#and I made a thousand dollars in that one sale

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

[creations-by-chaosfay]

A thing I pre-ordered months ago has shipped!

What's the thing?

Keepsake Quilting, and several other quilt companies/stores, put a sort of gift box together with fabric, notions, patterns, and gift cards in them. You don't know what you're getting, making it a surprise. I have never purchased one because they're expensive. This was 50% upfront, 50% when shipped, for a total of $150. Considering how much is in it, and what reviews were left the last several years, it's a steal. Plus, I wanna treat myself after having such a stressful and unpleasant year.

My mom and one of aunts have ordered such boxes in the past, but according to my mom, they're disappointing because she has so many of the things in the package, or no use for many of them. Rulers (some of which cost $30), needles, rotary cutters and extra blades (blades can be $10/each, new cutters up to $50), fabric marking tools (chalk pencils, disappearing ink, etc), precut fabric collections (jelly rolls can be $80, fat quarter collections up to $100 depending on number of FQs), and yardage ($12.99-$21.99/yard). She's been disappointed by "ugly" fabric too many times.

I, on the other hand, have significantly fewer tools. I make things for people to buy, and some folks love fabric I cannot stand (like x-mas and patriotic prints). There have been fabrics I consider well and truly hideous, and those I list in my shop or sell to people here. One person's trash is another's treasure, right? I've met people who think pastels are ugliest things to have ever existed. I think baby pink and green military camouflage look fantastic together, as well as turquoise and light hemp brown or terracotta and peacock blue. My mom finds them hideous. I think pink and any shade of brown look terrible together, or red and khaki (likely from working at Target and seeing is everywhere). Again, personal taste.

If any of you ever fancy treating me to one of these random collections of fabric and/or notions, feel free to do so. They're the sort of surprise I enjoy (that and people purchasing my work, especially from my shop). Sure, there are things that may he of no use to me, but others can use them. Nothing goes to waste.

This package will be arriving on November 18th, and has me giggling with excitement!

[hitaka5ever]

How to tell you're being cheated out of a proper wage for fixed-price job listings

This requires a calculator and this very simple formula:

Total Payment Amount divided by Total Items equals Money Earned an Hour per item

(Example taken from an UpWork listing) The client offers you a fixed price of $150. At a glance, it sounds like a lot, but be wary of how many pieces of the thing they want to be done is (in this case, they wanted 68 fish images turned into vector silhouettes)

So using the formula provided, you would do this:

$150 divided by 68 images equals about (~) 2.5 dollars an hour (150 ÷ 68 = (~) 2.5)

Even if 1 fish image takes less than 10 minutes, you're still being cheated out of the right amount of money

Don't accept these offers. Doing so makes companies and individuals continue to take advantage of their workers. Don't be part of the problem

[dappermouth]

What happened to your Society6 store? It seems like there's a lot less designs available than there used to be. I was hoping to get some tapestries but everything is gone...

Wow! This ask made me go check out my Society6 shop — and you’re right, it’s pretty much all gone! So, here’s the story on that for anyone who hasn’t heard:

Society6 decided that their outsized profit from artists wasn’t cutting it — they now require artists to pay a monthly subscription for the privilege of letting Society6 profit off of them, while foisting additional shipping fees onto the artist and reducing their payments on top of that. I had heard some months back that they were planning to switch to a subscription model, and it looks like since I didn’t pay up, they permanently deleted everything except 10 random pieces of art from my shop. They did this without notifying me at all (classy!) after years of making tens of thousands of dollars off of my work — but weirdly, this is kind of a relief for me?

My cut of Society6 sales were already a laugh even before the proposed changes (I make more money from someone dropping like $20 at my personal print shop than I do from someone buying $100+ of my stuff from Society6) but the tapestries and blankets were so cool and I loved how much people enjoyed them, so I kept my art available there. They've deleted nearly all of my work now, so I'll go finish the job and close out my account for good.

Anyway, it’s disappointing, but Society6 has chosen to suck profoundly at this point in time. Totally scummy treatment of the artists whose work is the foundation of their entire business model. I’m lucky enough to have a supportive audience and never relied on Society6, but I feel badly for artists whose livelihoods have been impacted by this. (If you’re one of those artists, know this: you deserve better compensation for your hard work than what S6 is giving you!)

OK, with all that said — I’m bringin’ tapestries back, baby! They can’t keep this cowboy off the range! Right now I’ve ordered samples from some different places to compare quality, and once I’ve settled on a manufacturer I‘ll be making them available at my print shop. I’ll post on my socials when I’ve sorted it out!

[kedreeva]

Okay, I haven't wanted to talk much about the peafowl lately, been just kinda dealing with Stan's passing, but! I have news I don't want to keep quiet, so here we go with a little announcement.

I've been helping a friend of mine with a bunch of peafowl genetics work lately, as he's trying to prove out a really neat phenotype of speckled and white peafowl that showed up in his breeding stock, and he just spent tens of thousands of dollars importing two new morphs from Europe: European violet (aka, my dream morph) and Ultramarine (pretty and only otherwise being produced by TWO breeders in the WORLD). When Bill heard about Stan, he asked if I was going to go to a large farm auction that's a few hours from my house. I don't, normally, since it's a few hours from my house and the auctions usually make me kinda sad when it comes to peafowl (they stress out SO MUCH) even though it's cool to see how much they're going for at a wider audience auction.

Then he told me he would be going, and that if I wanted to come down the day before the auction, he'd bring me another male, to replace Stan. I had already made plans to hang onto Bismuth, at least for a few years, and to pick up babies from Indie x Arcana/Eclipse this november, including a male, so I didn't really need another male, and don't have the cash for one anyway. He said no, he meant one of the split EUV males from last year's first-USA breeding. For free. As a thank you for helping him.

To put this into perspective, importing the birds is a ~$10k affair, per bird. I had fully resigned myself to never even SEEING one of these birds in person, much less ever owning one. Even if someone else got them imported, they would remain thousands of dollars for the first few years, and quickly become mixed with other stuff, potentially even be lost by people breeding to purple. He went in on a group import with another breeder and they have both just started selling the full-color birds for over $2k apiece (alongside Ultramarine, which before their import was bred by TWO people in the WORLD, and babies from that are going for almost $7k each, but EUV is more widely spread). Splits (like the one I will be getting) are being let go for $750. This is also the color I have desperately wanted since I first saw them 8-10 years ago (though I believe they've been around slightly longer), but that I had resigned myself to never actually having.

To put it mildly, I'm probably going to burst into tears when I see Bill and this bird. It's going to be super embarrassing. And then I'm going to have to build more pens. And then I'm going to have to get as plain-blue, pure-indian blue hens as I can find, and become one of the most serious curators of plain pure EUV in the US, because I know the other two who have them currently will be outcrossing to other patterns/colors immediately and the people buying them will likely be doing the same, and everyone will be clamoring to make them into high Spaldings ASAP, or won't know not to cross them to purples and wreck the color.

Here's the sire cock, the one imported:

You will notice that this bird is purple in full sun, from the sunny side. That's the main difference between European violet and US purple- a US purple looks blue until you get the right angle on the sun vs the bird vs the camera, and you have to get the bird between you and the sun, so the purple is often in the shadow side- visible to the eye but not the camera. EUV is just purple. Even from the sunny side!!

And the Ultramarine, in case you were wondering about their color:

(pics reposted w/ permission from Bill)

The breeder is Spring Creek Peafowl, and in case anyone is secretly a peafowl breeder or knows other peafowl breeders with too much money that want in on a new color morph, he DOES have UM pairs and EUV hens (and more split males) for sale currently, for less than the only other person in the US that has them. They're still pricey, but cheaper. I WISH I had the extra to have my friend add on an EUV hen, but alas, I will have to wait to make my own in a few years. Even just the opportunity to do so is something I never expected to have!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sympathy for the spammer

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

In any scam, any con, any hustle, the big winners are the people who supply the scammers – not the scammers themselves. The kids selling dope on the corner are making less than minimum wage, while the respectable crime-bosses who own the labs clean up. Desperate "retail investors" who buy shitcoins from Superbowl ads get skinned, while the MBA bros who issue the coins make millions (in real dollars, not crypto).

It's ever been thus. The California gold rush was a con, and nearly everyone who went west went broke. Famously, the only reliable way to cash out on the gold rush was to sell "picks and shovels" to the credulous, doomed and desperate. That's how Leland Stanford made his fortune, which he funneled into eugenics programs (and founding a university):

https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/malcolm-harris/palo-alto/9780316592031/

That means that the people who try to con you are almost always getting conned themselves. Think of Multi-Level Marketing (MLM) scams. My forthcoming novel The Bezzle opens with a baroque and improbable fast-food Ponzi in the town of Avalon on the island of Catalina, founded by the chicle monopolist William Wrigley Jr:

http://thebezzle.org

Wrigley found fast food declasse and banned it from the island, a rule that persists to this day. In The Bezzle, the forensic detective Martin Hench uncovers The Fry Guys, an MLM that flash-freezes contraband burgers and fries smuggled on-island from the mainland and sells them to islanders though an "affiliate marketing" scheme that is really about recruiting other affiliate markets to sell under you. As with every MLM, the value of the burgers and fries sold is dwarfed by the gigantic edifice of finance fraud built around it, with "points" being bought and sold for real cash, which is snaffled up and sucked out of the island by a greedy mainlander who is behind the scheme.

A "bezzle" is John Kenneth Galbraith's term for "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." In every scam, there's a period where everyone feels richer – but only the scammers are actually cleaning up. The wealth of the marks is illusory, but the longer the scammer can preserve the illusion, the more real money the marks will pump into the system.

MLMs are particularly ugly, because they target people who are shut out of economic opportunity – women, people of color, working people. These people necessarily rely on social ties for survival, looking after each others' kids, loaning each other money they can't afford, sharing what little they have when others have nothing.

