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handmadehazefromtheheart · 4 days

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The Re-Opening Of Handmade Hearts

It’s been an icy hot minute since I wrote a proper update, but I won’t complicate this one. The update series started with the presence of a workspace and the first shop opening; the second post was about the progress and success so far; the third was almost a year later because so much had happened, and I’d moved, and the store was on standby, and I was getting married, usw.

I’ve since not only moved countries, but I’ve also moved my main storefront from Ko-Fi to the Artisans Cooperative. (But you’ll still find patterns on Ko-Fi.) Like I have from the start, I do the math and show my work in the description of each item listing in a breakdown of the price: In bullet list form, I state the material costs, the platform fees, the time I’ve estimate I could most efficiently take to complete one of each item (which will almost always be less time than it actually took), and the wage per hour that I’m paying myself. If you add it all up, it’ll equal the price in the listing — minus a tax based on your area that the marketplace adds automatically.

There are six fixed shipping prices based on size and location, with the least expensive being within Germany and the most expensive being anywhere outside the EU. I’ve got two different sizes of box, but I really should get me some envelopes and offer a cheaper no-tracking alternative for certain (very small, mostly not-yet-existing) items.

Here are the listings so far!

(Photography by @ablondpanda)

I’ve done the math, and I have made just shy of 370€ in earnings in the time I’ve had Handmade Hearts open. I haven’t been able to work since 2019, so that’s 370€ in earnings within the last five years.

Ouch…

Ouch…?

Well, I have chronic depression, but I’ve managed to carve myself into an optimist; I’ve not had the chance to really grow yet as an indie seller, so having earned anything — not operated at a loss (at least within business expenses; general life expenses is another beast) — is a bright shining star to me.

My parter and I are waiting on job applications and government assistence. In the meantime, I’m hoping to gain more eyes and start making at least one sale every month in the middle and/or latter half of 2024.

I’ve yet to sell anything through the new storefront, so I’m trying to get more eyes on it. I’m considering opening a secondary storefront with Products With Love, a Germany-specific handmade marketplace, to get more eyes that won’t have to pay more than seven euros on shipping for any given thing.

Shipping is, unfortunately, not something I can do for free. To take a moment for personal politics: I really think mail should be one of those things governments work together to pay for and make free on the most basic level, like public infrustructure, roads and such. It shouldn’t cost $24 for me to send you a snake shaped neck pillow if you’re in the US.

That said, it does cost me 23€ (which is $24.53 as of writing this) to send you a snake shaped neck pillow right now. I want to emphasize that because it’s so common when shopping online to find something “underpriced” whose shipping is blown way up for profits, and I think sometimes it’s become habitual to assume that’s the case when shipping is over what Amazon would consider normal.

Another thing people do is including the shipping price within the price of the item to artificially remove shipping costs. That’s something I don’t do because A) I like transparency, and B) that would increase the platform fees you have to pay, increasing the overall price for no reason.

Ultimately, I hope that the way I do things helps people be more mindful of why things cost what they do.

To close out...

In preparation for posting this update, I’ve uploaded my tenth listing on the Artisans Cooperative marketplace. For my trans siblings, and for the pedants who have noticed that none of my wares have hearts on them:

#trans pride #actually autistic #ko-fi #artisans cooperative #crochetblr #crocheting #small business #shop small #disabled #disabled artisans #blog post

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jesusinstilettos · 1 month

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I love that boomers and gen x think tiktok radicalized me into a communist because I can tell you right now the thing that has radicalized me the MOST is working at a business. I see first hand how exploitative and wasteful capitalism is every day of my life. And I have seen the spreadsheets of how much money a worker here produces for the company a quarter (it’s in the millions) and they barely get paid above minimum wage. I know the millions and millions the big guys at the top make in bonuses ALONE while doing a small fraction of the work middle management does. I was told I would get a bonus that was 10% of my salary, and I was so happy because I was gonna use it to make a small dent on my student loans, only for them to say “sorry bad economy :/“ and give me 100 dollars, meanwhile the company profited almost 1 billion dollars last year. You could redistribute a fraction of a fraction of that profit and change the lives of everyone in the company. I see constantly how this business is contributing to the climate crisis tremendously in the name of short term profit for a small few at the top. Living in capitalism radicalized me, not the crochet tutorials I watch on tiktok.

