#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

[autumngracy]

"Trump is better for the economy, though!"

Aside from almost every major economist agreeing that Trump's economic plans would actually make things far worse than they are now, this man can't even manage his campaign's, his businesses', OR his personal finances.

Case in point, here a list from Public Opinion of his failed business endeavors:

"Trump's companies have filed for bankruptcy at least six times. This is no exaggeration. Digital World noted this in its SEC filings. This excludes additional business failures that might not have declared bankruptcy, but closed owing vendors, employees and others."

"For the record, here are some of Trump's noteworthy business failures."

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.

Truth Social — This existing Trump business owes big money, and may well be breathing its last.

And then of course is his long history of stiffing contractors, restaurants, and even entire cities for their event venues he used for his rallies—as well as some of his own followers—

—such as the case where he promised a greiving hispanic American family that he would pay for the burial of their daughter, Vanessa Guillén, a servicewoman who had been brutally murdered by a fellow soldier at Fort Hood in 2020, but later told his chief of staff not to pay for it after learning it would cost $60,000, reportedly saying "It doesn’t cost 60,000 bucks to bury a fucking Mexican!"

[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

@furiouspiespytaco

@rosiahills22

@daggerspare-standingby

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-joyride

@theharddeck

@withakindheartx

@roosterscockpit

@whatislovevavy

@hangmanbrainrot

@neferpatra

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@averyhotchner

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@mygyn

@hoyaharper

@tallyovie

@gennyanydots

@callsign-magnolia

@whisperofsong

@seriouslyseresin

@double-j

@bradshawsbitch

@sugarcoated-lame

@katiebby04

@anotherr-fine-mess

@supernaturaldawning

@chassy21

@tylerjones98

@captainjaspenor

@gigisimsonmars

@fanboyswhore9

@angel-w0nderland

@abaker74

@idontcare-11

@isaebellaa

@bringnattolife

@xoxabs88xox

@djs8891

@hufflepufftruffle

@cottagecori

[seat-safety-switch]

"The '70s are coming back," explained the very patient sales lady at the Hudson Bay furniture department the other day. I was inquiring about a weird-looking brown sofa that some unscrupulous garbage-picker had clearly dumped in the middle of their showroom. Imagine my surprise when, rather than being grateful to see me haul it away and put it into my living room (I need new things to stack carburetors on,) she asked me for eight thousand dollars instead.

This is exactly why I don't shop at the downtown Bay very often. Too bougie, with all those lawyers, attorneys, barristers, and legal practitioners coming in there on their lunch breaks and buying seven sets of brand new underwear for the coming week. On the way home, though, I had plenty of time in the mandatory traffic jam (behind two Maybachs and an Aston) to think about what she had said. Could it possibly be true that my smoking, heaving, late-70s piece of shit Plymouth Volare, the very same vehicle that was mostly under my feet at this exact moment, be worth more than I paid for it?

To answer this question, I found an appraiser in the phone book. When I was a kid, I thought an "appraiser" was like the weird little dude who follows behind the bully in teen comedies, backing up everything they say. In actual fact, that is called a "hype man," and I recommend you not hire one of those to appraise your car. Appraiser Dave (or David, if you're friends) told me that he could do an appraisal of my car in his driveway in just minutes. At last, I would know what kind of asset base I had been flinging into corners and onto golf courses at reckless land speeds this whole time.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he spat, and demanded the payment immediately. Luckily for me, at that exact moment, a squirrel shook out of its home in the air cleaner and ran up his shirt sleeve. I think it was Ted, but it might have been his common-law wife, Tedina.

His or her tragic sacrifice was not made in vain, as in the ensuing distraction I was able to escape the neighbourhood without Appraiser Dave seeing my license plate. It helps that I couldn't shut the engine off, because it diesels really bad when you do that, and it eats batteries whenever it sits for more than ten minutes. Cheaper to just let it run 24/7 and top up the gas every morning. I need to count every penny: I'm saving up for a couch.

[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

[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

[bullet-prooflove]

I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights

The night that your cottage burns down you’re not at home, you’re at Angel’s place instead, his hands raking through your hair as he makes love to you in the shower. You don’t hear your phone under the stream of hot water that cascades over your skin. It’s only when you step out of the bathroom clad in one of his navy-blue towels that reality intrudes, and you pick up the messages from your neighbour.

