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sangwookisser · 1 month ago

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☆ALL IN - THE SALESMAN☆

cw: dumbification, degradation, praise, bondage, manipulation, mean man, naive! reader, fem reader, use of girl, piv, knife play, blood, age gap, reader is in college, not proofread

Things for you had been painfully mundane since you came to South Korea.

The dream of studying abroad felt like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the crushing weight of student loans, the mounting rent for your tiny, damp apartment, and the gnawing guilt of having asked your parents for help more times than you cared to admit.

You'd been blinded by the shiny promise of a new life, a promise of mastering a language, soaking in vibrant culture, and making lifelong friends. The glossy brochures and campus videos hadn’t prepared you for the harsh reality of your endless part-time job that barely covered utilities, let alone anything fun or remotely exciting.

Instead, you're dodging calls from the bank, turning down invitations to go out from classmates because you can't afford a coffee, and rationing cup noodles and shitty canned food to try and make it to your next payday without starving.

Tonight was no different. A long shift at the convenience store had left your feet aching and your mind clouded with worry about how you’d manage next month’s tuition installment. You were on your way home, the subway platform dim and almost eerily quiet.

Then, like clockwork, your string of bad luck reared its head: the train you’d been sprinting for slid away with a hiss, the doors snapping shut in your face just as you reached the edge of the platform.

You curse, doubling over to catch your breath. Your voice echoed, but no one cared enough to glance your way. You slumped onto the nearest bench, the cold metal biting through the thin fabric of your tacky work pants. You bury your face in your hands, wondering where it all went wrong.

Raising your head, your reflection in the train station's grimy tile wall looked as defeated as you felt—messy tendrils of hair escaped your ponytail, your makeup patches in some areas, and there was a hole in the sleeve, one you kept telling yourself you’d fix but never did.

The cold silence of the station was broken by a soft, measured voice.

"Hello."

You blinked, startled, and looked up to see a man standing a few feet away. He was dressed impeccably, a dark suit fitting him perfectly, his posture relaxed but poised. His voice was calm, almost soothing, like he had all the time in the world to talk to someone as unremarkable as you.

You didn’t answer immediately, caught off guard by his presence. Who even approached people in subway stations like this? But there was something disarming about the way he smiled—not overly friendly, not threatening. Just calm.

Dangerous.

The man studied you for a moment, his head tilting slightly. In his mind, he noted how exhaustion clung to you, from the slouch of your shoulders to the defeated look in your eyes. Still, there was something quite captivating about you—maybe the soft, shiny hair framing your face, the long lashes shrouding sparkling, wide eyes, or the way defeat lit up your features just a moment ago when you cursed at the train. He tilts his head, still staring.

Pretty, he thought briefly, but he said nothing of it.

"You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?" he asked smoothly, his tone making it sound more like an observation than a question.

You stared back at him, swallowing thickly. He was the kind of handsome you didn't often see. It seemed untrustworthy, like his looks were meant to lure you into a false sense of intrigue. His dark hair is slicked back perfectly, and he's smiling lightly, though it doesn't seem to meet his eyes.

You hesitated but nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Yes sir. I’m not from around here."

He let out a hum of understanding, and he can't deny the heat that spreads through his body at your breathy voice and the way you call him sir like he's superior to you. "Ah, that explains it. You have the look of someone far from home." He gestured to the empty bench beside you. "Mind if I sit?"

He didn’t even wait for an answer, lowering himself onto the edge of the bench with an easy grace, his briefcase resting neatly at his feet.

"What brings you here?" he asked, his tone still conversational, like he wasn’t prying but genuinely curious.

"School," you muttered, feeling oddly self-conscious under his calm gaze. "I’m studying here. Well, I was supposed to be studying here, mister. Things haven’t exactly gone as planned."

The man nodded slowly, as though he understood far more than you were saying. "It can be hard, being so far from home. I imagine it’s not easy. Are you on your own?"

You frowned, the vulnerability in his words hitting a little too close to home. You told him the truth before you realized how dumb it was to tell a stranger that you've got no one around who's looking out for your safety. "Yeah, b-but… I’m managing," you said, though even you didn’t sound convinced.

He nodded, still smiling. Somehow it felt both genuine and calculated. Your head was swimming. Was this a result of going so long without any real human interaction?

He leaned forward just slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. His fingers brushed against your sleeve—light, fleeting, casual. The kind of touch that could easily be dismissed, but still made you notice.

"So," he continued smoothly, sliding his fingers lightly through the hole in your sleeve, and he tuts softly. Mockingly. "What are you supposed to be studying?"

"Why does it matter?" you replied, feeling a little defensive, like you had to justify yourself. "Just... psychology. I wanted to study the mind."

“Psychology,” he repeated, his lips quirking up in an impressed smile. “Brains and beauty. Now that’s a combination.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to be flattered or suspicious. The way he looked at you made you feel oddly self-conscious, like he was dissecting every little detail—your messy hair, your tired eyes, even the nervous way you shifted in your seat.

Neither of you speak, and his hand brushed back and forth against your wrist, just long enough to feel deliberate. He notes how soft your skin is, and he looks into your eyes as he speaks again. "So tense. I’m not here to interrogate you. Just making conversation."

You flushed, unsure why your pulse suddenly felt faster. "What do you want?"

His smile widened, smooth as silk. "Maybe I just wanted to brighten your evening. You seemed like you could use some company."

Despite yourself, you let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, well, company doesn’t pay my bills, sir.”

"True," he said, leaning closer now, his tone dropping into something almost conspiratorial.

He wasn't supposed to be doing this. As a recruiter, there were unspoken rules about boundaries. A certain level of professionalism was expected—stay detached, keep the interactions brief, and never get personally involved. But you had caught his attention in a way most didn’t.

Perhaps it was the way in which your soft, wide eyes looked pathetically exhausted, the way your lips pursed and looked chapped from the way you'd worry them between your teeth, or the mild distrust in your tone. He hadn't even asked you to play his game yet.

Whatever it was, he found himself intrigued.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, his voice dipping into a low, almost intimate tone. His eyes stayed on you, his gaze steady but not overbearing. “But why don’t you come back to my place? It’s quieter, and I promise we can converse much better.”

You blinked, startled by the casual audacity of the offer. Your instincts screamed at you to say no, and despite the faint blush creeping into your cheeks, you managed to find your voice.

“I… don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.” you said lightly, trying to brush it off without making things awkward. “Thanks, though.”

He lets out a soft laugh, leaning back and sliding his hand out of your sleeve so he can take a lock of your hair around his finger, twirling it absentmindedly. He hummed softly, his lips curling into a sly smile.

“Smart girl,” he murmured, leaning close. You avoided his eyes, feeling a mix of embarrassment and unease at how easily he read you. His fingers grazed your thigh, light and fleeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The touch sent a shiver up your spine, and yet you didn’t pull away.

He leaned in closer, his presence wrapping around you, the faint scent of cologne mingling with the crisp chill of the subway air. “You’ve got that sharp mind of yours working overtime, don’t you?”

“You’ve been pushing yourself so hard,” he continued, his voice laced with a mix of admiration and something softer, almost indulgent. “You remind me of someone trying to outrun the tide. It’s admirable, really, but how long can you go, all on your own, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. He made it sound so effortless, like he saw through every wall you’d carefully constructed.

“And look at you,” he cooed, his fingers trailing down to your wrist, brushing against your skin with a touch so light it was almost maddening. “Still standing, still fighting, even when it feels like the whole world’s against you.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he leaned in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. His tone dropped, intimate and conspiratorial. “But maybe it’s time someone took care of you for a change.”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as his words wrapped around you like a cocoon. You weren’t sure if it was the way he said it, or the way his eyes seemed to pierce right through you, but something inside you started to unravel as arousal builds.

He tutted softly, his hand trailing lazily between your legs, spreading them apart softly. You flush, your face warming even more as you start to feel the thin cotton of your panties dampen. It's been so long. You haven't had anyone touch you like this in months. “Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?” he asked, his fingers tracing an idle pattern along the clothed slit of your pussy. “Even like this—tired, worn out. There’s something about you.” He smiled, almost to himself, his tone turning ever so slightly condescending. “Bet no one tells you that enough, do they?”

Your breathing quickened, a shaky whimper leaving your lips. You're still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s a shame, really. A girl like you deserves to hear it. Deserves to feel it.”

