#telemarketing phone list.

[seniorsourcelist]

Maximize your telemarketing campaign with our accurate senior telemarketing lists. At Senior Source List, we provide the most comprehensive old people phone numbers and telemarketing leads that are fully compliant with the Do Not Call regulations. We offer the most comprehensive telemarketing lists, tailored to your target audience and geography.

Trust the experts with experience in senior telemarketing to boost your outreach and achieve record response rates.

[numberlistdata]

Data Warehouse Design: Expert Tips for Efficient Data Management

Are you looking to optimize your data management processes and improve the efficiency of your business operations? Look no further than expert tips on data Phone Number List warehouse design. In this article, we will delve into the world of data warehouse design and provide you with essential information to help you make the most of your data assets.

What is Data Warehouse Design?

Data warehouse design refers to the process of structuring and organizing data in a way that facilitates easy access, retrieval, and analysis. A well-designed data warehouse enables businesses to store, manage, and analyze large volumes of data efficiently, leading to improved decision-making and strategic planning.

Why is Data Warehouse Design Important?

Effective data warehouse design is crucial for businesses looking to harness the power of their data assets. By organizing data in a centralized repository, businesses can eliminate data silos, improve data quality, and enhance data accessibility. This, in turn, enables organizations to extract valuable insights from their data and drive informed decision-making.

Key Components of Data Warehouse Design

1. Data Modeling

Data modeling is a critical component of data warehouse design that involves defining the structure and relationships between different data elements. By creating a logical data model, businesses can establish a blueprint for storing and organizing data in the data warehouse.

2. Data Extraction

Data extraction involves pulling data from various sources, such as transactional databases, CRM systems, and third-party applications, and loading it into the data warehouse. This process is essential for ensuring that all relevant data is available for analysis.

3. Data Transformation

Data transformation entails cleaning, formatting, and standardizing data to make it uniform and consistent across the data warehouse. Transforming data is crucial for maintaining data quality and accuracy.

4. Data Loading

Data loading involves transferring data from staging areas to the data warehouse for storage and analysis. Businesses can choose between different loading techniques, such as full loading, incremental loading, and real-time loading, based on their requirements.

Best Practices for Data Warehouse Design

1. Understand Your Data Requirements

Before embarking on data warehouse design, it is essential to thoroughly understand your data requirements, including the types of data you need to store, the volume of data, and the frequency of data updates.

2. Establish Clear Data Governance Policies

Data governance policies are essential for ensuring data quality, security, and compliance within the data warehouse. By establishing clear governance guidelines, businesses can maintain data integrity and mitigate risks associated with data management.

3. Implement Scalable Architecture

Scalability is key to the success of a data warehouse design. By implementing a scalable architecture, businesses can accommodate the growing volume of data and users without compromising performance.

Conclusion

In conclusion, data warehouse design plays a critical role in optimizing data management processes and enabling businesses to unlock the full potential of their data assets. By following best practices and leveraging expert tips, organizations can design a data warehouse that meets their unique requirements and drives business success. Meta-description: Looking to optimize your data management processes? Explore expert tips on data warehouse design for efficient data management.

[afghanistanphone]

7 Demand Generation Tactics to Add to Your Digital Marketing Strategy

Utilize Intent Data to Locate In-Market Buyers

For demand generation strategies to improve your bottom line, secure high-quality leads, and raise brand awareness, they must be a significant component of your Afghanistan Phone Number List entire digital marketing plan.

To create high-quality leads today, you need to find ways to generate demand for your product or service through marketing efforts. These efforts can result in you expanding your reach, increasing traffic, creating buzz about your offerings, securing new high-quality leads, and positively affecting your bottom line. Yet, what are the best ways to go about it to ensure positive results and business growth? Buyers today hold higher expectations of brands, and showing them that your product or service is the solution to their needs can become challenging. Demand generation tactics and strategies, then, need to be an important part of your overall fforts. Consider incorporating these 7 demand generation tactics to help grow your business.

Data is a powerful tool to use in your marketing, so it’s no wonder that intent data is important to any demand generation strategy. Intent data provides you with valuable, highly detailed insights into those prospects already displaying signs of readiness to purchase, marking them as higher quality leads known as in-market buyers. Essentially, intent data includes information on the interests and potential next steps of a consumer and can connect you with people already searching for what you have to offer. Access to such intent data will benefit your team, preventing them from having to invent demand but instead identifying and focusing on those that are already in-market and ready to make a purchase. The more you leverage the intent data, the better you can find new prospects and create content geared specifically toward them.The value of high-quality content can never be overstated. Not only is a content marketing strategy vital to your brand with its ability to inform, educate, and influence purchase decisions of future customers, but it also can fuel your demand generation activities. The key overall is to create relevant content that meets the needs of buyers, fuels your inbound marketing initiatives and establishes authority. To build content authority, you will need to ensure that your content matches with your prospect’s pain points, content preferences, and readiness to buy. Start by developing your ideal customer profiles or buyer personas, then diversify your content offerings. Vary Your Content High-quality content that can attract prospects and build authority may include blog posts, downloadable content, webinars, podcasts, and videos. Blog Posts Use blogging to boost online visibility and attract higher-quality traffic. Let it serve as a way to engage with audiences and lead them to take some type of action, such as downloading content, signing up for a free trial or webinar, or other steps to continue learning.

Downloadable Content Downloadable content offerings are lead magnets, often inserted within blog posts, prompting the reader to download the content for more information in the form of checklists, guides, presentations, infographics, or tool kits. Webinars Webinars can build authority by creating thought leadership. Your audience is more likely to opt-in to webinars to learn more about how to overcome common pain points or how your new service or product provides a solution. Podcasts Podcasts capture the attention of your audience and can build trust. They are also convenient and often make information easier to comprehend and remember. Videos As one of the more popular content types today, videos are highly memorable, easy to digest, and stimulate viewers to take action. In all of these, SEO will play a crucial role, allowing you to rank higher up on various search engine results pages (SERPs) and attract those higher-quality leads. Address Each Stage of the Buyer’s Journey You will also need to address each stage of the buyer’s journey with your content. Awareness stage: Content needs to build awareness, such as with informational videos and blog posts. Consideration stage: Content needs to educate leads, such as with eBooks and whitepapers. Decision Stage: Content will need to nurture high-quality leads, including with case studies, blog posts with targeted keywords, and personalized webinars.

[hasilopgesvi06]

Phone number database Of Any country

Looking for a powerful and cost-effective way to enhance your telemarketing campaigns in the United States or any country with an updated and Buy Phone Number List? Our exhaustive database of phone numbers is designed to help you connect with your targeted customers. Here is my Upwork profile link, where we can talk or can start a new contract.

[awingedllama]

Functional Wall Phone

info

• free. always

• can be used by children-elder

• includes most cellphone interactions

• incoming calls can be toggled on and off by shift-clicking. if calls are enabled, phone will ring about once a day. calls include telemarketer, NPC you know would like to come over, Landgraab Power Company shutting off your power, prank call, 'unknown' caller. will add more calls in future. suggestions welcome

• some interactions will be greyed out until requirements are met (i.e. your sim needs a romantic relationship to be able to ask someone on a date)

• animation isn't perfect but i hope it's good enough

• ts2 and ts3 phone require main package (awingedllama_FunctionalWallPhone) to work

download

as always, if you notice something wrong send me a message (preferably dm, not ask)

will add more kinds of phones! currently on my list i have a 1920s phone and a rotary phone

i want to do table phones as well, but i'm figuring out the best way to go about it

note for creators: you can copy/edit my tuning as much as you like and make it your own, but if you want to create a functional phone using mine as a base, please link back to this post. i have no tou, but in case something breaks in a patch, people should have the updated version

[ghcstao3]

ghoap meet-cute (?) AU idea

but soap’s beige flag is that whenever he gets a spam/scam call he likes to pick up—despite knowing that will probably get him on some list that will only result in more calls—and answer with the most absurd thing he can think of off the top of his head at a given moment. he’s feigned implicating telemarketers in murder, pretended to be the proud owner of various nonexistent businesses with odd names, tried to debate stupid topics, and so on. it’s harmless, and it’s fun, and it’s not a habit he thinks he needs to break.

when he gets an unexpected call one afternoon from an unknown number, his response is just the same as always—this time it’s some miserable pun of a mortuary name that leaves his mouth like it’s second nature the moment he picks up.

except this time it isn’t a scam call, and instead it’s someone on the other end who sounds like they’re trying to hide a disbelieving laugh when they tell soap, sorry, must’ve dialled the wrong number.

hearing that voice, deep and pleasantly rough, soap scrambles to keep the person on the line just to listen more. he quickly explains that no, it was a joke, he just does that to annoy telemarketers, it was a stupid pun anyway, so sorry about that. soap isn’t sure the words are all that comprehensible, but he’s desperate, and that voice is attractive, and maybe it’s the wrong number but hey, i can still talk.

and they do. only for a few minutes this time, but even without names they mutually agree to save one another’s numbers, and thus begins a long-winded saga of somehow catching feelings despite not knowing one another’s real names (they only ever got as far as ghost and soap) and never seeing each other’s faces, but it happens. they make a habit of greeting each other with stupid puns, and then they make a habit of flirting, and then soap has to bite his tongue every time he has a thought of maybe asking to meet.

he never gets the chance to ask, though, because as he’s walking through the city, running errands while on the phone with ghost, soap wanders into a quiet cafe, and while he’s standing in line it’s as if he’s suddenly hearing double. soap turns to find the second source, and sees a man sitting at a table by the window, that same voice telling the same story soap is listening to from his phone.

soap risks making an excuse to hang up, forgoes ordering something out of fear ghost might leave, and forces his legs to move toward the table with the man who definitely has to be ghost, now looking a little sullen that his conversation had been ended. he slides into the seat across from ghost, immediately earning himself an apprehensive, incredibly judgemental look.

i’m john, soap says. ghost furrows his brow. from the mortuary?

it takes a moment for the recognition to register on ghost’s face, but the moment it does is glorious.

maybe soap should have asked about meeting up after all—if only to have been able to witness that smile much, much sooner.

and to think it had all started with a wrong number.

[rusty-courage]

ive been getting telemarketer calls legitimately every 20 minutes for the past two months. putting my number on a do-not-call list did not work. i've just started answering the phone pretending i work for a government facility, but i need more creative ways to engage in conversation with them to make this more interesting for me bc my go-to line is getting old. suggestions welcome

[hippolotamus]

Eddie’s thumb hovers over the location dropdown in the weather app, just like every day. And just like all those other days he allows himself to click it. The list unfolds as he huffs a humorless chuckle at how much it’s grown.

When he got his first cell, the only place he ever needed was current location. Technically, it’s still the only one he needs. Regardless he’s continued adding to it through the years. Hershey, Virginia Beach, a couple random towns in the Carolinas, Georgia and Florida. Fucking Sundance, Wyoming. All because he gave up pretending he doesn’t need to know.

It’s sunny, mid-50s today. A nice break for the time of year. Eddie scrolls through the upcoming week, noting a heavy snowstorm hitting in a few days. His nose wrinkles and he begins to worry his bottom lip between his teeth. Another thing born out of pure habit.

Not for the first time he types out a few messages before deleting them again. Eddie doesn’t even know if he’s got the right number. It’s been nearly three years since they exchanged anything at all. Not since Eddie could have manned up and told Shannon he could be a father, but not a husband. Not her husband, anyway.

