#Cost-Saving Logistics

[metropolitantransportllc]

If you’ve ever wondered about the delivery intricacies that ensure your goods arrive on time, taking a peek at logistics solutions in Baltimore, Maryland, might offer some insights. This bustling hub in the mid-Atlantic is leading the way in regional van trucking services. We’re talking smart tech and qualified folks working together to greatly influence how goods move from point A to point B.

[artisticdivasworld]

How to Upgrade Your Truck Without Breaking the Bank: A Guide for the Individual Trucker

The new EPA regulations are probably the last thing you want to hear about right now. It feels like every time we turn around, there’s another rule or restriction. And honestly, it’s frustrating! But before you throw your hands up in anger, let’s talk about how these changes could actually work in your favor and, more importantly, what options are out there to help you upgrade your trucks without…

[logixplatformblogs]

LogixPlatform’s PUDO solution exemplifies these qualities, providing a comprehensive and reliable service that meets the diverse needs of retailers and consumers. With its extensive network, user-friendly interface, real-time tracking, and commitment to sustainability, LogixPlatform stands out as a leader in the OOH delivery space. Their solution enhances customer satisfaction and contributes to significant cost savings and environmental benefits, making it a valuable asset for any e-commerce business.

Book A Demo: https://logixgrid.com/book-a-demo/

[immensitylogistics]

Strategies for Expanding Logistics Businesses Online

Third-party logistics (3PL) can be a powerful catalyst for cost savings and operational efficiency. Outsourcing distribution services to specialized third-party logistics providers ultimately leads to substantial financial advantages and streamlined operations.

Benefits of Third-Party Logistics (3PL): Third-party logistics providers typically specialize in integrated operations of warehousing and transportation services that can be scaled and customized to customer's needs, based on market conditions, to meet the demands and delivery service requirements for their products. These providers offer expertise, help streamline supply chains, and save time and money. The benefits of 3PL center around their ability to provide cost savings and greater levels of efficiency throughout the logistics process. By leveraging the services of 3PL, companies can benefit from economies of scale, specialized expertise, and a vast network of carriers and warehousing facilities, ultimately leading to improved supply chain efficiency and significant cost savings.

Cost Savings and Efficiency: One of the primary advantages of utilizing 3PL is the potential for substantial cost savings. Many companies struggle to keep costs down and maintain an efficient logistics process when managing their fleets. However, by outsourcing logistics operations to third-party providers, businesses can save time and resources while improving supply chain efficiency. The specialized expertise and vast distribution networks of 3PL providers allow them to provide better service to their clients, resulting in cost savings and greater levels of efficiency throughout the logistics process. Additionally, by partnering with 3PL, businesses can avoid investing in warehouse space, labor, and technological tools necessary for in-house order fulfillment, ultimately leading to significant cost reductions.

Focus on Core Business: Logistics outsourcing allows companies with limited logistics expertise to focus on their core business, as they benefit from not devoting resources to areas in which they are not skilled. Entrusting logistics operations to third-party providers can redirect its focus towards strategic tasks such as marketing and product development, thereby enhancing its overall business operations.

Third-party logistics presents a compelling opportunity for businesses to achieve significant cost savings, streamline operations, and refocus their efforts on core business activities. By leveraging the specialized expertise and extensive networks of 3PL providers, companies can navigate the digital pathway to unlock financial benefits and operational efficiencies in the dynamics of logistics.

[sherunsittt]

Top 5 Benefits of Logistics Outsourcing 

Nowadays, in the fast-paced global marketplace, efficient logistics are essential for business success. Handling your own logistics can be a complex and resource-intensive task. That's where outsourcing comes in, and here are some compelling reasons why it's a game-changer: 1-Expertise and Experience 2-Cost Savings 3-Focus on Core Competencies 4-Technology and Innovation 5-Partnership and Trust

[dog-park-dissidents]

Went to my first pride parade. I swear, only 10% of the people in the parade were from local groups and the rest were either corporations or people running for office with nothing about queer people on their platform

Oh yeah, Pride parades especially in North America have gotten so far from our roots with how much it costs to get permitting and logistics that most actual queer orgs get priced out of participating. Corporations can afford it but of course, instead of decentering themselves and just being okay with like, Dykes On Bikes (Sponsored By Chipotle), they cannot help but make it all about their fucking marketing. We are literally dogs and we couldn't even dream of pissing on parts of public space to claim them as our own on the sheer scale of a corporate logo.