You bit your lip, every rational thought in your mind warring against the way he made you feel. Warm. Seen. Desired. He continued to drag two fingers up and down the soft plump lips of your pussy, and you moan, toes curling in your worn sneakers

“You’ve been running yourself into the ground,” he said, his voice honeyed and soft, like he was speaking to a child in need of reassurance. “You don’t have to do that tonight. Let me be the distraction you didn’t know you needed.”

His free hand grazed your jaw, tilting your face slightly toward his. His eyes locked with yours, and his smile deepened, almost triumphant. “Just for a while. Let go of all that stress. Let someone else carry the weight.”

You exhaled shakily, your resistance crumbling as his words seeped into the cracks of your exhaustion. When you finally nodded, your agreement was barely more than a whisper.

“Good girl,” he said softly, his voice dripping with approval. He stood then, extending a hand to help you up, his touch lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

"F-fuck..."

It'd happened more quickly than you'd expected. You didn't even get to have drinks before he'd had you up against the door of his clean, sterile apartment. It didn't look like anyone lived there, from the faint chemical scent it carried and the way the furniture looked unused. His lips were on your throat, one hand pulling your hair back to keep your neck exposed and the other undoing your pants. "You're swearing at me now, are you?" He tuts, leaving a sharp nip against the column of your neck. "That's far too crude for a little girl like you. Where did your manners go?"

You whine at his condescending tone, and he shoves your panties to your ankles along with your pants. He laughs as he palms your pussy. "So wet already, pet? How eager. You're making it too easy for me." He has a finger in you before you can even defend yourself, and he pumps in an almost bored, haphazard fashion, like he's doing a chore. He curls the digit, laughing softly when you scream as he digs the tip of his slender finger onto your sweet spot.

"Pathetic." He breathes. "Did it even occur to you that we haven't exchanged names? You're no better than the whores men pick up on the side of the street. Except that you're a great deal cuter than any prostitute." He pushes two more fingers in one go into your sopping hole, and you wail, your legs beginning to shake at the unfamiliar intrusion.

You hiccup, tears building at your waterline as he drags the pads of his fingers along your walls, his other hand tugging your hair back sharply. He smiles sweetly, pecking your forehead tenderly, before he undoes the buttons of your uniform top, tossing it to the ground, and your bra shortly after.

Your head swims, and you start to register what's happening, and he gives one of your tits a fondle, rubbing his thumb over your pebbling nipple before shoving his face back into your neck and inhaling. "Jasmine and vanilla." he sighs. "How intoxicating. Do you know what you do to me, you silly girl? It's as though my brain has shut off and all i feel is you. I'm not fond of it." He pumps his fingers more firmly inside you, and you moan, trying to grab him and tug him in for a kiss, but he tuts and pushes you back.

"No no. Sluts like you don't get privileges like kissing. They get used." And with that, right before the delightful release of your orgasm, he tears his fingers out from inside you. You let out a sob, before he laughs and mocks your pout, giving your cheek a light slap. He's still fully clothed in his suit. He picks you up swiftly, tossing you over his shoulder and putting you on his huge, cold bed in a room that looks more like an office than a living space, and he tears off his tie.

"Mmm, n-need you, hu-hurts." You beg weakly, feeling so stupid for babbling like a child. Again, he mocks your cries. "It hurts, sweetheart? You're being so greedy. Don't you know you're supposed to wait for your turn?"

You pout, hands reaching for him, which he pushes back and pins above your head, tying them quickly to his bedpost. You keen, writhing on the mattress with displeasure. "You know, I'm really tired of your groveling. You've been nothing but a brat since I brought you here. I miss the shy little thing who couldn't even look me in the eye at the subway. He gives your clit a light pinch, rubbing the heel of his hand against your cunt. Not enough.

"Pl-Please." You beg out, your voice high pitched and broken "I n-n- hic need y-your cock in me, mister, need it."

He hums softly, his thumb on your clit and palm on your dripping cunt as he stares into your pretty eyes, glassy with blown pupils.

"Aw. Is that supposed to convince me?" He shakes his head, dark hair falling beautifully into his eyes. "Why don't you try a little harder?"

"I... I'll... l-let you do anything to me. A-anything y-you w-want, if y-you p-put your cock in me."

His eyes light up as soon as you say it. "Anything, you say?" He pauses his movements, and you whimper at the lack of stimulation. He says no more, simply unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging off his suit jacket, tossing both to the floor. Then, he's unbuckling his trousers. His boxers are slightly damp, and a fat bulge causes the fabric to strain. Your mouth waters at the sight of his sleek abdomen, toned and pale, lacking any imperfections. You want to touch. He coos at the way your eyes sparkle.

"Where's the attitude now, sweet thing? Aren't you the cutest." He finally frees his cock, long, thick, and swollen. His balls are heavy, full, and sit pretty at the base of his veiny shaft. The tip is flushed, and he smirks at the way you marvel at it. You strain slightly, aching to touch, taste, feel. But he won't let you. Instead, he wraps a hand around your throat and smirks, grabbing something from a drawer by his bedside table. Sleek, clean, sharp.

Your blood runs cold.

"What? Scared?" He says, distracting you by sliding his tip up and down your dripping folds. "Shouldn't speak before you think then, pretty little whore. Now." He slides the bulbous tip of his cock inside you, and your back arches at the intrusion, a whiny moan leaving your throat. Beads of sweat drip down the valley of your breasts, and he marvels at the sight, but he doesn't move. In fact, as you buck your hips towards hip, trying to ease more of his cock inside you, he remains deathly still, instead, putting his blade flat against your throat.

You blink, your lips parted. He rocks his hips slightly, stretching you out further by pushing an inch of his cock in you, before he pulls out quickly, and re-enters, putting only his tip in you once more.

You're going crazy. He buries himself inside you to the hilt in one smooth thrust, a soft bulge forming in your tummy from how big he is inside you. You whine loudly, tongue lolling out of your mouth as drool gathers at the side of your mouth, tears spilling down your face. He laughs at how fucked out you already are, a soft grunt leaving his lips.

"Haa, s-so tight... fuck." He starts, unable to resist thrusting in and out a few times, your pussy too wet and too warm to resist the temptation. "You're mi-milking me dry... can barely move inside you."

It's like you were made for him, your gummy walls perfectly stretched out to cling to every last vein and ridge on his cock. Then, he gathers himself again and draws back, leaving just his tip inside you.

Again, you sob in frustration. The world around you spins, and you swallow dryly, pulling at the tie scraping softly against your wrists.

What a stupid little thing you are. He rocks a few inches of his cock inside you teasingly, his thumb pushing down on your clit again while his other hand holds the knife flat against your throat. You stare at him nervously, shaking as he starts to drag the cool metal down your body, and he frowns as you squirm. "Hold still." He commands, but you don't, and he pinches your nipple as punishment, pushing half of his cock in you. Distracted, you pant and moan, and he thrusts inside of you repeatedly, making your head swim. He's loud, groaning and moaning at the way you cling to him with your sloppy walls, your sticky juices coating his cock as he fills you to the hilt.

"Clinging to me so tight." He breathes. "Does the thrill of the pain excite you, princess? I'll show you how it can be." And with that, he cuts into your soft little tummy, right above where your stomach distends from the bloated head of his cock hitting every inch of you.

Moaning, the pleasure and pain makes your head swim, and the coil of an approaching orgasm builds in your stomach. you can't see what he's carving into you, but you feel too good to care. "S-so... g-good," You choke out, hooking your legs around his waist as he grabs your hip with one hand and angles your body up, causing the tip of his cock to kiss your cervix. You scream, letting go as you soak his cock with your cream, and he moans, pounding into you like an animal. He reaches between your legs and gathers your liquids, along with the blood on your stomach, and shoves his fingers into your mouth, so deep that your eyes roll back as the floaty feeling of your orgasm remains. He throws his head back and moans at the way your pussy clings to him when you continue cumming, and he considers pulling out for a moment to cum on your tummy, but with your legs wrapped around him, its clear there's only one place you want him to finish.

"Ahn, please... P-please, i-inside me, sir, want it s'bad" You slur around his fingers, and that's all he needs as he spills rope after rope of hot, thick seed deep inside you, right into your womb, with how deep he is. He takes his fingers out of your mouth and drags your hips to him so you're flush against him, and he fills you up, fingers digging into your sides.