He could have just been honest and said what he wanted when she finally decided to show up in her second trimester. He and Evan could have continued building a life together. But Eddie’s never claimed to be smart. Especially when it comes to all the bullshit his own dad drilled into his head about responsibility and honor and god knows what the fuck else. In the end it was too sticky to let go, trapping him like a spider web.

He can’t even say it was worth it because she loves him and they’re making it work for the sake of Christopher. Because why would that have happened? Instead all he got was a tour in Afghanistan, divorce papers (not that he’s surprised or blames her at all) and coming back to an empty house. Well, not totally empty. He’s got a son he’s still getting to know outside of a screen and shitty internet connection. A son he could have been raising with the love of his life this whole time.

Hope your coat’s warm enough, cowboy he types.

“Daddy!” Chris babbles from the floor, using Eddie’s pant leg to pull himself to standing. His toothy smile is on full display while he looks up at Eddie like he hung the goddamn moon and stars.

“Hey there little man.” Eddie tosses his phone to the side in favor of picking up his son and arranging him on his lap. Chris snatches up the yellow car from the next couch cushion, choosing to run it in a small loop over Eddie’s forearm, shoulder and chest. “Where are you off to today? Big race?”

Chris shakes his head vigorously. “Outer space,” he says as though that should have been obvious.

Eddie chuckles to himself. “Of course. How long until liftoff?”

There’s no answer as plastic wheels continue zooming along until Chris decides he’d rather be on the floor again. Eddie loosely assists as his son climbs back down. Some days are more difficult than others, but he tries to follow the physical therapist’s advice to let Chris do as much as he can by himself. She says it won’t do either of them any good in the long run. Eddie can certainly see the wisdom in that even if he’s constantly itching to roll Chris in layers of bubble wrap.

He blindly grabs for his phone, buzzing from the coffee table. “Hello?”

At first there’s complete silence and he winces thinking it’s yet another telemarketer. Before he can check he hears rustling, like someone’s covering the mouthpiece.

“Hello?” He asks again, more insistent this time.

“Uh, sorry. Didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”

Eddie thinks he might drop the phone. Or throw up. Maybe both? Probably both.

“Evan?”

tagged by the lovely and talented @monsterrae1 @spotsandsocks for Inspiration Saturday (go check their posts, I’m very excited) Instead of working on anything current, I wrote this instead. Not sure I have any actual plans to expand it, I just had to get it out of my system, y’know? So, bon appetit or whatever 💖

no pressure tagging (lmk if you want added or removed) @stereopticons @this-is-bwr @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @tizniz @theotherbuckley @elvensorceress @apothecarose @barbiediaz @buckaroosheart @buddierights @chaosandwolves @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @eowon @fortheloveofbuddie @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @heartshapedvows @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck @indestructibleheart @jesuisici33 @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @loserdiaz @spaceprincessem @statueinthestone @steadfastsaturnsrings @the-likesofus @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @thewolvesof1998 @vanillahigh00 @watchyourbuck @weewootruck @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @epicbuddieficrecs

[slasher-smasher]

Tamp-On the Heroics (Homelander x gn!reader)

Two fics in one day?? Yeah, I am absolutely bored and highly caffeinated.

This is not meant to be taken seriously. I thought the idea would be silly and funny.

Words: 1,618

Masterlist: here

Warnings: None, unless you consider ridiculousness a warning.

Reader is written as GN but they do own a feminine product. I just used it as a plot device.

Not beta read.

Summary: Homelander finds himself in a sticky situation when his son, Ryan has an accident and he grapples with the challenges of parenthood and unexpected emergencies. Being bombarded with texts from a hysterical supe boyfriend was not something you were expecting when you went to work that morning.

Your phone goes off five times during your shift at your job. At first you didn’t think anything of it. Probably just a telemarketer or some scammer calling to let you know about your “cars extended warranty”. Jokes on them, you don’t own a car. Why ride when you can fly first class on Homelander airlines?

When your phone rang a third time, you got a little curious. Maybe it was someone trying to get a hold of you. But who? Your friends are here at work with you. Your boyfriend Homelander rarely uses his phone to get a hold of you, plus he would just fly over if he really needed something. You tried sneaking your phone out to check before you boss walked like a prison warden, hands laced behind their backs, eyes scanning for anything they can chew you out for that is preventing you from doing your work. You weren’t really the best at subtlety so when you attempted to pull your phone out from your desk drawer, you almost slammed the drawer on your fingers in your hurry to close it as your boss poked their head around the corner to call you for a quick meeting in the staff room.

Damn.

After the fifth time was when you got worried. You swiped your phone then rushed into the restroom locking the door behind you. Seeing eleven notifications of missed texts made you feel a surge of panic. Your fingers tremble slightly as you unlock your phone to scroll through the messages.

Heroic Hunk : Hey pumpkin, just checking in on you. I would fly over but Ryan is visiting. 😊

Heroic Hunk: Oh, I just remembered, did you put milk on the shopping list? We are going to need more. Ryan keeps guzzling down MY milk when he puts that fucking sugary strawberry powder shit in it. I swear he was dropped as a baby. Fucking gross.

Heroic Hunk: Precious, funny story… So I was helping Ryan practice his flying and we thought playing catch would have been a fun challenge. He got a bit too into it and there may have been an accident.

Heroic Hunk: Ryan flew face first into a tree…🤦🏼

Heroic Hunk: Okay, so Ryan just had a nosebleed, and you are not picking up. I'm freaking out a bit. What do I do???

Heroic Hunk: Seriously, what's the protocol here? Should I call a doctor? Should I fly him to a hospital? Why are you not picking up??

Heroic Hunk: I'm starting to panic a bit... his nosebleed won't stop! What if it's something serious? I NEVER HAD A FUCKING NOSEBLEED BEFORE!!

Heroic Hunk: I tried using a tissue, but it's not helping much. Should I try something else? How can my kid bleed so much? ANSWER THE GODDAMN PHONE!

Heroic Hunk: Okay, update: I found something in the bathroom. I saw this being used in a movie. Going to see if it works. I’ll call you after.

Heroic Hunk: It seemed to work, but now I'm worried I've done something wrong. 😬

Heroic Hunk: Update: The bleeding stopped, but Ryan's giving me weird looks. Was that a bad move? Please advise a.k.a call me back.

Heroic Hunk: Crisis averted! 💪 Love you! 😘

You were so confused and incredibly worried now. What the fuck has happened? Why did John think having a young child—who recently just learned how—fly through a forest AND play catch at the same time was a good idea? You can’t leave your boys alone for two seconds without something either burning down or someone ends up bleeding.

You looked at the time on your phone before you pressed the call button next to the name he put in for himself.

It rang twice before he picked up.

"Hey pumpkin. You ready for me to pick you up?” He answered jovially. Like he didn’t send a plethora of panicked texts your way just an hour ago.

“Hi sweetheart. I am really sorry I didn’t answer my phone earlier. I was in a meeting. Is everything ok?” You tried to keep your voice even and calm.

“Oh yeah. Everything is all hunky-dory. Just a little mishap. We are currently watching one of my movies. Kid is mesmerized.” Homelander replied with pride and a laugh, you could hear the tv in the background. Sounds of explosions and guns going off.

“Well ok. Yeah. I am ready. Need to file away some papers but I’ll be done by the time you get here.” You sighed, still a little unconvinced but you will find out everything yourself when you get home.

“Alrighty! I’ll be there in a sec. I’ll bring your jacket too since it’s starting to get chilly. Love you.” He made a kissing noise into the phone which you replied with your own I love you too and kiss.

He was right. It was getting chilly as you waited on the roof of your office building. You started using the roof for drop offs and pick ups when using the front entrance got too hectic. Having a celebrity boyfriend who was the most powerful supe came with the pains of having people fall over themselves just to get an autograph or photo with him. The swarms got so bad that you almost broke your arm being tripped as they rushed to meet their idol. That almost ended in a bloodbath which would not go over well with your boss when you had to explain that your short-tempered man-child of a partner lasered half of the employees over an accident.

“You look like you need a ride.” Homelanders' teasing voice snapped you of your thoughts making you look up as he slowly floated down to greet you. His signature cape swishing in the cool breeze. God he was beautiful. Blue pools that sparkled with mischief. His smug smile and corny jokes made your heart race and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You were so gone for this man.

“Hey there handsome.” You greeted as you settled yourself into his warm embrace.

“You ok? You look tired.” He asked, concern can be seen in his face handing you your jacket.

“Yeah, it was just a long day. Let's go home and get some dinner. Ryan is probably hungry.” You answered as you put it on and relaxed into his arms when he wrapped his arm under your knees and lifted you easily. Thank you super strength.

You could have fallen asleep with how gentle he was with you during the short flight back but you forced your eyes to stay open.

Landing softly in the front yard of the cabin you pulled him down to plant a kiss on his lips and thanked him for the lovely ride as always. Full stars on yelp. He let out a chuckle and took your hand into his as you walked into the house.

You let out a satisfied sigh as the heat from the fire in the fireplace greeted you. Looking around the living room you didn’t see Ryan which made you frown. He usually rushes to give you a big hug but he was nowhere to be found.

“Ry? I’m home.” You called out in a normal voice. Knowing he inherited his fathers sensitive hearing so there was no need to be loud.

“I’m in my room! I’ll be right out!” You heard him respond from deeper into the home. You looked back at Homelander who just shrugged.

“Probably playing with his little Legos. He said something about recreating a scene from the movie before I left to get you.” He supplied as he walked into the kitchen.

That boy and his Legos, you thought as you followed Homelander who poured two glasses of milk and handed you one.

“Did you get my text about the list? If not, then I can have someone drive out here and get everything delivered.” He asked before he took a sip of his favorite beverage. Holding your with both hands as you also took a drink. You were not as big of a fan as Homelander is but you do enjoy the cold taste of milk occasionally.

“I did but I wanted to ask Ryan if he wanted to go with me tomorrow. You know he likes looking at the Legos in the toy section,” You said as you took another sip then a thought popped into your head. ”Speaking of text, what did you end up using for Ryan’s nosebleed anyway?”

Homelander finished his glass with a large gulp licking his lips as he set the glass down on the counter. He looked at you with a proud grin which if you were honest, made you suspicious.

“I couldn’t believe it worked but it makes sense with what it is actually designed to do. Just a different hole.” Homelander lifted his hand, pointing at the ceiling and twirling it in a circle indicating to turn around.

Wait, what? Hole?

You gave him a confused look then turned around and spat out your mouthful of milk as you saw Ryan walk into the living room with a large grin that made him look even more like his father. What ruined the similarity was the dangling string that was attached to a piece of cotton shaped into a bullet that was shoved up his nostril.

“OH MY GOD. JOHN!” You couldn’t breathe due to the giggles shaking your body.

“What? It does the same thing!” He defended.

You completely forgot you had tampons in your bathroom.

“Well it did stop the bleeding,” you managed to breathe out as you walked over to give the boy a hug.

You love your boys so much.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 6

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger" Warnings lol: blood and violence <3

A/N: Dividers by @firefly-graphics

series masterlist

chapter 6: the masquerade

Was going through her sister’s phone unethical? Sure. Was this whole thing a huge fucking risk she shouldn’t be taking? Certainly. Was she doing it anyway?

Hell, yes, she was.

After going their separate ways, Osha turned over the half-promise she’d given the stranger two days ago. 

I’ll think about it.

It was a curse. Here, in the unforgiving clarity of Wednesday, she could think about nothing else. Training with someone who saw potential and value in her sounded better than heaven.

