Well first off. Ask urself if ur willing to be doxxed and have your family or friends find out that you do prn? Would you still want to have an of and have that happen? Cause it's a possibility cause some people are that crazy to want to dox u just cause u do sw.

Write down everything you'll never do for money and stick to that. Anything that sounds to good to be true, is. Potential scammers will hit you with crazy sounding amounts of money to do stuff and they're just lying. That's not where your bag is any way. But you still need to be able to sniff them out so they don't waste your time.

Money first, always, no matter what. If someone's being lame about it; they're just wasting your time and tryna get off while they talk to u.

Ur time is money. Think about how u wanna run ur business and what types of clients u want to have. And cater to them, see what other sellers do and copy what you like. Set your rates however you want but remember ur worth. (And don't shame others for their rate. We are all just trying to get our bag that can make girls price lower then u personally would for a service or content, but you don't know what someone's circumstances are to be having their prices like that)

It’s definitely a lucrative business if done correctly. While escorting certainly isn’t for me I feel as if many girls enjoy it.

Working in the club, however, I meet a lot of “wannabe escorts”. They get paid nowhere near as much as a sugar baby or escort but still provide full services. That I feel, is my only pet peeve.

And it is truly only a pet peeve due to the income hit my own money takes because of their very low prices.

Oh! And I don’t enjoy when they pretend as if they’re superior to me for not providing said service. I’ve met a few girls who walk haughtily with their Louis Vuitton bags and look me up and down in disgust.

i love the sound a blaster makes when it goes off; the fwoosh of a lightsaber being swung; i love the noises x-wings make when they’re flying.

i love the dirty hallways of the millennium falcon, the air traffic on coruscant, the cantina band music playing as someone knocks back a few drinks.

i love the jedi. i just think they’re neat. i love the concept of the sith—passionate, powerful, dark side users who think they’re everything the jedi aren’t. and i love the characters, too?? leia’s fire, finn’s dedication, luke’s determination, obi-wan’s sheer goodness. they’re the type of characters our children’s children will be talking about.

i just also love how much people love star wars. comic readers, thrawn trilogy fans, clone wars and rebels lovers, prequel memers, sequel giffers, original trilogy childhood rememberers, lightsaber spinners, mandalorian watchers; hell, even the people who just went to batuu in disneyworld and had a good time. it’s a big galaxy, and there’s so many different ways to be a fan in it.

and the best part of all? there are still stories to be told, 44 years later.

Luke’s island is idyllic. 

It’s got green hills with the sea crashing underneath and some cute bird things and the bluest sky Han’s ever seen and everything about it gives off a peaceful sort of loneliness.

Han hates it.

This shit is what Luke trade them all for? What a goddamn lunatic weirdo.

He treks through the grass feeling it itch at his ankles, the salt in the air making his scar ache with a dull needling pain, and he grumbles about it as they make their way uphill, seagulls and whatever those wide-eyed creatures are chatter around them, making the whole place seem to buzz with life. 

Again, Han hates it.

And while there’s no way Luke missed the Falcon landing on his deserted island, he doesn’t come to greet them, oh no, of course not, that would be too damn easy. No, Luke waits for them at the top of a hill, staring at the open sea with sad melancholic eyes. 

Luke looks like the exact same drama queen as always. He’s got a kriffin’ cape on, come on.

Behind him, Han waves off Chewie’s placating warnings and Rey’s noise of surprise, striding purposefully to Luke like he’s on a warpath, like he’s about to throw him off the cliff, and Luke has the gall of turning around and smiling at him like he saw Han coming, like he knows Han would never, like he has any right to stand there and say stuff like hello, old friend, and I missed you, and it’s good to see you, when he was the one who ran away, not Han.

For once, not Han.

So Han walks and seethes and misses Luke, okay, things have been so shitty, and half the shittiness is because Luke wasn’t there to say his cryptid bullshit and use the Force, or whatever. 

Or whatever.

“Hello, old friend,” says Luke, and Han hates him, wants to throw him off this goddamn idyllic cliff, wants to scream until his throat is raw, wants whirl around and march all the way back to the Falcon and leave this godforsaken place-- instead, he settles for glaring fiercely and slaps him upside the head like he’s done a dozen times when they were younger and Luke was being a brat, “hold on, Han--”

Luke never finishes his sentences but see if Han cares when he’s got his best friend back after a whole decade, when he’s been missing Luke like a lost limb, when he’s promised Leia to bring her brother home and he’s not breaking another promise, when he’s got so little family and Luke is right there, at the center of it, when they both saw a revolution come and go and lived long enough to watch another start.

No, Han doesn’t give two craps about what Luke has to say, he just gathers him in his arms and hugs him to prove to himself this is real, this is really Luke, they’re both there and alive.

They’re both so old and so tired, but soon Chewie is there, wrapping himself around both of them, and Han thinks about walking into the Falcon after so long and saying we’re home.

He thinks he might have been half-wrong, then.