spend on drinking and gambling.

“Wow that’s great! You know I’ve heard some rumors about this place.” Smiles, stilled his eyes growing dark. He then inched forward from his lax position to hunch over the office table like a brooding old man. “Hah? What rumors did you hear sweetheart? Nothing strange right?”

“No, not at all! I’ve only been hearing good things about how the Darlings get paid generously. And even get healthcare benefits as well. I just wanted to fact check if that was true if that’s alright?” You rambled sheepishly, you had hoped that the rumors were true. You needed all the grace you could get with the shitty situation you’ve been held captive in.

After working many part time jobs that only paid minimum wage. You couldn’t help but be frustrated at how little of a dent you’ve made in getting your father’s debt off your shoulders. So it made you desperate to find any kind of job that would provide you the leverage you need to save yourself from potentially being sold off as collateral by the loan sharks.

“Oh that’s what you meant by rumors, haha! Yes you’ll be paid generously! As hazard pay will also be included.” You blinked at his words, hazard pay? What could be so hazardous working at a cutesy cafe of all things? You wanted to ask a question about it only for him to brush it off with an air of nonchalance.

“Don’t worry about that tibit too much it’s just a precaution per se. Since we cherish our Darlings dearly.” Smiley said with a serious undertone, while he had leaned back in his rolly chair to pull out a drawer to retrieve two stamps. Setting one onto the table next to you while he held the other in his grasp.

“Now to wrap things up, all I need you to do is sign the dotted line and then stamp yourself. Any part of the body will be fine.” He instructed, absentmindedly loosening up his tie. As if the mask he was wearing was making him feel a bit heated.

“Um stamp myself? As in just me and not the paper itself?” You asked dumbly, taking ahold of the stamp. It smelled alluringly sweet from the ink it was coated in. But the stamp mark would just wear off right? So what was the point?—

“It won’t wash off, it’s permanent. If that was what you’re wondering about dear.” Smiley, hummed pulling down his arm sleeve to reveal his stamp mark. It was a small QR code imprint on his inner wrist. “Let’s just say that It’s a safety measure we take to have your identity registered in our employee system. As lots of rats try to impersonate our workers/patrons or sneak in uninvited.”

That statement unnerved you a bit, but you didn’t have any time to waste. With determined hands you stamped yourself on the body part of your choosing. And steadily signed the dotted line completely missing how Smiles eyes had glowed faintly behind the holes of his mask.

His grip on the helm of the stamp he had splintered from the bubbling joy he felt at nabbing yet another prospective darling under his wing. The masked man could practically taste the sweet victory on his tongue. from beating his petty associate in a bet for whoever could pull in the most Darlings for their Yandere patrons.

“Well it’s been a pleasure. Welcome to the team Darling! Now let’s get you all prepped and ready for your debut to our lovely Patrons I’m sure you’d be a popular choice. ”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

“Alrighty Mister Koori, your Yandere Patron ID is all set for the Darling cafe!” Chimed the Helper at the front desk, they were neither a darling nor a fellow Yandere patron and seemed to be a working third party between the two factions within the Darling cafe. “Thank you for taking the time to fill out the questionnaires, it’s just to make sure your profile is 100% accurate for future darling match making.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

The Helper hummed, tapping away at the service patron screen. Glancing up at the giant Oni man, who was a whooping 10 feet tall. Making everything dwarfed from his size, where he had to duck his head to avoid his horns from scraping against the top of the front door entrance. “And seeing as you’ve invested in becoming a VIP member of ours would you like to see the latest edition of Darlings within our fine establishment?”

“…”

Wordlessly the Water Oni extended his huge calloused hand towards the attendant. Waiting for the catalog to be placed within his grasp his face remaining blank. Though his frosty eyes betrayed his nonchalance with a glimmer of interest.

“None of these will do.”

Shimo, grumbled underneath his tusks. Scanning over the catalog over trying to find someone who’d be the calm to his brewing storm. The only reason he even invested his time in coming out here. Despite his distaste for being in a public crowded setting.

Was because of his police patrol partner, Naan’s recommendation of the Darling cafe. Singing it high praise reviews of how the cafe helped them to successfully capture their own lover.

“Well sir how about you take a look at the exclusive selection for our VIP guests. I’m assuming you’re looking for the sunshine type of Darling, yes?” The Helper guessed and Shimo merely nodded truthfully. Liking how observant the worker was saving him from any needless chatter about what he was searching for.

The previous darlings on the public catalog looked so bland in his eyes. The Policeman wanted a darling who’d be his ray of sunshine on a rainy day. An optimistic type if you will, as it’ll complement against his cynical outlook on society. Thanks to his tireless job of catching felons and menaces to society for a living.

“This one…I want them to serve me.”

Shimo said softly, his claw tapping at your portrait within the exclusive catalog. Where your profile appeared underneath the Newbie Darlings listings. He admired the way you were so cute in the picture. Hair all messy with a sheepish smile on your lips, you looked as if you walked into a gust of wind which knocked you off kilter. And it was no doubt your newbie appearance that attracted him.

“Hoh? You’ve got a good eye! Luckily that darling has just been recruited to be working with us today on opening night. I’ll be sure to schedule the both of you to meet immediately” The rapid typing from the Helper alongside a sound ping coming from Shimo phone. Indicated that the date had been set for 9pm, right around where his shift would end.

With a chuff of satisfaction he tipped his hat towards the Helper and sauntered off ducking once more underneath the door frame. His cold heart thrumming with heat from the thought of being able to meet his prospective darling in just a couple hours.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

[9:00pm Opening night of the Darling Cafe]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧

The whistling bells from the door rang as a familiar giant figure slouched his way through the small entrance. Shimo, was dressed in a traditional Oni garb, of exotic divine beast furs, his iron club situated right upon the strap of his waist.

He already had a look of annoyance at hearing how chatty everyone was in the cafe. Dreading jam packed spaces as he was easily prone to anger given his temperament. Nonetheless, the blue oni was guided by the Helper who greeted him politely. Making way for the VIP section where the ogre was pleasantly surprised with how spacious and quaint the area was.

“Mister Koori, here is your VIP seating section. So whenever you come in you can just waltz on in here and get comfortable without needing to wait in line” They had booths tailored for Yandere Patrons of all shapes in sizes. Ranging from the Giant plus section for the bigger customers. And fairy sized section for the smaller ones.

The Helper then checked his watch. His eyes fixated on the moving hands before he grew a faint smile. “Well mister Koori the Newbie Darling you’ve requested will be arriving shortly! Just tap this button if you need my assistance or have any questions.”

With a polite bow the Helper waltzed away back to his station at the front desk leaving Shimo to his thoughts. But it wasn’t long until his train of thought derailed at feeling a cold splash on his attire alongside a faint presence falling against him. He blinked slowly, veins popping out one by one as his tusks grew in pure agitation. He was about to put his iron club to good use.

That is until he heard your apologetic frantic voice drowning in his ears like a pleasant water stream. His chilled glare softened seeing the newbie Darling he’d handpicked himself. Situated between his thighs clutching onto the server platter. Their outfit also covered in the daiquiri slush.

“I’m so sorry! Oh no your exotic furs— My god they look like they cost more than my life, Just give me a moment I’ll wash them myself ASAP—”

Your floundering made his lips twitch upwards a bit in a slight smile. He didn’t look like it but he did enjoy fucking with people despite his no nonsense attitude.

“It does cost more than your life. These furs came from divine beasts I killed myself. It wasn’t an easy feat.” The Water oni spoke, his words as tranquil as the ocean. Glowering down at you with a half lidded gaze. His large clawed fingers gently tilting your chin upwards so your eyes met with his own.

“I could file for destruction of property in this case. So what’re you going to offer me as compensation? To make me overlook this incident, Darling?”

Let me know if yall wanna see more of the Darling Cafe! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

#Shimo the WOni #yandere monster #darling cafe #yandere stories #yandere writing #yanderecore #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere concept #yandere male x reader #yandere monster x reader #yandere blurb #yanblr

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the-gay-prometheus · 16 days ago

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Thank you Dean and Cas, you can go back to superhell now or whatever.

OK. Now that I have your full and undivided attention.

What the &#!* is happening in Pennsylvania?!?

Hi. You can call me Jay or Victor (I go by both interchangeably). Who the heck am I? I'm just a guy who happens to be privy to a few of the finer details about some of the things going on regarding the election here in Pennsylvania due to my proximity to someone who is involved in the electoral process.

Skip to the "keep reading" if you don't care about the how or why I'm making this post and just want the details about what's going on.

You may have recently seen a post going around talking about how somebody has paid for many many many mail-in ballots in Pennsylvania to be challenged and therefore slowing the ability for those ballots to be counted or putting them at risk of being discarded entirely.

Note - the version of the post linked there is the EDITED version that includes my initial responses (thank you to OP @/feralcringeman for editing my addition onto the post!!!! and also a massive thank you for making the post in the first place!!!!! I'm glad more word is getting out about this situation!!!!)

I am not trying to undermine this individual's post by any means. However, thanks to the way Tumblr works, I am concerned about the fact that most people are only seeing the initial unedited version of the post and are not looking into the reblogs to see my responses.

THESE RESPONSES ARE IMPORTANT.

I'm not just saying that to be self-important or whatever - I'm saying that because it is extremely important that people understand exactly what is going on so that, if and when they take action, they take the correct action and don't start throwing accusations that will ultimately end with them not being taken seriously.

To make sure this updated information gets out to a broader audience, I am making my own post with everything you need to know included. Find out everything you need to know that I am able to tell you under the cut.

Here are the key things you need to know:

The emails in the original post are legitimate. Mail-in ballots are in fact being challenged in Pennsylvania, and there will be court hearings regarding the legitimacy of these ballots

These challenges are not being made by Donald Trump himself - they are being made by avid supporters of his.