But he’d left her with no way to give him her answer. He told her he couldn’t risk stopping by the Temple as often as he had been. I am banned, you know.

That was how she justified this insanity. I have no way of getting through to him like normal, and Mae was the only person who regularly met with him. She’s the best bet for finding him. And besides, she’s been lying to me for two years; I deserve to be a little ethically questionable.

Even still, the air was thick with tension—but that could’ve just been steam from the shower.

None of the contacts she scrolled through looked like they fit the stranger. Would she even save his number in her phone? She checked the text threads next, her eyes entirely focused on the unsaved numbers. Perhaps resignation had her gliding past the threads with Sol, and the multiple group chats Mae was a part of—places where Osha didn’t belong.

She must have deleted his shit the second she cut ties with him.

Osha bit down hard on her lower lip to bury her frustration. Where else, where else…

NYAAAAA!

“Fucksake, Pip, don’t be a fucking narc,” she whispered, removing the kitten from the room and resuming her shady behavior.

Mae dropped a bottle in the shower, nearly sending Osha jumping out of the window in fright. It was a miracle she stayed quiet. She refocused, ignoring the slight tremble of her fingers. 

Oh shit, why didn’t she check there first?

She found the list of blocked numbers in Mae’s call records and, instead of screenshotting it and sending it to herself, took a picture of the screen with her phone. It was old school, but it left no trace.

One of these better be him.

Mae shut off the shower, and Osha quickly put her phone back where it had been and walked out of the room without looking back. She was jumpy through dinner, but since she and Mae still weren’t talking, she didn’t have to explain herself.

Afterward, she retreated to her room and performed a round of isometric poses to steady her nerves. It helped soothe the persistent ache in her leg immensely. The pleasant burn in her calf licked flames across where her ligaments usually felt brittle and iced over. Doing the exercises before bed was a double-edged sword: on one hand, she’d be warm and loose all night; on the other… it made her think of him.

The dreams left her feeling hotter than the exercises did.

What was it Mae said? You’re playing with fire? It certainly felt like it—but in this weather, she didn’t mind a bit of heat.

To temper her obsession a little, she gave herself only ten minutes to research each phone number from the photo. She quickly ruled out telemarketers, spam numbers, and various persons who wanted to contact Mae about her car’s extended warranty.

The last number on her list felt… different. It brought up zero results online, not even on a reverse number lookup. She’d been about to type it into her phone to send a probing text, but her ten minutes were up. She couldn’t get in over her head, lest the stranger consume too much of her life before she knew his name.

And what if this wasn’t even his number? She didn’t want to go to sleep disappointed if the gamble didn’t pan out. She saved the number in her phone as ? and tried not to think about it.

Everything seemed to have lost its shine on her next shift at the cafe. The coffee smelled stale, and she could not ignore her sticky hands like she used to. Every painful hour spent on her feet felt like an eternity. She needed something new.

She’d needed a lot of something new for a while now.

The silence between her and Mae continued at home. The next time family dinner rolled around, she excused herself. She only saw Sol and Mae at the Temple.

Even the classes Sol led felt off. Try as she might to put in maximum effort, she’d grown out of Sol’s tentative instruction. Her jabs landed harder on the heavy bags, some sounding like thunderclaps that split the empty air. Her legs itched to kick and thrash beneath her despite the backlash it would yield in the gym.

She even tried a few kicks on the bag in the apartment gym, which saw more of her the following week than in the last six months. What it didn’t see was the stranger.

The stranger had her fucked up. Big time.

She couldn’t rely on luck or coincidence when she wanted to see him anymore. Next time she got lucky, she promised herself, she would get his damn number at the very least.

“This is a shit idea,” Osha muttered to herself as she walked down the street. “You’re fucking nuts, Osha.”

She’d been so focused on watching out for black ice on the sidewalk that she didn’t see that the Unknown Planet neons were all off until she’d opened the front door halfway, finding nothing but pitch-black silence within.

Every light was off, save for one at the far wall from the door. Osha stepped back a little, letting the door fall shut. The operation hours stared back at her: moonrise to sunrise.

Under the perpetually overcast sky of winter, she couldn’t tell, but she was pretty sure it was a new moon. You can’t have a moonrise with no moon, she reasoned.

But then, why was the door still open?

Osha retrieved her can of bear spray from her backpack and flicked off the safety with her thumb. She entered the empty bar quietly, on cat-light feet. When the door closed behind her, the cacophony of the city changed to a stark, screeching silence. She didn’t dare move a muscle.

Her eyes acclimated to the darkness, her ears to the silence. Very faintly, she made out the sounds of raised voices, cheers, and jeers. She stayed alert as she crept around tables crowned with upturned chairs. She stopped to listen again when she reached the singular lit sconce at the end of the cavernous bar.

The noise had grown louder, but Osha could still hear the familiar ding-ding! of a match bell. Was there a boxing gym upstairs? Nobody at the Temple cheered that loud at the events hosted there.

A set of stairs she hadn’t seen a week ago led up to a steel door on a small landing. A tattooed and bored bouncer wasn’t looking down the staircase at her; instead, he was peering through the small window in the door, looking in on whatever was happening inside.

Osha pulled back into the darkness. What was she doing? She was in an unfamiliar area of the city, chasing down hope of seeing a guy whose name she didn’t know, and she had no way of knowing where her damned curiosity would take her. She thumbed off the safety on her bear spray but kept the tube tucked in her sleeve just in case.

The bouncer frowned as she walked up the stairs. Up close, she could see two matching cauliflower ears, a split lip, and neck tattoos—and explicit confirmation that he was built like a brick shithouse. Osha met his eyes anyway, saying nothing.

“You’re coming in pretty late, miss. Half the fights are already done.” His voice was as gravelly and deep as she imagined, but the politeness took her a little off guard.

She tried channeling Mae as she told a small lie. “I was told the wrong time.”

The bouncer looked her over with a more critical eye, grunting. “Well. Hope whoever told you gets their shit rocked tonight.”

He opened the door for her, and she was instantly hit with a wall of noise. Hot air, humid from effort and shouting, hit her next, followed by the scent of sweat—and a little bit of blood. She tugged her hood over her head as she walked in, embracing a bit of stifling heat in exchange for a concealed appearance. It was doubtful anybody here would recognize her, though.

Though the area was centrally lit to highlight the festivities, she could tell this wasn’t a boxing gym—a fighting gym, but not for any discipline she knew. What she thought were people standing on the wall turned out to be body-opponent bags lined up with military precision. All the equipment was set with evident respect and intentionality, not a thing out of place as far as she could tell.

And in the center of the room stood a cage.

She’d done some research into what he’d been talking about. She knew most MMA fights took place in a fenced-in open-air ring, but those rings never had a lid. The cage walls were pretty high, about twice the height of the average man. It seemed less like a fighting ring for humans and more like an inhumane, fucked-up snow globe full of violence.

Surrounding it was a crowd of around seventy-five people, bunched so close it almost seemed they were part of the platform. Three sets of bleachers held the rest of the observers, and a half-dozen more leaned on the rail of a balcony overlooking all at one end of the cavernous space.

Inside the cage, two men fought with wicked-looking spears—halberds, if she remembered correctly. The crack! of the shafts connecting jarred her from her drifting fugue, and Osha approached the crowd so she wouldn’t be seen as an outsider and garner unwanted attention.

Was this where the stranger trained and fought? It had to be—one of the fighters slashed the other across the chest in a small spray of blood. Instead of crying out or screaming, the injured competitor groaned in frustration over the sound of mixed cheering and grumbling. It was the single most confusing reaction to violence she’d ever seen.

She got closer despite her self-preservation screaming otherwise. The heady scent of spilled blood hung in the air like incense, and this brutal, lawless place suddenly felt more sacredly profane than anywhere else she’d ever been. This was no church or temple, but it was powerfully holy nonetheless. 

Osha found a place for herself in the stands.

As the previous fighters left the cage and melted away into the locker rooms, two more took their place. The announcer, a tall, pale man with spindly old-man arms, called their names like a pro wrestling emcee. Some matches had both fighters wielding weapons; others only had one weapon thrown in the middle to be fought over for advantage. Very few matches were unarmed, and when they were, it was indescribably brutal to see. The rules of engagement became clear in one of those bare-knuckle fights:

First blood wins the bout but doesn’t stop it—only the timer, submission, or unconsciousness did. Only one submission happened during the night, and when it had, the crowd was in an uproar, near-humiliating the poor soul who didn’t want his shoulder dislocated.

It seemed that for legal purposes, some holds were barred here.

She traded off between watching the fight and watching the audience, and she couldn’t tell who was more bloodthirsty.

After about an hour of fights, some unspoken signal rippled through the crowd. All at once, a hush fell over the entire space, reverent as a moment of benediction.

“For our final match,” the announcer called, “we have moved away from spears and swords to return to Pure! NHB! Fighting!” The crowd joined in his excitement, rattling the old aluminum seats beneath her. A quick glance at the balcony showed it empty. 

“—I’ve got eighty on White-Top tonight.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Smiley can’t win every time.”

Osha listened in on the conversation beside her, keeping her eyes on the announcer grandstanding at the center of the ring. He vamped while two expedient workers squeegeed off the blood from the floor mat.

“If you’re still betting on that, you’re welcome to lose your money. The thing place worth placing bets on is in the inner-ring particulars.”

“Like what?”

“—bring you eight of the finest fighters this gym has to offer! In one corner, the rookie in yellow—”

“—Who goes down first, who does Smiley take down first—”

“The Dizzykid!”

“—and how long it’ll take to put ‘em down.”

Mild applause started as a shirtless man bounced into the ring. He did a hopping lap before settling against one of the corners. Rookie confidence, Osha’s fighting mind said. The yellow balaclava he wore looked fucking nasty, half stained with old blood. The two gamblers beside her spoke in unison.

“He’s going down first.”

She probably shouldn’t have laughed. She���d done her best not to draw attention to herself for the last hour of fights, but at the unanimous and bored condemnation of the Dizzykid, she couldn’t help herself. Luckily, the gamblers didn’t seem to hear it; even if they did, they didn’t care.

The announcer spoke through the rest of the introductions, men and women fighting in one bout together. Most of the contenders were fresh to this competition, but many bore scars that must have come from previous fights like the ones she saw before.

They all had ridiculous names, too: Dizzykid, White-Top, and a handful of others she didn’t care remembering.

The final two were introduced as repeat champions from the month before. The penultimate fighter, who wore a purple hood, was called Daybreak. She looked well-sunken into her role in the ring, all quiet confidence and restrained power.

“Daybreak was one of our two-left-standing last month and will get to defend her name and title just like her final counterpart: your nine-month reigning champion here to make it ten, the undefeated, the terrifying, SMILEY!”

The eighth fighter walked into the cage, and it instantly felt like she’d gone into freefall. Distantly, as if underwater, she could hear the crowd going wild for him. The seven fighters in the ring were already honed to precision, each beautiful and strong, but this one was heart-stopping. She clung to one solid second of denial before accepting the truth of who those huge, beefy biceps belonged to—

That was her stranger in the mask.

He wore a black balaclava. Stitched in silver to make a horrifying toothy smile, Smiley’s moniker was straightforward.

God, she hoped Smiley wasn’t his real name.

“Welcome, gentlemen—welcome, ladies.” The announcer addressed them directly, shifting from entertainer to referee. Osha did not need to strain to hear him speak because the room had gone quiet as a crypt in respect and anticipation.

