#businesses just selling themselves to him at way to cheap of prices

[three-penguins-in-a-trench-coat]

Oh to be an NPC in Stardew Valley! Their lives must be so interesting and unique, and yet, they have no clue of it themselves. It must be nice to be so clueless as to one's legacy.

Pelican Town was quiet, and peaceful for a long time. Tourism was beginning to bolster, and the town was growing. A young, aspiring writer took up residence in an old shack on the beach. A family moved in to the town, bringing laughter and joy. An artist fixed up an old cottage, ready to bring her creations to life. Other businesses begin to pop up as well; a doctors clinic, a blacksmith, a scientist exploring the valley. For a long time, life was good. The old residents and the new blood worked together to improve the town, and carefully grow their slice of paradice for others to enjoy.

Unfortunately, all good things must eventually come to an end. The Farmer, a good, kind man, eventually had to retire, and his spirit returned once more to Yoba. The local economy begun to waver, just a little. Lewis knew they'd be okay, but it would take time.

And then Joja Corp stepped in.

The first the townspeople heard of the development was the builders rocking up to begin construction. Lewis, who should have been informed of the plans, was outraged. Unfortunately, he was bullied out of filing any lawsuits by Joja's ferocious team of lawyers, hounding him into silence. Pierre looked on with worry as the Joja symbol was painted on the new billboard.

The new Jojamart did help to keep some of the struggling townspeople afloat, with it's cheap prices and large stock. Unfortunately, it had a chain effect that was felt by the whole town. Pierre was hit the hardest, having to lean in heavily on savings he had put together for retirement. In turn, Marnie's clientele hit rock bottom, as did Clint and Robin's. They had to rely on travelers and tourists to support themselves, of which there were less and less. Joja had turned the town's rustic feel into another slice of modern suburbia.

Lewis eventually couldn't affort to keep the bus going, and it fell into disrepair. No one visited. With the main highway carefully making it's way around the town, only the occasional visitor would stop in. Slowly, the town fell further and further into ruin. The once grand community centre lay wasted and abandoned, left to rot.

But while everyone was focused on the ruins and the past, no one saw the magic creep back in...

The old Farmer's grandchild was certainly a bit odd. New to the town, the villagers looked on in faint amusement as they sprinted their way around the town. Pierre, who was sadly preparing to sell the store, felt a faint sense of hope start to stir. Within weeks of their arrival, they had project after project lined up for Robin to begin, and she took to it with great vigour. Clint and Marnie, who's businesses had all but dried up, were suddenly back in swing. And once Gil and Marlon had shown them the mines, well, Harvey never ran out of patients. While the Farmer dealt with extradimensional entities and shook hands with the magic of old, everyone else was noticing the slight uplift. The old, rusted gears that ran the town had ever so slightly started turning once more. Morris sat behind his desk and happily assumed that Joja was there to stay, and magic was left for fairy tales.

As spring rolled into summer, little improvements continued. The annual luau was a bit more festive, and the pot luck just that bit sweeter. Everyone liked the Farmer, even the most jaded of residents had to admit that having them was a big help for the town. Pierre found himself with more stock than he knew what to do with, and had begun shipping it out the excess to the distant Zuzu city. Robin found herself almost constantly called out to the farm, as the Farmer was constantly asking for new barns and sheds. Linus was the first to notice the re-appearance of the magic. The green rain which the Farmer ran through happily, the little creatures hiding in the ruins of the community centre. The faint wails echoing from the mines. He quietly observed from a distance, but chose not to interfere. As distracted as he was from the local politics, even he could see the positive change that was occuring.

The Stardew Valley Fair brought new crowds with the recently fixed bus. Everyone knew who had fixed it up, but they had chosen not to come forward, so no one pressed the issue. With new tourists filtering through the town, it truly felt like the Pelican Town of Old. Welwick the Oracle glanced at the old Community Centre, ruined and abandoned, and then at the shiny Jojamart that stood nearby, and smiled to herself. She knew that someday soon the roles would be reversed. When Lewis checked the quarterly figures for the town, he nearly jumped out of his seat with excitement. For the first time in years, he was able to put back into the town savings, instead of skimming from the bottom as he had been.

It was a quiet winter's day when the Community Centre was restored. Lewis was going for his morning stroll, and something nagged at his brain, telling him to take a different route. As the grand building came into sight, he fell to his knees, and tried not to cry. Evelyn was next to notice, carefully making her way next to Lewis. She put a hand on his shoulder, and they simply looked on in wonder. "It's just how it used to be." Evelyn said.

Word spread through the town, and people came out to have a look. The inside was just as grand, with the reinstated town vault, plenty of areas for people to socialise and a proper office for Lewis to work at once more. Food was brought in, and they celebrated, harder than they had for a long time. More than one person had to dab their eyes from time to time, trying their best not to cry. The Farmer was the last person to arrive, and quietly watched the celebrations from a distance. A faint smile came over their face, and they seemed content.

It was a while before Morris found the community centre. He had only been out there once, to survey the land for the new warehouse he wanted built. The sight of the centre standing once more shook him to his core. In that instant, he knew that everything he had worked for was over. Despite his best efforts, the town had prevaled, and Joja had lost. Pierre officially saw to his execution, and he fled for Zuzu city in shame. The higher-ups in Joja Corp were not impressed, and Morris was never able to recover his position.

Life in Stardew Valley changed once more. The Community Centre brought everyone closer, made them feel like a real community. Lewis was able to fund more projects, clean up the town, make the festivals bigger. Willy's idea for the "Trout Derby" took off, and at the first annual event, more than a hundred avid fishers took off into the Cindersnap forest to hunt down the elusice Rainbow Trouts.

For Pam though, the biggest moment was when she came back from her shift at the bus station, and saw Robin setting up construction equipment where her caravan usually sat. At first, she was angry and afraid that she'd been moved, but when she heard what was happening, she openly wept and thanked Robin for her service. Pam knew that the house being built would ensure that Penny would have a stable future, with a place to come back to if she was ever in need.

Kent returned from his time as a prisoner of war, scarred and hurt. When he had left, the town was on it's last knees, and feared for it's future. To see the Community Centre standing once more filled him with a sense of joy he hadn't felt in a long time. Of course, that feeling was completely overrided by the ecstasy of seeing his wife and children happy and safe. It was a long time before he was able to open up about his experiences, but together they were able to heal and grow.

It was a warm, spring day, and Linus was foraging for salmonberries in the forest when a man appeared. He was dressed completely in black, with a broad brimmed hat and sunglasses to hide his face. Stars twinkled all over his clothing, as if you were looking directly at the night sky. Linus turned to look at him, and smiled. "Hello old friend. I was wondering when you'd show up next." The man in black smiled, and for a brief moment, you could see the blue skin beneath the hat. "I've been rather busy of late, but I thought I would just pop on in." No one else would see his firm grip on the valley, no one but the Farmer.

Sometimes, there were dreams. The townspeople would dream of screams and death. Creatures being slain where they stood, unable to stop the wrath of the monster. Children crying and running, reaching out for help, only for them to turn into doves and fly away, cooing cries of sadness. Some of the younger townsfolk would have vague memories of the farmer in a more intimate light. Perhaps a moonlit stroll, or a spring wedding, but then anger, and a sense of betrayal.

They would wake up in a cold sweat, trying desperately to remember what had made them chilled to the bones, but it always faded. Life in the valley is beautiful, but is it by their own volition or the hand that made it so?

#stardew valley #stardew #sdv #my writing #writeblr

[malloryslourd]

So Much Better

Pairing(s): Mother!Misty Day x Reader, Mother!Cordelia Goode x Reader, Platonic!Zoe Benson x Reader, Platonic!Madison Montgomery x reader

Warnings: Alcohol Use, Smoking, Strong Language

Words: 3,560

—————

A/N: the end of this is so rushed... ANYWAYS😐

—————

"This party kinda sucks," Y/N knew she was yelling, but there was no other way to make sure Madison could hear her. Three hours ago her, Madison, and Zoe had claimed they were heading up stairs to go to sleep after dinner. In reality they were waiting for the household to settle so they could make their "grand" getaway out of Madison's room and to a party they had been invited to a week prior. There was no use in asking for permission to go, the answer was always no so they decided to answer the question themselves.

Madison looked at Y/N, almost offended at what she said. "The party is fine, you suck," she wrapped an arm around the witch's waist, pulling her out of the way of someone passing behind her. Y/N stepped back, pushing the arm off of her and grabbing the drink from Madison's hand. "There you go! That should make things a little more fun!" the blonde teased as she watch her finish what was left in the cup. Zoe had set out to get them all something new to drink so she wasn't as mad as she usually would've been.

Y/N nodded, slightly crushing the cup in her hand. "Hopefully... I'm starting to be over it already." The music was too loud to even understand what they were playing, there had been at least three fights within the past hour, and Zoe had been gone for a lot more than "just a minute" like she had promised. She would've had more fun actually studying or once she drunk something strong enough to fill a few of her senses.

As if God himself heard her thoughts, an arm stretched over her shoulder with a plastic cup almost too full to handle without a spill. "Take it before someone steals it," Zoe's words weren't any softer than Y/N's or Madi's. She handed the other cup to Madison, full just about the same amount but obviously falling victim to a few small spills. The girls took the cups, smelling of much stronger alcohol than what they had previously.

Zoe pressed up against Y/N's back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you ma'am," Y/N took a sip of the drink. She could feel the hangover building from the one cup alone.

"See, already so much better."

—

"Hurry the fuck up!" Madison pulled Y/N behind her as she pushed pass people on the stairs. The drunken pair was laughing obnoxiously, tripping over their own feet as they tried to squeeze their way through groups of people who were somehow more drunk than them. Madison tried to open a door, failing on her first attempt and additionally giving herself a bruise to wake up to. She tried again, successfully turning the knob this time.

They were over taken with drunken laughter as they sat on the bed, Y/N falling back to look up at the ceiling. Madison took a hit of the vape she had convinced some guy to sell her for lower than half the price he was offering to everyone else at the party. She waved the device in front of Y/N's face, holding it in front of her lips when she nodded her head quickly. Y/N leaned forward, placing her hand on Madi's to hold it steady while she took her hit.

They laughed when Y/N blew the smoke back in her face. Madison laid back to lie down next to her. "Good thing Momma Delia doesn't know, she would have a fucking fit," Madison looked out of the corner of her eye to a now slightly pissed off Y/N. It was amusing to her just how quick she could make the witch's mood change. "Or maybe even Misty for that matter." She made herself laugh- Y/N, not finding it as funny as she did.

"If she knew this was your idea, let alone we just so happened to both be here, she would drag your ass again," Y/N rolled her eyes. She grumbled an insult when Madison jabbed her side, returning a softer elbow to her arm. "And Cordelia would just kick me out and call it a day."

"The fuck she would," Madison laughed. She looked at Y/N, chin basically resting on her shoulder. "Why the hell would she throw her pride and joy out to the curb? Me and Zoe would get abandoned before you did." Madison had a theory that Cordelia and Misty would empty the coven of everything but Y/N before they admitted she was at least a little responsible for her less than star-child behavior. In that theory she was the first to go.

"Whatever."

"What are you 'whatever'ing? It's true! Exactly how it fucking works actually."

"They don't hate you if that's what you're trying to say."

Y/N almost said it so low that Madison didn't hear. But she did, and that's what was important. "They do."

"They don't," Y/N looked at Madison, almost upset that's how she thought her mothers thought of her. "You're my friend... I wouldn't let them hate you, but you don't exactly help yourself.."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mo- Cordelia tries... We talked about it once, how you try sometimes to do your best but you always end up, like, doing shit to piss everyone off and start all over again," Y/N took Madison's hand, playing with the rings on her fingers. "Is this mine by the way?"

"Maybe."

"Cunt... Anyways!" Y/N rolled over. "Like, sad shit aside... They don't hate you, no one really does. Well I mean I hate you," she laughed at the way Madison rolled her eyes.

"Fuck you!" Madison took her hands out of Y/N's as she fought back the smile on her face.

"Now that's how you really get kicked out!"

The pair erupted into laughter. Madison took Y/N's hands this time, leaning to kiss her cheek. "That's how I get burned at the stake, don't even." They laid there for a while, laughing at random things the other said, sharing Madi's vape, and complaining about the music they were playing downstairs.

"Get the fuck up, we gotta fucking go."

Madison and Y/N looked over at the door- surprisingly still hanging on its hinges despite how hard it was thrown open. Zoe stood there as pale as a ghost, something the pair had chalked up to cheap booze mixed with even cheaper booze, or maybe even a bad hit from whatever some random was smoking. She rushed over to the pair, grabbing their hands and attempting to pull them up. She was determined, but evidently not enough to get them out of the bed.

Madison pulled her hand back, Zoe almost falling with it. "Okay... chill the fuck out," another puff of smoke traveled up the contours of the witch's face, disappearing into the air and leaving nothing but the smell of a cheap candy flavoring to linger for a moment. She noticed Zoe was red in the face, but couldn't decide if it was too much to drink red or anything a bit more serious.

Zoe had stopped pulling at Y/N's hand but held a firm grasp on it. "Do you think I'm fucking joking? Get your shit Madi," she took the puff out of Madison's hand, tossing it at the wall when she attempted to get it back. "Y/N get the hell up," another useless tug that barely made her move.

Y/N propped herself up with her free hand, tilting her head slightly as she looked at Zoe. She pulled Zoe down to be more level with her. "Why are you so uptight Zo? Like come on, it's a par-"

"-The neighbors called the fucking cops."

The drunken smile on Y/N's face turned into half-sober wide eyes. Madison, who at some point moved to the floor to find the discarded vape, shared the same expression as she looked over her shoulder. The stares lasted only for a few more seconds before they rushed to grab everything they owned in the room. There was no discussion necessary. They needed to leave as soon as they possibly could.

"You could've fucking said that!" Madison struggled to slip on her shoes. She lost her balance more than once, practically falling on top of both Zoe and Y/N at one point. "You were just gonna let us sit here until they walked in?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry that I told you we had to leave and you were too busy laying on your ass! But hey, you're so fucking wasted you probably don't even remember!" Madison looked back at her, almost asking her to say something else to give her an excuse to bite back. No matter how good of a mood either of these were in they had always made a point to form some type of argument by the end of the night.

"Where the fuck is my phone? Oh my fucking God." Y/N was panicking, not even focused on the two about to fist fight behind her. She was sure they couldn't even hear her over the below the belt remarks they were making to one another.

"This was all your fucking idea!"

"It was Y/N's!"

"You wanted us to go out!"

"Shut up!"

"What are you even looking for?"

"My keys so we can actually fucking leave! We've got like thirty seconds to get out of here and you're standing there like a dumbass!"

"I'm the dumbass? Okay, says the bitch who probably got three different strands of mono tonight!"

"Both of you shut the fuck up and help me find my phone!" The pair turned their attention to Y/N who was pulling at the covers of the bed.

"I have your phone!" Zoe pulled the phone from her back pocket, holding it in front of her.

Y/N almost fell off the bed, catching herself with her hands moments before she tipped forward. "When the fuck did you get my phone?"

"When I had to talk you out of texting the fucking groupchat!"

"Give it a fucking break! Let's go!" Madison had already been making her way to the door. Zoe and Y/N looked at her then to each other before they followed after her, Y/N pulling Zoe after her as attempted to keep up with Madison.

Suddenly the blonde had stopped when she reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked back at Y/N and Zoe and before either of them could ask a question a police officer had already walked up to Madison.

—

“Do you know who I am?” Madison struggled to take her wrist out of the officer’s hand, scoffing at him as she turned around to look at him.

He sighed, turning her back around. “Quite frankly maam, I do not care who you are. And if you keep giving me trouble you’ll be taking the ride with your hands cuffed behind your back.” With that Madison stopped fighting, easily letting him guide her to the car Y/N and Zoe were already sat.

As soon as he opened the door she was met with two teary eyed witches. Zoe’s head rested against the window of the car, moving only slightly to look at Madison get in. Y/N’s head was rested on Zoe’s shoulder, tears a bit more visible on her face than the brunettes. “They’re gonna fucking kill us.”

Never did the thought of ending up in the back of a police car ever pass through Y/N or Zoe’s mind- Madison was a different story. She knew they were done for when Madison made a big deal of announcing their names to the police officer like it would make any difference in the outcome of the night. From that point forward she knew the next obstacle was her mothers. And that was going to be the biggest obstacle of the night.

—

The front door slammed hard enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. Y/N, Zoe, and Madison looked up at one another, each looking as if they had been to Hell and back in the span of the last few hours. Zoe's mascara had met at her chin and continued down her neck. She didn't have the perfect behavior, but she was yet to get caught so she was in a deep state of overthinking every decision in her life that had led up to this moment. On the other hand, Madison was conditioned to this already. She knew all the lines about disappointment and responsibility, but she had only seemed to look upset when she saw Y/N and Zoe.

Y/N had returned to stare off into the distance, hoping that possibly this was a really bad dream or even a trip from some secondhand smoke cloud she had walked through earlier that night. She didn't even have the energy to cry anymore, that was over with after the first turn in the direction of the police station. The silence of the car ride back to the academy was almost enough to make her start crying again, but she found herself paying attention to every small detail she could.

Cordelia's extremely white knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel as she broke every speed limit by at least 10 over. Zoe clicking her nails against each other as she readjusted in her seat every other second. Misty holding onto the handle above the passenger door almost as a way to fight back the urge to turn around and let the three of them hear every word she had built up on the way over. Even the slight sticky feeling that Madison's lipgloss had left on her cheek during their heart to heart in that strangers bed.

She was snapped out of her recollection of the night when Cordelia and Misty walked into the dining room where they were sat. Misty was red in the face, she hadn't said a word since the girls got into the car. Madison had sworn she was just a sitting statue in the passenger seat for most of the ride. Cordelia on the other hand had plenty to say when she first saw the girls. "Get in the car," the first words uttered. "What the hell were you three thinking? Are you all fucking idiots?" as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Out of all the things you could've done this what you decide to get caught up in!" just as they pulled up to the house.