These challenges ARE LEGAL by Pennsylvania law, and the law does require a payment to be made per ballot being challenged by the challenger

There was recent news about fraudulent voter registrations being received in Lancaster County. These have absolutely no connection to the individuals responsible for challenging the mail-in ballots

In Pennsylvania, there is a law stating that any Pennsylvania citizen may come to their county's director of elections and claim that certain mail-in ballot applications may be fraudulent. When they do so, they must pay cash out of pocket per ballot application challenged. This money will go toward whatever the county needs to put it toward (usually paying off debt). The amount required to be paid per challenge is $10.

A group of avid Trump supporters worked together to make use of this law in 14 counties:

In my county specifically, I am aware of an individual who paid over $7,000 in cash to challenge ballots - that is between 700-800 challenges in my county alone.

Across these 14 counties, the number of ballots being challenged is over 4,300. That is over $43,000 paid in cash out of pocket by Trump supporters in Pennsylvania specifically with the intent of attempting to, at worst, nullify perfectly valid mail-in ballot applications and void valid votes, or at best, slow down the vote counting process by forcing the counties to conduct court hearings regarding the legitimacy of these ballots.

The good news is, many of these counties are not taking these challenges seriously whatsoever. In some cases, the judges are literally just throwing out the challenges. In other cases, the ones who made the challenges are withdrawing their challenges because it's clear that their challenges won't be taken seriously. That said, some counties may take them more seriously and hold more intense trials. In some cases, the challengers may appeal the more swiftly made court decisions and force yet another court case, slowing things down even more.

What does this all mean?

Trump didn't cheat (at least not in this specific case). Technically his supporters that made these challenges didn't either. These challenges are 100% legal under Pennsylvania law. They're ridiculous, but they are legal.

So does this mean you shouldn't raise your voices about it? That you shouldn't contact the White House and include this situation in your note about how there was foul play in this election? Absolutely not. You should include this situation, but do not frame it as cheating, because it isn't. Frame it as just another way that this election has not been run entirely fairly, because while it is legal, it means that there are perfectly valid votes that are still waiting to be counted while extremely tight races are already being called.

~~~

With all that out of the way, what was that thing I said about fraudulent voter registrations in Lancaster?

This is a completely separate issue, as I've mentioned, and it's already been discovered that the vast majority of registrations flagged as potentially fraudulent have been verified as legitimate. What is important to note is that these were voter registrations, NOT ballots.

News of this situation has gone national, so of course Trump picked up on it (and visited Lancaster not once but twice after the entire issue came to a head). But Trump is Trump, so what did he say? He said that these were fraudulent ballots, fraudulent votes. That is not true.

The issue was voter registrations, potentially being conducted by paid political canvassers that were being given quotas on how many registrations they needed to get in order to be paid. Whether that bit is true or not is still being investigated - if it is true, it's very much illegal.

As I said, the good news is that the vast majority of the over 2000 flagged registrations have been verified as legitimate, and the number that actually does seem to be fraudulent so far is hovering below 20% of the number of registrations initially flagged.

Again, this issue is completely separate. You may see it being lumped together with the current issue of ballots being challenged, but these fraudulent registrations are linked to an entirely different situation and have nothing to do with Trump or his supporters.

~~~

So! That's the tea on what's happening here in PA. It's not as bad as it initially might sound - not to say it isn't bad, it's just not as bad. Feel free to ask questions, I'll do my best to answer with the information I have/the information I'm allowed to give.

And also, on a slightly lighter note, I think we should all collectively laugh at the idiots who paid a grand total of $43,000+ in cash for literally no good reason considering most of these challenges are just being or going to be thrown out. Lmao. I hope our counties' treasuries are enjoying those donations.

#politics #us politics #us elections #election 2024

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months ago

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Bankruptcy is very, very good

On THURSDAY (June 20) I'm live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On FRIDAY (June 21) I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On SATURDAY (June 22) I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.

There's a truly comforting sociopathy snuggled inside capitalism ideology: if markets are systems for identifying and rewarding virtue, ability and value, then anyone who's failing in the system is actually unworthy, not unlucky; and that means the winners are not just lucky (and certainly not merely selfish), but actually the best and they owe nothing to their social inferiors apart from what their own charitable impulses dictate.

It's an economic wrapper around the old theological doctrine of providence, whereby God shows you whom he favors by giving them wealth and station, and marks out the wicked by miring them in poverty. And like the religious belief in providence, the capitalist belief in meritocracy is essential to resolving cognitive dissonance: it lets the fed winners feel morally justified in stepping over the starving losers.

The debate over merit and luck has been with us for millennia, and even the hereditary absolute monarchs of the Bronze Age had to find a way to resolve it. For the rulers of antiquity, the way to square that circle was jubilee.

Bronze Age jubilees were periodic celebrations in which all debts were canceled. Different kingdoms had different schedules for jubilees, but imagine some mix of "every x years" and "every time a new ruler takes the throne" and "every time something really portentous happens." To modern sensibilities, the idea that we would simply wipe away all debts every now and again is almost inconceivable. Why would any society practice jubilee? More importantly, how could a ruler get the wealthy creditor class to countenance a jubilee, rather than seeking a revolutionary overthrow?

The best answers to this question can be found in the scholarship of historian Michael Hudson, who has written extensively on the subject. Hudson doesn't just write for a scholarly audience, he's also a fantastic communicator with a real commitment to bringing his research to lay audiences:

https://michael-hudson.com/

Hudson's most famous saying is "debts that can't be paid, won't be paid." It's in this dense little nugget that we can find the answer the the riddle of jubilee:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#debt

Let's start with a simple model of debt and credit in an agricultural society. In agricultural societies, everything exists downstream of farming, which is the core activity of the civilization. If the farmers succeed, everyone can eat, and that means they can do all the other things, all the not-farming work of your society.

To farm successfully, you need credit. Farmers enter the growing season in need of inputs: seed, fertilizer, labor; they need still more labor during the harvest. Without some way to acquire these inputs before the farmer has a crop that can pay for them, there can be no crop.

No wonder, then, that the earliest "money" we have a record of is ancient Babylonian credit ledgers that record the debts of farmers who borrow against the next crop to pay for the materials and labor they'll need to grow it. Debt, not barter, is the true origin of money. The fairy tale that coin money arose spontaneously to help bartering marketgoers facilitate trade has no historical evidence, while Babylonian ledgers can be seen in person in museums all over the world.

Farming requires an enormous amount of skill, but even the most skillful farmer is a prisoner of luck. No matter how good you are at farming, no matter how hard you work, no matter how carefully you plan, you can still lose a harvest to blight, drought, storms or vermin.

So over time, every farmer loses a crop. When that happens, the farmer can't pay off their debts and must roll them over and pay them off with future harvests. That means that over time, the share of each harvest the farmer has claim to goes down. Thanks to compounding interest, no bumper crop can erase the debts of the bad harvests.

That means that, over time, "farmer" becomes a synonym for "debtor." Farmers' productive output is increasingly claimed by the rich and powerful. No matter how badly everyone needs food, the whims of the hereditary creditor class come to dictate the country's agricultural priorities. More ornamental flowers for the tables of the wealthy, fewer staple crops for the masses. "Creditor" and "debtor" no longer describe economic relations – they become hereditary castes.

That's where jubilee comes in. Without some way to interrupt this cycle of spiraling debt, society becomes so destabilized that the system collapses:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

In other words: debts that can't be paid, won't be paid. Either you wipe away the farmers' debts to the creditor class, or your society collapses, and with it, the political relations that made those debts payable.

Jubilee is long gone, but that doesn't mean that debts that can't be paid will get paid. Modern society has filled the jubilee gap with bankruptcy, a legal process for shriving a debtor of their debts.

Bankruptcy takes many forms. The most important split in bankruptcy types is between elite bankruptcy and the bankruptcy of the common person. The limited liability company was created to allow people with money to pool their funds to back corporations without being responsible for their debts. This "capital formation" is considered "efficient" by economists because it creates the backing for big, ambitious projects, from colonizing and extracting the wealth of distant lands (Hudson's Bay Company) to spinning up global manufacturing supply chains (Apple).

Limited liability means that companies can take on debt without exposing their investors to risks beyond their capital stake. If you buy $1,000 worth of Apple stock, that's all you stand to lose if Apple makes bad decisions. Apple may rack up billions in liabilities – say, by abusing its subcontractor workforce – but Apple's owners aren't on the hook for it.

Economists like this because it means that you can invest in Apple without having to be privy to its daily management decisions, which means that Apple can accumulate huge pools of capital, "lever them up" by borrowing even more, and then put all that money to work on R&D, product development, marketing, and, of course, "incentives" for key employees and managers.

But limited liability also does a lot of work in the political sphere. Once an individual crosses a certain wealth threshold, they become an LLC. Accountants and wealth managers and financial planners insist on this. For freelancers and other sole practitioners, the benefits of forming an LLC are modest – a few more tax write-offs and the ability to get a business credit-card with slightly superior perks.

But for the truly wealthy, transforming yourself into the "natural person" at the center of a vast pool of LLCs is essential because it allows you to accumulate and shed debts. You can secretly own rental properties and abuse your tenants, accumulate vast liabilities as local authorities pile fine upon fine, and then simply dispose of the LLC and its debts. Plan this gambit carefully enough and the debtor LLC will have no assets in its bankruptcy estate apart from the crumbling apartment building, and its most senior secured creditor will be another of your LLCs. This lets the slumlord move an apartment block from one pocket to another, leaving the debt behind.

For the corporate person, shedding debts through bankruptcy is an honorable practice. Far from being a source of shame, the well-timed, well-structured bankruptcy is just evidence of financial acumen. Think of the private equity looters who buy a company by borrowing against it, pay themselves a huge "special dividend," then wipe away the debt by taking the company bankrupt (which also lets them shed obligations to suppliers, workers, and especially, retirees and their pensions). As Trump (a serial bankrupt who has stiffed legions of contractors and creditors) would say, "That makes me smart."