The rules were simple: 30 minutes on the clock, eliminations by knockout, submission, or heavy injury.

“When you hear this whistle—” he blew a whistle four times.  “You will grab the cage with both hands and stand still until we drag out the fallen. When you hear this bell—” Ding! “The fight resumes. If you make it to the final two, congrats. If you don’t, it’s not my problem. Now: Fighters!” He blew his whistle four times.

Sixteen hands found the fence.

The announcer left the ring.

The crowd’s excitement built.

And when the bell went off—

Chaos.

Four of the fresh fighters descended on the stranger, hunting the biggest game in the cage. Osha watched in awe as he leaped straight into the air and grabbed the top of the cage. Two of the fighters whiffed their punches beneath him, and he came down right on top of them.

There were probably other things happening in the cage, but she could only watch him.

Brash and eager, the Dizzykid went down first, knocked out by the kick to the face the stranger gave him. White-Top went down next. One of the gamblers beside her groaned. Osha grinned.

The stranger was a blur in the cage, all his punches and kicks coming too fast for her to track at times. When he paused, facing away from her, her breath stuck in her throat at the sight of the thick, purple-white scar tissue slicing across his back. It made more sense now: why he was so dedicated to injury recovery and proper form.

Wouldn’t you, if you had your back broken in four places?

Her chance at melancholic reverie passed as her stranger continued to put down his remaining opponents. The other two had gone after Daybreak—if she went down, they might make it to the cage next month.

The bubbling energy of the crowd was infectious, and Osha gave in to the temptation to get a little reckless, joining the cheers. “Let’s go, Smiley! Put ‘em the fuck down!”

The stranger froze mid-swing.

Fortunately for him, the ref blew his whistle four times right then, and the fight paused.

Unfortunately for her, the stranger stalked to the closest fence near Osha. He held onto it but pressed closer, forehead against the chain links. He’s looking for me. The other fighters faced inward, but not him, readying themselves for the fight ahead.

His eyes blazed with heat as he scanned the crowd. He was like a rabid animal, an overheated gun, a bloody, jagged edge digging deep wherever he wanted to cut. When he found her, she felt it in her bones. She raised a hand and gave a cheeky wave, smiling.

He tilted his head to the side before sticking his fingers through the fence, waving as much as possible.

The body haulers left the ring.

The cage door closed behind them.

The stranger was still not looking away—

Ding!

The stranger took less than fifteen seconds to put down the remaining rookies, leaving him and Daybreak standing. The crowd rippled with unease. Even Daybreak seemed baffled, staggering a few steps back from the sudden total violence.

The stranger returned to where he’d been standing fifteen seconds before, pressing his face fully against the fence like Osha was nothing but inches away from him.

The crowd around her was stunned. “How’d he do that so fast?”

“Smiley is just playing with his food whenever the fights go longer than five minutes, isn’t he?”

“I think his first fight lasted eight.”

“How long was this? I can’t see the—”

“Three minutes?! What the—”

“Five takedowns tonight? Daybreak looks like she just shit her trunks.”

“Nah, Smiley respects her too much to—”

“I don’t think Smiley even looked her way tonight.”

Osha could feel eyes on her, but she didn’t look at them. She was still staring at the stranger. As the last bodies were dragged out of the cage, he drifted backward to the center for the results. After they were announced, he said something to the emcee, who nodded but didn’t seem surprised.

Daybreak and Smiley disappeared when they left the cage, and the crowd dispersed to mingle or otherwise leave. To avoid the curious stares, Osha found a dark corner to stand in. She’d become damn near nose-blind to the scent of blood, but the sight of it being squeegeed off the mats was still slightly morbid.

Someone approached her hiding spot.

“Are you Osha?”

It was the announcer. This close, he loomed—even taller than the stranger. Only then did she remember the bear spray in her sleeve.

“Who’s asking?”

“You can call me Mr. Wise. Smiley asked for you.” She could see the glint in his eyes. He was dangerous but in a different way than her stranger. “Will you come with me?”

Alarm bells rang like hell in her head, but she chose to dance along to the tune. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Wise led her to a small door near where she’d come in; stairs led to the level above and the bar below. It smelled more like cigarettes than blood in here. “Just up there. The black door at the end.” Then he left her alone.

At the end of the long, twisting flight of stairs, Osha found... dressing rooms? The landing she stood on was connected to a hall of doors, as well as an open archway to access the balcony from before. The doors she passed matched the balaclavas of the cage fighters: yellow, white, blue… and black at the end of the hall.

The first six doors were open and empty, but the black and purple doors for Smiley and Daybreak were closed. The second she stood before the black door, it swung inward, and there he was.

He’d taken off the mask. His hair was damp from the shower he must have taken, and some of it was twisted back out of his face with little fasteners, just like the night she met him. The body heat radiating off of him was felt even standing out there in the hall. It’d been six days since she last saw him, and the bright smile he gave her had her insides scrambling around like a game of musical chairs. Six days, and he still looked just as good as he did in her memory.

“Osha.”

His eyes burned with a fire she knew well—the last time she felt it, she’d been given a great shiny trophy and belt. Her stranger’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she spotted the darkening bruise forming on his jaw. The cut on his cheek from several days ago had healed, and the bruise around it had faded from a red-purple to a pale yellow-green. One bruise out, one bruise in. That was the price of fighting.

“Tell me your name isn’t really Smiley,” Osha blurted out.

His smile widened. “I’m only Smiley sometimes. Come in; I was doing cooldown.”

He opened the door wider for her to come in. His dressing room was sparse but not gross like the others she’d seen in the hall. After all, this room had been solely his for the last ten months. She spotted a few things she recognized on the small table: the black hoodie, backpack, and glasses. Hanging off two small clips was the mask he’d worn to fight, dripping wet.

She approached it curiously. “It’s a little freaky, isn’t it?” she said over her shoulder.

“I didn’t choose it.”

She turned to look at him. He was in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, barefoot. Red blotches bloomed across his body, lucky shots while he made felling blows. He was holding his hands over his head, stretching his biceps, triceps, and other muscle groups that looked too good for her to think straight. He stood very still for her while she looked at him, and a little zing of pride and power zipped down her spine.

“But… I have to win it again every time I wear it.”

She didn’t know what to say when she met his eyes again, her gaze snapping up from where it had drifted to the waistband of his sweats. He was smirking a little. Caught.

He moved them away from the potentially awkward silence by sitting on a yoga mat and resuming his cool-down stretches. She took a seat on the only chair in the room.

“How’d you hear about the fights?” he asked, falling into a deep stretch. His flexibility shouldn’t have set her heart to stutter, but she’d never seen a man go so deep in her life. The scars on his back stood out in sharp relief from this angle, and this close, she could see that they were a mix of traumas: surgery and injury twisted over themselves in a snarling knot with no end.

It’s what her ankle looked like.

“I, uh, didn’t,” she said after a few seconds of silence. He turned his head to peek an eye at her. Go on. “I didn’t even know there was a gym. I just wanted to go to the bar, but the lights were off.”

“And you just went in?”

“The door was open. And…” She pulled the bear spray out of her sleeve and showed it to him before putting it in her bag. “I wasn’t without protection.”

“Smart girl.”

She nearly choked on air but quickly recovered. When her bag was zipped, she crossed her legs and cleared her throat. “You don’t live in the city this long and feel safe without a can of bear spray,” she said.

“You could carry an actual weapon.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Why?”

“I’d probably hurt myself before I hurt anybody else.”

He released the pose and adjusted his grip to stretch his feet and ankles. She recognized the different stretch combinations he was doing—she did them every night before bed. Her mind threatened to teeter into that can of worms, but he pulled her out of it.

“Don’t count yourself out, Osha. What’d I tell you? You’re a lion.” When he gave a breathy laugh and showed her his languid smile, she recognized more than the exercises—she saw more of herself in him than anticipated. His goofy grin wasn’t just part of a conjured persona. This was how he truly smiled when he hit that fighter’s high. It was how she smiled.

“I didn’t mean to distract you earlier.”

He laughed at the half-apology, pulling his feet in for a groin stretch. He tugged his shorts up his thighs for better flexibility, and he watched her reaction from the corner of his eye. His expression said, now, who’s distracted?

“You didn’t distract me,” he said, giving her a break and looking down. You surprised me, sure. I thought I got my bell rung and was hearing what I wanted.” He leaned into the stretch, groaning softly at the deeper burn. “I was glad to see you,” he said tightly. She wondered how much of it was from muscle strain and how much was from emotion.

Her heart galloped behind her ribs. Hearing him speak like that, make sounds like that—god, she was in trouble. She took a shuddering breath and held it to try and get her shit together, but it only half-worked.

“I was glad to see you, too.” She could only see a sliver of his face, but she saw him smile. “I liked, uh, seeing you fight. I’d been wondering about it for a while.”

“Oh, I’ve been on your mind?” he smirked at her, but his expression wasn’t remotely malicious.

“Can you blame me?”

The stranger seemed pleased with her answer, a shared refrain from several conversations together. He released the stretch and rolled seamlessly onto his back, holding one knee to his chest. He lolled his head to the side to look at her, self-satisfied. “Why did you come to the bar tonight, Osha?”

He was going to make her say it. Bastard.

“Well, Yord hasn’t broken the espresso machine, and you said you weren’t coming around anyway. You haven’t been at the apartment gym, and I couldn’t find anything about you on the internet to track you down. You’re very hard to get ahold of, you know.”

“I know.”

“So the last place I knew you might be… was here. Well, downstairs.”

He nodded, idly tracing his thumb over his kneecap. It was distracting. “You’ve been looking for me, then?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Damnit, hadn’t she said enough for him? He blinked at her, lazy as a cat but twice as sharp.

Fuck it.

“I wanted to see you.”

He made a pleased noise, switching to hold his other leg. He settled into the stretch, breathing slowly like he was savoring those five words he’d dragged past her lips. “Have you thought about my offer?”

She supposed she’d gotten what she wanted. If she was pursuing him this hard, she had her answer. Why did she go looking for him? She wanted to see him. Why did she want to see him? Because she wanted to train—or perhaps another reason she wasn’t being honest with herself about.

He released his leg and sat up fluidly, kneeling before her. He rested both hands on his thighs and tilted his head to the side, considering her openly. Messy-haired, skin still bright and flushed from the fight, kneeling on the floor, he looked penitent, beseeching.

“What do you want, Osha?”

“In order?”

“If you wish.” His lips twitched, suppressing a smile.

She held up three fingers, ticking them off one by one. “In order: I want your number, I want a drink, and I want you to train me.”

CHAPTER 7

[munson-blurbs]

could you write about eddie and the reader suppose to be going out together but the reader thinks eddie stood them up but he got into a super bad car accident is in the hopsital and the reader doesn’t find out about it til a couple days later

I couldn't make reader wait too long because I couldn't do that to myself her, but I hope you like this! Sorry it took so long.

Warnings: car accident, mention of injuries, slight angst, some language

WC: 1.2k

--

Eddie was supposed to pick you up for your first date at 7:00 PM. You didn't expect him to show up on time; you'd been friends with him long enough to know that punctuality was not his forte, but he was now an hour and a half late. That was a lot, even for Eddie.

You dialed his phone number for the third time, listening to the ring until Wayne's recorded voice greets you.

You've reached Eddie and Wayne. Leave a message.

"Hey, Eds," you start. "It's me again. Just wondering if you were on your way, or if you forgot about...anyway, call me back when you get this." You hang up the phone, tears prickling in your eyes.