It's this social cohesion that MLMs weaponize. Crypto "entrepreneurs" are encouraged to suck in their friends and family by telling them that they're "building Black wealth." Working women are exhorted to suck in their bffs by appealing to their sisterhood and the chance for "women to lift each other up."

The "sales people" trying to get you to buy crypto or leggings or supplements are engaged in predatory conduct that will make you financially and socially worse off, wrecking their communities' finances and shattering the mutual aid survival networks they rely on. But they're not getting rich on this – they're also being scammed:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4686468

This really hit home for me in the mid-2000s, when I was still editing Boing Boing. We had a submission form where our readers could submit links for us to look at for inclusion on the blog, and it was overwhelmed by spam. We'd add all kinds of antispam to it, and still, we'd get floods of hundreds or even thousands of spam submissions to it.

One night, I was lying in my bed in London and watching these spams roll in. They were all for small businesses in the rustbelt, handyman services, lawn-care, odd jobs, that kind of thing. They were 10 million miles from the kind of thing we'd ever post about on Boing Boing. They were coming in so thickly that I literally couldn't finish downloading my email – the POP session was dropping before I could get all the mail in the spool. I had to ssh into my mail server and delete them by hand. It was maddening.

Frustrated and furious, I started calling the phone numbers associated with these small businesses, demanding an explanation. I assumed that they'd hired some kind of sleazy marketing service and I wanted to know who it was so I could give them a piece of my mind.

But what I discovered when I got through was much weirder. These people had all been laid off from factories that were shuttering due to globalization. As part of their termination packages, their bosses had offered them "retraining" via "courses" in founding their own businesses.

The "courses" were the precursors to the current era's rise-and-grind hustle-culture scams (again, the only people getting rich from that stuff are the people selling the courses – the "students" finish the course poorer). They promised these laid-off workers, who'd given their lives to their former employers before being discarded, that they just needed to pull themselves up by their own boostraps:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/10/declaration-of-interdependence/#solidarity-forever

After all, we had the internet now! There were so many new opportunities to be your own boss! The course came with a dreadful build-your-own-website service, complete with an overpriced domain sales portal, and a single form for submitting your new business to "thousands of search engines."

This was nearly 20 years ago, but even then, there was really only one search engine that mattered: Google. The "thousands of search engines" the scammers promised to submit these desperate peoples' websites to were just submission forms for directories, indexes, blogs, and mailing lists. The number of directories, indexes, blogs and mailing lists that would publish their submissions was either "zero" or "nearly zero." There was certainly no possibility that anyone at Boing Boing would ever press the wrong key and accidentally write a 500-word blog post about a leaf-raking service in a collapsing deindustrialized exurb in Kentucky or Ohio.

The people who were drowning me in spam weren't the scammers – they were the scammees.

But that's only half the story. Years later, I discovered how our submission form was getting included in this get-rich-quick's mass-submission system. It was a MLM! Coders in the former Soviet Union were getting work via darknet websites that promised them relative pittances for every submission form they reverse-engineered and submitted. The smart coders didn't crack the forms directly – they recruited other, less business-savvy coders to do that for them, and then often as not, ripped them off.

The scam economy runs on this kind of indirection, where scammees are turned into scammers, who flood useful and productive and nice spaces with useless dross that doesn't even make them any money. Take the submission queue at Clarkesworld, the great online science fiction magazine, which famously had to close after it was flooded with thousands of junk submission "written" by LLMs:

https://www.npr.org/2023/02/24/1159286436/ai-chatbot-chatgpt-magazine-clarkesworld-artificial-intelligence

There was a zero percent chance that Neil Clarke would accidentally accept one of these submissions. They were uniformly terrible. The people submitting these "stories" weren't frustrated sf writers who'd discovered a "life hack" that let them turn out more brilliant prose at scale.

They were scammers who'd been scammed into thinking that AIs were the key to a life of passive income, a 4-Hour Work-Week powered by an AI-based self-licking ice-cream cone:

https://pod.link/1651876897/episode/995c8a778ede17d2d7cff393e5203157

This is absolutely classic passive-income brainworms thinking. "I have a bot that can turn out plausible sentences. I will locate places where sentences can be exchanged for money, aim my bot at it, sit back, and count my winnings." It's MBA logic on meth: find a thing people pay for, then, without bothering to understand why they pay for that thing, find a way to generate something like it at scale and bombard them with it.

Con artists start by conning themselves, with the idea that "you can't con an honest man." But the factor that predicts whether someone is connable isn't their honesty – it's their desperation. The kid selling drugs on the corner, the mom desperately DMing her high-school friends to sell them leggings, the cousin who insists that you get in on their shitcoin – they're all doing it because the system is rigged against them, and getting worse every day.

These people reason – correctly – that all the people getting really rich are scamming. If Amazon can make $38b/year selling "ads" that push worse products that cost more to the top of their search results, why should the mere fact that an "opportunity" is obviously predatory and fraudulent disqualify it?

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute

The quest for passive income is really the quest for a "greater fool," the economist's term for the person who relieves you of the useless crap you just overpaid for. It rots the mind, atomizes communities, shatters solidarity and breeds cynicism:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The rise and rise of botshit cannot be separated from this phenomenon. The botshit in our search-results, our social media feeds, and our in-boxes isn't making money for the enshittifiers who send it – rather, they are being hustled by someone who's selling them the "picks and shovels" for the AI gold rush:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

That's the true cost of all the automation-driven unemployment criti-hype: while we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

The manic "entrepreneurs" who've been stampeded into panic by the (correct) perception that the economy is a game of musical chairs where the number of chairs is decreasing at breakneck speed are easy marks for the Leland Stanfords of AI, who are creating generational wealth for themselves by promising that their bots will automate away all the tedious work that goes into creating value. Expect a lot more Amazon Marketplace products called "I'm sorry, I cannot fulfil this request as it goes against OpenAI use policy":

https://www.theverge.com/2024/1/12/24036156/openai-policy-amazon-ai-listings

No one's going to buy these products, but the AI picks-and-shovels people will still reap a fortune from the attempt. And because history repeats itself, these newly minted billionaires are continuing Leland Stanford's love affair with eugenics:

https://www.truthdig.com/dig-series/eugenics/

The fact that AI spam doesn't pay is important to the fortunes of AI companies. Most high-value AI applications are very risk-intolerant (self-driving cars, radiology analysis, etc). An AI tool might help a human perform these tasks more accurately – by warning them of things that they've missed – but that's not how AI will turn a profit. There's no market for AI that makes your workers cost more but makes them better at their jobs:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Plenty of people think that spam might be the elusive high-value, low-risk AI application. But that's just not true. The point of AI spam is to get clicks from people who are looking for better content. It's SEO. No one reads 2000 words of algorithm-pleasing LLM garbage over an omelette recipe and then subscribes to that site's feed.

And the omelette recipe generates pennies for the spammer that posted it. They are doing massive volume in order to make those pennies into dollars. You don't make money by posting one spam. If every spammer had to pay the actual recovery costs (energy, chillers, capital amortization, wages) for their query, every AI spam would lose (lots of) money.

Hustle culture and passive income are about turning other peoples' dollars into your dimes. It is a negative-sum activity, a net drain on society. Behind every seemingly successful "passive income" is a con artist who's getting rich by promising – but not delivering – that elusive passive income, and then blaming the victims for not hustling hard enough:

https://www.ftc.gov/business-guidance/blog/2023/12/blueprint-trouble

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

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/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[ohbabydollie]

Mafia ted getting pissed when some of his goons rob the bakery you work at.

"So yeah, we went to that one bakery down the street and took some stuff, was pretty easy."

"You did WHAT?"

- 🐝 (please excuse me if this doesnt make sense, im veryyy sleep deprived)

did this one rq bc I js luvvvv mafia ted rn (also hiiii 🐝, how are you?)

they didn’t know, truly and honestly if they had known it was you, they wouldn’t have done anything.

they wouldn’t even have thought to rob your little bakery, but hey, everyone makes mistakes

sadly that logic doesn’t apply to ted

when he saw his goons coming in all go lucky and happy with a few thousand dollars and some treats, he didn’t assume much until he recognized one of the cookies

“where’d you get that?” ted asks looking at one of them

“oh this bakery on 28th street, pretty good” he says munching on it.

ted nods in agreement, “and where did you get the money from?”

“same place” the other one pipes in, “it was pretty easy”

ted feels his face turn red through anger and embarrassment, how he was trying to look out for you and these mother fuckers fucked it up.

he grabs his gun and hits them with the barrel harshly, “GO RETURN THE MONEY” he roars, causing them to scramble to their feet

they gulp heavily, “we, um, we spent half of the money” one of them mutters

“YOU WHAT!” ted screams, grabbing them by their collar, “WHAT THE FUCK!”

ted throws him down and rubs his temples angrily, thinking about you and how hard you’ve been working lately, trying to keep up with the sudden demand in sales.

he knows you won’t take a hand out, so he thinks of the next best idea, “give me whatever you have left over” he says

the next day you get to the bakery, looking at the broken lock from the back as you frown, already thinking of replacing it and having to pay for it.

‘the thieves probably took the money from the register too’ you thought walking inside and looking at the register, sadly opening it up only to see a envelope on top.

you slowly opened it, seeing a wad of cash inside along side a note

sorry I broke your lock, I just wanted some snacks and did something stupid. I hope this is enough to cover it

slowly you count the money, smiling as it was much more than you had made the previous day and more than enough to replace your locks.

you hear a knock at the front door, looking up and seeing ted with a smile. you rush over to open the door, “ted, the craziest thing just happened” you say happily

“really? do tell”

[roosterforme]

Adult Education Part 11 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jessica finally tells someone what happened with Brian, and maybe Jake would be just as understanding if she told him. With the fraternity fundraiser a few days away, her nerves start getting the best of her, but Jake continues to show how effortlessly he can make her happy.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing, frat boys 18+

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

Jessica felt so much better and yet emotionally drained at the same time. She spent almost thirty minutes telling her friend what happened with Brian, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that the other woman wasn't judgmental in the least. When Jessica was finally done talking, she sank back in her chair and fixed her glasses.