The apotheosis of elite bankruptcy is found in massive corporate bankruptcies, in which a corporation kills and maims huge numbers of people, then maneuvers to get its case heard in one of three US federal courtrooms where specialist judges rubber-stamp "involuntary third-party releases" that wipe out the company's obligations to it victims for pennies on the dollar, while the company gets to keep billions:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#morally-bankrupt

This process was so flagrantly abused by companies like Johnson & Johnson (which spent years knowingly advising women to dust their vulvas with asbestos-tainted talc, creating an epidemic of grotesque and lethal genital cancers) that it is finally generating some scrutiny and pushback:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

But the precarious state of elite bankruptcies has more to do with the personal corruption of the small cabal of judges who run the system than public outrage over their rulings; like that one judge in Texas who was secretly fucking the lawyer whose clients he was also handing hundreds of millions of dollars to:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/16/texas-two-step/#david-jones

Certainly, we don't hear much about the "moral hazard" of allowing the Sackler opioid family to keep as much as ten billion dollars in the family's offshore accounts while walking away from the victims of their drug-pushing empire, no matter what bizarre tricks they deploy in pulling off the stunt:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

But when it comes to canceling the debts of normal people, the "moral hazard" is front and center. If you're a person who borrowed $79k in student loans, paid back $190k and still owe $236k, we can't cancel your debt, because of the message that would send to other people who want to (checks notes) get an education:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#strike-debt

The anti-jubilee side also wants us to think of the poor creditors: who would loan money to the next generation of students if student debt cancellation was a possibility? Of course, these are federally guaranteed loans, risk-free, free money for people who already have money, a kind of UBI for the people who need it least. The idea that this credit pool would dry up if you were limited to only collecting the debts that can be paid – rather than insisting that debts that can't be paid still be paid – elevates the hereditary creditor class to a kind of fragile, easily frightened, endangered species.

But the most powerful arguments against bankruptcy are rooted in the idea of providence. In an efficient market, anyone who goes bankrupt was necessarily reckless. They were entrusted with credit they weren't entitled to, because they lacked the intrinsic merit that would let them manage that credit wisely. Letting them walk away from their debts means that they will never learn from their mistakes, and that their fellow born-to-be-poors will learn the wrong thing from those debts: that there's an easy life in borrowing, spending, and discharging your debts in bankruptcy.

As it happens, this is an empirically testable proposition. If this view of personal bankruptcy as a personal failure is correct, then people who go bankrupt and live to borrow again should end up bankrupt again, too. On the other hand, if we accept the jubilee view – that debt is the result of accumulated misfortunes, often including the misfortune of birth into poor station – then bankruptcy represents a second chance with an opportunity to dodge misfortune.

In a new study from IZA Institute of Labor Economics's Gustaf Bruze, Alexander Kjær Hilsløv and Jonas Maibom, we get just such an empirical analysis. It's called "The Long-Run Effects of Individual Debt Relief," and it examines the lives of people for a full quarter-century after a bankruptcy:

https://docs.iza.org/dp17047.pdf

The study follows Danish bankruptcies following the introduction of continental Europe's first modern bankruptcy system, which Denmark instituted in 1984. Prior to that, the Danes – like most of Europe – did not allow for a discharge of personal debt through bankruptcy. Instead, a debtor who went bankrupt would be expected to have about 20% of their lifetime wages garnished to pay back their creditors, until the debts were repaid or they died (whichever came first).

After 1984, Denmark bankruptcy system imported features of US/UK/Commonwealth bankruptcy, including the ability to restructure and discharge your debts. Not everyone is eligible for this kind of bankruptcy: there's a bureaucratic system that verifies that people seeking bankruptcy discharge don't have a lot of assets that could go to their creditors.

But for the (un)lucky people who qualify for bankruptcy discharges, there's a fascinating natural experiment in which the fortunes of people who see debt relief can be compared to bankrupt people who couldn't get their debts wiped out.

It turns out that the Bronze Age has a thing or two to teach us. Here's the headline finding: people who discharge their debts in bankruptcy experience "a large increase in earned income, employment, assets, real estate, secured debt, home ownership, and wealth that persists for more than 25 years after a court ruling."

After people are given the benefits of bankruptcy, they are less likely to rely on public benefits. They get better jobs. Their families live better lives. Their creditors get some of their money back (which is all they can realistically expect, since "debts that can't be paid, won't be paid").

As Jason Kilborn writes for Credit Slips, "the benefits of debt relief are not only substantial but robust, as debtors learn their lesson (if there was one to learn) about managing their finances, and they capitalize (literally) on their fresh start."

Score one for the luck-based theory of wealth, and minus one for the providential meritocracy hypothesis.

Americans should take note of these findings. After all, Danes are insulated from the leading American cause of bankruptcy: medical debts. In America, breaking a bone or getting cancer or even kidney stone can wipe out a lifetime of hard work, careful planning and prudential spending. The US refuses to seriously grapple with this problem. The best we can come up with is the (welcome, but tiny) step of banning credit bureaux from trashing your credit score because of your medical debt:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2024/06/11/fact-sheet-vice-president-harris-announces-proposal-to-prohibit-medical-bills-from-being-included-on-credit-reports-and-calls-on-states-and-localities-to-take-further-actions-to-reduce-medical-debt/

Millennia ago, everyone understood that debts that can't be paid, won't be paid, and they created a system for discharging debts and freeing productive people from the tyranny of accumulated liabilities, to the benefit of all. Dismantling that system required us to invent an elaborate theological system and dress it up in economic language.

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/2024/06/17/lovilee-jubilee/#debts-that-cant-be-paid-wont-be-paid

#pluralistic #debt #debts that cant be paid wont be paid #jubilee #denmark #great danes #bankruptcy #second chances #scholarship #economics #iza #Gustaf Bruze #Alexander Kjær Hilsløv #Jonas Maibom #michael hudson

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ladykailitha · 1 year ago

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If I were to do a A/B/O story with Steddie this is how I would do it (I've never done omega-verse for any of my fandoms, but damn there is something about Steddie that just screams it, you know?)

Steve was sold to a place that uses infertile omegas as sex toys. Rut servicing, gang bangs, orgies, or even just pretty arm candy for special events. The point is that the Harringtons sold him when they found out he couldn't be sold to the wealthiest, most influential alphas as a broodmare.

They are pretty much indentured and have to pay off the debt of how much the company paid for them. Steve pays off his debt and stays. Most omegas leave, but he loves what he does. He really loves rut servicing. It's his favorite because he has all the control during the three to four days the alpha is sex crazed. He also loves that he can take care of them without them thinking he's in for the bond bite.

Steve's at some gala or event or whatever on the arm of an older alpha, probably a senator or someone important like that when he meets Eddie Munson, frontman for Corroded Coffin.

They're introduced and they hit off, until Steve mentions offhand that he's infertile. Because that angers Eddie for some reason.

Eddie sets up Steve to be his rut servicer and demands that Steve be placed on some kind of birth control. It's a strange request, but it's granted.

When Steve arrives, Eddie tells him under no uncertain terms that either of them are going to be barebacking. Condoms are required.

This pisses Steve off. He's infertile and these demands are just ridiculous. He can't get pregnant.

Eddie scoffs. If he was infertile it would reflect in his scent. It would be sickly sweet, like overripe fruit. Cloying almost. But Steve doesn't smell like that. He smells darker, woodier, more like spices then fruity.

Steve frowns, he hadn't heard that about omegas, but it made sense, his other co-workers did have that sweet smell, but never really thought about it being different than his own.

But before they could talk it out, Eddie goes into his rut hard. Harder then it's ever been and Steve is pretty much scrambling to keep up with the sex.

At the end of the five days, Steve is worn out and ready to pass out for the next week, but he needs to know what Eddie was talking about.

Eddie tells him that he's not infertile, he's an ultra-fertile omega. So rare that they present in only 1% of the human population as a whole. Red-heads are more common they are.

Basically they are only fertile during their heats, but instead of having only a 1 in 5 chance of getting pregnant like omegas do in heat (1 in 8 out of heat), they can get pregnant 4 in 5 chance of getting pregnant. In fact, they are so revered that they can have their pick of the best alphas in their country. Some of them even go so far as casting their net over the whole fucking world.

Steve isn't sure he believes him, but his parents never tested for it because it was too rare. So it's possible that he could be, it's not like he can test it now. The test needs to be done at the time he presented. The only way to know for sure is if he shared a heat with an alpha (he's not allowed to as service omega to spend it with anything but toys) and he doesn't know of any alpha willing to take the chance that he might be some golden omega.

Only Eddie is totally willing. Willing to even bond Steve, with or without the ultra-fertility.

Steve is shocked. He's even more shocked when he goes into heat just from being so close to Eddie. Because he's on blockers, that's not supposed to happen.

While Steve is still cognizant he consents to Eddie helping him through the heat, suddenly grateful for the condom and birth control stipulation is suddenly very welcome.

It's only a light one that lasts a couple of days, but it's the best he's ever had. The first he's ever shared with an alpha. And he loved it.

He found out that in order to share Steve's heat, Eddie had to pay a lot of money for the privilege so he just bought Steve's contract as a whole. The one he made because he brought in so much money to the company.

They talk about bonding and sharing Steve real heat. The reason Eddie was so insistent on the contraception measures is that his scent had been known to break blockers in the past.

Which makes sense, some alphas just have that strong a scent. It's not a thing like an ultra-omega, but just something that could happen. The company tended to screen those types of alphas and made sure that the omega would be safely whisked away. It just never happened to Steve before.

Eddie courts Steve properly and they bond. And sure enough Eddie was right Steve gets pregnant, and suddenly Steve's parents are banging on the door demanding they be compensated for the fact that he's an ultra-omega and could have been sold for lots, lots more money then the company gave them.

But Steve tells them to fuck off and slams the door in their faces. And Steve and Eddie live happily ever after with their growing family.

First chapter of the full story here.