He stays there for a moment before pulling out, letting his cum drip from your weeping, stretched hole, and he smiles and leans down, pressing his lips to your firmly, tasting your liquids on your tongue. His tongue enters your mouth, and he swirls his around yours, getting hard all over again from your taste, and he pulls back before it becomes too much. He smirks down at your fucked out expression, wiping sweat off his forehead as he admires the mark he'd cut onto you.

A pretty little heart for the girl who'd stolen his.

#squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game smut #squid game x reader #the salesman #recruiter squid game #in ho x reader #gong yoo

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sp0o0kylights · 10 months ago

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Eddie was all about desecrating corpses.

Particularly, the huge ones--and nothing was larger than the burnt out husk of Starcourt.

Yellow caution tape, muddied and ripped from its time in the weather still decorated parts of the doors.

The place used to be crawling with security, but that had eased off now, the job returning to a local outfit rather than the smooth and swift guards who previously haunted the joint in pairs.

It was easy as two days spent camped out in his van, watching the main entrance and a few side doors. In no time at all, Eddie had schedules memorized, points of entry selected and even three possible escape routes should things get dicey.

He didn't expect them to.

Not when he’d already rolled his checks and came up with a number that, were this an actual D&D game, would make him a happy man.

It was always a point of contention between him and his Pa. This perception. The natural ability he had that good ‘ol dad just didn’t seem to possess.

The one that made him patient long enough to get a feel for a gig.

To know instinctively how hard a job might be, and how to go about doing it safely.

(Eddie personally doesn't believe much of it is talent. Thinks it is in fact, forcibly learned, due to the nature of his upbringing.

Grandma and Grandpa Munson, bless their dead, departed souls, had at least given something of a shit. Tried to keep family things family and work things work, even when said work was illegal as it gets.

They understood things like appearance and public reputation.

How that kept the pigs off your back and food on your table.)

His Pa had never cared for any of that.

Eddie didn’t grow up with family meals, or even food in the house let alone on the table. He grew up watchful, forced to learn or take a hit meant for an adult in the process. To weigh the risks against the benefits, and how to charm the pants off an unsuspecting target while doing so.

It was how he’d escaped his own prison sentence when his Pa finally got eyes too big for his abilities.

Eddi had gotten lucky in that situation.

Or rather--he’d gotten Wayne.

Wayne, who gave up his own room, his own bed, for his nephew. Had bought him his sweetheart on his sixteenth birthday and a van on his eighteenth. Both things were used, and a little battered around the edges, and Eddie had almost thrown up the day he accidentally found out Wayne had used his life savings for the damn car, but they were above and beyond anything he had any right too.

Eddie would be damned without him.

But he knows his uncle needs help.

Can't pay for himself and Eddie. Never really could, and so has been giving his nephew literally everything he has in an effort to make up for it until Eddie could help pay his way.

Not that a singular soul would trust a teenage Munson with such a precious thing as a part time job, and so Eddie had turned to the familiar.

The mall fire, and the resulting flood of federal agents had really put a damper on his income the past few months. Drugs were risky, and getting riskier with them sniffing about, and things were getting tight again in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time.

(All it had taken was finding the hidden stack of bills.

Big ol’ words stamped in red topped every one. Bold letters screaming ‘Overdue’ and ‘Payment Missed’ and ‘Late Fees.’

One single letter had panicked Eddie more than any other, the one that clearly said Wayne had been talking to the payday loan place down the street, and he’d be damned if his shortcomings made his Uncle willingly walk into a debt pit so few climbed out of.)

Growing up like he had, Eddie was trusted in certain circles. Had access to places many didn't as his sole inheritance, because he was known.

Someone who didn't rat, who could be trusted with given tasks. Who kept to the criminal code, and was good about not backstabbing you if caught.

He’d hit up a few old connections, dropped some hints. Put out “feelers” as one might say.

Got a nibble and soon enough, Eddie was back in business, getting called up and offered a few small tasks for decent dough.

Sometimes it was fetching information.

Sometimes it was ferrying an item.

Today, it was a retrieval.

There was something someone wanted in the ruins of Starcourt--and they were offering an insane amount of money to get it.

The plans hadn't made sense, not at first. The instructions Eddie had been given sounded outlandish, if not outright total bunk.

Like the existence of a multi level basement under Starcourt? How the hell had no one caught that being built?

Or that the security systems down there could possibly still be turned on? After four months?

Who was even paying for it?

Eddie had heard stupider things though, and the pay for this little jaunt was good. Too good to pass up.

"They want a local in case something happens and the rescue squad comes running in. That way, it's just a little trespassing fun. The town deviant getting his kicks in the big scary mall, and not what they think it is." His connection had told him, meeting with Eddie in a Mcdonalds the town over.

The place had a play palace, big enough to host a number of screaming rugrats. It made for a great cover as they pretended to be just two men in overalls, getting burgers on their lunch.

Not a soul could hear a sound over the kids screaming, and if a blueprint sat between them then, well, if it looks like a maintenance worker, and it talks like a maintenance worker…

People never did look twice.

"And what else exactly would they think this is?" Eddie asked, munching on the food he got for free as part of even entertaining the offer.

"A retrieval, Double D."

Eddie hated that nickname.

"Some rich kid bit it in the fire, and his parents are paying out top dollar to get a few of his things, seein’ as the feds wouldn’t let anybody back in after they condemned the place." The guy, whose name was Mickey said.

He idly traced a finger along the lines of the blueprint, the path he was wanting Eddie to take.

(The path Eddie would later ignore, on grounds that it was going to get him caught.)

“Specifically a signet ring and car keys.”

“Car keys?” Eddie had asked, mostly in a bid for more information. Mickey was the kind of guy you could breadcrumb into giving more information than he intended to, if one played their cards right.

And Eddie was a damn good poker player.

“Yup. Goes to a BMW--which they want you to drive to a safe place. Parents think he lost it somewhere around,” Mickey’s finger stopped, before tapping the blueprint twice. “Here.”

Something had niggled in the back of Eddie’s head. The first whispers of recognition, of a fact that he knew something about this--something he couldn’t yet recall.

He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it.

“Who's the kid?” He’d asked.

Mostly because he was curious, partially because it was a way to ease in the real questions he wanted to ask.

Like what a rich kid was doing four levels down in Starcourt the night of the fire.

“Does it matter?” Mickey said, but dug into his pockets anyway. Retrieved a little 2 by 3 wallet photo, done in the traditional High School Picture Day style.

He’d tossed it on the table, and Eddie didn’t react.

Kept his face perfectly blank, even as his stomach contracted and his breath caught in his chest.

Carefully pulled the picture to him, to make a show of examining it.

“Don’t know him.” He lied after a moment, fighting to get his breathing back under control before Mickey figured out what was up.

“Told you it didn’t matter. What matters is that you get the shit. And hey, while you’re down there…”

Mickey talked a bit more, and idly, Eddie listened. He knew this little B&E was going to have more components than just retrieving a few things. Had long figured out that this entire front of retrieving “some rich kids keys” was just that--a front.

Word on the street was that Starcourt was hiding something--something a lot of very powerful people were getting increasingly interested in. He’d rolled his eyes when he caught wind of the first little rumblings, the rumors and whispers that the thing was shrouded in Government secrets and conspiracies, but hadn’t been able to ignore the shit that had come after.

Likely, the people who had hired him and Mickey understood they had to act now, before someone else did, to see if anything worthwhile was actually down there.

The real question is why the hell they were using Steve Harrington’s death to do it--when Eddie knew for a fact that Steve Harrington was alive.

Or alive as anyone could be, at two am at a Shell gas station.

“Alright.” Eddie said finally, pulling the blueprint towards himself before rolling it up, making sure to casually roll up Harrington’s picture with it. “You got me interested. Half up front and I’m in.”

Mickey grinned at him. “Knew you would be, kid.”

One hand shake and a hefty envelope later, and Eddie found himself on the way to Starcourt on his very first stakeout.

It was that first initial look that confirmed it--Harrington’s prized BMW was in fact, still sitting in the parking lot.

Abandoned by rich assholes who absolutely could have paid to have it towed.

Which led to a domino effect of stakeouts, late nights and confrontations, up to and including his present position, counting down the minutes before he could break into Starcourt.