"So, yeah... that's why he's holding a grudge. That's why he won't give me tenure even though I deserve it."

She was met with a stony expression. "Just say the word, and Conley is going down. Have you... mentioned this to Jake?"

"No," Jessica replied immediately, her skin itching at the thought. "No."

"You should," she replied slowly. "I think he'd be surprisingly attentive, and I say that a bit begrudgingly."

Jessica cracked a smile as she grabbed her empty tupperware container and stood. "I'll think about it, Dr. Tits." She left the office to the sound of genuine laughter, but by the time she got back to her office, she felt exhausted. It wasn't fair that Brian had taken up so much space in her brain for so long. When Jake texted her and let her know he couldn't make it to her office hours, she felt almost relieved. 

The fraternity fundraiser was this Saturday, and she'd planned everything out as much as she could. Everything was checked off her list, and she was going to meet with the Kappa Pi students at their house on Wednesday evening. The only thing she hadn't done was log into the university portal and see how many tickets had sold for the event. 

Alumni weekend was a huge deal, and it was well attended and advertised, but she was still dreading checking. So she finished all of her classes for the afternoon and then ducked into the lounge to make herself a cup of coffee before her office hours started. 

She looked up as someone else entered, and it was Brian's teaching assistant. The one he was almost definitely sleeping with. "Hi," she said cautiously.

Jessica just nodded at her. She wanted to warn this poor girl, but it was obvious that Brian had her in a similar position to which Jessica had been in last school year. Plus, she already knew he'd make sure both women paid the price if she did. 

It was with tears in her eyes that Jessica returned to her office. That hopeful feeling from lunch was gone now, and she really wished Jake was able to stop by today after all. She plopped down at her desk and decided to just log in and see how poorly her ticket sales had gone. 

"Holy shit," she muttered, nearly spilling her coffee. Over one hundred tickets had sold, and the event was still days away. "Oh my god." Tears welled up in her eyes as she did the math quickly in her head. Her event would make over five thousand dollars for the school. Hopefully the fraternity house would be able to hold that capacity.

When her phone vibrated on her desk, she was startled from her thoughts.

Jake Seresin: I miss you too much. I can't stay long, but I'll be there in ten.

She didn't even bother to respond, but she was waiting by the open door for him when he rushed down the hallway. "Jake," she said with a soft laugh as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. He was still wearing his flight suit, and he was a little out of breath. 

"I missed you," he whispered against her lips, and that made her a little bit out of breath as well. One big hand slid down to her butt as he said, "We had late training days sprung on us for today and tomorrow, and I volunteered to pick up dinner. I talked them into the Thai restaurant down the block from here." Then he froze as Jessica ran her fingers along his patches. "Were you crying? It looks like you were crying."

She shrugged and smiled. "Yeah, but it's not bad." She smiled more as Jake kissed along her cheeks. "A ton of tickets sold for my event on Saturday."

"How many?" he asked, looking at her with pride. 

"Over one hundred."

"Damn, you're good, Baby."

Jessica was looking up at his handsome features and his sexy smirk while he cupped her cheek and ran his thumb lazily along her bottom lip. She kissed his thumb before licking him, and when his eyes went wide, she laughed. "You can't stay?"

He shook his head. "I'll come back on Thursday. We can go to Chippy's after your office hours?"

"Yeah," she replied, tracing his HANGMAN patch. She could already hear Luca's skateboard on the tiled hallway floor, so she needed to be quick. "Do you want to sleep over on Friday night at my place? We could head to the event from there on Saturday? I could... show you the lingerie in my closet?"

Jake groaned softly, and goosebumps rippled down her neck as he asked, "Will you let me pick out something pretty for you to wear?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed as she pressed her lips to his neck. "Anything you want."

"Yes," he gasped, and then you heard Luca whistle.

"Get it, Dr. Reed," he said as he kicked his skateboard up into his hand. "Want me to come back later?"

"No," Jessica said as she disentangled herself from Jake's wandering hands while she blushed. "He was just leaving," she said. Then she looked up at Jake's green eyes and wide pupils. "You were just leaving."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he kissed her lips softly and said, "Call me later tonight. I'll see you on Thursday."

She watched him rush back toward the elevator before she closed her door behind her. "How many times do I have to remind you not to skate in the hallways?"

"Sorry, Dr. Reed."

"Get out your notebook."

-----------------------

When Jessica heard a knock on her office door on Wednesday around dinnertime, she called out, "It's open." Really, she was on her way to the Kappa Pi house, and she hadn't left herself much time to deviate from her agenda. Hopefully whoever this was would make it quick, but then she smiled when she realized who it was. "Advanced Calculus. What's up?"

"Just wondering if you were looking for someone to tag along? I speak fluent 'frat boy', and Bradley is training late with Jake."

Jessica was shocked into silence for a beat. "Yeah. I would love that. I'm actually a little nervous about meeting them."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You've got boobs and a pretty face. They'll be eating out of your hand, literally doing whatever you want them to."

"I'm not so sure," she replied with apprehension. But when they walked across campus to the old Victorian fraternity house with KAPPA PI on the front of it and knocked, Jessica was pleasantly surprised. 

A lanky guy with bad acne opened the door, and his eyes bugged out as he looked between the two women. "Dr. Reed?" he asked in awe. 

"Yes, that's me," Jessica replied, reaching out to shake his head before introducing him to the other professor. When he made no move to do anything except stare at them, she asked, "Can we come in?"

"Y-Yes. I'm James by the way."

Jessica led the way inside, and she was pleasantly surprised again. The front foyer opened up to a rather cavernous living room and dining room. There were beautiful hardwood floors and rich paint colors and a fireplace. The house was clean, and she was sure the kegs and tables would fit inside without issue once the furniture was moved out onto the back lawn. 

"Your house is so clean! Where are your fraternity brothers?" the other woman asked, and James blushed bright pink. 

A few minutes later, there was a lineup of a dozen or so guys staring at the two women. Their expressions ranged from surprise to bewilderment, but there were two on the end who looked like they just won the lottery. 

"Okay, hi. I'm Dr. Reed from the physics department, and I actually recognize a few of you. Calvin?" she asked, smiling at one of them. "From last semester?" He waved awkwardly back at her. "Right, well, I'm your advisor for the alumni event this weekend. I have a list of things you need to do before Saturday at six o'clock." She started passing out copies to each of them as she read off the list. "Move the furniture. Clean the kitchen. Fill the keg barrels with ice. And so on. Any questions?"

Five hands shot up, and Jessica stepped back in surprise. "Here it comes," Advanced Calculus muttered as Jessica pointed to the smirking guy at the end. 

He nodded at Jessica and asked, "If I switch my major to physics, will you be teaching all the classes?"

"Um, no," she answered, shaking her head in confusion. Then she pointed at the one next to him who had his hand raised.

"Do either of you need a date for Saturday night?" he asked eagerly. 

Jessica snorted and covered her mouth with her hand. She was about to answer when her friend said, "Both of our dates are in the military. And they're jacked. And they're mean."

A chorus of boos and groans filled the space, and Jessica had to try her best to answer the relevant questions without laughing. She showed the boys where to move the furniture, and she inspected the kitchen. Then she checked to see if there was enough room for the string quartet next to the stairs. She was determined to deliver on the elevated frat boy aesthetic since so many people seemed excited about it. 

"I think we're done for the day," Jessica told the guys with a smile as they fought over who got to escort the two of them back to the front door. "My email address is at the bottom of the list if you need to contact me for anything." A bunch of hands shot up in the air, and she added, "Anything pertaining to the event. If you try to ask me out again, I'm just going to delete the emails."

The guys lowered their hands and mumbled goodbye as the women stepped back out onto the silent porch. "Jessica, all those boys are going to sign up for your lectures next semester. I guarantee it."

Jessica rolled her eyes. "No, they won't. If anything they'd sign up for yours!"

But she was laughing as she walked down the steps to the sidewalk, and Jessica followed behind her in her high heels. "Just wait until Jake sees the twenty one year old kids with acne trying to flirt with you. He'll get jealous and pouty, I can practically see it now."

Jessica scoffed. "No, he won't! And didn't you meet Bradley when he was twenty one years old and in a frat?"

She froze on the sidewalk as that familiar blue Bronco parked on the next block up. "I sure did. And prepare yourself. Bradley is going to be insufferable on Saturday night."

-----------------------

Jake could only really focus on Jessica. After that brief couple of minutes in her office before Luca arrived on Tuesday, he was sweating it out until he could get home and jerk off. He came all over his hands in the shower as he thought about coating up her glasses instead. 

Now it was Thursday morning, and he leaned against the shower wall and thought about what kind of lingerie she might have in her closet. He hoped there was a little bit of everything. He could imagine her in something soft and white, almost ethereal. He could just as easily picture her in some leather with a riding crop. His groan filled the glass shower enclosure as he wrapped his hand around his cock again. 

He realized by the time he finally started getting dressed that he was going to be late if he didn't seriously get a move on. He was just buttoning his uniform shirt when his phone lit up on his bed. Jessica had sent him an image. His fingers abandoned the buttons so quickly to grasp for his phone. And holy shit, his hot girlfriend sent him a picture of a dark purple lace bra and thong laid out on what must have been her light blue bedding.

"Fuck," he grunted as he glared down at his cock. He really didn't have time to get hard again right now. But... he was curious, so he wrote back. 

You wearing that today, Jess?

She didn't respond until Jake had parked his new truck on base, but this time, she sent an up close photo of the tops of her breasts hugged by purple lace. He was practically drooling as he ran for the locker room with his bag.

Keep 'em coming, Baby.

He decided to keep his phone on him. It would be worth getting reprimanded. She sent him a handful of filthy looking photos as the day progressed, but it still wasn't enough. She must have taken a bunch of them in the morning before she left for campus, and Jake was so thankful. 

