#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”

[eddiesvixen]

If You Want Blood (You Got It)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳, 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁, 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝗲 (𝘀𝗺𝗼𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴), 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 (𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀), 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗴𝘆𝗻𝘆, 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘀, 𝗻𝘂𝗱𝗶𝘁𝘆

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗻𝘁: 𝟱.𝟰𝗸

the second chapter of Open Til Midnight

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The faucet leaks in the restroom as you finish your eyeliner in the mirror. This saturday morning you made no time to do your makeup at home given you didn’t get much sleep. You just keep seeing that hold print in your head. That ugly shade of orange from that sheet of paper.

Closing the Empire

due to purchase

Nine Thousand Dollars

a new environment for educational purposes

provocative musical acts

Fuck You, Larry Bassinger.

To sell Empire is to sell your soul. The blood, sweat, tears, hard work, art, albums, dents, scratches, carpet fuzz, pins.. everything you and your friends, your family put into Empire, all gone. Turned into something completely contradictory. Provocative musical acts?! What the hell did that even mean?

Knock, Knock.

“I’m in here.” You call out to whoever it is.

“Just me, sweetheart.”

You open the door to see Eddie standing there. He didn’t get much sleep either and honestly you both hadn’t spoken much in the van ride here today. He holds up two coffee cups.

“Since it’s too early for a Jolt.” He forces a small grin for you.

You groan. “Damn i’d kill for a jolt. My eyes haven’t felt this heavy since we snuck out to that Overkill concert in ‘81.”

This time Eddie actually smiles. “Oh you were a complete mess, princess.”

“Come on it wasn’t that bad.” You sip your coffee, grateful that Eddie always gets your order perfect.

“I remember having to carry a certain girl to the van because she got so wasted she couldn’t even walk straight.” He grins, grateful that his comment got you to laugh.

“You know what? It’s your fault for even buying the tickets.”

“Well you had turned 16. I know it was a month late but admit it, best birthday gift you ever had.”

“Best concert memory I have.” You smile at him and he returns one as well.

“Many more to come, sweetheart.” He sips his coffee and runs a hand through his messy curls. “Ready to get out there?”

“Yeah. I’ll meet you up front.”

He nods, giving you a shoulder squeeze before leaving the restroom. You straighten up and fix your hair one last time before walking into the backroom and putting your lanyard around your neck.

“Yeesh. Yoga pants? Are you okay?” Robin says from the bulletin board, hanging up a flyer.

“Uh, yeah. Just.. my period.” You were quick to make up a lie.

“Damn. I have some Tylenol in my locker if you need it.”

You smile, loving how Robin has pretty much an entire survival kit in her locker. “I’ll be okay for now, but thanks.”

When Hopper’s office door opens, you both look up. You feel a bit shaken with how he says your name.

“My office. Now.”

Robin looks at you and you shake your head. When he walks back into his office she runs over to you.

“Something happen last night?”

“Probably just left a door unlocked or something.”

She raises a brow. You can be rebellious sometimes but never irresponsible. Not with Empire. But before she can ask you’ve already walked into his office, closing the door.

“Hey Hop-“

“Jim. You call me Jim, now sit.”

Well that’s odd. You sit.

“Just got a call from Larry.”

Shit.

“Do you know who Larry is?”

“No sir.”

“Larry. Larry is my boss. The very man who sold me this store. Larry helps with our funding, our sales, our publicity. Larry is the reason we get an ad in the city newspaper. Larry takes the money we earn, doubles it, cashes it out into our checks and uses the rest to help buy us more music. Larry could not do any of that last night. Do you know why?”

Shit.

“The money.”

He takes a deep, frustrated breath before placing the cash pouch on his desk. “Why didn’t you take money to the bank?”

“I forgot.” You’re quick with your answer, but so is Jim.

“Don’t.” He knows you. You never forget. You never even leave the store until everything is perfect for the next day. “Tell me the truth.”

You sigh. “Bassinger Library and Cafe.” You say it with an angered frown, the same one Hop’s face morphs into once he hears you say it. “I saw the paper in your drawer. Me and Eddie.”

“Does anyone else know?” He says it as less of a question, more of a ‘Please tell me no one else knows.’

“No.”

“Listen-“

“Hop, why? Why would you keep this from us?”

“You think I like this? You think I wanna sell this place? Think i’d ever let you down?”

“That’s in seven days Hop, Seven!”

“Calm down.” He nods at you and you sigh, shaking your head.

“You can’t just let him win.”

“I’m doing my best. I didn’t tell you because if this works, if it works.. you never would’ve known this place was ever at cost.” He runs his hand through his hair, more stressed about the situation than you thought. He’s usually so tough, big and bad Jim Hopper but right now even he seems shaken.