As soon as Cordelia parked the car they had hurried inside, just barely hearing her say to wait in the dining room. Even then they couldn't say anything to one another. That's where they were left now, dizzy and tired as they waited for anyone to say anything. Misty took a seat across from the girls, Cordelia pacing behind her.

"We-"

"Don't fucking talk!" the girls shrunk at Cordelia's words, shocked at a harshness they were unfamiliar with. She hadn't stopped pacing, arms crossed firmly in front of her. "I don't want to hear any of you talk, not a single fucking word. Oh my God, how fucking stupid can you be!" Cordelia paused for just a moment. She had been thinking about this almost the entire ride over, yet couldn't find the words to say what she wanted to say. "Anything could have happened tonight and we didn't know where you were, and I sure as Hell hope you weren't stupid enough to get anyone else tangled in this!"

Y/N looked at Zoe, who was staring at her lap, then to Madison, who was staring up at Cordelia. She couldn't help but notice the dramatic difference in how they were taking it. She looked over at her mothers, Cordelia pacing again, Misty staring straight at her. She followed Zoe and fixed her gaze on her own lap.

"It was my idea." Focus in the room switched to Madison. She leaned back in her charge and let out a long breath. Weighing her options, it made the most sense for her to take the fall or this. It was in character for her. "I asked them to-"

"Madi," Y/N cut her off quickly. “It was me... I mean... Fuck,” she ran a hand over her face, hands slightly shaking as she did so. “They were my friends who invited me, I asked Zoe and Madison to go. Going to the party was my idea.” It wasn’t right in her mind to let Madison go down for this just ‘cause. It was her friend’s party. It was her idea to go out tonight. It was her who asked them to go with.

Shock took over Misty’s and Cordelia’s expressions. Cordelia stopped pacing, head turned to look at her daughter. Misty shook her head, “You don’t have to lie for her.”

Madison’s mouth fell agape. Y/N furrowed her brow. “I’m not,” she stated at Misty who obviously thought she had the whole situation figured out beforehand, but was now struggling to understand what was actually happening.

Cordelia leaned onto the table next Misty, staring just as hard at Y/N as Misty was. “Zoe, Madison, go to your rooms,” her gaze didn’t leave Y/N’s as she took the seat next to Misty. Zoe and Madison shared a brief look with one another before they hurried out room, afraid Cordelia might change her mind.

“Really?” Misty’s question was laced with venom, a look of utter disbelief sealing her tone.

Y/N nodded, wringing her hands in her lap. “I know,” she was soft spoken. “They don’t deser-“

“-Quite frankly, I don’t really want to talk about those two,” Cordelia held up her hand. She was biting back her tone, afraid if she was too loud she would wake everyone else from their sleep. “This all comes down on you.” It almost hurt her to admit.

Misty sat back in her chair, barely diverting her gaze. “Madison, I expect this from. You and Zoe? Never in a million years,” she spoke so calmly Y/N could feel chills travel up her spine. Misty’s anger was unlike Cordelia’s. Cordelia was simply just an angry Cordelia who would let a few more words slip than usual. Misty was a different person. Her smile faded, she offered no kind words, and she was willing to get years worth of tension and anger off of her chest in mere minutes if she so pleased. “I don’t think you understand what could’ve happened tonight.”

“God knows what type of trouble you three could have gotten in while we were here.”

“Trouble might’ve done you some good, especially if you think any of this is acceptable.”

Y/N nodded her head. The tears she was deprived of since the ride in the back of the police car were fighting to be released by now. “I’m sorry.”

“Save it,” Misty shook her head. Even Cordelia was a little shocked to hear her, possibly because she had never talked to Y/N like this. “We raised you so much better than this. It’s disrespectful!” her voice rose with her temper. “You would think you would have no reason to act out like this! But no, lets end up in the back of a fucking police car by the end of the night!”

Y/N couldn’t find anything to say, she was at a lost for words looking at her mother. She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice at her. Every apology she could think about was stuck in her throat. They wouldn’t have much effect anyways.

“You’re better than this Y/N,” Cordelia spoke softer than Misty, but no less stern.

“You’re damn right she is.”

A sigh left the Supreme’s lips. She was tired, eyes heavy and barely put together enough to even look like herself. “It’s disappointing to us to know you’re better than this and for you to still go out and do something like this,” her volume rose slightly, obviously able to handle her temper much more than Misty. As much as she knew what she did was wrong, Cordelia couldn’t deny that this was her baby. She had felt more disappointment in herself than she did her.

Misty stood, face red and knuckles whitened from how hard she was clenching her fist. “You’ll think of some way to apologize for this, possib- hopefully,” she held on to the back of the chair, looking down at Y/N. “Whatever the hell this is,” she waved her hand around, “I want it fucking fixed and nothing short of fixed. The day any fucking child of mind tries to pull that shit is a horrible fucking day for this coven.” And with that she pushed the chair against the table and turned to leave, muttering unseeing her breath about “how unbelievable” this all was.

Y/N watched as she walked out of dining room, Cordelia following right after with no less speed. She could feel the anger in the room dissipate, but every word her mothers shared with her were still there as if they were being repeated right in front of her face once again.

#ahs #ahs imagine #ahs x reader #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story x reader #ahs coven #ahs coven x reader #ahs coven imagine #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse x reader #ahs apocalypse imagine #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia goode imagine #misty day #misty day x reader #misty day imagine #zoe benson #zoe benson x reader #zoe benson imagine #madison montgomery #madison montgomery x reader #madison montgomery imagine

[kirishwima]

Your prompts are amazing, may I have a MC, who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale-like cottage surrounded by nature, they are even saving money, however they are willing to give up this dream if it means they can be with RFA+V?

awe, sure! though not my style, i find the cottage-core aesthetic so sweet, and can really see the appeal of this kind of lifestyle ^^

RFA + MC who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale like cottage:

Yoosung:

* Let's be real, when MC describes their dream to him he...doesn't see the appeal

* He loves the city, the amenities that come with living here-most of all the wi-fi, lol, but also the comforts of walking down the street to a convenience store, everything he needs within reach

* Yet...when he sees the way MC's eyes light up at the thought of living this way, how they keep bringing leafy plants and vibrant flowers into their shared apartment, making it into their own little magical place, he can't help but indulge. Would it really be so bad, to live a little further away from the city?

* He's cuddling with MC one day on the couch, when he brings up the topic

* "I was thinking...if we start saving up now, get a fixer-upper cottage for cheap and work on it, I can get a car to drive to and from work-I think we can make it work. Your-your dream, I mean."

* And the smile MC gives him? Makes all the effort they put into this plan worth it.

Zen:

* Oof, Zen..he'd be so split when thinking of MC's cottage dream.

* He wants to give them the world, and for him, these aren't just empty words. If MC asked him for the moon he'd find a way to bring it to them.

* Besides, he sees the appeal of this kind of a life. Being able to wake up every morning, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, no more sounds of motorcycles outside waking him up in the middle of the night, the view of a beautiful garden, grown and tended to by MC greeting him each morning...yeah, he sees the appeal.

* On the other hand, it's not so easy to just pack up their life and move into a cottage. He still has to be in the city every day for filming and practice, has to attend meetings and meet + greets...he could use the motorcycle to travel, but that'd hardly be convenient for them both.

* So he makes a decision.

* One day he comes home, twirling a set of keys between his fingers.

* He'd sold his motorcycle, bought a car-big enough to be able to fit a bunch of their belongings in the back, since a lot they'd be selling, buying new ones together to furnish their new home.

* It's not that he ever felt forced to do this-he just...knew it was time to take the next step.

* And lo and behold, only a year later, he wakes up every morning, the view outside the bedroom window-his and MC's bedroom, being the sight of the garden MC has been tending, MC sleeping quietly besides him. He wouldn't trade this for the world.

* ((Also I can definitely see him having a dog?? It'd be so cute, him coming back home from work to be greeted by his beloved MC and a big fluffy doggo jumping on him with joy ;u;))

Jaehee:

* YES YES YES

* At first she's hesitant-living in the city's all she's ever known, and what MC dreams of sounds...well, just like a dream. Too good to be true.

* Where would they find a cottage? How far from the city would it be? What's even the price range for one?!

* Yet she's so open to the idea-they've already pretty much made Jaehee's balcony a mini-garden, and she loves tending to it as much as MC so...if they were to have a garden, perhaps a vegetable patch in the back, MC's favorite flowers at the front of the house...being able to cuddle in front of a fireplace, living in nature, away from the hectic life in the city...would it be so bad?

* It doesn't take long for her to start looking up houses they could move into, imagining how the shared space between her and MC would be like, smiling at the thought of it-their space, not 'Jaehee's aparmtent that MC now lives in too'-she loves the sound of it much better than this.

* Soon they find the perfect space-a cozy home, further away from the city-in fact they move besides a smaller city, something between a city and a village, really, just far away enough to feel secluded, yet close enough to be able to walk to town each morning.

* They're quick to open up a coffee shop in town, a small cozy space usually frequented by locals, and the occasional passer-by who's travelling through the town. Oftentimes the rest of the RFA will visit them, and well-it's everything both MC and Jaehee could've dreamt of.

Jumin:

* Jumin...he's a little confused, but he's got the spirit

* When MC opens up to him, describes their dream home, he hums. "We can buy a cottage, visit it whenever you want-have someone tending the garden when we're not there so it doesn't wither"

* MC appreciates the sentiment but...it's not what they want. They explain to him that it's not the home that matters, so much as the lifestyle. They want to tend to the garden, want to grow their own vegetables and produce, want to be able to live off the land, keep the busy city lifestyle at bay-not to bar it completely, obviously, just...distance themselves from it.

* Jumin tries to understand, he really does, but for someone who only occasionally goes to a grape farm to relax and then come back to his usual routine it's not easy. It sounds far too idealistic...and in Jumin's case, it is. He would love nothing more than to live in a cottage with MC, but they both know with his work, that's far from feasible.

* He hates how easily MC agrees, how they seem so okay with letting go of their dream-all for Jumin, he...he certaintly doesn't feel like he deserves it. They reassure him that he does, that they love him and just want to be with him, regardless of the where, but still, he can't help but feel bad, wanting to offer to MC everything they could ever ask for.

* Eventually they come to a compromise; they buy a cottage together, with plenty of garden space for MC to work their magic on, where they'll spend all of their free time together. MC refuses to go there when Jumin won't be able to join them, and it warms his heart, to know they want to share this dream, this joy with him...so he does his best to get as much free time as possible (even when poor Jaehee begs him not to lmao)

Seven:

* Um??? Y'all I think that'd be his dream too???

* I know we talk about Saeran a lot and obviously, with Saeran there's no question that he'd be 100% down for this, but Seven...he wants a place to call home, a cozy place for him and MC where he can lay down roots, and I feel like, after getting away from his line of work, he'll want less to do with technology, probably will want to keep his home a little 'smart-less'. No need for talking doors and fancy security systems, not anymore.

* Not to say he'd go completely off the grid-I'm sure that even if the two move into a secluded cottage, he'll still find a way to secure the perimeter, still wary from his past, still afraid of what might come to catch up to him. Plus...he'd definitely have an office/gaming room in there lol, definitely would find a way to get the fastest Wi-fi available even in the countryside.

* But he'd love to learn about gardening, would create fun gadgets to help MC with watering and caring for their plants. I can absolutely picture it, him crouched down over a small growing bud in the dirt, pure joy on his face as he turns to face MC with a proud grin saying 'Look! I planted this one and it's growing!'

* Just. A homey life with Seven. AAAAA :')

V/Jihyun:

* Listen. Listen I know I'm biased towards him, BUT picture this:

* MC and V buy a fixer-upper of a cottage; it's in a state of disrepair, the wood moulded in places, no electricity nor running water connected to it, what was once a garden is now a dry mess of twigs and dirt-

* But they both look at each other, smile, and know-this is the one for them.

* Each venture into the cottage is like a date, laughing as they pull out planks of wood, replacing them with new ones, trying their hand at working out the electric panel themselves-poor Jihyun tries his best but eventually gives up, sighs, and with slumped shoulders calls Seven-who needs an electrical company when you got a tech genius of a friend?

* It's a slow run, but soon the fundamentals are fixed, the walls are painted, the wood is clean and solid-MC takes care of the most work concerning the garden, reviving it back to life. While at first they just clean the mess and lay new dirt, they soon see the fruit of their labor grow as buds spring to life, as flowers they planted bud, a climbing rose latching onto the side of the house.

* Eventually it's not a house, but a home, the way the sunrays hit through the window-panes, how little dust particles dance in the sunlight; it's the exact opossite of a minimalistic house, there's trinkets in every available surface, the top of the fireplace is littered with things the two of them have collected during trips and travels-ranging from weird-looking sea shells to gorgeously crafted souveneirs, photos of them and their loved ones adorning the walls. There's always a messy blanket or two draped over the couch, from the late nights they spend cuddling and reading or just chatting with one another. The kitchenette has a whole rack full of spices, a myriad of plants on the windowsill-most are herbs used for cooking, ones that Jihyun still has a hard time differentiating between-it's not uncommon that he'll put mint instead of thyme into his cooking, still...it tastes good, because it's cooked with love, and care.

*It's everything they both could ever dream of.

-masterpost-

#listen..V could ask me to move with him to antartica and id already be packing my bags no questions asked #any home with this man would be full of love and joy AND I STAND BY THAT #asks #anon #sry i went overboard with his hope u dont mind :3 #txt #fics #fanfics #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mysme #mysme imagine #mystic messenger imagine #mysme reactions #707 #luciel choi #saeyoung choi #saeran choi #mysme unknown #mysme ray #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #jumin han #jihyun kim #burrito stuff #burrito talks #tag later

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression, radio version - Ep.56, Oct 2016 - Jumping on the Halloween bandwagon, Futon maker-turned-fashion maker.

Kaoru starts by talking about the Instagram campaign, saying that practically every photo they uploaded has recieved more than 50 likes, so he's in a posistion where he has to send a sticker to each one. He encourages listeners to keep sending in photos if they want to recieve a sticker. Kaoru is looking at the Instagram page as he speaks, and he mentions that there are a lot of people wearing the yukata that he designed. He supposes they wore it on purpose for this campaign, but he stresses that there is no need to wear that yukata just because he designed it. Wear whatever you like! There are even people who sent in pics of very elaborate nail art. Although many of the fans attending the lives were wearing simple Dir band tshirst, Joe says that some of them did remake them by cutting them in different ways to make them more original.

Kaoru starts his first news topic next, stating that he chose this story because its currently Halloween season. This is the topic of completely unrelated products jumping on the Halloween bandwagon. Packs of eggs, nattō, even ramen are being included in Halloween campaigns run by supermarkets and convenience stores. The article Kaoru found shows a pack of eggs featuring a jack'o'lantern design on the packaging. He can understand sweets and snacks getting in on the Halloween theme, because they are part of the tradition, especially in America, but nattō etc  seems a bit odd. Joe sad he also saw cartons of apple juice featuring Halloween pumpkin decorations, which he finds a bit puzzling. Is it pumpkin flavoured apple juice? He adds that its probably a result of producers wanting to sell as much as possible in light of the fact that Japanese tend to be easily swayed by limited seasonal products. He asks Kaoru whether he buys these kinds of limit seasonal items and Kaoru says he used to buy them, but these days he doesn't bother. Joe says he often does fall for these products. He always travels to this studio in Tennōzu by train, and when he passes through Shinagawa station he sees tonnes of 'limited time only' offers in the stores there. As he loves sweet food, he tends to end up buying a lot of stuff. He does realise, however, that the same store will be selling the same stuff as 'limited', even weeks later. It never ends. This is what makes him think that Japanese are helpless against 'limited' sales.

Kaoru says he thinks no one keeps this kind seasonal packaging anyway. He wonders whether people would be interested in limited releases of CDs with Halloween themed cover jackets. Joe thinks there may just be some positive people out there who want to buy this stuff and savour the packaging.

Kaoru comments on how Halloween celebrations seem to get more and more energetic with each passing year. Joe agrees, and says the streets in places like Shibuya are a sight to be seen at Halloween. He asks Kaoru if he celebrates. Kaoru laughs at this suggestion, and confirms that he does not.

Joe remembers Halloween from the time he used to live in America. He recalls kids trick or treating, and seeing spectacular Halloween parades in the streets. Kaoru says that when Dir were touring the states a few years ago, they were actually there at Halloween, but he hardley noticed anything about it. There were one or two people dressed in costume walking the streets, but that was about it. It was different from what he imagined, although he does admit, it could have just been a result of the location they were staying.

They then go back to point about areas like Shibuya and Roppongi going crazy at Halloween. Joe says he actually dressed up, and walked the streets in costume in Roppongi 2 years ago. He was invited to a Halloween party there by a foreign friend of his, and won a load of Halloween goods while he was there, so he put them on, and subsequently went home in them. He fit right in while he was still in Roppongi, but after getting off the train at Yoyogi and nearing his house, he didn't feel so great being dressed up.

Kaoru comes to the conclusion that jumping on the Halloween bandwagon doesn't do any harm, although he personally would still not buy a Halloween themed pack of eggs. Joe says things like this could be a catalyst for people to find out more about the cultures and traditions of other countries.