Local Pride organizers are generally part of the problem and lean all the way into this, cause they're usually shitlibs who feel super fuckin validated because Shell Oil turned their logo rainbow, and don't you know how great it is that their HR department has a nondiscrimination policy. Zac was dating the person put in charge of organizing New Orleans's Pride parade and he was like, what if we save money by not allowing floats, just make it a walking parade so more people can participate? And the rest of the goddamn board of directors was like, no, absolutely not, what would our corporate sponsors think.

So anyway that was the year he used his clout to at least let our local pup group lead the parade, which we did looking like this

Needless to say Shell did not return as a sponsor the year after that

[sunderwight]

Thinking about Black Widow Luo Binghe.

Hear me out -- so just like in canon, Shen Qingqiu self-destructs to save Luo Binghe, dies, and Luo Binghe steals his body to put on ice while he looks for methods to resurrect him. But unlike in canon, staving off decomposition is simply not that doable for a matter of years, even with cultivation and Luo Binghe pouring qi into the process. The qi costs are still high, so is Xin Mo, and now Binghe also needs a special artifact that can actually preserve Shen Qingqiu, but that runs on blood sacrifices.

To get the thing working, Luo Binghe feeds it a bunch of prisoners from the Water Prison. Then he starts kidnapping cultivators to drain for his own qi reserves, but that's difficult, controversial, and he can't use the same victims for the blood sacrifice afterwards. Frankly, between one thing and another it would be easier to satisfy Xin Mo with dual cultivation, and focus on finding victims for Shizun's Snow White style glass preservation coffin without having to choose between using targets for one or the other. Especially given that, if he finesses it, Luo Binghe can extend the use of his sacrifices and get more out of them with fewer deaths that way.

He's pretty sure that Shizun would want fewer deaths.

Of course, he is not a fan of the logistics of the plan itself, but he'd do worse things to one day be reunited. He consoles himself that he's building up bedroom experience for one day being with Shen Qingqiu, and that it doesn't really count because his heart's not really in it, and also if Shizun got to spend all that time in brothels then it's only fitting that Luo Binghe be his equal in this as well. It still doesn't make it pleasant for him, but it makes him able to tolerate the necessity of it.

So Luo Binghe ends up marrying a string of rich and powerful figures -- mostly the villainous single fathers and mothers and evil uncles of harem members from PIDW, rather than their daughters -- and coming up with creative ways of making all their deaths a few months into the process look like accidents. After the third one people are undeniably wary of marrying him, but there's always someone with a big enough ego to think they'll be an exception, or stupid enough to believe that it really has just been so much bad luck up to that point. It helps that the universe is predisposed to let him hit it.

When SY wakes up in the shroom body and hears about Luo Binghe's succession of marriages, he's not surprised. What he is surprised by is the bisexual graveyard of toxic dilfs and milfs that has replaced the harem.

What did he do to cause that?!

And what does Luo Binghe mean that he wants to marry his own shizun now? Is this his new method of revenge??? Binghe, you don't have to marry someone to kill them!

[txttletale]

I have a small brain can you elaborate on the "not everything is fungible" bit? It seems like a valid point

like -- the resources of a government don't exist in one big pile where doing X thing entails spending Y resources and depriving thing Z. obviously yes funding things does involve making tradeoffs -- but in reality, government involves a lot of sunk costs, buildings already owned and people already employed and resources stockpiled -- and a lot of other complicatimg factors like logistics and geopolitics and economies of scale that mean that trying to weigh up "reeducating puyi" vs "saving peasants" (whatever that means!) as some kind of utilitarian mind palace tradeoff of money spent to positive return is nonsense

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

ASKBOX IS OPEN REQUESTS ARE OPEN HERE ARE THE RULES

ground rules:

1) Funny- the request needs to be humorous, memes usually the most popular but dnd in jokes and other shitpostery is welcome. i abide by the MBMBAM NO BUMMERS rule - there are plenty of sad/deep/beautiful calligraphers out there who’d be happy to work with yall, but this isn’t that sort of channel

2) Length - aim for no more than 75 characters a request, my cue cards are only so big so I can only fit so much on each one and still not look like garbage. There is a little leeway but if you send me smth with like 120 characters it aint getting written

3) Amount of Requests - I am trying to be fair but i am one person running almost the ENTIRE thing, logistics, tech, etc, I have twitch mods and a roommate for retrieving things and that's it. In order to be fair, please restrict yourselves to 3 requests per person to let everyone have a shot, if you send in more i will ctrl-f your username and pick my favourites