He had to adjust his uniform pants several times that evening when he walked from his truck to her office. On his way into the building, he passed a delighted looking Bradshaw and his wife on their way out. She was practically hanging off of him as they walked, and Jake heard her softly ask, "Okay fuckboy, you want me to get your Beta Gamma paddle out when we get home?"

Bradley froze and met Jake's eyes as his cheeks started turning pink. "Hangman," he grunted, and his wife spun to face Jake with a coy smile. 

"Hi, Jake," she sang as she reached for her husband's hand. "See you on Saturday night."

It was hard to still feel jealous of what they had when Jake knew what was waiting for him a few floors up. He took off toward the elevators, and then he walked as quickly as he physically could to Jessica's office. Two taps on her door, and she was pulling it open for him. He did the briefest glance around the room to make sure she was alone before he closed the door and backed her up against it. 

"Are you trying to send me to an early grave?" he whispered, his voice sounding a little harsh as he smiled softly at her. But his smile vanished immediately when he felt her hand run slowly across his thigh before she cupped his length through his khakis. 

"I just thought I'd keep you entertained while you were at work." She gave him a little squeeze, and Jake bucked against her hand. He glanced down to see that her soft sweater was the same purple color as her underwear, and she had on a little black skirt and black heels. He kissed her forehead and then her nose as he grabbed her ass with one hand and pushed her hair back behind her ear with the other. 

"You kept me hard while I was at work. That's what you did, Professor Reed." Jake wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed along her jaw softly. She gasped as he used his other hand to slowly bunch her skirt up until he could feel the round of her bare ass cheek in his hand. 

"Jake," she whined, making it sound like three syllables instead of one as her hands slid up and around his neck. He kept his hand on her neck gentle and his kisses light as he grabbed her ass and slipped his fingers inside the back of her thong. "Jake!"

Her hands were grasping at his hair as he kissed her ear and rubbed his erection against her sweet body. "You're gorgeous. You drove me crazy all day. You know that? You did it on purpose?"

"Yes," she gasped as he sucked gently on her neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. 

"Mmm," he hummed quietly as he panted. "You gonna let me see that pretty purple set?"

Her voice was an obscene whine that left him grinding against her harder as she moaned, "Yes!"

And he couldn't help himself as he pressed the softest kisses along her jaw and ear and asked, "You gonna let me fuck you hard on your desk?"

Jessica's eyes were wide, and her glasses had gone crooked on her face, but he kissed her lips after she said, "Yes." Her hand reached out to press the lock on her door, and then Jake carried her to her desk and set her on the edge. Her eyes already looked blissed out as she spread her thighs wide and hooked both of her feet around his calves, pulling him closer. 

He tipped her chin up so she was looking at him, and then he took both of her soft thighs in his hands as she kept eye contact. "I'm crazy about you," he murmured as he pressed himself against her core. Then she pulled her sweater up and over her head before tossing it to the floor. Now her glasses were really crooked, and her hair was a mess as she reached for the fly of his pants. Jake was lost to the feel of her hand gripping his length as she pushed his pants down. Then she released him and leaned back on both of her palms with her lace covered tits thrust alluringly toward him.

"Fuck me," she commanded in her teaching voice. "Fuck me hard on my desk."

"Jesus Christ," he cursed, guiding his hands up her thighs, pushing the fabric up until that little skit was around her waist. When he tugged her damp thong to the side, he was treated to the sight of her wet pussy all ready to go. She ran her high heels up and down his thighs until he grabbed her behind the knees and thrust himself deep. 

Jessica's jaw dropped open as Jake held her legs in his hands and fucked her hard, his thrusts relentless as she started to whine. He gritted his teeth, the obscene slapping sounds of his body meeting hers filling the room as he watched her pussy take him. Her tits were bouncing beautifully each time he filled her, and she just kept getting louder. 

"Someone's gonna hear you," he warned, his voice a growl as he braced his feet a little wider apart on the floor. "Someone's gonna come knocking if you're not quieter, Jess."

She pressed her lips together and whimpered loudly in response as he continued to fuck her, rocking his hips into her body, his balls slapping her ass. Maybe he just didn't give a fuck if someone heard. Maybe Jake didn't care who knew that he was getting Jessica off on her desk right now. This was his girl, and she was a professional teaser. Even the way she was gripping him so tight with each stroke was too much. Her body was made for him, the way she responded to him like this. 

"Jake," she keened, extending the syllables once more as he ran his hand down her calf and lifted her leg so he could kiss her ankle. The shift in position had her squeezing around him while she eased herself onto her back. Jake watched her lace covered tits bounce as her hands grappled for something to grab onto. She held the edge of her desk as she came undone for him. A few more sharp thrusts, and Jake pushed himself deep, filling her up with his cum. And once again, when he withdrew himself, he got to watch the mess he made drip down her ass only to collect on her thong before dripping to the desk.

When Jake looked up along her body, Jessica had herself propped up on her elbows with a serene smile and crooked glasses. He leaned down over her and kissed her. "I got a little carried away," he whispered as he ran his fingers through her hair and squeezed her thigh. 

She looked impossibly sweet as he fixed her glasses, and she said, "I plan on getting carried away with you tomorrow night when you sleepover." 

He devoured her mouth, but the kisses turned lazy and unhurried. Eventually Jake helped her sit up again on the edge of her desk, and he took in the sight of her rucked up skirt, purple bra and his cum between her thighs. "Let's get you cleaned up, and I'll take you to Chippy's."

"Sex on my desk and Chippy's? Today just keeps getting better," she said with a laugh as Jake grabbed some tissues from her shelf and wiped up her desk and picked up her sweater. Once she was in his arms, he pulled her shirt over her head and helped her wiggle her skirt back down. 

When he zipped up his pants, he told her, "Why don't you grab a journal or two to take with us? We can read it together over some Sam Adams and peanuts."

Jessica's eyes lit up, and she actually clapped her hands. It was the cutest fucking thing he had ever seen in his life, and he watched as she clicked across her floor on her heels to the shelf. "I love that," she murmured. "Great idea, Jake."

He loved it, too. He loved everything about her. She was so smart and beautiful, but she was funny, too. She wasn't clingy, and she had a fascinating career. She didn't need him around, but she seemed to light up when he was, and that's what left Jake a little breathless as she turned and looked at him with two journals in her hand. "You ready?"

Jake kissed the slight bruise he left on her neck on the ride down the elevator. When the doors opened, Brian Conley was there arguing with a young woman, and he felt Jessica tense up in his arms. "It's okay," Jake murmured against her hair. Even though her posture remained a little rigid, she let him take her by the hand and walk out into the lobby, and Jake absorbed the glare that Brian shot their way so Jessica didn't have to. 

He'd had just about enough of that asshole, and the next time he witnessed Brian being a dick or if he heard his girlfriend complain about him again, Jake was probably going to lose it. But as soon as they were inside the dive bar, Jake noticed that her shoulders seemed less tense, and she smiled as soon as Chippy waved to her. 

"Hey, Reedy."

"Hi, Chippy."

He started pouring two pints as he shot Jake the look of warning that he'd become accustomed to; it was almost a part of the experience now. But the bar was absolutely packed tonight, and Jessica held his hand a little tighter as she stepped around peanut shells on the sticky floor. There was only one high top table free with only one stool at it. 

Jake kissed Jessica's cheek and nudged her in that direction. "Grab the table while I get the beer and peanuts?" She took off in that direction, and Jake headed for the bar. 

"So. You're here to stay then?" a disgruntled Chippy asked as he shoved a bowl of peanuts next to the pint glasses. 

Jake tried to reel in his surprised laugh. "Yes, sir. I'm not going anywhere."

Chippy grunted as he took the twenty dollar bill from Jake and made change for him. He slid the bills across the bar but kept his hand on them. "If I so much as see you with another woman or see tears in that girl's eyes," he said, nodding toward Jessica, "you'll never see the inside of this bar again."

Jake waited for him to pick up his hand, and then he took all of the bills except for a few singles. "Understood." Then he could tell he'd been dismissed when Chippy started waiting on the group next to him, so he took everything back to the table where Jessica was perched on the stool. 

"Literally all of the seats are being used," she told him, but Jake set everything down and then pulled her into his arms.

"Just means I get to hold you, then." He sat and then helped her onto his lap, and she settled on his thigh while he kissed her cheek and the side of her neck. "This is perfect."

Her cheeks were a little flushed, and Jake could smell himself on her as he wrapped his arm around her, letting his hand settle on her hip. This gorgeous woman was wearing panties soaked with his cum and calmly opening one of the physics journals to share an article with him. "Oh, you'll like this one," she told him, smiling over her shoulder before pointing out the title on the page. She thought he was smart, and she seemed to like having him around outside of bedroom activities, too.

"I'm sure I will," he replied, kissing her shoulder as he listened to her tell him about jet propulsion in a newly designed aircraft.

------------------------

Intelligent, self aware Jake is ruining me a little bit. Brian is a dank ass little bitch. Please send asks if you'd like to see a certain type of lingerie in her closet. Frat fundraiser is up next. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 12

@blahehblah

@sotalife

@desert-fern

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@rosiahills22

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@je-suis-prest-rachel

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[acowboynamedasa]

Ok I know I already made a post about watchertv and how it’s a horrible idea and no have not had a change of heart about that- but I really just want to get into the math of everything because like, they we’re making a LOT of money.

(Full disclosure this post has been edited to be more accurate with help from commenters)

Patreon: they have 12,000 supporters, but only 5,900 paying supporters (at the time of me checking today. Many definitely unsubscribed when this video dropped). The tear options are 5, 10, 25, and 100 dollars. Assuming that most people are in the 5-10 range, I’ll average it at about 7 dollars. Witch is 41,300 a month.