Tasai joins them next and introduces some news about how the long-estblished futon maker 'Nishikawa' has started making fashion. They have teamed up with Uniqlo designer Takizawa Naoki for the project. Tasai thinks the clothes produced look amazing and really wants listeners to have a look online for them. He explains that before the Age of Civil War in Japan (1467-1615), there were no futons. People just slept on folded up kimonos. The business 'Nishikawa' has been operating since just after that time period, for 450 years, but realised that in this age they need to challenge themselves if they are going to continue to stay in business, hence this move into fashion. Tasai repeats his plea for listeners to check out these items and explains that the selling price is much less than the materials are actually worth. He asks Kaoru and Joe what they think after seeing photos of some of the pieces. Joe says its an important thing for Japanese traditional customs be adapted like this to widen their scope. Tasai explains that animal print, like leopard print or wild cat print, has traditionally been revered in Japan as a form of respect towards an animal's power, and people have worn it wishing to become as strong. The same principle applies to warriors traditional helmets, which were designed to be symbolic of powerful animals. Tasai himself also learned this info about animal print in Japanese culture after reading this news. Kaoru says he is interested to see how fashion evolves from now on. Joe asks Kaoru whether he would consider collaborating with this futon business. Kaoru says he's not sure about that, but if he buys any items, Joe should copy him and buy the same thing (This is a joke about the time Joe arrived at the studio accidentally wearing the same outfit as Kaoru). Joe says if Kaoru wore a wild cat print outfit, he would be cheap and wear underwear with the same print (*I think*) - lots of laughing at this.

To finish, Kaoru plugs his upcoming tours, including the date at his home town again, which is at the venue Amashin Archaic Hall in Amagasaki city. He also announces plans for a  two day date during the Mode of Kisou tour which will consist of male only on day one, and female only on day two. Joe and Tasai say they both want to attend, but care will have to be taken to ensure Hiranabe doesn't turn up at the female only live. They had best not tell him about it. Joe suggests telling him to go on a business trip or a trip to Atami etc on that day. 

Songs - Dir en grey/24ko cylinder, Björk/Pluto, Dir en grey/Kūkoku ni kyōon.

To radio top page

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #radio

[jokertrap-ran]

Disney’s Twisted Wonderland: Dorm Uniform Floyd Leech SSR【What will you give me?】Chapter 1

*Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

⊱ ────Interior Hallway──── ⊰

Jade: You made a contract with Azul.

Jade: And yet, now that the contract's been completed, you refuse to work at the Mostro Lounge... That most certainly won't do.

Savanaclaw Student: B-But it's for every single day till I graduate! I never heard anything about working my bones off!

Jade: It's written in the contract, is it not? You should have read the contract thoroughly before you signed it.

Savanaclaw Student: Am I supposed to notice it despite the minuscule font it was written in!? This is invalid; invalid I say...

Floyd: Oh? Invalid? ...I don't think I heard you right.

Savanaclaw Student: Eek!!

Jade: Oh dear. Floyd, you really shouldn't be making such scary faces at our business partner. We should treat them with utmost care and respect.

Jade: That only applies to "Business partners" though. I can't say the same when it comes to people who don't hold up their end of the agreement, however...

Savanaclaw Student: U-Ugh...

⊱ ────Octavinelle Dorm- Hallway──── ⊰

Floyd: Okay, one down~ Today's "work" is going really smoothly.

Jade: Indeed. It's a good thing that most of them are easily convinced after a proper "explanation".

Floyd: You really do like your troublesome explanations, don't you~ It'd be faster if we just broke their bones. You're really weird.

Floyd: You even go out of the way to remember every single little detail in Azul's complex contracts; and then go on and on until they can't talk themselves out of it anymore.

Floyd: I don't like using such roundabout methods

Jade: You're fine just as you are. It's different from the way Azul and I go about doing things, at least.

Jade: If we're to be the more straightforward ones, then you'd be...Hmm. A surprise attack; a missile, perhaps?

Floyd: What's with that~? Are you praising me or are you trying to pick a fight with me?

Jade: I'm praising you, of course.

Jade: You solve even the hardest of problems in ways no one would ever think of.

Floyd: Do I? I never really noticed it so I don't know about that.

Jade: Heh, you're actually very reliable. Now then...Shall we head to our next "job"?

⊱ ────Octavinelle Dorm- Lounge──── ⊰

A few days later--

Floyd: You want to buy the rights to the goods that seahorse is selling in his shop...?

Azul: Yes. The popular "Mystery Drink", an original product that Sam recently started selling in that shop of his...

Azul: I wish to obtain that product of his, no matter what the cost. Therefore, I want to have acquisition of the sales rights.

Floyd: ...You wish to purchase it, you say? How much would you be willing to offer?

Azul: As cheap as possible; get to the lowest price you can.

Jade: That's a pretty impossible request; considering how we're dealing with a professional business administrator.

Azul: Well, I'm sure there's a way to make him comply...isn't there? Floyd. I'll rely on you to gain the rights to it.

Floyd: Ehh~ Me? But things like the conditions you're purchasing on and even the contract itself is cumbersome~

Azul: Jade's slated for another job I have on hand. Plus, I don't mind whatever methods you use for this so that's why I chose you for this job.

Floyd: The store, huh...

⊱ ────Mister S's Mystery Shop──── ⊰

Sam: Little demons over there, are you going to be purchasing the mystery drink as well? ...Thank you!

Sam: Hey. Don't rush; line up properly, little demons.

Floyd: There's soooo many people here, just like a school of sardines...

Sam: ...Now, the next bigger little demon. Thank you for waiting; are you here to order the mystery drink too?

Floyd: Nope, but I do have something I need from you, see~?

Sam: Something you want? Great! Anything and everything you could possible want is IN STOCK NOW!

Sam: That's what makes my mystery shop all so mysterious! Now, whatever is it that you wish to purchase?

Floyd: Give me the rights to that mystery drink of yours.

Sam: ...Huh?

Floyd: Did you not hear me? I said, I want the rights to that drink of yours.

Sam: Oh, well; whatever do you mean by that?

Floyd: We wish to sell that mystery drink of yours and make a profit out of it.

Floyd: So give us all the rights to it. That's all there is to it.

Sam: Hahaha! What an interesting little demon! So what's your budget for this anyway?

Floyd: Azul said to make it as cheap as possible.

Sam: What a honest little demon you are. Although, I must say that it would have been better to keep such inside information under wraps.

Sam: Anything and everything is IN STOCK NOW! ...But I can't sell that to you if that's how your conditions are going to be.

Sam: The mystery drink's the hottest item I have out there right now. That's why I can't be selling the rights to it to someone else all so easily.

Sam: However, if you really do intend to buy it from me, then perhaps we should conduct a formal business talk about it instead.

Floyd: What~ But that's so troublesome! Meh, never mind then.

Sam: ...Huh!? Aren't you way too quick at giving up!?

Floyd: Azul did tell me to go buy it for him, but I don't personally have any interest in the exchange nor the complicated details it entails.

Floyd: All those super calculated things aren't the slightest bit fun at all! It would be much more interesting if I was tasked with something better.

Floyd: So I'm leaving.

Sam: Is that so? You're pretty chill for a little demon.

Floyd: Oh, gimme some peppermint candy before I go.

Sam: That'll be 100 Madols.

Floyd: Here.

Sam: And yet, you pay for that without so much as a haggle for discount...I really don't understand you at all.

☪⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆ 𝔗𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢𝔡 ☆⋅⋆ ────── ☪⋆

#twisted wonderland #twst translations #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #Octanivelle #translations #Disney #ツイステッドワンダーランド #ツイステ

[rolanberry-rebel]

Windows to the Soul

With one look into the eyes, a clever negotiator can see everything - hesitation, fear, anxiety, hubris. Few things help you distinguish the wheat from the chaff like the eyes.

As a little girl, the other kids in the neighborhood relentlessly teased Maritsa - for her scrawny stature; how her parents’ poverty left her to wear dirty rags in the street, but more than anything they teased her for her eyes - one hazel-brown and one emerald-green. To some simply a genetic quirk, but children are relentless, searching for any strangeness, any insecurity to single out and antagonize other children over.

As soon as she'd found enough gil lying in gutters to afford a pair, Maritsa began buying shaded spectacles to keep her deformity hidden. She learned young that with her eyes hidden, her pained reactions - frowns, tears - lost a key component of their meaning; with no subtle shift of the eyes from which to derive wicked joy, the children’s teasing began to subside. A pragmatic accessory she’d picked up as a mask against her tormentors began instead to alienate her peers - and, eventually, as Maritsa’s quick mind and ruthlessness expanded, they became a symbol of fear among the local children.

Now, Maritsa kir Vesicus had long ago abandoned those simple, cheap sunshades, trading them in for a molded-metal visor, its gold-flecked steel shrouding her odd-colored eyes completely. A trio of red lights fed the world in perfect detail into a viewscreen, filtering and looping and zooming and giving Maritsa both sight and insight greater than even the keenest pair of real eyes could. More importantly, though, they read Maritsa’s eyes - and with subtle twitches and blinks, a series of magitek relays fed orders straight from Mari’s gaze to the bitpack along her waist, granting preternatural control over a technology so powerful she’d not sell it for all the coin in the entire Garlean treasury.

When a man can’t see your eyes he can’t read you. When you’re in the business of negotiating arms sales to some of the most dangerous, bloodthirsty criminals, mercenaries and killers in all Hydaelyn, you need every advantage you can get. Some tried flattery and flirtation, others intimidation, but in the end all of them had a simple choice - pay the price Maritsa wanted, or end up her enemy. You didn’t want to be her enemy.

That fact appears to have escaped the man now standing toe-to-toe with the infamous arms dealer - a roegadyn quartermaster to a crew of pirates, and not the jolly, grog-swilling, sea-chantey types of pirates, either. A mountain of metal and muscle with a scar-crested grin on his face, the fearless lieutenant paced along his deck, inspecting the sleek black crates packed heavy with experimental mortals and magitek aethershells. The haul could easily give even the most cowardly and combat-inept crew the upper hand in a scuff with the Limsan navy, and the crew’s quartermaster appeared pleased.

“The cap’n ‘ad business, but rest assured lassie I act with ‘is full confidence,” the surly marauder barked, the head of his axe a rust-toned red, no doubt meant to intimidate onlookers with imagined tales of bloody battles won. The crew, assembled along the deck behind the quartermaster, whispered among themselves, a few evil grins shared in anticipation.

“Ten million. For one crate,” Maritsa stated flatly, her words giving as few clues as to her mental state as her shrouded eyes offered. Her visor blipped as it readjusted, feeding details of every single movement to the highlander. Her back stiff and her stance unflagging, the scummy laugh her offer elicited did little to dissuade her confident stance.

“Lassie, there’s scarce a cannon in all ‘a blasted Othard worth even one tenth ‘a that,” the quartermaster responded, his words oozing from between his scarred lips. “Yer insultin’ me crew. An’ me cap’n, who’d certainly ‘ave run ye through if he’d heard that. I’ll give ye a few moments to reconsider.”

“Don’t need even another second. Ten million per crate,” Maritsa repeated. The crew grew restless, clearly clamoring to teach the highlander a lesson. The quartermaster lifted a closed fist to calm them.

“Well, by ways of a little thinking, imagine fer me fer a second,” the roegadyn mused darkly. “Imagine a crew ‘o forty ‘a the nastiest, hungriest, dirtiest killers this side ‘a Vylbrand, starin’ ye down wi’ cutlass and pistol, an’ me at the front, each of us takin’ our piece of that ten million out on th’ haughty bitch who dared insult us twice,” he continued, bringing sadistic chuckles from the crew. “What’s t’ stop me from doin’ ‘at instead of payin’ yer ten million, huh?”

“Nothing stopping you from trying,” Maritsa answered, smirking. He couldn’t see the devil in the highlander’s eyes, hidden beneath the visor, which bleeped as it acquired its target. “Except maybe the shriveled little bits of flesh between your legs.”

“Wh-what? Ye little--” that really got him. The quartermaster moved fast, gauntleted fists grasping the haft of his axe and, in a fluid motion, ripping through a soaring arc downward towards the sword-tongued arms dealer. He may have been fast - but Mari was faster. Several minutes faster. She expected this.

All she needed was one look at his eyes.

Shock replaced fury in the roegadyn’s expression as his blade fell harmlessly against a barrier of force, now glowing soft blue at the power of the quartermaster’s brash blow. Safe behind her shield, Mari sighed.

“So predictable, and so boring,” she dismissed him, a subtle movement of her eyes and squeeze of her palm sending the signal to the bitpack at her waist. The device hummed suddenly to life, launching four darting high-power energy relays into the air. Before the quartermaster could blink the relays had surrounded him; each glowed and blipped quietly in sync, and flashed to life, an array of burning light vaporizing the roegadyn so fast he didn’t even have time to scream. When the blinding flash dissipated, only a pair of heat-scoured boots and a trail of dust remained where a towering mountain had once stood. The crew stood in sudden, awed silence as the darting relays floated silently back to their resting place at Mari’s waist.

“Now,” Mari stated plainly, “I’m going to take my crates with me back to the shore. Let your captain know I’m waiting for his response, will you?” she canted her head to the side, a sea of stunned, befuddled eyes watching her every motion. “Tell you what - let him know I’ll even give him a 3-mil discount on each crate, by ways of paying back for the quartermaster. Okay?” Still no response from the terrified crowd. “Hello, anyone?” Annoyed, she scoffed, dragging the mortar crates towards the deck’s rail, clicking a few buttons on her magitek bracer to call in her airship.

“Men,” she murmured, lifting her visor just long enough to roll her eyes at the dumbfounded pirates.

#ffxiv rp #My writing #mari #preliminary cos my understanding of garlean stuff is only rudimentary #she's not an ethnic garlean tho she's as highlander

[samiii-p]

miss temptation (I don’t think you know) 1/?

aka The Maryan Roommate AU no one asked for 🙃 ao3

“You need a home address by next week or I’m writing you up.”

Fuck

Scratching an 'X' over another available apartment listing in the newspaper, Ryan grunts, blacking it out in her frustration. This one was her last true option within her price range and it was about the size of a walk-in closet with a communal bathroom to boot.

And no, just no. God no.

At least the last one had a view. It was a brick wall of the neighboring apartment but one nonetheless.

“You know for someone who needed this job, you sure don’t look the part.”

Sucking her teeth, Ryan glances up from her troubles, spots Luke in his custom three piece suit, grumbles and glances back at the paper where the only options left cost an arm and a leg to stay. Gotham wasn’t cheap by any stretch of the imagination, but selling her organs on a monthly basis just to get by didn’t seem all that appealing either.

“What do you want, Luke?”

“Can’t a guy just stop by?”

“Sure.” Ryan says, flipping the newspaper to the next page, maybe she could find something outside of town. The commute would be hell, but at least she’d have an address and her parole officer would finally get off her back. “I take it that’s not what you’re here for though.”

She hears him harrumph and nothing else. He does it a second later, again … and again.

“Okay, how can I help you?” She asks, sliding her current issues down the counter. Another 18 months in jail won’t hurt, let alone leaving the city in shambles when Batwoman disappears again .

Luke tilts his chin, hard line forming between his brows, a look Ryan has grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. Even though he’s apologized and promised to give her a chance until Kate’s return, there's still a tiny bit of friction lying beneath the surface no matter how much they both try to ignore it.

Reaching into his breast pocket he unearths a photo and slides it across the bar into Ryan’s line of vision. A picture of a black mask, outlined like a skeleton, stares up at her with cold hard eyes. In the corner a coiled snake is drawn with Luke’s handwriting underneath.

Snakebite - fear toxin/mushrooms

“Um, who or what am I looking at?”

He thumps the photo twice. “I was hoping you could tell me. You said you run in similar circles-”

“- ran.”

“As Victor Zsasz, I was hoping you could tell me a little about our friend here.”

“Sorry to tell you this but, no.” She pushes off the bar with a huff, nodding at the photo. “Whoever this person is, is new in town. At least to me.”

“Yeah, well his snakebite is hitting the streets like a plague and no one knows its source. There’s only this photo as a possible supplier but there’s no name, no facial recognition, no origin or leaks, no nothing.”

“So what do we do?”

“You suit up.”

Heat signature enabled, Ryan takes a look around the abandoned building noting two low level street hands Luke identifies as TJ Pillar: 1 to 3 strike for armed robbery and Curtis Armstrong: out on parole for possession.

“Come on, dude.”

She totally gets how uneasy it is to get back on your feet after spending a little over a year incarcerated but at least try to do better.

“What?” Luke asks through the coms, Ryan ignores him, scouting more of the building. It’s been over an hour and nothing. They wouldn’t be here if no one was coming but it’s growing closer to midnight and she has to be back at work at nine.

“Can’t I just bring them in? It’s late.”

“I mean you could, but it’ll be a waste of time. The guys on the street don’t know anything except to wait for the drop here.”

“And we couldn’t call in Gotham PD or the Crows for surveillance because..?”

“Hey, you wanted the job, this is what it entails.”

Behind the mask, Ryan’s eyes roll, mocking this is what the job entails meh meh, like she's a child grounded for the night, which, all things considered…

“Besides, it’s not like you have anything better to do.”

“Okay! Okay!” Over the coms, Ryan hears hushed voices arguing, a muffled ‘no’ then the sound of chairs being switched, Luke’s voice replaced by Mary’s, “heeey, girl. How ya’ doing?”

She smirks, attitude vanishing the moment the heiress speaks. Call it a general preference to all things sans-Luke based but she’d one hundred present rather talk to Mary until the butt crack of dawn instead of Mr. Kate would do it like this and Kate would do it like that. For starters Mary’s a lot nicer. Calmer. Funnier, I mean the girl’s one liners are top tier, bone tickling funny.

And well, she was a hell of a lot prettier too.

“Oh, you know, just pulling an all-nighter right before my day shift.”

A hiss sounds dramatically over the intercoms, the image of Mary’s twisted face pops up and Ryan can almost see the apple of her cheeks bunching and her eyes closing in that cute ass scrunchy face she makes when she’s thinking hard or embarrassed clear as day.

“Don’t worry about it, you can always come in later.”

“You enable her by making exceptions.”

“Luke!”

“What!?”

