#tracking stock sales

[dreamguystech31]

#Inventory control software for warehouse #Sales tracking and reporting software #Payment processing software for point of sale #Stock control software #E-commerce integration for point of sale #Sales management software #POS inventory management software with business intelligence #Supply chain management software #Invoice management software for point of sale

[ainurposapp]

#stock management #supplier management #purchase management #inventory reporting #real-time inventory reporting #revenue tracking #customer management #retail crm #sales tracker #saas solution

[steddieas-shegoes]

Baby formula was expensive, and Eddie knew the fact that half of the container being spilled on the counter would probably cause Steve to have a heart attack.

It was an accident, obviously. He didn’t just decide to dump half of the powdered gold that fed their newborn daughter on the kitchen counter.

And Steve wouldn’t be mad about it. He didn’t get mad about accidents.

But he would definitely spiral about how that was two days’ worth of bottles for Ella and how they had a budget.

Eddie told him many times they were fine. He had more than enough money in savings from the band’s success, and he knew Steve had his own trust fund that he’d guilted his parents into letting him keep as a way to apologize for never being around in his childhood.

Money wasn’t really an issue for them.

But Steve was still careful with it, and Eddie loved that about him.

Other than their house, they’d never made major purchases, and stuck to necessities only with occasional extra spending for birthdays and Christmas for their loved ones.

But after they adopted Ella, Steve turned into a penny pincher. He stocked up on everything from diapers to formula to baby soap any time there was a sale, and refused to buy the “fancy” brand that had the same ingredients and vitamins as the generic store brand.

Eddie loved him.

But he was very worried about Steve finding out about this.

Maybe if he just cleaned it up and then pretended Ella had had a few extra bottles?

No, then he’d panic that her food intake was abnormal and he’d call the pediatrician and Eddie would have to backtrack and then Steve would be mad.

He pulled the trash can in front of the counter, swiping his hand across quickly to get most of it into the trash.

As he moved the trash can back to its usual spot, Steve came around the corner with Ella in his arms, cooing at her.

God, he was born to do this. Eddie was gonna do everything he could to give him the six nuggets he wanted so he could watch him in his element for as long as possible.

“Say hi to Daddy, Ella,” Steve said before looking up at Eddie, who was wiping down the counter furiously.

Not fast enough if Steve’s face was any indication.

“What are you doing?”

Dammit.

“Just cleaning.”

“You’re wiping the counter.”

“Yes.”

“You never do that.”

“I just finished the dishes so I thought I should.”

“You do the dishes all the time and never do that.”

He was so suspicious. Rightfully so.

Eddie knew he was found out, or if he wasn’t quite yet, he would be as soon as Steve saw the trash.

He sighed, letting his head fall down and his chin hit his chest.

“Eds, what is it?”

Steve was walking behind the counter, concern on his face. Concern for Eddie. Concern he didn’t deserve.

“I spilled something, it’s not a big deal.”

“Okay. But you’re being weird about it so it makes me think it is a big deal.”

And then he saw it. He must have, because Eddie watched him freeze in his tracks and stare down at where the trash is.

“Stevie, it’s not a big deal. I’ll go get another can to make up for it.”

“What happened?”

“I was measuring out her nighttime bottle and knocked the can over.”

“That’s a lot of formula.”

“I know.”

And then Steve started laughing.

It startled Ella in his arms and she let out a whimper like she was about to start crying.

Steve handed her to Eddie so he could lean over, hands on his knees, and laugh louder.

“Ella, your dad’s lost it.”

“Sorry,” Steve said as he tried to gasp for air between hysterical laughter. “Just- you were so serious. Why didn’t you just say that?”

Eddie knew he wasn’t seriously asking that.

“Sweetheart, you’re kind of insane about this stuff. In a good way! I love you because you’re a little crazy! But like, that was a lot of formula and it’s wasteful and costs a lot to replace.”

Steve’s face went serious.

“Baby, you don’t think I’d be mad about an accidental spill, do you?”

Oh no, he was hurt.

Eddie hurt his feelings.

“No! No. It’s not that. It’s just you’re so serious about the budget and this would mess it up.”

“It’s just a little. And it’s not like we actually have to live so tight.”

That was suspicious. What the hell did that mean?

Steve wasn’t changing his mind on the budget, was he?

He must’ve done something.

“Oh my god. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh yes you did. Your face is bright red and you look like you committed a felony. I would know what that looks like since we’ve committed at least two together.”

Steve somehow blushed harder.

“It wasn’t a felony.”

“Aha! But it was something!”

The tables turned awful quickly. Eddie didn’t know how, but he’d take it. Anything to get the focus off of him.

Ella was gurgling in his arms, eyes flitting between the two of them like she was watching a tennis match.

“Well, you know how we talked about getting an RV, right? Since we had Ella now and might try to adopt again? Since it’s one of the things I want more than anything?”

“You bought an RV.”

Eddie was smirking at Steve, who probably expected him to be upset, but Eddie was thrilled.

Not only would they be able to travel the way Steve wanted to, Steve had thrown their budget right out the fucking window.

“I put a down payment on an RV. I told them I had to talk to you first.”

“This is gold.”

“We did technically talk about it already.”

“We did.” Eddie bounced Ella in his arms and looked down at her. “Wanna go on a road trip, angel?”

“So you’re not mad?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for you to spend my money for years. This is the third best day of my life.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Eddie walked up to him and kissed the corner of his mouth, then his nose, and finally his lips.

“I love you and your crazy budget.”

“I love you and your ignorance of how money works.”

“That’s why I have you, sweetheart.”

Steve rolled his eyes but nodded.

“We can pick up the RV tomorrow if you want.”

“Did you plan our first trip yet?”

“No.”

Eddie raised a brow at him.

“Yes.”

Eddie jumped up once, making Ella giggle.

“Where are we going?”

“I figured you’d wanna take Wayne to the Smoky Mountains.”

Of course he did. Of course he thought about what Eddie would want and what would make Wayne happy and what he could do to make it happen.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I guess we better make a stop at Wayne’s house tomorrow with the RV.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #tumblr drabbles #stranger things #dad steve harrington #dad eddie munson #domestic fluff

[hughes86-43]

Sweet Treat | J. Hughes

warnings - none, maybe some grammar errors! just fluff!

summary - on the opening day of your coffee shop, everything is going great, but it only gets better when you meet a certain hockey player. part two

Your dream has always been to open your very own coffee shop with a bakery. After years of hard work with getting your business degree, to determining what type of set up you wanted to have, and earning enough money to actually do it, you finally did it! Your dream became a reality as you walk into the shop on opening day, turning on all the lights and getting everything set up before your two new employees showed up to help with what would possibly a busy day, if everything goes right.

You planned for this opening day tremendously with making sure everything was in stock, training the new employees, setting up the register, picking the perfect table and chairs, and now at 9 am on the clock, you turn the sign on the front door to open.

Within a total of three hours of being open, a large amount customers have came in and ordered their coffees and even a sweet treat. They congratulated you on the opening of your shop and told you that they would certainly tell others about the shop, you couldn’t be happier.

Around the four hour mark, business had slowed down a bit to a constant pace, when a young guy walks in. You look up from the register, ready to greet the guy, when all of a sudden you’re stopped in your tracks just by how gorgeous the guy looks. All words have left your mind as soon as you saw him.

As you come back from your day dream, you see that he has reached the counter and now has a confused look on his face as you have not said a word to him yet. With a poke from one of your coworkers, you remember that you need to greet him, you say with blush on your cheeks, “I am so sorry! I must’ve been focused too much on how good sales have been today to have noticed you come up, so sorry!” As you hope you played that off well. “I’ll start over, hello!”

If he had to admit to himself, as soon as he walked through the door, he thought you were pretty cute. That thought was further confirmed as he walked to the counter and when you started nonstop talking about how you were sorry. “Oh, it’s no problem, I wasn’t standing here long! This is the first day of this place being open right? I was walking by the other day when I saw the ‘coming soon’ sign out front, and I just knew I had to come by once it opened, congrats on the opening by the way!”

With your cheeks warming up once again (seriously what is wrong with you, this has never happened before), you say, “Yes, thank you! It is opening day! Business has been booming today and it’s everything I have hoped for! Do you need a minute to look at the menu or do you know what you want?”

“I usually just get a normal coffee if I go somewhere, but I’m feeling adventurous today, do you have any recommendations?”, he says with a shy smile.

“Oh, I have plenty of recommendations! But, I’ll give you my go-to order to try! It’s an iced mocha with breve, or half and half, as the milk, it is so good! Would you like to give it a try?”, you say hopefully he will take the idea.

With a nod, he says, “That’s perfect! I’ll have that and one chocolate muffin.” With that, you ring him up and he pays.

“What’s the name for this order? So I can call it out for you when it’s done of course. We can’t just have people grabbing other people’s coffees, ya know!,” you blabber on and on again.

“Ja-Jack!”, he says stumbling over his words, by how cute you are. “You can put Jack.”

“Okay, great it will be ready right down there.” With that, you get started on his coffee order and get his muffin bagged up.

A few minutes later, Jack is just scrolling on his phone while glancing up every few moments to see you working hard behind the counter. You call out, “Order for Jack!”

Jack makes his way to counter to grab his order, “Thank you!”

“I hope you love it! It’s my favorite drink ever, and I put extra mocha drizzle on it for you!”, You say once again blushing.

“Oh, I definitely will, and I will definitely be coming back!”

“Awesome, have a nice day!”, You say with a smile.

As Jack makes his way to the front door, he realizes he should’ve gotten your number, so he turns back around to go to the counter. You notice so you say, “Oh, did you forget something?” While also hoping he would ask for your number as well.

“I did actually, could I have your number? Ya know, so I can get more recommendations on coffee orders from an expert,” he says with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Hmmm, well I can’t just have you ordering a boring regular coffee now can I? Gotta have some fun in your life! So yes, I’ll give you my number,” You say, while grabbing a sticky note and writing your number on it.

“Awesome! I’ll text you sometime tonight!”, feeling happy with that, Jack says goodbye again and heads to the front door, but he stumbles over the welcome mat. He didn’t manage to spill his drink, but he looks over his shoulder to see if you noticed.

You did notice. While trying to hide a laugh, you meet his eyes, and just give a slight shake of your head. He smiles again and gives a wave walking out the door.

Later that night back at your apartment, you felt so contempt on how well opening day went, and the fact that you met a cute guy in the process, that all you could do was just smile. You felt so happy.