Maybe it was all a prank, or a stupid dare from one of the Hellfire guys. It made sense; why else would Eddie have asked you out after all this time? You'd been crushing on him for years.

You settle onto the couch, grabbing a bag of potato chips despite your appetite all but disappearing at the prospect of being the butt of their joke. You pick up the phone again, but you don't call Eddie this time.

"Henderson residence," Dustin's chipper voice perks you up briefly; the boy was always kind to you.

"Hi, Dustin," you say somberly, trying not to show how sad you truly are.

"Y/N? he asks, worry evident in his tone. "What's wrong? Aren't you supposed to be out with Eddie?"

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks as your emotions get the best of you. "He stood me up," you tell Dustin quietly. "Be honest with me, please--was this all a joke?"

"No. No, no no," he insists. "Eddie hasn't shut up about you or this date for ages. And he would never do that to you. The guy worships the ground you walk on."

You roll your eyes at his dramatics; carrying your books for you and kicking Gareth or Jeff out of the passenger seat of the van so you could sit there certainly was not worshipping the ground you walk on.

"Look," Dustin continues, "let me figure out what's going on. I'll call you as soon as I get info."

"Thanks," you croak out. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course," he says before hanging up with a click.

~

The phone ringing wakes you up from a dreamless sleep. You've passed out on the couch; the clock on the wall reads 2:37 AM. Who would be calling at this hour? Dustin was an intense kid, but even he would wait until the sun was up to call you back.

You snatch up the receiver before the bleating can wake your family. "H-hello?" you harshly whisper.

"Hi, is this Y/F/N Y/L/N?" an unfamiliar female voice comes over the line.

"Yeah? Who's this?" you question suspiciously. She didn't sound like a telemarketer or a crank caller.

"I'm Shelby, a nurse at Hawkins General Hospital," she explains. "Your friend, Edward Munson, was brought here earlier tonight after he was in a car accident." She pauses for a moment. "You were listed as an emergency contact on some previous paperwork he'd filled out the last time he was here."

You remember that; he'd broken his ankle last year while jumping off of the stage at the Hideout. Since Wayne was at work, he'd put down your name and number.

"Car accident?" you sputter, sitting up quickly. You're suddenly wide awake. "Is he okay?"

"He is now," she tells you gently. "His car was hit head-on by someone driving the wrong way, and it flipped. The paramedics had to cut him out of his seatbelt."

Your throat is dry and you feel your stomach lurch. "Oh my God," you whisper.

"We're still waiting on the scan results to ensure there's no internal bleeding," Shelby continues, "but he's awake now, which is a good sign. Keeps asking for you."

Your heart melts at this. "I'll be right there," you tell her earnestly. You technically weren't supposed to take the car without your parents' permission, but they would make an exception for this circumstance.

The drive there seems to take an eternity, and you run into the emergency room as soon as you kill the engine.

"I'm here to see Eddie--Edward--Munson?" you tell the receptionist, panting from your sprint. "I'm his emergency contact." You give her your name, and she nods.

"He's in room 110," she informs you, pointing down a quiet hallway. You quickly find his room, knocking gently at the already open door.

"Tryin' to sleep," Eddie's groggy voice floats by, thinking it's another nurse dropping by to take his vitals yet again.

"Eds," you say softly, "it's me."

His eyes widen as he unsuccessfully tries to push himself up on the bed. He winces at the pain and slumps back down.

"Don't get up," you tell him, pulling the armchair over to his bedside. You take his hand in yours, mindful of the IV needle taped to the back. A brace collars his neck and his left arm is wrapped in a sling. Bruises are forming around his eyes, and scratches mar his cheeks and forehead. "What happened?" you ask, rubbing your thumb along his.

He grimaces as he tries to look into your eyes, momentarily forgetting about his neck brace. "I was driving down Miller Road and this asshole comes barreling down, smashing into the van and sending it flying." He exhales, resting his good arm around his aching ribs. "Stupid schmuck didn't even stop. Someone else ran into a nearby store and called 9-1-1."

"I'm just glad you're alive," you murmur, gently placing a kiss on his cheek. "But wait," you pause, "why were you driving down Miller? You don't need to go that way to get to my house."

Eddie manages a small laugh. "Yeah, but I needed to go that way to get to the florist," he admits. "Wayne told me that if I waited all this time to take you out and didn't even bother to bring you flowers, he would smack me with my own guitar."

You giggle at the thought of Wayne threatening his nephew. "Knew that man was a romantic at heart."

"Nah, he just didn't want me to mess things up with the girl of my dreams." A blush creeps into his scarred face.

"Well," you sigh, looking around the room, "this wasn't exactly what I pictured for our first date, but it'll do." You stand up and release his hand. "Give me a sec, okay?"

"Where are y--" but he can't finish his thought before you dash out of the room, returning 15 minutes later with an armful of treats from the hospital cafeteria.

"All right," you start, placing the food on the table next to him, "we've got some sandwiches, pretzels, potato chips, and apple juice. Oh," you remember, "and this." You hand him a plastic container with a piece of chocolate cake. "The cashier said it's the best thing there, although he may have just been trying to get rid of me."

You fiddle with the radio until you find something resembling smooth jazz. Eddie wrinkles his nose. "What the hell is this?"

"It's mood music," you tease. "Did you think we were gonna listen to metal on our first date?"

Eddie chuckles lightly, careful of his sore body. "I'd listen to anything as long as I'm with you."

Your face lights up. "Even--"

"Not Madonna!"

--

[seniorsourcelist]

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[dazed--xx]

One More Time Masterlist

Post date: April 7, 2023

Member: Felix x reader

Trigger warnings: toxic relationships, ANGST, break up, death in many forms, suicide attempts, Groundhog Day effect, smut, strong language, mentions of vocal nodules, grim reaper, etc(more will be added as the story progresses)

A/N: so I absolutely love the Kdrama One More Time and this is 100% based on that. It’s also called the day after we broke up. Please watch the show it’s really great honestly it’s like really raw and angsty and just my cup of tea anyway I hope you guys anticipate this coming out soon. Also it’s not my line divider I did not make it and I reblogged the creators post with the one I used so please like their post please.

What happens when you fall out of love with the one you loved the most? Lee Felix’s star is rising, but his love for his band is fading. He’s growing more and more tired of his girlfriend, and is excitedly prepared to breakup with her when something happens that changes their fate. As Felix wakes up the next day things begin to seem oddly familiar, from the telemarketer call to the slight run-in with his landlords thugs, He quickly realizes that October 4th is happening all over again. Using the opportunity to his advantage Felix spends his repeating day, basking in the glory soon he misses the band he once found happiness with and wonders what becomes of his girlfriend he continuously broken up with during his time warp. When Felix soon discovers his girlfriend’s fate at the end of each day, his world shifts and the once happy free memory of the time warp becomes a slow personal hell for him. As the torturous day continues to repeat itself all Felix can wonder is will he ever get to see October 5th?

Episode Guide

Character list

Episode 1: Lee Felix, vocalist of the band, One More Time, prepares to confess his love to his girlfriend Y/N. Seven years later, he’s bored, broke, and annoyed by it all; luckily, he’s found a way to get everything he’s ever wanted

Episode 2: From the spam phone call to the meeting with an entertainment company representative, everything seems to be an odd repeat of yesterday for Felix.

Episode 3: After countless days of excessive spending, partying and gambling, Felix finally begins to wonder how his other band members and Y/N are doing.

Episode 4: Determined to change how the day ends, Felix tries to avoid anything that could go wrong and decides it’s a perfect time to take Y/N on an sporadic adventure

Episode 5: Seven Years Ago, Felix and his band have their first public performance when Y/N becomes their first audience member. Meanwhile, Y/N contemplates her relationship with Felix.

Episode 6: Y/N makes a deal with the grim reaper, Felix continues to try to change how the day ends to no avail, leaving him defeated and devastated

Episode 7: Y/N grows ever more tired of Felix’s stoic unloving attitude toward her and walking on eggshells until he eventually breaks up with her. Felix decides he’d rather die than watching Y/N suffer once more. The grim reaper tells Felix how he can stop the time warp.

Episode 8: Again and Again Y/Ns heart gets broken, while Felix continues to work on his surprise to make Y/N happy once more.

[bornonthesavage]

Tell Me "Don't", So I Can Crawl Back In Part 4

Part 3  Part 5 Read on AO3

“No, Scoob, don’t go in there! The abandoned mine shaft is exactly the place a scary monster would be!”

Eddie shouted his warning at the tv, knowing full well they never took his advice. Currently, he was hung upside down on his sofa, waiting to see how long it would take before the blood pounding in his head was enough to make him dizzy. Wayne had asked him, many times, why he didn’t just… not do it. But that had been before he’d learned it was best to just let Eddie do as he wished. Besides, Wayne wasn’t here right now. It was after eight on Wednesday night, which meant he’d already left for his night shift at the plant.

That left Eddie free to be as loud as he liked, and he did like. The only downside to hanging upside down like an oversized bat was the hit his already dreadful coordination took. But hey, he’d like to see anyone try and eat chips like this! As it was, he accidentally spilled half the bag of cheese puff over his face and onto the carpet.

“Crap.”

Bracing his hands on the floor, he lowered his face until he was able to grab a few puffs with his lips. See, this was more practical anyway. He was a genius. Now if he could just get every teacher at school to believe it.

Speaking of school, today had been just as weird as the last thanks entirely to Steve god damn Harrington. Eddie didn’t get it. First, he’d come to him in the hall. And not even for any particular reason, apparently. Just to talk. Which, yeah, bizarre. Then at lunch, just like the day before, he’d plopped himself down right next Eddie as if he’d been there the whole time. As if jocks dined with the freaks on a regular basis. Because yeah, he’d said he wanted to sit with them, but Eddie had thought he was joking. Surely, after one lunch period, he would come to his senses and realize he didn’t belong there. Apparently not.

The problem was, Eddie couldn’t figure out what his angle was. It couldn’t just be that he’d lost his old friends. He was Steve Harrington. He could join any group he wanted. Eddie and his friends had to be on the very bottom of the list of potential besties.

Maybe Steve was just looking for a hookup to cheap drugs. That was definitely a possibility. Plenty of people were nicer to Eddie for the sole purpose of not being up charged on their weed. Why would Steve be any different? And if that was the case, well. Eddie wasn’t going to say no to Steve’s sweet smiles. He could knock a few bucks off the drugs for that. Because while he might be a virgin, in his heart, he was a bit of a desperate slut.

The phone rang then, the shrill noise cutting through the sound of the tv and nearly making Eddie fall off the couch. He caught himself in time and rolled into a standing position. Brushing the Cheeto dust off his fingers, he trotted over to the phone.

“Hanks Roadside Diner, you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em. What can I do for you?”

For a moment, there was silence on the other side. When nobody spoke, Eddie decided it must be a telemarketer and began to hang up. That is, until he heard “Uh, Eddie?”

And shit, he knew that voice. It had starred in his dreams for the past two nights, making for very messy morning cleanups. Eddie’s heart stuttered uncomfortably in his chest. Why the fuck was Steve calling him? When Eddie didn’t answer, Steve spoke again.

“Uh, sorry, I must have the wrong number.”

“No!” Eddie cried, then cringed at how loud he’d been. “No, uh, this is Eddie.”

“Oh.” There was a beat of silence. “Dude, why would you answer your phone that way?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Uh, because this is my phone and I can do what I want. Plus, it scares away junk callers.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense. Oh, this is Steve, by the way.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that. But um, how did you get my number?”