“If what works?”

He stands up and goes to the vent, pulling off the hatch and taking out a red envelope. He walks back over to the desk and hands it to you. When you open it you can’t believe your eyes as you pull out the cash.

He tosses the navy blue apron onto the table, the logo in bold cursive. Bassinger’s Cafe and Library.

“Three thousand four hundred and thirty seven dollars. That’s how much me and Joyce have saved up since I got that letter 3 months ago.”

Three months. He hid this from you all when you celebrated Will’s birthday. He was hiding it when you went bowling, when you hit the record of selling your ten thousandth cd in the store. He hid it when you framed Jonathan’s first magazine published photo in the front of the store.

All of these happy memories over the past three months, and he hid this from you. No. He protected you.

“Hop-“

“I’m trying my best. We have done the best we can do. But the man always wins. Always.” He looks at you and you don’t know if you want to cry or rage.

“We have to try, Hop. This may be his property but it’s our store, our home.”

“We’ll never make ten thousand by the end of the week.”

“We have to try! Don’t I get a say?! Don’t any of us get a say?! I can’t just sit back and watch this happen!”

It’s all you did when your parents argued and fought, when your dad left you in that house with your mom and she paid bills by selling her body, when your friends got beat up by jocks in high school as one held you back. You sat there and watched. You had no choice. Just as Hopper’s telling you now.

“I have done all I can do. This is it.” He grits his teeth and runs his hands over his face.

“Bullshit!” You glare at him and shake your head. “It’s not too late and he doesn’t get the only say! We can’t just-“

“I said this is it!” He slams his fist against the desk and you glare at him. Angry and yet, sad. He never yells at you, any of you. But with both of you being so frustrated about the store, it’s come down to this.

He softens his voice. “I’m sorry kid.”

