#Custom Bags Europe

[bagmanufacturerusa]

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[revenantscholar]

This has bothered me for years upon years and Europe is just as evil as the US is in many ways, but when it comes to supermarkets, there is a big difference.

Cashiers have chairs. ALWAYS. It would be illegal for them to be forced to stand for so long.

The customer does the bagging, not the cashier! ALWAYS.

I always, even at my poorest and most unemployed, feel terrible for the cashiers in the US. I always want to tell them the difference in Europe and I always shut up, because it is ubiquitous in the US.

GO OFF KING !!!

[lori11hen2ry]

Choosing and carrying duffels

Ready for a new duffel bag? Check out this guide for must-know tips on buying and carrying the ideal bag, including advice on materials, comfort, and packing efficiently.

[fudgechocolatepuff]

a lovebirds bloom! (pumpkin pie edition) pt.ii🍁

keigo t. x fem. reader | wholesome fluff :)

pt.i of a lovebirds bloom

summary ⋆ ꪆৎ you with an unoccupied life intertwine paths with the fastest and busiest hero, where you both catch a break in your tranquil flower shop. lots of love in the air begin to unfold ꪆৎ

sneak peek ➸ you bump into the winged hero again in the fall season by chance, but neither of you two mind.

word count : 2.6k

Brisk air flew over your face upon wiping the window for the -mpth time today.

Although you carefully scrubbed at the glass to rid it of any visible blemishes left from the busy workday, the window remained foggy, dewy droplets sticking from the outside and obscuring your view of the street beyond. 

The sky above was nothing short of clear, the stars twinkled from above in contrast to the darkening of the blue sky, now a navy-black colour. 

In response to the sudden draft drawn in from the decreasing temperatures outside, your fingers wrapped around the end-loops of your scarf and pulled, tightening its hold on your neck in hopes of trapping the heat there. 

If only the small window tucked in the back would close all the way instead of inviting a day-lasting breeze to nip at the tips of every customer’s ears.

Aside from the chill air that bit at the tips of your fingers, you grew more satisfied looking over the decor that you were tasked to put up, just in time for the incoming autumn season. 

No matter for what season you decorated for, the warm-toned paint of light cafè brown matched every occasion. 

This time—since you were put in charge of the aesthetics of the shop—you made sure that the festivity of the harvest-halloween period would radiate more than the past years’ decorations, and draw in more customers!

Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you could draw back the attention of the winged hero.

You shook your head to snap yourself out of that ridiculous fantasy. 

Okay—sure, you missed the interaction exchanged between you and the hero, but you doubted he’d ever come back, let alone acknowledge the tension he’d left behind when he dashed through the doors that spring morning. 

It was embarrassing! Being stuck up on a menacingly short conversation was not of your character, especially as it was confined in your professional workspace. 

But you couldn’t deny, he teased and teased your little talk together, leading himself on to flirt and flatter you. Hell, you even let him enamor you, blushing at every comment he made about you. 

“He was a hero though, of course he’d do a bit of romancing, that was his way of making talk with any woman around his age!” you reminded yourself, the pride that resided in your heart shrinking to embarrassment. 

After letting yourself stare at the wall and ponder whether you should quit your job and start a new life in Europe, you continued your ritual of turning off each lamp scattered throughout the shop, appreciating the orange-ish glow it reflected onto the fresh stock of pumpkins and giving the space a homely fall ambience. 

You retrieved your coat that hung on the teensy wooden rack, slipping it through your arms as the tired began to rush into your body. 

Hanging your bag over your shoulder, you stepped toward the double doors, not before letting your nails glide past and tap against each of the candles, a subtle waft of vanilla-pumpkin flowing through your senses.  

You snatched a candle to take home, just as a souvenir, you’d pay it back tomorrow. 

Flipping over the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, the bell of the door jingled as you walked out, with a bittersweet feeling now settling in your chest. 

——————

With a swift movement, Hawks’ hands tugged at the collar of his jacket, the fluffy white trim heating his lower face the tiniest bit as he flew through the crisp air of the autumn night.

He groaned in annoyance, regretting his decision of leaving all his hot-pockets at home, his frown grimacing more at the feeling of his empty, cold pockets. 

Hawks hated this time of weather. Not the merriment of outdoor activities, oh no—he loved the idea of pumpkin patches and apple picking. 

It was the transition between summer and winter. The drastic decrease in temperatures after the steady 70s in the past weeks left the man shivering. 

He wasn’t used to the dropping temperatures and neither was the rest of the civilians below, all bunched up in their coats and arms crossed tightly against their chests. This year brought quite the chilly autumn, maybe the coldest of them all. 

“A cup of the hottest, frothiest and sweetest coffee would really hit the spot,” the hero thought, scanning over the masses of people, hopping his pupils over every few buildings in seek of refuge from the cool night and to be treated to a nice dessert-in-a-drink. 

Just when his eyes lit up to the sight of a coffee shop that looked quiet enough to not be noticed, something else caught his eye rather quickly.

A lady dressed in a dark coat and a slightly brighter, but full and cozy scarf wrapped around her neck that held a peculiar yet chic pattern on the woven fabric. 

She appeared to be running on an empty street—or… chasing something. Hawks looked ahead of the woman, to which he spotted a small cylinder container rolling downhill that the woman must’ve been trying to catch. 

To this, Hawks laughed to himself softly, not to make fun of her, it just looked a little silly! The hero’s gloved hands cupped the outside of his mouth, where he huffed out to capture at least some tinge of warmth before descending onto the street of the escaping container. 

If it had been some other instance where he wasn’t bored out of his mind and actually had to patrol an area, he would have just sent a feather on its dandy way to complete a small mishap like this one. 

However, he had finally found an escape. 

His boots landed on the smooth pavement with a quiet ‘tap’ at the end of the street as he crouched down to reach his hand out, catching what looked to be a candle just in time. 

The woman who scurried down the road slowed her steps to catch her breath. 

“It’s not every night where your own candles run away from you. This yours?” the winged hero held out his hand as he flicked his eyes to the woman. 

But the cheeky smile instilled on his face suddenly dissipated into a wide-eyed stare, his question almost being cut off by his shock. 

The bundled-up woman breathed in once again—finally able to breathe steadily—as she extended her own fingers to take back the candle, but tensed up as her pupils recalled the dark shade of the man’s gloves, and felt her shoulder blades freeze. 

“Oh… you’re—“

“The flower shop girl,” Hawks remarked, a gentler smile blemishing his face, “the cute one who gave me the bouquet that Miruko adored.” 

Despite the cold sitting in the air, the warmth still made its way onto your skin. Your voice shook nervously, trying to not make this situation as awkward as much as you could.

“It.. it was nothing really, just wanted to dedicate something for a hero I really admire.” 

You shifted your hands to be clasped in front of you, just below your stomach as you spoke. 

“Well, she really loved it. Seriously, if I had gone to another store I wouldn’t be called the ‘best feather flower fairy.’”

A laugh ran through from your chest as you imagined Miruko’s reaction to the “flower fairy” delivering her bouquet. 

“I suppose you aren’t the kind of person to give her gifts like that.”