As you snuggled into bed, your phone went off noticing a text message.

the coffee was the best! i may or may not have to come by tomorrow to get another… and say hello to the cute owner once again 😁

sheepishly, you text back

glad you loved it, couldn’t have you walk out with a boring cup of coffee! I’ll be sure to tell the owner that a cute guy is coming in tomorrow to tell say hello 😉

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagines #jack Hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #fic #my fics #imagines #hockey imagines #nhl imagines

[writing-mlm]

jason todd x reader please 😔

The ShopKeep and the Hobbyist [J.T]

Summary: Jason's been going to this bookstore for long enough that he's developed a bit of a reputation with them. If only the cute cashier would understand he's trying to flirt but as fate would have it, one knife chase later, and maybe they're more than worker and costumer. Pairing: Jason Todd x Male!Reader WC: 7.3k TW: use of fag but its a quote

Jason traveled out of Gotham once a week, always on a Sunday, always to the same location for three entire hours. Everyone knew that Sunday from noon to four— accounting for traffic and eating out that might happen, that Jason was absolutely unavailable. Unless you physically went to track him down. 

But that’s yet to happen. 

It’s Sunday and Jason arrived at the normal spot earlier than usual. Traffic was amazing, no accidents on the way out of Gotham, and the highway was thankfully void. He parked his bike in his normal spot, right in front of the store, and lifted the visor to the helmet before heading inside. 

The Open Book had always welcomed Jason, even when the shop was closed in the middle of a blizzard. And he helped where he could (Wayne Enterprises always made a large monthly donation to the shop and for some odd reason, someone had gifted the shop a fake bird that is able to stop any thefts(odd)). 

“New shipment came in today,” The store owner's grandson greeted him, leaning across the counter to grab at the basket of free candies the shop offered. “Snagged this vintage-looking book collection for ya.” Ever since word that a Wayne kid visits the bookshop, sales have grown so it’s hard keeping certain items in stock. Especially the fancy-looking titles. 

“Do tell,” He grabs a bite-sized chocolate and rips the packet open while you set your lollipop wrapper into your apron pocket before ducking under the counter. 

   “Shits heavy,” You grunt, slamming the box onto the table and read the label. “Uhh, ‘William Shakespeare, Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies. Published According to the True Originall Copies, 1623.’ Original is spelled wrong, though,” You look up at him and pause at his wide-eyed, clearly shocked expression. 

“Shakespeare fan?” You ask, opening the flap to the box. “There’s a bunch of them in here. I think this was someone’s collection.” 

“Do you know how much it’s worth?” Jason laughs, peering into the box, and then whistles. 

   “Probably a hundred at the most,” You shrug and he slaps the table with a loud Ha! that makes you look at him, crossing his arms. “Fifty?” 

“Try nine mil,” The lollipop falls from your mouth as you look from Jason to the book collection. 

   “For all of it?” You gape. 

   “For the top book,” He corrects. “Thank god you snagged it before someone who cared did.” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, staring at the book and taking in all of the details. That’s more than you’ll ever make in a lifetime. “What should I do? Do you want it?”

“Want it like I need air,” He admits, handing you another lollipop. “But you should probably auction it, get a stack and whatnot.”

“Grams would get pissed,” You shake your head and slide the box towards him. “Believes books should be read, not stored as an artifact, yknow? Think she marked this box as a hundred, want me to ring it up?” He looks at you and takes his helmet off so you can fully see his are you stupid? look that’s plastered on his face. 

   “(Y/n),” Jason slides the box back. “This is worth more than every single book in here!” And as much as he pained Jason to say that, he knew it was true. With over two entire floors filled with books, they were but a drop in the bucket compared to that singular box sitting between the two of you. 

“It’s just paper and ink,” You shrug, staring at the box. “Besides, she’d get mad if I did and I can’t exactly hide nine million dollars!” Sighing through his nose, he agrees to buy the box and has you set it aside while he goes about shopping.

“You’re staring,” Someone tells him as they walk past and his head spins around to see who it is. It’s one of your younger sisters, around twelve or thirteen, if he remembers right. 

   “Wasn’t,” He tells her and picks up a book. “I was looking at this book!” She turns back to him and raises her eyebrows at the title before grinning. 

   “Didn’t take you as an Ice Breaker fan,” She chides and walks away while Jason stares at the book. It could’ve been basically any other book. Putting the book back, Jason returns to his actual book shopping which only takes ten or so minutes. He knows his bag is going to be heavy with the Shakeseapre books so he can’t get too many other books this week. 

“Light load,” You comment, scanning the books. “You bought this one a month ago, too.” You note, holding off on scanning A Good Girls Guide to Murder. 

   “My sister wants to read it,” He explains, flipping through the pages. “And she likes to dogear pages.” Cringing, you scan the book and read him his total before leaning against the counter. It’s a large enough counter that most of your body can rest against it while he pays while you use your phone to order some lunch. 

“That place sucks ass,” Jason comments as he’s putting his card away. You roll your eyes and look up at him. 

   “I’m hungry as shit and there’s no good places around within a reasonable price, this place has decent grilled cheeses.” You justify and he finishes paying. 

   “What would you have gotten?” He muses, leaning against the counter so the two of you are face to face. Staring at the sad picture of a grilled cheese you huff. 

“Five guys,” You admit, looking back at him. He nods, silently urging you to continue while looking you up and down, his eyes slowly moving. You also don’t notice it or the small smile on his face when you don’t move away from him. “Strawberry milkshake and grilled cheeseburger.” You finished. 

   “No fries?” He asks and you shake your head. 

   “I don’t really eat fries from there,” You admit, fiddling with the skin around your nails. 

“Sounds good,” He tilts his head a bit, grinning so his canines are showing. He watches as your eyes dip once and then twice to his lips before they finally stay on his face. 

   “It’s fucking good. An arm and a leg, but still,” Standing up, you groan and stretch. He stands up too and puts on his helmet. You watch and wait for him to dip his head down before giving his head two pats. For good luck, of course. 

When he leaves, you return to your seat and look over the shop. There’s a dozen or so people inside, some people who are clearly not there for books as they’re recording those random interviews with the tiny microphones and such. You should really stop them, maybe put up a sign or something. But they’re leaving anyway. So it doesn’t really matter. 

“Did you kiss?” Your sister asks, walking over to grab one of the candies.  

   “Girl,” Your face scrunches and she tosses the wrapper at you but it falls short. 

    “Just saying, seemed awfully close.” She shrugs. “I would’ve made a move on him a long time ago.”

“You’re ten.” Huffing, she huffs back and puts her hands on her hips. 

   “Nineteen,” She corrects. Making a talking motion with your hand, she smacks it away and throws a fireball candy at you. “That’s why you’re forty and a virgin!” 

“Neither of those are true,” You stress, tossing the candy back into the bowl. “And didn’t you just get dumped by some loser who said he’d absolutely eat a turducken covered in chocolate?” She rolls her eyes and walks behind the counter to sign into work. 

   “I dumped him,” She corrects. “Unlike your failed relationship with the guy who wanted you to pretend to be a woman.” 

“Too low,” You sigh, shaking your head. “Too low.” 

—

With your lunch break in full swing, you’re upstairs in the break room watching some crappy straight-to-DVD movie your father had bought years back while eating the very sad grilled cheese when the door opens. Half expecting it to be another family member, you don’t look away from the TV and give a small hey but when no one replies you look towards the door and hum surprised to see Jason there. Even more so on who let him in 

“Missed me?” You grin, watching as he closes the door behind him and rolls his eyes. 

   “Little delivery,” He corrects and motions for you to turn back to the movie. You do, albeit a bit hesitant to do so, but you try not to look back when you hear him getting closer. “Close your eyes, too.” He adds when you look as far back as you can without turning your head. Groaning, you cover your eyes with your hand just to prove you’re not peeking and hear him set something down on the spot next to you. 

“See you next week!” He pats your back before snatching the half-eaten grilled cheese from your hand and you take it as a sign you can open your eyes. You’re not even upset he’s eating your lunch, it wasn’t good. Looking at what he had set down, you see the familiar white and red bag and crack a smile. 

   “You got me Five Guys?” Your head whips to the door but it’s already shutting and you can hear his heavy boots quickly running down the stairs. Turning back to the bag, you pull your phone out and scroll to find his contact. 

Thank you

we feast tonight 

The two of you don’t text much, mostly if he had forgotten something in the shop or given him a heads-up that the bookstore was closed for the day. Hell, his contact name is still Jason (bookstore fav). But he reads it immediately and thumbs up the last text. 

This grilled cheese sucks by the way

It feels like plastic

Probably is lol

While Jason is very much a regular at the shop, you don’t really remember when he first started to frequent the shop. Just that one Sunday, you had seen the time and noticed he was late to the shop. He’d come in almost three hours later than he normally did and watched as you sighed, tossing his favorite candy at him before ushering him to the counter. He listened as you told him that next time he is late he needs to text or you’d send out an amber alert yourself. 

He truly hadn’t thought anyone had noticed the change in his routine. Especially someone he only saw once a week. It had been a really shitty night for him and an ever-shitter morning, feeling like a ghost wandering through Gotham, living in a life he never should have. 

He apologized with a grin and gave you his number. He also spent a little extra time in the shop, loving the familiar smell around him. He loves the bookstore more than he loves his guns, more than he loves most things really. It’s the only normal thing in his life and truly, Jason doesn’t know what he’d do without it. Without you, honestly. He’s only ever there when you are and a place is only as welcoming as the people inhabiting it. 

Which is why he’d picked up the 2 am phone call so fast. 

“Jason?” You whisper shout into the phone. He can hear some harsh wind and some distant shouts in the background, but it took much less than that for him to abandon his patrol and start over to you. “Shit— I’m sorry but I don’t know who else to call.” You add, the clarity hitting that during an emergency you called the guy who lived nearly half an hour away on a good day.

   “It’s okay, doll,” He replies and you dare to glance behind you. Maybe they’d given up by now, but no. “What’s wrong?” He asks as you round a corner. “Where are you?” He quickly adds and you glance at the road signs. 

“Uhh, heading towards Second Ave and Belcher Street. My friend's boyfriend thinks she’s cheating with me and him and his friends are chasing me,” You explain.

   “Guns?” He asks, already leaving the Gotham border. 

   “No,” You huff, the strain of running heavy on your chest. “Just knives.” 

That’s good, he tells himself. Distance is what you should be focusing on. But he knows that the regular person cannot run for nearly as long as he can and realistically, you’re bound to get tired much sooner than multiple people. 

   “Is there a crowd nearby?” You can hear some muffling to his voice but that’s honestly the least of your issues. “Maybe a club or hospital.” He adds when you don’t respond fast enough. 

   “No,” You strain. “Just apartments and shit. God, fuck! Do you think I should climb the fire escape?” There are several ahead of you, and one of them is low enough for you to grab. 

“Can you?” He asks. 

   “Yeah— yeah,” Jumping up, you pull yourself up and start climbing up to the roof. “Shit, I’m really high up,” You pant, daring to look over the edge and see the guys climbing up. “They’re climbing up,” You tell him, quickly backing away and trying to find an exit. What type of roof doesn’t have a fucking exit? 