#rant about capitalism #capitalism core #capitalism is evil #deconstruction #leftist #leftism #anti capatilism #anti capitalist love notes #anti capitalist #anti consumerism #socialist

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shopwitchvamp · 11 months

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love the internet. person sees items that don't claim to be handmade. goes "ANGRY!!! these are NOT handmade!!!" but not in a fact-stating way. in a 'revealing the truth' kind of way. honey we know the not-handmade things that aren't advertised or described as handmade by anyone are not handmade. people can read

Yeah it's always in a "gotcha!" way, as though it isn't like ?? openly stated everywhere. They also mentioned the "half-dozen jobs" me & my bf do for the business, which means they read the About Us page on my site, which means they would've seen two of the jobs I list for myself are " project management" and "manufacturer communications", sooooo yeah.. This is also the same sort of thing with the way some people will just be like "it's polyester!!!!! you all should know I can tell it's polyester!!!", like yeah... all the listing descriptions say that.. it's not a secret....? (Also tho with this last person in particular they were in the tags about how they'd never take issue with handmade prices as though $50-70 would be acceptable if they were handmade and omg don't even get me started on how unrealistic that part is too. Plus before the clothing took over, I used to sell handmade amigurumi crochet plushies at cons and on Etsy as my full time work so I know all about the realities of handmade.. and 1) it was not sustainable, there was little profit to be made even with high prices, and I broke my body multiple times to try to produce enough to make a living. 2) This was the exact type of person that would pass by my table at a con and snear at my prices and then say something like "I could make this myself for $5")

#witch vamp #ask #anon #sorry for the rant #lol #high and might about handmade really gets me because i've been on that side of things #and this type of person was not anymore pleasant to deal with back then either

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the-bjd-community-confess · 6 months

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I’m a small business owner and my business specializes in varying types of art dolls and toys and I’ve recently been asked to post or even sell tutorials on how I make my dolls… I thought about it, I did. But I changed my mind partially because I would rather be the one profiting from the sale of my specific creations, but mainly it was because I realized that the sheer Tom-Fuckery that goes into the process of my designing and making dolls is not something I’m willing to share with people.

I think some of the awe would be lost when people see the slap-dash hocus pocus of my decision making. I’m talking some crazy ass shit because I like making my life difficult by reinventing the wheel at every opportunity in my art. I’m an experienced artist- I’ve been doing all kinds of art from painting, to digital design, to fiber arts and sculpting for the last 20 years or so, so it’s not like I’m making poor quality garbage, but I feel like some people are seeing my work and thinking “wow, there must be some amazing progress and planning behind this” when the reality is I’ve built an entire doll and only just realized that I didn’t include a way to connect the head to the neck and ten minutes later I’ve designed the most over complicated connection piece that on the outside looks fantastic and intentional, but was actually a total oopsie.

I do this most frequently when designing crochet patterns, but I’ll be damned if I don’t do this backwards bullshit in everything I do. It’s probably the worst when making jointed dolls because-again- for whatever reason I can’t just use a method that’s already been tested, I have to try something *new* Why do I do this to myself…

~Anonymous

#BJD #ABJD #BJD Confessions #Community Confessions #BJD Crafting #BJD Sculpting #Pos

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most-datable-datable-bracket · 8 months

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If Tamarack loses I will open up a crocheting business where all the profits go towards giving the people who didn’t vote for her a chance to play our life just to experience her

... But the game is free, what are you gonna do with the money??

#Emotional compensation I'm guessing #Or just hire hitmen for those who don't comply #not a poll

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conchobarbarian · 1 month

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one of the most annoying things about the "monetize your hobbies!!" thing is like. who's going to fucking buy it. who's the audience for all the little crocheted keychains and upcycled tchotchkes and polymer clay doodads? is it the other people who are making cute little trinkets. am I supposed to buy supplies for my hobby-business, sell my product to other crafters, and then use that money to buy other people's crafts? because it sure seems like it creates a circular little economy where the only way to turn a profit is to really make it on tiktok.

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kumezyzo · 2 years

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Something to Gain (0)

Kyoya Ootori x OC

summary.... ootori medical decided it would be beneficial to merge with a pharmaceutical & medical tech company. the only issue being its risky to do. now the only solution is to marry the youngest heirs of either company to make this happen.

content warnings.... angst | fluff | strangers to lovers | more tags to come when i figure out what im doing 'n' stuff 😁..... tell what what i miss and what i should add

the oc can be read as if she was reader with more feminine feature!!!!!

table of contents...

word count: 2.3k

Matsuoka, Akari. Her father, Taebin Matsuoka, plays a big role in the pharmaceutics of Japan running the very large corporation; PharMatsu. Her mother, Yuri Shinozaki, started off as a really small tech business owner that became much larger ShinoTech.