“Nah, not really. However, I just figured to get her something with a tad bit more of sentiment for her 25th,” he replied casually, still grasping the sweet scented candle in his hand. 

“Oh, that’s so sweet! I bet she really got all emotional and recited an honoring speech dedicated to you, going on and on about you being so thoughtful.” 

“If the speech was followed by a smack in the arm and a 2 minute-long cackle at me being so sappy, then yeah, I’d say she got a bit teary, almost gave me a hug, even.”

“I wonder how she’ll react next year.”

“Perhaps she’ll dedicate a memoir to me and buy me a bouncy house. A gift for a gift.”

Not many were able to joke with him like that. Of course, Hawks’ fans and acquaintances always felt ecstatic to chat with him, but there was no real talk—only jokes he’s heard millions of times before. 

And he’d never want to offend them, but they were either quite boring, or too overwhelming.

Either way, they didn’t treat him as if he was any other person, just a man-doll that swooped by and teased or flirted those who wanted his attention. 

With you, though, he could be sarcastic and not be looked at in a ‘were you joking?’ kind of way. He had almost forgotten what it was like to connect with another person on a deeper level. 

No, this was a bit more sweeter, and he didn’t want to lose that. 

Your delicate fingertips shooed hair out of your face as you looked onto the street, now completely drowned out by the darkness of the night, lit only by the orange-hued street lamps. 

You didn’t even notice the lingering gaze the winged man held onto your face, glossing over your features hypnotically. 

He stepped to your side and met with your eyes, “Hey, I know it’s getting a bit late, and you probably have work tomorrow. I just wanted to know if you’d wanna grab a quick bite with me. I saw a cafè down a couple’a blocks down.”

Although the fatigue in your body raged deep in your bones, you could endure it a bit longer for a nab of coffee. 

——————

The walk to the cafè was fairly comfortable. 

He noted to you that he even saw some pastries displayed on the window. A “sugar plum fairy” you called him, to which he grumbled at the reminder of the foolish name. What a baby. 

You didn’t expect to be asked about the progress of the flower shop, but you gladly told him about the new pumpkins that came with a carving kit, how you’d probably snatch one for yourself to make a design. 

“Wouldn’t a starry night be easier than a character like Hello Kitty? You’re quite the artistic type.” 

“Shushh! I’ve always fantasized about a glowing hello kitty with a witch hat, don’t crush my dreams.”

“Poor little florist, wants to express all of her feelings through Hello Kitty! Don’t worry, sweets, I won’t do too much on you.” 

“I’m glad you understand the severity of my fixation.”

“Heroes are always empaths, ya’know?” 

“You not so much!”

In response, he side-eyed you and crossed his arms.

You shuffled your hands into the pockets of your coat, when a sudden thought slipped into your mind. 

“Oh, by the way, my name’s (your name).”

“Hi, (name).”

——————

Upon arriving to the cafè, you felt like you could have fallen asleep on the leather-seated-booths that gave just the right of cushioning, but at this point you were starved for sugar. 

Its style was a bit more foreign like—a banner next to the cashier framed the statement that read the inspiration came from Western Europe. The beauty and emptiness of the little shop just proved it to be a gem that you’d keep a secret forever.

Somehow, you found yourself matching Hawks’ vibe with the coziness of the café. Warm, golden, fuzzy. 

You darted your eyes back down to the menu before Hawks could catch you staring at him, focusing on the ‘hot options’ category. 

When you looked up to ask what he’d order, he was already staring you back, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“I saw that.” he taunted, a smug grin rested on his lips. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the obvious humiliation present on your features, pursing your lips together with the intention of relieving your shame. 

“It’s no problem, doll,” his assuring statement completely opposite of his teasing expression, “Do you know what you want?”

As if it was on cue, a waitress ambled her way over to your table, notepad in hand, not even batting an eye to the number two, “What would you guys like to order?”

“May I get a (hot drink of your choice), please?” 

The waitress scribbled down your order and turned to the man across from you.

“Ah, can I have a hot white-mocha with an extra shot of caramel as well as a slice of pumpkin pie?”

“Alright, I’ll have those out for you two in a bit!” 

You thanked her before she scurried on into the back, “It’s absolutely ludicrous that nobody else acknowledges the fact that you have a huge sweet tooth.”

“Sugar energizes my system more than caffeine, it’s just how I function.”

“Do you brush your teeth at night? Y’know, sugar can rot those pearly whites of yours.”

“Yes, mother, I brush my teeth every night,” he chuckled, adjusting the buckle of his watch.

“It can also give you a condition, don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s called diabetes—“

“Yeesh, I didn’t know I’d come to this place just to be lectured about my tastes.”

“If it were anybody else, they’d say the exact same thing.” 

“Oh, let me be.”

The two of you went silent after that, but in a comfortable moment of calm, engulfing the presence of each other and the faint chatter of the minimal customers that were also sat down in the cafè. 

Hawks in that moment wondered if he twisted the crown of his watch back far enough, he could make this night last forever. 

Before long, you’re both gulping down your hot beverages, a waterfall of heaven swirling in the brown paper cups in your hands. 

After a short debate, the two of you decided that it was getting late, and you both had busy work days to deal with tomorrow, and so he took the pumpkin pie to-go and shared it with you on your walk to the train stop. It wasn’t rude courtesy if no one could see you two at the dead of night. 

“How come you live a bit far from your flower shop?”

You chewed your piece of pie, both crust and filling, “I don’t know, honestly. I think after applying to all the jobs I had in mind, I drew little paper pieces from a hat to just decide and get it over with.” 

“Decision making can be tough when it comes to jobs.”

“You get it,” crumbs of pie fell onto your coat as you responded with your mouth full.

The hero held the empty plate with sprinkles on crumbs left behind in his hand, and with your candle in the other as you two continued the walk, about 3 minutes away. 

Stopping at the top of the stairs that descended down into the underground station, Hawks stopped you from going further. 

“Look, I really enjoyed this little going out together, although it started out with me ending your game of tag with your candle.” 

You huffed lightly looking back at the thought, a shy smile tugging at your face, “Yeah, I’m glad I bumped into you when I did.”

Placing the candle into your palms, he began to take a few steps back, and Hawks admitted to you, “I hope to see you soon, sweets, whenever time permits.”

You waved to him, “Thanks for the pie.” 

He nodded his head and gave you a sweetly sick smile, before turning to walk away and prepare to fly off. 

As much as you hated for this night to end, you could at least encourage him to come back to you. 

“Come back to the shop soon!” you shouted from afar, hoping he would hear.

The winged hero turned his head, waving his hand and shouting back, “I will!” eventually flying away into the alluring night sky. 

The next time you’d come back to this cafe, you promised to order pumpkin pie every time. 

a/n: so sorry for not posting this sooner! i’ve been so caught up in my studies and i couldn’t find time to post! however i lovedd writing this and figured now would be the best time to publish this. i hope this makes up for my absence :) love you and happy october!!

[olderthannetfic]

Wait, you guys genuinely think not just that the fic fandom is keeping HP relevant, but that the IP is still relevant at all? When was the last time you went into a major retailer store? Because let me tell you, nobody is selling HP merch in 2024.