“I’ve seen people jump from roof to roof,” You're thinking out loud at this point, trying to find some type of solution to your stupid idea. “Can’t be that hard, right?”

“Depends on the distance,” He truthfully tells you and you look at the two nearby roofs. 

   “Definitely too far. I’m fucked.” 

“Still on Second and Blecher?” He asks and you mutter a yeah when you see them reach the roof. 

   “They’re up,” You mumble. “I could jump and live, yeah?” Glancing to your left, you see a dumpster and reassure yourself that you’d be fine. 

   “Do you think you can come back down the fire escape?” He asks. “Is there one behind the building?” Looking behind you, you let out a loud sigh.    

“Yeah— yes, heading down.” Rushing down as fast as you can, you reach the ground as they’re in the middle and run back into the main road. 

“Head back down the way you came,” Jason instructs. He’s only five minutes away at this point, maybe three if he tries hard enough. He just needs you to buy five more minutes. 

   “Okay,” 

Running for what felt like an eternity, your legs are burning and your chest is tight. Maybe that one time you lied during your physical exam was coming back to bite you. 

But they’re still chasing you and Jason is still guiding you. You’re sure you’re about to pass out when a motorcycle drifts in front of you. 

“Red Hood?” You gape, panting. The fuck? 

   “Come on,” You hear him and Jason say. You’ll worry about that once you’re away from those absolute track-and-field freaks chasing you. Getting on the motorcycle, he holds your thigh with one hand before pulling off. 

The ride is silent as you’re catching your breath and just making sure you’re okay in general. Aside from the insane burn in your calves, you’re fine. The ride does a lot to calm you down, by the time he reaches the shop your head is pressed to his back and you’re holding him not as tight as you were before. 

“I don’t know your address,” He admits and you laugh into his back. After all that happened it’s a little humorous that your biggest issue is Jason getting your address. You give it to him and it takes him a second but he has the route mapped out before he pulls back onto the street. 

“I’m staying the night.” He tells you as you get off of the bike. You don’t protest, not in the slightest. You’re far too tired to do so anyway. Instead, you wave him over and head upstairs. He tries to hide his helmet from the camera view but you tell him they don’t work. 

“This guy got robbed two days ago; whole building found out the cameras are fake,” You explain while leaning against the elevator wall.

   “And you feel safe?” He incredulously asks, looking you over. Even buildings in Gotham have working cameras.  

    “I have a gun,” You shrug while he looks at you with more of an analyzing gaze, a little surprised you’d have a gun. “And no valuables. My electronics are all secondhand for that exact reason.”

“So, steal the couch?” He jokes. 

   “If it can fit through the door, it’s yours!” Patting his arm, you exit the elevator and fish out your keys. Thankfully you hadn’t dropped them during the chase. 

“What happened?” He asks as soon as you close and double lock the door. Looking at him, you drop your phone and keys onto the kitchen island before heading back to the door. 

   “My friend, Gina,” You start with a sigh, kicking your shoes off. “She used to be my beard in high school. But we never officially broke up, I guess because she posted a story saying happy six-year anniversary. With a bunch of pictures of us together. Her boyfriend saw and he’s always been…” Rolling your hand, you open your closet and grab a new outfit. “He thinks I’m lying ‘bout being gay. Because I’m too… I dunno what he thinks. But he says I don’t look gay and he’s never seen me with a guy before.” You explain with a huff. “Not my fault I’ve been single for two years, y'know. I got school and work and whatever!” Slamming the closet shut, you sigh and apologize. 

“I’m gonna take a shower, feel free to snoop and prod. And take the boots off, I just moped.” 

“Course,” He doesn’t move an inch as he unties his boots and walks to the shoe rack to set them down. You thank him and head into the bathroom. 

“If you gotta piss or shit, go ahead. I got a curtain and a strong scent blaster plugged in.” You tell him at the doorway to the bathroom. 

  “Noted.” He laughs but it drops once the door closes. 

He finds himself making sure the windows are locked and the curtains are properly drawn. He grabs his phone and saves your address into his personal map before he goes to check to see what type of security measures you have. And there’s not many, just a gun that’s badly hidden in your bedside table and the extra lock on the door. 

But there’s not much to the apartment, the decor is extremely minimal but he remembers you talking about saving to buy a house in the countryside. Or at least outside of a city. Own land and all that. 

He can’t decide if that’s good or not, there’s nothing to steal for sure, but it’s also really sad. There’s no personal touch to your apartment, it reminds him of one of his safe houses. 

He settles himself into the couch once he’s checked over everything, listening to the sounds of the shower and eventually, he hears the shower turn off. 

When you return to the living room in a pair of shorts, you’re a little surprised that Jason is still there. 

“Bruce Wayne as Batman makes a lotta sense,” Opening the fridge, you pull out two water bottles before setting them on the counter. 

“(Y/n),” Jason stops that conversation. “You should file a police report.”

“Fuck is that gonna do?” You huff, closing the fridge and opening the freezer to grab a popsicle. “Gina will hate me, cops will just forget to file it, and then I get harassed.” 

“They tried to kill you,” He stresses, blocking you from moving away from the fridge. You stare at him, a little upset that he���s caring so much. You feel bad for even calling him and sending him out of his way. And now he’s staying for who knows how long. Not to mention now you know his biggest secret— a family secret at that, one that you can tell one person, and suddenly the whole world knows. 

   “Happens every day,” You shrug but honestly, yeah, that shit scared you. His face drops and he snatches the popsicle from your hand before tossing it on the counter to your left. 

“No. Not to you. Not to most people. So what if Gina hates you afterward? Do you want a friend that’s known you since high school who would rather side with her crazy boyfriend?” 

“Of course not!” You groan. “But it’s Gina. She’s always been there and— and this is a one-time thing,”

“You sound ridiculous,” He tells you as he walks out of the small kitchen and into the living room. “Trying to kill someone isn’t a fucking one-off. It’s a crime, a legit crime. Has Gina even checked if you’re okay?” He points to the phone that’s still on the counter; the same phone he knows for a fact hasn’t buzzed once. 

   “No.” There's no need to check your phone, you already know there’s nothing from her. She’d never text you first. He nods as if to say there’s your answer. 

“Look, Jason. It was scary as fuck,” You admit. “But I’m good. And I thank you, but you should go home. I just…” Looking off to the wall. “I don’t know why I called you, I feel like shit for dragging you away from your home.”

“I was spending my night watching Harley and Ivy dry hump in front of a newly exploded power plant. You didn’t take me away from shit.” He blinks before heading to the couch. “Besides, it’s too late to drive back. I’m beat,”

“You’re lying,” You deadpan, tossing a water bottle between your hands. 

   “Am I?” He fake yawns, leaning back on the couch. “Can I get a blanket?” Clearly, he’s not going to leave, and it would be bad as a host to not make him comfortable. Asshole. 

   “Fine,” He grins as you walk away. 

“Oh and Jason, Gram’s told me about the payment plan you set up. Taking advantage of a woman who can’t speak English is rude. She thinks you’re paying five dollars a week for some back dues you owe.” It was actually five hundred thousand dollars a week, which was absurd but hey, if he insists. 

   “It’s just nine million,” He calls back. “Not even my money and B won’t notice it’s gone.” 

Just nine million, you repeat to yourself as you find a suitable blanket. It’s one of those thick fur blankets with a tiger on the front. 

“The couch is a pull-out, by the way.” Heading back into the living room, you tuck the blanket under your arm. “I’ve used it like once. It’s pretty comfortable unless you want the bed.” You add, setting the blanket on the edge of the couch. There’s no coffee table, you don’t see a reason for one. 

   “I can sleep on gravel, doll. I’m fine, thank you.” For some reason, his eyes are having a hard time staying on your face but you’re busy walking back into the kitchen to notice. 

“If you’re hungry make anything, I’m going grocery shopping in two days anyway.” Tossing the popsicle back into the freezer, you lean against the counter and watch him. It’s a little staring contest you have going on. His eyelashes are nice, real pretty boy-esque. 

The silence and tension in the apartment is broken by four rapid knocks to the front door followed by a worried: “(Y/n)?”

“Gina,” You tell Jason as he’s already off of the couch and halfway to the front door by the time you stand up straight. When you walk up behind him you pause, when did he have time to grab a gun? But he’s looking through the peephole before looking back to you and holding up two fingers. You almost laugh, this isn’t some military operation; just a… friend? at your door. 

“Please,” Gina says through the door. “We just— K wants to apologize,” Huffing, you look at Jason who’s standing behind the door, one hand on the top lock. He truly doesn’t want to unlock it, but it’s your apartment. Your call. 

   “Says who?” K snaps, his voice a lot more muffled than hers is. 

   “You’re going to fucking apologize.” She snaps right back. 

He raises an eyebrow and you nod to the door against your better judgment. He unlocks the door and stands in front of them, really standing over them with his damn height, the arm holding the gun hidden behind the door. You can basically hear Gina pause when she sees him. 

“Who are you?” Gina asks, looking him up and down. 

   “A friend.” He answers simply and then looks over to you. “Your friend is here.” 

“Thanks, Jay.” You smile and usher him into your bedroom with two quick glances. “Gina,” You greet a little harshly as you stand at the door. “Kyle.” You look at him for only a second. 

   “It’s K.” He corrects. 

“Can we come in?” She asks, stepping forward. “I explained everything to K and he’s sorry.” She looks back at him and he’s just standing there with this stupid look on his face. 

   “Is he?” You ask, looking at Kyle. “Because when he was screaming: I knew you weren’t a fag; I’m gonna cut your dick off; stop running bitch; and since you wanna pretend you’re a fag come and taste our dicks he just didn’t seem real sorry.” She cringes, he hadn’t said that part through the yelling they were doing. 

“I don’t wanna lose you,” She places a hand on the door, not that you were planning on closing it just yet. “Let us in and he’ll apologize.” Sighing, you look at her and frown. Between not even texting to see if you’re okay and then coming over with the audacity to think that a fucking apology would smooth things over, you were peeved. 

   “You’re losing one of us tonight. Him or me.” She takes a step back and frowns, her eyebrows knitting as your words settle in her. But at that moment, you knew the friendship was over. It shouldn’t ever take that long for an answer like that. 

“(Y/n), he’s sorry!” She almost shouts, shouting as if you had given her this impossible task. You want to reply, you want to yell, and to get into it then and there. But it’s no use. Your neighbors are sleeping, you’re tired, and far from a mood where you want to interact with them. As such, you close the door and put the locks back on. 

She shouts some things from the other side but you’re not listening as you enter your bedroom. 

Jason was standing right next to the door, startling you. If he hadn’t been so close you wouldn’t have seen him in the darkness. 

“Is that a requirement for vigilantes?” You ask, clutching your chest in an exaggeration. “Y’all are fucking spooky,” Tossing yourself onto your bed, you stare up at him. 