Akari’s grandparents arranged a marriage for her parents in order to merge the large companies and profit off the advancements in medicine they could create. They fell in love later on in their marriage and had Akari.

Akari is the only heir to the now merged company Matsuoka Pharmaceutical Engineering & Technology; MPET.

“We are having dinner with one of your dad’s business partners tomorrow evening, they’ve become great friends and they are planning on discussing a really important business venture.” Yuri said to her daughter as they both sat on a large ivory coloured couch. They were both on the opposite ends of a large crocheted blanket with rows and patches or multiple different colours mixed along the length of it. They were both working on their respective ends, Akari working calmly with a dark blue and Yuri working fast with a bright yellow.

“Is this the same business partner that dad went on a trip with for two weeks and came back ‘rejuvenated’?” Akari asked, recalling the happier demeanor of her father she had never seen before after he came back from a business trip.

“Yes, Yoshio Ootori, we’re meeting his family this time, not just hearing of them through your father.” Yuri said with annoyance of her husband's actions.

“We?” Akari asked, glancing at her mother briefly pausing her hand movements. “I have to go too?”

“He says he wants you to be there to know how business should be conducted as the heir of the company. Apparently there is also a decision he wants you to make alongside him.” Yuri said, continuing to look down at the yarn in her hands.

“I just got into highschool. I thought he was waiting until I was older and ‘more mature’ or whatever.” Akari said, mimicking her fathers deep voice. Yuri laughed at her daughter’s impression and waited to speak again.

“Akari, do me this one favour tomorrow.” Yuri said, finally looking at her daughter. Akari stopped as well, worried about her mothers sudden seriousness. “If something you don’t like comes out of this, don’t react...irrationally.”

“You mean don’t throw a tantrum?” Akari said, her mood turning sour and going back to the blanket. “Are those dad’s words and you toning it down?”

“No, it’s me. Your dad doesn’t really realize how big of a deal this is for you.” Akari looked at her mom in concern. She realized it was more than just a business deal if her mother was asking this much of her.

Akari was sitting in the back of the Ootori family's limousine messing with the lace on her dress as she worried about the dinner she was about to attend. The conversation with her mother had her more concerned than she could have been without it. She was assuming the worst situations and one of them stuck with her. She was getting married off.

Although she was sure that wasn’t the situation, she couldn’t wipe that idea from her mind. She was sitting in a pool of her own worry and dread. She was even starting to damn whatever higher power there was for placing her in a family of this class.

Akari was sitting on her own along the lengthed seat of the car while her parents sat in the back next to each other. She would look over at them and see the way they managed to coordinate their outfits in a way that was cheesy to her, but fascinating to the rest of the world. It made her think of her future, if this was a dinner that would lead to a marriage, would she turn out like her parents.

Akari sat and glanced at her own dress then her parents multiple times realizing how different she looked. She was sitting in a lavender blue, knee length dress. Her father wore a cream coloured suit with red accents. Her mother wore a dress with the same colours. And the more she thought about it, she realized she was never dressed similarly. Whether she chose the clothing or it was a maid or her mother, she looked differently.

“Hey sweetheart, are you okay?” Akari looked over at her father and gave him a blatantly fake smile.

“Of course, it’s not like I have any idea of why I'm here.” Akari said, moving her hair out of her face. Taebin sighed at his daughter's distaste and began to speak, but Akari beat him to it. “Or any idea of what we’re talking about tonight. So, of course I'm okay, dad.”

“Akari, there is no reason to get snippy with me.” Taebin said with a stern voice. A quiet sigh could be heard from Yuri. “You’ll find out when we get there, but until then I need you to wipe that look off your face.”

“Can you two please refrain from having an argument at least for today.” Yuri asked, exasperated. “We’re going to enjoy dinner and discuss what you need too. The only thing you should be arguing over is the deals you are going to make.” She finished, looking over at Akari to remind her what she asked her.

Akari and Taebin both sat back in their seats like scolded children. Both of them glared at eachother one last time before Yuri slapped the back of her husband's head and turned to Akari as if threatening to do the same.