More muffled noises, a bang and yelp later Mary comes back on. “What I was getting at is that if you want to come in a little bit late, it’s totally fine or we can even change your schedule to mid-day, as your boss and fellow bat accomplice, I would totally understand.”

The corner of Ryan lips quirks up, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I do. We don’t know for sure how long you’ll be out tonight. Coming in afterwards is going to be draining-”

“It’ll be draining for all of us.” Luke yells.

“Shh!”

Unfortunately, Luke has a point. It's not fair on the team if she’s the only one taking the easy way out when they all have lives and responsibilities outside of the cave to adhere to, and a mid-day shift would never work anyway. Mid-day is Officer Steven’s favorite time of day to intrude on Ryan’s life.

“No that’s okay,” Ryan says, “Luke’s right. I have to put on my big girl panties and suck it up like everyone else, besides, I’m going to be too busy selling body parts for an overpriced cardboard box in the foreseeable future or it's a one way ticket back to Black Gate-”

“Wait, what-?”

“Oh, hold up.” An engine alerts Ryan to an incoming vehicle speeding into the warehouse disrupting their conversation. “We got action.”

Censors pick up on a lone body inside, facial recognition scanners kick on and work to identify the driver’s profile as well as the car’s make, model design, vehicle number and license plate number are all shot over to home base for further analysis. She twitches them off once complete just in time to see a window roll down and a hand throw two duffle bags out the window before speeding off.

“Did we get anything?”

A beat passes before Mary’s back on, “Not yet. Gotham PD and the Crows database has no facial identification, Luke’s expanding the search but the car is unmarked, plates false, even the tires vin numbers have been scrubbed. Whoever this person is, really doesn’t want to be found.”

From Ryan’s personal experience, news like that is never good. Someone that deep undercover either has a checkbook large enough to make themselves disappear or an iron grip so ruthless the utter mention of their name is probable cause for permanent removal. This was going to be harder than any of them expected.

“Keep me posted.”

Kicking off the beam she leaps down sticking another perfect grand entrance; hoping the acclaimed symbol printed on her chest will be enough to scare off the bad guys for once.

She is really tired after all.

Unfortunately, Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb both reach for guns, shooting before she can warn them to stand down. And there goes her ‘early’ night. Figures.

“Ya’ll know I’m fucking bullet proof, right?”

Another bullet ricochets off the suit as she takes a step forward. Idiots. Surprisingly they keep at it until the clip clinks, empty, and Ryan comes face to face with Curtis who tries throwing a punch she easily ducks, coming back up to head butt him so hard his knees crumple. His coworker steps up and he’s a bit more of a challenge throwing blow for blow with her until she ducks up under him and comes back with a roundhouse kick to his Adams apple. He clutches his windpipe, now down on one knee she delivers the final blow to the bridge of his nose.

She picks up the bags and hightails it out of there, latching onto a high beam for an easy escape, and heads towards G.C.P.D where she drops the contraband with a note attached of where they can find the assailants tied up and ready for arrest.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re homeless!?”

Ryan wonders if disrupting her day as a civilian was going to become normal protocol for Luke and Mary going forward and on a recurring basis.

“I wouldn’t say homeless.”

“How else would you classify living out of your van down by the docks?”

“Surviving on wheels – ow!” Ryan giggles, rubbing her shoulder and doesn’t know whether to cower or soothe the frustrating scowl rapidly spreading across her friend’s face. “How’d you find out?”

“I had Luke track you after you left last night.”

“Wow, talk about invasion of privacy.”

“And for good reason, why didn’t you say anything?”

Ryan flips an empty glass, dries it out before placing it on the rack and considers how to move the conversation forward, possibly far, far away from this topic all together. The best she comes up with is, “it’s handled.”

Handled ends up being a 200 square feet one room apartment Mary demands to see. The bedroom, kitchen and living room are all one in the same but at least she has her own bathroom. The walls are paper thin, she’s pretty certain the constant dripping sound is coming from the kitchen, one she can easily fix after a YouTube tutorial or two, and a hotter than hell furnace the landlord warns her not to touch when the temperature is anywhere over 60 F unless she enjoys suffocating.

She watches Mary take in the room, the petite brunette moving in a slow swirl on her heels, lip turned down and Ryan just knows it’s not good when they make eye contact.

“Nu-uh.”

“What do you mean nu-uh?” Confused, Ryan watches Mary storm past her and out the door. “Mary! Mary, what does that mean? Mary!?”

Mary breaks her housing contract. When Ryan tries to object she quickly learns that all 5’2 of Mary Hamilton-Kane is nothing to play against and a powerhouse forced to be reckoned with.

… It kind of gets Ryan hot under the collar watching Mary tell her landlord exactly what’s about to happen, and cutting a check like it's nothing in the process.

Assertive has always kinda been her type.

“You’ll be staying here.”

Mary says, showing Ryan around her penthouse in the upper echelon of Gotham City. The apartment is just shy the size of a department store, the lounge being big enough to take up most of the square footage, built in with four bedrooms, one now officially hers, one for guests and another used for office space and three huge bathrooms big enough to house a football team.

“Jesus,” the name slips under her breath as she takes it all in. This place is – is. It’s too much. “I can’t afford this.”

The carpet under her feet probably cost more money than she'll ever see in her lifetime.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to pay anything.” Ryan quickly gets shut down as Mary carries on, “until you can save enough money to get back on your feet. It’s the least I can do. Being this city’s vigilante is hard work. The last thing you need to worry about is where you’re going to lay your head at night.”

It makes sense, but still. “I’m not comfortable asking you - I won’t use you.”

“You’re not.” The med student emphasizes. Mary takes the box out of her hands and places it on a dresser. “My home is yours now, bestie. Stay as long as you want to.” And before Ryan can prepare herself, Mary’s arms are snug around her waist and her cover girl smile is beaming up at her.

This is going to be terrible.

It’s worse.

Far worse than Ryan could have ever predicted. Not only is Mary super considerate of her new roommate, but she makes her resources Ryan’s own. She’s never slept so good, ate so well or drank water so delicious for that matter. Until recently she thought water was just water but Mary’s fridge is full of this alkaline stuff straight from the mountains, and Ryan swears she can never look back.

“You want pickles?”

Ryan visibly gulps, sitting on the couch, eyes focused on anything other than Mary prancing around the kitchen in her underwear. Mary’s always been super comfortable in her skin but especially at home when she’s surrounded by her things in her place of peace and why shouldn’t she be, this is her home. Ryan wants her to go about as she normally would, actually prefers if Mary pretended Ryan wasn't there altogether. The last thing she wants is to intrude or take up space but she can only take so much. It’s been nearly a month of coming home to Mary asking how her day was, waking up to Mary smiling at her over homemade breakfast or passing out on the couch cuddled together after another failed movie night. There’s only so much she can take.

What they’re doing is borderline domestic. And Ryan’s too gay for this.

“…pickles?”

“Hmm – what?”

“I asked if you want pickles on your sandwich?”

"Uh, sure."

Handing her a plate, Mary plops down on the couch leaving no space between the two and licks the pad of her thumb, humming pleasantly at the taste.

Ryan bites the inside of her cheek. “So, what are we watching?”

Hopefully something gory, and bloody staring a cis-het white male. Anything to take Ryan’s mind off of Mary Hamilton.

Mary chooses Its Okay Not to be Okay on Netflix and by the end of episode 2 both girls are huddled together, simping hard for all the three leading actors. Mary is obsessed with Kim Soo-Hyun's entire face and Ryan’s pretty sure if Seo Ye-Ji stomped on her in six inch heels and dragged her through the mud, she’d thank her.

At least they can agree Oh Jung-se is a freaking king and is killing his role as Moon Sang Tae.

It's nearly midnight before they start to turn in, cleaning up the little mess they made, Ryan shuts off the lights and walks Mary to her room; the first door to the right.

“Night.”

It kind of feels like a date, which is absurd. She knows. But can you blame her when pillow soft lips press against her cheek and Mary breathes, “sleep tight, Ryan” in her ear. Its stupid. She’s being stupid, and seeing things that arent there. Or maybe she needs to get laid. Whatever she needs to do, Mary can’t be a part of it.

After weeks of failed interrogations the team finally manages to catch a break. A source looking to get out and start over leaks the warehouse location where a scheduled supply of ingredients are due to be shipped in at any day now. Niko of course makes Batwoman promise to protect him at all cost and that means working with the Crows.

“Where’s the shipment being dropped?” Sophie asks.

“Unimportant.”

The lieutenant cocks her head to the side, unsurprised at how this conversation is going. The Bat has never worked well with authority in this town, no matter who dons the emblem.

“The only thing I need is for you to make sure Niko is somewhere safe, undetected.”

“Is he at least willing to stand trial in the event you manage to catch this guy?”

“I think that all depends on if your team can keep him alive. Crow.”

The alley is dark, damp and the chill fogs Sophie’s breath as she sighs. “You're going to get yourself killed. I know you have something against my badge and everything it stands for, but it can do some good if you let it. Now, tell me where the shipment is and I can have my team there as back up in seconds. We can get this drug and these thugs off the street.”

That word makes Ryan's jaw tingle. Thug. Of course a Crow wouldn't understand that sometimes people do bad things to make ends meet, but it doesn't make them bad people. To a Crow they’re all the same and need to be locked away never to see the light of day again. Including her.

“Focus on our informant. If I need you for anything else I know how to find you.” And she’s gone, vanished in a cloud of fog.

“Nice job pissing off potential allies.” Ryan switches her coms off.

The warehouse is guarded heavily by six men up top, double the number at the bottom not including the others unloading trucks full of supplies. Photo analysis identifies them and sends the information to Gotham P.D. before she strikes.

“Hope you’re ready for this. If we’re lucky this can all be over tonight.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Taking it as his cue, Luke hits the lights covering the warehouse in complete darkness. Motion sensors switch on and Batwoman moves into action. The training her team insists she go through pans out as she’s able to take out four guys twice her size in fast compact moves. One guy goes over the railing after she cracks him in the nuts with the steel toe of her boot. His strangled whimper is heard all the way down, but hey, no one ever said this was going to be a fair fight.

The team at the bottom catches on and gun fire immediately follows, running across the bridge Ryan spreads her arms and flies through the air, her red and black cape bellows behind her as she sticks another perfect superhero landing. All at once it seems like twenty people are coming at her from all different angles but as always she's quick on her feet tying a handful of them up by their ankles and running through the rest with a non lethal taser, just enough to subdue until she can contain everyone before she starts asking questions.

“We ain’t telling you shit!”

Another guy spits on her shoe, the red of his blood splattering against her boot and she rolls her eyes. There’s no need to be nasty.

“Look, I’m trying to help you guys out here.” Spotting a pair of boobs in the corner, she course corrects, “and girls - theys? Whatever! I’m trying to help you all out here. This thing,” she holds up a box of snakebite, “is killing the community and while it may bring you all brief satisfaction, financially, what’s it going to do for your futures when you get caught, to your families?”

“Who knew the new edition of the Bat came with such a bleeding heart?”

“Well, she does. So if anyone here is willing to tell me anything that’ll point me in the right direction of your boss, I promise I can protect you, get you somewhere safe.”

From the little the authorities have been able to dig up about this gang, anyone willing to betray their leader either winds up dead or living their last days in a vegetative state. That’s why it’s so important to have Niko, no matter the length it takes to protect him, it was for the sake of Gotham.

“I said-!”

“I heard you the first time,” Ryan says, cutting him off, “And I don’t know what you’re used to but I’m only going to tell you how this is played once. I ask the questions and you give me the answers, if you don’t, have fun rotting in jail or better yet … I can let the little I do know out onto the streets.” She bends down right in front of the man and lifts his rabbit mask, exposing his face. In seconds she knows his name. “I’m sure your boss would love to know who’s ratting him out, huh, Robert Michael Humprey?”

The terror in his eyes says it all.

#ryan wilder #mary hamilton #batwoman #maryan

[weatheredpileoftomes]

in the details

For FFxivWrite2021 Day 7, “speculate”. Probably late Stormblood (given the complete absence of the WoL from this one it’s hard to pin down the exact timeline), end-of-4.0 spoilers, about 1000 words.

A deputy president’s work is never done.

The Garlond Ironworks is going to change the whole world some day, and Jessie is going to push, pull, shove, and if necessary kick it all the way there.

Cid Garlond is a certified genius, not that she would say it out loud and let it go to his head—geniuses, after all, are supposed to be allowed some kind of creative leeway, and if she starts treating him like anything other than someone to be gently herded back to his actual work then he’ll simply never stop.

It isn’t just his own ability as an inventor and a mechanic—he has a real talent for picking out his employees and bringing out the best in them. Every soul on the payroll (she won’t call it his payroll, since she’s not entirely sure he’s aware a payroll exists at all—he certainly doesn’t act like it) would probably die for him and will certainly work overtime for him, and all of them do good work even when they’re on their twentieth straight bell awake.

The problem is…the problem is, none of them think of this as a business, any more than Cid himself does.

Their workrooms are not cheap, not for the amount of space it takes to build airships. The materials they need aren’t cheap either, not in quantity and not when half the things Cid and his assistants come up with need the kind of rare ingredients you practically have to go on a quest for.

Adventurers charge eye-watering fees, which Jessie respects but is constantly inconvenienced by nevertheless, and so do elite miners and botanists. So do elite craftspersons, a thing which she knows Cid has never considered because Cid has never thought about gil in his life. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her he grew up rich; nobody who didn’t could simply forget to think about net profit or loss. Most of his employees don’t have that kind of luxury, then or now, and plenty of them are good enough that if she can’t keep them paid then someone else will poach them—a Grand Company, the Ala Mhigan Resistance with their fine ideals, maybe even one of the Alliance leaders in a few cases.

But no, instead of concentrating on keeping a roof over their heads, supplies in the warehouses, and his staff in the buildings, Cid is running all over Ala Mhigo trying to find some magitek gadget. It is not to be borne.

“Wedge,” Jessie says, leaning against his workbench in a friendly, approachable manner.

Wedge yelps.

He scares easier than Biggs, which is why she isn’t asking Biggs. “I had a few questions about Cid.”

“A-about Cid?”

She smiles, still in a friendly, approachable manner. “Yes! About his creative process. I’d like to make some changes to help him feel more inspired, and you seemed like just the person to ask—you know him really well, after all.”

“I have worked for him for a long time,” Wedge admits, looking slightly less panicked. “Biggs too! Maybe he could help you instead!”

“He’s in the middle of soldering some plates.” Jessie waves over at the forge area. “I don’t want to interrupt him. Listen, when does Cid get his most ideas when the world isn’t in danger?” She knows the Warrior of Light needing something from him is a good way to get him to do something impossible, but none of those are profitable and besides, she’d just as well not have any emergencies. She certainly can’t, and wouldn’t even if she could, manufacture any just to get the Ironworks profits back up.

Wedge looks around for help and finds none. “Well—I’ve heard—I don’t know if it’s true, though, maybe I shouldn’t—”

Jessie bends over to pat his shoulder, instead of the top of his head, comfortingly. “We’re just having a chat, Wedge, I’m not asking you to go sell anything!” He’s better at it than Biggs is, because people feel sorry for him, but he’s still not good at it. That’s one of the roles she’d like to add to the Ironworks when she gets a little more financial cushion—she can’t do all the sales herself and still have time to do the rest of her job.

“Well,” Wedge says again, still stalling. Jessie hits him with her brightest, kindest smile, and he caves like the substandard tin they’d gotten once and never again from a merchant in Ul’dah who’d offered a price that was too good to be true. “I’ve heard that when he was, uh, still—back when he was still in Garlemald, see—and then Tataru said…”

The story he unfolds for her is a familiar one: academic rivals dedicated to constant one-upmanship, spurring each other on to greater and greater heights. It’s promising.

Nero tol Scaeva is a disgraced former Garlean military leader as well as a magiteknical genius. Jessie met him back when he’d barged into Cid’s Crystal Tower diversion; he’d slept on a cot at the archaeological camp because he didn’t have a place to stay or gil to rent one. Admittedly, it’s been several years since then, but she still doubts anyone is tripping over themselves to offer a former Imperial commander any kind of important work, and the unimportant work doesn’t come expensive no matter how good you are at it.

Him she might actually be able to hire fairly cheaply. Even if he doesn’t come as cheap as she’d like, if having him on the staff keeps Cid in his workshop instead of chasing ancient unliving monsters, it should be worth the expense.

“Thank you so much, Wedge,” she says, beaming at him even as she starts mentally sorting through her contacts. “You’ve been very helpful.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #my fic #my fic: non wol #my fic: non wol: gen #my fic: 4.0 #jessie jaye #wedge #ironworks ensemble

[themanicmagician]

Shipwrecked [3/4]

[AO3]

Summary: When Redd’s boat crashes upon the shore of Bastion Island, Tom reluctantly takes him in while he recovers. Tom despises Redd for his past deceit, but when he has no choice but to spend time with him, Tom is reminded why he fell in love with the wily fox in the first place.

“What is this supposed to be?”

Tom eyed the frilly cocktail Redd had pushed into his hand. It was a swirl of blue and seafoam green, complete with a tiny toothpick umbrella spearing a pineapple wedge.

“Vacation Juice.”

“But we’re not on a—”

“It’s just a name. You’ll like it, trust me.”

Tom took a small sip. It tasted like pears. Very, very sugary pears. He couldn’t even taste the alcohol. As he took a second, larger sip, Redd said: “Told you you’d like it.”

Tom rolled his eyes, not gracing Redd with a response. He swallowed another mouthful of the “juice” as he glanced around the bar. It wasn’t one of their typical haunts. Drinking out in the city was always expensive, so they tended towards establishments with long, generous happy hours, and cheap brews to go along with. The bar they were in now—Tom had already forgotten the name—was a touch fancier. The drinks were all cocktails with themed names. The drinks were served in small portions, and the prices were obscene, but they were celebrating, after all. They could splurge, just a little, just tonight.