“She’s still at the door,” He ignores the comment on his family business once again. Instead, his eyes trained on your front door, watching and waiting to see what their next move is going to be. You hope for their sake it’s leaving because his hand is still on the safety of his gun. 

   “Not like they can get in,” You shrug, laying flat on your back. “I never give my key to anyone and it takes a full round of bullets to break the door.” 

“You know that how?” He asks, setting his gun down on the dresser. 

   “Last year my neighbor's crazy ex tried to break in but the door didn’t budge.” 

“Of course,” His head dips back into the bedroom, watching you. “Sleep, I’ll be in the living room.” 

“Okay,” Turning your head to look at him, you grin. “If you get nightmares, the bed is free.” Patting the empty space, Jason rolls his eyes with a grin and leaves the room. “Your gun?” You call after him, staring at the handgun still on your dresser. 

   “I have two more!” He calls back. 

“How the fuck?” But he doesn’t answer. 

—

The next morning you wake up to the sound of the front door closing. It stirs you, really, but you’re lucid enough to realize that hey, either Jason treated you like a one-night stand or someone had broken in. 

Sitting up in the bed, you collect yourself for a moment and grab his gun on your way out. While you’re surely not as keen as Jason is, you like to think you’re observant enough. The door is locked again, so you figure he didn’t leave and someone didn’t break in. 

“Jason?” You turn the corner to the kitchen and see him standing with a bag of Ihop, staring at you as if he’d gotten caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

   “Good morning,” His eyes flicker to the gun as you set it on the counter. A part of him is proud that you were hesitant enough to bring the gun with you. “I got breakfast.” 

“Aw,” You grin. “Post hate crime meal!” 

“That’s an insane sentence,” He tells you, unpacking what he had gotten. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got you blueberry pancakes, french toast, eggs, and bacon. And the orange juice,” He places two boxes and a large cup of orange juice in front of you, then the straw. But you’re just focused on the fact that you know for a fact that wasn’t a random order. You’d posted about that exact order once before. Maybe a month or so ago. 

   “Oh,” You hum, looking at the food and then at him. “That’s sweet. Thank you.” He hums back, dropping the bag down to the floor, and takes his food. He’d gotten strawberry pancakes, hash browns, an omelet, and a coffee. 

Now you feel bad for not having a coffee table. 

“Wanna watch something while we eat?” You point your thumb toward the living room and he nods. 

While in the middle of watching Breaking Bad, you get up to set the empty containers in the sink and the cup in the trash while Jason watches. He doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to sleep, having stayed up the entire night in case anything happened but he’s enjoying his time with you. Even if the circumstances were… less than ideal. 

“Do you work today?” He asks when you’re walking back. 

   “Depends if my sister calls out,” Sitting, you turn your body to look at him. “I work Wednesday through Sunday, most weeks, at least.” 

“Are you going to make the report?” He also turns his body to you, watching as you toss your head back and sigh. 

   “Probably not,” You admit, looking back at him. “It’s more effort than I care to do,” He blinks, clearly disappointed but he’s not going to push. 

   “You should carry a weapon.” Jason’s not really asking, he’s telling you. “How good are you with a gun?” 

“Not sure,” 

“You bought a gun without training for it?” He asks, slowly as if he’s waiting for you to correct him and tell him that you actually go to the gun range in your free time. 

   “My dad got me it when I moved out.” You shrug, feeling a little ashamed because now he’s looking at you like you’re insane. “He said I needed protection and he doesn’t believe in mace or tasers.” 

“Clearly you do!” He throws his hand up towards the door. “We’re going to the gun range today.” 

“Jay!” You groan, nudging his leg with your foot. He grabs it and slides you down the couch. “I’m fine.” He just hums and leans over you, it doesn’t do much. Aside from shutting you up. 

He’s staring at you, his eyes unwavering from yours while you can’t seem to settle on where to look. It’s making you nervous— he’s making you nervous. The proximity isn’t the biggest issue, no the issue is the fact that you don’t mind that he’s above you, his hand right next to your head, and for fucks sake his breathing is even. 

“You’re going.” 

“Yup,”

—

Weirdly enough, the shooting range wasn’t in some building. No, Jason had decided to drive the hour's ride to a private lot. While normally you don’t agree to be in the middle of butt fuck nowhere without your own means of leaving, you were willing to bend your rules this one time. 

He has you help with setting up the cans and the body dummies, which are incredibly lifelike. A little creepy, but whatever floats his boat, you guess. He also puts up a new target sheet on a metal wall before he returns to hand you a handgun and ear mufflers. 

“Don’t hold it like that,” He blinks as you’re pointing the gun directly at your foot. You’re not a fool, you’ve played a couple of shooter games before. 

   “The safety is on,” You justify but point it toward the ground instead. Just to keep him happy. He just sighs and grabs his own gun, pointing it toward the dummy. 

“Stand like this,” He watches you from the corner of his eye as you mimic his stance. It’s a little uncomfortable but very technical. “A little straighter.” Fixing your posture he nods and drops his stance to adjust your grip on the gun. He takes your hands and adjusts them appropriately. “It’s not accurate for beginners, but I learned this way.” He explains as he steps behind you and lowers himself to your height. It’s hard when you’re not the same six foot-five that he is, but that’s neither here nor there. 

With his line of sight that is the same as yours, he raises your hands a little higher and a little to the left. You trust his judgment, you’re no fool on how accurate Red Hood is with his guns. 

It's silent, so silent that you can hear him breathing even through the heavy earmuffs. Whether you like it or not, you start to stop focusing on the task at hand and on him. He smells like your soap, too. It’s a little too domestic for the setting you’re in. 

“Take it off of safety,” He instructs, taking two steps away. Doing as he says, you want to roll your shoulders back but you’re worried you’d lose the position. “Go ahead.” His arms cross as he stares ahead at the dummy and you catch the flex of muscle under his shirt. 

Adjusting yourself as lowkey as you can, you close one eye and press the trigger. It's harder than you would’ve thought, giving you only a moment to back out. Following through, you let the recoil push you back a little before looking at the dummy. It didn’t hit the center of the head, instead grazing over the ear. 

“Close,” Jason looks over at you as you’re rubbing your shoulder but stops when you catch him looking at you. “Again?”

—

“I mean,” One of your friends, Tasha, takes a long sip of her drink. “None of us wanted to say anything but Gina is a bitch.” Frowning, you push around your food with the back of your fork. What was supposed to be your friend group's monthly putting ended up becoming a major therapy session when they noticed that Gina wasn’t there. 

   “Yeah,” Dante gives you a sort of frown sort of smile. “But you’d been friends with her for longer than us, so it wasn’t really our place.” 

“It’s crazy that it took her boyfriend trying to kill me to realize that, though.” It felt a bit weird, she’d always been in your life, and before the whole incident, you never would’ve thought you’d be without her. But life was the same, if not better with her gone. You didn’t realize how much you didn’t need her until now and honestly, you’re just upset it didn’t happen sooner.

Especially considering all of your other friends didn’t like her. 

“Speaking of,” Alex cranes her neck to look at you. “Who’s Jason?” She grins as your eyes narrow. You’re not one to divulge about your life, especially over text. 

   “How do you know about him?” Setting your fork down, she snorts before digging back into her meal. 

   “Girl, I was the Uber Eats driver.” She explains and looks to the others who are clearly out of the loop. “My first order of the day, some guy named Jason with a blank profile. Whatever, right? I pick up the Ihop order— he knows your taste, cute.” She quickly adds. “And then, I get the address. I’m just thinking (Y/n) created a fake profile. Nah, bro!” She covers her mouth to stop her laughing and to stop any potential food from flying out of her mouth. 

“I knock and this tall guy with this hot face scar opens the door. If he would’ve asked I would’ve taken the tip,” And she didn’t mean money. 

“Clearly he already did!” Dante cackles, watching as you drown yourself in the soda you’d ordered. The others laugh while you have to do damage control. 

“Jay’s a friend who happened to be in the neighborhood when Kyle was chasing me,” The three look at each other, ever aware of the fact that you’re staring at your plate while talking. They just assume the friend part is a lie. “And he spent the night. On the couch.” You add, looking at each of them to make sure that they understand. 

  “And ordered you breakfast in bed. And he left a hundred-dollar tip,” Alex swirls her pasta around her fork while the others gape at the news. 

   “Oh girl,” Tasha looks over at you. “He got a sister?” 

“Too young for your old ass!” You laugh while she pretends to be offended. “His sisters are nineteen and eighteen.” You wondered if you should add Barbra to his list of family. But you think she’s more of an acquaintance than family. But you could be wrong. 

   “You know his family?” Tasha’s eyebrows furrow. 

   “I know of his family. Never met that before.”

“Ah, waiting for the one-year mark?” Alex nods as if she had caught the drift you are trying to get at. 

   “Oh my god,” Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat. 

“What? You’re acting like you’re not attracted to that man. He’s fine as hell!” Alex pushes her hair behind her ear as she talks. “Might have to revoke your gay card.” 

“I never said that, it’s just…” Rubbing your hands on your pants, your face scrunches. “He could be straight.” Now, you weren’t going to deny the fact that Jason was attractive. He was the embodiment of your personal preferences, but you were a chronic overthinker with these sorts of things. To the point where it needs to be spelled out for you to get any hints. 

“He got you breakfast in bed.” Dante sounds out each word, putting an equal amount of extra emphasis on it. Just to make sure it really sinks in. 

   “I did that for you guys before!” You defend. 

    “Fine— fine, how do you know him?” Tasha asks and the others nod, happily awaiting your response. 

“He comes into the shop every Sunday. He’s been coming for about four years, give or take.” You shrug and they blink at each other. This is why you’re still single. 

    “Isn’t he the one that bought you Five Guys last month?” Dante is now physically turned to you, his eyes wide and you grumble. You never told them about that. 

   “You’re lying,” Alex cackles. “That’s your man and you don’t wanna admit it. Five guys is expensive.” 

“How about this?” Dante rolls his hand before you can even reply to Alex. “If one of Tasha’s friends got her an expensive lunch without asking, showed up to her job every single shift for four years, stayed with her after a traumatic night, got her breakfast, and didn’t leave until she was truly safe; how much platonic energy does that give you?” 

“Not a lot, but—“

“Nah,” Dante holds your hands as he speaks. “I love you, so don’t take this the wrong way but you’re stupid as fuck. He wants you.”

“He wants the books I sell. And my friendship.”

“He wants to spread something other than pages.” He shakes his head and you snort. “Ask him out, if he says no. Then I owe you a grand.”

“You don’t have a grand.” You deadpan and he nods. 

   “I’m so sure he’ll say yes that I’m making that bet.”

“Fine,” You huff. “But if this ruins my friendship you all owe me lunch for a month.” Surprisingly, they all agree and you settle on asking him on the upcoming Sunday. So, the very next day. 