“Taebin! It’s so nice to see you again!” Yoshio Ootori said happily as the Mitsuokas stepped out of the sleek black vehicle. “I am so glad you agreed to bring your beautiful wife and daughter.”

“It’s great to see you again. I'm glad I was even able to get this one out of her room.” Taebin said with a chuckle as he wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulders. Akari gave him her least uncomfortable smile.

“It is very nice to meet you Yuri, I’ve heard such great things about you. Your husband speaks very fondly of you.” Yoshio said to Yuri, making her smile warmly at his words. “Welcome inside, my family is happy to see you again.”

Akari looked at her mother in confusion at the way Yoshio ignored her almost entirely. Yuri wrapped her arm around Akari when her father walked ahead, following right behind his business partner.

“You’ll be fine, I just assumed they have a crush on eachother.” Yuri said, making Akari snort at the idea. Yuri smiled at her daughter as they walked behind the two men that were very happily catching up with each other.

As Yoshio showed off the grand entrance of his home, his wife, Tamiko, appeared from a hallway with a smile on her face. She greeted Taebin with a smile and hurried them along into their entertainment room.

“Taebin, you never got to meet the entire family in one place. We managed to wrangle all of our children for one evening.” Tamiko said with a large smile at her children that stood up at the sight of the new guests.

Akari looked around at the Ootori’s watching as they greeted her father and mother. She smiled at the two oldest sons when they came over to shake her hand and proceeded to talk to her dad.

She noticed the way they were all dressed. Yoshio and Tamiko had found a way to wear the same colours, reminding Akari of her own parents. Tamiko had a very deep green dress and Yoshio had on the same coloured green. The oldest brother she had been introduced to, Yuuichi, has matched with his wife with a navy blue tie while she wore a similar coloured jumpsuit with a jacket. Fuyumi, their oldest and only daughter, wore a nude coloured dress and her husband wore a same coloured suit. Akito, their second oldest son, wore a tie and pocket square with the same green as his parents.

Then there was Kyoya, their youngest son. Akari had seen him around school before and heard of him through the girls that religiously went to his club to fawn over him. Once Akari had seen the colour of his suit, she did a double take. It was the exact same as her own. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach for a moment until Fuyumi approached her with a large smile on her face.

“It’s so nice to meet you! That’s a beautiful dress. I’ve heard a lot about you from your father.” Fuyumi said, pulling Akari into a hug. Akari chuckled awkwardly and thanked her. They pulled away from the hug and her father carried her over to meet Kyoya.

“Akari, this is Kyoya. He goes to Ouran, just as you do, you’re in the same year.” Taebin said, introducing the two.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Akari said as she bowed to Kyoya. He gave her a smile and bowed to her as well. He stared at her dress and then his suit, looking just as confused as Akari felt.

Taebin chuckled at their awkwardness and walked away. Soon after, a maid walked in announcing that the table had been set and the food was ready to be served.

Everyone was sat at the large dining table eating their food with a conversation flowing evenly throughout the room. Akari was sitting next to her mother and Fuyumi, across from Kyoya.

Akari felt as if everyone was staring at her whenever there would be a pause in the conversation. Then every once in a while she would see Fuyumi look over at her and then Kyoya, who was also looking at her every couple minutes.

The conversation then shifted to the companies and the air got noticeably thicker to Akari. She felt dread as her mind started racing. Her mother reached over to hold Akari’s hand when the desert was brought out, causing Akari to worry even more.

“It’s risky to merge the companies. The board needs solid reasoning besides money and income.” Akito said once the idea and details of merging came up. He said it in a ‘matter of fact’ tone but confusion displayed on his face.

“And we’ve already made a decision for that to be possible without the board.” Yoshio said, bringing his cup of tea up to his lips. Akari set down the fork she had been using to eat the small piece of cake placed in front of her. Her stomach was churning and the pure smell of sweets made her want to be sick. She placed both of her hands in her lap and gripped onto her mothers. Yuri gave her daughter's hand a squeeze of reassurance.

Akari looked up at Kyoya, who was watching her with a blank look. But she could tell he was confused. Or suspicious. She looked at the tea in her cup and reached to drink from it. The tea seemed to taste far more bitter to Akari than the first few sips she took of it.

Taebin cleared his throat, “Akari, Kyoya,” Akari felt her heart race. “We have planned for you two to get married once you graduate highschool.”

Akari felt like her heart dropped into hell as she looked over to her father who was already staring at her with a stern look. She looked over at her mother with wide eyes, who only gave her a sympathetic look.