The bar was miraculously uncrowded. Tom and Redd had even managed to secure a corner table all for themselves. The lighting was dim, intimate. They were surrounded mostly by other couples, each pair focused on each other rather than a game on TV.

This was Tom’s third drink in under an hour, and he was getting to that pleasant, loose phase of drunkenness. He watched Redd swallow, observed the slow bob of his throat as he drank. He was struck by a bolt of desire. He wanted to trace the movement with his tongue. Tom shifted on his stool.

Redd’s cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket. His cool demeanor slipped, his eyes widened in alarm.

“It’s the landlord for the building!” He told Tom before he hurriedly took the call. “Hi! Phil, how’s it going? No, no it’s not a bad time at all.”

Redd hunched down, pressing the phone close to his ear to listen over the booming music.

“...Really? Oh—Oh no, that’s not a problem at all.”

Redd’s expression twisted briefly in distress. Tom’s stomach lurched with sudden, strong anxiety. What was the landlord saying? It was maddening, only being able to hear half of the conversation. He leaned closer, but could barely hear the tinny voice coming from Redd’s phone.

“Of course. I’ll get it to you tonight. Yes. You too. Ciao.”

Redd hung up, and sighed. When he didn’t immediately launch into an explanation, Tom blurted: “Well?”

Redd combed a paw through the fur on his head with agitation. It made his sleek fur stick up at odd angles, but Redd didn’t seem to notice, or care.

“The landlord, he got another offer on the store. Says if we still want it we’ll have to pay the first six months—up front.”

Tom swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He downed the rest of his Vacation Juice.

“I have some money put away, but not nearly enough for all that time.” Redd frowned. “But if I don’t get it to him tonight, we lose the place.”

“Well, how much is six months’ rent?”

“Everything included—all the fees, insurance, utilities and everything—it’ll be 200,000 bells. And I already went and spent most of my money getting us the stock. I can’t get a refund now.” He laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “We’ll have all this furniture and nowhere to put it.”  

“How much do you need?”

“Tom, I couldn’t—”

“Redd. We’re partners, right? How much do you need?”

The fox shifted on his stool.

“...It’s too much to ask of you.” Redd mumbled, eventually.

“Redd.”

“Fine, fine. I only have about 15k bells left in my account right now.”

Tom brought out his own phone. It took a few clumsy tries for him to unlock it. He had just enough in his account to cover the remainder, built up from the months of pitching and selling ideas to businesses. This would drain nearly all of Tom’s savings, but it was an investment. It was worth it. Besides, they’d make it up and then some when their store opened.

“I can transfer it over right now.” Tom smiled. “Though I’m afraid we’ll have to switch to ramen and tap water for a while.”

“I could kiss you.” Redd said.

“What’s stopping you?”

After a sloppy kiss that tasted of pears and apples, Tom drained his account for the deposit. Redd called Phil back to confirm the transfer was a success. Once the landlord confirmed, Redd pulled Tom from the bar, hand in hand. They couldn’t really afford to buy more fancy cocktails, but there was a full bottle of sake at home, calling their name.

~*~

Tom awoke with a thunderous headache. He groaned, pinching two fingers to the ridge of his nose. He warily opened his eyes a few centimeters, then slammed them shut again. Nausea churned in his gut. He took a moment to just lay there, and prayed for his insides to stop revolting. How much had they had to drink last night? It was a blur. Tom had been feeling buzzed already from the cocktails and then the sake had gone and punched straight holes through his memory. He remembered snatches of moments, of sensations. Raking his paws through Redd’s fur, feeling the corded muscles beneath as they shifted. The sweet taste of Redd’s mouth on his, the triumph of finally marking up that exposed throat. The way that Redd, always so perfect and composed, became a stuttering, breathy mess as they made love. Then, a whole lot of nothing.

“Redd?” Tom moaned feebly. The fox handled his liquor a thousand times better than he did. He could entreat his partner to get up and fetch him some water. He flailed out blindly, reaching, but his hand encountered no fox.

Tom opened his eyes again, with heavy reluctance. He was alone in the bed. He swept his paw over the sheets. They were cool.

Tom spilled clumsily over the side of the bed to reach his pants, which were in a crumpled heap on the bedroom floor. He rooted around in his pockets until he found his phone. The time blared at him, like a condemnation: 10:05 a.m. For someone that normally got up for the day at 6, it was sacrilege.

Standing upright was a mistake. Dizziness and nausea slammed into him immediately. He barely made it to the bathroom before he was puking. He hadn’t really had much to eat yesterday, so all that came up was stringy bile. He flushed the mess down and rested his head for a minute against the cool bathroom cabinet.

He was surprised Redd hadn’t come to investigate, considering the amount of noise Tom was making.

“Redd?” He croaked.

There was no reply.

Tom sat for a moment more, until he was certain he wouldn’t neat the toilet again. He levered himself upright, bracing himself on the sink.

He shuffled out of the bathroom, and went into the area comprised of their kitchenette and living room. Redd was still nowhere to be found. And there was something...off. It took him a moment, and then he realized: Redd’s stuff was missing. His artwork that’d been scattered around, his books, they were gone. Tom checked their bedroom. Tom’s things were neatly folded in the drawers, but there was an empty gap where Redd’s clothes had once been.

Had something happened to Redd? Heart pounding with confusion and fear, he dialed Redd’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. He called again; same result.

After the beep, he left a message, his voice audibly shaky. “H-Hey, it’s Tom. Call me when you get this, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

Tom returned to the living room, and paced anxiously until his attention was caught by a white envelope. It was resting on the floor, by the front door. Someone must have slipped it underneath.

The envelope was addressed to Redd, but Tom broke the seal anyway, hoping whatever was inside would provide answers.

Inside was a final eviction notice.

According to it, Redd was three months past due on rent, and had until the end of the week to move out his stuff before it was thrown out by management.

Tom was breathing fast, now. It felt like the walls were closing in on him. This didn’t make  sense. Redd had afforded this apartment for years before Tom had moved in. And as soon as Tom began making money he contributed half of the rent. He gave the bells over to Redd and assumed he’d take care of it. Redd had money before they’d poured most of their shared earnings into their store, so why—?

The eviction notice was starting to crumple in his shaking grip. He set it aside on the kitchen island.

He needed to find Redd. He needed to talk to him. There was probably some simple explanation for all of this that Tom just couldn’t see right now. Redd would explain, would tease him for getting all worked up about nothing. Or, or maybe this had been premeditated. Maybe he’d taken Tom’s money for months and then—

Tom yanked on his pants, and a shirt, and dashed out of the apartment. Redd wasn’t home, but there was one other place he might be at this hour.

Tom ran to their store. Animals gave him odd looks as he passed them, but he paid them no attention. He wasn’t built for running, especially not over long distances. He was soon panting and wheezing, sweat slicking his shirt to his back, but he didn’t slow. The walking sign switched to a red hand but Tom kept running, ignoring the resultant yells and curses spat at him from nearby cars as they were forced to swerve around him.

He reached the store at last—and his heart dropped to his stomach. The entire area was roped off. There were large heavy construction machines, including a crane with a wrecking ball at the end of it.

Tom ducked under the tape and tried to run inside, but was grabbed by one of the construction workers.

“Hey, hey!” The bulldog barked. “You crazy? You can’t go in there, they’re about to bust it down.”

“That’s my store!” Tom yelled. “What are you doing, that’s my property!”

“This place has been foreclosed on for over a year now.” The worker replied, bewildered. “It’s been slated for demolition. Gonna squeeze another high-rise in there.”

“But—But—”

The key in his pocket was freshly cut. If the place had been abandoned, it would’ve been relatively simple for Redd to install a new lock on the place. To add a layer of credibility to the entire request, to allow Tom to hope.

Tom was no longer resisting, so the bulldog released his grip on Tom’s shirt.

“You should step back, kid. It’s going to get real dusty here in a minute.”

He threw one last perplexed look at Tom before he rejoined his crew members.

Tom retreated behind the tape, and watched as the wrecking ball swung out, and smashed the front of the building inwards. His eyes watered, then, but not from the resultant dust.

~*~

He didn’t return to the apartment. He didn’t want anything they’d shared, or that would remind him of Redd.

He walked to the train station in a daze, only pausing to chuck his apartment and store keys in the trash.

Tom didn’t have much remaining in his account, but Redd had at least left him enough to purchase a one-way ticket back to his hometown. The train was the same make and model as the one that’d brought him here, six months ago.

Tom sat at a free window seat, and rested his cheek against the window. The glass was a bit smudged and sticky, likely from a child’s hands, but Tom left his head where it was.

The train came alive with a jolt. Soon the skyscrapers gave way to houses. Gradually, the houses became further and further spaced out, and the forest grew denser. He drank in the sight of green foliage greedily, like a man given water after days in the desert. He hadn’t realized, until now, how much he hated the gray of steel, the tan of concrete, the black of asphalt.  

The train stopped intermittently. Tom did not pay attention to the conductor’s voice over the loudspeaker, as his was the very last stop on the line.

“Hey, do you mind if I sit next to you?”

It took half a moment for Tom to recognize that he was being spoken to. He pulled his gaze sluggishly away from the window. A blue and white cat stood there, smiling down at him, seemingly unperturbed by Tom’s dour mood. Tom shrugged, not really caring what the cat did. He slid into the seat beside Tom.

“I’m Rover.” He beamed. Tom wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, scream that it wasn’t fair, how dare he smile like that when Tom had been through hell.

“...Tom.” He admitted, eventually, in the expectant silence.

“Pleasure. So, where you headed?”

“Home.”

He understood it now. He wasn’t meant for city life, for a place that cradled you when you could provide it value, then dropped you into the dirt after.

“Took a day trip to the city, eh?”

Tom grunted.

“What a place! Fun to visit now and again, but I’d never live there, personally.”

“Me neither.” Tom agreed.

Rover filled the trip with largely one-sided chatter until he hopped off, three stops before Tom’s.

“Safe travels, friend! I’m sure we’ll meet again someday.”

Tom mustered up a wave for him.

The train pulled into its final station a little after noon. Hardly anyone was left on the train. As Tom left the station, he passed a few elderly couples, some younger animals psyching themselves up for a nature hike.

There weren’t cabs this far out, so Tom walked. It reminded him somewhat of his first day in the city, fraught as it was with exhaustion and confusion as he plodded down street after street. At least this time he walked with certainty. Starved of entertainment as a child, he’d explore the entire town enough times he could navigate it blind.

He wasn’t surprised to discover nothing had changed here. He hadn’t been gone that long, all told, and change came at a glacial pace in his hometown. There were the same trees, unchanging storefronts. Though he supposed there was perhaps a bit more peeling paint on the general store sign than the last time he’d seen it. The store had been owned by Gran Bluebell since before Tom was a kit. It was no great shock she didn’t bother with touching up the hard to reach sign at her age.

People recognized him. Welcomed him. Assumed he was just here for a visit. Tom smiled at them, and exchanged pleasantries but no meaningful information on his side. Humiliation burned his face like a hot brand. He could hardly admit to himself that he’d failed, let alone to them. They’d sympathize, express their condolences—but past their commiserating veneer would be a sick kind of satisfaction. I knew you’d never make it out there. You thought you were better than us? Smarter? We’re all stuck here in this town for a reason.  

Had the city soured his optimistic, rosy view of others? Perhaps it had. Could he truly be blamed, though? With pessimism, you expected the worst out of others. You could never be disappointed, only pleasantly surprised.

At length, Tom reached his destination. It was a house on the end of the row. One story, cream-colored. The doorbell had stopped working years ago, so Tom rapped on the door. He heard the shuffle of feet over wood, and then the door creaked open.

Sable’s eyes widened. She shut the door again to unhook the chain lock, and then threw it wide open. Tom could see a slice of the kitchen from his current vantage point. Mabel was strapped into her highchair, gleefully smashing peas into paste on the tray in front of her, babbling nonsense. Label was peering at him with large, dark eyes, half-hidden behind the frayed couch.

“Tom, what are you doing here?” Sable swept a critical eye over him, noting his lack of luggage.

Tom saw telltale signs of strain in his friend’s features. The circles beneath her eyes, the unkemptness of her quills, the stains, fresh and old on her apron. He shouldn’t bother her with his problems. But he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Tom?”

She cupped his chin, lifted his head up so he met her gaze.

“What happened?”

Tom broke. He surged forward, wrapping Sable in a tight embrace. Sable hesitated only the briefest moment before she encircled her arms around him, stroking his back soothingly.

“Sable,” He choked out.

“It’s okay now.” Her tone was soothing and soft. “Let it out.”

He buried his head in her shoulder, and wept.

~*~

Tom was rooted in place. Redd was gone, again. Without a trace, without a word.

He was being stupid. He was overreacting. Where could Redd go, really? The island wasn’t that large.

He knew this, logically, and yet his heart was pounding like a drum, his paws, clammy. He couldn’t help the irrational fear that history was repeating itself.

He managed to break through the panic which had seized him to return downstairs. He entered the Cranny. Timmy and Tommy swiveled away from their conversation with Fang.

“Have you seen Redd?” Tom blurted.

The twins shook their heads in unison, but the old wolf scrunched up his forehead in thought.

“The little red fella?” Fang rumbled. Tom nodded. “Think I saw him on my way in. Headed northwards, cha-chomp.”

“Should we look too?”

“...too?”

“No, boys. Mind the shop. I’ll find him.”

Tom waited until he was out of sight of anyone inside the store before he broke into a jog. He crossed over the bridge that connected the main swatch of Bastion to the smaller crescent of land to the north. Alex had left most of this land to the wilds. There was a grove of multicolored hyacinths, encircled by pear trees. Bastion’s lighthouse was posted on the edge of the water. There was no other sign of civilization out here—save for Flurry’s house.

Tom hurried up to the house, and was about to knock when the door swung open. Redd was exiting, a new book tucked under his arm. Flurry was behind him, wringing her tiny paws.

“You’re sure I can’t carry it for you?” She fretted.

“The book weighs more than you do. I can handle it, no problem.”

Redd was facing Flurry; he hadn’t seen Tom yet. He was speaking in that tone of voice, the same one he’d had with the boys, before Tom interrupted. Something soft, kind.

Then Redd turned to see Tom, and the gentle look on his face vanished, replaced by something charming and fake.

“Come to escort me home? How gentlemanly of you, Mr. Nook.” Redd batted his eyelashes obnoxiously. Flurry giggled.

Tom gave a short nod to the hamster before she shut the door. Tom waited until they were in the hyacinth field, far enough away from Flurry’s house, to speak.

“You can’t just—just leave without telling me.”

Redd snorted. “I’m not one of your adopted kiddos.” A thought seemed to occur to him, and with some annoyance, he added, “What, you can’t trust me to be on my own, is that it? Think I’m always up to no good?”

“You’re hurt and you don’t know the island. You can’t just go off on your own.”

“Please, Tom. Don’t bother with all this. You don’t care about me, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“That’s not what I—you’re so—!” Tom clamped his mouth shut. He took a deep breath, which didn’t do as much to calm him as he would have liked. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. You were just gone, and I panicked.”

Tom was surprised as that seemed to set Redd off. “Oh, panicked, did you? How do you think I felt when you left New Leaf, without telling me? I had to hear it from Chadder—Chadder, of all people!—that you’ve just run off to some deserted island, on your own. There are tarantulas out here, Tom. Tarantulas!”

“And scorpions,” Tom added, helpfully. Redd glowered at him. “I was expanding my business into travel. Not that you’d know anything about innovation.”

“You learned all you know from me!”

“Hardly!” Tom scoffed. “I taught myself everything after you stole from me. My first shop was made out of scrap metal and wood from the dump, and look at me now. Whereas you, Redd,” He jabbed the fox in the chest. “You just jump from one scam to the next, and don’t care who you hurt in the process.”

Redd flinched back. “I’m not. I’m not like that anymore. I—look. I might have. Lied. Before.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Tom said, waspishly.

“Guess I deserve that one.” Redd shifted his weight uneasily. “I’m talking about the art. It is real, like I said. Spent almost every bell I got to acquire it all. But I wasn’t planning to scam anyone with it. I wasn’t going to go island to island to sell people replicas. I just wanted to come here. Where you are.”

Tom’s ire drained, supplanted by confusion. He said nothing, and Redd took that as permission to continue.

“I was going to swing by once a week. Give a new piece of art to that human kid every time, because I know Blabbers—”

“Blathers.”

“—would want them all displayed in his museum. And over time, you’d get used to seeing me around. And there’d be no stories about fakes for you to hear. And maybe you’d…” Redd sighed. He looked up at Tom with an earnestness the raccoon had never seen from him before. “I scammed a lot of guys before you. A lot of them were like you—new to the city, hopelessly clueless, grateful for any scrap of guidance. But you were different. I...I do regret what happened between us. What I did to you. It still haunts me.”

“So why did you?” Tom asked, softly. “You know that I loved you.”

Redd’s face twisted in anguish. “I did know. I hate myself every day for ruining what we had. And the worst part is I can’t tell you why I did it. A part of me, a big part of me, didn’t want to. But it was what I’d always done. I didn’t grow up in a nice place, or in a nice home. I learned how to con, how to lie and cheat and survive. I learned how to take care of myself, because no one else was going to. And then you came along, and you didn’t want to use me, and you were clever, and wanted us to be partners, equals. You thought I could be that for you, that I could be up at as high a level as you are, and, and it scared me. It made me think that maybe I didn’t have to be that way anymore. I didn’t have to trick anyone ever again. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t change. I couldn’t make the leap. I fell into old habits, because they were secure, because I knew I could rely on the results. I knew I’d hurt you, but I did it anyway. Because I didn’t trust you, and I didn’t trust myself.”

Tom felt as if his heart was breaking again, but in a different way. Redd’s confession was a raw, sad thing.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m a selfish bastard, and I...I still want you in my life. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

There was a long silence between them. The hyacinths swayed gently around them in the cool sea breeze.