Steve was silent for a second. “Well, there was only one Munson in the phonebook, so I took a wild guess that it was you.”

What the fuck? Eddie leaned back against the wall and began to twist the cord around his finger. “So you’re telling me you went out of your way to look me up?”

There was some rustling on the other end of the line, as if Steve was moving around. “I mean, yeah, I guess. It wasn’t really out of my way, since I already had the phonebook. And yes, I can read, if that was what you were going to say next.”

Eddie grinned. “Wow, I’m flattered that you already know me so well. But back to the topic at hand. To what do I owe the pleasure of King Steve calling on little old me?”

Steve cleared his throat. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat with me.”

The phone nearly fell out of Eddie’s hand as he jerked up right. Surely, he hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

Steve began to ramble. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t have anything to eat at the house right now, so I was going to go out anyway, but it’s always more fun to go with someone. And Darcy’s Diner is open for another two hours, so I figured that would be the perfect place for a late dinner. Have you been? It’s pretty good. They cook a mean burger. But, I mean, only if you haven’t eaten yet? Which, crap, I realize it’s eight o’clock so you probably have.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring into the middle distance. What the hell was going on? There was no way Steve was asking him out. Maybe he was still on the couch, hung upside down. Maybe so much blood had pooled in his head that it had knocked him unconscious. That honestly made more sense than whatever this was. Because of course his subconscious would conjure up a phone call from Steve. He was dragged out of his spiraling by his voice.

“Eddie? You still there?”

He shook himself. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Wait, so you want to go out right now?”

“Um, yeah? But you don’t have to if you already ate.”

Eddie glanced back at the cheese puffs scattered across the floor, which were the extent of the food he’d consumed. “No, I haven’t eaten. I guess I could go for some food.”

“Oh, cool,” Steve said, suddenly sounding much brighter. “So, do you want to meet me at Darcy’s? Or I could pick you up.”

“No, no, I can meet you there.”

The last thing he needed was for his stupid brain to get this whole situation more mixed up. It was definitely safer to drive himself.

“Alright. See you in, say, thirty minutes?”

“Yep, see you then.”

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice. “Great, bye Eddie.”

Even after Steve hung up, Eddie remained standing where he was. Ok so, Steve wanted to hang out. Outside of school. Which was totally normal and not weird. It was a little strange that he’d looked him up rather than just asking for his number during lunch. Unless, of course, he didn’t want anyone else to know they were hanging out outside of school.

Oh, right. Steve probably wanted to score some weed. That was why he’d called so late. He’d probably asked him to eat first, so he didn’t seem rude, in an effort to get that good discount. Eddie relaxed slightly. Yeah, that made sense. He was used to people using him for drugs. This was familiar territory.

And so what, if he spent way longer getting ready than he would for a regular drug deal? Steve was probably going to look nice, since he always looked nice, so it only made sense for Eddie to put a little effort in.

Once he was dressed in his best band tee and his second favorite pair of ripped jeans, he made his way out of the trailer and hopped into the van. The drive to Darcy’s was pretty short, yet when Eddie pulled into the parking lot, Steve was already there. And yep, Eddie had been right. He looked good enough to eat.

Eddie took a moment as he parked to just look at Steve. He was leaned up against his car, the curved line of his body somehow both causal and posed. Tight jeans, white sneakers, an unzipped bomber jacket. Jesus Christ. He took a second to steady himself before climbing out of the van.

This is just a drug deal. Just a drug deal. A drug deal with a bizarre extra layer of weirdness.

“Hey Harrington. You coming from a date?”

Steve looked up at him as he approached, a smile tugging up the corner of his lips. “Hey Munson. No, I was at home. Why do you ask?”

Eddie waved a hand. “You’re awfully dressed up for a late-night diner run. Hope you didn’t get dolled up for little old me.”

“Oh.” Steve looked down at himself, as if only now realizing what he was wearing. “I mean, it never hurts to make a good impression, right? Figured that applied to friends too.”

Eddie stopped a few feet away, letting his arms swing awkwardly at his sides. “Friends. Right.”

“Yep. So, uh, you want to go in?”

“After you, my liege,” he said, dropping into a sweeping bow.

Steve snorted and shoved playfully at his shoulder. “Shut up. Come on.”

They approached the door to the diner together. Before Eddie could reach for the handle, Steve had already pulled it open and motioned for Eddie to go in first. Huh. A chivalrous king. The waitress behind the counter told them to sit wherever they liked, and Eddie followed Steve to one of the booths along the wall of windows. Once they were seated, Steve slid a menu over.

“You ever been here before?”

Eddie glance over the top of his menu. “Steve, we don’t exactly live in the big city. We have like, ten options for restaurants. So yeah, I’ve eaten here before.”

“You know, a simple yes would have been fine,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes.

“Ah, but I’m not a simple guy. Surely, you’ve figured that out by now.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious. But I like it though. You’re different. Everyone else around here is so damn boring.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair and regarded Steve. So was that his angle? Was the prince bored and in need of entertainment? It would make sense why he’d latched onto Eddie. A jester for a king.

“What, you need me to perform for you, big boy?”

Steve shot him a look. “No. Just, like, hang out. Chill.”

The waitress appeared beside them to take their order. Steve decided on a burger with everything on it, as well as a side of fries and a chocolate milkshake. Eddie went a little more daring with an order of their full breakfast slam. Once the waitress had slipped away to give their order to the cook, Steve looked back to Eddie.

“Breakfast at night?”

Eddie spread his hands. “Yeah, why not? That’s the best time to have it.”

Steve gave him a skeptical look. “I think the best time to have breakfast is in the morning, seeing as that’s when you’re supposed to eat it.”

“Ah, Stevie boy, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, wagging a finger at him. “The best time to do anything is when you’re not supposed to. It makes things way more interesting. Plus, who decided there were certain foods for certain times of day? That’s weird, right? It’s just food. Why does everything in life have to have some arbitrary rule?”

As he spoke, Steve’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper. He opened his mouth to respond, but Eddie slapped his hand down on the table before he could.

“That was a trick question, Steve-o. I’ll tell you why. Two words. Mass. Conformity. The people on top pile on all these stupid rules and convince the people that they’re important. When to eat certain foods. What to wear to different places. Who you can love. It’s all nonsense. But they convince you it matters. Why? Because it keeps you distracted from the bigger picture. From looking at The Man and seeing that we’re all just cattle in their conveyer belt. But not me. Oh no, I won’t be like them. So yeah, that’s why I eat breakfast at night.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Eddie picked up his water and took a big gulp. Long speeches always dried out his mouth. When he looked at Steve, he found the other boy staring at him with wide eyes. This was usually the place he lost the normies. Where they narrowed their eyes at him and decided he was just too weird. He was prepared for it. Welcomed it, even. But once again, Steve surprised him. After a moment, he began to nod his head.

“Huh, yeah, I’ve never thought about it like that. But it makes sense. There could be, like… monsters running around the town and nobody would even notice because they’re so worried about missing an episode of Jeopardy.”

Something warm flickered to life in Eddie’s chest. Something soft and bright. Something dangerous. He tried to smother it before it got any air, but the open expression on Steve’s face made it impossible. Hell, even Eddie’s own friends rolled their eyes when he got going on one of his spiels. But Steve wasn’t rolling his eyes. In fact, he looked interested. Which was wonderful. It was great. It was terrible. Eddie took another big gulp of water.

“Yeah, exactly. Forced conformity is no joke.”

Steve’s eyes moved over Eddie. “So, is that why you dress how you do, and yell on table tops, and push peoples buttons? So you can break out of the mold the world tried to put you in?”

Oh, fuck. He was being seen by Steve Harrington. Honestly, he couldn’t imagine anything worse. Being perceived was to be avoided at all costs. So, he would do what he always did. Smile, deflect, distract.

“Aww, Stevie, now you’re getting it. Not all of us can be so blessed to be molded out of gold like you.”

He expected Steve to smirk or roll his eyes. To brush it off like everything else Eddie had said. Instead, the corners of Steve’s mouth turned down into a frown and he lowered his eyes. As if what Eddie had said upset him. That hadn’t been his intention. As formerly mentioned, Eddie was a weak man. Despite his reservations, Eddie wanted Steve to like him. He sort of hated it, but there it was.

“Hey, man, did I say something wrong?”

Steve shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. You’re right. I have everything anyone could want, so I should be grateful. Right?”

That felt like a trap. Like there was something Eddie didn’t know. He picked at his napkin, tearing off little strips and rolling them into balls.

“I mean, I don’t know your life man. You’re allowed to have problems.”

Steve nodded, though it seemed stilted. “Yeah, sure.”

Fuck. Eddie had definitely messed this up. And while he should be glad for it, should hope that now Steve would move on to his next distraction, he’d always been an attention whore. He thrived on it, so long as it was surface level. He wanted people to notice him, to find him interesting in the way someone found the circus interesting. And now, despite his own wishes, he wanted Steve to keep paying attention to him.

“Did you know it would take a human nineteen minutes to fall to the center of the earth?”

Steve’s head jerked up, a look of bewilderment replacing the dejection that had been there a moment before. “What?”

“Yep,” Eddie said, grinning when he saw he had Steve’s attention. “Scientists figured it out.”

“That can’t be true,” Steve said, shaking his head. “The earth is like, huge. How could they even know that?”

Eddie shrugged. “Don’t know, dude. I’m not a scientist. They did some math shit, I guess.”

“Huh. I’m going to have to ask Dustin about that. He might know.”

“Dustin?”

“Yeah, one of the middle schoolers I watch. He’s a total nerd, but he’s also a genius. Way smarter than I’ll ever be, that’s for sure.”

Eddie grinned. “He sounds cool.”

“I mean, I guess,” Steve said. But he was smiling now, and didn’t that just warm Eddie’s jaded heart?

The waitress came then with their food, setting their plates in front of them before disappearing once more. Eddie began to immediate dig in, scooping up a big bite of scrambled eggs and shoving them into his mouth. But when he looked up at Steve, he was just watching him, that same small smile still on his face.

Suddenly feeling nervous, Eddie swallowed and straightened up. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Steve’s shoulders twitched. “I can get stuck in my own head sometimes. Thanks for getting me out.”

Eddie tightened his grip on his fork so he wouldn’t do something stupid, like reach across the table. “Oh, uh, yeah. It’s no problem. Always happy to help.”

Steve continued to smile as he began to eat. They talked more as they ate, mostly about small stuff and people they hated at school. The list was long and heavily overlapped, Eddie found. Which was nice. It was always cool to hate the same people as someone else. And Steve was a bitch, which Eddie already knew, but it was nice to see that venom directed at people he didn’t like.

When the waitress brought the check, Eddie reached for his wallet, but Steve waved him away. “Nah, man, it’s on me. I’m the one who invited you.”

Eddie was pretty sure that only applied to dates, which this definitely wasn’t. Still, he wasn’t going to argue over a free meal. “Alright, if you insist.”

With the meal paid for, they slid out of their booths and made their way back out to the parking lot. It was still early in February, which meant it was unreasonably cold. Eddie tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“So, uh,” Eddie said, turning back to Steve. “Did you want to do this in the van?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

Eddie waved his hand. “You know. The weed. Unless you were looking for something stronger, but I don’t have any of that on me.”

“Um.” Steve blinked. “I’ve got to drive, so I probably shouldn’t smoke right now. But if you want, I could come over some time and we could smoke and hang. Or you could come to mine. It doesn’t matter.”