“Excuse me?” Kyoya said, sounding almost offended. Akari looked over at Kyoya who’s eyebrows were furrowed in anger as he looked at her exclusively. Akari shrunk under his judgemental gaze, even if it was lessened by the glare on his glasses.

“When did you decide this?” Akari said, looking Yuri in the eyes as she pulled her hand out of her mothers.

“Three weeks ago.” Yoshio said, making everyone look over at him. “It’s decided and already in motion. This will be amazing for both of the companies and there will be no arguing over this.”

“So, you just decided something this big for what? Money?” Taebin looked at his daughter and sighed angrily at her words. Yuri glanced between her daughter and husband, trying to figure out how to defuse an argument that hadn't even started yet.

“Akari, this isn’t up for discussion.” Taebin said, his features hardening, “You'll both get along fine and you’ll see this is better for the businesses.” Akari glared at her father, him returning the look. They sat there for a moment, staring angrily at each other until Akari realized she wasn't going against her father.

Akari would be fighting her father and Mr. Ootori. It was more than just a small decision. It could change lives, the lives of the people that worked with either companies and the lives of the people looking for medical care. It would change her life too, but it will do more good to others than for her to worry about her own. So she looked away and sunk back down into her chair. She quickly picked up her cup as her face heated up in embarrassment.

Kyoya glared at his father and then Akari. Akari’s mind ran a mile a second and felt like she melted into a puddle of regret because of the way Kyoya looked at her. She was starting to wonder how beneficial of a situation this actually was for her.

comment to be added to the taglist for future posts :))

#kyoya ootori #kyoya x reader #kyoya x oc #kyoya angst #kyoya ouran #ohshc #ohshc kyoya #ohshc angst #ohshc fluff #hurt/comfort #anime #ouran koukou host club #ouran high school host club #ohshc x reader #ohshc x oc #oc can be read as reader #kyoya ootori x reader #kyoya ootori x oc

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alan-duarte · 1 year

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: Axis Investigation PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Alan @alan-duarte SUMMARY: When it comes to real estate, there's nothing Alan won't do, including airing one's dirty laundry in public. Who better than Emilio to do the job ? CONTENT WARNINGS: None

“That’s great news Andrea, excellent work,” now all he needed was to get just enough dirt on Tobias Greene and the whole apartment building would be for Alan to dispose of, anyway he saw fit. Ideally, he’d tear it down and build over it something he could rent for a more profitable price. He had the green light from the bank, contacted the contractors, and after Greene was out, it would be like flying first class. Easy and comfortable. “Ahem, anyway, if you don’t hear from me again, I just arrived at the P.I.’s office. Such a charming neighborhood this is,” he hated this corner of town, but he figured that this would be discreet, at least. He had heard everything and anything regarding that guy, but what he’d decided to pluck out of those pieces of information was that the man seemed efficient though absolutely unsympathetic.

Alan didn’t mind that. The less he spent chatting, the better. He didn't come here to crochet or bake sourdough after all.

A knock on the door, and the businessman took another look at his surroundings, pressing on his keys to make sure he’d locked the car.

—

There was a sticky note on the bedroom door when Emilio dragged himself off the mattress in the center of the floor after a rare few hours of sleep. It was Javi’s doing, that much was clear enough; no one else had been in his bedroom. The note must have been one the necromancer brought from somewhere, which was a little annoying. The writing on it was similarly irritating: You have a meeting with a client. Hire a fucking secretary, dude. Xoxo.

Emilio rolled his eyes as he ripped the note off the door, wondering absently if he’d scheduled a meeting and forgotten about it or if Javier was taking the time to fill Emilio’s calendar along with his fridge now. Both options seemed equally concerning. He checked the time on his cracked phone screen, sighing as he shoved the bedroom door open and stepped into his ‘office’ just in time to hear scuffling out in the hall. No time for a morning drink, then. Today already fucking sucked.

Grumbling under his breath, the hunter limped over to the door, yanking it open and squinting at the ‘client’ on the other side. Too well dressed to be from this neighborhood, that much was for certain. In fact, he looked a little uncomfortable just being here. That was a great sign already, wasn’t it?

“What?” Emilio asked in place of a greeting, ready to get down to business without any pleasantries. The sooner he got this guy out of his apartment, the better. From across the room, Perro poked his head up, tail wagging at the sight of the stranger. Emilio’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion clear in his expression.