“Ready?” He murmured, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was talking to himself given how quietly he said it.

They would be wrong.

“Yeah.” The not-so-dead rich kid drawled from the passenger seat.

Eddie tossed a grin at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.

“Come on, Stevie.” He purred. “Let’s go find out who impersonated your parents, and why they want that ring you supposedly own so badly.”

“Honestly dude I just want my car back.”

“That too.”

Part Two

#this is a two parter #the second part has the steddie lol #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #season 3 AU #sorta #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #I mean really how did he get his keys back #breaking and entering #you cannot tell me eddie wasn't drawn to starcourts remains like a moth to a flame

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mousedetective · 1 year ago

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Please Help A Mentally Ill, Mostly Queer Homeless Family Stay Housed This Holiday Season?

PAYPAL | AMAZON WISHLIST | KOFI | GOFUNDME

VENMO: @penaltywaltz | CASHAPP: $afteriwake23 | ZELLE: DM me for email address

12/27/23 - Updated Post!

NEW GOAL!

$1290/$2013

(Original goal met, now edited for additional room help, food, bills and other things needed)

If I can get the entire amount still needed, I can do the following:

Get the hotel room for over a week, which will let us come and go without worrying about having to spend all day trying to raise money and we can run important errands next week

Close three open collection accounts my mom has by paying them off in full via her debt consolidation company, and pay off two defaulted payday loans

Pay off her PayPal debt so that PayPal will reopen her account

Have money to make a payment if I can get the debt collection company to find her other credit card account I need to arrange payments on

Get food after the 10th, because I fully expect both myself and my mom to be out of food stamps by then (also, I don't know who did it, but BLESS YOU to the person who bought us three DoorDash gift cards off the Amazon wishlist...I just wanted to put that out there in case you didn't send a gift receipt)

Most of this will be a huge help in getting us to be able to qualify for housing that requires credit checks, and helping Lena get her health stuff sorted and figure out if she has any other debilitating illnesses will help give her disability appeal more strength, which will help her get an income to support herself. So please reblog this version if you can, and help with money or wishlist items if you can (the restaurant gift cards go a long way, plus I desperately need the clothing for me because I've lost 40 pounds this last year and most of my stuff is now too big). Thank you for reading this, and I hope you have an awesome day!

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kremlin · 1 year ago

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"This event ends the moment you write us a check, and it better not bounce, or you're a dead motherfucker" -- Big Bill Hell

There was a time when you'd see little old ladies paying for the groceries with a hand-written personal check, holding up the line, causing an immediately-forgiven slight sense of annoyance with those behind her. Buddy. Those days are over. They've been over. What, did you think you were going to just pop a couple extra zeroes on the end of your paycheck there? Maybe scan your paycheck, open it in photoshop, make a template, print em out all nice? You think you're the first to think of that, dipshit?

It takes the law a long time to catch up with the state of the art. You're reading this on the internet, which means you never use checks. The law has caught up. Your ass will be going to prison immediately and you will see zero return.

You can't even kite checks anymore, and hell, nobody under 40 will even know what that means, due to the blazing fast, two day settlement on all ACH transactions. Let me paint you a picture.

You get paid on Friday, but it is Monday, and bills are due on Tuesday. And you're broke: $0 in the bank. Goose egg. Pop open your checkbook, go to a store, "buy" some things, write a check for the amount. The cashier takes it!

Now take those things you "bought", across town, to another store location, and return them for cold hard cash. Sweet. Bills paid. Friday rolls around, and you just make it to the bank to deposit your paycheck before it closes. After the weekend, the checks you wrote finally post, and they don't bounce! You've kited a check. You've surreptitiously taken a zero-interest loan. And we know your broke ass. The interest rate on that short-term payday loan should have been straight up usurious. We're talking 29%. That makes predatory fuckers like us horny for sex. We're so mad. Now you are going to Federal Prison. For a good minute. Fuckface.

COST: $0.10 (With banks offering free checking accounts + Bic pen)

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor sleet, if you fuck with the mail, we'll rip your nuts off" -- Ronald Mail (Inventor of Mail)

Many people have this misnomer that the most powerful people in politics are democratically elected. The president, of the United States, of America, is a stupid cartoon hotdog. All of them, I don't care. Way less clout than you'd think. Brilliantly, it is the people that the hotdog president appoints who are actually doing anything significant. The director of the CIA. The fucking chairman of the Federal Reserve. Probably the, like, most senior, uh, general of the military, and shit too. I don't know, we don't "do" army here at Bloomberg. You probably don't even know their names! I don't! These are the ones you should be seeing in your sleep.

There's another position like that. Appointed directly by the hotdog. The Postmaster General. That's a real title. He's the CEO of the mail, and buddy, what he may lack in political power relative to the director of the CEO, he makes up in raw sexual energy. Total Tom Selleck energy. Like an airline pilot. We're talking Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I'm tentpoling in my black business slacks just writing this, and all my Bloomberg newsroom bros are peering over my shoulder and also tent-poling. We're not gay though, and especially me, I'm probably the least gay, but sometimes I just lay awake for hours at night what that mustache would feel like pressed against my lips, the unbelievable and utter, total sense of security I'd feel burying my head into his hard chest.

You get it. He's your dad. And if you fuck with the mail, you've fucked with the tools in your dad's garage. And dad's been drinking. You're in for it, bucko, you are in trouble. Do you think the United States Postal Service actually makes any money? Hell no. It costs like five bucks to mail a box basically anywhere I can think of and they give you the boxes for free. You can just walk in the post office and take them. I do that, and then just throw them away, I don't know why, some kind of compulsion. Being able to move shit around like this, quickly, cheaply -- Jesus H, I've got a huge amount of money in my bank account, probably tens of trillions of dollars (due to financial knowledge gained from reading Bloomberg articles) and I could probably mail every single person ever something and still come out in the black.

No way pal. They've thought of that already. The Postmaster General is going to know every time, and he's going to grab you by the shirt collar, wearing his cool as fuck hat, and you're going to get your pants pulled down, and your bare ass spanke...I need to go use the restroom real quick.

We rely on the mail system to get important shit done. It's not something to be taken lightly, and it isn't. Trust me. This is why, like almost every other person who receives mail in this year 2023, I just fucking put a wastebasket under my mail slot. I don't even shred that shit anymore. I just burn it. Takes less time.

COST: $0.63 (Postal stamp)

"Can call all you want, but there's no one home // And you're not gonna reach my telephone // Out in the club, and I'm sipping that bubb // And you're not gonna reach my telephone" -- Lady Gaga

I read something wild that the children of today do not know what a dial tone is, because of how fucked up and stupid they are. Isn't that super fucked up?

While it's not really our style, allow me to fill you in on some ancient, arcane knowledge about the telephone. You can turn it on, and then you can punch in numbers. Any numbers. Random ones, or maybe not random ones. If the ten numbers you punch in are the same as the numbers in someone else's telephone number, their phone will ring, and then you are talking to them. This is called "Phreaking".

Here's the kicker: You can tell that jackass anything you want. "Oh, Hi, Yes, I am Reginald Sumpter calling from Avalon Consulting LLC, we are just following up on the invoice we sent you. Please remit to ###### routing ###### account."

BOOM! Your name isn't Reginald whatever and that company doesn't exist, but you just received a deposit. It's fucking beautiful. What have you done wrong? It isn't your responsibility to handle who your business' clients/etc are, it's their's. If they want to just pay you money for no real reason, well, that's kind of on them, isn't it? I haven't stuck a pistol in your face and demanded everything in the register.

Well, it's too clever. It's too slick. This is the United States of America. It's one thing to commit a felony like armed robbery, it's another thing to piss off someone in charge of the accounting division who uses a special bathroom you need a key to get into.

You can do it on the computer too, I use a PC Computer at work and send email, so you can see how it'd work there. You can make a document that is indifferentiable from a real invoice and, straight up, 1/3 of the time they will pay that shit. Lmfao.

It's called wire fraud because, uhh, duhhhh, there's wires. What do you think that thing is strung between the telephone receiver and the dialer? And computers? Give me a break. There's so many wires with those.