The fire brigade are still on scene when you arrive, battling the blaze as you throw yourself out of the passenger seat of your car. Your hands were shaking too badly to drive, after you’d dropped the keys for the third time Angel had scooped them up and made the executive decision to do it instead.

It’s too late to save anything inside of the cottage, you can see by the way the flames lick through the blackened windows that the interior of the house is completely destroyed. The outside structure isn’t fairing much better, there’s a loud rumble before the roof collapses in on itself, taking most of the walls with it.

It feels like someone has eviscerated you, as if they have reached inside the confines of your ribcage, wrapped their hand around your heart and squeezed. It’s fucking agony. You want to scream, you want to shout, you want to rage because your home, it isn’t just a place, it’s a treasure-trove of memories.

The cottage has been in your family for three generations, it had passed down to you after your Nana had died, the essence of who you are is tied up in the objects that resided in that house. The quilt the two of you had worked on in her dying months, one patchworked together from materials that you had collected in fabric sales over the years. It’s the most precious thing you own, and it’s gone, everything is gone.

You have to turn away because the destruction, its too painful to look at.

It’s then that you catch sight of the shiny black Mercedes parked across the street. The one with the personalised licence plate that reads K1NG. You don’t even register that your moving, not until you’re in front of the car with the Halligan in your hand, the one you snatched up from beside the fire truck because one of the firemen had left it unattended.

The first hit smashes straight through the windscreen, showering glass all over the man inside. You hear him yelp and you find that sound so fucking satisfying. You strike the bonnet next, driving the spiked edge thorough the hood before tearing it out and smashing it down once again.

“You crazy fucking bitch.” Simon’s already out of the car, blood smeared across his face from the cut across his cheek.

“You burned down my fucking house.” You snarl at him, releasing the Halligan and leaving it embedded in the hood of his car.

“You burned down my fucking farm.” He spits at you as his hand wraps around your arm, each one of his fingers digging into your sensitive flesh as he yanks you towards him “You have to learn there’s consequences to your actions…”

“Do not fucking touch her.”

You don’t see the punch before it lands, only the aftermath. The crunch is audible, cutting through the air as Simon’s head snaps back, blood erupting from his nose and over the crisp thousand dollar shirt he’s wearing.

It happens quickly after that.

The two of you find yourselves handcuffed in the back of a squad car while Officer Frankie tries to pacify Simon as an EMT surveys the damage to his nose.

“I’m sorry.” You say, closing your eyes as your head comes to rest on the back seat. “You weren’t meant to caught up in this shit.”

“He put his fucking hands on you.” Angel reminds you venomously. “He’s lucky I didn’t tear his face off.”

You tilt your head to look at him and he looks back shrugging his shoulders.

“I told you I was ride or die and I meant it.” He tells you earnestly. “Someone hurts you, they hurt me too.”

[novankenn]

From Assassin to Sales Clerk AU : Another Day. Another Dollar

== > @pilot-boi YESSS BLAKE GET HER ASS

Okay but Blake immediately jumping to “Okay this is what you do when you fall in love with a mark” makes me wonder if Yang was a mark at some point (or probably Ruby was, and she fell for Yang during the process)

Blake didn't have a since clue or reason why she kept showing up for her shifts at the Pumpkin Pete's Novelties. It was not like she needed the money, or the headache of a 9 to 5, which was actually a 9 to 9. Though she did get an hour for lunch and two additional fifteen minute breaks.

Of course there was also Deery. Blake felt sorry for her fellow faunus. Trapped in a dead-end job to try and save for college, while also live above the poverty line. It had seriously done something to her. Anyway, Blake was only about two hours into her shift. A very dull, slow shift when the door chimed. Looking up to greet the potential customers as the handbook dictated, Blake instead froze.

"Blake?" came a voice that had always sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. Violet eyes. A flowing mane of blonde hair. Blessed with a pillowy endowment. Yang Xaio Long, Daughter of Tai Xaio Long and Raven Branwen. The mark that had just about ruined her career.

"Yang? What... what," Blakes tongue was tripping over itself. "What are you doing here?"

"What, no hey or hello?"

Sorry. Hello, and welcome to Pumpkin Pete's Novelty Shoppe." Blake rattled off the stipulated greeting. "My names is Blake B. If you require any assistance, feel free to ask me, and I will be happy to assist."

"Damn, Kitty-cat," Yang was almost in tears from holding in her laughter. "From aspiring trust fund author to wage-slave, what happened?"