Merch sales: they have a very devout fan base that buys a lot of merch, they sell a plastic paper weight for 36 dollars. All of their hoodies are 80 dollars. Their shirts are 35-50 dollars. They sell a pack of 7 patches of their different show logos for 65 dollars. The posters are 80 dollars. To my knowledge They do not publicly share what they make from merch sales, but I know that they have sold out of certain styles, witch means that people are buying these. The merch is without a doubt at a very steep profit margin- no where in the world will it cost 80 or even 40 dollars to make these- so we can just assume that whatever assured total we come too, it will be higher by 10-20 thousand(just an estimate, I’m not an expert on YouTube merch).

Sponsorships: (this info is from moist critical who runs a company who specialize in setting up brand sponsorships with YouTube channels.) watcher is/was a very big and successful channel, with 2 minute sponsorships adds on every video I could find- they are with out a doubt making 20-30 thousand dollars from every one of those sponsorships. They post weekly, meaning they make about 100,000 a month from that. This doesn’t include any money they received from discount codes either, only about 2% of viewers use discount codes so it’s fair to say they receive a few thousand dollars from that, we can just total it to about 101,000 to be conservative.

views: YouTube has always been very hush hush about what they pay. Different YouTubers have stepped forward and said what they make on views alone but watcher is not one of these channels. With watchers average views being about 800,000 per video (very ‘about’, some get 3 million and others only reach 500,000) and YouTubes policy being about .018 cents per view we can say they comfortably make 14,400 per video, 57,000 a month.

Add cents: add cents and views are a different thing, for every add that is seen in a video you get a adicional .018 cents, watchers content is very monetizable, and with it being long form content 30-45 minutes, they have a lot of adds. Let’s just assume 1-2 mid roll ads on every video and that’s an additional 20,000 per video, 80,000 a month.

Adding ALL of that together

Watcher makes 279,300 dollars a month. Flat out, no merch added.

If you think you can’t afford to pay 25 people a month with 279,300 dollars- I literally don’t know what to tell you.

[3liza]

saw a youtube sponsorship for a brand that markets itself as "masculine shoes in small sizes, for trans men" and if the entire idea wasn't already preposterous (this is part of a large scale marketing push to convince trans people that clothing that has been available on the normal heterosexual market for generations is "hard to find" so they can charge you hundreds of dollars for it), it's also ugly, and they have chosen to call their company "Tomboy Toes". if you said those two words to my face in a shoe store i would slap you

$120 for a black or brown version of the standard school uniform brogue which has been available all the way down to toddler sizes since uhhhhhhh approximately 1820.

just to double check my sense of reality i went to the largest single online shoe market on earth besides Amazon (zappos) and typed in "women's brogues" and selected size 5 which would be pushing the lower limit on the larger part of the bell curve of adult AFAB people on earth, or at least the northern hemisphere, and there are many options in approximately the same price range depending on brand name, with sales regularly down to much less, on similar or identical styles. ebay also. Tomboy Toes carries down to size EU33 which is around 3.5 US Women's and again, that's just in the children's section if you need Picture Day/uniform (children)/ Office Whatever (adult) Shoes and they are on eBay lightly used in great numbers because kids grow out of them in 6-10 months.

is it annoying to be shopping in "women's section" or "kids section" for these things when you are an adult man. yes. so i dont understand the marketing impetus to replicate that exact scenario by naming your company for adult trans men something i would assume was a sassy yet misguided terf brand if i found it on a label in a generic wingtip at Goodwill. cis men who are very small also have to shop in the small sections for their small clothes. i am wearing a t-shirt meant for a 7 year old right now, it says so on the label. it fits me better than any of the shirts i own that are made for the standard american adult. i literally have bigger things to worry about

naturally their "vegan leather" selection is much larger but again, it's ugly Trendy Booties that will fall apart in a year and are, i cant emphasize this enough, made of plastic, nothing special, and in standard women and children's sizes which are already plentiful at every shoe retailer. why are we letting these "trans brands" charge us a $100 tax to pretend to take us seriously (while at the same time calling us "tomboys")? does anyone know

i do, its actually because of the learned helplessness issue again. the accepted wisdom at the tumblr layer of transness is 'its so hard to find [item of clothing that is suitable for trans people]" because the knowledge of how to shop for these items in the actual market has completely evaporated within the last ten years, i watched it happen right in front of me. but it's a complete fallacy, you can find this stuff easily. you can find large women's shoes, small men's shoes, women's clothing with wide shoulders or long torsos, there are entire stores for this already and measurements and sectiions within "department stores" (such as they are) and then after that there are one million billion foam inserts and seams and button placements and belts and scarves and gloves and hem lengths and blah blah blah that trans people and also cis people who are not standard-shaped or who just want their shoes or bras or shirts to fit have already been using for thousands of years so ive been mad about this all day. TOMBOY TOES. they are having us for absolute fools. just call me a slur at this point

i already know some nincompoop is going to match me paragraph for paragraph in a heated defense of the hundred dollar jingle keys boring shoes so i just want them to know in advance: we are not the same. i have so many cool shoes it is unbelievable. in every gender imaginable. and i didn't pay more than like $50 for any of them. also no theres no cheat sheet to learning to buy clothing for your body, i do not say this with any rancor either, its just hard, it takes a long time, and i dont have a cheatsheet for it because there isnt one. except rule #1: dont buy $120 boring ugly shoes from someone jingling their keys in front of your face and calling it Queer Fashion when you can get them for a lot less basically anywhere $120 isnt even a lot for a GOOD pair for mid-range, non-designer leather dress shoes. if you know they will last for ten years and stand up to resoling, it's completely fine. but not for thooooooose

[makethatelevenrings]

Day 6 - Lingerie & Panties

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x f!reader

Warnings: if you’re under 18, get off my lawn

Summary: Being a billionaire’s wife comes with some perks. Bruce is inclined to agree.

Kinktober Masterlist

“Hi.” His warm breath washed over your cheek as he leaned against your back. You hummed a response in return, but didn’t pull your attention away from hanging up the clothes in your hand. Bruce grunted at your silence and nuzzled his nose against your cheek, his large hands coming up to encircle around your waist and dip along the edges of your pants.

“Why, Mr. Wayne, are you trying to seduce me?” you asked in a high, breathy voice that sounded eerily like Vicki Vale. You could practically see his pout and you marveled at the fact that this man was the scourge of the criminal underground when he was really just a big baby.

“What could possibly be more important than your husband that just came home from a long day at work, Mrs. Wayne?” His teeth enclosed around the shell of your ear and he gave a gentle tug to the skin. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access and shut your eyes as sparks shot up your spine at his touch.

“Well, Mr. Wayne, if you’re so intent on knowing, I took your credit card today and did what any good billionaire’s wife would do. I had a shopping spree.”

His lips moved down to ghost along the edge of your jaw. “And you dropped thousands of dollars, I presume?”

“At local small businesses only,” you added with a small grin. “I hope the paparazzi help generate sales.”

You dropped the shirt in your hand and clasped your hands over his, holding him to your waist. Bruce moved down your neck and then to the collar of your shirt where he paused. He bit down on the edge of your shirt and moved it aside before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“That’s a new bra,” he observed.

“I’m in awe at being in the presence of the world’s greatest detective.” Sarcasm dripped from your words and he silenced your humor with a playful nip to the soft skin of your shoulder. Bruce’s hands slid under the hem of your shirt and he inhaled sharply when his fingers touched the lace that crossed over your stomach.

“Did I mention that I went by that one store you like?” you purred.

He unwrapped you like you were the most precious gift on the planet. Dark lace and silk crossed your body, caressing the lines of your skin, and revealing the skin below. Bruce pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it somewhere behind him into the huge walk in closet before kneeling down. He pressed his forehead against your stomach, his calloused fingers stroking over the stretch marks, scars, and lines that came from living that lined your body. His blue eyes gazed upon you with the same awe he viewed priceless works of art.

Bruce tugged your pants down over your hips and let them fall to the ground, baring yourself fully before him aside from the thin lingerie that separated you from feeling his touch. His hands slid down to the backs of your thighs and he tugged you forward to press his face against your clothed pussy. His tongue darted out, as if he could taste your sweetness on his tongue through the fabric. Bruce inhaled deeply and then reached up to grasp the lace at the back of the lingerie.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne, don’t you fucking dare,” you gasped.

The steady rip of seams snarled through the air and you shut your eyes, both in annoyance at your brute of a husband and also in pleasure at the realization that you did this to him. Bruce swept you into his arms and made a beeline for the bed.

“Don’t give me that look. We have plenty of money to buy more,” he grunted. “I’ll buy you the whole damn store if that’s what it takes.”

[razorroy]

Foxconn: A Lesson In The Art Of Deal

$1.52 was the national average before 9/11

During Trump's time as president starting in January of 2017 the average national price was never lower than the national average since 9/11

The art of the deal is in fact the art of bankruptcy!

Trump Taj Mahal (1991)

Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino (1992)

Plaza Hotel (1992)

Trump Castle Hotel and Casino (1992)

Trump Hotels and Casino Resorts (2004)

Trump Entertainment Resorts (2009)

Trump is a lesson in bad business. Need more proof?

Trump Airlines — Trump borrowed $245 million to purchase Eastern Air Shuttle. He branded it Trump Airlines. He added gold bathroom fixtures. Two years later Trump could not cover the interest payment on his loan and defaulted. 

Trump Beverages — Although Trump touted his water as "one of the purest natural spring waters bottled in the world," it was simply bottled by a third party. Other beverages, including Trump Fire and Trump Power, seem not to have made it to market. And Trump's American Pale Ale died with a trademark withdrawal. 

Trump Game — Milton Bradley tried to sell it. As did Hasbro. After investment, the game died and went out of circulation. 

Trump Casinos — Trump filed for bankruptcy three times on his casinos, namely the Trump Taj Mahal, the Trump Marina and the Trump Plaza in New Jersey and the Trump Casino in Indiana. Trump avoided debt obligations of $3 billion the first time. Then $1.8 billion the second time. And then after reorganizing, shuffling money and assets, and waiting four years, Trump again declared bankruptcy after missing ongoing interest payments on multi-million dollar bonds. He was finally forced to step down as chairman. 