Here in Europe we have these international chain stores called Primark. They are the cheap, fast fashion retailer, and back in the day they were the home of HP merch. Every year, for the autumn/back to school season, they would release entire collections of merchandising, anything from sweaters to bags, candles, stationery, jewelry and even sweets. At one point, the big flagship store in my city (which is, by the way, five stories tall) had a HP section so big, that it spawned half a floor, all decorated and neatly organised according to the houses. To this day, no other IP has occupied so much space nor has it received the care and dedication that they put into HP. Heck, Primark was so popular for its HP merch that even HP YouTubers from the States would go out of their way to visit them just for the HP merch alone.

Last week, I visited the very same store, and how much merchandising did you think I found?

The answer is one (1) piece of merchandising in the entire store.

And it wasn't in the adult section mind you, it's been years since they've had any merch that you could wear in public, only ever releasing the occasional pyjamas: it was instead at the very end of the children's section, by the tills. A sad, plastic pen, made to resemble a quill, in a tiny cardboard box, placed there in a last ditch attempt to catch the customer's eye while they waited to pay.

I know it seems hopeless to see that the author is still getting huge cheques, but consider, how many of those come from long standing contracts with things like the theme parks and streaming services?

And again, most people in real life are not fandomers, they are passively aware of the franchise, and see it as generic entertainment in the same way your mum might call any given Pokémon a "Pikachu". Just take a look through Twitter and see how many low effort meme accounts are still sharing low quality screenshots of decade old Tumblr posts, and how many people will blindingly follow them, blissfully unaware of the existence of fic, ship wars, author opinions or anything remotely negative.

Harry Potter has fallen from grace, a forgotten Funko Pop in the sales bin, waiting to be bought by a careless family member to occupy its place in the shelf of knick-knacks, between that ugly souvenir your coworker got you and the baby shower pictures of your uncle's twice removed sister in law's, ex-husband's daughter. It will always be there, yet it's not important enough to draw anybody's attention, gathering dust for the rest of eternity until a child picks it up, humored by clueless parents, unaware of everything that it once stood for.

Just make peace with the fact it's not in your hands anymore. After all, becoming paranoid about being reminded of its existence won't do you any good, anyways.

--

[dallasgallant]

Time period post: Schools

Honestly surprised I didn’t cover this topic sooner, considering the characters are in high school. I’ll stick mainly to that range but I’ll bring in some broader information just for some additional knowledge. Like all my posts like this please consider this a starting point! If you’re interested look more into it as I can’t cover all of it and I’m trying to go off what’s potentially ‘most relevant’ to people’s fic writing.

Two important bits of context for 1960s schools: Student rights and desegregation.

‘Old school’-

Real quick terminology was a little different to refer to schools like elementary school would sometimes be “primary school” (I know this is still the case in Europe/Canada but large parts of the us no longer say this) or “grammar school” as a sort of preschool- early elementary range.

Junior high was also more common for a middle school but still used today in some parts. The age layout used to be different, sometimes depending on where you were kids from 12-18 would all be in the same huge school.

There were no smart boards or whiteboards. Chalkboards, pull down maps — students turned in everything either in cursive or written on a type writer! (There were entire typing classes for this skill as well. Then again when computers were slowly implemented in the 1980s) there were projectors however — either overhead, slide projector(which goes through a bunch of small photos aka slides) or a movie projector for educational film!

Copies were different too, worksheets would likely be from a Ditto (which had a particular smelling ink students loved).

What students carried-

No backpacks! It’s not until the mid 80s this really becomes a thing for schools. Lockers were used and you’d just carry home what books or materials needed, sometimes there were books traps which were mainly used by younger students (it’s a belt that goes around your books basically) girls would sometimes bring larger purses so they’d be able to carry the books too.

This is why there’s the trope of “oh Billy carry my books for me?💕” or students walking home with everything in their arms like in Halloween (1978)

Textbooks were pricey and the students responsibility so there’d be textbook covers! Sometimes nice ones were made when there’s something you like on it but if you’re poor or want your own custom ability you’d use a paper grocery bag.

There are those who buy lunch but if you bring it you either have a tin lunchbox or a brown paper bag (sack lunch) no cloth ones.

As mentioned above there was a lot more “life skills” based classes than there are today, some may exist in more rural communities but a lot of these got cut. Typing classes, drivers ed (in school!!), shop (Auto, wood and Metal), home economics -> from cooking, laundry, balancing checkbook etc.

Being called on/corrected-

Students weren’t people until the late 60s. I’m not kidding there were Supreme Court cases as there was a tendency of treatment and rights being actually acquainted to prisoners.

Dress codes weren’t as strict as the 40s and 50s but you’re still not wearing a tube top and daisy dukes to school. However the 60s are the age of teen rebellion…

Corporal punishment! You were allowed to be hit by a teacher if deemed necessary. Sending to the office/punishment in general was also more common : detention, suspension, expulsion etc (I mean this as actual and not just irrational as lately there’s been almost too lax)

Truancy officers! Making sure kids are in school, not skipping, missing etc.

There also seems to be more academic demand and rigor on the outside looking in on the time period, however I’ll say it with a grain of salt as some of it may be a ‘back in my day’ style…

Locality-

In a small or rural town school events would mean far more, especially back then. Clubs, fundraisers, carnivals and sports all were a huge part of students and the communities social life! Going to watch the football game was a big thing. Same goes for school dances like prom and homecoming.

This also makes things like superlatives, awards, sports wins etc more impactful.

[chigirisprincess]

　 ˚ ᡴꪫ You Could Be Mine Tonight; Interlude I

— Chigiri Hyōma

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, chigiri puts the go in egoist, first meetings, author self insert, selfship lore heavy, reader is italian-american living in italy, set in verona, some italian dialogue, first meetings, ⊹ Run time. 1.4k ⊹ Note. Fawn is back again with yet another series of sorts. This is my selfship lore with mister Chigiri Hyōma and will be expanded upon whenever I am inspired so enjoy! <3

The fair city of Verona fed the romantic daydreamer that crawled into the deep recesses of your chest as a child. In spite of spending your last six months settling in, you couldn’t fathom ever tiring of waltzing through the old, cobbled streets and imagining the lives led by those living over five hundred years ago in the middle ages. Idling wonder if they too ran their fingertips across the smooth, rosy marbled walls. Or, if they gazed upon the stars while resting in the Piazza dei Signori as you did when your red wine tinged evenings drew to a close.

You supposed the reality of those living all those years ago were far more bleak than proposed by the Middle English romances you studied during your undergraduate. Still, it didn’t mean you couldn’t imagine a display of courtly love spilling over the aged edge of Juliet’s balcony; a gallant knight who was far more romantic than the whiny Romeo, and a demure lady who was more akin to a blossomed flower than a person. With the sky, a most remarkable shade of blue– far more dazzling than anything you’d seen back home– and the scent of sweet flowers carried on the breeze, it was difficult not to lose your thoughts within a fairytale-like dream.