—

“Why are your friends watching you?” Your sister asks as she walks behind you to grab one of the display books and swap it for a different one. 

   “Don’t worry about them,” You mutter, too busy watching the window; waiting for the motorcycle to stop in front of the store. She notices, of course, and stands behind you before deciding it was time to take her break and join your friends upstairs. 

Eventually, you see his motorcycle pull up and sigh, fixing your apron but stop when you hear them snickering. This whole situation was stupid, that’s what you’ve decided. But you’ve made your bed, it was time to lie in it. 

Jason walks in, his eyes immediately finding yours but you’re busy ringing someone up. He grabs the basket from the front of the shop and walks around the shop until he sees the line is gone. 

“Jay,” You grin, holding onto the counter. 

   “(Y/n),” His eyes focus on your hands for a second before he grabs a chocolate from the basket. Glancing at your friends, you fix your posture and reassure yourself. “Anything new?” Typically, you’d already be talking about what’s new but there’s just this hanging silence. 

“Nah,” You shake your head but still double-check the inventory log. “But we’re getting some um… science fiction stuff next week.” He’s not too big on those, maybe once in a blue moon he’ll actually buy one. He goes to talk but your phone dings before he can open his mouth. Watching as you grab your phone, your eyes scan over a text before you huff and silence it. 

“I heard about…” You trail into a whisper. “The Riddler kidnapping, you okay?” Not the best way to lead into asking someone out, but hey. Could’ve been worse. 

   “I’m fine,” He nods. “Arms a little sore but I’ll live.” 

“Long enough to go on a date with me?” You ask, a bit quicker than you intended but thankfully your words haven’t jumped up. He laughs, his eyes closing and you falter, glancing up at your friends for some type of support. 

   “That was a bold transition,” He settles himself down. “When are you free?”

“Oh shit, for real?” You grin. “I’m free Monday. Or whenever you are, really. My shifts are pretty flexible,” 

“I’ll pick you up Monday,” 

“I asked you on the date,” You huff. “I’m picking you up.” He crosses his arms and his eyes lower into a sort of unamused expression. 

   “You’ll pick me up, from Gotham?” He asks, just to make sure you know what you’d be signing up for. Truthfully, you hadn’t. And as such, you weigh your options— you don’t even have a car to offer to pick him up in. Damn. 

    “Fine, Monday at eight.” Giving in, he nods and glances around the shop. 

   “I don’t need a book today, see you tomorrow.” He looks you up and down, this time you watch as his eyes slowly drag down and tilt your head. 

“Looking like you already wanna kiss me, Jay.” You joke as his eyes reach yours again. 

   “Since you offered.” He grins and sneaks one single kiss that lasts less than a second. 

“I get off in thirty,”

#x male reader #x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x male reader

[elcpsstuff]

Chaotic Black Friday shopping with Conrad 💕

This too, Please?

a/n: sorry i’ve been so inactive but here’s this little thing. idk what’s going on but it’s very funny so enjoy:)

—

“Please?”

Conrad shakes his head at you. “Baby, just shop online. the stores are a mess.”

You crawl on top of him, falling into his lap softly. “You don’t understand. Belly just told me there was that sweater i’ve been eyeing from Aritzia for MONTHS in store! She went with Jere earlier.”

Conrad gives you a soft smile, “no.”

“Connie!” You whine.

“Baby!” He mocks you which earns him a kick in the leg. He winces. “Hey! what the heck!”

“If you take me i’ll love you forever?”

He smirks, “you already do.”

“Nope. Not anymore.” You go to get up but Conrad pulls you back into his lap.

“Don’t be mean. I want to stay here with you and cuddle all day. that’s all.”

Your heart melts at the boy in front of you, but Belly’s words rang through your ears. You had to stay focused. “Later. I promise we can cuddle and do nothing all night. Okay?”

Conrad sighs, “I love you baby, but you drive me crazy.”

So here you were, rushing to the store to get the sweater that caused all this drama. It turns out the sweater was sold when you got there, but they had some stock online which you ordered right away as soon as you left the store.

You thought Conrad was going to want to go home, but you were surprised when he dragged you into target.

“What the fuck are we doing in target on black Friday, Conrad?”

He smirks, “Okay so there was this like, comforter bean thing on TikTok everybody wears and—”

“omg. the comfy! you want one of those?”

He pulls you in and gives you a quick kiss on the forehead. “For both of us. you would look so adorable in it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “I am not a barbie doll Conrad Fisher.”

“No. but you are the cutest thing ever.”

Oh he’s got you. That’s how you get the girl all right.

You and Conrad got 2 comfys and instead of going home you got a little side tracked, buying everything on sale. Chips, makeup and while Conrad got tons of blankets.

You were carrying so many bags home, at least 4 each when you walked back into the summer house. You and Conrad were moving in together after this summer. Since you both graduated college this past may, you needed to start prepping for your apartment.

Jeremiah and Belly were side eyeing you two so hard and Belly couldn’t help but laugh when she saw you and Conrad frantically bringing everything inside.

“There is no way you got Conrad to go black Friday shopping. Let alone enjoy it.” Jeremiah yells.

“Jeremiah!” Belly yells at him and slaps his hand. All that does is earn her a kiss.

“Yeah well,” Conrad begins. “Y/n is officially my shopping buddy.”

You roll your eyes, “Wasn’t I that already?”

“You were my girl. Now your my girl and my shopping buddy.” You go to protest but Conrad picks you up and leaves chast kisses down your neck. Jeremiah and Belly look knowing as you both go upstairs to pursue some.. extra curricular activities.

You can bring the bags up later. You had both worked hard.

—

Something short but cute. Happy 50% off week!

#the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher #jeremiah fisher #team conrad #belly conklin #conrad x reader #team jeremiah #tsitp #love #summer love #conrad fisher fic #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher fanfic

[roo-bastmoon]

With 17 versions to buy and 8 versions combined for 160 streams per Spotify account, plus Melon and FLO streams now counting, of course Jungkook’s Seven is charting high and sweeping awards. Firstly because it’s Jungkook of course, and secondly because it’s been given every possible advantage.

My (perhaps controversial) opinions about that are below the cut.

Honestly? I really can’t feel good about any “first” or “most” or “fastest” records achieved by this single—catchy as it is—which wasn’t written or conceived by Jungkook and has nothing much personal or deeply meaningful about it. It’s a fun feel-good summer pop song, for sure, but no more groundbreaking than, say, Bad Decisions (in my opinion… I have no musical expertise.)

But I can’t feel super great about all the records and awards because this many versions immediately restocked and shipped and auto play and promoted to radio and ads and leadership hyping only this while Jungkook says he wants to be the one and only artist to conquer kpop and pop for the next thousand years… it all just doesn’t really sit right with me.

When compared to the 10 months Jimin forewent sleep, food, and showers to have a hand in every aspect of his first (and deeply personal and symbolic) album, which was never sent to radio or restocked, got split tracks and delayed playlisting and shady articles, plus not one kudos or congratulations from leadership even after he made history for South Korea and stocks soared…

Forgive me, but it all leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It is ruining the song for me.

Some things like culled streams and sales are out of the company’s control. But the things I mentioned above were all possible for Jimin’s Hot 100 #1. Even if every Tannie has total say in their projects' sales and marketing, and everyone was on board with only Jungkook getting the Hybe America "red carpet" treatment, I can’t lie and say the stark difference feels fine. It doesn't, and I confess I leave the headphones in every time Seven comes up in the playlists now.

I’m not jealous. If anything, I have a warped sense of pride that Jimin has done so fantastically well despite so many, many obstacles stacked against him. I love to champion an underdog and I’m glad I never need to doubt his success was organic. I actually feel extra admiration for how humble and hardworking he continues to be—no resting on any laurels for the It Boy. I'm so glad he is my ult-bias.

*sigh*

Listen to me.

I know Jungkook and Jimin are both genuinely good people. I know they are sincerely talented and hard working. I know they truly love each other. I know all members are legitimately happy for each others' success.

I know what’s important to me may not be important to them, nor what they want for their careers. And even if I feel their company’s making shitty decisions, I know my place as a fan.

So I trust them. And I simply hang in. I hope lessons were learned for smoother, fairer future releases. Because neglecting assets makes zero business sense, and perceived favoritism can erode the group’s bonds and tear ARMY apart. It is, frankly, just plain stupid.

So I may dislike things about their solo era rollouts and I can't bring myself to sugar-coat it; but I mostly try to keep my negative thoughts to myself and find things I CAN celebrate with other fans on an open timeline.

I never want another Tannie to feel anguished and misunderstood the way Hobi did about JitB’s physicals.

Watching Jungkook’s face here on his London live when he talks about people hating him just haunts me. It guts me. I can't stand it. That kid was going through it and I don't believe he has a malicious bone in his body, so it just really upsets me seeing him like that.

There’s so, so much about this company, this industry, this culture that I just don’t understand. But I trust Park Jimin completely. As long as Park Jimin loves and supports his members, God knows, I will too.

So!! On that note...

We have Jungkook’s birthday to celebrate next week and Taehyung’s album to support the week after that. I’m going to do my best to rest up and gather some good energy for these things!

And of course, we must congratulate our Jimin, who made history again today, and no matter what, will always set the standard. I just know he's cooking up something else for us with all these weeks of silence, and I cannot wait to go BERSERK for it whenever it drops.

I’m not really sure I had a point to this post. It’s just that I have been mulling all this over for a long time, and finally felt well enough to sit up long enough to come online and type up my thoughts.

I guess what I mostly wanted to share with my friends here is that it’s okay to feel really disappointed and even enraged at the way some things play out over the (hopefully life-long) careers of BTS members. Don't let folks gaslight you. Call it like you see it. (Maybe keep sensitive things behind a cut or in the DMs--and of course, please change your mind if you get better insight. In the end, only the Tannies really know what's going on with the Tannies.)

But while I’m still side-eyeing the company so hard right now, I’ve decided to love and support the boys as people and artists. I'm trying to believe the best in everyone. I’m still an OT7 Jikooker.

You don’t have to agree with me, and if you need to unfollow, I understand. But I figured I should just tell you guys (especially the new followers) where I am at with all this.

Love, Roo

#jimin #jikook #jungkook

[memetrash-coyote]

Howdy! I'm running a summer sale from today to Aug 12th!

Masks, boxes, dice cups, standing pouches, and bags are on sale for 20% off! This includes the listings for custom masks.

Older stock like the trays, pin cushions, and snapping pouches are on sale for 30% off!

If you’re interested in other custom items like dice cups, boxes, or note covers, message me on etsy! Custom orders are always a blast.

#my art #dungeons and dragons #leather #leathercraft #leatherwork #dicebag #dice nerds on tumblr #etsy seller #etsy #etsy sale #etsy store

[mothyandthesquid]

“Mulled Wine” colourway to get you in the mood for the festive season. This weekend at @yorkshireyarnfest will be the first yarny party of the holidays and also my last show of the year. Be sure to be there if you would like to see my work in person.