Trump Magazine — Trump Style and Trump World were renamed Trump Magazine to reap advertising dollars from his name recognition. However, Trump Magazine also went out of business. 

Trump Mortgage — Trump told CNBC in 2006 that "I think it's a great time to start a mortgage company. … The real-estate market is going to be very strong for a long time to come." Then the real estate market collapsed. Trump had hired E.J. Ridings as CEO of Trump Mortgage and boasted that Ridings had been a "top executive of one of Wall Street's most prestigious investment banks." Turned out Ridings had only six months of experience as a stockbroker. Trump Mortgage closed and never paid a $298,274 judgment it owed a former employee, nor the $3,555 it owed in unpaid taxes.

Trump Steaks — Trump closed Trump Steaks due to a lack of sales while owing Buckhead Beef $715,000. 

Trump's Travel Site — GoTrump.com was in business for one year. Failed. 

Trumpnet — A telephone communication company that abandoned its trademark. 

Trump Tower Tampa — Trump sold his name to the developers and received $2 million. Then the project went belly-up with only $3,500 left in the company. Condo buyers sued Trump for allegedly misleading them. Trump settled and paid as little as $11,115 to buyers who had lost hundreds of thousands of dollars.  

Trump University or the Trump Entrepreneur Initiative — Trump staged wealth-building seminars costing up to $34,995 for mentorships that would offer students access to Trump's secrets of success. Instructors turned out to be motivational speakers sometimes with criminal records. Lawsuits and criminal investigations abound. 

Trump Vodka — Business failed due to a lack of sales. 

Trump Fragrances — Success by Trump, Empire by Trump, and Donald Trump: The Fragrances all failed due to being discontinued, perhaps as a result of few sales. 

Trump Mattress — Serta stopped offering a Trump-branded mattress, again likely due to slacking sales. 

Your move bosshag66!

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

yandere best friend pt3

tw; infantalization, yelling, violence, self harm, feels bad because comparison is the thief of joy, life being unfair

ageless blogs n minors DNI blease tq <3

yea im on a roll haha i just finished part 2 and now i moved onto part 3, as u can see i was projecting here with the leg situation

anyways its pretty short and as usual, no proofreading

enjoay

You don't know how he's doing right now. Time passes so fast that its been four years since that haunting call from your friend. You finished your masters degree and now you're deeper in debt than ever. You're taking on three jobs unrelated to your qualifications and running on no sleep, just like how your friend did when he was working towards his biggest goal.

Well, maybe you lied. You knew how he's doing, because his stupid restaurant name is ubiquitous.

It's strange, unfair and confusing how he managed to turn his restaurant into a multimillion corporation this fast. It's now a famous brand with multiple branches across the globe, it has expanded into selling frozen products in supermarkets everywhere. It's still growing too, more and more people are investing in his empire, making him richer and richer and making you green with fucking envy.

People who invest in stocks bring up his brand pretty often, saying that it's worth to invest a couple thousand dollars in it because its in some sort of top 500 index. You weren't really interested in that because you don't even have a couple thousand dollars to spare in the first place.

Your friend seem to mostly stay out of the limelight, making him more of a faceless founder. It's rare to find interviews with him, even if you did, he would always give vague, generic answers to the questions. He would focus more on promoting his products than anything else, he's neither humble or arrogant... but he's just like a robot made only to advertise whatever it's selling and make as much sales as it can.

The masses would very much prefer to pay attention to the celebrity ambassadors the marketing department hired.

Personal information about your friend was scarce, so far you knew that he went ahead and got himself a diploma in culinary arts and another diploma in Food Science and Technology in the last four years. No doubt, to improve the credibility of his company and in hopes of having more customers flock in.

You felt... bad. Took the conventional, the more socially accepted route of studying to one of the highest degrees, but your friend who started off with only a high school diploma and an iron will was so much more successful than you in life.

Perhaps it's simply the human condition to compare ourselves to wildly different lives. Every time you check the news about your friend, it's always something about his company achieving another award for delicious tasting food, well known events involving major public figures or the highly anticipated release of a new product.

You don't come across pictures with your friend in it, but when you do, it's always a picture of him talking to an important figure in a lavish setting, or having the fanciest dinner you have ever seen with people in formal clothes. He looked amazing in every one of it, he was so put together that it looks unreal. Well, seeing that he can afford the best treatments the world has to offer, it doesn't come off as a huge surprise.

And that is soul crushing, you wish to be him. And you forgot the hardships he went through. And you became bitter. And resentful of him. And resentful towards yourself. And-

Oh, your break is up. Time to continue your self loathing inner monologue while dealing with snooty customers. All the while, forgetting that your friend also has to deal with mood and energy vampires everyday.

As if things couldn't get anymore worse, you fucked up your legs. Well, not you. But some spoiled brat with a speedy sports car slammed onto you while you were lawfully using the zebra crossing. Their daddy was loaded and had the right connections, so the person who took your legs out walked away scot-free. You were left to clean up the mess yourself.

Luckily, it's not the worst thing your legs can take. You'll still be able to walk, but it will take ages to heal and might as well amputate them to pay for the damn bill. Throw in a kidney or two and you might just pay half of it off. So, you'll be wheelchair ridden until further notice.

You moved back into your parents' home, the same country where you and your friend first met. As much as you hate depending on others, you need your parents help. You are financially ruined and you can't exactly find a job that's kind to people with your disability. Or to people with any disability, in fact.

Word spreads so fucking fast. Your friend made a beeline to your parents house as soon as one of his private eyes reported that you're back home.

He was in a meeting with the board of directors managing one of his numerous subsidiary companies. It baffled everyone in the room when your friend showed interest in something other than profits and company growth. It was thought that he has no soul, no loved ones and no sentience. He was just a massive piece of code programmed to make as much money as possible at all cost.

Seeing that he experienced such a strong emotion upon hearing your arrival, that he had to adjourn a meeting, was so jarring.

It made him seem... human.

You were fast asleep. Exhausted from what the world has pelted at you and weak from all the pain. Your parents invited your friend in as he was extremely excited and happy that you're back, oblivious to the fact that you're in this state. He didn't bother listening to the full report his private eye was about to give him.

As soon as he entered your room, his smile fell upon seeing your crippled state. You were unconscious, if you weren't, you would probably die from mortification... your successful childhood best friend, seeing very unsuccessful you. An old laptop sits uncomfortably on your belly, yet another job rejection letter was shown on the screen.

Your friend was speechless. He could already hear the growing storm of regret, self hatred, anguish, anger, sadness brewing inside him, it was muffled, but its getting increasingly clearer and louder.

His trembling hands gently stroked your casts as tears threaten to fall from his eyes.

What happened? He whispered, it was loud enough for your parents to hear. Hence, they began explaining.

The name of the person who hit you with their car was all he needed to know. He is going to take care of it. Everything else bounced off his head as his eyes slowly travelled to your hands, he took one of them into his larger ones. He massaged them with utmost love and longing.

It's rough. It's calloused. It's scarred. It's everything that he never ever want your hands to be.

You groggily woke up, using your free hand to rub your eyes. You paused when you saw your friend by your bedside, silently staring at your hand in his. Tears rolling down his cheek and dripping onto the collar of his very expensive jacket.

He failed. He may have tried his best to stop it from happening, but he ultimately failed. You went through more or less, what he went through.

He shouldn't have left you alone, he shouldn't have trusted that you won't suffer like he did. He should have intervened, he should have bought that plane ticket instead, He shouldn't have respected your boundaries that day, he should have come to you regardless.

You have proven that you are incapable to take care of yourself. No more mistakes, no more neglect, you need him now more than ever. He is going to make things right and you will have no say in anything anymore. You will depend on him and he will make sure of it.

As soon as his eyes met yours, he lost it. He broke down sobbing in his hands. The weight of his failure is crushing him to pieces, how could he be so fucking stupid? Obviously, you needed him despite receiving that scathing text message four years ago. You were so young, so naïve, so inexperienced and oblivious to the cruel, cruel world around you. Of course, you thought you would do okay. You haven't seen the world at its' worst like he did! He should have known better... and he knew better! He just...

He just wanted you to be happy. And, he thought you would be happier if he left you alone for a while. In the meantime, he would continue building that perfect life for you to come home to, filled with nothing but comfort and luxuries. But look at you now, you were robbed of your innocence, and, your friend blamed himself for it.

You're suffering and he was the cause of it. only if he didn't neglect you in the first place...

No...

Only if you didn't fucking reject him over and over again. Things would have turned out differently. You also had a part in this!

You covered your face out of embarrassment, you did not want him to see you at this stage of life. You didn't want anyone seeing you like this.

Please leave me alone. You said.

You always knew your friend to be the softest, sweetest person around you. He never got physically violent to anyone (at least, to your knowledge).

Imagine the shock when he yanked your hand away from your face and delivered a devastating slap to your face. You were stunned as the ringing of your ears and the pain of the blow overwhelm your senses. Within moments, a red print was formed on your cheek.

Your parents rushed in to put a barrier between you and him, but he ignored them and began yelling and pointing at you hysterically.

I trusted you! I trusted you! How dare you do this to yourself!? I worked so fucking hard-- I sacrificed everything for you, and you can't even keep yourself healthy! Oh, he was angry. He was shouting and screaming, most of the time it just made you scared and confused. You can't understand what he was getting at because he was jumbling over his words.

Your hands, they aren't supposed to look like mine and look what you have done to them! His voice went hoarse from all the exertion.

You weren't supposed to work for anything in life, I was supposed to provide for you! Why can't you just fucking depend on me!? Why can't you just accept me!?

You can only watch on as he threw a massive tantrum, your father tried his best to pull him away from the room, but to no avail.

You are going to depend on me, I am going to provide for you and that's final! I don't care what you think, you can't be trusted to do anything alone! With that final piece, he wrenched himself off your father's grip and stormed out of your childhood bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard, that some wall décor fell to the ground with a loud crash.