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #a/b/o verse #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #sex worker steve #rockstar eddie munson

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theswordwrites · 3 months ago

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PART ONE (the alchemy)

Juniper receives good news and has no choice but to celebrate with her closest friends, leading her right into the path of Aemond Targaryen (again.)

(TW: 18+ partying, drug use, nothing too crazy!)

word count: 4.3k

NEXT PART

By midnight, June’s feet ached in the heels required by her uniform. It was ridiculous, truly. The gala attendees barely looked at her for longer than a few seconds, so why was she squeezed into a cocktail dress that had probably been handed down a dozen times and shoes that made her calves tense and sore for days? As she ran drinks to and from tables, flashing her best million-dollar smile, she reminded herself the paycheck would be worth it. Her rent would be paid, her credit card debt knocked down, and she could finally buy the cat tree that had been sitting in her online shopping cart for weeks. Maybe she’d even splurge on a night out at The Velvet Throne with her roommate, Arianne, and their friends.

After a night working the Green Party’s latest altruistic-yet-off-putting kickoff gala, she would need at least four martinis and a cigarette. She had spotted Alicent Hightower, as beautiful as ever, gliding through the room in a deep sage silk gown. June wasn’t sure what the gala was raising money for, but they had raised a hell of a lot of it. She had to admit, Alicent was so stunning she might have emptied her own pockets for her, too. The Targaryen-Hightower children had made an appearance. The eldest—whose name escaped her—was drunk by the time the opening speeches began. Helaena had left early, trailed by three bodyguards. She’d seen the second son, Aemond, only from behind. Taller than his older brother, and surprisingly, not wearing green. Odd, considering the rumor was he was at odds with party advisors ahead of the election.

That morning, Arianne, Edith, and Seraphina had dissected the election over bagels and coffee. Edith claimed he seemed different from his father, with more progressive policies aimed at gaining the younger generation's vote. Arianne rolled her eyes and insisted he might put on a good show, but he was just as much a Targaryen as his father, with his scheming grandfather pulling the strings. “I’m sure he’ll say anything to get into office, and once he’s there, he’ll line his pockets like the rest of them.”

June had stayed quiet, editing her thesis on her laptop and mulling over her use of the word "delve." She had no faith in the system, nor those who upheld it. But she had heard a speech Aemond had given about student debt, arguing that education shouldn't have a price because knowledge was power, and everyday people deserved to hold it. It intrigued her—how young he was, and the impact that could have. She promised herself she would research more closer to the election and do her duty as a citizen of Westeros. Her brain was too full of edits and deadlines to give it much space now.

“June, we need more champagnes to the front table, like right now,” one of the other servers hissed at her, voice anything but subtle. She nodded and forced her aching legs to move.

At the table sat the Hightowers and their equally powerful, politically savvy friends. She spotted Larys Strong, who had served the late Prime Minister, looking as intense and off-putting as ever as he leaned on his cane. Jason Lannister's spray tan was a shade too deep, and June had to bite back a giggle. How could someone be so rich and yet so blind? Surely, he could hire someone to remind him that a few hours was more than enough.

She set the glasses down gently, adding a smile and a dragon-embossed napkin. June tried to ignore that Alicent Hightower was looking at her but managed a polite, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“I think we’re okay for now, thank you,” Alicent replied, her voice as graceful as her movements.

June smiled again, hoping her lipstick hadn’t smudged, and glanced around the table. The eldest Targaryen son sat to Alicent’s left, and next to him was Aemond, the current parliamentary candidate. He was all sharp lines and elegance, with blue eyes that were now fixed on her. June paled, frozen in place. Her gaze traveled from his silver hair to the scar etched over his eye and then to the gold signet ring on his pinky.

He was a Targaryen in every sense of the word, elegantly leaned back in his chair, hands folded on the table, eyes like steel.

The seconds stretched into an eternity before her brain caught up with her body. With another awkward grin and a slight tilt of her head, she turned—no, scurried—away.

Nothing embarrassed June more than feeling out of place. And that had been mortifying.

Back in the kitchen, she sipped water and fanned her face, hoping she wasn’t too flushed. She quickly asked the manager—an older woman with a sharp determination to break in the new servers—if she could take her first break. The manager nodded, and June didn’t waste a second before slipping outside. The cool air of a late August evening felt refreshing against her skin, drawing out some of the heat as she leaned against the brick wall. Her phone dinged.

TO: JUNIPER GREYSONFROM: DR. ORWYLE

Miss Greyson,

I apologize for the late correspondence. I have just received confirmation that your dissertation has been approved by the committee. Please call my office tomorrow morning to set a date for your defense.

CongratulationsSent from my iPhone

She squealed—a high-pitched, elated sound that escaped before she could stop it. It didn’t matter who heard. She had spent three years on that thesis, hours upon hours of research and writing and scraping by, and now she’d done it. Her fingers found Arianne’s contact, and she didn't care if the brunette was with her “so-not-my-girlfriend” girlfriend.

After a single ring, Arianne answered, “Junie! Are you off work yet?”

“No, not yet. Another hour, maybe. Do you have a second?”

“For my beautiful, smart, strawberry blonde best friend? Of course!” June could picture her now, animated, hands moving as she spoke. Arianne always had a flair for the dramatic—and for flattery, which June usually appreciated.

“It got approved! My thesis, I mean. Dr. Orwyle just emailed. It’s going to committee as soon as I set a date.”

Through the phone came another excited, ear-piercing squeal.

“Oh, Seven! June, that’s incredible! I knew you could do it!”

“I—” June stuttered, adrenaline catching up to her, “I think I’m in shock. I expected another round of edits, you know? The conclusion didn’t feel right on the last read—”

Arianne cut her off before she could spiral into self-doubt. “Breathe, Junie. You got approved! That’s the only thing that matters right now. Any chance you can leave early so we can celebrate?”

June glanced from her phone to the open kitchen door. “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll be home.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Arianne, Edith, and Seraphina were waiting for her with wide grins and a drink in hand when she finally stumbled through the front door. In the mere twenty minutes it had taken June to get home, they had somehow managed to drape a glittering “Congratulations!” banner across the mantle, fill the room with balloons, and crack open a bottle of champagne. The faint scent of perfume and laughter filled the air.

Her heart swelled as they swarmed her, squealing and hugging her like they hadn't seen her in years. "Junie, we are so, so proud of you!" Edith sang, throwing her long arms around June in a hug that rocked them back and forth. The others echoed their congratulations, their voices bright and cheerful, brimming with the kind of excitement only best friends can muster.

They didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath, herded her straight to the bathroom, insisting she shower and change. She let them fuss over her, laughing as they debated outfits, finally settling on something so skimpy it would’ve made her mother clutch her pearls in horror.

For a moment, June thought of her mother, a sharp pang tugging at her chest. She should call her, share the news— but just as quickly, she shoved the thought away, burying it deep. Her mother had been so distant since the accident, so different from the bubbly, over-involved PTA mom who used to cheer too loudly at every recital, every bake sale. It broke June’s heart, but it had been three years, and she had learned to lock those feelings away in a box that she only opened on rare, quiet nights. She was different now too—tougher, more self-reliant. Or at least that’s what she told herself as she swiped concealer under her eyes and dabbed on a thick layer of blush.

"Come on, Junie, let’s go!" Arianne urged, grabbing her arm with a grin. "The Velvet Throne is gonna have a line out the door!"

She barely had time to grab her purse before they were out the door, tumbling into the warm night air. The city buzzed around them—cars honked, street lights flickered, and the distant thrum of music seemed to pulse from every corner. They giggled like schoolgirls as they raced down the street in their high heels, their excitement infectious. After a few glasses of champagne, the ache in her feet had disappeared and she was ready to dance.

When they reached the Velvet Throne, the line was indeed snaking around the block, a mass of people dressed to impress, chattering with anticipation. But Edith, ever the charmer, knew the bouncer. With a coy smile and a flutter of her eyelashes, they were whisked inside and escorted up to the VIP level.

The music hit her like a wave, a deep, pounding bass that vibrated in her chests. One drink turned into two, two into three. The bartender, hearing their redheaded friend was on her way to becoming a doctor, poured them free shots. June held her breath, pinched her nose, and downed it, wincing at the bitter taste but reveling in the warm, numbing sensation that spread through her limbs. The music was so loud it seemed to drown out her thoughts, and for the first time in a long time, she let go.

She danced like she was weightless, the beat coursing through her veins, her friends spinning around her, hair flying, eyes sparkling under the neon lights. They were all in their own little world, a blur of laughter, movement, and joy. At one point, she caught sight of Edith slipping a small baggie from a man in a dark jacket, his expression unreadable.

Edith grabbed her hand, pulling her into a corner and shouting over the music, "Cregan’s at a party at the Keep! He said we’re invited." She opened her palm, revealing the little baggie with a sly grin. "I say we take our new little friend here," she gestured to the baggie, "and head over! Lots of sexy, rich men and free drinks!"

The girls cheered, their excitement infectious, and June felt a surge of adrenaline. This night was far from over.

The Keep was the heart of King’s Landing, home to the city’s wealthiest and most influential residents. The girls had been to a few parties there before, the most memorable being the one where Seraphina ended up spending the night with a Prince from Dorne. They hadn’t let her live it down for months, teasing her with “Your Majesty” until they were breathless with laughter. The prince had texted her the next day, practically begging her to hop on the flight back with him. Sera had only shrugged, saying that while he was amazing in bed and seemed like a nice guy, living in the public eye wasn't for her.

Arianne and Edith had disagreed, dreaming up all the scandalous headlines they’d make if they were ever involved with someone so high-profile. "We’d be the perfect all-Westerosi girls," Arianne had insisted, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

June, as usual, had just nodded and giggled along, content to listen. But now, with the buzz of champagne and a little powder still fresh in her system, she was feeling more chatty. “How did Cregan manage to get into a party at the Keep?” she asked, her voice louder than she intended, her words slightly slurred.