A rich waft of freshly brewed espresso rouses you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the small café you’ve made into your home for the afternoon. Sparing a glance back to your laptop where your latest novel sits open, you sigh before snapping it shut. As romantic as Verona was, your fantasies failed to inspire an ending to the chapter you’ve spent the last month working on. You blamed the lack of direction on your recent move, halfway across the world from North America to Europe but in the droll truth you suspected your lack of romantic experience was beginning to impede upon your ability to write a romance novel. Shoving your things into your bag, you offered a wave to the barista before clearing out.

The next building over was calling your name.

It was a small, family owned bookstore that had been passed down at least six generations and resided between two restaurants. The current owner, Signor Fiorentino seemed perpetually miffed by the constant racket amassed by the staff when on break but was always amenable when offered fresh biscotti. Which was precisely why you picked up an extra one at the café in case you decided to head over.

The small bell above the door rings as it opens, announcing your presence, “Ciao signore!” You greet, shuffling through the cramped rows of shelving. 

A smile tugs at your lips as you reach the small checkout counter where he sits. Signor Fiorentino is perched upon a well worn stool, thumbing through a copy of today's newspaper.

“Buonasera Signorina,” he grins at the sight of you, his smile growing wider when he takes notice of the biscotti in your hand, “Is that for me?”

You hold your hand out in response, passing it over to him, “You know it is,” you say, resting your elbows on the counter, “So, have you gotten anything new in stock?”

Your hopeful tone dwindles when Fiorentino narrows his eyes at you.

“Buttering  me up with sweets are you?”

“What! No!” You frown, “But … I was wondering if you’d heard back about that custom bound copy of Romeo and Juliet?”

The expression he wears tells you he hasn’t. With a sigh, he shakes his head, “The seller says it's on their backlog and they’ll get back to me soon.”

You wear your emotions on your face as if it were your favourite sweater, never one to masterfully disguise the disappointment you felt. It was your greatest flaw that loved to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. Like now. The corners of your mouth dipped into a petulant frown, your bottom lip jutting out. You became a mirror image to the kindergarteners you taught English to. They were cuter than you when they did it.

“Cara mia do not stress!”

Sometimes, he speaks to you as if he were your family. You allow him to far more often than you should. He reminded you of your nonno, you supposed that you reminded him of his children and grandchildren who had long since immigrated to North America. Reaching over the small counter, he rests a weathered, spotty hand onto your forearm.

“I’m not,” you mutter with a small sigh, “I’m just frustrated.”

He gives your arm a sympathetic squeeze.

“I know.”

Returning his smile, you turn to the dozens of book lined shelves in search of something to satiate the burn of disappointment you wished to mask. Your fingers graze against the lip of the dust covered shelves as you pass through them, floating around the shop as though you were a spectre rather than a customer. You settle in front of the stack of mediaeval literature. Pursing your lips, you tilt your head to get a better view of the title, Amorosa Visione. A long, narrative poem. It wasn’t exactly your first pick, you much preferred Middle English romances but you needed to branch out every once in a while. Pulling the book off the shelf, you took a step backwards as you skimmed the blurb printed on the back.

Another step backward causes you to bump into another person.

So engrossed in your reading, you hadn’t noticed they joined you in the aisle. Dipping your head down in apology, you offer them a smile.

They scoff, looking you up and down.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, hoping they spoke English, “I didn’t see you there.”

His expression only worsens, “Yeah, right like I’m supposed to believe that,” he snips in English, flicking a strand of bright red hair from his eyes. 

He turns toward you, standing with their arms crossed over his chest. His sunglasses slip down his nose as he peers at you. You blink in shock, face warming at the sight of him. He was pretty, unfairly so. With long, pretty lashes that frame sharp magenta eyes which cut right through you with his glare. Shaking your head, you remind yourself that he was a jerk who was irrationally annoyed over you accidentally bumping into him.

“I … I don’t understand what you mean,” you frown, “It was an accident, I promise I wouldn’t bump into a stranger on purpose.”

“You don’t recognise me?” The man asks, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze. He seems to pick you apart with his clipped words and harsh stare as if he were given hours to scrutinise each miniscule part of you rather than a few measly minutes.

“Am I supposed to?” You cock your head to the side, “Are you an influencer or something?”

You give him a once over, taking in his attire. He was dressed fairly casually but still looked rather put together. The accent that shrouded his words told you that he too wasn’t from Verona, but nothing in the way he carried himself struck any ounce of familiarity. The arrogance and accusation that lingered in his narrowed gaze seemed to align with your view of celebrities and micro influencers. 

Disgust flashes in his eyes,“No, I’m a professional soccer player,” he explains, “Manshine City, ever heard of it?”

“Okay …”

“I thought all Italians were huge soccer fans,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

You stifle an eye roll,“That’s a kinda a misconception like how not all Canadians are obsessed with hockey and say “aboot”” your comment doesn’t elicit a laugh like you hoped it would, instead he gives you a strange look, “Besides, even if it wasn’t we tend to be pretty nationalistic.” 

“Right.”

A lull passes between the two of you before he speaks again.

“I apologise,” he says, almost begrudgingly, “For assuming you were some desperate fan.”

Biting back a snarky remark, you laughed to yourself. Were all athletes this full of themselves? 

“No apology needed.”

He purses his lips before nodding his head.

“Just uh, don’t give the shop owner the same attitude unless you want to be chased out of here with a broom.”

The corners of his lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles, “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Tucking your book beneath your arm, you slink out of the aisle with a relieved sigh. You hoped, whatever other soccer players that may have been crawling about this fair city were certainly less egotistical than him.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

networks; @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

[yoga-onion]

Legends and myths about trees

Celtic beliefs in trees (27)

A for Ailm (Pine) - December 23rd Birth of the Divine child

“The birth of the King of the Flourishing Half Year - The Celtic Tree Calendar” 

Stars: Mars & Sun; Gender: female; Metal: gold; Patrons: Artemis, Ariadne, Rhea, Cybele, Druantia, Dionysus, Bacchus; Symbols: foresight, purity, objectivity, birth

The Ogham alphabet has 5 vowels. The number 5 is the sacred number of the 'White Goddess'. Like all five vowel trees, pine is a female tree. And it is also the first vowel A, the tree of birth.

In ancient Greece, the pine tree was the goddess of the moon and dedicated to Artemis, who was responsible for the birth of children.The birth of Christ is celebrated on 25 December, and the Christmas tree decorated on this day is Norway spruce. The spruce is a member of the pine tree family. Although Christ's birthday is now celebrated on 25 December, it is believed that in earlier times our ancestors celebrated the birth of the Son of God on 23 December.

23 December marked the beginning of the 'Half Year of Light' and the birth of the "Son of God, the King of the Flourishing Half Year", and a gift of the wisdom of our ancestors.

On the winter solstice, druids (Ref2) in Europe lit large bonfires of pine and yew. Around the same time, the festival of the Druid Queen, Druantia, also took place. These large bonfires, which were built on the winter solstice, were passed on to the Yule Log. While the Yule festival lasted, people lit candles on pine trees and decorated them with glittering objects. The Christmas tree is the successor to this custom.

The ancients believed that the pine cones were cleverly guided by magical powers, as they spiralled and followed the same clockwise direction on their trunks as the earth around the sun. Yellow pollen was utilised in the 'money-accumulation spell' as yellow attracts gold. Pine branches are said to prevent evil from entering the house if hung over doors and windows, and old people are said to be rejuvenated if they carry pine cones.