You frown and sit his envelope back on the desk. You nod and stand up, walking out of his office.

~~~~~

Three thousand four hundred and thirty seven dollars

That’s a lot of money, but not enough.

Six thousand five hundred and sixty three dollars..

That’s how much more you need to save Empire before it could become something so.. shitty. Instead of rustic wood and vinyls, you’d smell coffee and matcha. No more Poison over the speakers, just a slow jazz. No more colorful walls and decorative rugs with the fuzzy layers, just a boring plain blue.

And as much as you fought it, you can’t be angry with Hopper. He’s done his best, he has shown you all you have. And it wasn’t enough. Nothing’s ever enough.

“Excuse me!” The man almost yells in your face.

“So sorry.” You stand up straighter, completely sunk into your thoughts not remembering your place at the register.

“I bet you are. Just ring these up please?” He sits his cds on the counter.

Brown rugged hair, way too many tattoos, a beer gut, piercing evil green eyes, a rugged beard that touches his chest, which is also way too hairy and peeking out of his gym shirt. You’ve met this type before. Your mother had guests like him all the time.

“Sure.” You nod, scanning the cds, wanting to hurry this exchange. You scan his cds and a hand slips by your side, looking for a marker.

“Sorry.” Jonathan says as he grabs the sharpie and starts to write on the smaller boxes. Orders to ship off for mail.

You sigh when you open a cd case that feels too light. You open the Beastie Boys case to see that the cd is missing. “Um, Jonathan could you grab me another Licensed to Ill?”

Jonathan nods and walks off, but the customer is annoyed. “What’s the problem?”

“The cd in this case is missing.”

“What are you saying I stole it?” He snarls.

“No sir, my coworker’s just-“

“Checking the cameras? What, do I look like a fucking thief?!” He snaps, and that immediately catches the attention of Jonathan, and half the store.

When Eddie hears your voice and a man screaming after it, he stands up from organizing the folk vinyls and his eyes lock on you. He knows you were upset earlier and by the look of your face and the way you’re gripping the counter, you’re seconds away from cursing this man out. He rushes to you.

“Is there an issue here?” Eddie says as he walks up behind you.

You take a deep breath. “No, this gentleman just needs a new-“

“A new cd.” Jonathan nods and scans it, sitting it down on the counter. The man glares at him but fishes into his pocket for cash anyways.

Eddie leans forward and whispers into your ear. “Let me handle him, you go take ten, yeah?”

You nod. You don’t speak because you know if you do you might actually lose your job. You walk off into the break room.

The guy rolls his eyes as he hands Eddie the cash, Jonathan watching discreetly as he finishes up on signing the order packages.

“What’s the return policy on these?”

Eddie puts the cash into the register and shakes his head. “For returning customers, thirty days. For you? Never.”

He glares as Eddie places the receipt in the bag.

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You’re not welcome here anymore.” Jonathan clarifies for the smartass in front of him and Eddie.

“The fuck is this?” The guy glares at them, offended.

“Maybe next time learn to respect the women who help your sorry ass find the Beastie Boys.” Eddie says with a smug smirk.

The guy looks like he wants a fight but before he could raise up, Hopper walks up.

“Pete Aggerton. Right? You work at the auto shop by that mini dive bar. You know, the one with the shitty tools and shit service.”

He doesn’t even give the man a chance to speak up.

“You leave my storm, take your damn cds and never show your face here again, or I’ll have the police come there and tell them about your little hit and run incident near that playground. Think your wife wants to hear about another dui?”

He looks down on the man and he doesn’t even argue back. He takes his bag and curses as he leaves out. “Fucking pricks.”

Hopper turns to look at Eddie and Jonathan, giving them a look just screaming ‘Well done, boys.’

“Where’d she go?” He asks the boys.

“Back room.” Jonathan says.

“Hold down the register. Eddie get the girls into the break room.”

“Copy that.” Eddie smirks, proud to knock down that asshole. He gets Chrissy and Robin as Hopper ordered him to and they walk into the backroom.

Eddie expected to have to maybe give you a hug or have to calm you down but cleary you’ve taken matters into your own hands. Shoes off, feed kicked up as you lie back on the sofa, joint between your fingers as you take a pull.

“My my, what have we here.” Robin says teasingly.

You sigh and shake your head.

“You okay?” Chrissy asks.

“Peachy.”

But Eddie knows. And honestly he’s stressed too, so he holds his hand out, taking a nice lengthy drag.

“Damn that’s good. Don’t get too high, sweetheart. Need you till 9, remember?”

“Won’t matter next week, shouldn’t matter tonight.”

“What?” Robin raises a brow.

“Nothing she’s high.” Eddie tries to cover it up and Hopper walks in.

“Okay girls, we need to talk.” He shakes his head. “Put that out it’s not your break.”

“Why don’t we all just have a break?” You look at him and he could see you were still upset.

“Not right now.”

“I need a smoke, Hop.”

“And I need you to act your age. You’re 23 damn it act like it.”

The girls stay silent, not used to seeing you so angry with Hopper. You look at them.

“Think he’s called us back here to let us down easy girls.” Suddenly the room isnt so quiet anymore.

“Jim, what’s she talking about?” Chrissy frowns a bit.

Robin chimes in. “Are you firing us? I know I mixed up the tapes a few times but I can do better.”

“No one is getting fired.” Jim tries to calm the girls down.

“Like Larry’s gonna keep us on the payroll.” You scoff.

“Larry?” Chrissy says.

“Who’s Larry?” Robin asks, intrigued.

“Cut it out.” Eddie looks at you with a pleading look.

“Hop just tell them.” You frown, so drowned into your emotions.

“Tell us what?” Chrissy says.

“It’s nothing.” Eddie tries to save Hopper’s ass again.

“Who the hell is Larry?” Robin asks a bit louder over the chaos of the room.

“Who’s asking?”

Everyone’s head turns to the door to see a man in a very nice suit. Chestnut hair styled like Sinatra, a smile on his face and a fancy pair of shoes you see in those designer magazines.

“Larry.” Hopper nods and everyone’s eyes widen. You feel your heart stop. This is Larry Bassinger. You anger suddenly soothes down to something worse, fear.

~~~~~~

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” Larry says as he looks around our break room. It’s very backhanded, given how he didn’t want to sit on the sofa.

“The staff takes decoration to heart.” Hopper nods as he sits in a chair across from Larry’s, you and the girls sat on the sofa while Eddie stands behind you three.

“Interesting.” He brushes it off and sits up. “Any of you ladies hang up something significant?”

“It’s all significant.” You speak up.

Chrissy sees you’re bothered and tries to cheer you up. “She decorated the frame for employee of the month.”

Robin chimes in. “Probably since she spends so much time up there.”

Larry’s brows raise. “Fascinating. I imagine you would make the finest employee anywhere else?”

“I prefer to not spend the rest of my life serving coffee to hipsters judging me for listening to provocative musical acts-‘“

“That’s enough.” Hopper warns you and Larry laughs.

“It’s okay.” He nods and looks from Hopper to you. “So you’ve seen the letter.”

“I have.” You nod.

“Me too.” Eddie adds in to defend you.

“Me and your manager, we went to school together. He tell you that?”

You and the others are shocked, but you hide it well. Clearly, he’s trying to win you over.

“He didn’t.”

“Well, we did. And when we graduated, I went right off to college and worked my dad’s firm. Real estate came easy. Buy, sell, move. Property to property and this place, let me tell you. Complete dump. I’m sure you wouldn’t know that considering it was decorated so much.”