4) Content - I will not do anything I consider under the umbrella of general assholery - this includes racial slurs, edgelord bullshit, exclusionist jackassery etc. Please be kind to each other. Please let me know if I’ve taken a request that is some incredibly obscure piece of assholery, someone once tried to slip a really obscure antisemetic piece of slang by me once

5) Repeats - I keyword tag EVERY SINGLE piece i’ve ever done on this blog, if you think I might have written smth already but aren’t sure, the /search/[keyword] is your friend, check if i’ve done your request before

the askbox is theshitpostcalligrapher.tumblr.com/ask , not a dm or submission to the blog. I’ll close submissions too so people don’t get the boxes confused. DM me for any actual clarifications, kind words, etc so they don’t get swallowed up by the behemoth of my askbox for months, and if you want to give me live encouragement the twitch link is right there, and is the ideal way to inquire more about any of the day's rules.

If you want to jump the ENTIRE queue and get your card done immediately, there are ways to donate on the twitch stream to get your request done with an ink of your choice. You can still submit 3 free requests in addition to what you pay for.

I’ll be streaming the entire time the askbox is open on twitch @ theshitpostcalligrapher, trying to get as many of these done today as possible live. Once 10PM EST hits, the askbox will close but if you get your request into the askbox by then, it will be done eventually as I always have 4 cards up per day.

Here’s the link to my twitch, we’ll start a little after 3 o’clock.

Here is a direct donation link to my streamlabs, it works like a ko-fi but I’ve got it set to give me alerts on my twitch so I can see and thank you straightaway for supporting my takeout order

I've planned on a few donation goals this time! They help pay for all the hours I put in and the material costs. Every time we hit a goal, I'll refresh it to 0 and math out whatever overlap to add to the new goal

$20 > Time For Tea! I make a sparkly, food safe glittery tea that looks like ink to enjoy with yall on stream

$30 > Jackbox Break! My Discord VC and potentially chat plays a few games

$40 > Takeout O'clock: It is time to order a food, Mia! Polls will probably be involved for food options

$200 (I am fairly sure we won't get this one) > I bought all the requisite items to bleach my hair to prep for a dye. Let's do this shit LIVE ON AIR BAYBEE

Also of Note: I will be moving house sometime in the next week and a half, which means I will be RECYCLING ALL OF THE CARDS I'VE WRITTEN IN THE PAST TWO AND A HALF YEARS (save for the ones folks pay for on stream, those are earmarked to be mailed out anyways) so if you've gotten something written by me from september 2021 to january 2024 or so, please remember that there is an an etsy shop where you can snag any card from the blog for a few dollars. dm the shop if you'd like to buy a bundle of randoms, I WILL give you a sale about it

[artisticdivasworld]

Navigating the Financial Impact of EPA Emission Standards: Strategic Insights for Trucking Companies

Renee Williams, CEO & PresidentFreightRevCon, a Freight Revenue Consultants, LLC. company The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s (EPA) new emission standards for medium- and heavy-duty trucks represent a landmark move toward reducing greenhouse gas emissions and improving public health. With these standards set to roll out from 2027 through 2032, they are projected to cut greenhouse gas…

[loudlittleecho]

Frozen in Time: Too Late to Save Them

Previous

Part 6

Tim got an alert on Forever Ice in Wisconsin. 

Seems there had been an accident. He quickly scanned the document. Mr. Anderson had given a statement, grateful that no one had been harmed, thankfully, and he also did not expect this to delay shipping. He mentions that his new facilities had better safety measures installed, and while he was sad to let the building go, it was time. . . a little further in the article mentioned how everyone who had worked at the facility had been given two lucrative options. Take a generous severance package, or transfer to another facility with housing and transportation cost support. 

Tim frowned. He had gotten alerts about the other facilities two months ago. When he had scanned them they all seemed above board. Seems Anderson had found a way to recreate his ability. Tim had purchased one crafted from a newer facility, and had analyzed it beside the first. They were identical.

Tim had a hunch he didn’t like. Anderson was making friends with quite a few people. 

He noticed a file he hadn’t added to the report, written in code. 

He narrowed his eyes. This folder was open to anyone in the Justice League to add to if they so desired. 

The only one who would add something in code was The Question. 