Futhermore, Native Americans put a bag full of pine needles under their pillows on the floor when they have insomnia. In ancient Egypt, doctors in the Pharaoh's service used pine tar and turpentine oil to treat pneumonia.

The ancients learnt from the towering pines the importance of looking at things objectively and from a broad perspective. Pine teaches that you have to be positive about things, correct mistakes immediately and chase responsibility yourself.

So, have a happy Christmas everyone, surrounded by the tree again this year.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

ケルト人の樹木の信仰 (27)

AはAilm (ﾏﾂ) - 12月23日 神の子の誕生、ケルトの木の暦（参照）

星: 火星＆太陽、性: 女性、金属: 金、���護神: アルテミス、アリアドネ、レア、キュベレ、ドルアンティア、ディオニックス、バッカス、シンボル: 先見の明、清浄、客観性、誕生

オガム文字には5つの母音がある。数字の5は「白い女神」の聖なる数字。5つの母音のすべての木がそうであるように、マツも女性の木、そして最初の母音のA、誕生の木でもある。

古代ギリシャでは、マツは月の女神で、子供の誕生をつかさどるアルテミスに捧げられた。キリストの誕生を祝う12月25日、この日に飾るクリスマス・ツリーはノルウェートウヒ。トウヒはマツ科の木である。現在、キリストの誕生日は12月25日とされているが、その昔、祖先は12月23日に神の御子の誕生を祝っていたとされる。12月23日は「光の半年間」の幕開けと「神の子・盛りゆく半年の王」の誕生を一緒の祝う先祖の知恵の産物であった。

冬至の日、ヨーロッパのドルイド（参照2）は松やイチイの大きな焚き火をした。これは、太陽神を冥界から呼び戻し、この世に再生させるためであった。ユール祭が続く間、人々はマツの木に蝋燭を灯したり、きらきら光るものを飾ったりした。それは、生命の源である太陽神の聖なる光を守るためであった。また、その光は暗い冬の間も常緑樹の植物に蓄えられると古代人は信じていたからだ。その習慣を受け継いだのがクリスマスツリーである。

松ぼっくりは、螺旋を描きながら、太陽の周りをめぐる地球と同じように時計回りに幹につくため、魔法の力を巧みに導く存在であると、古代人は信じていた。黄色い花粉は黄色がゴールドを引き寄せるとして「お金がたまる呪い」に活用された。マツの枝はドアや窓にかけると邪悪なものが家の中に侵入できなくなり、老人は松ぼっくりを持ち歩くとして若返ると言われている。

さらに、ネイティブ・アメリカンは不眠症のとき、マツの葉が詰めた袋を枕の下に敷いて床につく。古代エジプトでは、ファラオに仕える医者が肺炎の治療に松脂とテレビン油を使ったという。

古代人は広い視野に立って客観的、長期的にものを見る重要性を、高くそびえる松に学んできた。物��には前向きに取り組み、過ちはすぐに正し、責任は自分で追わなければならないと、マツは教えている。

さあ、今年もまたツリーにかこまれて、みなさん楽しいクリスマスをお過ごしください。

[yet-another-deanw-girl]

Chapter 1: The girl and the werewolves

||The Prophecy Series||

She knew for 15 years that this day would come. She knew her destiny had already been written. That her death had been foretold.

She knew she would have to stop him. She knew she would have to kill him. And she thought she was prepared for all of it. But the day she met him she realized how wrong she was…

Set in Season 10 Pairing: MoC!Dean x Female!OC

Warnings: the usual SPN, language, violence, blood, injuries

Episode mapping: The end of episode 4 of season 10 "Paper Moon"

Note: The events of this story are following season 10 of Supernatural and are taking place between October 2014 and July 2015. I tried to make sure that all the references to weapons, tech, etc. are accurate with the time period.

AN: This is my first time writing a fanfic but the story has been in my head for too long and it just needed to get out. I hope you like it.

AN: English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

It's official… I hate the States.  I have been driving for over half an hour and there is nothing around.  NOTHING!  Here you can just disappear and no one will ever know. Long distances, distant people, crappy coffee…  I really miss the coffee…  Well, at least, the food was decent most of the time… I'm impatient to go back home, so I'm overdramatic. Moreover, I haven't really spoken to anyone for more than two weeks… that alone drove me crazy and irritated. Thank God this mission is over now! Take a deep breath and make a plan. That always calms my nerves. First, I have about three or four more hours of driving until I get to the private airstrip where the plane is waiting for me… that's insane… how is everything so far apart here… Deep breaths… Then, about a ten hour flight to Prague.  I'll probably sleep the entire time…  Or I can write my report…  First I’ll write my report, then I’ll sleep. After landing, I'll have my debriefing… and real coffee. Then… go to my apartment… pack a bag… and go to the airport… I have been waiting for this vacation for so long. To see my family…

I'm entering a small town and I see the local diner on my side of the road. Going through my plan in my head has improved my mood significantly. I always function better when I have a detailed plan. But I still need coffee. So with a dream of a latte or cappuccino in my mind, I park the Jeep and walk into the diner to get whatever excuse of a coffee they have. Five minutes later, with a to-go cup in my hand, I'm climbing back in the monstrous car. I really love this car. It's always funny to see the looks I'm receiving. I'm not the shortest woman in the world, but I'm no more than 1.70m (it's about 5 '7) and this Jeep is enormous. But I like driving it. And, I like all the modifications I've done on it over the years. While driving out of the town and the buildings are more and more apart from each other, a cabin catches my attention. Well, not the cabin itself, but the two figures going inside. Just before they went inside, their faces shifted. What day is it? It's not a full moon, right? I count the days in my head. It is a full moon. Great! Werewolves. I hesitate only for a second, before I stop my car down the road so they will not see me coming. Driving a car like this has some disadvantages after all. I push several buttons on the car's dashboard screen, to check my armory and a weapon is produced for me to use. When the central console on my right opens, I reach out to take the gun. I scowl at the Beretta 92 that is inside.

Created with Microsoft Designer

"Of course!" I mutter under my breath. "I can't even use my own guns here!" I remind myself that I'm not supposed to raise any suspicions or to give any clues about who I am and who I'm working for. It's hard when you are a person of details and when you like things in a certain way. Unfortunately, my custom guns are locked in the car safe, until I'm boarding the plane to Europe. I take the standard US law enforcement gun and two spare magazines with silver bullets and I'm on my way to the cabin. "Fuck… I haven't even finished that coffee!" Engaging in those kinds of situations is not really in the scope of my operation here. Actually, it is way out of it. But I can't just walk away, keep driving and pretend I haven't seen anything. Not when there are innocent people in danger here… probably… 'Probably' is the key word… So I decide, I'll just look at what is going on in there and if, indeed, there are lives being threatened, only then I'll get involved.