"AH... I invested in BitLien, and it didn't work out so well."

"Oh, shit. Sorry to hear that Blake." Yang responded while wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Things that tough you needed to get a job?"

"No, I'm stable, just wanted something to do."

"You sure you're okay?" Yang asked again, an unmistakable tone of concern in her voice.

"Yes, I'm okay Yang." Blake replied as her mind drifted back to how this blonde almost derailed her career. It was what was known colloquially by those in the know as a "Punishment Job". In this case Raven Branwen and her tribe started interrupting things she should never have touched. "So what brings you here?"

"You mean aside from your pretty face, Kitty-Cat?" Yang grinned.

"Obviously, as until you walked in you didn't know I worked here." Blake deadpanned.

Blake remembered the first time she truly laid eyes upon Yang. She was skinny dipping with her friends. Totally carefree, to the world around them.

Now, Blake prided herself on no colleterial. Blake was also a "close-and-personal" operator, meaning there would be too many witnesses if she made her move here. So obviously she couldn't with Yang, while surrounded by her friends. So she hunkered down to study and learn more about Yang through observation. It had nothing to do with the fact everyone was naked, or the fact that Blake was a bit of a pervert.

So she watched, finding herself drawn more and more away from Yang's assets, to her face, to her deep violet eyes. To her light laugh. and happy attitude. After that day, every time Blake closed to do the work, she hesitated.

"So, Rubes had become a fan of retro games, and I mean like 8 bit and 16 bit ones." Blake blinked her eyes finally zoning back into the conversation. "Anyway I think I remember Pumpkin Pete publishing a couple of stinkers, and was wondering if there was a way I could get my hands on them?"

"I'm not sure, but I think I remember seeing some in storage." Blake replied, "Though I'll have to ask Deery to make sure."

"That's great!" Yang exclaimed, a thousand watt smile crossing her face. Blake's heart slammed against her ribs.

Blake was done. Adam, her ex-partner had come to complete the contract... and put Blake in her place. Blake had fought back, but Adam had size strength and more experience on his side. Blake was over matched and soon found herself struggling to free herself from Adam's crushing hands about her neck. Hands that suddenly went limp.

Blake was confused, until she saw Yang standing behind Adam with a cracked... Cricket Bat in her hands. Apparently Yang had heard a commotion, saw Blake in trouble and grab the first thing she found. Which was a discarded Cricket Bat. Grabbing Blake's hand, Yang pulled her along and the pair excaped.

Blake later that night tracked down the severely concussed Adam... and removed him. That same night Blake gouged her accounts and bought out the contract rights. Securing her as the only one that could complete the job, and that she would be doing it pro-bono.

"So I have a break coming up soon." Blake informed Yang, while reaching out and gently touching the tips of Yang's fingers with her own. "You want to do a little catching up?"

Yang's smile told Blake she had made the right decision, and maybe just maybe Pyrrha would come to understand that she was too.

(A/N - So out of one image... I have snippets and random posts from TWO inter-connected AUs. Thanks to @pilot-boi for inspiring these ideas. )

[emberdew]

Be More Ghost Chapter 4: Three Player Game

Summary:

A Be More Chill AU where Danny gets a Super Quantum Intel Unit Processor (or Squip) to help him become cool and win over Valerie, but things don't really go as planned.

Masterpost | AO3 Link | Word Count: 1,906

It’s a three player game so when they make an attack you know ya gotta friend who's gonna have your back!

Danny, Tucker, and Sam sat in front of the computer in Danny’s room, all three intently focused on the screen and rapidly tapping buttons on their game controllers. Ever since the new Doomed expansion came out a few weeks ago, the teens had gotten into the habit of meeting up to play together after school as long as there wasn’t a ghost attack happening.

As Sam’s powerful character, Chaos, landed a finishing blow on the boss they were fighting, Danny leaned back and looked over to his best friends.

“So, what do you guys think about what Kwan said?”

Sam looked at him, incredulous. “It’s obviously a scam.”

“A really weird scam,” Tucker agreed.

“But what if it is real? I just give the jock who bullies me six… hundred… dollars…” Danny really wanted it to be true, but he had to admit it was far-fetched. “No, you’re right. I’m doomed to be a freak for the rest of my life. Afterlife?” Danny leaned back farther in his chair and dramatically covered his face with an arm.

“Halfterlife?” Tucker suggested. Danny just groaned in response.