Edith shrugged, adjusting the hem of her skirt. “Old money, babe. His parents have a house there. I’m sure he’s got connections.”

June leaned in closer, her eyebrows raised, chin tipped playfully. “So, are you two ever going to date? Or finally address all that crazy sexual tension?”

Edith laughed, tossing her hair back, her eyes gleaming under the streetlights. “Ask me that tomorrow,” she replied with a wink, just as a car pulled up to the curb. She quickly touched up everyone’s lipstick and hair with a practiced hand. “That’s us!” she shouted.

The Uber ride was a blur, the city lights whizzing by in streaks of neon and gold. It took only fifteen minutes, thanks to the late-night traffic, but it felt like a heartbeat. By now, it was past three in the morning, and though June wouldn’t admit it, she could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the night beginning to weigh heavy on her bones. Still, she was committed to the bit, the thrill of the night pushing her forward.

Cregan was waiting for them outside, leaning casually against the wall in his usual outfit: an open button-up shirt and jeans that clung just right. They exchanged quick hellos, June’s eyes flicking to Edith, who was already batting her lashes and nodding eagerly at everything Cregan said. She nudged Sera with her elbow, tilting her head toward the two of them.

“He’s definitely ending up at your place tonight, I hope you can sleep through it.” June whispered, twisting the silver ring around her middle finger. Sera managed a quick eye roll before they were whisked inside.

The drunk crowd sprawled across the plush living room seemed almost out of place, like they’d stumbled into the wrong kind of party. The room felt like it belonged to someone who read classic novels by the fireplace or debated politics over brandy. June noticed a distinct lack of personal photos; instead, the walls were adorned with stunning artwork, pieces that seemed to glow under the soft lighting and made her mouth water with envy.

She glanced up, her eyes following the endless ceilings that stretched toward a glittering chandelier, so ornate it looked like it belonged in a palace. Above it, a second level.

“Who’s place is this anyway?” she asked, turning to Cregan.

He tore his gaze away from Edith, though his hand remained comfortably on her lower back. “One of the Targaryens,” he replied with a casual grin. “I play ball with Aegon on the weekends. He’s around here somewhere.”

June raised an eyebrow, amused by the casualness of his tone, as if dropping the name of one of the city’s most influential families was no big deal, “He’s the oldest, right?” Cregan nodded, “I worked their gala event tonight. Rumor has it he left early because he was smashed.”

An arm slid around her shoulder, the weight of it startling her. She could see blonde curls from the corner of her eye. A voice, smooth and amused, spoke close to her ear. “Smashed would be correct, little red. But I have sobered up enough to throw one hell of a party.”

“June, meet Aegon. Aegon, meet Juniper Greyson.” Cregan interjected, gesturing between them. The blonde took his arm away from her shoulders and offered his hand to shake.

June took it, taking him in. While he and his brother shared the same icy hair and serene blue eyes, there was a softness to Aegon’s features that set him apart. His nose had a gentle slope, and his eyes, though strikingly similar in color, lacked the hard edge she’d seen in his brother— but were identical to their mother’s set and shape.

Aegon turned his attention to her friends, his grin widening as he introduced himself. His blue eyes stuck to Seraphina as they walked to the kitchen. June withheld her giggle, watching Sera blush under his gaze.

The girls chatted and the boys eventually drifted away to find more of their friends, not before finding the girls cans of seltzers and bottles of water. June watched as her friends chatted, feeling that odd sensation of being inside the conversation, but also outside of it. She figured the drinking, dancing and coke had caught up to her.

“I’m gonna find the bathroom— be right back.” She gave her friends a tightlipped smile.

“Want me to come?” Edith offered, but June shook her head.

“No, I’m alright. Go talk to Cregan again, he’s been staring at you this whole time.” She nodded her head at him across the room, and he quickly looked away, almost embarrassed that he’d been caught.

The first bathroom had been occupied but what she could only assume to be the raunchiest couple in King’s Landing with the sounds that they were making. She scoffed, sure she hadn’t really ever had mind-blowing sex, but that level of noise was just so obviously unnecessary. The second had just been locked with no answer to her knock. She sighed as she made her way up the stairs, finding not a single bathroom, but a bedroom with one connected.

After taking care of her business and washing her hands, drying them off on the fluffiest hand towel she had ever touched, she wandered around the bedroom. It felt wrong to snoop, but with the lack of trinkets or personal belongings she assumed it must have been a guest room. The bookshelf was full of classics and history books, a few well-loved first editions she could guess by the aged and worn spines. Now, in the silence, her head began to pound as the music faded away. She counted the drinks in her head.

One at home. Three at the bar. Add two shots at the bar. One downstairs. Two lines in between.

She realized she had definitely overdone it. While June enjoyed nights like these with her friends—welcomed them even—it wasn’t something she wanted to make a habit of every weekend. The way her vision blurred told her it would take weeks to muster the courage to drink again. Sitting on the bed, she ran her fingers over the dark green quilt and giggled.

Green. Of course it was green. Like the hand towel and the bathroom rug. She wondered if that’s what the owner of the room had told the interior designer, “Well, you see I like green. And I’m so, disgustingly rich.” She said aloud in the poshest accent she could manage, making herself laugh even harder.

The door swinging open seemed to sober her up quickly, pulling any laughter out of her chest.

She looked up, horrified to find Aemond Targaryen in the doorframe. He was wearing the same dark suit from earlier in the evening, but his jacket had been shrugged off and tossed over his arm and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. “You.” He said, something like recognition washing over his face.

“Me,” June stammered, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. “I, uh, just needed to use the bathroom and get away from the crowd for a moment. The one downstairs was occupied by a couple making the most disgusting noises, and the other one was locked—someone probably doing coke or something. I thought this was a guest room. I’m sorry. I should go. My friends might be looking for me.” She rambled on, the alcohol making her spill a play-by-play of how she ended up in his bedroom.

Aemond remained in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Despite leaning against the frame, he was still a head and a half taller than her. “You were at the event tonight, and now you’re in my bedroom. Stalking me?”

“You’re a very tough guy to stalk, Mr. Targaryen. I spent all night knocking on doors until Aegon let me in here,” June found herself looking down at her feet, the carpet much easier to maintain eye contact with.

“So, you’re friends with Aegon then?”

“No, not really. One of my friends is kind of seeing Cregan Stark, and he’s friends with Aegon. We were out celebrating and he invited us. I didn’t realize whose house it was—or that you must live here with Aegon.”

“I don’t live here with Aegon. The place is mine, but Aegon thought it’d be a good joke to throw a party here.” He crossed his long arms over his chest, and June tried to ignore the enticing hint of skin peeking from his undone shirt.

“Oh, that’s kind of shitty.”

“Kind of shitty should be Aegon’s middle name. I’ve already kicked everyone out. Your friends might be gone, but if my driver is still out front, I can have him take you home.” He gestured to the hallway and began to walk. June followed, too tired to argue.

“You don’t have to. I can call an Uber.” She said, not wanting to be a bother. But she did think, in the back of her mind, that Edith would have a fit if she knew Aemond Targaryen’s personal driver had taken her home. Arianne would pretend to be less impressed, but would hound her later on the make and model; asking if there was a privacy shade and free champagne.

“Ride-share crime has gone up 10% last quarter, I can’t in good conscience—especially not to a constituent.”

“Trying to win my vote, Mr. Targaryen?” She asked, grinning.

“I was hoping I already had it.”

“You probably do. I saw your student debt speech and liked it, but I’ve been putting off thinking about the election until school settles down. So I can make a well-informed decision of course.”

They descended the stairs. Indeed, Aemond had kicked everyone out, and only Aegon lay sprawled on the leather sofa. “Little red! I see you met my brother, charmer isn’t he?”

Aemond’s gaze was cold as he replied, “Go back to sleep, you oaf. I’m going to have Criston take her home.”

“Oh, I sent Criston back home. Oops.” Aegon giggled, clearly drunker than the last time she saw him. Aemond only sighed as they reached the door.

“I can take you home. I don’t drink, so I’m as sober as can be.”

June nodded, again too tired to argue. The liquor made her pliant, and she was eager to get home. Aemond led her to a sleek black Mercedes, opening the door for her with a practiced ease. She found the gesture oddly chivalrous.

As he turned on the engine, the hum of the car snapped her out of her daze. She glanced around at the luxurious, leather interior. “You’re a PhD student at KLU, right?”

“Stalking me, Mr. Targaryen?” She peered at him.

“Aemond,” he corrected, his tone softer but still firm, glancing over at her as he handed her his phone, maps open and ready for her to enter her address. “Call me Aemond, please. ‘Mr.’ makes me feel old. I stepped out for a smoke this evening and overheard you on the phone. Congratulations, by the way. Dr. Orwyle is not an easy man to impress.”

“Oh.” June’s lips curled into a smile at the praise as she handed his phone back to him. She watched as the map popped up on the car’s screen, showing it was only a ten-minute drive home. “Thank you. I’m excited for it to be over, I think. You studied under Dr. Orwyle?”

She found herself looking at him again, her gaze lingering on his muscular hand gripping the steering wheel. “For my first PhD. He was a hard-ass, but pressure makes diamonds, and I couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Were you nervous for your defense? I know you do speeches all the time now, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to be the hardest part.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked, his voice dropping close to a whisper, as if anyone else could hear him. “I still get nervous. Every time. Whether it's a crowd of twenty or two thousand. But I remind myself that it’s not about me; it’s about the content, about getting people to listen. All the other stuff—the cadence of your voice or your posture—will come naturally.”

She hummed in response, her head resting against the cold window. The city lights blurred past, and she wondered if Edith had gone home with Cregan. “That’s good advice, thank you.”

“If politics doesn’t work out, my mother thinks I should go into consulting. Perhaps I have a knack for it.” He glanced over at her, his gaze intense. June tried to imagine the setting of that conversation. Was he worried about losing, or was the confidence from his team (or his family) faltering?

“You might, but I think politics might suit you better. The whole country seems to be buzzing about you.”