—

“What?” Alan replied with a stern look on his face. It would take a lot more than unpleasantness to get him out of here now that he had the marvelous chance of standing in such an outstanding neighborhood. Sticking his hands in his silk lined pockets, the realtor finally brought his commercial worthy smile and leaned back on his heels. “I called earlier. We have an appointment,” he began, eyes darting toward the movement in the back and his smile growing at the sight of a dog. He wasn’t precisely an animal person, but they always had dogs when he grew up, and though he didn’t have one at home, he still considered changing that every now and then.

Alan then glanced back at the investigator, eyebrows darting up as he wondered if, perhaps, the other was going to eventually let him in. He could have attempted small talk. He hated that, but if it gave him any sort of advantage, he could sacrifice some of his sanity for the cause (the cause always being his wallet). While he questioned the other silently, his affable smile remained, his hands definitely getting cozy in the warmth of his pockets. At last, he pointed toward the inside of the flat with his forehead, his patience’s limitations unfortunately having been reached already.

If he was being honest, part of Emilio had hoped that the man standing on the other side of the door wasn’t the client Javi had warned him about. He looked like he had money, sure — that was always helpful when someone was expected to pay you — but he also looked like the kind of guy who’d be pretty damn picky. Hard to please clients tended to be the most annoying ones. But any hopes that his actual client might be someone who looked a bit more… laid back than this man were dashed when he spoke, alluding to a call Emilio didn’t remember taking. He probably hadn’t been sober for it; he wasn’t even entirely sober now.

But, the guy was already here. And he did look like he could pay. If Emilio was smart about it, he might even be able to hike up his usual prices a little, feign some inconvenience to justify the increase. Maybe it’d be enough to keep him from having to take another annoying client next week. Grumbling under his breath, he stepped aside and motioned for the man to come in with a lazy wave of his hand. Perro hopped down from his spot on the couch, trotting over cheerily to greet the man. Emilio sighed, bending down to scoop up the dog and carrying him over to the bedroom and shutting him inside. It’d be better, he thought, to have this meeting without the dog interrupting. With Perro secure, he walked over to his desk and took a seat, still eyeing the client warily. “Tell me what you want, then.”

—

Stepping inside, Alan’s first instinct led him to look around, for recording devices, people and the general aesthetic of the place (and not necessarily in that order). Needless to say that this wasn’t going to be a feng shui award winning apartment any time soon. Not that he personally minded. He didn’t care. The thought of his grandmother commenting on the state of this place, however, brought a fond, yet mainly amused air to his face which he tried to conceal through pressed lips. Yet, in the end, what mattered was this was supposed to be an efficient man, and this was what he came here for.

If it was a disappointment to see the dog disappear behind a door, Alan preferred not to show it, and instead approached the desk, taking a look at the chair he was meant to sit on, and deciding to just put his forearms on its back instead, leveling a little with the other without really stooping to his level either. One would think whatever one wished about that.

If he appreciated the other’s no bullshit attitude, Alan wouldn’t let go of his personal bullshit for it, and instead kept his distance, the chair serving as a frail wall between the two. His polished appearance already clashed more than enough with the decor, and he even dared give himself a reminder to wear denim the next time he’d have to come here. “I need information on someone,” he began. He didn’t try to stall, to give himself a good reason to need dirt on anyone. Alan did have a good reason to be here, let it be clear, but he was also not one to waste his time or anyone’s. “And I need to acquire it through discreet means.” Which would be why he needed to rely on someone like Mister Cortez. “It’s quite simple really. It has to be the sort of … intel that this guy doesn’t want to see aired out. Maybe he’s a cheat, maybe he’s cheated on his SATs. I don’t care, but the more embarrassing, the better.”

Paranoia was an old friend. It had lived in Emilio’s chest since long before the massacre of his hometown, clawed its way to the surface when that blood stained the streets and left him empty of most everything else. It whispered in his ear now, pointed out everything this client did and assigned some sinister intention to it. Was that faint smile on his face present because he’d just managed to track down the last Cortez? Was he subtly refusing to sit in order to give him the upper hand when he took the first swing? Was his disappointment at Perro’s removal from the room due to the fact that he’d have one less piece of leverage left easily accessible to him?