Jim gives him a glare, a warning.

“This.. lot, is mines to keep. It’s simply rental. Never a full purchase. This store will be mines and I am no heartless fool, believe me.” He places his hand over his heart. “Which is why I’m here today.”

He pulls three papers from his briefcase and hands one to you, one to Robin, one to Chrissy. You all immediately frown. Job applications.

“What is this supposed to mean?” Chrissy looks at Larry a bit disturbed.

“Means you and your girls are promised and guaranteed well paid positions once the cafe opens next year.”

Your eyes widen. “Just us?”

“We find in waitressing that women are more smiled upon-“

“When serving stale pastries and coffee to snobs who can’t remember our names and undergrads who try to peek under our skirts? Yeah, no thanks.” Robin sits the paper down.

“I am just offering from the kindness of my heart.”

“Kindness?” You scoff and sit the paper down, more of a toss. “Kindness is letting Jim keep his store that feeds his family. It pays for colleges classes and career opportunities. We do donations and drives did you know that?!”

“I do. And we will keep those going. If you sign, it will be my first priority-“

“We don’t want to sell coffee, we want to sell records. This is our store!”

Larry glares at you, clearly upset that you’re not complying or even more, shutting up. “It is not your store!”

The rooms blares into a deafening silence.

“You had your daddy’s money. A college education and a promised career. This man, my manager. He had nothing. He found family here, we all did. And if you take Empire away..” You swallow, not even knowing how to simmer down the anger and sadness in your body so Eddie speaks up.

“Then that’s all gone too.” He stands behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Larry looks at all of you. The fear and tinge of sadness in everyone’s face, even Hopper’s. Larry contemplates what would he lose if he let this building go. Larry would lose nothing so Larry doesn’t give a shit.

“No money, no Empire.” He states it clearly.

You feel a boil of anger inside of you. Hopper’s eager as he stands.

“Larry, thanks for coming-“

“Fine.” You take a deep breath and look at Larry.

“Pardon?” Larry raises a brow.

“You want ten thousand we’ll get your ten thousand.” You look at him, wanting to wipe that stupid smirk off.

“And how exactly will you do that?” He challenges back.

“Want the money or not?” You glare at him. Larry looks at Hopper, and even he knows not to mess with you when you’re this determined. Larry navigates his vision back towards you.

“You got yourselves deal.”

~~~~~

8pm. You sit on the roof of Empire. After a lengthy conversation with Hopper and a few too many apologies, he agreed to let you take your last hour alone. That doesn’t last for long when you hear the familiar crunch of Eddie’s boots. He sits next to you, legs hanging from the roof. You can feel his eyes on you so you speak first.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You okay?”

“I’m sorry. About earlier, I just.. so many assholes today.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. We’re just worried about you. I’m worried.”

He knows you really need a hug, so he scoots closer and wraps his arms around your shoulders and you lean into him, enjoying the closeness.

“That guys a dick. Larry and that asshat from earlier, don’t pay them any mind. You’re great.”

You nod and speak softly. “I’m so tired. I mean, all my life Eddie. My mom brought men home like that customer all the time. Loud and arrogant and just so fucking rude. And then Larry comes in and shoves his fancy suits down our throats and brags his cash in Hopper’s face. It’s bullshit.”

“Definitely bullshit.” He scoffs but then he smirks. “But you were such a badass.”

You look up at him and grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Please. You want the money or not? Felt like I was in some badass mafia movie. Very metal.”

You smile and it warms Eddie’s heart. It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day.

“Idiot.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes.

There’s a moment of silence before you speak up. “Hey..”

“Yeah?”

“Lets throw a party.”

He chuckles. “Well that’s random.”

“No.” You sit up and look at him. “We can tackle this two in one. Do you still have Rick’s number?”

“I don’t deal anymore, princess.” Eddie says woth a raised brow.

“I know.. but if we sell at our rager we could make tons of money and put it towards the store.”

“You know i’d do anything for you, but this is very risky.”

“It’ll just be weed.” You reassure him. “And maybe just a few baggies of K.” He grows silent, clearly thinking. “Come on, Eddie. A total rager for the beginning of summer and to save the Empire. Please.”

He can’t say no. Not when you look at him like that. Expectant and hopeful for the first time today. He knows he’s gonna regret it but he sighs and nods.

“Fine. But two things.”

You nod. “Okay?”

He holds up a finger. “One, Hopper can never find out about the drugs. He’s skin us both alive.” He holds up the second finger. “Two, we deal together. I don’t need some douche trying to bribe you just because you’re a girl.”

“Okay, yeah. Stays between us and deal together. How hard can it be?”