COST: $0.25 (Coin for payphone)

"People calculate too much and think too little." -- Charlie Munger

It is insane how dumb the common man can be when it comes to our world of expertise. I hear this same sentiment, like, ALL THE TIME:

"Durr hurr I will buy an insurance policy for my car or house or whatever so that in case something happens to it I will get money". And then that same person proceeds to drive safely or not burn their house down. Dumbest crap imaginable.

Let me break it down for you. Insurance is a two player competitive game. There is a winner and there is a loser. Go take out an expensive insurance policy on your American sports car. Buy a neck brace, a football helmet, and pack that bitch with throw pillows. Then get in the left lane of a major highway at like noonish, let it rip and then SLAM on your brakes. Hit from behind! Your fault! Congratulations. You have won insurance. How this gets past people is beyond me.

You can only do this once or twice before the insurance companies catch on. Then they don't want to fuck with you. It is also..I don't know man...something feels off about taking a car or a house, which like, some guy had to build and just destroying it, but that is only a weird emotional thing, since you're making money, more than whatever the destroyed thing is worth, so in reality you've built that house plus some extra. You've contributed.

COST: $106.00 (Average monthly car insurance payment)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SUBSCRIBE TO MY WHATEVER FOR PART TWO, COMING SOON. i'll post it later today probably. whatever time frame will juice the numbers. have a sneaky peaky

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Intuit: “Our fraud fights racism”

Tonight (September 27), I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine. On October 2, I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab.

Today's key concept is "predatory inclusion": "a process wherein lenders and financial actors offer needed services to Black households but on exploitative terms that limit or eliminate their long-term benefits":

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/2329496516686620

Perhaps you recall predatory inclusion from the Great Financial Crisis, when predatory subprime mortgages with deceptive teaser rates were foisted on Black homeowners (who were eligible for better mortgages), resulting in a wave of Black home theft in the foreclosure crisis:

https://prospect.org/justice/staggering-loss-black-wealth-due-subprime-scandal-continues-unabated/

Before these loans blew up, they were styled as a means of creating Black intergenerational wealth through housing speculation. They turned out to be a way to suck up Black families' savings before rendering them homeless and forcing them into houses owned by the Wall Street slumlords who bought all the housing stock the Great Financial Crisis put on the market:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

That was just an update on an old con: the "home sale contract," invented by loan-sharks who capitalized on redlining to rip off Black families. Back when banks and the US government colluded to deny mortgages to Black households, sleazy lenders created the "contract loan," which worked like a mortgage, but if you were late on a single payment, the lender could seize and sell your home and not pay you a dime – even if the house was 99% paid for:

https://socialequity.duke.edu/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/Plunder-of-Black-Wealth-in-Chicago.pdf

Usurers and con-artists love to style themselves as anti-racists, seeking to "close the racial wealth gap." The payday lending industry – whose triple-digit interest rates trap poor people in revolving debt that they can never pay off – styles itself as a force for racial justice:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/29/planned-obsolescence/#academic-fraud

Payday lenders prey on poor people, and in America, "poor" is often a euphemism for "Black." Payday lenders disproportionately harm Black families:

https://ung.edu/student-money-management-center/money-minute/racial-wealth-gap-payday-loans.php

Payday lenders are just unlicensed banks, who deploy a layer of bullshit to claim that they don't have to play by the rules that bind the rest of the finance sector. This scam is so juicy that it spawned the fintech industry, in which a bunch of unregulated banks sprung up to claim that they were too "innovative" to be regulated:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

When you hear "Fintech," think "unlicensed bank." Fintech turned predatory inclusion into a booming business, recruiting Black spokespeople to claim that being the sucker at the table in the cryptocurrency casino was actually a form of racial justice:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/07/business/media/cryptocurrency-seeks-the-spotlight-with-spike-lees-help.html

But not all predatory inclusion is financial. Take Facebook Basics, Meta's "poor internet for poor people" program. Facebook partnered with telcos in the Global South to rig their internet access. These "zero rating" programs charged subscribers by the byte to reach any service except Facebook and its partners. Facebook claimed that this would "bridge the digital divide," by corralling "the next billion internet users" into using its services.

The fact that this would make "Facebook" synonymous with "the internet" was just an accidental, regrettable side-effect. Naturally, this was bullshit from top to bottom, and the countries where zero-rating was permitted ended up having more expensive wireless broadband than the countries that banned it:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/02/countries-zero-rating-have-more-expensive-wireless-broadband-countries-without-it

The predatory inclusion gambit is insultingly transparent, but that doesn't stop desperate scammers from trying it. The latest chancer is Intuit, who claim that the end of its decade-long, wildly profitable "free tax prep" scam is bad for Black people:

https://www.propublica.org/article/turbotax-intuit-black-taxpayers-irs-free-file-marketing

Some background. In nearly every rich country on Earth, the tax authorities send every taxpayer a pre-filled tax return, based on the information submitted by employers, banks, financial planners, etc. If that looks good to you, you just sign it and send it back. Otherwise, you can amend it, or just toss it in the trash and pay a tax-prep specialist to produce your own return.

But in America, taxpayers spend billions every year to send forms to the IRS that tell it things it already knows. To make this ripoff seem fair, the hyper-concentrated tax-prep industry, led by the Intuit, creators of Turbotax, pretended to create a program to provide free tax-prep to working people.

This program was called Free File, and it was a scam. The tax-prep cartel each took a different segment of Americans who were eligible for Freefile and then created an online house of mirrors that would trick those people into spending hours working on their tax-returns until they were hit with an error message falsely claiming they were ineligible for the free service and demanding hundreds of dollars to file their returns.

Intuit were world champions at this scam. They blocked their Freefile offering from search-engine crawlers and then bought ads that showed up when searchers typed "freefile" into the query box that led them to deceptively named programs that had "free" in their names but cost a fortune to use – more than you'd pay for a local CPA to file on your behalf.

The Attorneys General of nearly every US state and territory eventually sued Intuit over this, settling for $141m:

https://www.agturbotaxsettlement.com/Home/portalid/0

The FTC is still suing them over it:

https://www.ftc.gov/legal-library/browse/cases-proceedings/192-3119-intuit-inc-matter-turbotax

We have to rely on state AGs and the FTC to bring Intuit to justice because every Intuit user clicks through an agreement in which we permanently surrender our right to sue the company, no matter how many laws it breaks. For corporate criminals, binding arbitration waivers are the gift that keeps on giving:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/24/uber-for-arbitration/#nibbled-to-death-by-ducks

Even as the scam was running out, Intuit spent millions lobby-blitzing Congress, desperate for action that would let it continue to privately tax the nation for filling in forms that – once again – told the IRS things it already knew. They really love the idea of paying taxes on paying your taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/20/turbotaxed/#counter-intuit

But they failed. The IRS has taken Freefile in-house, will send you a pre-completed tax return if you want it. This should be the end of the line for Intuit and other tax-prep profiteers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/17/free-as-in-freefile/#tell-me-something-i-dont-know

Now we're at the end of the line for the scam, Intuit is playing the predatory inclusion card. They're conning Black newspapers like the Chicago Defender into running headlines like "IRS Free Tax Service Could Further Harm Blacks,"

https://defendernetwork.com/news/opinion/irs-free-tax-service-could-further-harm-blacks/

The only named source in that article? Intuit spokesperson Derrick Plummer. The article went out on the country's Black newswire Trice Edney, whose editor-in-chief did not respond to Propublica's Paul Kiel's questions.

Then Black Enterprise got in on the game, publishing "Critics Claim The IRS Free Tax Prep Service Could Hurt Black Americans." Once again, the only named source for the article was Plummer, who was "quoted at length." Black Enterprise declined to tell Kiel where that article came from:

https://www.blackenterprise.com/critics-claim-the-irs-free-tax-prep-service-could-hurt-black-americans/

For Intuit, placing op-eds is a tried-and-true tactic for laundering its ripoffs into respectability. Leaked internal Intuit memos detail the company's strategy of "pushing back through op-eds" to neutralize critics:

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/6483061-Intuit-TurboTax-2014-15-Encroachment-Strategy.html

Intuit spox Derrick Plummer did respond to Kiel's queries, denying that Intuit was paying for these op-eds, saying "with an idea as bad as the Direct File scheme we don’t have to pay anyone to talk about how terrible it is."