He shrugged, a flicker of something—appreciation, relief?—in his eyes. “We’ll have to see if that's the case in a few months.”

“Oh, this is me, with the red door.” She pointed out, and he brought the car to a slow stop. Before she could unbuckle her seat belt, he was out of the driver’s side and rounding the car to open the door for her. She found his chivalry oddly compelling, a sharp contrast to his earlier indifference to seemingly everything and everyone.

“Thank you for giving me a ride home, Aemond,” she said again, her voice tinged with genuine gratitude and something more. He just nodded, watching her unlock the door and step inside.

Juniper and Aemond failed to notice the blacked out SUV across the street, a long camera lens poking out of the passenger side, snapping away.

okay part one is out! I see this being 7-12 parts, depending on how much i daydream about it in class tomorrow. please leave comments questions etc! so excited to share this <3

#modern!aemond targaryen x original female character #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #modern au #aegon ii targaryen #aemond x reader #creepy larys #beautiful alicent #drunk aegon

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soma-prime-incarnon · 1 year ago

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Please consider helping a recently employed/housed TWOC make it through the month.

[1 October 2023]

Hello,I am Nell,a Malaysian trans woman who recently got hired for a new job that required me to relocate on short notice.

That's a good thing for the most part,but I needed to scrape together money and go into debt to start renting a place from which I could travel to my new workplace. And as expected,my first full paycheck is still a month off.

As such,I could really use the help absorbing the cost I've already paid and covering things like food,travel costs,utilities (which run off a prepaid meter),and possibly the second month's rent.

It would help if I could accumulate RM1000 or around 220 USD gradually throughout the month,which should help me stay on top of things.

Any assistance you can spare can be contributed to my Pay*al at [email protected],and even if you can't at the moment,spreading this post around is a great help too.

#trans #trans women #twoc #malaysia #signal boost

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chaoticreation · 1 year ago

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10/29/23

This area is a death sentence without transportation. I'm running out of food, I can't get my prescriptions, can't flee in an emergency, and me and Syd have been freezing for like, a month, aside from the past two days because it's been surprisingly warm out for October. But November is around the corner, and it's gonna get cold. Fast.

I don't have the funds to repair my van, or the furnace.

Eventually, I'm gonna go homeless if the taxes aren't paid, but the van and furnace are extremely pressing matters right now.

If you can afford to donate, I'd appreciate anything you can spare. If you can't, that's okay. You can still help by sharing this campaign! Please don't donate if you can't afford to, but please SHARE no matter what!

OUR SURVIVAL DEPENDS ON IT. YES, I AM BEGGING. I'M TERRIFIED.

Gfm requires at least $5 donation, so if you can't swing that, you can send less to:

ven.mo: https://account.venmo.com/u/rroche90 pay.pal: [email protected]

Edit, 11/7/23: And we also don't have hot water now either. When the plumber came to give me an estimate on the furnace, he found that the hot water heater had a bad leak, so that was turned off to reduce damage.

Edit, 11/12/23: Septic problems now, too. Sinks are backing up. Woo! Still no heat, btw. It's been a month without heat and it's getting colder. Friend bought Syd a bigger hospital cage, but it hasn't arrived yet, so poor girl has to continue to suffer. Still no transportation, either. HEAP has said they'll pay half the furnace bill if I'm on the deed, which I can't and won't do until the taxes are paid off. I'm not about to inherit that debt.

@sydthetiel is being kept in a tiny hospital cage in my office with a space heater. Not ideal, but it's keeping her warm at least.

We're really not okay.

Edit, 11/16/23: Still no heat or hot water. Plumber isn't even actually getting back to us lmao. Mechanic got back to us, though, and they've found that the brake lines are rusted and need to be replaced. They want an extra $3500 for that. So it'd be roughly $6,000 to get my van repaired. Or I can just fix what I can fix at $2,000 and take my chances with rusted brake lines, and be an accident waiting to happen because I'm desperate to not be trapped in a freezing house with no meds or food or water lmao. Or I just don't get to have transportation back. Or I have to buy a new used vehicle, for like, $15,000+. So... mostly there's just no hope left for me. I'm ready to just give up. It's too much to fix, and my odds of survival are at 0 anyway. I won't last the winter here, and I can't even leave.

Edit, 11/22/23: That plumber ghosted us. We got a new plumber. He came out yesterday and got the furnace rigged to work, just in time. As he pulled into the driveway, it started sleeting and snowing. Throughout the night. The problem is, the furnace isn't fixed, so it could crap out at any moment. The water heater is off, but still leaking, so it's time sensitive to have it replaced. But he's pointed out another problem with that; Rex's hoarding. We need to be able to get rid of enough of her crap to get the equipment in and out. He can do it, but it's gonna cost. Additionally, the chimney isn't in great shape so we have to do something about that, or it's going to defeat the purpose of these replacements. Waiting for the quotes on everything.

As for my van, it's ready to be picked up, without the brake lines being finished. We found a new place that said they'd charge between $700-$1000 to replace the brake lines. A lot better than $3,500, but still not money I have. So until I can do that, it's a risk driving it, but I really don't have a choice. I can't stay living like this, trapped in the middle of nowhere. It's defeating me mentally and physically. But there's another problem too, that won't be covered under warranty. A knock sensor. No idea how much it'll cost yet, but it needs to be replaced in order for the van to pass inspection in December.

I'm feeling incredibly hopeless. I can't even run, because I have Syd, and I'm not going to abandon her. She's my kiddo. She's in a bigger cage now, happily. But I'm at such a loss of what to do. We're not going to survive the winter here without these repairs, and fleeing is going to be really difficult, and I may not have a home to come back to in Spring if I did manage to leave for the winter with Syd.

#signal boost #gofundme #donation #fundraiser #help us survive

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isy-simmering · 4 months ago

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So I add anime characters in my game, usually as my neighbors who live regular lives with no goals. I got bored of that. So I thought of five challenges/storylines that are based off of five different anime for The Sims 4. Hopefully, they give you something to do with your sims, whether they're the characters or not :> (the original video where these are showcased are linked way below)

♢ Tokyo Revengers

In another timeline, your sim has lost the one they’ve cared about most, due to a targeted murder. It's up to you to have your sim climb their way to the top of organized crime and use their influence to protect their loved ones.

Goal: -Become a top delinquent/gangster -Complete your sim’s aspiration (Can be any of the aspirations of how your sim wants to live their life)

Mods/Packs Required: Basemental Gangs, Basemental Drugs, Extreme Violence

Rules

❥ Have a young adult sim (only young adults/older can create gangs with the mod)

❥ Have an existing criminal gang that's level 10

❥ Your sim can have many connections with family, friends, and romantic partners

❥ Your sim must have a “stalker” who plans to murder you and your loved one/s (with the Extreme Violence “stalk” option, and “autonomous killing” setting which is optional)

❥ Your sim must max out any of the drug dealing skills in order to create a gang (Cocaine Dealing, Cannabis Dealing, MDMA Dealing, etc.)

❥ Two main skills your sim should prioritize is their Fitness and Charisma. You need to be level 10 at both skills before competing with rival gangs

❥ You cannot kill your sim’s stalker or get them arrested until they are at level 10 of their gang

❥ Your sim’s rivals should not be associated, or know any of your loved ones

❥ Your sim can not get arrested

❥ You cannot let any of your sim or your sim’s loved ones be killed

♢ Ouran Highschool Host Club

Under whatever circumstance, your sim managed to run into a host club and get into a debt of 500,000 simoleons. But who just has that money laying around? The only option here would be to work as a host yourself to cover this hefty fee, as an inexperienced specimen yourself.

Goal: -Have at least 500,000 simoleons in your business funds by the end of the sims-year (long calender recommended -Have at least 500,000 simoleons in both your household funds (optional)

Mods/Packs Required: Get Together, Get Famous, Get to Work /or Dine Out

Rules

❥ Have your sim join or create a club, with a requirement of level 2 Charisma and romantic social activities (Except Whoohoo, this is a classy business after all!)

❥ Have your sim create a restaurant or retail business and set it as the Host Club’s gathering

❥ Your sim must have the “Unflirty” trait or any other negative social trait

❥ Both your sim’s household funds and business funds must start off with 0 simoleons

❥ Your sim is allowed to have romantic meters with many sims, but cannot be in an official relationship

❥ Your sim is not allowed to marry until their debt is paid

❥ Your sim should prioritize their Charisma skill (maybe build their skill before joining the Host Club)

❥ Only 25% percent of the business’ profit can go to your household funds

❥ As your business goes up a rating, so does your sim’s fame

❥ If your sim’s fame and business rating is at three stars, then you can give your Host Club the Popular perk

♢ Samurai Champloo

An outlaw, a ronin, and a waitress. They all must travel across the world in search of a simurai who smells of sunflowers–or a hermit who owns a hundred cowplants. The goal here is not so much finding their samurai, more about scraping by, and trying not to encounter old foes.

Goal: -Live in every world in the game -Complete all three sims’ aspirations -Two of the fighters maxing out their sword skills -Have at least 60,000 simoleons for the three sims to split individually -Your trio must have at least 100 friendship by the end of their journey

Mods/Packs Required: Kysutso Path Of Legends, Extreme Violence, any packs with their own world

Rules

❥ You must have two fighter sims, with only one of the two sword-styles each

❥ Your third sim is not allowed to have either of the fighting skills, or have more then level 2 Fitness skill

❥ Your sims can only start with 500 simoleons

❥ You cannot let your third sim be killed! They’re supposed to be in company of bodyguards

❥ None of your sims can have a full-time job, and if they have a part-time job, it can only be for one week

❥ One fighter can only have a maximum of level 2 of the Fishing skill

❥ One other fighter can only have a maximum of level 2 of the Logic skill

❥ Each of your fighter sims must have enemies (with autonomous killing) that are littered across the maps, in which they must avoid

❥ If either of your fighter sims come into contact with these enemies, your household needs to move to a new map within 2 sim days

❥ If either of your fighter sims run into any of their enemies a second time, they must kill them

❥ Your sims must move into a new map every week, with the challenge ending either where you started, or the last world you choose

♢ Attack on Titan (Junior High!)