~~~~~

Sunday night. You’re actually feeling so much better. After your shitty day yesterday and being off schedule today, you got to sleep in, you got yourself all prettied up while Eddie and Jonathan spent the day getting your dealings for the party and arranging it at the dorms of Robin’s campus.

The party is alive, a perfect goodbye to the campus as most of these students are graduating and traveling to the beaches for the summer. They dance and drink in the halls, some making out in corners and others already rotating the pre-rolled joints you sold to them.

Eddie decided he would take care of selling the coke. If anything were to happen to a student because of his product, he wasn’t gonna take you down with him. Although, he would like to take you somewhere. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

That lacy black and red corset on your body, the way your hips swayed in that black skirt, the pretty black heeled boots that adorned your feet. You were a dream and more.

“Look!” You grin and pull out a wad of cash from your top and he gasps.

“Holy shit, how much is that?”

“Four eighty five.” You smile. “Some football player was so drunk he gave me an extra fifty. Wasn’t gonna argue.”

“Princess, you’re something else.” He grins.

“Where’s Jonathan?”

“In his dorm.” Eddie tucks the cash into his jeans pocket.

“With a party like this?” You raise a brow.

“Nancy’s with him.”

You gasp and laugh. “Damn. Good for them.”

“Yeah, good for them.”

“Let’s get a drink?”

“Lead the way, princess.”

The two of you weave through the crowd, the heavy bass of the music vibrating through the air. Eddie sticks close behind you, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as you move through the sea of sweaty bodies and discarded red solo cups. The party is alive, chaotic, and exactly the kind of escape you both need after the hell of a weekend at Empire.

You grab two cups from the table and shrug. "What's your poison?" you ask looking through the bottles.

"Dealer's choice," he says, his smirk challenging you to surprise him.

There’s rum, vodka, tonic and some bottle with electric blue liquid and no label. You sit the chups down and take a smarter route. After all, you still have to sell tonight. You hand Eddie his usual, a beer, and you go for a Smirnoff. You settle by going outside, sitting in the grass outside of the dorms. You clink your bottles together.

“Cheers, to.. dealing drugs together?” He laughs.

“To getting cash.” You smile.

“And to saving Empire.” Eddie smile you both nod and drink your drinks.

The night air is cool against your skin, carrying the faint sounds of music and laughter from the dorms. Eddie leans back on his elbows, his grin fading into a thoughtful expression as he looks up at the stars.

"You ever think about what happens if we don't save Empire?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

You take a sip of your Smirnoff, letting the burn sit in your chest for a moment before answering. "No. Not possible.” You swallow, you really haven’t. You don’t wanna picture a world without that place.

Eddie nods. "I mean I get it. Empire's like...home, you know? It's more than just a record store. It's the only place that feels like it gets people like us."

The freaks. That’s what we got called in high school. But at Empire it’s different. No rules, no barriers. Just us and our music. Sure it’s not perfect but Eddie’s right, it’s home.

You glance at him, noticing how the moonlight softens his features. "Yeah," you say. "That's why we're not gonna let it go under. I don't care if we have to sell every pill, every ounce. We'll figure it out."

Eddie leans back against the grass, his hands raking the blades like he's grounding himself. "It just sucks, you know? That it's all on us. Feels like the whole world doesn't give a damn about places like Empire. But if it was some fancy boutique or some sports bar? Everyone would be throwing money at it to save it."

"That's because those places are safe. Normal. Empire’s for people like us, people who don't fit their mold. They don't care if it disappears, but we do…and we're not gonna let it." You sip your drink.

Eddie can’t help but look at you. So beautiful in the moonlight. Your soft skin, your features, your words. It’s all so sentimental to him. He remembers sitting in the grass like this when you’d run out to the playground with him when you were 16. You’d smoke and laugh and talk about whatever. You always talked about how you’d leave that town one day and become something huge. You were so determined, just like you are now.

Eddie tilts his head and gives you a boyish grin, same one he’s had for years. "You've got that look again."

"What look?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"The 'I'm ready to take on the whole damn world' look." He chuckles softly. "Makes me think we might actually pull this off."

You grin despite the weight sitting in your chest. "We will. We have to. Because if I have to hear Larry’s pompous ass laugh one more time I might actually strangle him.”

“A show I’d pay to see.” He laughs and finishes off his beer.