Meanwhile, ex-NAACP director (and No Labels co-chair) Benjamin Chavis has used his position atop the National Newspaper Publishers Association to publish op-eds against the IRS Direct File program, citing the Progressive Policy Institute, a pro-business thinktank that Intuit's internal documents describe as part of its "coalition":

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/6483061-Intuit-TurboTax-2014-15-Encroachment-Strategy.html

Chavis's Chicago Tribune editorial claimed that Direct File could cause Black filers to miss out on tax-credits they are entitled to. This is a particularly ironic claim given Intuit's prominent role in sabotaging the Child Tax Credit, a program that lifted more Americans out of poverty than any other in history:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/29/three-times-is-enemy-action/#ctc

It's also an argument that can be found in Intuit's own anti-Direct File blog posts:

https://www.intuit.com/blog/innovative-thinking/taxpayer-empowerment/intuit-reinforces-its-commitment-to-fighting-for-taxpayers-rights/

The claim is that because the IRS disproportionately audits Black filers (this is true), they will screw them over in other ways. But Evelyn Smith, co-author of the study that documented the bias in auditing says this is bullshit:

https://siepr.stanford.edu/publications/working-paper/measuring-and-mitigating-racial-disparities-tax-audits

That's because these audits of Black households are triggered by the IRS's focus on Earned Income Tax Credits, a needlessly complicated program available to low-income (and hence disproportionately Black) workers. The paperwork burden that the IRS heaps on EITC recipients means that their returns contain errors that trigger audits.

As Smith told Propublica, "With free, assisted filing, we might expect EITC claimants to make fewer mistakes and face less intense audit scrutiny, which could help reduce disparities in audit rates between Black and non-Black taxpayers."

Meanwhile, the predatory inclusion talking points continue to proliferate. Nevada accountants and the state's former controller somehow coincidentally managed to publish op-eds with nearly identical wording. Phillip Austin, vice-chair of Arizon's East Valley Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, claims that free IRS tax prep "would disproportionately hurt the Hispanic community." Austin declined to tell Propublica how he came to that conclusion.

Right-wing think-tanks are pumping out a torrent of anti-Direct File disinfo. This surely has nothing to do with the fact that, for example, Center Forward has HR Block's chief lobbyist on its board:

https://thehill.com/opinion/finance/4125481-direct-e-file-wont-make-filing-taxes-any-easier-but-it-could-make-things-worse/

The whole thing reeks of bullshit and desperation. That doesn't mean that it won't succeed in killing Direct File. If there's one thing America loves, it's letting businesses charge us a tax just for dealing with our own government, from paying our taxes to camping in our national parks:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/30/military-industrial-park-service/#booz-allen

Interestingly, there's a MAGA version of predatory inclusion, in which corporations convince low-information right-wingers that efforts to protect them from ripoffs are "woke." These campaigns are, incredibly, even stupider than the predatory inclusion tale.

For example, there's a well-coordianted campaign to block the junk fees that the credit card cartel extracts from merchants, who then pass those charges onto us. This campaign claims that killing junk fees is woke:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

How does that work? Here's the logic: Target sells Pride merch. That makes them woke. Target processes a lot of credit-card transactions, so anything that reduces card-processing fees will help Target. Therefore, paying junk fees is a way to own the libs.

No, seriously.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/27/predatory-inclusion/#equal-opportunity-scammers

#pluralistic

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copperbadge · 11 months ago

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Radio Free Monday

Good morning everyone, and welcome to Radio Free Monday!

Ways to Give:

Anon linked to a fundraiser for Andrea, a trans woman, UU minister, and veteran, and her wife Wren, a genderqueer veteran, who are currently homeless along with their three cats. While they are working with the VA to get approval for housing assistance, they're in need of funding to get back on their feet; you can read more and support the fundraiser here.

littleredreadinghood linked to a fundraiser for kirkaut, who was recently diagnosed with an aggressive cancer and is in need of help with medical bills. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

like-the-midnight-sun linked to a fundraiser for a close friend, a queer, trans, and multiply-Disabled writer who has just lost their job and needs to pay a steep phone bill to reactivate their service so they can look for work. You can give via paypal here or via Chime to nachonaco.

Anon linked to a fundraiser for crazywolf828, whose grandfather, one of the household's main income sources, recently suffered a broken hip and is currently in a rehab center; they need help with medical bills among other things. You can read more and reblog here or give via ko-fi here. (The page does pop up a "possible NSFW comment" warning window but there's nothing NSFW on that page.)

Anon linked to a fundraiser for Vinn, a disabled nonbinary person who is raising funds to move away from Utah, where being a queer person is becoming steadily less safe, to Michigan, where they have a place to live with their partner already set up. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

like-the-midnight-sun and her wife are multiply marginalized people who don't feel safe in the US anymore; they are fundraising to move to somewhere in Europe, probably Norway or Sweden, where they will be less likely to experience violent persecution. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

like-the-midnight-sun and her wife are also hoping to get temporary assistance with a vet bill before they go out of town; the appointment is the day before payday and they won't be able to cover it until they are paid. They need a loan of $150 that they can pay back; you can give (with repayment on March 30th) via paypal here, via Venmo to ARZinzani (9980), or via Chime at $Nassun-0428.

Recurring Needs:

thelastpyler is raising funds to help with food, transportation, and replacement IDs after being robbed; you can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

And this has been Radio Free Monday! Thank you for your time. You can post items for my attention at the Radio Free Monday submissions form. If you're new to fundraising, you may want to check out my guide to fundraising here.

#radio free monday #charity #philanthropy #fannish community

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leveluponabuck · 26 days ago

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Leveling up during Chaos.

To some leveling up may be a conversation that feels a bit vapid and unnecessary given the events happening globally especially in the US. I would disagree because leveling up will be necessary to survive the upcoming economic climate. Here's some tips I believe everyone should be implementing in order to survive and also thrive.

Save money - I know that all the finance bros constantly downplay savings and mostly focus on investing, but savings is STILL RELEVANT! Having savins can prevent you having to take payday loans, replace a car vs a car part, and help you feel more at ease during emergency. Whether you are saving $25, $50, or more every paycheck, please, set some money aside

Build your network - LinkedIn is great! Meeting people in person is BETTER. It's time to join groups, go to local meetups for people in your current or desired field because this is going to be how people get job opportunities. Also focus on sustaining those relationships, so NOT just a LinkedIn hit it and quit it, but instead please focus on building long term mutually beneficial relationships with people that you like and who know more than you!

education, Education, EDUCATION! - If you are afraid that your job could be at risk, you want to explore a new career, or feel like you need more education, DO IT! But when you do it please be smart. Focus on grants, scholarships, transferring credit from lower cost institutions, interships, bootcamps. Do your research! Check websites like will a robot take my job, career trajectory, and need for that particular job/career in your area. Be smart while getting smart. Do NOT believe these people online telling you that degrees don't matter! In these next 4 years they will not only matter, they will be the reason many people get left out of the new economy.

B-U-D-G-E-T - I know this is hard to do in this economy for some right now, but now more than ever you need to know where your money is going. If you're in debt and want to get out first assess that you are able to meet your basic needs (housing, food, etc.) then work out a sustainable debt pay back plan. If you can help don't allow things to go into default, but if the do, or have, focus on paying the most important bills first, save, and then of course focus on debt.

Do NOT DOOMSPEND - I know it may seem tempting to spend like there's no tomorrow and that everyday the news and government can make it easier to become more and more nihilistic, but maxing out affirm, Klarna and Afterpay will NOT help. Set a little cash aside for guiltless, mindless "joy spending" and then STOP. Think about creating community instead of spending all the time. Set up a home paint and sip, go the local coffee shop and read a good book, check out some new pieces at the Museum. Research low-cost hobbies and lean on those when you're anxious instead of spending.

Have your own $$$ - Yes even if your partner has money, set some aside that you don't touch of your own. You never know when you, or both you and your partner might need it.

I hope this helps!

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vague-humanoid · 27 days ago

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Not surprisingly there is a great deal of ~discourse~ about what those of us who care about Palestine should do in the 2024 election. I am particularly moved to respond to an episode of the Know Your Enemy podcast on this subject, in which the host Sam Adler-Bell discussed the matter with three leading political thinkers and activists of our generation: Astra Taylor, Olúfẹ́mi Táíwò, and Malcolm Harris, all of whose work I greatly admire.