Of course there are lives in stake. When I look inside the dimly lit building, I see the silhouettes of two men being tied to the pillars. Three werewolves are inside with them, the two men I saw earlier, and a younger blond woman… girl actually... It looks like she is in charge or has some authority over the others. I take in the layout of the place and make a map in my mind, all the people, the exits, the pillars, the piles of junk, the old furniture... Every little crack, every window and every beam…  And I make a plan…  And a backup plan…  And a backup plan.  I have it all laid out in my head, a perfect tactical assault mission.  In reality, this takes only a couple of seconds. My mind works in a strange way, but that's one of the things that makes me good at my job and has helped me climb the ranks quickly. I go in from the back door and immediately shoot down the two men. The girl with the long blond hair is standing in front of one of the hostages tied to the columns and puts her claws to his chest when she sees me.

Created with Microsoft Designer

"Put down the gun, or I will gut him!" - she says to me. Another blond girl barges in and stops abruptly when she realizes the situation. "Tash, what are you doing?" she exclaims, looking at the girl threatening one of the victims. "Kate! Come here and help me!" - the girl says. Now, when I have a better look at her she looks really young, maybe just finished high school. I take advantage of everyone being distracted, and shoot. The girl hits the ground. I turn around, aiming my weapon at the second girl. "No, no, no!" - the two men yell in unison. I lower my gun and the girl runs to the body of her dead sister. At least they look like sisters.

I holster my gun and take the knife from my boot turning around to cut off the ropes of the two men. No, no, no, no…  I definitely fucked up…  What the hell…  I NEVER fuck up!  I was not supposed to make any contact with them. I was here to observe and report. Fuck, fuck, fuck… Shit! Ok… I'll just cut them down and then I'm on my way to the airstrip. I start cutting the rope tying up Dean's hands above his head. I have to stand on my tiptoes and I barely can reach the rope. "Hey, shortstack, do you need a stepping stool or something?" Sam teases and I snort at his comment. "Short or not, I'm not the one tied up by a highschool girl…" Fuck! Those boys are really tall up close!

I'm almost done when Sam yells "Watch out!!!" I press the knife into Dean's hand, so he can finish cutting the rope himself and pull out my gun while turning around.  Sharp pain stings my abdomen before I'm able to pull the trigger.  The gunshot rings in the air of the cabin followed by a heavy thump. I clench my stomach. That's bad.  That's really, really bad.  How did this all happen?  Where did he come from?  How did I miss him?  Maybe he came after the second woman… girl… My mind is racing, trying to analyze every little detail and every possibility. But it doesn't matter right now.  This must be the unluckiest day of my life! First, I stumbled on my targets, and now this!  I know this will not kill me.  This is not the way I'm supposed to go and now is definitely not the time. But it hurts like hell, nonetheless and for a moment, panic sneaks in my mind.  I haven't been in such deep shit in a long long time. I have been in far more dangerous situations, but I hadn't screwed up like this in years. Deep breaths… make a plan… "Hey! Are you ok?" Dean asks me when he is done untying his brother. "Yeah!" I say through my clenched teeth and without even turning to them I start walking to the front door. I'll just have to go to my car, stitch this up, and then…  My head starts spinning.  Shit, I'm losing too much blood. I'm not going to make it to the car…

The woman had barged in, shot all of the rogue werewolves in a matter of seconds and without saying a word was now walking to the front door. "Wait a minute! Where do you think you're going?"  I yell and run after her.  Just when I'm reaching to grab her arm to stop her, she collapses and I manage to catch her at the last moment. "What the hell!"  I mumble but then I see the gash in her stomach. It's deep and she is losing blood too fast. "Sam! Find the first aid kit and get the car! NOW!"

Chapter 2: Protocol EG-64 initiated >>

||The Prophecy Series||

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for bringing my friend to stay for the weekend?

Didn't think I'd ever make this, but here we are. So, I recently moved in with a roommate for this year of college. We never met before and we live in different parts of the country (not USA, it's a country in Europe).

Anyway, things were going great. Then I came to her one night like my friend and I wanted to go see a movie on Saturday in cinema and we'd come here afterwards to watch a show on TV since she doesn't have one in her dorm and she will likely sleep over since it's on the other side of the town and I don't want her to have to go by bus and if she wanted, she could also come with us. She said ok, but she won't join us. She will be in her room with earphones.

So, just as an fyi, the appartment has 2 separate bedrooms, huge ones, a huge bathroom (don't take this lightly, it is fit for a couple with two children and has a bathtub), the living room and dinning room are connected but there is literally space for 6 at the table and the couch can fit 4 people plus there is an armchair, the is also a spacious kitchen and a long hall and small office. When we moved, her idea was that since she has a work table she can bring, she'll take a room close to the door and put it there and I can take the room next to the office and take the office for myself. We split the bills and rent in half and our landlord told us we don't have to pay anything aside from rent the first month as a welcome gift (not unusual here).

So, Saturday, my friend asked me to help move from one dorm from one part of the town to the one in another, since it was the end of the month and everyone is coming back to college and now the one she got opened again. We went there and the lady at the desk told her she couldn't move in without a doctor's note telling them she is alright, essentially meaning she would have no place to stay untill Monday since the doctors that give those notes don't do weekends and she would have to wait. I told her that since she already is staying at my place for Saturday, she can also stay for Sunday since she had nowhere to go. We weren't paying anything except rent that month, so my roommate couldn't argue that she shouldn't pay something she didn't spend or anything. Here, it would be considered rude to say that, but people are colder to others to where she is from, so I wouldn't put it above her.

Anyway, we came to the appartment and put all of her stuff (a suitcase and a few bags) into the office only I use and I told my roommate like sorry, but there was a slight change in plans, we didn't anticipate this happening, we won't bother you etc. She said okay. I, like any well raised person here, offered my friend a drink (we had water, tea and coffee, she picked tea, I bought that, no alcohol or anything similar involved) and we went to the movies afterward.

The movie was shorter than we thought so we came back earlier and we decided to watch other stuff on TV to pass time and I made some coffee (it is custom to drink coffee in the afternoon here). Meanwhile, my roommate was showering. After she came out of the bathroom she came to me and said we needed to talk. I was like ok, confused as to what. She came to us, we were sitting on the living room floor since the couch was too far away from the coffee table and she told me that in the future that I need to tell her when my friend is coming since she has stuff to do outside of college (still unclear as to what), that this ruined her plans and that I need to tell our landlord my friend is staying over. I was like, I told you, I remeber that, and I told you she would sleep over, you were fine with it, the plus one night wasn't planned, but I can't let my friend sleep on the street and our contract says nothing about me or her for that matter letting a friend sleep over. She was like, yeah, I understand that you didn't plan that, but I didn't see what you said about her coming here on Saturday as that, and I was like what, I couldn't be clearer and then she just left to go back into her room.

Soon after, my friend and I went for a walk to discuss the situation and to see if it was just me. We came back, watched the show we planned and when to sleep in my room. We got up the next morning and steered clear of the appartment for the day as to not disturb my roommate. We came after she went to bed and went to sleep ourselves.

In the morning, Monday, I got up to get milk and breakfast for me and my friend since my roommate has her own diet because she has a sensitive stomach so I didn't get anything for her, considering that. We said hi and she went to her room. My friend came out of my room and we sat down to eat and when my roommate came out of her room she said hello, but my roommate ignored, picked her breakfast and went back to the room, which is odd considering she usually eats it at the table and that table is fit for six people, maybe more and her spot was still free, on the other side of us. She left without saying goodbye and she didn't say a single word to me after that first good morning.