Yarn shows are full of tiny businesses and times are tough but you can help because you are savvy enough to know that big corporations artificially inflate their prices prior to Black Friday to make their “discounts” look good, and offer low quality and senescent stock on sale.

Shopping small helps you avoid their traps and your home doesn’t get filled with environmentally toxic plastic tat. We also appreciate your custom far more and you can be sure I spend my earnings on things like food and school uniforms rather than a second yacht.

One final thing. If you’re coming to the show, please bring cash if you can. The card processing company charge 1.69% and they don’t deserve it because they didn’t dye the yarn. Imagine how much they skim off the pool of money that we share and redirect into the coffers of the 1% every day!

Of course, we also have two card machines and welcome all buyers equally, so if anyone was hoping to get offended that a woman expressed an opinion then I’m sorry to disappoint. Bringing cash is supererogatory, but it’s also a great way to keep track of your spending if you have a set budget.

#mothyandthesquid #yarn #knitting #knit #yarnaddict #knittersofinstagram #crochet #yarnlove #miniskeins #yarnlover #yyf #yorkshireyarnfest

[notfinancialadvice]

It's been awhile, but I have a new thought for folks starting out investing

This blog is called "not financial advice" so this is not financial advice. Nothing on this blog is.

And.

I am working on a large-scale D&D-style banking system for a private client (my job is weird). This is putting me in touch with a lot of people in very expensive suits and it I keep pinging them:

"Let's say someone has $100 to start investing, what should they do. Like, literally $100. With $0.00 added after."

I've cobbled together some thoughts (not advice don't sue me) and cut out the bullshit and sales pitches.

Start a high-yield savings account in an FDIC insured bank. As of this writing (April 27, 2023, United States-based), it'll be somewhere between 3.5 - 4.25% APY (annual percent yield -- i.e. interest)

Go with a bank that is FDIC insured. Banks pay for this, you do not. Here are smart people talking about what FDIC is.

The percentage difference listed above is 0.75%. Moving money is a bitch, is it worth chasing 0.75%? That depends on your situation, time, etc. Here are smart people who built a calculator to help you figure it out if it's worth it to you.

Touch it as little as possible.

Start a spreadsheet that tracks your finances.

In the cell that lists the amount of this balance, give it a name. Something fun, something that speaks to you. I did this as an experiment + to participate, mine is "Slime Research Adventurer Destruction Fund".

Write a prospectus (fancy word for "this is what the goal for this cash is to do").

Slime Research Adventurer Destruction Fund prospectus: Follow the path of high-yield savings rates at {bank}. Review quarterly if other banks have a substantially better rate (+1.5%).

The entire point is to break the idea of "them not me" and "today vs. someday" and "I cannot begin to build wealth vs. someone else can."

A $100 savings INVESTMENT IN A SAVINGS ACCOUNT with a rate of 3.5-4.25% will give you interest of $3.50-4.25 at the end of the first year, then continue on growing onwards.

That is your return.

Is it as high as investing in the market? No.

Is it safer? Holy fuck yes.

When you invest in stocks, bonds, etc. you are looking for a return. This is your return.

This is not a grindset mindset work 24/7 chunk of advice. This is not a reality-disillusionment "I am struggling I need to work harder."

You need to be knowledgable about how things can work for you so you can leverage what you have, where you are, when you have it, as you can.

A high-yield savings account is not going to make you rich.

It probably won't make a difference in an emergency.

It will absolutely make a difference in non-emergency times, over a period of time.

Slime Research Adventurer Destruction Fund Destroying Adventurers.

That last point is where I'm coming to.

If you don't have enough cash to invest and/or you're not comfortable investing, that's fine.

Give your savings account a name that speaks to you. This is your investment. Your savings account = your investment account.

There is no moral or ethical difference between "I have cash shoved into a savings account" and "I have cash shoved into the stock market."

The only difference is potential risk, growth, and fees (never pay for a savings account), liquidity ("how quickly can I convert this thing into cash to buy an apple at the grocery store, pay a bill, etc.").

Make money less scary via weird names and fun graphics.

Go to a piccrew site and make a catgirl with pink and blue hair.

Name your fund "Catgirlsnax Fundsies".

Make. Money. Management. Less. Scary. By. Taking. Control. Via your own. Desires. Goals. Weird quirks.

Here is to hoping these gifs are not from horrible shows I don't know anime I know money and business and monsters.

If they are then I apologize for it.

I've read the notes on my blog and a lot of you like anime. I'm hoping these resonate.

#money #money management #control your cash #protect your cash #protect your business

[frozenjokes]

hOtgUy drops by to pick up his visor, and Cub viscerally regrets not googling his name before then (1/2)

Next

Tuesday was a big stocking day for the little shop where Cub worked, and easily his busiest of the week as he managed most of the stock, keeping track of what they had, sorting things, generally doing anything that kept him off the sales floor. The type of people shopping in a place like this tended to have fragile egos, and Cub, despite his previous best efforts, did not have a delicate touch. Self proclaimed superheroes would happily get into fights, suffer massive injuries, and generally engage in borderline suicidal behavior in the pursuit of a thrill, but say they have a big head one time, and you find out who the most sensitive members of society really are. (And she did have a big head, literally and metaphorically, it wasn’t Cub’s fault they didn’t have a helmet that fit.)

You could say he and his manager occasionally butted heads after incidents like these, disagreeing especially on how the aftermath was handled (admittedly, never well on Cub’s part, but he struggled to mask under pressure), but there was nothing either of them could do about it besides stick Cub in the back where no one could see him and pretend to like each other. She couldn’t fire him; a higher up was a family friend, and they knew Cub needed the help, and Cub couldn’t quit, because, again, money was always an issue, so the two of them just had to suck it up and deal. In the end though, it wasn’t a bad gig, not when he didn’t have to speak to people most of the time. It would just be a little nicer if his manager wasn’t always convinced he was doing a shit job.

Cub had been excited this morning for that to change, though in the flurry of handling supplies and dealing with deliveries, and having to micromanage everything, he had forgotten HotGuy was coming. The trucks had been late today, as well as a few other issues Cub had been dealing with, so he was still outside around noon, and coming back in to hear HotGuy’s voice was quite the scare. Mostly because he was so loud.

“-Oh yes! Positively delightful, knew exactly what the problem was and assured me you all would have exactly what I’m looking for. You know, I don’t often take a look around the smaller stores for the things I need; a lot of my equipment is custom made, but this place is just adorable, seriously, adorable. I’m so lucky Cub and I ran into each other! Is he here? Could I speak with him?”

His manager was clearly flustered, reasonable given that bigger names like HotGuy never stopped by smaller shops like this. It was cheaper, sure, but the quality wasn’t always there, and if you can afford the better stuff, you might as well spend the money.

“Thank you-” she finally said, “I’m sure I can get you what you need right here though, just a replacement for the visor screen, right?”

“Oh, that’s alright! Cub said he’d have it ready for me.”

Cub heard the strain in his manager’s voice, and it was quite clear the last thing she wanted was for Cub to say something rude or scare this high value customer away in some other creative way, “Cub’s very busy right now in the back, we get new stock on Tuesdays and he usually handles most of the-”

“I can wait!” HotGuy announced proudly, and Cub cringed from his place in the back. He couldn’t see his manager, but he could practically hear the strain in the silence, probably split 50/50 between bafflement that HotGuy was going to wait to be served and fear that he wanted Cub to be the person to serve him.

Probably fair, because when Cub finally poked his head out from the back, he was not ready for HotGuy to have no legs. The wheelchair itself was a sight; heavily customized to HotGuy’s colors but also full of stickers and even advertisements on the sides. Was- were those kitchen knives duct taped to the handles-? HotGuy himself was dressed in his usual costume, still wearing the cracked visor, but he had plain black sweatpants on as well, almost jarring in comparison to the rest of his intricate costume, though, more jarring was the fact there was nothing in the pant legs.

“Cub!” his manager hissed, not subtle at all, but maybe that was warranted given that his staring was just as conspicuous.

Cub jumped, scrambling to explain himself in a flurry of thoughts and stutters, but he and panic did not mix well, the resulting defensive coming out as, “He had legs yesterday-“ which was definitely one of the worst things that could have come out of his mouth, so he excused himself immediately. If he could escape out the back door fast enough, a stray truck might take pity on his plight and run him over. His manager broke the stunned silence, apologizing profusely, but she was completely drowned out by HotGuy’s laugh, an impossibly loud, barking thing. He said something, but Cub didn’t hear it or his manager’s response, though he did hear their shuffling and then- wheels? Was that the wheelchair?

“Cub?” Whatever Cub was expecting next, it was not HotGuy’s face poking in through the doorway. Probably much worse than his imagined worst case scenario, and Cub had to fight the urge to get up and run.

“Hi,” he managed instead, then, after the voices of literally everyone he knew started yelling in his head, he continued with a meek, “Sorry.” ‘That’s not genuine,’ something sneered, a mangled conglomerate of many voices, school teachers, old friends, parents- ‘Again, and mean it this time.’ “I’m really. Sorry.” Cub tried again, but it still wasn’t right, it still wasn’t human-

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” HotGuy said, far better at sounding like he meant it, “Nothing I haven’t heard before, though, usually that particular comment comes from kids,” Scar laughed, but seemed to realize pretty quickly that Cub did not find it very funny. Cub didn’t even want to know what his face was doing right now.

“I’m sorry.” That sounded better.

But HotGuy only cocked his head, something like concern dancing behind his eyes, though, it was hard to tell behind the visor. Cub didn’t even know what color they were. “Can I come in?” He sounded friendly. Cub’s voice didn’t seem to be working anymore, so he just nodded, miserable. HotGuy wasted no time doing just that, though he struggled a bit with the mess, another entirely mortifying thing to have to watch. Cub should get up. Do something about it. He didn’t, though.

“One of my prosthetics got damaged yesterday after we parted ways. CuteGuy wasn’t happy with me still, and he let me know it. The equipment is sturdy, obviously, it has to be, but there’s a lot of moving parts, and because I’m so active, maintenance has to be performed relatively often. Since one needs fixing up, might as well make sure the other is in tip top shape, yeah?” HotGuy was quiet for a moment, but Cub still couldn’t say anything, so the hero continued, looking curious, “Did you not know? That I’m an amputee?”

Cub opened his mouth to answer, but that just wasn’t going to happen, so he shook his head instead, embarrassment building. HotGuy looked entirely fascinated by that information, and there was some kind of odd open mouthed half-smile on his face, but Cub for the life of him could not tell what HotGuy was thinking. Luckily, the other wasn’t exactly trying to keep it a secret.