The slayer’s fingers tapped against his knee, body tense and ready to burst into movement at the slightest sign of trouble. But instead of attacking, the client started talking. Describing a case that, while it didn’t sound entirely above board, was hardly the sketchiest thing that had been asked of Axis Investigations. The tension didn’t leave Emilio’s shoulders, but he made some attempt to quell the paranoid thoughts tugging at his mind. If this man wanted to attack him, he probably wouldn’t have called and made an appointment. Emilio knew from experience that most murderers didn’t leave a paper trail when they could help it.

“Who’s the guy?” He didn’t ask why, even if the question was at the forefront of his mind. You got paid more for not asking certain questions. And besides, the why usually became clear enough once the investigation kicked off. When you started looking into every aspect of a person’s life, it usually became pretty obvious why someone wanted you to do so.

—

He could hear the other tap his fingers on his knee, even if he didn’t see it. What was making the other so nervous? As a reflex, Alan looked over his shoulder, half expecting to see someone there in an attempt to ambush him. That was perhaps a tad paranoid of him, but he had done enough questionable things to be suspicious of strangers. This man was a stranger, even if he hired him.

“Tobias Greene,” Alan paused, “that’s Tango, Osca-” With the same courteous smile, he leaned forward to grab a post-it note from the desk, and reached into his pocket for a pen. This one bore the address and phone number to his business on the side, and once he was done writing the name and the address on paper, stuck it to the desk and left the pen on top. In just a minute, he let the other know that he had been in the military at some point, and that he wasn’t one bit scared of telling him exactly where to find him, with a smile.

“How long shall it take you?” Standing up straight, the werewolf put his hands on his hips and looked down at the P.I. “I don’t want a precise date. A broad time frame will do.”

The client looked over his shoulder like he thought something might be coming, and the suspicion in Emilio’s gut only grew. Was he nervous there may be a witness on the way? Was he expecting backup and wondering where they might be? Was he — No. No, Emilio was being paranoid again. If this guy was here to kill him, he would have made his move already. Wouldn’t he? There was no need to let Emilio grow used to his presence, no sense in allowing him to map out his weaknesses when he could have just attacked him at the door. He was a man who needed an investigator. It didn’t matter that Perro didn’t growl at him, didn’t matter that he looked remarkably out of place here, didn’t matter that he carried himself with a stiffness that spoke of certain skills. What mattered was his wallet, and Emilio got the sense that that was pretty damn full.

That didn’t make him any less strange, though. Emilio, of course, was not familiar enough with the United States military to recognize the phonetic alphabet for what it was; to him, the client’s spelling tactics served only as another oddity to add to the pile. It was enough to make him tense even further when the man leaned forward, relaxing only ever so slightly when he only grabbed one of the post-its that had been undoubtedly left by Javi. Emilio glanced down to the paper briefly as the client wrote, but not for longer than a heartbeat. His eyes, for the most part, remained glued to the other man in the room. Ready to make a move the second making a move became necessary.

“Depends on how open the guy is,” he replied, reaching across the desk to take the post-it and sticking it to the table in front of him without really looking at it. “Some people make it easy to uncover their shit. Others make it harder. A week, maybe. Two if he knows what he’s doing. I’ll need some of the money up front. Never know if you can trust someone to pay you after.” He’d been shorted more than once by clients who didn’t like what he found out. He’d learned to take whatever he could get before the work started as a result. “And your name, too. Didn’t catch it on the phone.” He wasn’t sure, still, if he’d been the one to take the call or if Javi had gone behind his back and done it. Either way, he didn’t remember the client’s name now.

—

Standing by the chair, Alan observed Mr Cortez with curiosity, like you would an animal in the wilderness. Most people didn’t value silence anymore. The werewolf certainly appreciated meeting with someone so quiet. If anything, it made him appreciate the guy quite a lot already, and his review, should his work be of quality, would be the type that brought in more customers. With a smile, he clasped his hands together. A week? That was marvelous. He expected it to take longer. Maybe two weeks, or three. That was good news.

“I’ll give you half today, and the rest after,” with a bonus if he was happy with what the other found. Normal amount if he was not. Arms crossed over his chest, Alan bit on the inside of his cheek as the other asked for his name. He had introduced himself over the phone, but now that he thought of it, he may have not heard that voice then. “Alan Duarte,” a pause, “Duarte Real Estate, on Main Street,” a legit business, in a nice neighborhood.

With all those details being sorted out, the wolf offered the other his hand to shake. “Do we have a deal?” If so, he’d write a first check in the second.