Redd had hurt Tom deeply. On one level, Tom did forgive him. Redd had suffered the consequences of his actions. He’d gained money, but he’d lost Tom’s affections, lost the chance for an honest living. On another level, Tom could not open his heart fully to the fox again. Redd claimed that he had changed, and he certainly seemed repentant. But they would remain only acquaintances, perhaps friends, at the most. He simply could not trust Redd to the extent he had in the past, and he doubted he ever would.

“What book did Flurry give you?”

“What? Oh.” Redd blinked. He checked the title. “Bark Antony and Kleopawtra.”

“Perhaps you could read it aloud to the kids, tonight. They’d like that.”

A tentative smile spread slowly across Redd’s face.

He accepted the olive branch.

“Fine, but you’re voicing Bark Antony.”

The pair of them returned to the Cranny, walking shoulder to shoulder.

#reddnook #tom nook #redd #ac #animal crossing #animal crossing: new horizons #my fic #also you know flurry was eavesdropping on that drama #with binoculars

[xhxhxhx]

Thinking about Ross Douthat’s “The Age of Decadence” this morning:

“Do people on your coast think all this is real?”

The tech executive sounded curious, proud, a little insecure. We were talking in the San Francisco office of a venture capital firm, a vaulted space washed in Californian sun. He was referring to the whole gilded world around the Bay, the entire internet economy.

That was in 2015. Here are three stories from the five years since.

A young man comes to New York City. He’s a striver, a hustler, working the borderlands between entrepreneurship and con artistry. His first effort, a credit card for affluent millennials, yanks him into the celebrity economy, where he meets an ambitious rapper-businessman. Together they plan a kind of internet brokerage where celebrities can sell their mere presence to the highest bidder. As a brand-enhancing advertisement for the company, they decide to host a major music festival — an exclusive affair on a Caribbean island for influencers, festival obsessives and the youthful rich.

The festival’s online rollout is a great success. There is a viral video of supermodels and Instagram celebrities frolicking on a deserted beach, a sleek website for customers and the curious, and in the end, more than 5,000 people buy tickets, at an average cost of $2,500 to $4,000 — the superfluity of a rich society, yours for the right sales pitch.

But the festival as pitched does not exist. Instead, our entrepreneur’s plans collapse one by one. The private island’s owners back out of the deal. The local government doesn’t cooperate. Even after all the ticket sales, the money isn’t there, and he has to keep selling new amenities to ticket buyers to pay for the ones they’ve already purchased. He does have a team working around the clock to ready … something for the paying customers, but what they offer in the end is a sea of FEMA tents vaguely near a beach, a catering concern that supplies slimy sandwiches, and a lot of cheap tequila.

Amazingly, the people actually come — bright young things whose Instagram streams become a hilarious chronicle of dashed expectations, while the failed entrepreneur tries to keep order with a bullhorn before absconding to New York, where he finds disgrace, arrest and the inevitable Netflix documentary.

That’s the story of Billy McFarland and the Fyre Festival. It’s a small-time story; the next one is bigger.

A girl grows up in Texas, she gets accepted to Stanford, she wants to be Steve Jobs. She has an idea that will change an industry that hasn’t changed in years: the boring but essential world of blood testing. She envisions a machine, dubbed the Edison, that will test for diseases using just a single drop of blood. And like Jobs she quits college to figure out how to build it.

Ten years later, she is the internet era’s leading female billionaire, with a stream of venture capital, a sprawling campus, a $10 billion valuation for her company, and a lucrative deal with Walgreens to use her machines in every store. Her story is a counterpoint to every criticism you hear about Silicon Valley — that it’s a callow boys’ club, that its virtual realities don’t make the world of flesh and blood a better place, that it solves problems of convenience but doesn’t cure the sick. And she is the toast of an elite, in tech and politics alike, that wants to believe the Edisonian spirit lives on.

But the Edison box — despite endless effort and the best tech team that all that venture capital can buy — doesn’t work. And over time, as the company keeps expanding, it ceases even trying to innovate and becomes instead a fraud, using all its money and big-time backers to discredit whistle-blowers. Which succeeds until it doesn’t, at which point the company and all its billions evaporate — leaving behind a fraud prosecution, a best-selling exposé and the inevitable podcast and HBO documentary to sustain its founder’s fame.

That’s the story of Elizabeth Holmes and Theranos. It’s a big story. But our third story is bigger still, and it isn’t finished yet.

An internet company decides to revolutionize an industry — the taxi and limousine market — that defines old-school business-government cooperation, with all the attendant bureaucracy and unsatisfying service. It promises investors that it can buy its way to market dominance and use cutting-edge tech to find unglimpsed efficiencies. On the basis of that promise, it raises billions of dollars across its 10-year rise, during which time it becomes a byword for internet-era success, the model for how to disrupt an industry. By the time it goes public in 2019, it has over $11 billion in annual revenue — real money, exchanged for real services, nothing fraudulent about it.

Yet this amazing success story isn’t actually making any profit, even at such scale; instead, it’s losing billions, including $5 billion in one particularly costly quarter. After 10 years of growth, it has smashed the old business model of its industry, weakened legacy competitors and created value for consumers — but it has done all this using the awesome power of free money, building a company that would collapse into bankruptcy if that money were withdrawn. And it has solved none of the problems keeping it from profitability: The technology it uses isn’t proprietary or complex; its rival in disruption controls 30 percent of the market; the legacy players are still very much alive; and all of its paths to reduce its losses — charging higher prices, paying its workers less — would destroy the advantages that it has built.

So it sits there, a unicorn unlike any other, with a plan to become profitable that involves vague promises to somehow monetize all its user data and a specific promise that its investment in a different new technology — the self-driving car, much ballyhooed but as yet not exactly real — will make the math add up.

That’s the story of Uber — so far. It isn’t an Instagram fantasy or a naked fraud; it managed to go public and maintain its outsize valuation, unlike its fellow unicorn WeWork, whose recent attempt at an I.P.O. hurled it into crisis. But it is, for now, an example of a major 21st-century company invented entirely out of surplus, and floated by the hope that with enough money and market share, you can will a profitable company into existence. Which makes it another case study in what happens when an extraordinarily rich society can’t find enough new ideas that justify investing all its stockpiled wealth. We inflate bubbles and then pop them, invest in Theranos and then repent, and the supposed cutting edge of capitalism is increasingly defined by technologies that have almost arrived, business models that are on their way to profitability, by runways that go on and on without the plane achieving takeoff.

Do people on your coast think all this is real? When the tech executive asked me that, I told him that we did — that the promise of Silicon Valley was as much an article of faith for those of us watching from the outside as for its insiders; that we both envied the world of digital and believed in it, as the one place where American innovation was clearly still alive. And I would probably say the same thing now because, despite the stories I’ve just told, the internet economy is still as real as 21st-century growth and innovation gets.

But what this tells us, unfortunately, is that 21st-century growth and innovation are not at all what we were promised they would be.

I wonder if we’ll think about Silicon Valley the way we think about Texas wildcatters and Florida real estate hustlers. 

It’s not that there isn’t innovation in California. There is innovation in California. There was oil in Texas and real estate in Florida too. But their dilemmas are the same: the market has matured. The frontier is a confidence game, but the core is stagnant.

Facebook and Google monopolized social and search. They have the profits that newspapers used to have and broadcasters still do. Apple sells luxury products to the affluent, like the LVMH of Cupertino. They are not growing and innovating. They are insulating.

They acquire smaller firms that might threaten their business: Instagram, WhatsApp, Waze, DoubleClick. They do just enough to insulate themselves. They do no more. A little while ago, they challenged one another: Apple tried search, Google tried social. They don’t do that anymore.

It would be nice if they tried something new.

[xxcxcs-blog]

Everything You Need to Stock an at-Home Bar

So you finally found the bar cart of your dreams, and you’ve loaded it up with your favorite liquor. While those are two very important steps to curating an at-home bar, to really make your setup recall that of your favorite watering hole, you’re going to want to add some barware and cocktail equipment. But that can be an intimidating task, especially if you’ve had more experience drinking cocktails than making them. The good news is that you don’t have to spend a lot of money. “Most people in their home bar really don’t need that many tools,” advises Joaquín Simó, a partner at New York City’s Pouring Ribbons who was named Tales of the Cocktail’s American Bartender of the Year in 2012. “I say you start with the absolute basics and concentrate on the things that you like to use.”

If you’re in a pinch, Martin Hudak, a bartender at Maybe Sammy, says you can always use bartender tools you may already have on hand: “For your shaken cocktails, you can use empty jam jars or a thermos flask. For measuring, spoons and cups, and for stirring, any spoon or back of a wooden ladle.” But Stacey Swenson, the head bartender at Dante (which currently holds the No. 1 spot on the World’s 50 Best Bars list), notes that if you’re going to put stuff on display, you might want gear that’s both practical and stylish. “You want something that’s functional and also something that’s pretty,” she says. “If you’re putting it on your bar cart, you kind of put on a show for your guests.” With the help of Simó, Hudak, Swenson, and 28 other experts, we’ve put together the below list of essential gear for any cocktail-lover’s home bar.

Editor’s note: If you want to support service industry workers who have been impacted by the coronavirus closures, you can donate to the Restaurant Workers’ Community Foundation, which has set up a COVID-19 Crisis Relief Fund, or One Fair Wage, which has set up an Emergency Coronavirus Tipped and Service Worker Support Fund. We’ve also linked to any initiatives the businesses mentioned in this story have set up to support themselves amid the coronavirus pandemic.

According to Simó, all shakers “technically do the same thing, and there are very cheap and very nice versions,” so there’s really no superior option when it comes to function. That said, many professional bartenders use Boston-style shakers, which are basically two cups that fit into each other and form a tight seal to keep liquid from splashing all over you. “If you want to look like a bartender at Death & Co. or PDT, and you want the same kit, then you’re probably going to go metal-on-metal,” or “tin-on-tin,” Simó notes. Six of our experts recommend these weighted tin-on-tin shakers — which come in a range of finishes, including copper and silver — from Cocktail Kingdom, a brand that nearly every bartender we spoke to praised for its durable, well-designed barware. Grand Army’s beverage director, Brendan Biggins, and head bartender, Robby Dow, call this “the gold standard” of shaking tins. “Behind the bar, there’s almost nothing worse than shaker tins that don’t seal well or don’t separate easily,” explains Krissy Harris, the beverage director and owner of Jungle Bird in Chelsea. “The Koriko Weighted Shaking tins seal perfectly every time and easily release,” she says. And because they’re weighted, they’re less likely to fall over and spill.

For some people, a two-piece setup like the above shakers might be tricky to use comfortably. “Say you’re a petite female — if you have very small hands, then maybe using a Boston-style shaker may be a little harder,” explains Simó. In that case, a cobbler shaker may be the better choice, because it’s smaller than a Boston-style shaker and thus easier to hold. The other convenient part of a cobbler-style shaker is that the strainer is already built into the lid, so you don’t necessarily have to spring for an additional wine tools. Karen Lin, a certified sommelier, sake expert, and the executive general manager of Tsukimi, suggests this shaker from Japanese barware brand Yukiwa. “The steel is very sturdy, and the shape fits perfectly in my hands,” she says. “It is also designed well so you can take it apart easily to clean.”

You know how James Bond always ordered his martinis shaken, not stirred? Well, if you were to ignore Mr. Bond’s order and make a stirred martini — or any other stirred cocktail, like a Negroni or a Manhattan — you’d set aside the shaker to use a mixing beaker instead. A mixing beaker is essentially a large vessel in which you dump your liquors and mix your drink. And though you can purchase handsome crystal ones for hundreds of dollars, both Simó and Swenson agree that they’re kind of superfluous for a basic bar kit. “I don’t think you should spend any more than $25 on a mixing glass,” says Swenson. Harris agrees, saying that since they are the most broken item behind the bar, you should stick to a well-priced option like this mixing glass from Hiware that “doesn’t have a seam, so it’s stronger and very attractive.”

One of Simó’s hacks to getting a glass mixing beaker for not that much money is to use the glass piece from a French press, which is something else you might already own. If you want a dedicated one for your bar cart (that could serve as a backup for your French press), he says you can buy a replacement glass like this one, which has a capacity that is particularly useful if you’re making drinks for a lot of people. “I generally will take one or two of the big guys with me when I’m doing events, because then I can stir up five drinks in one, and it’s really convenient,” Simó explains.

According to Paul McGee, a co-owner of Lost Lake in Chicago, “finding vintage martini pitchers is very easy, and they are perfect for making large batches of cocktails.” Plus, they’ll look more visually striking on your bar cart. This one is even pretty enough to use as a vase when it’s not filled with punch. The photo shows the pitcher next to a strainer, but you’re only getting the pitcher for the price shown.

If you’re making a stirred drink, a mixing or bar set spoon is also necessary. “Three basic styles exist: the American bar spoon has a twisted handle and, usually, a plastic cap on the end, the European bar spoon has a flat muddler/crusher, and the Japanese bar spoon is heavier, with a weighted teardrop shape opposite the bowl,” explains Joe Palminteri, the director of food and beverage at Hamilton Hotel’s Via Sophia and Society. None of our experts recommended specific American-style bar spoons, but Simó told us that one of his favorite Japanese-style spoons is this one made by bartender Tony Abou-Ganim’s Modern Mixologist brand. “It’s got a really nice, deep bowl to it, which means you’re able to measure a nice, level teaspoon” without searching through your drawers, according to him. Simó continues, “The little top part of it has a nice little weight to it, but it’s not too bulky. So it gives you a really nice balance as you’re moving the mixing spoon around,” making your job a little easier.

Should your at-home bartending require a lot of muddling, Swenson recommends getting a European-style spoon like this, which he says will still allow you to stir while eliminating the need to buy a dedicated muddler. “You can actually use the top of the spoon to crush a sugar cube if you wanted to for your old-fashioned. I have one of those, so I don’t have to have two tools; I’ve got both of them right there.”

You don’t necessarily need a strainer if you’re using a cobbler shaker, since it’s already got a strainer built into the lid. But if you’re using a Boston-style shaker, you should get what’s called a Hawthorne strainer to make sure the ice you used to chill your drink doesn’t end up in your glass and dilute the cocktail. Three experts recommend this one, including Lynnette Marrero, the beverage director of Llama Inn and Llama-San and the co-founder of Speed Rack, who says it’s her absolute favorite because “it is light and easy to clutch and close correctly.” If you choose to buy this Hawthorne strainer, Simó also recommends getting “the replacement springs that Cocktail Kingdom sells,” telling us they’re a good way to give a worn-out strainer a face-lift. “They’re really, really nice and tight, and you can generally slip them into any Hawthorne strainer that you have.”A jigger is what you use to measure the liquor into the shaker or mixing glass. A hyperfunctional, albeit nontraditional-looking, option is the mini measuring wine decante from OXO. “I know some bartenders, including the ones at Drink in Boston, one of the best bars in the country, swear by those graduated OXO ones because they love the ability to read them from both the sides and the top,” explains Simó. “You can measure in tablespoons or ounces or milliliters, and it’s all on the same jigger.” Part-time bartender Jillian Norwick and Ward both love it too and keep the stainless steel version on hand (which looks a little nicer when left out). Noriwck adds that she’s in good company: “The peeps at Bon Appétit love it.”This fancy-looking jigger combines the functional appeal of the OXO measuring wine glass (it’s basically a cup that grows wider to accommodate different amounts of liquid) with the aesthetic appeal of a classic bar tool. It also makes measuring a snap: “This handy measuring bar table and stools is super-easy to use and enables the imbiber to essentially build all the ingredients of a drink in one go,” says Confrey.If you’re going for a more classic look but still want something practical, Simó recommends this double-sided metal jigger that has a one-ounce cup on one side and a two-ounce cup on the other. The one-ounce side on this strainer also has a half- and three-quarter-ounce lines etched into it to make it even more precise. “That gives you a lot of wiggle room” and will allow you to measure for most basic cocktails, Simó says. “From there, you really just have to learn what a quarter-ounce looks like in there, and you’re pretty much good to go.”

Biggens, Dowe, and Swenson prefer a Leopold jigger, which has a unique bell shape (with one bell holding an ounce, and the other two ounces) as well as lines etched on the inside marking both quarter- and half-ounces. “They’re really easy to hold and they have some weight to them,” Swenson adds. “Somebody who’s not really experienced using a jigger is going to be fine with something with a little bit more weight to it. And they look cool.”

Though it’s easy to want to get a different type of glass for every type of drink you make, that’s really unnecessary when you’re first starting out. According to Simó, “You can make 90 percent of drinks into a good, all-purpose cocktail glass like a rocks or a collins glass.” (While this section contains our bartenders’ favorite glasses, if you want to shop around, you can find most of these styles at various price points in our list of the best drinking glasses.) A collins — or highball — glass is the one that looks like a chimney, and generally you’re looking for something that’s about 12 ounces, like these collins glasses from bartender-favorite brand Cocktail Kingdom. “You don’t want a 16-ounce Collins glass because you’re going to be hammered after your second Tom Collins,” advises Simó.

[neomikey]

For June 2021's #ryukoprompt!  Time to go swimming!

I don't have a favorite “summer memory,” exactly.  However, I do remember growing up that summers were always a proper season book-ended by the end and start of the school years.  The weather grew warmer, I was relieved for three months of the obligation of going to school, and that time was spent hanging out with friends any day of the week, playing video games, and sometimes my parents would take us all somewhere for vacation.

Some place that was a staple of the summer, though, was the Hobart Community Pool, though we all just said “the Hobart Pool.”  As of this writing, it's 59 years old and is still in operation today, though they've added more from when I was a child.  Growing up through the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s, it was a basic pool – technically two – and we all loved it.

It was a meeting place, where you and everyone you knew were likely to bump into each other at some point in the summer.  All manner of people grouped there, from the young to the old.  We would spend hours there at the pool and the time always went by quicker than expected.