“Danny, you don’t need some weird technology to teach you how to be cool. Being cool is overrated anyway.” Sam leaned over and flicked Danny’s arm.

“Plus guys like us are cool in college!” Tucker said. “High school may be hell now, but at least we have that to look forward to.”

Danny didn’t feel reassured. “If I can even get into a college with my awful grades. I can’t exactly put ghost hunting as an extracurricular on my college application.”

“You are in a ghost hunting club now though,” Tucker teased.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Danny rubbed where his shoulder was still sore from where Valerie had shot him earlier that day. “How would I even get six hundred dollars anyway?”

Danny shot up in his seat as an idea sprung to mind. “What if I stole my aunt Alicia’s beanie baby collection and sold them on eBay?”

Tucker looked at him for a long moment. “Okay, there’s several things wrong with that plan.” He held out his hand and started counting. “One, your aunt lives in Arkansas and it would take way too long to fly there on a school night. Two, beanie babies are worth like nothing on eBay. Three, didn’t you learn from the yard sale debacle with Technus last year not to sell other people’s stuff?”

Danny sunk down in his seat, defeated. “Oh yeah.”

“I have a better plan.” Tucker turned and raised his eyebrows at Sam. “What if we converted to Judaism?”

“You know what?” Sam stood up and slammed a wad of cash in Danny’s palm. “Here’s some bar mitzvah money. Congrats on becoming a man.”

“Wouldn’t it be a boo-mitzvah?” Tucker joked.

Danny ignored him and shoved the cash in his pocket gratefully, knowing better than to refuse Sam when she gave away money. They’d had that argument a thousand times and Sam always won, so he didn’t even bother anymore. “Thanks, Sam. That’s really gender-affirming.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam gestured her game controller towards the computer screen where the ��Proceed to next level’ prompt was flashing. “Do you guys wanna keep playing?”

“Sure, let’s do another round.” Danny leaned forward in his seat. Tucker nodded in agreement and Sam pushed the confirm button.

They had made it about halfway through the level when a knock came from Danny’s door. Danny was too engrossed in the game to notice at first.

“Danny?” Jack called.

Danny sighed and paused the game, then got up and opened the door. Unsurprisingly, his dad was dressed in his usual bright orange jumpsuit.

“What is it?” Danny took a step back as Jack entered his room.

“The Mansons called. They want Sam to come home right away for dinner.” From out of nowhere, Jack pulled out a gun prototype that was sparking with electricity. “Before you go, want a demonstration of my newest invention? The Fenton Ghost Freezer 2.0 is ready for action!”

“No thanks, Dad!” Danny shoved his dad out the door and closed it.

Sam groaned. “Ugh, I forgot my parents are meeting with some business partner about a trip we’re going on this week. Dinner with them is going to be dreadful.”

“That sucks, sorry Sam.” Danny knew how much Sam hated having to go to fancy dinners with her parents.

“Yeah, well, at least I’ll get out of school for the next few days.” Sam stood up and grabbed her spider backpack off the back of her chair.

“Lucky!” Tucker said.

“Yup. Anyways, cya dorks later!” Sam waved and walked out the door.

“Cya!” Danny closed the door behind her.

As soon as the door shut, Danny turned to Tucker. “Okay so I know it’s probably stupid but what if we went to Payless just to see if Kwan’s story checks out?”

“If it does, would you be too cool for…” Tucker hesitated and looked down at the controller in his hands, “video games?”

“Of course not!” Danny sat back down next to Tucker and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know, you are my favorite person.”

Tucker looked up, brown eyes shining in delight.

“I’m your favowite person?” Tucker asked jokingly.

Danny laughed and nodded. He hoped Tucker didn’t notice him blushing. “Yeah, dude. We’re a team, and we’re gonna get through this high school shit together.”

“Yeah! Team Phantom can conquer anything.”

“That’s right.” Danny picked up his controller. “Before we go, wanna play one more level?”

“Heck yes!”

___

Several minutes later, the two boys high-fived after completing the level.

“Okay, time to go to the mall.” Danny got up out of his chair.

“Yup!” Tucker stood up and Danny held the door open for him.

The two boys walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Danny’s dad was too busy working on an invention at the kitchen table to notice their arrival. Danny cleared his throat and Jack looked up.

“Hey, kids!”

“Hi. Um. We’re gonna go get dinner at the mall.” Danny tugged at Tucker’s sleeve and started walking towards the door.

“Alright, be back by curfew!” Jack called.