—

It was more than most people offered. Most people, in fact, were offended at best when Emilio requested any kind of payment upfront. Getting paid half his fees before doing any work was a much better deal than he was typically offered, and he returned the client’s words with a curt nod of agreement. “I don’t care where you work,” he said dryly, tapping his fingers against his knee again. Despite his words, he made note of the new information. The guy owned his own real estate business, on the side of town that wasn’t known for its unusually high crime rate. It was good to know.

Leaning forward in his chair, Emilio nodded again. “Tenemos un trato. We have a deal. Half now, half later.”

—

“Okay,” Alan scoffed, as if taken slightly aback by the other’s honesty. It was quite unsettling, for someone like himself, who was used to having to read through people’s words to get to the truth, but in the end, he found it more refreshing than he found it shocking in any way.

“Excelente. La mitad hoy, el resto al final.” He agreed with a shake of hands. Glancing back at the chair, he reluctantly sat down on it, unbuttoning his jacket for comfort, and smoothing down his tie to align it with his shirt. “How much are you going to cost me then?” His leather checkbook cover sitting against his leg, the wolf reached over to grab back his pen for the moment, glancing over at Emilio Cortez, if only to check whether he was still acting cranky.

—

When the client — Alan — finally sat down, a little more tension bled out of Emilio’s shoulders. Better. The use of Spanish, too, served to put him a little less on edge, make him a little more comfortable. He nodded, satisfied with the ‘transaction.’ As far as cases went, he’d had far worse things asked of him by far more suspicious clients.

Glancing to the checkbook, Emilio took a moment to consider his rates before writing down a number on one of the sticky notes and slapping it onto the desk in front of Alan. It was higher than his usual rate, but only because it seemed like the guy could afford it. “There might be expenses, too,” he warned. “Just depends on how the case goes. If I get stabbed getting your shit, I charge for it. If you hit me, there’s a fee. Standard stuff.”

—

“That’s fine,” it was a tad more expensive than he expected (considering the state of this place), but Alan didn’t consider it entirely unjustified either. In the end, he would make a lot of money if he managed to kick that motherfucker out of the way, and Mr Cortez would make it happen, right? Everyone had dirty laundry they wished to hide from the world. “If I hit you? That happens often, heh?” That was enough to make him genuinely laugh out loud. Ah, this he could relate to. “Deal. You don’t hit me, I don’t hit you,” guffawing some more, he signed the check and handed it to the other, holding onto it as he leaned forward. “This being said, if I get the slightest impression that I’m being fucked with, you’re going to hear from me,” and he could do a lot worse than punch him in the face, though that was a little secret he kept for now.

Letting go of the check, Alan stood up, buttoned his jacket closed and offered a thin lipped smile.

—

Alan accepted the proposal easily enough and, for a moment, Emilio regretted not trying to drain him of a little more of his funds. It wasn’t as if the detective needed a lot of money to keep up his lifestyle, but it was always better to have more than less. But… what was done was done. Alan had agreed to more than what he’d expected, and that was a win. “More often than you’d think,” he replied with a faint smile, shrugging a shoulder. “Part of the job is telling people things they don’t want to hear, sometimes. Some react better than others. I try not to hit them back.” Whether or not he always succeeded in that was another matter entirely, of course.

Despite the twinge in his knee, Emilio stood when Alan did. He eyed the man a little suspiciously at the threat, shrugging a shoulder. “Not planning on fucking with you. I said I’d get you what you need, I’ll get you what you need. You just worry about the money.” He stuck out a hand, raising his brows. “Great doing business with you.”

—

“I’ve read the reviews,” he commented - he clearly didn’t seem one bit impressed by what he’d read - while putting his company’s pen into the pen holder that stood on the desk. “Your clients are quite the tough crowd to please,” Alan liked to consider himself to be the opposite of that, and to be someone who chose to indulge in anything that struck his fancy while he could. In the end, he probably would have lived a life just as fulfilling in a cabin by a lake, in flannel shirts and hiking boots. This being said, he wouldn’t spit on the comfort he enjoyed now.

“Mustn’t be easy, hearing the truth,” Alan had seen enough tv to know that most of the people who hired a PI usually already knew that they’d be disappointed by the results : an unfaithful spouse, thieving family members, etc. “But some people just need to get a grip of themselves,” he concluded, shaking the P.I’s hand. “Looking forward to hearing from you. Have a good day.”

#wickedswriting #under blue moon threads #emilio threads

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