“I think I’m impressed. I also think I need to model with my wheelchair more. Goodness.” HotGuy stopped, plucking his phone from his pocket and looking something up, “No, that’s like- when you google me, that’s like the first thing that every website says about me! It’s what I’m known for- how-?” Cub cringed, but HotGuy didn’t seem to notice, shooting up in his chair.. Excited..? “You don’t even know how it happened! I bet you have no idea! Oh, I haven’t gotten to tell that story to anyone who didn’t already know in ages and- well, before when I told people the wounds were a little more raw if you catch my drift. Far more unpleasant- Oh!”

HotGuy was off in his own little world, and very clearly didn’t notice Cub flinch at the sudden noise. Honestly, Cub couldn’t even tell if he was looking at him.

“I’ll tell you at lunch! You’ll come to lunch with me, won’t you?”

Cub struggled to do much more than gape and gesture uselessly, and he wasn’t entirely sure if HotGuy understood what was happening, but he definitely recognized there was a problem, brows furrowed in concentrated thought. Finally, he clicked his tongue.

“I’ll give you the address! I’ll write it down,” HotGuy pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, humming to himself, before lighting back up, “And my number! Just in case you can’t make it. Or don’t want to come. You don’t have to come. But I really want you to! If you don’t come though you should text me. You don’t have to text me. But I’d really like if you texted me. Or call me! You don't have to call me. How does 1:00 sound?”

Cub stared, which apparently HotGuy took as a resounding yes, as he continued writing, just about as happy as can be. He tore the page out of his notepad then set it on Cub’s desk, patting it a couple times before turning right around with an enthusiastic wave, “Byeee!”

Cub scrambled to his feet, opening his mouth to say literally anything, but speech still wasn’t working out for him, and HotGuy was practically already out the front door. His manager was similarly speechless, but more in the normal way rather than the Cub way, so baffled, she wasn’t even wearing her signature customer service smile.

“Are you okay?” she surprised him with that, her tone far more gentle than he had expected, especially after a complete disaster. But she did look worried, and now that he thought a little harder about it, he had to guess he wasn’t looking so great. But Cub couldn’t say as much, so instead he ducked into the back room, returning with the note HotGuy had left for him.

Her eyes widened as she read it, complete disbelief evident in every feature on her face. Cub wasn’t sure why she was so surprised, he had no doubt she heard every word HotGuy said to him, but regardless, she returned the note, near silent.

“You should go.” She must have seen the distaste on Cub’s face before he even knew it was there, shaking her head, “You have to go. This- Cub! That’s HotGuy!” This was not in the least bit convincing, but his manager was a bit too distracted to notice. Honestly, he didn’t mind all that much. It was a little nice to be talked to like a friend. “Go, go on, rest up. Take as much time as you need, but if you don’t make it by 1:00 you’d better text him. Then tell me everything. He likes you, Cub!”

He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so he simply didn’t.

Cub sighed through his nose as he turned around, fully intending on taking that break, but not on going to lunch. Lunch with a random famous guy was the last thing he wanted right now- god, and he’d kill for a nap. He frowned, but stopped short when he saw his desk, or rather, the little package on top of his desk. The visor screen- damn it.

It was HotGuy’s fault he had forgotten about it, but maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was Cub’s fault for making a complete fool of himself- HotGuy must have felt obligated to comfort him, surely. Embarrassing. Mortifying, even. If Cub never had to face the world again, it would be too soon.. But it would probably be responsible of him to actually give HotGuy the visor he came for in the first place. A proper apology.

He sat with a huff, eyeing the note with a creased frown. Yup, there was the name and address of the place HotGuy wanted to meet him, his number, and-

Cub dropped the little sheet of paper, then nearly fell out of his chair trying to catch it.

‘And HotGuy is a little much as far as names go, so please, call me Scar.’

#hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #cubfan #hermitfic #hermitshipping #not in this part much but in the next one #convex #cubscar #hotguy

[bit-odd-innit]

Fic: Somewhere That’s Green

[based on a post I made about Eddie’s future]

It’s a hole in the wall just off the main drag, the kind of place you can’t find unless you know to look. In a previous life it had been a pizzeria, which explained the bright green vinyl awning Eddie had no intention of replacing. He’d kept the pick-up window, too, used it to host “office hours.” (“Office hours” was supposed to mean “deliver personalized music recommendations to interested passers-by.” Now it means “help harried, double-parked parents reschedule music lessons.”) 

He’d also kept the apartment upstairs. They have a house now—a nice one, with a wrap-around porch and a big backyard and a cluster of hedges Steve always insists are “a mess”—but when Eddie trips into an inventory hole and loses track of time, it’s nice to have a place to crash. If it’s not a school night sometimes Steve joins him, and they’ll relive the halcyon days of their early twenties, buoyed by cheap beer, diner curly fries, and giddy infatuation. (The infatuation has only grown and flourished even as his tolerance for salty food has withered. Acid reflux is a bitch.)

He’s happy they kept the apartment. He happy knowing that if someone needs it—someone scared, broke, desperate for a lifeline and a scrap of no-strings-attached kindness—it’s something he can provide. 

Initial plans had been to focus on music, just music. It was supposed to be the utopic all-metal record store of Eddie’s nightmares.  But as he started to build stock, he remembered how hard it had been to find merch for the things he liked. How a pin or a patch or poster he’d dug up at a garage sale four towns over made him feel more seen than anything on offer at the local mini-mall. How he wanted to be a hub for the weird shit not everyone liked, but the people who did loved. His horrible little magpie brain fluttered from shiny thing to shiny thing, and by the time opening day rolled around the store was a one-stop shop for all things music, merch and whatever wacky knick-knacks tickled Eddie’s fancy. Or horrified Steve. Or both. Both was best.

The Corroded Coffin guys slotted in easily. Francis always liked doing promo for their gigs, was good at it, too. But by the early 2000s, his methods were apparently so outdated his daughter begged to let her take over. (“He’s stapling fliers to telephone poles, Uncle Eddie. You don’t even have a website.”  

“What is a telephone pole covered in fliers if not the working man’s web-ed site?”

“Oh my God give me your credit card I’m buying you a domain name.”

“A what?”)

Jeff got his CPA and took over the financials, reeling Eddie in whenever he was struck by the urge to make a impulsive, outlandish purchase. (“I genuinely don’t understand how you make money.” 

“It’s cause I don’t do my taxes.”

“I do your taxes. At a great personal expense.”) 

Gareth was instrumental (heh…) in building up the music program—soundproofing the basement and hiring instructors and coordinating concerts and organizing payment plans, all the nitty-gritty non-music stuff that made Eddie’s head spin. At some point it just made the most sense for Eddie to cede control, let him operate it however he saw fit. (“This is your baby, dude. It’s a baby that took form within my own, much larger baby. But it’s yours.”

“I’m touched by your words and appalled by your phrasing.”

“That’s the only way I could have said it.”) 

(Gareth also once described the store as an “Elevated Hot Topic.” Eddie still hasn’t decided when he’s going to kick his ass.)


Momentum grew. Ideas compounded ideas. A kid asked how to sew a patch to his backpack and it snowballed into the Build Your Own Battlevest Workshop. Wayne suggested knocking out the connecting wall between the walk-in freezer and the pantry, and now thrice weekly Eddie runs table-top games for varying age-sets and skill-levels. (At Steve’s request, the elementary school group is called H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS FIRE CLUB. Not because he thinks it needs to be censored. He just thinks it’s funny.)  (He’s right.)

It was supposed to be a record store but now it’s so much more. Now there are listening parties and movie screenings and little league teams with his store’s name on the back of their jerseys and and and—

Eddie used to think, if he got lucky, he’d last a year. Now he’s closing in on 30. He was profiled by the local newspaper. They called him “a pillar of the community.”

Wild. 

It’s a warm, sunny April morning. He’s sitting at the takeout window, sipping coffee from the bottom half of a teapot-teacup combo that reads, in a menacing blood-red font, THIS FREAK DRINKS TEA. His hair is gathered in a loose braid, the ends still damp from his post-run shower. (Sometime in their mid-thirties Steve tricked him into maintaining a consistent cardio routine, and now he’s the type of person who gets out of bed at the crack of dawn to knock out an “easy three.” He’s a monster, a husk of his former self. A husk with a much-improved lung capacity and thighs that can juice a watermelon but nonetheless HUSK.) The middle school is about a half mile from the shop; he pulls faces at all the students filtering past. (Steve’s kids, current and former, refer to Eddie exclusively as Mr. Munson’s Husband. It never fails to thrill him.)

He’s leaning back to flip the record piping through the store’s speakers (“Dustin I don’t care if it’s ‘easier’ to ‘create a Spotify account,’ whatever that means. We play vinyl only! Let me be pretentious about this one thing!”) when he hears a meek, polite cough coming from just beneath the window. He peers out and on the sidewalk stands a girl. She’s small, too little to be one of Steve’s. She clutches the strap of her backpack, blue eyes huge with nerves and determination. 

“Hail and well met, weary traveler!” He’s speaking in what Steve calls his Dork Voice, the slightly tuned-down version he uses to put shy kids at ease. “How might I be of assistance?” The girl purses her lips, sets her shoulders, shakes her shaggy bangs out of her face. Eddie thinks suddenly of Nancy and Robin and his heart clenches.

“Do you like games?” She asks.

He smiles softly. Drops the act. “Yeah.” He rests his scarred cheek in the cradle of his palm. “I like games. Do you like games?”

The dam breaks.

“Yes!” She replies at once, breathless with enthusiasm. “My family plays a lot of board games, like Game of Life and Monopoly, and they’re okay but kind of boring, but my brother taught me how to play Settlers of Catan and I really liked that, and my friends and I played Werewolf at a sleepover but we made up a bunch of extra rules to make it harder, and my cousin showed me this video game where the ending changes based on what choices you make and that’s so cool—”

“Alright, slugger.” Eddie can’t help but laugh. “What game are you looking to play?”

The girl collects herself. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, so. So I like it in games where there are rules, but also you can make stuff up? And you can do something weird that might ruin everything but also might pay off? And sometimes you have to work with other people to accomplish your goal, but alliances can break?” Eddie nods. “So there’s this one game. It sounds like so much fun, but nobody I know plays it. They play it on this show I like, well, okay, it’s not really a show, it’s, uh, okay do you know what a podcast is?” Eddie beams.

Steve swapped study hall coverage so he could pop in for lunch. Tonight is parent-teacher conferences, which means Steve’ll be home late, which means Eddie will get absorbed in a project and either crash upstairs or stumble home well after Steve’s gone to bed, which means they’ve got to snatch the time together they can get. They split a sandwich, a salmon burger from Costco Eddie threw in the air fryer and smashed up with avocado and grilled poblano pepper. (”It’s heart healthy!” “You’re heart healthy.” “Aw.” “I meant that as an insult.” “I’m not taking it as one, mwah mwah mwah.”) Eddie eats too fast, as he often does, and drags his nails over the veins of Steve’s forearm to distract himself from his gastrointestinal tract turning inside out.