You passed through a wooden gate house, where you would show your membership or pay them.  The main area where the staff was had two large windows – one facing out to incoming customers and one facing in towards the main pools.  They had music playing there, pool supplies on the wall, and were generally easygoing.  All the staff were that I encountered.  You then passed through a gendered show area, where you could clean up and change, and then you were put out in front of the kiddie pool.

Almost no adults ever hung out in there.  The shallowest end of the pool was two feet deep, where the absolute beginners – regardless of age – could literally get their feet wet.  The pool deepened as you went further in, until you stood at one end where it just reached three feet.  There was no paint on that end to mark how deep it was, but I remembered as a kid being absolutely sure it was three feet, since the water went up to me the same amount when I was in the other pool.  I felt like a genius.

The other pool was the main pool, which is in the shape of a large L. The main rectangle went from three feet gradually down to five feet. Of course, this also meant that as you went deeper, the people swimming generally were older as well.  This pool was mainly where I and everyone else did our swimming.  In the middle was a huge water slide, and at the end deep in the five-foot section was a basketball hoop.  I remember my dad frequently playing over there.

The smaller rectangle of the L was the deep end – 12 feet – and was separated by a rope which no one was allowed to cross.  This was where the diving boards were.  Normally, the deep end was only for people using the diving boards, but oftentimes they would allow open swimming as well.  I remember being older and being able to get to the bottom, where I would stand and walk, simply because I could.   There were three diving boards.  Two of them were on the outside and were short, and the high-dive was in the middle.  I think it was two stories tall at the top.

Every hour they would blow a whistle, announcing that “adult swim” had started, meaning that the kids needed to get out, rest, and let the “old people” enjoy the whole pool to themselves.  I still remember the whistle blows they would do.  If I recall correctly, there would be three bursts, which were echoed by all the other lifeguards who heard it.  When it was time to go back in, they would do one long blow that would shift its intensity, mimicking how we would say “alley-oop!” when hoisting something heavy.

Adult swim was also when people would take the time to visit their cafe...though I use the word lightly. It was there to sell cheap food like candy, hotdogs, and soft drinks. It was also the place where I was introduced to banana Laffy Taffy, and to this day, I still love the stuff.  Park benches were set up in a lightly protected area, and I remember occasionally seeing curious wasps in that area.

The pool used to have a line of trees protecting it.  They were tall evergreen trees planted side by side, and did fantastic work blocking out the wind when it came from that direction.  However, eventually Hobart's hospital was built and they built a road right through what used to be a prairie to give it better access.  Part of the road's installation involved taking down those trees.  I didn't think they “needed” to, I thought there was plenty of room, but I'm sure there was some proper reason.  My friend Tim joked this was going to cause a lot of accidents.  He said guys were gonna be driving, see a hot lady in a bikini, and get distracted.

I have many memories from there.  Most good, some bad.  I loved being underwater and would frequently be under there.  My eyes would eventually hurt from the chlorine, but that was the price I willingly paid.  I would sometimes be underwater and swim through crowds of people.  I'm told I surprised a few of them, as they weren't expecting to suddenly see a child going past their feet.

My friends and I would frequently play there.  There would be light roughhousing, but it was mostly just swimming, playing, and laughing.  We would talk about or mimic stuff we had seen in video games.  I remember squirting a line of water out through my teeth and calling it a laser.  When we were allowed to swim in the deep end, I jumped off the side and brought my limbs close to my body, mimicking Iron Man in the Captain America and the Avengers arcade game. This always got me pretty deep pretty quickly.  Other times we would try out stuff, such as someone lying on the bottom, then someone else standing on their back to keep them there.  When the person on the bottom had to come up for breath, he would stand and topple the person on top over.  I remember back skin feeling really weird on my feet.

There was a way to swim during adult swim if you were a kid, and that was to pass the “Dolphin” exam.  You had to get from one end of the main pool, down the length, and to the other side.  You had to do it while swimming properly – freestyle – and had to go straight.  It was difficult for me to pass and I remember once skewing to the side and hitting the side of the pool near the water slide.  I failed that one.  I know I did pass it at least once and wore the Dolphin badge on my swim trunks with pride that summer.  

There was one incident where I thought I was older, mature, and brave enough to tackle the high dive.  I stood in line, ascended, and then once at the top, looked over the edge.  It was so, so far down and I couldn't bring myself to jump.  I remember some people calling up to me, telling me I wasn't allowed to climb down and I had to jump.  I appreciate them trying to motivate me to get over my fears, but it only made me more scared. Eventually, I climbed down and broke into tears.  My dad was there to comfort me as I came down and I told him I would never swim again. That turned out to be wrong.

When I was old enough to drive, I started going to the Hobart Pool on my own.  My whole life up to that point I had always gone there with someone and getting to be there on my own felt like another step into adulthood.  It was a nice feeling that if it was hot out and my parents were busy, I could hop in my vehicle and just go.

As time went on, my time wasn't as structured.  I was no longer in school, I had jobs, and held different interests where the pool didn't interest me as much.  Summers were no longer an event, but something in the background that meant we had to roll down the car windows.  I didn't have a need for membership to the Hobart Pool anymore, and it wasn't until years later after I was married that I realized how long it had truly been since I had gone swimming.

Once the pandemic is over, my wife and I agree – we're hitting the pools hard.

#ryukoprompt #pools #swimming #hobart community pool #hobart pool

[chronicle-21]

My first tumblr post.

I want to discuss something that has been on my mind recently. It has bothered me deep down for many years, and the feeling of not saying anything is painful. I hope that by writing this, others are able to relate.

My high school friends were never my true friends. There. I said it. Years of never saying anything that I wanted to say to them because I was young and too nice. I was afraid of having no friends. If I ever said anything, I made the mistake of pouring my heart out on social media. Dumb mistake, but I was desperate for someone to understand.

I think part of the issue was that our families were way different raising us. My family was lower middle class, and sometimes my father did not have a job. We did not always have much money, but we got by okay. We never took true vacations or went out of state for anything. My parents scrounged at every penny to save up to send us to Disney for marching band in high school. One of my favorite memories. As teenagers, my siblings and I learned the value of money. When I turned 16, my parents made me get a job. I have worked ever since then (I’m almost 30). It was from then on that I bought everything (for the most part) myself. I felt the pain of buying things with my measly minimum wage jobs, whereas my friends had their parents pay for everything. I won’t lie, growing up I’d be a bit jealous. I never spoke of it. It was deep down. I wished that my parents would pay for everything. As an adult, I know and understand my parents situation, and I believe that it has humbled me and taught me empathy for others. My friends didn’t understand this at all. I’m glad their families had the ability to afford their lives, but I also think they did them a disservice.

Once we all graduated high school, we all went our separate ways and went to different universities. People grow and change, and that’s okay! When we first met back up on school holiday breaks, I noticed that they became, I don’t know, egotistical? Narcissistic? Full of themselves? They were all in a similar major dealing with med school, while I was getting my degree in education. I sensed that they didn’t take my major seriously. I understand that they had similar stories and class information that they were excited to share with each other, but it was all they talked about. I could never get a word in edge-wise. I felt like a third wheel. It became so that EVERYTIME we hung out, they would only talk about themselves and their classes. I just couldn’t relate. None of my classes were science or math related (or at least not on that level). It got to the point where I met them a restaurant after not seeing them for six months or more and they never talked to me or asked how I was doing. They greeted and acted like they liked seeing me, but I don’t think they cared much beyond that. I just sat there and listened. I could have interjected, but that would be rude. I could have tried to put my two cents in, but I just could not relate. It was one of the first real breaking points in our friendship that I realized that they didn’t care about me. I was beneath them.

I was sent on this downward spiral of realizing over all these years that I was: 1) Not going to fit in with them, ever. 2) Always be viewed as beneath them. And 3) They didn’t care about me truly. Let me explain. Please. I beg. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Here’s some examples that stick out to me.

-Growing up, we would give gifts to each other and like I had mentioned, we didn’t have much money. My parents would sometimes give $20 to split between three friends for Christmas or birthdays. Sometimes it would be my paycheck money. I would often find gifts at Walmart (for example, cheap jewelry, shirts, cute accessories, etc) or places like Big Lots, or sometimes things at the mall if something was priced right. I can remember one of the friends saying, “Oh, did you get this at the dollar store?” I remember feeling embarrassed. Trying to find a gift on a budget, and I felt like a fool. It gets worse.

-I used to buy jewelry candles back when they were a craze. I loved the surprise of not knowing if you’ll get a real piece of jewelry or not. I remember I found several rings that were real stones and real silver. Not diamonds but I felt excited to have real silver and real gemstones. I wore them out to eat and one of my friends commented that they liked my rings. I explained jewelry candles. My other friend spoke up and said, “Yeah, they look like something you get from a ring candle.” I’m not here to impress you people. I was wearing it because it made me happy. Similarly, they would look at what brand purse or jacket I was wearing and comment on it. Sometimes almost implying I got it thrifting like I couldn’t just buy it full price. (I was an adult at this point and working full time).

-My high school graduation party, none of my friends came. They were all supposedly on vacation. Fine. I can’t do anything about that. Let it be known that I went to all of theirs and bought them all gifts. Better gifts than I had ever gotten them before (had a better job with more hours in school). Never got any gifts from them.

-Was a bridesmaid, in one friend’s wedding. I probably shouldn’t have agreed to do it, but I was. My others friends were bridesmaids, as well plus some of her friends from college. The bride was the one I was closest to. The whole thing with the other bridesmaids was beyond stressful. The bride had no maid of honor but one acted like they were. She was one of the friends from high school. She had us do all these super extra unnecessary things last minute. I found out later that these extra things were part of her gift! I spent hundreds on this wedding that wasn’t mine and she had the nerve to do everything free and play our hard work off as her gift because she was cheap. We had all made that gift ourselves and she had the nerve to make it her gift since it was her idea. She had her masters at that point and was working a good job. I worked at a grocery store going to school part time. I had went and took a painting class for one of my gifts that was customized. I paid $280 for a bridesmaid dress and had it fitted and seamed, plus shoes and nails. The dinner for the bachelorette party at a vineyard. -The bride may have been trying to have been nice to me when she offered to pay for my dress and then I could pay her back. I had been making payments on it since I also had my car bill, phone, and other things. It felt like a slap in the face. I guess the others girls paid theirs off in one payment and she found that out. I splurged and paid the rest of the money on it because I was embarrassed. It wasn’t like it was too outrageous to afford, but I just had other things to pay at the time. All her bridesmaids were in the medical field and came from good money. The one girl’s family owned a lake. That same girl also wouldn’t talk to me the entire time. The night of the bachelorette party, the one girl’s mom paid for our room and all the other girls got a bed. I had to sleep on the pullout couch. It was super lumpy and uncomfortable. Once again, embarrassing. I left the hotel in the middle of the night and drove home. I didn’t live far. I drove back in the morning and got brunch with them. Acted like nothing happened.

-Mid 20s: My friends were all back in town. We decided to meet back up. They decided to meet at bar in downtown. I go and they all have their significant others with them. I would have brought my boyfriend at the time if I had known. I felt like a third wheel. The bar was loud and cramped. Live music was playing. After we greeted each other, no one talked to me. I was sitting on the end and tried to conversate over the music at the bar. I had weird feelings and thought about leaving. The live music ended after a few hours. My one friend got up and went out to her car to get something. She came back in with two pretty boxes with my two other friends’ names on them. They opened them up in front of me. They had been invited to be her bridesmaids. I awkwardly sat there trying not to cry and feeling confused. These were my childhood-high school friends. I played it off like it didn’t bother me. I thought to myself, “Why invite me then?”. Stupid me stayed friends with them for several more years. I went to said friends bridal shower and wedding, like a fool. I got her nice gifts, like a fool.

-One friend has a weird thing about comparing herself to other people. I think it’s insecurity mixed with ego? I’ll explain. She always has to have the best things. A new car, a half million dollar house, private universities, the fact she’s been with her high school sweetheart who is a douchebag, honestly. They have an unhealthy relationship for various reasons. They are mostly together for (what the kids these days call) “clout”. They both have good jobs. She’s in the medical field and he was selling medical equipment last I knew. They like to bring up bad things each other did to each other in front of guests. For example, he tried to cheat on her in college, and she’ll bring it up to guilt him in front of people. “Remember when you tried to cheat on me...”. In public. They do it to each other. He lied about his political party because he was working for a politician and was trying to schmooze his way up. He later admitted he just lied to everyone and didn’t share the same the beliefs. Amongst many other things. They are married now. He wants kids, she doesn’t last I knew. They get on Facebook and use the hashtag #powercouple. Point is, she always wants to know what I’m up to. I’ve had to watch what I put on social media. I used to be more open and now I realize that people use that to judge or compare themselves to you. I don’t put where I work or where I live on there. I realized it’s nobody’s business. When I bought a house with my husband, she was wanted to know where exactly I lived so she could look up how much we bought our house for. I know this because I remembered her saying she loves to creep on people and find out things. We bought a home that we felt was affordable and had character. In high school, her and husband lived off of the high of being our grades most well-known couple. Everyone knew them together. They went to France together. They had their engagement photos done in London. She gets on Facebook for their anniversaries (how long they have been together and their wedding anniversary date) and says something like, “Can’t believe I’ve been stuck with you for 12 years. You gets on my nerves, but you’re a good cat dad to our cats. And you can cook. Haha. I love you. Or maybe I love the cats more”. Cringey.

An ending to this long story? Yes, for the most part. I want to mention that I made my own mistakes with them. I’m not perfect. I also know that I never said anything mean or degrading either. I realize that I never really spoke up to them. When I did it was because I was upset or frustrated with them. I was too worried about being alone. I was friends with these toxic people, and I eventually stopped seeing them. The last straw was seeing them on Instagram all hanging out without me. It’s fine. That’s their choice, and I wish they would have done it sooner instead of stringing me along. I’m not angry. It was my sign that we weren’t friends anymore. I deleted them off of social media. Nothing has been said to each ever since.

I want people to know that it’s okay to grow and change. It’s not okay to make others feel bad. It’s not healthy to compare and feel above others. Please don’t be afraid to speak up like I was. The fear of having no one scared me badly. Sometimes having just one good friend is better than having a group of friends. I ended up find my best friend after all of this! We’ve been best friends for six years now. It’s the most healthy and rewarding friendship I’ve ever had. We build each other up and can talk for hours! We don’t judge each at all. We love the simplicity in our lives.

I really just wanted to vent. I hope other people have similar stories to me. Feel free to share.

#narcissistic behavior #egotistic #better than you #bad friends #egotism #not friends

[discotenny]

Corner Store [1]

Description: Arthur Kirkland has owned and run a corner store for the past 15 years. He is determined to go through the rest of his life with minimal change. However, when he takes notice of three high school boys, his world gets turned around as he tries to piece back his life in a way that he thinks it's supposed to be. Word Count: 2,104 Warnings: Obsessive behavior, underlying issues, panic attack Characters in Chapter: Arthur Kirkland [Britain], Francis Bonnefoy[France], Alfred Jones[USA], Gilbert Beilschmidt[Prussia], Matthias Nillson[Denmark], Abel Sinterniklaas[Netherlands] Characters Mentioned: Peter Kirkland[Sealand], Toumas Nillson[Finland], Matthew Bonnefoy[Canada], Elizabeta Héderváry[Hungary], Ivan Braginsky[Russia]. Yao Wang[China], Lukas Nillson[Norway] Ship/s Mentioned: RusAme[Alfred & Ivan] AU: !Corner Store AU! !Human AU!

I know I know, this is a far division from the usual content I post on this blog haha. For those not in the loop[literally everyone who follows me], this is for a project and fandom dedicated to Hetalia! While it has had its ups and downs it remains an important part in my life for introducing me to this website + helping me discover writing for fandom lol. My part of the project is two chapters of a story idea I’ve had in my mind for a while. Also, consider this my official return from my [short] hiatus! -Mod Ioten <3

The coffee wasn’t in the right place. Nothing bothered Arthur more than when his store was out of order. An itch crept up into his hand, something that always appeared when anything wasn’t in its place. Several cans of instant coffee were right next to the bags of chips, but they were supposed to be in between the tea and coffee creamer.  He used to personally stock the shelves, but lately there were some issues he had to deal with at home and he had to hire someone to help him out. No matter how much he didn’t want to. Francis still had a lot to learn, but he did bring in more business; customers seem entranced by his charm, something Arthur didn’t understand. “Francis!” Arthur called, picking up a can. The Frenchman strutted in from the other side of the store holding a broom.

“Oui?” He gave a sly smile, and Arthur couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

“You put some of the coffee in the snack shelf while they’re supposed to go on the shelf above it.” Arthur began to move the cans, one by one to the correct shelf. Turning to his employee he asked, “Did you restock the milk yet? We ran out of whole and 2% yesterday.”

“You only had 2% in the back, no whole coming in until tomorrow,” Francis replied, sweeping the floor around them. Sighing, he stopped and looked up. “Mon ami, have you ever considered getting an air freshener around here? I’m tired of coming in and smelling dust, plastic, and prepackaged food.” Francis frowned, kicking a cobweb that nestled itself under the shelves. 

Arthur scoffed in reply, “It smells perfectly fine here. No one has complained so far, and no one ever will because the store smells fine.” Francis gave him a weak smile. 

“If you insist….”

Francis continued to sweep the floor, and Arthur finished fixing the shelves. Taking a step back, he smiled proudly at his work; despite how meaningless it may seem. Everything was in order, and the itchy feeling in his palm was gone. Checking down at his watch, there were twenty minutes until school ended for the nearby high school. Though Francis would be checking out soon to pick up one of his sons, and Arthur could always handle the influx of customers that came in at the time. Whether it be the high schoolers themselves, teachers, or random people who just happened to stop by, people would always come by the shop. Getting behind the counter, Arthur got himself comfortable for the afternoon rush. He took out one of the newspapers he sold. 