I wanted to talk to her about the situation this afternoon after we both come back from the classes. I would have done so earlier, but I didn't want to have an audience aka my friend since this is a problem between my roommate and me.

She came back late, but she didn't even try to say a word to me at all since that morning and I don't want to leave this unresolved, but it's late and I have classes so I was thinking about leaving her a letter to read, but I also feel like I did something wrong, I just don't know what.

So, am I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[bagmanufacturerusa]

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[cannibalcaprine]

what is the world seems very geiger but like what’s the setting is the whole world mechanical or just this weird section 

is there any outside world 

what sort of currency is used

are the groups their human/humanoids

how big are the  three cults 

are there any major groups outside them

is the game based around like herding your flock since your a shepherd 

can i have a pet vent dog

are there major groups besides the big cults 

what sort of food do the cults eat

at the moment, the world that we see is largely oceanic, with massive tower-like structures dotting the surface. these are large enough to extend all the way down. they may have been power generators, digital storage, manufacturing plants, but whatever they used to be have long broken down, overgrown with their biological components and retaken by a sick, basal form of nature

currency comes in many forms, though trinkets like shells, coins, and bolts are most often used. ('trinkets' is also what they'll be called mechanically)

eeeeehh? there's some genetic descendants of humanity, Lambthing has 38% human-specific DNA, but pureblooded humans are long, long extinct. the human bodyplan has reevolved and been reused for augmented designs many, many times over, though

the three cults are the singular organizational powers, at least among the towers you'll visit in-game. they decide the laws, the customs, the culture, but if i'm being entirely frank, this doesn't really matter to the average sophont? it's like being some farmer in medieval europe: you don't really care all that much about who's in power, it's just a different king to pay taxes to

there probably are externally, but most forces that oppose them internally will end up squashed

i was actually considering that as a Bountiful Flesh boon, domesticating things rain world-style. . .

depends on the cult! most sophonts are gonna hunt, scavenge, farm, or fish for their own food, but each cult does have a "customary" food, in some sense. the Worm God's followers may parasitize themselves, with lower members being blood-bags for the hemophagic higher members. the machine cult's followers prefer wines, juices, anything you can put through a press. the Bountiful Flesh followers absolutely adore ritual cannibalism.

do keep in mind that these may be subject to change :D

[mariacallous]

From Turkey to Armenia, Uzbekistan to Ukraine, manti are a popular comfort food found in Jewish and non-Jewish communities across Central Asia and Eastern Europe. As an ancient form of dumpling, some trace manti’s origins back to the 1300s during the Mongol Empire in Turkey, while others credit the dish as a gift of the Silk Road; notably, Uyghurs from Northwest China have been making a version of bread prepared in steam known as “mantau” for centuries. Regardless of their origin, manti traveled East toward Korea, West towards the Caucuses and everywhere in between. 

While their popularity spans continents, their shapes and styles differ by region. In Turkey they’re often formed into small pyramid-like pouches, sometimes baked and simmered, sometimes boiled, often topped with yogurt, and served in a tomato-based broth or sauce. On the other hand, the ancient Bukharian Jewish community in Central Asia are known for large intricately shaped manti, generously filled with meat and always steamed — never boiled. There’s also a dairy version of Bukharian manti that’s filled with cheese and served with yogurt. 

Like many celebratory old-world foods, these hand-formed dumplings take a bit of time and effort to prepare, making them ideal for calling a helping hand into the kitchen. Historically, this dish was even a communal activity. While making homemade dumpling dough can be deeply satisfying, you can simplify the manti-making process by using store-bought wonton wrappers – a tip I happily discovered in Gabrielle Hamilton’s “Prune” cookbook. Given the labor, whether it’s with store-bought or homemade wrappers, when I make manti I often double the recipe, freezing extras for future enjoyment. 

Let me preemptively warn you, this manti recipe may not look or taste like the manti you’re familiar with. After exploring different shapes, sizes and toppings, my preference is for smaller-sized manti shaped into pouches. I serve mine in a Turkic-inspired brothy tomato sauce topped with fresh herbs and a sprinkle of lemony sumac; the sweet and sour savoriness of the caramelized tomato complements the heartiness of the delicate beef-filled manti. I’ve provided directions for steaming or boiling your manti, depending on your preferred technique. If you find yourself hoping for a larger-sized manti, the dough can be filled and shaped according to your family’s custom. Whether you stick to the recipe as written or try something more traditional to you, the joy of manti lies not in their size or shape, but in their pillowy soft tenderness, and the inherent comfort they bring to every table.

Notes:

This recipe makes 48 dumplings. 

I use Diamond brand kosher salt for this recipe, if using Morton’s or sea salt use ⅓ less.

The tomato broth (Steps 4-7) can be made several days in advance and reheated as needed. 

You can freeze your shaped manti (homemade or with wonton wrappers) before cooking on a baking sheet. Once the manti are frozen, transfer them to a Ziploc bag or airtight container. They can be cooked from frozen the same way as they are from fresh.

[gtlurker]

Finally chapter six of inhuman, unfortunately I couldn't find a way to squeeze any g/t into this chapter, but, new perspective and new characters are introduced in this new addition, enjoy!

Chapter six,

Damien

Im three hours into the thirteen hour flight from venice italy to vancouver canada, and each passing second im more tempted to knock out the pilot, take the wheel and break most of the air traffic safety rules.

It took me ten years to find my sister, and I hired the two most idiotic men to retrieve her. I would've done it myself if it weren't for the fact that I was in Europe when I got the notification that she was still in the same town we grew up in.

I knew my father wasn't an idiot when it came to where he put his labs, he strategically places them in old worn abandoned buildings so that they're not on the government's radar. Unfortunately for him, I'm not as stupid as the government and was able to find isabelle.

Granted it took me ten years, but I know for a fact that she's still alive and not too injured. I know for a fact that she's going to have a lot of changes due to the unique nature of our fathers experiments, but it won't be anything I cant reverse.

I was seventeen when Isabelle was taken to the lab. My mother and father came home that day to tell me about what they had done, and informed me that I was going to be taken there as well. Not for the same reason as my sister though, they wanted me to start visiting the labs so I could learn what I would be in charge of after they passed. Of course when I protested their reaction was not what i was expecting. Instead of the usual violence and threats on my life, they said something a hundred times worse.

They had threatened to use Isabelle for tests that the subjects were not meant to survive.

With how They had gone into detail about the different ways they could make her death slower and more agonizing, I knew I didn't have much of a choice but to force other innocent children into the same sick fate that hundreds have been put through due to my parents. In a way I'm just as bad as they are, I couldn't find another way to save my sister and instead hurt dozens of others just like her, And I don't even know if I truly saved her at all.

Nine more hours into the flight I'm tempted to just grab a parachute and jump out of the plane window.

I refrain however, I don't think the other passengers would appreciate a sudden loss of pressure in the cabin. The last hour of the flight Is always the longest and I feel like now Is worse than ever.