You laugh too but the tension lingers. You both know the stakes are higher than ever, and with a shared look you silently agree to take down that corporate asshole together.

~~~~~

It’s safe to say Sunday night was a success. A small one, but a success nonetheless. You and Eddie had sold all of the product you came with and spent the rest of the night drinking and dancing. You’d gotten a bit wasted after your seventh Smirnoff so Eddie carried you into his van and let you sleep.

And in the morning you wake up to something so gentle on your nose. Another nose. But it’s not Eddie’s no, this one’s much smaller. You wake up to the purrs of Eddie’s cat, Ozzy.

You smile and nuzzle against the small black furball. “Good morning.”

You sit up and it all crashes on you. Your head spinning in a whirlwind of aches, your clothes which are now just some boxers and a Pantera tee you left here at Eddie’s the last time you had movie night. You’d gotten stretch and look around the bedroom to see that it’s missing it’s main thing: it’s owner.

You pad out of the bedroom. Alone in Eddie’s apartment. You feed Ozzy and read the note Eddie left you on the counter.

Aspirin’s in he bathroom mirror, pancakes in the microwave. Be back soon! :)

You smile and take the aspirins, practically chug your glass of water and sit on Eddie’s sofa, watching Full House as you eat your pancakes.

Once you’re full, you clean your plate and decide to look around Eddie’s place. You look through his books, tapes, magazines. Loving all of his trinkets and things, same as he loved going through yours when he came to your apartment for the first time.

You finally settle on a Guitar World magazine, Motley Crue adorning the cover. You smile and flip through the pages, looking at the different pics of different bands. Flipping and flipping and.. oh.

Polaroids. Polaroids in Eddie’s magazine. Polaroids.. of Eddie in Eddie’s magazine.

You carefully lift and count them. Four polaroids. In one, he’s got a shirt on, his hand in his hair and the other holding his guitar as the strap hangs over his shoulder.

In the next his hair is more messy, probably from taking his shirt off because it’s off now. His tattoos on his porcelain skin stealing almost all of the attention because in the third one the guitar is gone and he’s posing like some real rockstar, leaning back against the wall where his tapesty and posters hang.

You smile at the smug grin on his face. Taking photographs pf himself in his bedroom like he’s documenting. What a cocky bastard. Speaking of..

“Oh..” You gasp and your eyes widen. This fourth pic. The way his eyes look into the camera. Like he’s demanding attention now. And instead of a guitar occupying his hand, it’s something much harder and yet, just as red.

Your mouth hangs as you see his fist wrapped around his cock. The way its leaking makes you wonder if he’d been jerking off or if those tight jeans he had on in the other pictures had made him this hard.

An even better question crossed your mind. Why did he take these pictures? Was it for someone? Was it for fun? Is he really that big or did the camera do him a huge favor.

You gasp when you hear the door open and unlock. You quickly put the polaroids back into the magazine and tuck it under the sofa.

“Oh hey, you’re up.” He grins as he walks in with a white envelope.

“I am.” You grin, trying to play it cool. “What’s that?”

“I’m glad you ask princess.” He flops onto the sofa next to you. “Counted the cash from last night’s dealings and added it with Hopper’s cash.”

You take the envelope and open it. “And how much is this?”

He grins. “Four thousand and fifty eight dollars.”

“Wow. We sold that much last night?”

“Yeah. But if we’re gonna reach ten thousand might wanna consider some other options.”

“I’ll.. look into it.” You look at the crotch of his jeans then away. “Um, I should probably go. Get washed up and figure out some of this.. cash situation.”

He frowns. “Can‘t hang out?”

“Sorry. I’m just hungover still.” To be fair you didn’t lie, those aspirins did nothing for your headache and you were very nauseous, especially now.

“Oh. Well you can just take my bed-“

“No! I mean, no. It’s fine Eddie, really.” You stand and he follows suit, walking you to the door.

“Should I drive you?” His brows furrow a bit.

“It’s fine. I’ll get a cab. You just take a day off, yeah?”

“You’re so weird.” He shakes his head. “Fine. Go on but me and Ozzy will not let this slide.”

“Noted.” You grin and bite your lip to shut yourself up when he hugs you, the chains from his jeans freezing your legs. The close proximity knowing what’s in his jeans. It’s suffocating, but you hug him anyways then quickly pull away.

“Bye Eddie.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

You leave his apartment and take the longest cab ride back to your apartment. The shower you tske doesn’t help you feel any cleaner. You need to get the image out of your mind, and quickly. There’s so much to focus on. You’ve got a music store to save, no time for distractions. But damn is it a good one.

series taglist: @pupwrites @sheneedsrocknroll92

pls let me know if you want to be added in the comnents, xo

[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

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[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

[whumplump]

Auction

CW: bidding for a whumpee

The lights on the big stage came on and revealed the magnitude of the scene to everyone who attended the event. Rich men and women enjoyed their glasses of wine at the tables in the main hall. They fell silent to hear the auctioneer speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is an immense pleasure to welcome you here tonight!”