Well, now Eddie felt a bit wrong footed. “So, you aren’t interested in buying weed?”

Steve tucked his hands into his pockets. “Uh, no, not right now. But thanks for the offer.”

Well, shit. There went that theory. He cleared his throat. “No, yeah, no problem. I just, uh, thought I’d offer.”

“Right. Oh, also,” Steve said, lighting up as if he’d just remembered something. Eddie watched as he turned and dug through his car. When he turned back, he was holding a pen. Eddie’s heart shot into his throat when Steve grabbed him by the hand and pulled him closer. “So you’ll have my number. No need to look in the phonebook.”

Once Steve was finished, he let Eddie’s hand go. He immediately missed the warmth. The number was written out across the back of him arm in Steve’s handwriting. Eddie had the insane thought that he could maybe saranwrap his skin where Steve had touched him. God, he was such a fucking freak.

“Oh, uh, cool. Is there a good time to call?”

“Nah, wherever’s fine. I might be out giving the kids a ride, but if you leave a message, I’ll call you back.”

Eddie tilted his arm, looking at the number at a different angle. “I won’t piss off your parent’s if I call too late?”

Steve dropped his eyes to his feet. “Uh, no, they’re out of town so you don’t have to worry about that.”

It felt like there was something more there, but Eddie wasn’t about to pry into Steve’s life. “Okay. So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

And then Steve did something weird. He lifted his arm, as if to pull Eddie in for a hug, only to freeze halfway there. Eddie’s pulse quickened as his gaze focused in on the hand that was now way too close. He definitely wasn’t prepared to be hugged by Steve Harrington. He also desperately, desperately wanted it. In the end, Steve went halfway and dropped his hand onto Eddie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Maybe a hug would have been too much, because that small touch was already making electricity shoot through Eddie’s body.

“See you, dude.”

Eddie nodded absently. “Yeah, dude. Bye.”

Once back within the safety of his van, Eddie watched as Steve started up his car pulled out of his spot. He threw Eddie one more wave, then was gone. He just sat there for a while, contemplating. Steve didn’t want drugs, unless it was while they were “hanging out”. He’d given him his number and said to call anytime. He’d opened the door for him, paid for the meal, then touched Eddie’s shoulder.

What the fuck was going on?

[max--phillips]

Hello. I work in accounts receivable and make a lot of phone calls to people who have past due payments. I have some hot tips. Disclaimer, though: I am talking about low stakes payments here. This is not going to be universally applicable and you should not follow this advice with regard to your rent or car payment or other important bills, okay? Okay.

Stop answering your goddamn phone if you can help it.

Caveat: PLEASE make sure your voicemail is set up, is not full, and you actually listen to your goddamn voicemails. If your phone has calling restrictions to reduce spam calls, make sure people are still able to leave voicemails!!

WAY too many of you are WAY too comfortable just giving your card info to whoever calls you over the phone.

If you do answer and someone asks for payment, tell them you’ll call them back. The key here though is that you do actually have to call them back.

Go to the company’s website, look up their phone number for either customer service or their accounting department, and call that number directly. If it’s the same as the number that called you, great. If it’s not, do not call the number that called you back, call the number from the website.

Confirm you owe a payment or have a balance or whatever. At this point you’re probably safe giving your card info or whatever.

Can’t make a payment? Have a late payment you know it’s going to be a little while before you can take care of? Need to move your due date? DO NOT WAIT UNTIL THE LAST MINUTE TO TALK TO SOMEONE ABOUT THIS. THE EARLIER THE BETTER.

At least where I work, we are MORE than happy to work with you if you’re in a tight spot or need to shuffle things around. Just talk to us. Don’t wait until you’re 2 or 3 months past due while you’ve completely ignored our calls and emails and we’re threatening to take back our property or whatever the case is before you do that.

If you notice a company is trying to contact you frequently and regularly, unless it’s clearly a telemarketer or a scam, there’s probably a reason! Contact them. See what’s going on. Worst case you ask to be taken off their list of people to call.

Don’t call a place and wait for someone to pick up and then immediately hang up. We can probably look up your phone number and we’re going to put a note in your profile that you did that. We now know that you know who we are and chose not to discuss whatever the issue is with us.

I had to fight the urge to make this a list of my personal phone call pet peeves and actually make it decent advice so maybe I’ll do that in a different post but yeah. Tl;dr don’t make it so easy for people calling you to steal your card info LMAO

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Linkty Dumpty

I was supposed to be on vacation, and while I didn’t do any blogging for a month, that didn’t mean that I stopped looking at my distraction rectangle and making a list of things I wanted to write about. Consequentially, the link backlog is massive, so it’s time to declare bankruptcy with another linkdump:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

[Image ID: John Holbo’s ‘trolley problem’ art, a repeating pattern of trolleys, tracks, people on tracks, and people standing at track switches]++

Let’s kick things off with a little graphic whimsy. You’ve doubtless seen the endless Trolley Problem memes, working from the same crude line drawings? Well, philosopher John Holbo got tired of that artwork, and he whomped up a fantastic alternative, which you can get as a poster, duvet, sticker, tee, etc:

https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/145078097

The trolley problem has been with us since 1967, but it’s enjoying a renaissance thanks to the insistence of “AI” weirdos that it is very relevant to our AI debate. A few years back, you could impress uninformed people by dropping the Trolley Problem into a discussion:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/10/25/mercedes-weird-trolley-problem-announcement-continues-dumb-debate-about-self-driving-cars/

Amazingly, the “AI” debate has only gotten more tedious since the middle of the past decade. But every now and again, someone gets a stochastic parrot to do something genuinely delightful, like the Jolly Roger Telephone Company, who sell chatbots that will pretend to be tantalyzingly confused marks in order to tie up telemarketers and waste their time:

https://jollyrogertelephone.com/

Jolly Roger sells different personas: “Whitebeard” is a confused senior who keeps asking the caller’s name, drops nonsequiturs into the conversation, and can’t remember how many credit-cards he has. “Salty Sally” is a single mom with a houseful of screaming, demanding children who keep distracting her every time the con artist is on the verge of getting her to give up compromising data. “Whiskey Jack” is drunk:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/people-hire-phone-bots-to-torture-telemarketers-2dbb8457

The bots take a couple minutes to get the sense of the conversation going. During that initial lag, they have a bunch of stock responses like “there’s a bee on my arm, but keep going,” or grunts like “huh,” and “uh-huh.” The bots can keep telemarketers and scammers on the line for quite a long time. Scambaiting is an old and honorable vocation, and it’s good that it has received a massive productivity gain from automation. This is the AI Dividend I dream of.

The less-fun AI debate is the one over artists’ rights and tech. I am foresquare for the artists here, but I think that the preferred solutions (like creating a new copyright over the right to train a model with your work) will not lead to the hoped-for outcome. As with other copyright expansions — 40 years’ worth of them now — this right will be immediately transferred to the highly concentrated media sector, who will simply amend their standard, non-negotiable contracting terms to require that “training rights” be irrevocably assigned to them as a condition of working.

The real solution isn’t to treat artists as atomic individuals — LLCs with an MFA — who bargain, business-to-business, with corporations. Rather, the solutions are in collective power, like unions. You’ve probably heard about the SAG-AFTRA actors’ strike, in which creative workers are bargaining as a group to demand fair treatment in an age of generative models. SAG-AFTRA president Fran Drescher’s speech announcing the strike made me want to stand up and salute:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4SAPOX7R5M

The actors’ strike is historic: it marks the first time actors have struck since 2000, and it’s the first time actors and writers have co-struck since 1960. Of course, writers in the Writers Guild of America (West and East) have been picketing since since April, and one of their best spokespeople has been Adam Conover, a WGA board member who serves on the negotiating committee. Conover is best known for his stellar Adam Ruins Everything comedy-explainer TV show, which pioneered a technique for breaking down complex forms of corporate fuckery and making you laugh while he does it. Small wonder that he’s been so effective at conveying the strike issues while he pickets.

Writing for Jacobin, Alex N Press profiles Conover and interviews him about the strike, under the excellent headline, “Adam Pickets Everything.” Conover is characteristically funny, smart, and incisive — do read:

https://jacobin.com/2023/07/adam-conover-wga-strike

Of course, not everyone in Hollywood is striking. In late June, the DGA accepted a studio deal with an anemic 41% vote turnout:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/6/26/23773926/dga-amptp-new-deal-strike

They probably shouldn’t have. In this interview with The American Prospect’s Peter Hong, the brilliant documentary director Amy Ziering breaks down how Netflix and the other streamers have rugged documentarians in a classic enshittification ploy that lured in filmmakers, extracted everything they had, and then discarded the husks:

https://prospect.org/culture/2023-06-21-drowned-in-the-stream/

Now, the streaming cartel stands poised to all but kill off documentary filmmaking. Pressured by Wall Street to drive high returns, they’ve become ultraconservative in their editorial decisions, making programs and films that are as similar as possible to existing successes, that are unchallenging, and that are cheap. We’ve gone directly from a golden age of docs to a dark age.

In a time of monopolies, it’s tempting to form countermonopolies to keep them in check. Yesterday, I wrote about why the FTC and Lina Khan were right to try to block the Microsoft/Activision merger, and I heard from a lot of people saying this merger was the only way to check Sony’s reign of terror over video games:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

But replacing one monopolist with another isn’t good for anyone (except the monopolists’ shareholders). If we want audiences and workers — and society — to benefit, we have to de-monopolize the sector. Last month, I published a series with EFF about how we should save the news from Big Tech:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

After that came out, the EU Observer asked me to write up version of it with direct reference to the EU, where there are a lot of (in my opinion, ill-conceived but well-intentioned) efforts to pry Big Tech’s boot off the news media’s face. I’m really happy with how it came out, and the header graphic is awesome:

https://euobserver.com/opinion/157187

De-monopolizing tech has become my life’s work, both because tech is foundational (tech is how we organize to fight over labor, gender and race equality, and climate justice), and because tech has all of these technical aspects, which open up new avenues for shrinking Big Tech, without waiting decades for traditional antitrust breakups to run their course (we need these too, though!).

I’ve written a book laying out a shovel-ready plan to give tech back to its users through interoperability, explaining how to make new regulations (and reform old ones), what they should say, how to enforce them, and how to detect and stop cheating. It’s called “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation” and it’s coming from Verso Books this September:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

[Image ID: The cover of the Verso Books hardcover of ‘The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation]

I just got my first copy in the mail yesterday, and it’s a gorgeous little package. The timing was great, because I spent the whole week in the studio at Skyboat Media recording the audiobook — the first audiobook of mine that I’ve narrated. It was a fantastic experience, and I’ll be launching a Kickstarter to presell the DRM-free audio and ebooks as well as hardcovers, in a couple weeks.

Though I like doing these crowdfunders, I do them because I have to. Amazon’s Audible division, the monopolist that controls >90% of the audiobook market, refuses to carry my work because it is DRM-free. When you buy a DRM-free audiobook, that means that you can play it on anyone’s app, not just Amazon’s. Every audiobook you’ve ever bought from Audible will disappear the moment you decide to break up with Amazon, which means that Amazon can absolutely screw authors and audiobook publishers because they’ve taken our customers hostage.

If you are unwise enough to pursue an MBA, you will learn a term of art for this kind of market structure: it’s a “moat,” that is, an element of the market that makes it hard for new firms to enter the market and compete with you. Warren Buffett pioneered the use of this term, and now it’s all but mandatory for anyone launching a business or new product to explain where their moat will come from.