He tried to focus on the horrible news in the paper, yet Arthur’s cynical mind drifted to his customers. No one came in yet, no one ever came in at this time. The store stayed silent with the exception of the soft music coming from the radio that drowned out the pouring rain. But the same set of customers would soon come in once the final bell rang. The same three boys, always buying relatively the same items. One of them, Alfred, was Francis’ stepson. Despite not being blood-related, Arthur could see that Francis cared deeply about him. Alfred was a decent enough kid, a little too eccentric for Arthur’s liking, but he reminded him of his own son. Arthur was moderately familiar with Matthias, as Arthur used to tutor his younger brother, Lukas. Gilbert, Arthur only saw when he came in with Alfred and Matthias. 

Arthur moved his arm to check his watch again. Five minutes before the school bell rang. Humming quietly to himself, he took a look around the shop. For the past 15 years, this is where he’s been. Such simplicity, and yet it meant so much to him. It was absolutely, positively, completely perfect the way everything looked. 

He looked up from his paper to look at the window beside him. The clouds looked angry, and the rain got heavier and heavier to signify a storm approaching. People were walking down the sidewalk, and he could hear commotion making its way towards the store. The chime of a bell, signifying a customer entering, made Arthur unconsciously smile. Shuffling could be heard, and Arthur took a sip of his tea as wet footsteps approached the counter. “This will be all,” the low mumble was almost barely audible, but Arthur could recognize the person just by the items they bought. Never buying the same thing, Abel always bought the off-brand items due to how cheap they were. Tea biscuits, lightbulbs, and canned asparagus were his purchases for today. 

“If you looked next to the eggs we had some herbs for sale,” Arthur hummed. “Some celery was there as well.” The aura around Abel stiffened, and the large Dutchman tried his best to resist the temptation Arthur laid out. No matter how much he wanted to say otherwise, his soft spot for his rabbit outweighed his yearning for cash. 

Abel shakily sighed, “Is that so?” He had to keep his eyes from drifting away to the open-air fridge. Arthur felt a smile creep onto his face, keeping his head down as to not let his customer see. 

“Yeah, and Yao usually sells them for more than double our prices,” The words fell out of Arthur’s mouth smoothly, preying on the fact that the Dutchman couldn’t resist the best deal possible. The air between them was cold, Abel’s stiff stature slowly cracking away with every word that Arthur said. It was a battle that occurred between them often,  Arthur usually winning.

“Kip has been behaving nicely....” Abel muttered, reluctantly letting his shoulders relax. Giving out a breath, he gave into Arthur’s tactics. With a short cough, he let Arthur have his win, “I will buy a stalk.”

Looking up, smiling as if he wasn’t already gleaming, Arthur replied, “Perfect! I’ll add the price of the stalk to your total and you can be on your way.”

Abel grunted, aggressively grabbing the paper bag Arthur pushed his way. As he walked out, he could hear the shop owner telling him that he’ll see him later, and he just raised his hand in reaction. 

The smile never wavered even as Abel left his shop. There were a few customers that would make their trip to the counter once they were finished. Arthur’s attention, however, was on the trio of highschoolers that followed in after Abel left. “I don’t know how I failed that chemistry quiz, my grade’s totally down the shitter!” Alfred groaned loudly as he struggled to close his umbrella, it resisting no matter how hard he tried to pull it into place. “How the hell does Francis work this thing.” He yelped as the umbrella snapped down once he clicked the button. 

“It’s ‘cause you were staring at Ivan the whole study period yesterday, that hunk of a Russian keeps distracting you,” Matthias teased, walking to the sweets aisle. The other two boys followed, Alfred quickly grabbing a bottle of soda from the freezer.  

“Hey, Mattie told me to get some milk before I came home, I’ll be at the counter,” With a peace sign, Alfred departed from the trio. 

Gilbert scanned the shelves for his desired treat; a bag of  Haribo gummy bears. And although he looked up and down the shelves, his favorite candy wasn’t to be seen. “Hey store man!” He yelled, and Arthur piped up.

“Yes?” Arthur got up from his seat and walked towards the isle the voice was coming from. 

The German pointed to the empty hook which once held what he was looking for, “Do you have any gummy bears available?”

Arthur thought back to earlier today, where one girl bought the rest of his gummy bear stock. “Ah, I’m sorry about that. Earlier today a young lady came in and purchased my supply. We won’t be getting more until Friday I’m afraid.”

Gilbert stared at him for a moment, processing what the store owner said. “By any chance…” He mumbled, and Arthur almost couldn’t hear, “Was the girl wearing a flower pin with pink and orange carnations? And was she wearing one of these uniforms?” Gilbert tugged at his uniform with a blank expression.

“She did! Do you know her from school?” Arthur questioned, fighting a sickening smile that threatened to creep onto his cheeks. 

The boy’s blank expression turned to one of anger. Matthias started laughing at him from behind, and Gilbert turned around to tell him to shut up. “She’s our- uh- friend!” Matthias butt in, grabbing Gilbert’s shoulder with his empty hand. In the other, he held a bag of black licorice, one that Arthur recognized immediately. 

“Lovely, if you still want your bag of gummies, I might have a couple of those gummy roles made by the same company,” Hook, line, and sinker. 

The greyish haired male’s attention perked immediately, and Arthur couldn’t help the smile that approached his face. “I suppose that would do…” 

“Excellent!” Arthur waved his hand to symbolize that the boys needed to follow him to the counter. 

“Yo Mr. Kirkland! No red milk today?” Alfred asked as Arthur got closer to the counter. 

“Red milk?” Arthur had to think for a while about Alfred’s choice of words, “ Ah, whole milk. We ran out yesterday and your father could only find 2%,” Arthur gave the signature smile that he learned to give whenever childlike ignorance was at play. “I can check Alfred out first. If you boys want to buy anything else just let me know,” He slipped himself behind the counter and took the milk and soda from Alfred. 

“The weather’s getting pretty bad…” Matthias muttered, taking a glance towards his friends.

Gilbert sighed and looked out the window, “Ja, news says that the storm won’t let up until like three in the morning. Do you just wanna grab a bus or something??”

A loud crack suddenly made its way into everyone’s ears. Gilbert and Matthias’ eyes quickly darted towards Alfred, who was visibly sweating despite the cold weather. Alfred took a big gulp of air, and gripped the side of the counter tightly as he tried to steady himself; failing as his body slowly sunk closer to the ground. “You okay man?” Matthias grabbed his shoulders and tried to bring him up. 

Alfred looked at the ground sickly, attempting to steady his breath and contain the tears that threatened to leak out. “I-I’m uh-” his speech started to stutter, something Arthur never saw from the energetic American. His palm started to itch a little bit.  “I’m- I’m fine,” he assured. “I’m fine,” Alfred repeated again, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of the same thing. 

Arthur had to grab his wrist tightly so he wouldn’t begin to scratch his hand, “Are you sure? I can give you so-”

“I’ll call Toumas so he can give us a ride home safely. Is it okay if we wait here a little bit Mr. Kirkland?” Matthias asked, getting his phone out and putting the bag of licorice on the counter. “I’ll pay for Alfred’s stuff. Can you get him, Gil? I’ll buy your stuff too.” 

Gilbert nodded and grabbed Alfred, pulling him to the side despite the protests. “Of course, I have a couple customers still needing to pay though, so once you pay make your way into the back exit.”

Matthias nodded, and looked behind him, muttering a small apology to the people politely waiting for them to finish. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Kirkland. Alfred uh- doesn’t deal very well with storms.” 

Arthur nodded understandingly and separately bagged the three boy’s groceries. Matthias made his way towards his two friends, grabbing the bags and thanking Arthur profusely. Despite trying to grab Alfred’s shoulders again, he pushed both of them away, insisting he didn’t need to be helped. 

Bringing his phone closer to his ear, Arthur could make out tiny bits of conversation from the Dane’s side. “Hej Toumas! Can you give Gil and Al a ride home? We’re stuck in the storm at the corner store near the school…. No, not the grocery run by Mr. Wang, the one run by Lukas’ tutor…. Yeah, that one. Ten minutes? Alright, I’ll tell the guys, thanks Toumas!” 

The Dane clicked off his phone and gave a thumbs up to Arthur. He smiled back and centered his attention on the lady waiting at the counter. “My apologies for the long wait ma’am, those boys needed assistance.” 

The itch in Arthur’s palm didn’t go away until long after the trio left. 

#hetabang #bringbackhetalia2020 #hws #aph #aph england #aph britain #hws britain #hws england #hws america #aph america #hetabang writing #two-shot #mini fic #aph prussia #hws prussia #aph denmark #hws denmark #nordic 5 #aph france #hws france #aph netherlands #hws netherlands #hetabang general #tw depression #tw panic attack #tw ptsd #tw ocd #hetalia

[quintiliusheartripper]

(Baos GW2 Characters part 1)

Quintilius The Heart (or Heartripper)

Born: 1298

Height: 6'3"

Coming from a long line of Ash legion Torturers since Kala’s days, his narcissistic dame was ashamed she had a cub with a gladium, hiding the pregnancy and leaving quint to a fahrar only a week after his birth. He would eventually be picked up by her again when he was only 8 and would train as she had in the field that the bloodline has worked in for decades.

Cursed to go beserk when smelling blood by his mother as she died, beliving he would turn into a flame legioner like his spy father, he lost his position in the ash legion but would be picked up by the blood legion as a soldier. He rose to the ranks quick, becoming a centurion due to his skillful tactics and the fact he made sure as many, preferably all, soldiers came back from missions. He was also known for sleeping around. A lot.

If it hadnt been for a mission he was given due to the fact he was one of the more…charismatic and lesser threatening charr he most likely would have retired as a primus or commit suicide but destiny and greater forces had something else in mind. He was assigned to be a bodygaurd and tour guide for a kodan who said he was a Voice that came to the citadel in hope for help.  The two of them instantly hitting it off, quint being knowledgeable and open while Stray Cry would give affection he would never seen.  Smodur would even give the voice a small warband, quints warband. This charr who slept around, drank, and even in his youth did drugs, only wanted to be loved unconditionally and he had found it with Stray Cry and his Claw of Koda Stoic Mountain.

By the present day in Guild Wars 2, Quintilius fully lives with the kodan, having retired from the legions after a traumatic event with his father and the battle to death. Quint won and had no reason left to be tied to the legions, being an outcast since he was a cub. Being Nonbinary and having fun with the bears using potions, quint has 4 cubs, each snowy white, looking like kodan, but with two sets of ears and eventually growing horns. he hopes his hands will never be forced to teach them his bloodlines work.  Regardless, while it took awhile for the kodan to fully accept him and years of learning traditions and religious text, Quint is happily accepted into the sanctuary, which was thankfully lax beforehand anyway. He is called The Heart- mostly because without him the Claw and Voice would have continued to have issues reconnecting and has been a valuable member of the community.

Tryphon Mistsail

Born: 1289

Height: 10’

His mother, a blood legion soldier, dissented from the legions to become a pirate after falling in love with a human. Pregnant, she ended up having a son who would grow up on the pirate ship, taking her warband name as his last name.  Untill he was a older child he loved it, he had a friend, a mute human girl, who with her parents helped make a sign language for, and had a few other friends who were also born among these ships. His life became a lot more unfortunate when he was 8 untill he was 15 when things turned around. he decided to be the captain of his own ship, telling this to his mother and the current captain.  He would be scoffed at but given a small boat as long as they kept as business partners. An asura, curious about how everything would go down, ended up joining the three man ship consisting of a gigantic charr and his mute human friend. Being a gaurdian at this time and his co-captain being a necromancer, proficient with minions, they fumbled their way onto a ship carrying second born sylvari. Now tryphon has rules… They dont steal from the obvious poor, they leave civilians, and absolutely, no matter what, they do not traffick living beings. And the very fact that these asura were doing just that made him rage. He would storm the ship unexpecting such a attack from such a small group of people and he would be the one to come out alive. He still has many sylvari friends and has ties with the bank at the grove because of this.

Now days, a revenant, he goes between stealing from those participating in the mist wars, stealing from the rich and wealthy in elona, selling remade goods at cheap prices to the poor, and making Evon furious with the missing cargo.

How long will his reign as a mighty pirate last though…? when will he let his gaurd down and lose his ship and crew?

(*He has two plot versions.. one he meets Velak of @follow-the-velak after his ship is ambushed and hes the only one left alive and the other he continues pirating untill the day he dies)

Uriah Cloudpaw

Born: 1304

height: 6’

An Albino Charr with no magic… The last thing his father, a mesmer flame legion shaman wanted. His father was a ash legion soldier born in grothmar who, with his partner in crime, killed his own warband to gain power and fame within the flame legion. Issue is he kept having girls and wanted to continue his bloodline and prove he was able to be part of what he tried so hard to be. The mother of this child would be banished, working as a cleaner and a secret midwife when she could.  She would eventually lose her arms for helping mothers hide and send away themselves and their children. Meanwhile uriahs father, still with no luck, would appoint Uriah to train under a builder in the flame citadel. He was taught how to weld and make flame effigies but Uriah and his peers, born into gaherons ruling and harsher attacks from the other legions started to whisper of rebellion. They wanted equality like the rest of the legions…and when the legions and humans cease fired they wanted to join back up- repent for their past travesties and unite again so they could stop being killed just for who they were born under.

Helping head the rebellion, uriah and his friends did just that days after gaheron was killed but not enough people backed them up and their rebellion was squashed…uriah being the only one left alive due to his father, though badly scarred and having three of his horns broken, as a reminder of his place. His mother would beg him to leave because if the flame legion didnt lynch him for what he did, the rest of the charr will kill them till every last one of them was dead anyway

Uriah, with his mothers help, would run away and join the pact. He was shy, feeling out of place with his dialect and only knowing how to speak tyrian but not write it he would quietly find his place as a welder due to the fact he was unafraid of heights and was quite good at his job. On his days off he would make his mother replacement arms- ones that would work better for her that he would send away with letters whenever his Fathers best friend came by the check on him.  he even practiced his effigy making- trying to make them into suits similar to the asuran golems. For his father.. he had a sniper rifle being made, testing out bullets to make sure that once shot you lose your ability to use magic, even just temporarily.

Now in guild wars 2 he is in a poly relationship with the pact commander and his sylvari partner. He still welds and helps build things on the side and upon the news of his fathers best friends death he knew it was time to end his fathers life, knowing that he was one of the few shaman trying to keep the rank and order of gaherons ways. He would even be approached by crecias intelligence subordinates, his name being known for trying to do what she would succeed in the future. He would even help out in the end happy to see that some shamans had come to their senses and wished to see their daughters be treated equally too and to not be killed.  Now, feeling betrayed thinking   Bangar was talking about One Charr to help unite the legions again with the flame legions but instead using it to make more renegades he feels personally ashamed and angry, joining the his commander boyfriend in his fight for once.

(this is also all on my character page if you are on desktop!)

#Guild wars 2 charr #guild wars 2 screenshots #gw2 #guild wars 2 fanart #my characters #guild wars 2 oc #guild wars 2 rp #gw2rp #gw2 rp

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When to Walk Away from a Prospective SEO Company

New Post has been published on https://primevisibility.net/walk-away-prospective-seo-company/

When to Walk Away from a Prospective SEO Company

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When to Walk Away from a Prospective SEO Company

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The key to a successful SEO partnership lies in knowing what to look out for in a prospective SEO company – or perhaps more importantly what to avoid like the plague. The trouble is, many businesses find themselves blindsided by the outlandish promises made by certain SEO firms that they fail to see some of the most obvious tell-tale danger signs which should be right prompt a swift exit.

SEO is a fickle mistress, to say the least, and can pack a wallop at both ends of the spectrum, but keeping a cool head before you even get your strategy underway can determine the outcome in its entirety.

So in order to help out those just getting started or looking to switch providers, here’s a look at some of the signs that tell you it’s time to walk away from an SEO company and try your luck elsewhere:

Wild Promises

First comes the biggest red flag of all to watch out for – promises of fame, fortune, and all the power of God practically overnight. Spend a seven-figure sum on a long-term SEO strategy and you might reach dizzying heights eventually, but no amount of money on Earth can make SEO work to its full potential without giving it time to mature…it’s just the way SEO works. As such, you can forget about those promises of overnight glory for an all-in price of 2,000 pesos (roughly $49.95)…it ain’t gonna happen!

Up-Front Payments

When you’re looking to do business with an SEO company, it has to be for the long term given the nature of the process. So like any long term agreement in business, you should expect to pay little to nothing up-front and subsequently pay installments as things progress. So, if ever you find yourself being asked for the bulk of the money up-front or a payment plan you aren’t totally won over by, chances are they’re trying to get their hands on your cash before you have a chance to realize you shouldn’t have bothered with them.

Cheap and Cheerful

Speaking of cash, it’s important to maintain perspective. Sure you don’t have to spend $6 million to get your name noticed with SEO, but at the same time, you can’t expect your business to be transformed for a package costing $29.99 all-in. Real, organic SEO takes time, effort, and plenty of skill – none of which come free of charge, so don’t expect a free ride. And if you’re offered one, don’t take it!

The Hard-Sell

If the plucky salesman presents you with one of those “One time only” offers that you have to take right this second or lose the deal forever, tell him to shove it. Seriously – this is one industry where the hard-sell has no place anymore and you should be encouraged to take your time, compare the options on offer and come to your own decision. That is of course unless the provider in question doesn’t want you to see how much better-off you’d be elsewhere.

Reluctance to Boast

Last up, SEO should always be fully quantifiable in terms of its success or otherwise. This means that if a firm has success stories to shout about, chances are you won’t be able to keep them quiet. From testimonials to case studies and so on and so forth, there should be no question as to the amazing things they’ve achieved before, assuming of course they’ve actually achieved anything. If they seem reluctant to show off all they’ve done, chances are they’ve little to be proud of.

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