In Attack on Titan’s Junior High spin-off, Eren is obsessed with ‘cheesburgs’ and titans are always eating them. I thought it would be funny to mix junior high Eren with season 4 Eren. If his cheeseburgers aren’t appreciated by humanity, then humanity shouldn’t remain.

Goal: -Get your restaurant to a 5 star rating -Keep most of the sims population alive

Mods/Packs Required: Dine Out, Extreme Violence (optional)

Rules

❥ Create Eren Yeager, and any of the AOT cast you’d like

❥ Create Eren’s cheeseburg restaurant, starting the business/household funds off with 0 simoleons

❥ Have a mascot promoting the restaurant (preferably Armin in a bunny suit)

❥ If Sasha Braus is in your game, do not let her eat any of the food

❥ If a customer leaves the restaurant with a two star rating, Eren must beat them

❥ If a customer leaves the restaurant with a one star rating, Eren must kill them

❥ If a customer is rude to staff or your household, Eren must beat them

❥ If a customer or employee kicks a trash can, Eren must kill them

❥ If an employee is rude to customers, Eren must beat them

❥ If an employee is overall incompetent, Eren must kill them

❥ If the restaurant’s rating doesn’t go up in 3 sims’ days, Eren must kill every sim in one of the maps

♢ Danganronpa

Your sims have been accepted into an academy/university for particularly gifted students. Little do they know–it's been a year, and they’re all trapped in the school by an unknown mastermind. Only one can leave, unless they can overtake the mastermind first.

Goal: -Have your main sim max out the most skills -Avoid your main sim getting killed -The rest of the storyline is up to you :)

Mods/Packs Required: Extreme Violence

Rules

❥ Create eight sims or more if you have MCCC (Can be teens or young adults)

❥ Each sim must have a specialty that is incorporated in their aspiration, traits, and skill starting in the game

❥ Pick a sim you will be prioritizing and only taking care of needs for

❥ Your sims are not allowed to leave their lot

❥ Provide your sims with many activities in the lot so they can build skills

❥ Each sims week, whoever has the lowest amount of skills and skill levels must be set to “autonomous killing”

❥ You are not allowed to make the Blackened clean blood or themselves up (must be autonomous)

❥ Provide your sims a day of investigation

❥ An actual trial session is optional. If the Blackened is witnessed killing or covered in blood, they will be executed

❥ For each trial that goes on, take away a section that provides skill-building activities or any other luxuries that would keep your sims sane

❥ Any sim who finds their way outside the lot, invites other sims over, or calls police must automatically be killed

youtube

#sims 4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 challenge #anime #anime and manga #simblr #ts4 simblr #sims 4 gameplay #ouran high school host club #samurai champloo #danganronpa #attack on titan #tokyo revengers #ts4 simmer

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 8 months ago

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But there was an anon - I don't remember where I saw the comment - that speculated Meghan is going to hang in there until they've been married 10 years because of the joint property/asset laws that kick in at the 10th anniversary. That sounds pretty plausible to me, but with two major caveats:

What difference does the joint assets make? all Harry's asset was his mother's inheritance that he put in the mansion, she'll get it anyway with the custody, Spotify was hers, Spare was his and Netflix mixed

So first, I goofed. I didn't do the due diligence to look into the 10-year-rule. I thought it was about joint property but it's not. The 10-year-rule is actually about alimony and financial support. I think the thread there that my brain latched on to is how community property can be used as a bargaining chip in deciding alimony.

Also, I am not a lawyer. This is all stuff I've read about. If any lawyers want to chime in here, feel free!

So in a community property state, which California is, both spouses own everything earned, acquired, gained, lost, debted during a marriage equally. It doesn't matter whose name is on the paperwork. If it was acquired during the marriage, it belongs to both spouses. So the house, Spotify, Netflix, Clevr, Roop, speaking engagements, cars, any debt accrued, etc. They share that equally and when they divorce, it's going to be split in half. (And I suspect they'll fight over which half of the deals and how much money is half in the divorce.)

Now, also in a community property state like California, there's no prescribed length of marriage to earn half of everything earned and acquired in the marriage. The only instance in which assets are not divided 50/50 in a community property state like California is when there's a prenuptial (or a postnuptial) agreement in place outlining how the assets would be divided in case of a separation or divorce.

It's my understanding that the BRF doesn't do prenups like that so it's probably a safe assumption that Harry and Meghan don't have a prenup and they're going to be splitting all of the assets/properties/finances acquired after May 19, 2018 equally.

You mentioned Montecito Mansion being paid for with Harry's Diana inheritance. That makes Montecito Mansion commingled property - meaning it is both community and separate. So probably what would happen in that case is if there's a divorce and the divorce requires them to sell the house (which could happen), then the court would first award Harry a lump sum from the sale proceeds equivalent to the amount of Diana's inheritance that he paid, and if there's any money left, it's split equally between him and Meghan.

That's the community property side of it. Now for the alimony piece where the 10 years is important.

California has a 10-year rule for alimony:

For marriages lasting 10 years or less, alimony is usually awarded for half of the mariage.

For marriages lasting more than 10 years, alimony can be awarded on a permanent basis, with indefinite jurisdiction for modification (or termination).

So if the Sussexes divorce next month with after six years of marriage, alimony can be awarded up to, and no more than, 3 years. If the Sussexes divorce in 2029 after 11 years of marriage, there's no expiration date on the alimony. For example, a court could award it for 11 years or in perpetuity or for 8 years.

How much alimony someone is awarded is based on their financial need and stability. If Meghan wants alimony from Harry (aka Charles), it's possible she could agree to less of the community property to better her chances.

Will it happen? I don't think so. I don't think they're going to get alimony unless their situation changes very drastically. The only reason Sarah and Diana got alimony in their divorces was because they were dependent on their husbands/the BRF. (They took alimony in lump sum payments as part of divorce settlements versus recurring payments.) That's not Meghan's situation because a) she's in a community property state so she gets half of everything automatically and b) she has the ability to provide for herself in a way that Sarah and Diana could not.

And by "situation changes very drastically" I mean like the Sussexes lose all of their money and Charles takes them back as fulltime working royals. In that case, Meghan has become dependent on the BRF again so she would most likely get alimony.

What's more likely to happen is child support. Child support in California is assigned based on standard of living the children are used to. So if Meghan can prove that the children have a standard of living that's $2 million per month (mortgage, private school, nannies, drivers, chefs, gourmet food), she could very well end up getting $2 million a month in child support from Harry. Will that happen? Probably not, and that's her own fault because of all the PR she's done about her net worth and earning power. But it could happen.

But the TL;DR of it is that I goofed. 10 years is about alimony, not joint assets. California is a community property state so they split everything 50/50 unless they have a contract (usually a prenup), which I doubt.

And that's also why Meghan must tread carefully when it comes to Roop. She could very well end up owing Harry if it's successful and she leaves him. Not only could she owe Harry alimony or child support (if he/his lawyers can prove he's the main caretaker for the children since Meghan's working all the time - as her own PR has sometimes suggested), she could also end up being forced to give him the company entirely or having to buy out his ownership.

(Which is also something that could happen to the house. Because it's community property and belongs to both of them and probably has both of their names on the deed, someone is probably going to be buying the other one out of the house to keep it for themselves unless they put it up for sale together.)

Remember, I am not a lawyer. Everything I learned about California divorces came from Google and Celebrity Divorces.

#ask #brf #sussexes

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strangebiology · 1 year ago

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Myths about Traditional Publishing

Now that I'm in the book-writing world I see a LOT of anti-trad publishing posts. They usually have some nonsense in them so I'm going to address these myths/misrepresentations.

I’m NOT trying to say everyone should trad publish. In fact, I actually suggest people without significant writing experience not write a book at all until they get experience. You asked. If you want to write something faster without any editors and you're okay with doing a lot more work per sale, or if you haven't published anything shorter than a book, I DO recommend self-publishing to you (or, re-thinking why you want to write a book.) Just make sure you’re making your choice without influence from misinfo!

🚫 “Traditional Publishing means less money because your royalty is less!”

✅Your royalty is less but every one of these anti-trad posts misses the very important financial reality that traditional publishers sell your book widely, meaning more sales without work on your end, and more importantly: the ADVANCE! Yes, trad writers get money before a single book sells! On average most traditionally published books make WAY more than self, even though there are very rare stories of financial success among the portion of self-published authors who are very talented and hard-working.

🚫 “The advance doesn’t count because you have to pay it back!”

✅BS. Money DOES NOT flow from the writer to the publisher in trad pub. Not even if you sell zero books. As the royalties come in, they initially start flowing to refill the advance that the publisher lost, and they go to the writer once that is refilled. The writer is happy because they already have their advance, which has already gone to paying off their debts or into an index fund or the downpayment on a house so they don’t have to throw away money renting, so they’re in a much better financial situation than with no advance. There is no downside to getting guaranteed money earlier.

The only way you’d have to pay it back is like any job: if I pay you to fix my roof and you don’t do it, the contract is broken and I am legally entitled to my money back. Hopefully, you already knew that.

🚫 “The advance doesn’t count because you get it in installments and you have to pay some to your agent and taxes exist!”

✅The second part of that is true, but so what? With a $50k advance and an agent, you keep $42,500 minus taxes. That’s $21,250 on signing and $21,250 on completion. (And yes, there are different installment patterns, different advances etc.) With self-publishing, you get $0 and then $0 forever until your book starts selling. If your advance is small that’s unfortunate but remember self-publishing advances are $0. Zero dollars is much less than $42,500. Zero is less than $1. Self-publishers also go into actual debt to pay for editors, printers, and marketing, so you could easily start with negative money.

🚫 “Traditional publishing sucks because they expect you to do all your own marketing!”