“🎶Myyyy babyyyy myyyyyy babyyyyyy,” he hums against the shell of Steve’s ear. “You’reeee my babyyyyy sayyyy it to meeeeee🎶.” “Alright,” he huffs, tapping his fingers to the knobby bone of Eddie’s wrist. He presses a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s jaw and rises. “I gotta get back.” He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, gathers the papers he’d promised he’d grade but didn’t. Eddie watches him readjust, watches him smooth down the salt-and-pepper hairs dusting his temples, watches him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He catches Eddie watching and asks, slyly, “What?”

Eddie wants to say, I love you. He wants to say, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. He wants to say, I’m so grateful I built this life with you. 

But he’s still himself, so what he says is, “Those khakis make your ass look great.”

Steve scoffs, and with a bitchy eye roll he sinks his weight onto his back foot and says, “I KNOW,” and there he is. There’s the man he married. He looks over his shoulder before he leaves, his honey-warm eyes liquifying Eddie’s spine.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I love you too.” Eddie kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.  Pretty good life. 

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fanfic

[wfzine]

🚨LEFTOVER SALES ARE NOW OPEN!🚨

✨LINK HERE✨

Missed our preorders? Now’s your chance to grab a copy of the World’s Finest Zine! We have a limited stock of individual items as well as a few bundles remaining. We also have a few B-grade and C-grade copies of certain items, which will be sold at a discounted price. 

B-grade items are slightly damaged, such as by scuff marks, but they do not impact the viewing quality of the item.

C-grade copies are significantly damaged, such as large scuff marks and folded corners. The primary subjects of the zine are still fully visible! 

To see examples of B and C grade items, please view our shop listing or click on the read more! We have b grade zines and bookmarks, and a handful of c grade zines. 

For non-US customers, please read our Shipping FAQ carefully before purchasing! Items will be shipped as orders arrive, but please give up to a week for your tracking to update.

#world's finest zine #superbat #superman #batman #bruclark #bruce wayne #clark kent #dc fanart #dc zine

[ebookporn]

The Dungeons & Dragons Players of Death Row

For a group of men in a Texas prison, the fantasy game became a lifeline — to their imaginations, and to one another.

When Ford first overheard the men on the old Huntsville death row playing D.&D., they were engaged in a fast, high-octane version. The gamers were members of the Mexican Mafia, an insular crew that let Ford into their circle after they realized he could draw. The gang’s leader, Spider, pulled some strings, Ford recalls, and got him moved to a neighboring cell to serve as his personal artist. Ford earned some money drawing intricate Aztec designs in ink. He also began to join their D.&D. sessions, eventually becoming a Dungeon Master and running games all over the row. Playing Dungeons & Dragons is more difficult in prison than almost anywhere else. Just as in the free world, each gaming session can last for hours and is part of a larger campaign that often stretches on for months or years. But in prison, players can’t just look up the game rules online. The hard-bound manuals that detail settings, characters and spells are expensive and can be difficult to get past mailroom censors. Some states ban books about the game altogether, while others prohibit anything with a hard cover. Books with maps are generally forbidden, and dice are often considered contraband, because they can be used for gambling. Prisoners frequently replace them with game spinners crafted out of paper and typewriter parts.

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When I worked for TSR, Inc. back in the day, the letters from prisoners requesting D&D books and modules came to my desk. You would be surprised how many we got. Getting product to prisoners was difficult and each prison had different policies. The letters were always from prisoners, not prison staff or librarians. The prisoners had to piece together what their local policy or issue was and how to get around it. Most could not. Shipping products directly to a prisoner, even for free, was usually out of the question. Prisons looked at D&D not as a game but as a tool for planning escapes. (Terms like "dungeon crawl" on the product didn't help.) The majority of the time the only viable option was to get the local prison library to stock it. I would do my best to track down the local supplier for the prison in question and forward the information to our sales rep from Random House for that territory to reach out. It was more likely the Random House rep rather than our own Hobby Channel reps would have a relationship with the librarian or prison purchasing board for their other books. In the 10 years I was involved in the sales and marketing of Dungeons & Dragons I received 3 thank you letters for getting the game into a prison. ~ eP

#dungeons and dragons #mental health #prisons and jails #librarians #incarcerated people #literacy #prison library #role playing games #ttrpg community

[wordsbymae]

👀‼️ big gruff farmer man perhaps catching his house ‘wife’ keeping themselves uhh..company (they’re jacking it off babeeyy(or flicking the bean for the girlies, I think???))

I just wanna say the way you worded this was so funny to me. I love it. and yes I think that's what some people call it? I should know but I would also never say that lol. This is also kinda from his pov and the reader is gn :)

swearing and implied smut! you've been warned. Don't like it then scroll away please

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He was gone for much longer than he liked.

It was worrying.

He trained them well, of course, and had strict rules and promises of rewards and harsh punishments. But you never really knew do you?

They could have been pretending this whole time, making him believe they were conditioned. Or they might have a break in their training, a flaw. Something that sets them off. Or worse, a nosy do-gooder rocking up to the homestead asking silly questions.

It was all so worrying.

He left as quickly as he could, dropping off this year's bull calves to the sale yards. He would collect his money later, maybe even bringing his pumpkin for a drive.

No, of course not. What a silly idea.

He drove home as fast as his old stock truck would let him. The gears screeched and revved as he went around corners.

The house quickly came into view. The homestead overlooks the valley on top of a hill.

After roaring the truck up the dirt driveway, dust billowing behind him, and nearly running over his pumpkin's prized hens, he parked and jumped out.

There were no strange tyre tracks that weren't his. The washing had been done as he asked. Smoke was lazily drifting from the chimney, a sign of dinner on the stove. It seemed like everything was ok, that there was no need to worry.

But they weren't there to greet him. His love wasn't standing by the door waiting with open arms and a smile. There were no soft words nor a kiss on the cheek.

That was worrying.

He marched up to the front door and ripped it open. Expecting them to be just behind it, just moments until opening the door themselves.

But they weren't.

The farmer slowly walked in slowly, listening carefully.

Had they left? Runaway? Did someone take them? What if they were hur-

A soft moan came from upstairs.

It was nothing more than a breath but it was damming.

With careful and quiet steps, the farmer made his way to the bedroom. The closer he got the louder the moans become.

He was furious.

Did his pumpkin really think they could sleep around with someone else?

Who the fuck even was it? They didn't know anyone else than him.

Were they really such a cock hungry whore they would let anyone fuck them?

He stopped just before the door. The moans and sighs were deafening, he could tell his pumpkin was close.

He grabbed his revolver from his jeans and checked to see if it was loaded (not very gun safe mate)

Somebody needed to die tonight and it sure wasn't gonna be his pumpkin.

He kicked the door with a vengeance and raised the gun up ready to murder the fucker who didn't understand how much his love meant to him.

He was expecting pumpkin to scream, maybe even the fucker too as well, maybe even a fight.

He wasn't expecting his love to scream alone in the bedroom.

"Where is he?" he growled, the gun now pointing at the floor. "He under the bed?"

"Where's who?" pumpkin shouted while pulling the sheets over their naked body.

"Don't act stupid pumpkin! Where's the dead man who's been fucking you!"

"What?" they asked confused.

He should give them credit, they were quite the actor.

"Pumpkin, you can't save him alright. He's gonna end his last day with a bullet in his skull. So just tell me where he is and I'll give you the benefit of not having to see it." he growled, opening closests and looking under the bed.

Nothing, there was no one.

This fucker was quick. Did he jump out the window?

"There is no one else! It's just me" pumpkin urged

"You think I'm a fool, don't ya sweet pea. I heard you fucking him!"

Pumpkin's face went read

"See! You were fucking another. So where'd he go? Outside?" he said, about to make his way outside, swap his revolver for a rifle on the way out.

"No! I wasn't sleeping with anyone else... I, while I was"

"You were what? Cmon spit it out"

"I was...Touching myself" pumpkin whispered, face dark with embarrassment.

"Oh"

"I promise I wasn't sleeping with someone else... I don't even know anyone else"

"Yeah, I know" he grumbled sitting on the edge of the bed "I was just worried"

"You kicked our door off the hinges and had a gun pointed at an imaginary figure, you were much more than worried."

"Fine! I was jealous. You got me" he scoffed, he didn't like admitting to his sins. A moment passed, pumpkin still naked under the thin cream sheets.

"who were you thinking of?"

"Pardon?"

"when you were touching yourself and getting all flustered. Was it me?"

"Maybe..." they giggled

"That ain't a funny joke. If it wasn't me tell me who it was and I'll kill him"

"It was you, I promise" pumpkin rushed, the farmer had a sense of humour like a rock.

"Good. I better be the only one you think of....I'm still jealous"

"Of who? Of you in my head?" pumpkin sassed

"Watch the attitude, do I have to wash that mouth out?"

"No sir," pumpkin said, face stern. Too many jokes at his expense often led to punishment.

"I was gonna say I'm jealous of your hands' sweet pea. Getting to touch you when I'm not here. It's not fair, darlin', it ain't right for a Husband to not be the one to bring his partner pleasure. Ain't natural." He stated, a hand on pumpkin's cheek "I think you need to be punished"

"Punished?" pumpkin whispered.

"Of course! To teach you a lesson to not touch what doesn't belong to you. Now bend over pumpkin, show your husband what's his"

#yandere x gn reader #farmer oc #farmer yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere prompts #implied smut #implied alone time

[fox-teeth]

There's a lot of stuff going on in my Ko-fi shop so I wanted to post a big news roundup!

Ko-fi recently integrated tracking links into their shipping emails, making seeing what's up with your package even easier. All orders from my shop shipping domestic (USA) or internationally to one of these 55 countries are fully tracked.

Shipping has been expanded to the UK! Be aware that UK customers will need to pay VAT upon import.

My new minicomic Basilisk is now up for sale!

The third edition of Deep Time is currently being assembled, so I have added more stock, there may be a few days additional processing time on orders containing this comic. They have to hang out overnight under heavy books thrice during the assembly process so their folds are nice and crisp!

Magical Art Therapy Zine vol. 1 is currently low stock, but due for a second edition printing soon.

Pride Coelacanth riso prints are more than halfway sold out. These are limited edition and won't be reprinted!

Yiddish Fish Patches and especially Wooden Golem Keychains are low stock. These will be restocked, but because of Logistics it will take longer and I don't currently have an ETA.

Season Cycle gold foil print sets are low stock, and I'm probably retiring this product, but those designs will continue to be available through RedBubble and may come back to my Ko-fi shop in a different form. This is your heads up!

Thank you so much for all the support you've shown my shop this year! It means more to me than I can express ♥︎♥︎♥︎

#shop update