Nonetheless I found the conversation exasperating, because it seemed to take as its starting point the dichotomy between principle, which would entail voting against Harris/Walz in solidarity with Palestine, versus strategic expediency or hard-headed realism, would lead one to vote for them as a measure against the greater threat of a Trump victory, then continuing to agitate on behalf of Palestine and other causes toward the presumably-friendlier audience of a Democratic presidential administration. That was highlighted by Malcolm’s advocacy for disruptive direct action against the national security state and supply chain as a supposed alternative to voting, which Sam eagerly seized on as a foil because it enabled him to juxtapose that supposedly more radical position with his own pragmatism, and in response to which he could graciously state that we need both.

I don’t consider voting for the Democratic presidential ticket to be strategically sound or expedient. If you saw someone trying to convince a dejected, broke gambler to take out another loan and go back into the casino because it was his moral obligation, you wouldn’t consider that person to be giving strategically sound advice—you would hold them in contempt. If you saw a financial advisor telling someone behind on their rent to take out another payday loan because they have a moral obligation to their landlord, you might think that could be the best of a very bad set of options, but you would be very suspicious of the moral claim. If you heard a career counselor telling someone whose career isn’t going the way they wanted to take out a student loan to attend a coding bootcamp, you would rightly wonder whether the career counselor was being paid by the coding bootcamp to take advantage of someone in a vulnerable position. All of these are better analogies for the present situation vis a vis the 2024 election, because the entity whose aims voting serves, the Democratic Party, is a malevolent one that exists to exploit its voting base on behalf of its plutocratic constituency and needs our votes to continue to be able to do so. It doesn’t care how morally anguished we are, only that it gets what it needs to keep the grift going. The idea that we should serve up to our oppressor what it needs to keep oppressing us is repulsive, and that’s before we even get to Palestine.

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 2 months ago

Note

Sorry if you’ve answered anything like this before, but what are your thoughts on sex toys in the wasteland?

I feel like a fair amount of ghouls would use them considering limb and extremity loss, as well as possibly being safer with non ghoul partners.

I've touched on this topic a bit before in response to an ask about how Cooper/The Ghoul, specifically, feels about sex toys (a blurb I enjoy, definitely check it out if you haven't), but I'd love to offer some additional, more general thoughts, as always.

Sex toys are a bit of an enigma in the wasteland.

Old sex toys, stuff that was manufactured before the bombs dropped, are by and large decrepit, unsafe, or literally turned to dust in the modern day. Silicone and latex hold up terribly against very basic exposure to air/temperature changes/UV already, and that's to say nothing about all the additional radiation. Electronics rust and corrode, not that you'd be able to easily find a private place to plug anything in. However, sex toys are also sometimes manufactured from glass (mostly just basic penetrative items like dildos and plugs), as I touched on in the previously mentioned blurb, and those things would theoretically hold up fine against the environment as long as they weren't physically damaged. Use with caution. Outside of things like that, people are stuck with what they can figure out themselves.

In terms of what the average person has access to, the lack of "vintage" prefabricated marital aids would almost certainly inspire the widespread use of DIY sex toys…you know, using beer bottles and vegetables and such. If you're into object insertion, you'd be in hog heaven, frankly. Well, as long as you have proper access to any kind of lube, which isn't a guarantee. But at the same time, I'm sure there's also no shortage of at-home engineers rigging up all sorts of baubles that vibrate, or re-inventing the fucking machine.

Naturally, those who can't invent shop instead.

I really am quite smitten with the idea of a wasteland merchant who sells sex toys made of junk and scrap. I don't think there are many other businesses that fit the grungy, skeevy aesthetic that so many of the merchants in the Fallout universe have as perfectly, save for maybe places that do real harm like a payday loan place or an opium den (and those things basically still exist in Fallout). You know, the kind of business that's tucked away in an alley or hidden away in the back room of a more reputable place. Granted, people have a lot less shame and embarrassment about things like going into a sex shop postwar, but there will always be a contingency of people who are embarrassed to discuss or admit they even have sex. Brotherhood wannabes and straggling bible-thumpers and such.

However, despite the fact that sex is infinitely less taboo than it once was, sex toys themselves have taken on a much different reputation. A fair number of people either own one or have used one before (though not nearly as many as in the pre-war days), but they aren't openly discussed or joked about as they once were. This isn't because of the sexual aspect of them. No, it's moreso the implication that you're either:

a. so well-off that you can afford to spend your caps on such things, and so bragging about having them is gauche

b. so prissy and fussy in bed that you'll spend what little you have on something most people would call "beyond non-essential".

Neither is exactly seen as a "good look" by certain members of the general public who often worry where their next meal will come from and have also never had a real orgasm. Needless to say, envious busybodies who hate sexy fun have always existed and continue to exist into the future. Still, that doesn't change the fact that some people can't finish without a vibrating friend, or that others want to prep for anal with something you won't lose up your ass.

Not all modern toys are made of junk, though; there are some rare craftspeople of a special breed who still have the ability to work with glass and plastics (despite how difficult some of the supplies can be to obtain) to produce what people want. Of course, the old standard is dildos; sometimes you need a teammate! Cock rings are easy to manufacture and remain popular, especially with ghouls (pre-war ghouls like them in particular as their bodies work against them more frequently). Be careful picking out a plug, as, like today, they aren't all designed with body-safe use in mind. Lots of these people are engineering what they make out of sheer horniness and not a lot of real knowledge about safe sex play. New manufactured toys that vibrate aren't impossible to find, but they cost an arm and a leg and maybe an eyeball on top of that. There's also an entire underground market for various pieces of armor and clothing converted into specialized bondage gear, but you've gotta know the right people to gain access to it.

You're absolutely right that most ghouls are big fans of sex toys. Like you mentioned in your ask, and like I elaborated on a few days ago when I talked about the potential of higher rates of impotence with ghouls, it wouldn't be all that unexpected for someone afflicted by ghoulification to have trouble when it comes to their intimate life. Serious radiation burns can cause intense nerve damage and perpetually high rads level causes havoc on soft tissues. The fact that the toys have a fair amount of social stigma attached to them is a nonissue, as their very existence as people is one of the more scandalous things out there. Plus, sex shop owners are generally more than fine with ghouls; why turn away perfectly good clientele?

As for the safety aspect of it, I've always mentioned outercourse/non-penetrative sex as a safe way to get off with your ghoul partner if you're impacted harshly by rads, but any sex toy is also a great alternative. If you've got a low endurance stat or just can't handle much radiation exposure overall, maybe the pair of you can find something to help you out...just be prepared to pay more than you might think is reasonable.

#fallout lore #fallout ghoul #submission

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lewiscarrolatemybrain · 1 year ago

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Y'know what would be cool as hell?

Pirates putting bounties out on other pirates, or even on marines.

Like, pirates have treasure. It's very much The Thing Pirates Do. Granted, a lot of the pirates we see in One Piece have other priorities, but still. Pirates, gold. It's like peanut butter and chocolate. They go together.

And think of what a fucking power-move it would be. There are plenty of strong fighters on the seas who can't -- or won't -- do business with the military for whatever reason, but would probably be more than happy to collect a payday or two in exchange for spilling a little blood. Warring pirate crews in the Blues promise 10mil a head for each of their enemies; that number spikes to 50-100mil in the Grand Line, and usually higher depending on the crews in question. Back in the day rumor had it that Whitebeard and Roger would double the government price if you could bring either one to to the other.

(That was technically true, they did agree to that, but they were drunk and it was mostly a joke, so...)

I imagine pirate bounties would work very differently than government bounties. For one, pirate bounties are almost always Alive Only. Pirate bounties are usually personal, and pirates are a vengeful lot by nature. You don't send somebody else to kill a guy for you, no, you deal the finishing blow yourself.

For two, the stronger the pirate the stronger their enemies, so there's less and less available folks out there who even could collect the bounties, much less would want or need to. So instead, big bounties -- like the aforementioned Roger and Whitebeard bounties -- are less about Actually Go Get That Guy and more about Cause Him As Much Hell As Physically Possible. Fuck with his food supply, use guerilla tactics, spy on him, blitz his men and leave them dead in the water. It doesn't matter, just cause him grief. Make this person suffer in any way you can. I imagine pirate bounties also deal in more than just cash. They trade territory, information, weapons and technology, they'll even loan out crew members for a job or two for the right hunt. They could also be more symbolic than literal; a war declaration by another name.