I sigh for what feels like the millionth time since I boarded the plane, and I only sigh louder when the baby I'm sitting ten seats in front of starts wailing once again. Anyone who brings a baby on a plane should at least have the decency to be able to keep it quiet. Yet another sigh escapes my lips as I unbuckle my seatbelt and make my way over to the women holding the baby, my expression carefully folded into an expression that masks the annoyance that is building inside my core.

Once I reach her seat, and see the baby's little face scrunched up with tears running down his face, alongside a clearly exhausted mother who looks like she hasn't gotten a wink of sleep in the last week. I tap her shoulder and her eyes meet mine, the dark circles under her eyes abundantly clear. “Excuse me miss, I don't mean to be rude,” I tell her in my customer service, and I hold out the small blue stuffed bear that I keep with me for situations like this, “but would your child want this to help him calm down?” the baby in question stops its blubbering and begins to make grabby hands at the toy, and his mother accepts the toy with a grateful smile and I leave before she can initiate any small talk.

Once the plane has landed, I waste no time grabbing my bags and calling a taxi to take me to the very odd address I was given by the idiots I hired. Since I was in such a rush to leave Italy, I only packed three bags to take with me. One for essentials, one for my equipment, and one for Isabelle's things that I managed to get my hands on after my parents threw them all out. The cab driver is a young man in his twenties, he seems tired and based on his expression I assume he's not really one of those chatty drivers i hate.

I lean back and pull out my phone, a simple black burner phone that I use to contact anyone involved in my less than legal life. After scrolling through the seemingly never ending list of contacts before finally coming across the one i need. I click the call button and bring the phone to my ear. Once I hear the voice on the other end of the phone, I speak before they have a chance to take a breath. “You have twenty minutes.”

[verymentalitydeer]

The Affairs Of Sally Bowles pt.1 (the history)

note: this is all head cannon and infers from the very little we know about sally. i tried to make out what her past would be, i’ve been thinking about making this for a WHILE. so i hope you know that this isn’t cannon AT. ALL. but if you have an issue with my own story i ask you to please write your own!!!! i’d adore seeing it

Sally Bowles, from what we know is an english singer at the Kit Kat Club. She was born in Kent, England during the 1910’s. In her life she seemed to have many different faces to put on and people to pretend to be. After finding out one of her more rebellious personalities that she was hiding, her mother sent her to a nunnery in France. Sally lived there for the remainder of her teen years, though she was incredibly bored throughout. She was STRIVING for a way out, and after a few months she found it. A mission trip was held by the nuns, the mission tripe contained a trip to all over europe. Ecstatically, Sally signed up. She was ready to see the world, to have the excitement in her life that she was starving for. But, as Sally would soon find out, the trip was ultimately extremely BORING. One night, when they landed in Antwerp, Belgium. Her, and the group of girls who also went on the trip, settled in a small hotel near a train station. Thoughts stirred in Sally’s mind, about how she needed to leave, how she needed to live her life. That night she picked up her bags and ran off to the station. Sally paid with money that was given to her for the trip to get on a train, any train, that could take her away. That train fatefully lead her to the city of Berlin, Germany.

She was all alone there, but hopeful and giddy. She wandered around the streets for a few days before meeting a prostitute named Elsie. Elsie was 18 with short brown hair and light makeup, her thin figure sauntered down the streets looking for customers at times. Elsie took in Sally in the whore house, not as a worker, but just so she had some shelter. Elsie also worked at a (at the time) small and indie night club called the Kit Kat Club. There, Sally found her love of performing. Which, Elsie encouraged! Elsie was like a best friend to Sally, and maybe a little more by how Sally would flush anytime Elsie would call her her ‘liebling’. Though, a week after sally’s 18th birthday, Elsie passed from a tumor in her brain. Elsie’s funeral was solemn and short, mainly cause no one had enough money to make it a good funeral. Her family came, looking over her tombstone in disgust. Sally was heartbroken, but she swore that Elsie was the happiest she’s been. Sally realized that Elsie lived a life of excitement, a life of whatever she wanted. Where even after she died, she was content. from then on, Sally would live her life in the glitz and glamor.

1/3

[astralfuchs]

Given how “unique” a Miku concert would be I’m surprised Crypton themselves didn’t send some team members or equipment personally to make sure things are set up right bc other than some performers that might hide their face/wear disguises idk how many usual concert locations have something prepped for “holo” projections compared to Japan and their Vtuber boom (although I’d rather buy a plushie from a booth but hopefully at least the theatres would have good sound quality)

Sucks for any workers scrambling and getting hate/hope it doesn’t affect the sales of any other indie ppl performing their concerts

The weird thing is it worked before. I went to miku Expo 2018 in cologne and 2020 in Berlin. Both times it was an actual hologram concert with the same band as magical Mirai. Neither of these two locations had a concert like this before, I'm pretty sure. All of the equipment must've been toured around with thew Miku Expo crew. Going against advertising and expectations (basically all of these concerts, and like all of them in recent years were holographic) without notifying buyers beforehand and also not even afterwards when people keep asking is, to put it lightly, customer unfriendly at best and a scam at worst.

I arrived a bit late in 2018 since I only had standard so I don't know how it was there, but in 2020 people went around giving out free stickers and badges, or general stuff they got from other miku events. One of them seemed to be a huge meiko fan so when she gifted me something I gave her the meiko badge I got from the random gacha button bags. Stuff like that really made it feel like a community coming together, so reading that giving out badges, stickers, etc. wasn't allowed this year, even for people who specifically got an okay from cfm and also got their stuff stolen from is surreal.

I had vip in 2020 and as far as I know everyone got their vip merchandise, which doesn't seem to be the case this year, which makes no sense because you would know how many people at this location have the vip ticket. Another thing I read is that vip ticket holders were supposed to be let in earlier for merchandise and the concert hall but it didn't happen, which also worked flawlessly before in my experience.

Merchandise being not enough for everyone is sadly not new, I was in line for it in 2018 and when I was three people away the store people shouted they were all sold out, which was very much a bummer but I thankfully bought the penlight and t-shirt beforehand in the online store so it wasn't too bad for me and as I said I was quite late to the so definitely in the latter half of the people that got in. Still should've been more but I would chalk it up to being the first concert in Europe and them not having expected such a huge crowd maybe. How this is still the case 6 years later and in America where there were concerts way before 2018 is beyond me.

I don't know if this is because of crunchyroll (it probably is tho) but I can't say cfm is innocent either since they partnered with them and it's their job to ensure everything is up to standard, which clearly didn't happen.

For me, I was really happy to hear there was going to be a Europe one again, especially since I really loved it, it is such a magical experience so the last year's being online only made me super sad since it isn't the same in the slightest, but seeing it's also partnered with crunchyroll I decided against it. It's because I loved it so much that it really saddens me to see what is currently going on (also probably why I wrote so much, very sorry). Miku Expo is one of the best, magical and insane events you can go to as a vocaloid/piaproloid fan and I wish for all fans, people who've been in the Fandom longer and already have been to Miku Expo, and newer fans that didn't have the chance yet, to have that same experience but this is not it. This being someone's first miku expo experience is just a sad thing to think about considering what a massive downgrade the experience is. I hope there will be official statements soon and that the people who are currently experiencing it still have a good time.