He signaled to his two companions, who headed towards the back of the stage.

“Tonight, I have a special offer for you, my dearings.”

The two men returned, dragging a medium-sized cage on wheels. The auctioneer walked over to it and removed the sheet covering it, revealing a wounded and cornered figure. The poor thing in the cage looked like a trapped animal, moving their eyes across the scene, passing each of the expressionless faces in the audience.

“Here we have a magnificent specimen. Young, healthy, except for these bruises which, by the way, I apologize for my team for causing them”, the auctioneer continued and the audience laughed.

He fit his arms through a recess in the cage and grabbed Whumpee by the back of their neck. He brought them closer for the audience to see, one hand firmly holding them in place, and the other gesturing to explain.

“Look, smooth, hydrated skin. See how the skin sits comfortably over the bones. It's well fed, you can see. Healthy eyes.” He held Whumpee's jaw with his other hand and forced them to open their mouth. “Perfect teeth. Also, I must inform you, it can read and write.”

Several people in the audience began to murmur among themselves, admiring the presentation of the species for sale. An individual raised his hand, but was interrupted by the auctioneer's explosive shout.

“So, let's get started! Who gives the most for it?!”

The audience started to make their bids. Rarely, the price would stand still and the auctioneer would threaten to end the bid, but before that happened, another guest would offer a higher price. Whumpee was released by the auctioneer and went to cower in the corner of the cell. They were shaking, more from the shock than from fear. Thousands of dollars were being offered in exchange for them, as if they were an artifact, a jewel. But Whumpee knew that, in the eyes of those people, they were worth less than that; a slave.

The competition between two specific guests was fierce. At one of the tables, Caretaker feared for the fate of the poor thing selling if they fell into the hands of a rich person with ill intentions, as were most of the people there. Whenever they bet an absurd amount, Whumper came up with an even higher one.

Caretaker squirmed in their seat and ate their own nails, such was their distress. They should be like Whumper, fight for that property. What would be the point of trying to stage a protest? Specimens like the one in the cage were sold at similar auctions every week. What was so interesting about agreeing with, or even trying to reprimand, these rich, sick people?

Whumper stood up from his chair and offered sixty thousand. Caretaker imitated the move and offered ten thousand more. Some other guests in the hall had the courage to increase their bids, but nothing more than a few tens of thousands, rising little by little.

Whumper decreed: 120 thousand.

The auctioneer tapped his shoes on the floor rhythmically. The final move made him jump with excitement.

“120 thousand! Going once…”

Caretaker looked wide-eyed at Whumper, who remained standing, certain of victory. They couldn't raise the bid. It was money they didn't have. If it was worth saving that poor thing in the cage, would it be worth lying and getting into debt?

“Going twice…”

Whumpee stood in the corner of the cell and approached the bars to look into the hall, full of rich snobs. Most were bored now that the bids were impossible to beat. Two guests, standing, one of them, looking at them with a kind of compassion, the other, with malice and possession.

“Sold!”

The room erupted in applause. Whumper smiled to himself and took a big sip from his wine glass in celebration. The auctioneer gave new signals to his companions, who were ready to take Whumpee's cell back to the back of the stage.

Caretaker did not applaud, and sat down defeated.

[adult-kinda]

My Baby Alone

Warnings: mentions of death, hospitalization, comas, and disordered eating, chat this one’s angsty with a happy ending

In which Sunoo can’t leave yet…

300 days. For the past 300 days you had been visiting him. Every single day you made time to set aside your anxiety, enter that sterile building, and sit with him. You knew he wouldn’t respond. Everything in you said to let him go. The guys told you there was no hope and disbandment was in the works.

But you couldn’t. You weren’t going to give up so easily. Even if it was the tiniest voice in your soul begging you to stay.

“You would have loved to see the fans get well soon trucks today! They used your Not For Sale photos this time.” You said with a smile.

You knew he would be disappointed in you. You had lost a lot of weight and the sparkle in your eyes was gone. He would never have allowed this.

“Oh! And your photo cards are reselling for big prices too! Like thousands of dollars. The other members would be jealous.” You explained.

Once again nothing. Just the quiet beep from machinery.

“I’ve been putting in more hours. The company put out a statement announcing our relationship. I knew it’s what you would’ve wanted by now. So far not as much hate, but I try to distract myself. I’m working overtime most evenings.” You say referring to your job at the animal shelter.

The nurse stepped in the room and sighed.

“Y/N, darling, should we consider-“Don’t! Don’t even think about it.” You interrupted.