Upstart pirates will occasionally try to put bounties out for heads way above their weight class to make themselves seem tough. Every pirate and blacklisted bounty hunter in the New World is foaming at the mouth for Blackbeard's head in the wake of Thatch's death, because they all know Whitebeard will pay bank for a traitor. The Straw Hats rack up bounties from other pirates -- big name pirates, at that -- even faster than they do from the government, but they don't put out any of their own.

Not until after Marineford, when Straw Hat Luffy appears in the newspaper with two messages. One a secret for his crew, a crossed-out date and a new meeting time. The other for the world at large:

A bounty poster for the Red Dog Akainu.

#One Piece #monkey d luffy #whitebeard pirates #straw hat pirates #straw hat luffy #akainu sakazuki #admiral akainu #one piece akainu

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kyokosasagawa · 8 months ago

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Hi everyone! Opening emergency commissions, lowered my prices down to lower levels, all under 15 dollars.

Backstory: My brother decided to steal 500 dollars from my disabled mother and I a few months ago and since we have no family to really ask for help, we ended up in a payday loan cycle because we couldn't afford groceries for an entire month! Woohoo! Yay! Yippee! (No, he still hasn't paid us back.)

We currently have like, 90% of our income going towards debt. Throughout this month I'm going to be receiving good ol' tax refunds, so that'll help us be under the "things are gonna bounce" threshold.

However, we will need groceries next month. I don't WANT to end up taking out another loan to pay for more groceries, and if I can just get enough to go into a savings account so that I can get through next month, that will help me a lot and maybe even take us out of the payday loan scheme.

I thank you kindly for any consideration. You can contact me through discord at "_larissa" for more details.

#emergency commissions #art commissions

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mousedetective · 1 year ago

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Please Help A Mentally Ill, Mostly Queer Homeless Family Stay Housed This Holiday Season?

PAYPAL | AMAZON WISHLIST | KOFI | GOFUNDME

VENMO: @penaltywaltz | CASHAPP: $afteriwake23 | ZELLE: DM me for email address

01/12/24 - Updated Post!

NEW GOAL!

$475/$1750

(Original goal not met, now edited for additional room help and other things needed)

If I can get the entire amount still needed, I can do the following:

Get the hotel room for over a week, which will let us come and go without worrying about having to spend all day trying to raise money and we can run important errands next week

Close three open collection accounts my mom has by paying them off in full via her debt consolidation company, and pay off two new payday loans we've had to take out

Pay off her PayPal debt so that PayPal will reopen her account

Cover my mother's current $60 overdraft

Get food after the 10th, because I fully expect both myself and my mom to be out of food stamps by then

We currently have the room until the morning of the 16th, but my birthday is on the 23rd and I'd love to get the room for over a week if possible so that we can relax on my birthday.

We'll go to the LGBTQA center to get Lena transferred to a gender-affirming care GP, if I can get the room at least a few more days. We'll go to Exodus next week as well if I can cover past Thursday.

So please reblog this version if you can, and help with money or wishlist items if you can (the restaurant gift cards go a long way, plus I desperately need the clothing for me because I've lost 40 pounds this last year and most of my stuff is now too big). Thank you for reading this, and I hope you have an awesome day!

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lilac-den · 7 months ago

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Ooooh spicy

Pls begging for crumbs

"What do you want to eat?" "Bend over"

I simp for Dolos & Maverick but honestly, anyone or either AU is fine too lmao whatever hits your inspiration ✨

Maverick x MC Snippet!

This is pre-tragedy!

"Fuck, I'm beat."

I close the door behind me with a sigh, a hand raising up to run along the side of my head.

"Welcome home, [Name]."

I open my eyes to find Maverick raising a brow at me, an open book in his hands and on his lap. I close my mouth for a moment, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Shit," I start, "sorry, Rick. I thought you're asleep."

Maverick sighs, shaking his head and soon closing the book. "That's alright, [Name]. Truth be told, I just haven't been able to stay asleep."

This got me piqued, my sock-clad feet now touching the floor as I align my shoes straight at the entryway before turning back to Maverick. I walk closer to the couch he's sitting at, frowning. "Did you have a nightmare?"

A scoff escapes him, his blue eyes darting to the side behind his glasses as a hesitant smile comes to his face. "Very much the opposite, unfortunately."

So it wasn't a nightmare? "Why is it 'unfortunately'? If it's the opposite, then you must've had a good dream, right?"

At this, Maverick's snow white cheeks turn slightly red and he makes a fist to cough into it politely. "Let's not discuss further on this matter." He gestures to me. "Why are you only home now? It's eleven in the evening."

Home. It's still unbelievable that all of us - Me, Maverick, Rydigan, Ittania and Enid - are living under the same roof, even though it's been three days. "Some customers were being asses at the workplace and I ended up working overtime."

The white-haired man begins to stand, putting his book onto the coffee table in front before making his way to me. He lifts a hand, brows furrowing with concern as he cups one of my cheeks and inspects my face. "You weren't harmed or assaulted, are you?"

I can't help but smile. It's not uncommon for employees or workers of the lower class to deal with violent or unhinged customers, especially those working in places of considerable importance to certain individuals. Like convenience stores for gangsters, pharmacies for drug addicts or even the bar for the perverts. There's even been known incidents of some establishments getting sued by customers looking for special treatment and even when the owners of such establishments or the one who complaint try to win the court, both sides still end up at a loss due to the exorbitant pay to their lawyers or, in most cases, debts from various factors like the store owners with the loans and paying the bills or the customers with their pre-existent debt that led to them scamming in the first place. It's a lose-lose situation.

I lean into Maverick's palm, closing my eyes. "I'm fine, Rick."

I can feel his thumb brushing along my cheek, a movement that makes my lips curl upwards.

"Must you work in that area?"

I open my eyes and find myself faced with that look on his face again.

"How else would I pay my share of the bills?"

"You know everyone here would be willing to pay for you. We're four people."

I frown heavily on that. "And I'm the fifth. I don't want to let you all carry the financial burden. Besides, I rather not let you guys spend money that can be put into your savings on something that I can pay for myself." I grab his wrist and gently move his hand off my cheek, just so I can hold it instead and give a reassuring squeeze.

Maverick squeezes my hand in return. "But the idea of you being out so late..."

"Hey." I try to move into his line of sight after seeing his gaze lowering, putting up a soft smile. "I still made it home just fine. Besides, working overtime could mean a bit more money and given how payday is on the way..."

A soft laugh escapes Maverick and he shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. "You seem to forget that it's also-"

His words cut off at the vicious 'GRRRRWWWWLLLL' noise filling the space between us and, realizing the almost violent growl is coming from me, Maverick has the audacity to give out a 'Pfft!' noise before turning away, trying to hold in his laughter.

I can't help hissing. "Oh, don't you dare laugh, you little shit!"

This just ends up making Maverick start laughing, a wide grin spreading upon his face. If he isn't laughing over my plight, I would have admire such a beaming smile on the usually stoic face. "Ha...! I'm so sorry, [Name]. That was impolite of me."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, please. You have done much more impolite stuff."

"I'm simply a model of virtue."

"A model of bullshitting is more like it."

I turn around to face the kitchen, my back facing that snickering bastard. I hook my fingers together and stretch out my arms in front before raising them up to the ceiling. I groan, my muscles contracting and my back straightening until I let out a moan of relief from doing so.

"So," I grunt out mid-stretch and relax my arms to place my hands on my hips, looking over the kitchen, "What do you want to eat?"

I figured maybe, given how Maverick still has the energy to laugh, he might feel a bit peckish for a midnight snack. It wouldn't be the first time.

What is a first time for either of us is what he responded with.

"Bend over."

I whip around, my wide eyes meeting Maverick's own appalled expression. He looks as if he just ran over an animal or found himself face-to-face with a bus. Before I can even ask, Maverick is already turning away to move towards the hallway of bedroom doors, his ears a bright red hue.

"I think I'll head for bed, [Name]."

"But Ri-"

"Good night, [Name]!"

With his voice nearly growling at the second word, he storms his way to his bedroom and close the door shut. I can even hear it being locked.

But even with him out of my sight, I still feel warm around the cheeks as his answer hangs over my mind like a looped audio.

I'm not even sure which kind of hungry I'm in right now.

#TSR #The Sole Reminiscence #Maverick

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