He is going to replace them later. Now, he needs to make a few phone calls.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

5 minute read

Women who are groped on trains in East Asia face the further threat of their assault being filmed and uploaded for sale online. In a year-long investigation, the BBC World Service's investigative unit, BBC Eye, has gone undercover to unmask the men cashing in on sexual violence.

It was the morning rush hour in Tokyo. The train was packed and rocky.

Takako (not her real name) was on her way to school. The 15-year-old tried to hold on to a grab bar.

Suddenly, she felt a hand pressing on her behind. She thought someone had accidentally bumped into her.

But the hand started to grope her.

"That's when I finally realised - it was molestation," Takako recalls.

The hand quickly disappeared in the crowd. "I couldn't do anything about it." She arrived at school in tears that day.

That was her first time being sexually assaulted on public transport, but Takako was molested almost daily for more than a year on her commute. On countless nights, she went to bed crying. "I felt like there was no hope in my life," she says.

Many women like Takako are targeted in public by sexual predators. In some cases, they face another violation - the attack is filmed and the videos are sold online.

Most videos follow the same pattern - a man secretly films a woman from behind and follows her on to a train. Seconds later, he sexually abuses her. The men act discreetly, and their victims can seem totally unaware. These graphic videos are then listed on the websites for sale.

In a year-long investigation, we traced the men behind three websites which sell and produce thousands of these sexual assault videos.

An epidemic in Japan

Encountering sexual abuse almost daily, Takako found herself unable to speak up during the act due to fear and shame. But every night, she covered her mouth with a towel and repeatedly practised in front of the mirror how to call out a harasser: "This person is a 'Chikan'!"

"Chikan" is a Japanese term describing sexual assault in public, especially groping on public transport. It also describes the offenders themselves.

Chikan perpetrators typically take advantage of crowds, and the victims' fear of causing a scene. In Japan, speaking too directly and openly may be seen as rude.

Thousands of arrests are made every year for Chikan offences, but many more go undetected and unpunished. Saito Akiyoshi, mental health professional and author of a book about Chikan, says that only about 10% of victims report the crime.

The Japanese police encourage victims and eyewitnesses to speak up, but the crime is far from being eradicated. The problem is so widespread that even the UK and Canadian governments warn travellers to Japan about it.

Chikan has been normalised by its prominence in Japan's adult entertainment industry. One of the most popular types of pornography in the country - the Chikan genre - has spread to other Asian countries.

Chikan websites

One Chinese-language website called DingBuZhu (which means "I can't hold it" in Chinese) immediately caught our attention.

It's a marketplace for Chikan videos, filmed secretly on mobile phones in crowded public places, such as trains and buses. They are shot across East Asia, including Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, Hong Kong and mainland China.

Some videos cost less than a dollar. The site even once allowed users to order tailor-made abuse videos.

We also found links on DingBuZhu to two other websites - Chihan and Jieshe - with the same type of content.

There is a Telegram group with 4,000 members who share tips on how to sexually abuse women.

One name kept coming up on the Chikan websites - "Uncle Qi".

He was hailed as the guru in this community. Dozens of abuse videos were labelled as his work. On Twitter, he put up teasers of the websites' videos to his 80,000 followers. But who was he?

The Telegram group we had been monitoring revealed a clue. One day, an admin claimed in a series of messages that he had abused a woman with Uncle Qi.

The messages were accompanied by photos of a woman standing on what appeared to be a metro platform.

Within hours, we found a match for the location - Ikebukuro station in Tokyo.

And there were more leads pointing us to Japan.

The websites listed a Paypal account receiving Japanese yen which was linked to a Gmail address. When we put the address through Google Contacts, the profile picture that came up was a young man with an elaborate hairstyle and theatrical makeup.

A reverse image search put a name to the face - Noctis Zang, a 30-year-old Chinese-born singer living in Tokyo. He was the frontman of a metal band called The Versus.

Noctis had a glamorous public image, but we soon found something hidden behind it.

In early 2022, The Versus' photographer had alleged on Chinese social media platform Weibo that Noctis built "porn websites" alongside another band member, Lupus Fu.

He had posted pictures of a notebook, which showed some accounting and video categories similar to those on the websites. The photographer had also posted a video which appeared to show Noctis's browsing history, with links to Chihan, Jieshe and the admin pages of DingBuZhu.

Could this rock singer be Uncle Qi?

Unmasking the admins

Posing as a music talent scout called Ian, our undercover journalist met Noctis at a fancy rooftop bar in Tokyo.

They first talked about music, but the chat soon moved on to the subject of sex. When Ian said his company used to make porn films, Noctis's eyes lit up.

The two met several more times, and they even celebrated Noctis's birthday together.

Noctis introduced Ian to his fellow band member Lupus Fu, whose name had been mentioned by The Versus' photographer. Lupus, also from China, was studying sociology in Japan.

Ian said his company planned to invest in porn sites and asked if they knew anything about this business.

Noctis confessed he had "some exposure" through a friend, "Maomi", who had created his own porn sites with "metro" content.

Ian then casually brought up DingBuZhu.

Lupus and Noctis both laughed: "That's Maomi's website!"

They revealed that the person behind the Chikan websites was a Chinese man in Tokyo nicknamed Maomi. They said Maomi was reclusive and paranoid.

Noctis and Lupus also admitted that they played admin roles for the websites.

They spelled out their business model.

"In China, sex is the most suppressed," Noctis said, "Some men are very perverted, they just want to see women getting…" Lupus finished the sentence: "screwed over."

Lupus said he was in charge of promoting abuse videos on Twitter. Noctis revealed that he had uploaded more than 5,000 videos on the websites, received payments for the business and taken 30% of revenue. The rest he had transferred to Maomi.

Lupus also said he could help connect Ian to Maomi.

The Chikan club

On a quiet back street in the red-light district of Yokohama, a storefront decorated like a metro station catches your eyes. A sign spells out its concept: "legal Chikan trains".

In this sex club, called Rush Hour, customers can pay to enjoy the Chikan experience legally.

Its manager Hasuda Shuhei welcomes us on board. "We let people do things that can't be done outside. That's why people come here."

Inside, a sickly-sweet smell of cleaning products permeates the air. Private rooms are decorated like train carriages and equipped with a sound system that plays train announcements. Even the club's membership cards look exactly like Japan's transportation cards.

"I think it's important for men to be able to pay to vent in place like this, so they don't commit rape and other forms of sexual assault," says Hasuda.

Mental health professional Saito says that the matter is not as straightforward as Hasuda claims. He says that most Chikan perpetrators are aroused by the idea of domination over and humiliation of their victims.

"They do not treat their victims as equals, but as objects."

It's an opinion that rings true with Takako.

After months of assaults, she fought back one day. As she felt a hand reach for her skirt in a packed train carriage, Takako shouted at the top of her lungs and grabbed the assaulter by his wrist.

Takako took the man to court, where he only got a suspended sentence, even though he had previously been caught for Chikan offences.

Disappointed by the outcome of her case, Takako went on to start an anti-Chikan campaign, producing colourful badges reading "Chikan is a crime!" People can wear them to show they will not keep silent.

"It's a deterrent for criminals," says Takako, who is now 24. There is now an annual anti-Chikan badge design contest among Japanese high school students.

The hamster

Maomi means "kitty cat" in Chinese. However, Lupus said his personality was more like a hamster. "He's harmless, but cautious of everything and he sometimes overreacts."

Lupus was right. Maomi repeatedly refused to meet Ian.

But on Chinese New Year's Eve, Ian's luck changed. Maomi agreed to a meeting at a karaoke bar.

The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the sound of clinking glasses and Chinese pop songs.

The person who turned up was not who we expected. A skinny young man wearing half-rim glasses and a dark trench coat, Maomi looked like he could be a college student. He said he was 27.

Showing an interest in investing in his business, Ian asked how much he made.

"Our daily turnover is around 5,000-10,000 Chinese Yuan (US$700-$1,400; £565-£1,130)," Maomi said proudly, showing the transactions on his phone. "Very stable income, right?"

Ian acted impressed, and mentioned the name Uncle Qi.

Maomi admitted: "I am Uncle Qi."

But to our surprise, he revealed Uncle Qi was not just one person.

He managed a team of 15 people, including 10 in China who made videos under the same name. Maomi received 30 to 100 videos from them each month.

The videos were then sold on the three websites which Maomi confirmed he owned. They had more than 10,000 paying members, mostly Chinese men.

"The key is to be authentic. It has to be real," Maomi said. He later told us his websites even sold videos of drug-facilitated rape.

Maomi talked about his business as though it were any other budding start-up. He described his team as "passionate" and "brave". He even casually mentioned he had been training others to carry out and film sexual assaults.

But there was one thing he never mentioned - the women in his videos. It was as if they didn't matter to him at all.

Maomi exposed

We wanted to know Maomi's real identity. At another meeting with Ian, he opened up about how he got into this business.

Like many boys, Maomi liked Superman, anime and video games growing up. But when he was 14, he started watching sexual assault videos like the ones he sold now.

He knew his business was not risk-free.

"I am so cautious," Maomi said. "Safety first." To avoid scrutiny from the Chinese authorities, he planned to naturalise as a Japanese citizen.

However, as careful as Maomi was, he made a mistake.

When Ian asked where to send the investment funds, Maomi pulled out his bank card and handed it to Ian.

The card revealed his real name - Tang Zhuoran.

Later, we confronted Maomi with our allegations.

As we approached, he tried to cover his face and walked away. And all of a sudden, he snapped, hitting out at our camera and crew.

The next day, by coincidence, we spotted Maomi at the airport. He was leaving Japan.

Uncle Qi's Twitter account, where he openly promotes the abuse videos, is still active.

Twitter did not respond to our request for comment. Instead, they sent us a poo emoji, which has been an automatic reply to any inquiry directed to their press email since March.