As Dan Davies writes, these “moats” aren’t really moats in the Buffett sense. With Coke and Disney, he says, a “moat” was “the fact that nobody else could make such a great product that everyone wanted.” In other words, “making a good product,” is a great moat:

https://backofmind.substack.com/p/stuck-in-the-moat

But making a good product is a lot of work and not everyone is capable of it. Instead, “moat” now just means some form of lock in. Davies counsels us to replace “moat” with:

our subscription system and proprietary interface mean that our return on capital is protected by a strong Berlin Wall, preventing our customers from getting out to a freer society and forcing them to consume our inferior products for lack of alternative.

I really like this. It pairs well with my 2020 observation that the fight over whether “IP” is a meaningful term can be settled by recognizing that IP has a precise meaning in business: “Any policy that lets me reach beyond the walls of my firm to control the conduct of my competitors, critics and customers”:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

To see how that works in the real world, check out “The Anti-Ownership Ebook Economy,” a magisterial piece of scholarship from Sarah Lamdan, Jason M. Schultz, Michael Weinberg and Claire Woodcock:

https://www.nyuengelberg.org/outputs/the-anti-ownership-ebook-economy/

Something happened when we shifted to digital formats that created a loss of rights for readers. Pulling back the curtain on the evolution of ebooks offers some clarity to how the shift to digital left ownership behind in the analog world.

The research methodology combines both anonymous and named sources in publishing, bookselling and librarianship, as well as expert legal and economic analysis. This is an eminently readable, extremely smart, and really useful contribution to the scholarship on how “IP” (in the modern sense) has transformed books from something you own to something that you can never own.

The truth is, capitalists hate capitalism. Inevitably, the kind of person who presides over a giant corporation and wields power over millions of lives — workers, suppliers and customers — believes themselves to be uniquely and supremely qualified to be a wise dictator. For this kind of person, competition is “wasteful” and distracts them from the important business of making everyone’s life better by handing down unilateral — but wise and clever — edits. Think of Peter Thiel’s maxim, “competition is for losers.”

That’s why giant companies love to merge with each other, and buy out nascent competitors. By rolling up the power to decide how you and I and everyone else live our lives, these executives ensure that they can help us little people live the best lives possible. The traditional role of antitrust enforcement is to prevent this from happening, countering the delusions of would-be life-tenured autocrats of trade with public accountability and enforcement:

https://marker.medium.com/we-should-not-endure-a-king-dfef34628153

Of course, for 40 years, we’ve had neoliberal, Reaganomics-poisoned antitrust, where monopolies are celebrated as “efficient” and their leaders exalted as geniuses whose commercial empires are evidence of merit, not savagery. That era is, thankfully, coming to an end, and not a moment too soon.

Leading the fight is the aforementioned FTC chair Lina Khan, who is taking huge swings at even bigger mergers. But the EU is no slouch in this department: they’re challenging the Adobe/Figma merger, a $20b transaction that is obviously and solely designed to recapture customers who left Adobe because they didn’t want to struggle under its yoke any longer:

https://gizmodo.com/adobe-figma-acquisition-likely-to-face-eu-investigation-1850555562

For autocrats of trade, this is an intolerable act of disloyalty. We owe them our fealty and subservience, because they are self-evidently better at understanding what we need than we could ever be. This unwarranted self-confidence from the ordinary mediocrities who end up running giant tech companies gets them into a whole lot of hot water.

One keen observer of the mind-palaces that tech leaders trap themselves in is Anil Dash, who describes the conspiratorial, far-right turn of the most powerful men (almost all men!) in Silicon Valley in a piece called “‘VC Qanon’ and the radicalization of the tech tycoons”:

https://www.anildash.com/2023/07/07/vc-qanon/

Dash builds on an editorial he published in Feb, “The tech tycoon martyrdom charade,” which explores the sense of victimhood the most powerful, wealthiest people in the Valley project:

https://www.anildash.com/2023/02/27/tycoon-martyrdom-charade/

These dudes are prisoners of their Great Man myth, and leads them badly astray. And while all of us are prone to lapses in judgment and discernment, Dash makes the case that tech leaders are especially prone to it:

Nobody becomes a billionaire by accident. You have to have wanted that level of power, control and wealth more than you wanted anything else in your life. They all sacrifice family, relationships, stability, community, connection, and belonging in service of keeping score on a scale that actually yields no additional real-world benefits on the path from that first $100 million to the tens of billions.

This makes billionaires “a cohort that is, counterintutively, very easily manipulated.” What’s more, they’re all master manipulators, and they all hang out with each other, which means that when a conspiratorial belief takes root in one billionaire’s brain, it spreads to the rest of them like wildfire.

Then, billionaires “push each other further and further into extreme ideas because their entire careers have been predicated on the idea that they’re genius outliers who can see things others can’t, and that their wealth is a reward for that imagined merit.”

They live in privileged bubbles, which insulates them from disconfirming evidence — ironic, given how many of these bros think they are wise senators in the agora.

There are examples of billionaires’ folly all around us today, of course. Take privacy: the idea that we can — we should — we must — spy on everyone, all the time, in every way, to eke out tiny gains in ad performance is objectively batshit. And yet, wealthy people decreed this should be so, and it was, and made them far richer.

Leaked data from Microsoft’s Xandr ad-targeting database reveals how the commercial surveillance delusion led us to a bizarre and terrible place, as reported on by The Markup:

https://themarkup.org/privacy/2023/06/08/from-heavy-purchasers-of-pregnancy-tests-to-the-depression-prone-we-found-650000-ways-advertisers-label-you

The Markup’s report lets you plumb 650,000 targeting categories, searching by keyword or loading random sets, 20 at a time. Do you want to target gambling addicts, people taking depression meds or Jews? Xandr’s got you covered. What could possibly go wrong?

The Xandr files come from German security researcher Wolfie Christl from Cracked Labs. Christi is a European, and he’s working with the German digital rights group Netzpolitik to get the EU to scrutinize all the ways that Xandr is flouting EU privacy laws.

Billionaires’ big ideas lead us astray in more tangible ways, of course. Writing in The Conversation, John Quiggin asks us to take a hard look at the much ballyhooed (and expensively ballyhooed) “nuclear renaissance”:

https://theconversation.com/dutton-wants-australia-to-join-the-nuclear-renaissance-but-this-dream-has-failed-before-209584

Despite the rhetoric, nukes aren’t cheap, and they aren’t coming back. Georgia’s new nuclear power is behind schedule and over budget, but it’s still better off than South Carolina’s nukes, which were so over budget that they were abandoned in 2017. France’s nuke is a decade behind schedule. Finland’s opened this year — 14 years late. The UK’s Hinkley Point C reactor is massively behind schedule and over budget (and when it’s done, it will be owned by the French government!).

China’s nuclear success story also doesn’t hold up to scrutiny — they’ve brought 50GW of nukes online, sure, but they’re building 95–120GW of solar every year.

Solar is the clear winner here, along with other renewables, which are plummeting in cost (while nukes soar) and are accelerating in deployments (while nukes are plagued with ever-worsening delays).

This is the second nuclear renaissance — the last one, 20 years ago, was a bust, and that was before renewables got cheap, reliable and easy to manufacture and deploy. You’ll hear fairy-tales about how the early 2000s bust was caused by political headwinds, but that’s simply untrue: there were almost no anti-nuke marches then, and governments were scrambling to figure out low-carbon alternatives to fossil fuels (this was before the latest round of fossil fuel sabotage).

The current renaissance is also doomed. Yes, new reactors are smaller and safer and won’t have the problems intrinsic to all megaprojects, but designs like VOYGR have virtually no signed deals. Even if they do get built, their capacity will be dwarfed by renewables — a Gen III nuke will generate 710MW of power. Globally, we add that much solar every single day.

And solar power is cheap. Even after US subsidies, a Gen III reactor would charge A$132/MWh — current prices are as low as A$64-$114/MWh.

Nukes are getting a charm offensive because wealthy people are investing in hype as a way of reaping profits — not as a way of generating safe, cheap, reliable energy.

Here in the latest stage of capitalism, value and profit are fully decoupled. Monopolists are shifting more and more value from suppliers and customers to their shareholders every day. And when the customer is the government, the depravity knows no bounds. In Responsible Statecraft, Connor Echols describes how military contractors like Boeing are able to bill the Pentagon $52,000 for a trash can:

https://responsiblestatecraft.org/2023/06/20/the-pentagons-52000-trash-can/

Military Beltway Bandits are nothing new, of course, but they’ve gotten far more virulent since the Obama era, when Obama’s DoD demanded that the primary contractors merge to a bare handful of giant firms, in the name of “efficiency.” As David Dayen writes in his must-read 2020 book Monopolized, this opened the door to a new kind of predator:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

The Obama defense rollups were quickly followed by another wave of rollups, these ones driven by Private Equity firms who cataloged which subcontractors were “sole suppliers” of components used by the big guys. These companies were all acquired by PE funds, who then lowered the price of their products, selling them below cost.

This maximized the use of those parts in weapons and aircraft sold by primary contractors like Boeing, which created a durable, long-lasting demand for fresh parts for DoD maintenance of its materiel. PE-owned suppliers hits Uncle Sucker with multi-thousand-percent markups for these parts, which have now wormed their way into every corner of the US arsenal.

Yes, this is infuriating as hell, but it’s also so grotesquely wrong that it’s impossible to defend, as we see in this hilarious clip of Rep Katie Porter grilling witnesses on US military waste:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJhf6l1nB9A

Porter pulls out the best version yet of her infamous white-board and makes her witnesses play defense ripoff Jepoardy!, providing answers to a series of indefensible practices.

It’s sure nice when our government does something for us, isn’t it? We absolutely can have nice things, and we’re about to get them. The Infrastructure Bill contains $42B in subsidies for fiber rollouts across the country, which will be given to states to spend. Ars Technica’s Jon Brodkin breaks down the state-by-state spending:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2023/06/us-allocates-42b-in-broadband-funding-find-out-how-much-your-state-will-get/

Texas will get $3.31B, California will get $1.86B, and 17 other states will get $1B or more. As the White House announcement put it, “High-speed Internet is no longer a luxury.”

To understand how radical this is, you need to know that for decades, the cable and telco sector has grabbed billions in subsidies for rural and underserved communities, and then either stole the money outright, or wasted it building copper networks that run at a fraction of a percent of fiber speeds.

This is how America — the birthplace of the internet — ended up with some of the world’s slowest, most expensive broadband, even after handing out tens of billions of dollars in subsidies. Those subsidies were gobbled up by greedy, awful phone companies — these ones must be spent wisely, on long-lasting, long-overdue fiber infrastructure.

That’s a good note to end on, but I’ve got an even better one: birds in the Netherlands are tearing apart anti-bird strips and using them to build their nests. Wonderful creatures 1, hostile architecture, 0. Nature is healing:

https://www.theguardian.com/science/2023/jul/11/crows-and-magpies-show-their-metal-by-using-anti-bird-spikes-to-build-nests

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/15/in-the-dumps/#what-vacation

Next Tues, Jul 18, I'm hosting the first Clarion Summer Write-In Series, an hour-long, free drop-in group writing and discussion session. It's in support of the Clarion SF/F writing workshop's fundraiser to offer tuition support to students:

https://mailchi.mp/theclarionfoundation/clarion-write-ins

[Image iD: A dump-truck, dumping out a load of gravel. A caricature of Humpty Dumpty clings to its lip, restrained by a group of straining, Lilliputian men.]