The nurse nodded and glanced at the body in the bed. Typically she wouldn’t push but it was nearing a year now. It was time.

“I know you don’t want to think about this, but it’s time. He’s not progressing.” She said.

You refused to answer her and waited for her to leave. Once she was finally gone and the door was shut you broke down. You had done so well with not crying while you were here but the possibility of losing him, it was too much.

“Why! Why would you leave me? You can’t do that!” You shouted.

Your pleas fell into the abyss of the fluorescent lights. But they weren’t unheard.

Sunoo heard you. He desperately wanted to get to you, to respond. But he was locked in and could not make his way out. He was banging on doors through an endless hallway praying someone would open.

“I thought you loved me!” You cried.

I do, princess! I do!

“Why do you insist on leaving?”

I’m trying to come back! I’m gonna find you!

“I love you so much!”

I love you too! Hold on just a little more!

When he was met with silence he assumed you’d left. But then you entered one more time. This time two other voices were with you as well as more on a mobile device.

“It’s time to let him go.” You said sorrowfully.

No! No! No!

“Are you sure? We can give you more time to say goodbye.” A male voice said.

“It’s alright, father. I think this is what he would have wanted.” A digital voice confirmed.

No! No this is not at all what I want!

Finally. After all these days of running and searching a door opened. Sunoo was running through that door and toward an image. An image of you holding his hand.

“I love you so much.”

I love you too! I’m almost there!

Pressure. Before the doctor could proceed with anything you felt pressure.

“Stop!” You shouted.

Everyone paused. You had felt phantom touches before but this, this was certainly different.

“Miss Y/N-“No! He’s here! He squeezed my hand!”

The doctor sighed. “Y/N we’ve been over this. It could be in your he-“No! Look! Grab his other hand.”

The doctor humored you and grabbed his other hand.

“Sunoo! If you can hear me squeeze your left hand!”

To the doctor’s surprise he squeezed. Hard. That was unmistakable.

“Oh my word.” He muttered.

You smiled with tears of joy streaming down.

“We’ll be there in the next hour.” Jungwon said over the phone before cutting the line.

I’m almost there, baby!

Just as Sunoo was going to step into the image he felt a tug on his arm. It was an… angel? It was so human but had wings… it was him. Sunoo was faced with a reflection of himself in the purest of whites with majestic wings.

“Come with me, it’s time. You have so many people waiting to meet you up here! And there’s kpop idols too that you would get along with.” The reflection said.

Sunoo looked at him intrigued, but you were down there.

“Come, Sunoo. You have family on the other side. Moonbin is on the other side. Jonghyun is on the other side. Your pets are on the other side. Heaven is waiting on the other side.” He said trying his hardest to convince him.

Sunoo missed these things. He had always wished he could go back and experience these people, these memories one last time.

But you were not on the other side.

“No. I’m not leaving my baby.” He said before stepping into the image.

“Doc we have signs of brain activity!” The nurse exclaimed.

Everything went so fast. Nurses were working to make sure everything was prepped. The doctor halted all end of life protocols. The priest stood outside to pray over the room. You… well you sat patiently waiting for your boy to come back to you.

Apparently you were very patient because you remained there the entire night. The rest of the Enhypen members waited outside in the waiting area, not wanting to get their hopes up.

“Good morning, Sunoo.” You greeted groggily.

You smiled when you felt a squeeze in your hand.

“I probably look a mess right now. I’m glad that you’re coming back. I’ve been missing you like crazy.”

Another three squeezes.

“Have you been missing me? I think about you seven days a week. I’ve never given up on you.”

You nodded in response to his pressure again.

“I’m excited to take care of you! You’ll stay in my apartment while you finish healing. I’ll make you all your favorite soups, hell I’ll even stock up on mint chocolate chip ice cream! I’ve been eating it since you’ve been gone, it reminds me of you.” You said with a giggle.

“I’ll be diligent. I’ll make sure you take all your medications and eat all your meals. I’ll do it all because I love you, Sunoo. I just need you to wake up for me.”

You ended your plea with a kiss on his lips. But this one was different. This time you could feel him kissing… back? There was no way! You pulled away in shock.

“My love.” Sunoo mumbled as his eyes slowly opened.

You gasped as you watched him come back to you. His eyes were opened, his voice was hoarse after not using it for so long. But none of that mattered to you. All that mattered was that he was alive.

“Sunoo!” You cried.

Sunoo saw you and gave his signature smile (albeit a little tired). “Hello my love.”

Your embrace was warm. Sunoo could get used to this again. You were so warm and loving, he knew he couldn’t afford for anyone else to hold you.

“You’re alive! You’re here and… oh Sunoo!” You sobbed into his chest.

Sunoo smiled and held you just as tightly. He had found you and was not going to let go.

He’d take your embrace over the wandering, the running through the hallway. And in the same breath he would do it all again if it meant he could spend lifetimes with you.

Heaven can wait.

[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. )