—

The woman, Nora, had requested his team to clear one of the smaller offices of the warehouse they were occupying, and to find a bed for the boy– though by now the boy was back as a block of ice.

His crew had glanced at him for confirmation; he nodded for them to comply. 

She had only given her first name, but Snart was able to put the pieces together. Nora Fries, wife of Mr. Freeze. He hadn’t kept up with Gotham news, but it looked that somehow Freeze had managed to bring his wife back.

Now how the kid connected to the two, he didn’t know. 

Nora had told him the boy had felt feverish; she believed if a room was made colder than his own, his body wouldn’t need to form his own ice. 

Snart worked on the logistics. 

—

Sources (See interview 1c): noted complete flip in N.A.’s personality. Clone? Mind Control? 

P.A. using ice BEFORE N.A. (See interview 1a). Need full interview with P.A. 

B.A. No Meta gene, biological sibling of N.A. (See D.M.A. Federal Employee Background Check)

Forever Ice: hired employees previously working with CADMUS. Deeper connection?

Tim rubbed his eyes. He enjoyed cracking codes, but The Question had written his added documents in seventeen different ciphers. Two to three, Tim understood, but seventeen on an already secured folder? He admired the man, sure. But he also recognized this could be his future if he wasn’t careful. 

It seemed The Question had taken on the case. That was good, because Tim already had enough on his plate. He started to close out the file when he paused.

He wanted to let his fellow detective know he was willing to help if needed. Tim smirked.

Wrote a coded note, and closed the file. 

— 

The room was set below freezing, using Nora’s cryokinesis and Snart’s devices to keep it at the right temperature. 

It had taken a week, but they had finally found the correct temperature. Nora wasn’t quite sure why Cold was helping. But she didn’t complain. 

When she removed ice from the boy, it didn’t replace itself. 

Slowly and gently she placed him on the bed. It had frozen over, of course, but was better than the floor.

His chest slowly moved up and down; breathing. 

Noticing the medical band from his wrist, she removed it. 

Fenton, Daniel.

ADM: 09/16/–

DOB: 04/03/–

The band was frayed, so Nora couldn’t be positive about its accuracy on the current situation. But based on dates alone, Daniel Fenton was fourteen 27 years ago.

Author note:

Acronyms: N.A., P.A., B.A: Nathan, Paul, and Becks Anderson

D.M.A.: Department of Metahuman Affairs. 

The D.M.A. is a real department in DC comics. Now, they don't have a 'Federal Employee Background Check', but honestly I wouldn't put it past the DC Universe to do so: Especially to not have a Queen Bee, Count Vertigo, etc situation happen in the states.

[lordgrimoire]

Inspired by @hypewinter s Fenton!Talia Au idea!

(The following scene is one that I just thought of for the Fenton!Talia au that was started recently where an Impromptu Fenton-Nightingale family reunion is where Talía introduces Bruce and the kids to her family)

Bruce was going to have a headache, he was going to have a massive, painful, excruciating headache and he would have to bear with it.

He sipped his coffee, the lid a normal black as he watched his children chatter with the extended Fenton-Nightingale family, Jason, Cass, and Damian’s own fluorescent green coffee cup lids blending in far more with the normal ones, proof of how much Bruce hadn’t known when he had tried to face Ra’s without Talia’s assistance, and what it could have cost him.

He watched Steph hesitantly nibble on a glowing cookie as she listened in nearly rapt attention as one of the Fenton-Nightingales, Ellie, recount early adventures she'd had, keeping Steph, Damian, and Cass engaged as the broad shouldered man who sat at the head of the table adjusted his seat lightly, turning to face him and Talia.

Daniel J. Fenton, formerly operating under the name "Phantom" as his alter ego/other self, was a broad man, though not as broad or tall as his own Father, Jack Fenton, who casually dwarfed both Himself and Clark, and given what Bruce had seen during the Fenton's intervention against the League, it was a common trait as well as invulnerabilities of some sort. Daniel Fenton's face had a few marks that bellied his age, laugh lines and creases in his brow, greying hair along the sides of his head, and a nose that appears to have been broken several times in his life in brutal fashion, but other than that and the Lichtenberg scarring that marred the right side of his body there were few obvious wounds save the newest, a small cut, just below his eye, the one and only strike Ra's had gotten in during their fight.