Danny nodded and walked with Tucker out the door.

“Should we fly?” Danny asked.

“Sure!”

Danny and Tucker turned into a nearby alley and Danny went ghost, his white transformation rings lighting up late afternoon dimness.

“Grab on, Phantom Airlines is departing now.”

Tucker laughed and hugged Phantom from the back. He felt a slight coolness on his cheeks as he blushed- he cursed the cold ectoplasm coursing through his ghostly body that made him blush green- when he felt Tucker’s warm arms wrap around his chest. Phantom’s legs switched to a spectral tail as they took off towards the mall.

They flew in comfortable silence for the short trip to the Amity Park Mall. The city below them was also quiet and peaceful as the sun started to set on the horizon. Phantom was glad it seemed like there wasn’t going to be any ghost fights this evening.

He touched down gently at an empty edge of the mall’s parking lot and Tucker covered for him as he detransformed in a flash of light partially behind a tree.

Inside, the mall wasn’t very crowded at this time of day on a school night. Danny saw some A-Listers hanging around as they passed the food court, but none of them noticed as Danny and Tucker walked by on their way to Payless.

As they passed Sam’s favorite goth store, Danny regretted not waiting for her to be free to come with them.

“Sam would probably think this is a bad idea, right?” Danny asked. Tucker was looking in the window of the games store they were walking by.

“Oh for sure. I’m not even one hundred percent sure about this but I’m here for you, man.” Tucker elbowed Danny affectionately.

“Thanks.”

Danny felt the buzz of a ghost shield as he crossed the entrance of the Payless Shoes store. He remembered his parents had installed one there after the Box Ghost had terrorized the shoeboxes there a few too many times. The store was pretty much empty when they walked in- with the only sign of life being the bored-looking cashier behind the counter.

Danny stepped past the racks of shoes and tapped the countertop to get the cashier’s attention. The cashier’s haircut and sullen face reminded him a bit of Johnny 13. He looked up at Danny with a flicker of recognition.

“Let’s see the money.”

“What?” Danny was pretty sure that’s not how a normal store interaction was supposed to work.

“It’s from Japan. It’s a gray oblong pill- quantum nanotechnology CPU,” the cashier recited. “The quantum computer in the pull will travel through your blood until it implants in your brain and it tells you what to do.”

“How did you know that’s why I’m here?” Danny was starting to get creeped out by this guy.

“Just look at you.” He motioned towards Danny. That was fair, Danny thought. “Do you have the four hundred?”

“Four?”

“Is that a problem?”

Danny thought about Kwan’s sales pitch. “There’s a guy at my school charging-” Tucker grabbed Danny’s shoulder to stop him. Danny looked at Tucker for a second, confused, and then realized why. “Oh, right. Yes, I have four hundred.”

After taking the cash, the cashier led Danny through a curtain to the back of the store. The guy traced a finger past the shoeboxes that lined the walls of the narrow room until he stopped, pulled out a box, and presented it to Danny.

It looked… like a normal shoebox. With a confused glance up at the cashier, Danny opened the lid and saw it was filled with small gray pills. The cashier plucked a pill from the box and held it up with two fingers.

“For your information, this is untested, illegal technology. I take no responsibility for what you might do with it. Or what it might do to you.”

Danny considered the tiny pill in the cashier’s hand. “What it might do to me?”

The cashier ignored him and continued. “You have to take it with Mountain Dew to activate it. Don’t know why. There’s just something about Mountain Dew.”

“Okay…” Danny grabbed the pill and shoved it into his pocket.

“And this is important-”

“Excuse me?” A girl’s voice said. The curtain to the room opened and Ashley appeared.

“We’re sold out!” The cashier shouted. Danny winced.

“Of… shoes?” Ashley pointedly looked at the shelves lining the walls.

“Oh, right. Shoes. Yes, we do have those.” The cashier turned to Danny and ushered him through the curtain and out of the room. “Get out of here.”

“Wait, didn’t you say there was something important I needed to know?”

The cashier, who had already been hovering near Ashley, turned back to Danny. “Oh yeah. All sales are final.”

Danny heard the cashier and Ashley discussing some new shoes as he and Tucker walked out of the store.

“Should we grab some food?” Danny asked.

Tucker looked up from his PDA. “Sure, I could go for some chili fries.”

As they started heading toward the mall food court, Danny kept checking his pocket to make sure the mysterious pill was still there.