✅Huh? Whatever expectations are happening in the heart of my publisher are none of my business or concern. Marketing on my end is not in my contract and I doubt it’s in the majority of trad contracts. I’ll definitely promote my book as much as I can but I’m sure as heck not going to spend 40 hours a week doing it or getting a degree in marketing unless I'm getting paid.

However, the publisher employs professional book marketers and they are the ones incentivized to sell the first [insert advance dollar amount] worth of books.

Also, who do you think markets your self-published book? The Marketing Fairy?

🚫 “You have to write the whole book first.”

✅Yes with fiction, usually. Unless they trust you because of your track record, and you have a good pitch and part of the book written (like the first three chapters.) With nonfiction, generally, you don't need to have written much of that, maybe one chapter and lots of articles. They might require more if you're writing a memoir, especially if you don't have writing experience. They want to know you can do it.

🚫 “Traditional publishing is just a lottery!”

✅I mean there are elements of luck, what’s in fashion, privilege etc. just like in all fields, especially creative ones. But most of the reason people get trad contracts is hard work, experience, a good concept, proof of successful writing and publishing (including non-books!), caring about what the readers want, etc.

Most people who I talk to who tried and failed to traditionally publish had no published writing of any sort. Most who succeed at trad publishing had plenty, as well as a lot of expertise in that area. Like, a degree and/or years of experience in that field, not "I listened to a few podcasts on it."

🚫 “Actually a smaller advance is better.”

✅Absolutely not. This is an insidious nonsense rumor akin to “a smaller salary is better” and I wonder if publishers started that rumor to financially abuse their writers or if writers spread it because hate themselves and each other. I’ve heard all the justifications, they make no financial sense, if you hate money give it to me.

The only reason to take a smaller advance would be the same as the reason to take a smaller salary: if the publisher makes up for it with something else that's worth it.

Interestingly, I'm told bigger advances sell out faster, because they attract attention behind the scenes, from reviewers, booksellers, etc.

🚫 “Even an advance of 100k isn't that much when you split it into four payments over 2 years. Better to get regular royalties. Not like $100k is enough to quit your day job.” ✅$100k split into four payments over 2 years is WAY more than the $0 self-publishing gets you before sales. Even $200/month for 40 YEARS is less than 100k, and that's without the time value of money or inflation. And, remember, trad published books get royalties too, the only difference is the first [insert advance here] is GUARANTEED, and after that, fewer dollars per book sold. If you make $100k per book and don't spend too much time per book, that can very easily BE your day job and you CAN certainly quit your other one to pursue that. But no one said anything about assuming selling one $100k is enough for the rest of your life. That would be an absurdly irresponsible mindset. Just because trad publishing doesn't guarantee anything crazy like one book financially supporting you forever, doesn't mean it's worse financially. What a weird, irrelevant straw man.

🚫 “But if you don't sell out your advance, the publisher drops you!"

✅Misleading. First, what is the time frame of this accusation? Your book is not going to sell $50k worth in a week, most likely. Second, what do you mean by "drop?" The publisher does not do anything bad to the author as they are waiting and hoping for sales. They continue to sell and work with the book, they do not yeet it or burn it or un-publish it.

What does happen is your publisher will consider your past success when deciding whether to sign another book contract and how much to give you for your next advance. If your last book sold $100k in a month, but your advance was $101k, then yes, they have lost money so far. But the prospects of your writing are fantastic, and they are likely to sign you again. There is more than one month in their lives.

If your book did not perform well--say it sold $5k in 5 years--then that ONE publishing company isn't going to sign you again. Duh? Then you have like 99,999 other publishing companies to look at. Or you could self-publish. Is that a problem? How are the pro-self-publishing people so scared of self-publishing? Or you could just not write more books, you tried it once, you can decide that's enough, especially if you aren't happy with how it turned out. Don't we all have more than one goal in life? Didn't you want to get into fishing or dancing or insurance sales too?

🚫 “Getting a book contract is my retirement plan!"

✅(I realize most of this post seems pro-trad but yes, we need some reality check.) A trad contract is as good as it does--and as good as the author is. Same with self-publishing. Maybe you could make a lot of money at it, but I ask, what is your experience? How do you know your book is so amazing? You know some of the most financially successful writers still put out TONS of books, right? Because it's a job.

🚫 “Nobody earns a living from this."

✅Well. No, some people do earn livings from book writing, at least temporarily. A single book isn't going to sustain you forever, like I said, but it could potentially sustain you for the time it takes to write it, and even longer maybe, if you and your publisher are good enough. The next year will pass whether you're working on a book or you're working in insurance sales or at Starbucks; so you must consider your values, skills, opportunity cost, the money you get from each, and whatever else matters to you when deciding which to do. You can pitch a publisher and say "no, that's not enough money" when they offer you a contract, if you want.

At the end of the day, trad publishing is a business. No publishing company owes you anything except what is in the contract they signed. Not working with the same place twice isn't going to kill you. Getting rejected is part of the game--you didn't get into every college you applied to, did you? You don't get every award or every job you apply to, you don't cry when you open the Pepsi bottle and it says "try again." But if you don't treat writing like a job, if your publisher sucks, or you think it's a get-rich-quick scheme that requires no skills, craft, or ambition, then you will fail miserably and regret the whole thing.

#writing #publishing #book publishing #traditional publishing #indie publishing #not biology

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annbourbon · 2 months ago

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How Most Magical Contracts Work~

⚠️ Spoilers ⚠️ Ahead ⚠️🍒

Because we're (and by we I mean @smol-grey-tea and @cherrychipheart with me~~) figure out how the whole Cheritzverse AKA Grimm Society works, please consider this as part of one of my theories to add onto it >.<

It's taking me forever so I hope you guys like it. Without further ado~

Magical Binding Contract: Simply physically impossible to break. Sometimes it is implied that the magic punishment for breaking a clause is somehow contingent on the permission being given by the one who signed the contract. (It's interesting here but in The Ssum Harry breaks the contract, and Rachel tries the same thing, and both of them have several issues with the whole engagement thing because it's not something you can break just by breaking the paper, now reading this, makes me think 🧐 because it is said that they have to pay a huge sum but such number is never said~ and I don't think it's just because of money but the way it's handled... it's way too sketchy. Is it just me?)

However, and many times as safety 'insurance' this may be used as the only option if no other way of exchange is presented. The magic makes everything to stay put. Both sides need to play their part and that how it makes sense that they use it more often.

If something taught me Ursula at the age of 3 or 4 was to ALWAYS READ THE FINE PRINT~ seriously, the lesson stuck. 😳

Leonine Contract: is a very old principle of law that a leonine contract is not a free contract. Generally speaking anyone will side with you except if there's a Magically-Binding Contract, then you're in real trouble. Even under most civil law codes, there's a good chance that you can be freed from a contract if the other party was obviously exploiting an emergency situation. Like~~~ even in the Ancient Roman Law of Obligations, a "Societas Leonina" (a corporation in which one participator reaps all the profit, and another carries all the losses) was an invalid one! That says it all! Anyways~ loopholes are still permitted.

Curse Escape Clause: For every magic spell/curse to have a condition that negates the effect.

Now, oaths are powerful things. They bind demons. They bind honour. They create pacts that grant great power. They are things to be respected, feared, and fulfilled.

Once broken an oath of some sort thing, be it magical or mundane, a debt... is to be paid, and now is forever branded by his/her misdeed. This is seen most often than not as a mark of shame. It almost always brands the character as a pariah until they manage to restore their lost honour. So unless they are released from their contract this will bind them for whatever term it stated or until whatever condition was required is fulfilled — forever if neither was fulfilled.

Unless you're let off.

Contradictory Oaths may lead to Reality-Breaking Paradox though~

Exchange Contracts:

(And I think this is the way the Wizard works since he does implies it, and I have a lot of experience with this way of working thanks to Ichihara Yuuko~)

Okay so for starters, good and bad are human concepts. Hence no Yuuko or The Wizard in Cheritzverse seem too worried about it okay? Actually~ lol if we're to enter magical worlds no one is too worried about such things because you can solve most things via magic~🙃 unless you can't ofc

So for Yuuko customers must pay a price in order to grant their wishes, which can be no more or no less than the one demanded, or else harm will come to one's way.

She is a dealer in wishes as she will grant the sincere wish of anyone who is willing to make an appropriate sacrifice in return; the price is always equivalent to the weight of the wish, no more, no less.

This goes to keep the balance in this universe which is very delicate~ and also, to keep the cause/effect in action otherwise known as karma.

So to understand this type of contracts you need to understand how the universe according to Buddhism/Hinduism works~ in theory.

101 speedrun here of the karmic laws (they're 12 but here's oversimplified~)

1. cause/effect

2. everything & everyone is connected

3. forgiveness

4. growth & open mindness

5. detachment

6. responsibility

7. ripple effect

8. you create your reality

9. patience, persistence and long-term view (imho struggling with patience lol but heeey~)

10. living in the present

11. honesty

12. humility

13. gratitude

14. generosity

15. evolution

16. balance

17. compassion

Anyways you can obviously see that the Wizard uses a similar analogy, however his way of expressing himself is way more twisted as he sets games for everyone to achieve their wishes. Making of it a whole competition, basically.

And he also lacks of many things, as it is compassion, humility, charisma, forgiveness or generosity... but that's another story because I have yet to finish Dandelion. 🤭😬 Yes~ sorry I could not help myself but to do this despite all the things I have against.

Something I noticed though~~ it's that depending on the contract he might not be able to change it even if he actually wants to so he might play it off like he doesn't~ or maybe he actually doesn't, but well at least this gives us an idea of what kind of contracts he uses no?

⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊

Links:

Leonine Contract

Magical Binding

The power of Karma

*I did copy/paste more than what I originally intended to but the original post was deleted somehow and my eyes are basically melting RN, however, the idea is the same and I added even more than what I expected to so please let it slide 🙏🏻😖

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