Bruce knew that Talia had been adopted, she'd spoken of it to him in the past, and especially gushed about her extended family, her Aunts, Cousins, Grandparents, Siblings, and her own Adoptive Parents, during slow nights where Bruce would check in on Harley and Ivy, usually inadvertently crashing a Siren's Night and having to sacrifice Robin [Jason, then Steph and Cassandra, then Tim and Damian] as well as Nightwing, Batwoman, and even the Superboys when they came over to join Tim and Damian's patrols, to secure his escape to his work, usually ending in having it all recounted to him by his children at the next debrief. The horror stories she'd told him of her birth family had been nightmarish, and when he had finally placed them as the League of Assassins he'd felt blind for a time after.

But now he sat before Talia's Father, who as it turned out, was a Half-Dead Half-Alive being who had overthrown a literal god to protect his hometown and then waged a years long guerilla war against a rogue element of the US Government, and then the League of Assassins. This was a man forged by the environment around him, by the tasks laid at his feet, and by those around him. In Bruce's honest opinion, Daniel was terrifying, not in an Uncanny Valley sense of the word, but in a logistical sense, for at this man's fingertips was not only the recourses of his family, which delved into many separate scientific, psychological, and occult fields, but also the knowledge that the dead have, and the fighters that are willing to spill forth at his call.

"So," The smiling man sitting at the head of the table began, his voice a quiet whisper that carried clear through the jumbled conversations as easy as water down a hillside, "You, are Bruce Wayne, It's a pleasure to meet one of Talia's significant others!" The smile turned absolutely cheery, and Talia rolled her eyes, as though expecting something.

Bruce gulped down his doubts and steeled himself.

Jason took a photo, planning on treasuring the photo he would show to Selina later.

[sherunsittt]

Strategic Outsourcing for Cost Savings

Discover how our logistic company offers strategic outsourcing solutions to help businesses reduce costs and improve focus on core competencies while leveraging our expertise.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

I

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

II

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

[ilynpilled]

Something so sexy about Jaime’s most heroic act being doomed from the get go in every way. It damns him for one, like there is no action to take in the situation he is in without huge cost. So many vows yadda yadda, you are damned either way. But in general, a nuke being under the city is something you cannot come back from. It is meant to be a death sentence to the place, the culmination of the trajectory the kingdom was on. Aerys doomed the city with that. The logistics of removal is not all that simple. If you tell Ned and he even believes you? Great! Now who else will have to know? Who can be trusted with it? How will you remove it? We do not even know all precise locations, we had to kill all the pyromancers. How do you make sure it is not accidentally set off? On top of that, the city is filled to the brim with corruption. Full of players who would love to use and exploit that kind of power. The information itself is dangerous. The wildfire functions as a great metaphor as a result. It is festering corruption. You cannot erase the caches at this point. The closest you can get to that is bury the knowledge. He is still haunted by an endless stream of burning bodies. An event that never happened: “In his dreams the dead came burning, gowned in swirling green flames. Jaime danced around them with a golden sword, but for every one he struck down two more arose to take his place.” When he hears that Tyrion made use of it, he is immediately reminded of his greatest fear: “Jaime saw green flames reaching up into the sky higher than the tallest towers, as burning men screamed in the streets. I have dreamed this dream before.” His faith in institutions is also below ground by then, like you see it in his weirwood dream, he tells the truth to his heroes and it does nothing. It is not about Ned, he is not the one that comes out, even though he assumed he would be. “It was never him.” They damn him to darkness anyway for his act and prioritize feudalistic moral constructs. All these contradictions are what makes his fire go out in the dream. But the belief that you can bury all this, and therefore prevent the existence of an Aerys 2.0, does nothing but stall the inevitable. KL’s supposed savior, Robert, the man leading the rebellion, who would slay the “evil dragon”, just led to stagnation. He did not wash out the corruption in it, he just sat on top of it and let it fester. He rues Robert, he says so. One bad king to another. The wildfire problem is more complicated than a single mad man. Its tragedy is rooted in enablement and escalation. There is a reason the pyromancers are more emphasized in the confession. I read it as symbolic of the systemic issues permeating the city, because those are what allowed it to get to the point that it did in the first place. Brienne knows about the wildfire now too, but she also does not comprehend what a volatile ticking time-bomb it is. They do not know how it works, and how it becomes more dangerous over time. Jaime might even save that damn city twice with the Cers and valonqar set up, but both times it is gonna be ultimately “pointless”, bc KL cannot be saved. But that does not matter, because the fact that someone acted back then has meaning. Thematically, that action itself is a triumph.