We also put our allegations to Noctis and Lupus. They did not respond. We have since learned they no longer work with Maomi.

On a spring day, we meet up with Takako to tell her about our investigation. Appalled, she says: "We women are just content in their videos. They see us as objects. They don't think we have a heart."

Takako advocates for tougher laws against these crimes.

Japan is set to reform its sexual assault laws. However, campaigners say these changes don't go far enough.

But Takako will not give up. "We will not cry ourselves to sleep."

Additional reporting by Chie Kobayashi, Ryuzo Tsutsui, Hanae Arrour Takahashi and Joel Gunter

[epiclamer]

Continue The Auction.

(this is a threat btw)

I got like thirty million asks to continue this one so…

@psychiclibrariesquotestoad @whumpsday @foxinlongsocks @chvrmor @snowshower @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @hollowgast1 @bitchy-leftist-bisaster @fleur-alise @cupcakes-and-pain

Part 1

The Auction Pt. 2

“One hundred. Thousand. Dollars.” Villain spat and the whole room went silent. A few stray gasps and giggled whispers, but nobody dared to utter a word.

Supervillain smiled, their gleaming show host smirk was unnaturally perfect and it made Villains blood boil. They were going to pull every single one of their ghostly white teeth from their mouth.

“Going once, going twice, going three times…” Supervillains gaze fell back on their former friend. “Sold. To Villain up here in the front!”

An outrage of applause burst from the crowd, many villains going as far as to stand from their seats. After all, it was probably the most anyone had ever paid for a hero before in the auction.

Yet, Villain didn’t waste another second, pushing past the sea of criminals that were now flooding them for handshakes and signatures. So much for staying under the radar.

Villain raced up the steps and onto the stage, followed by the dizzying flash of cameras as they searched for their nemesis. One small trip over their own feet and they landed neatly in the supervillain’s arms. Their charmingly menacing gaze pierced through Villains skull as they helped them up and off behind the curtain. Leading them with small steps as if they were a child who needed guidance.

The villain shook themselves free from their superior’s strong hold as they headed for the velvety sheet. Behind which held many secrets and many scars.

They looked behind as they disappeared backstage, Supervillains grin had fallen and their appearance was anything but cheery. It was unsettling to say the least and when the supervillain’s smile returned it was colder than ice.

“Enjoy.”

The villain picked up their pace. Practically running to the “pickup” station as they fumbled through crowds of owners and buyers. When the villain had finally made it to the counter the last criminal had just finished their paperwork, saluting the desk worker as they headed for the exit.

Just because the auction put heroes on display didn’t mean you couldn’t buy any in advance. If someone was particularly keen on selling earlier than the planned date they could list them and people could get a sooner shot with a good sum of money. It made sense, but Villain wondered if they would’ve ever even realized Hero was for sale since they never checked the listings.

Thank the Gods, Supervillain was too proud to simply get rid of them and waited for the final show.

“Ooh, well if it isn’t the highest bidder. Quite the show you put on out there, hm? You must really want this hero…” The worker remarked, barely lifting their gaze from their computer as they slipped some papers in front of the villain.

“Sign here, here and here. Then head to room four o’ two. They’ll be waiting.”

Villain was done in a matter of seconds, racing off down the hall where they stumbled across their room quickly. They would’ve ripped the door open and rushed to Hero’s side, but something along the lines of guilt coiled in their chest and suddenly the realization that maybe Hero didn’t want to see them or to be with them struck.

This was the villain’s fault after all. If they had kept better tabs on their friends and enemies, maybe Hero would’ve never been put through all of this.

They opened the door, trying their best to stay calm and collected when their eyes landed on Hero’s form shaking and huddle in the corner. Hero was whimpering and crying softly as they hugged themselves into a ball. It reminded Villain of their former self, the one Hero helped encourage out of their shell, now Villain would have to do the same.

“Hero?”

Their whining stifled and they stilled from their shakes, but they didn’t turn or acknowledge the villain in any other way.

“Hero, hey, I’m here to help. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Villain took the risk and stepped into the room, taking soft and slow paces towards their former nemesis until they were only a foot away.

They kneeled down, “Hero, you’re okay now. I’m here. Remember me? It’s Villain.”

The villain reached a gentle hand out, ready to sensitize Hero to their touch in the kindest way possible. “Hero—”

However, the hero had other plans. The second Villains hand made contact with their shoulder, they pounced. Jumping up and turning to face the villain, bowling them over so their hips were pinned and kept low to the floor, while one of their hands held Villains head to the floor and the other kept a makeshift knife to their throat.

The other gave up the fight pretty quickly once they became aware of the weapon just inches away from bringing them a painful death. Villain relaxed and let Hero take control, their weak and malnourished body could’ve been easily overpowered, but if this is what they were most comfortable with then it was the first steps to gaining their trust.

That’s what mattered.

“Congrats, Villain. You won. You bought your life long enemy. Now, you’re going to listen very carefully or I’m going to kill you. Simple enough?”

Villain nodded, feeling the tip of the shiv dig into their skin like a pinprick. Drawing a droplet of blood as it slid down the side of their throat and onto the cement cell floor.

“You’re going to take me out of here, without any suspicion, and get in the passenger seat of your car. I’ll deal with the rest.”

[shuttershocky]

Out of all the curses of modern gaming, it's season passes / battlepasses that saddens me the most, because what I am fairly sure is its origin is really close to my heart.

One of the most notable things about Dota 2 is that (even now) it's the only MOBA (games like League of Legends, Heroes of Newerth, etc) on the market where every single one of its playable characters was immediately free for the player, no money or grind required, unthinkable for a free to play game. That means a player completely new to the game was actually on even footing access-wise to players with thousands of hours: everyone had access to the same cast, there were no upgrades you could get to amplify your favorites before a match (unlike the rune system League had back then, though I hear that's gone now), nothing. You were theoretically on even footing with everyone at all times, your only difference being your experience.

In its early years, Dota 2 didn't even have lootboxes for its cosmetic microtransactions yet (even when its sister game Team Fortress 2 did, and it does now). You browsed through the online store and paid 2.5 dollars to give your favorite character a cowboy hat.

All in all, there was very little way the game was actually making any money. The only reason it was even designed that way is because the original DotA was a Warcraft 3 mod faithfully updated for years with the free labor of community modders. When the lead was hired by Valve to make Dota 2, they insisted complete parity between the two versions: they would have the same updates, no gameplay can be locked behind monetization, Dota 2 should be able to run on crappy computers, etc.

Now Dota 2 has an annual tournament called The International, famous for holding the single largest prizepool in the history of Esports (back then, 1 million dollars), with the money contributed by Valve. However, they knew pumping millions of dollars into the tournament every year on a game that was not monetizing its playerbase was a great way to go bankrupt eventually, even if at the time Dota 2 was acting as a gateway for many people in third world countries (where DotA remained supremely popular) to get into Steam.

So for the third International in 2013, Valve had an idea that would plague live service games for the rest of time.

They called it The International Compendium, a way for the community to support the pro scene. You paid 20 dollars (or was it 30? I no longer remember) to get a whole set of missions to unlock exclusive cosmetics, you could make predictions for how the tournament would go and if you were right your compendium levelled up even further, you could play Fantasy Dota the way people do Fantasy Football (I still have no idea how that works) and collect cards of your favorite players then watch as their performance in the tournament gave you points, and 25% of all sales went straight to The International 3's prizepool.

People loved it. Dota 2 didn't charge you for anything but hats that could also be gained by random drops from playing anyway, so the playerbase at the time saw it as a fair deal, and besides, 25% of it went back to "fostering the community".

They sold like gangbusters. The tournament's final prizepool was $2,874,380, with 1.6 million of that being contributed by Valve.This meant that the 25% sales added by the community totaled $1,274,380, so if you multiplied by 4 to get the money the TI3 Compendium made, you had almost 5.1 million dollars, for what was the earliest battlepass in PC gaming.

So of course, everyone else followed suit.

10 years later and everyone's doing a battlepass, even games that aren't free to play. It's format of a virtual passport that levels up as you complete its task with rewards for every level gained is one of the most psychologically effective player engagement systems, keeping players hooked on a game by constantly giving them a checklist to work on. World of Warcraft perfected the skinner box design for grinding to keep players hooked, but Valve introduced an idea that could be used by any game, in any genre, of any size.

And it fucking sucks dude. This was originally designed for a game that charged you nothing. No grind, no unlocks, no free rotation because everyone is free, no daily mission checklist to keep you hooked because it was supremely confident you were playing for the love of the gameplay (and even now 10 years later where Dota 2 has caught up with the rest of the world in providing dailies, I still ignore them because I only play for the love of the game), it felt fair.

It wasn't attempting to seize all my time, it wasn't disruptive to normal gameplay, it was on a game that charged nothing, you could ignore it completely if you didn't care for the pro scene, back then the idea felt reasonable.

And now for most online games that don't feature some kind of battlepass system, I see complaints that the game does not give them a reason to play. Players NEED this checklist now, because there are other games they can play that give in-game rewards by accomplishing their checklists. You cannot make a game whose ONLY engagement system is an enjoyable core loop anymore, you will simply be buried if you don't keep up.

I always knew something like gacha was coming and it was going to be a thing that affected the industry. When I was still studying around 2012 and attended all these talks from the local game industry, the ideas always centered around monetization, and designing games to hook whales into spending, discussion around designing a core loop was how to make a player spend money in order to stay inside that core loop they were engaged in rather than creating a core loop that would impress a game designer. Mobile games back then were beginning to truly emerge as the new goldmine that the AAA industry ignored until even Call of Duty was threatened by the sheer profits made from the casual space. Even if nobody mentioned gachapon/trading cards /whatever, it was obvious the future of game design was towards monetizing addiction.

Battlepasses though, that one hurts. I really didn't see it taking over live service games the way it did. I remember seeing it crop up in other games and going "Why are they making their own compendium, they don't have a tournament to base it around?"

oof