#Decides to Cash In and Make Money Selling Support Items While She's There

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 6

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more

Even though you and Ransom have started talking again, you don’t fully trust him like before. He could have warned you about his family’s plans for you.

If he claims he can't escape from his parents' grasp, you find it hard to believe, knowing how Ransom will stop at nothing to get what he wants. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s bribed people.

This time, you will stay on guard. At least you’ve got the pen drive with you. It’s your insurance in case someone tries to frame you again.

After Ransom left your apartment, you continued packing up all your things. Being a minimalist, you don’t have a lot of stuff, which is helpful. You quickly gather your essential belongings, load them into your car, and leave the city to return to your hometown.

🏙️🏙️🏙️🏙️🏙️

In the small town, everyone drives the same type of SUV. So, when your red Lamborghini enters the town, it catches everyone's eye. People are amazed, but there’s also a hint of jealousy, especially from Natasha. She grits her teeth when she sees you flaunting your wealth.

Before heading back to your father’s house, you stop at the pawn shop where you sold your Rolex.

You walk into the store and see Mr. Rogers carefully examining a pearl necklace while Steve talks to another customer. You clear your throat to get their attention.

Mr. Rogers looks up and says, “Yes? Oh, Tom’s daughter. I heard you went back to the city.”

You bristle slightly, realizing every move you make is a topic in this town. “I decided to stay a while to take care of my father. I’m here to buy back the watch I sold previously.” You show him a stack of cash.

“I’m willing to pay more,” you add, placing the money on the counter with a firm expression.

Mr. Rogers nods, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the cash.

Mr. Rogers was impressed with you. “It’s alright. I won’t ask you for more. Wait a second, I’ll get your watch.” Then he called his son, “Steve, could you accompany Y/N?”

'No, don’t leave me,' you thought. There was an awkward moment, but Steve followed what his father said.

He nodded at you, and you did the same. While waiting, you took a good look at him. He looked different, taller, and had put on some muscle. But one thing that stayed the same was the pencil he always kept on his right ear. He’s an artist and always draws, which is why he keeps a pencil nearby.

“Are you still drawing?” you asked.

Steve never thought you would want to talk to him. “Sometimes.”

“You should tell the truth to your dad,” you said.

“The truth?” Steve looked puzzled.

“Your dream of becoming an artist,” you clarified.

Steve widened his eyes, surprised that you remembered.

“Speak up. That’s what I did after I left this town, and everything opened up for me,” you said, then continued, "Not that I care."

Before Steve could respond, his dad appeared with the watch. “Here’s your watch.”

The Rolex, the first luxurious item you ever bought with your own money, was back in your hand. It had been a gamble to sell it, but it was a promise to yourself that you would find a way to get it back.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely. Then you left the store without looking back.

After you left, Steve continued to stare at the door, even though your car was no longer in front of the store. Something you said had ignited a fire in him. He turned to his dad. “I want to say something.”

📄📄📄📄📄

You drove back home, the familiar sights and sounds of your small town easing some of the tension from your shoulders. Unexpectedly, Bucky's car was also there when you arrived.

Tom's face brightened when he heard the car, and he eagerly waited at the front door, greeting you warmly as you entered the house.

“Are you exhausted? Do you want something to eat?” Tom asked with concern, guiding you towards the dining table.

You glanced over and saw Bucky, but you chose to ignore him for the moment. On the table, there were scattered papers and a calculator, indicating some sort of ongoing work.

Tom let out a sigh, gesturing towards the mess, “Ah, it’s messy. I’m helping Bucky with the accounting, although I’m not very good at this.”

Then an idea seemed to strike him. Your father looked at you with hopeful anticipation, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, his gaze shifting to Bucky, “Maybe she could be a temporary auditor at your hotel.”

You and Bucky locked eyes, a mix of surprise and hesitation passing between you. What was this? You had just returned home, and now your dad was suggesting that you help the person who had once bullied you?

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[madefate-a]

( panfandom superhero verse. ) 

name. camila soltero 

age. 26

occupation. engineer / mechanic / self employed support specialist. 

power. repair of small objects. ( very few know, though! ) 

quick & dirty bio. word has it that there’s a powerful technopath working behind the scenes of the super powered world. and cami’s totally fine with that rumor working its way to the mill, if it brings paying clients to her door. she’s always been more invested in her work than in silly things like reputations, or ever like, world saving or whatever. after all, she’s good at what she does -- working with things, taking them apart and putting them together and creating something entirely new. it wasn’t very hard to translate that to the kinds of items that help out super powered amongst the world’s population, but she still reserves time to work on pet projects -- namely, bikes and cars. and as much as she’ll deny it to her grave, she does sometimes ( often, usually ) play mom to her stupidly heroic friends. her soft spot’s decidedly less hidden than her actually ability. 

[diamond-coral]

The Heist- Part One

dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

You were just supposed to rob a government official’s apartment. Not Captain America’s. Right?

Series Warnings: Dark, Rape/Non-Con, kidnapping, strip club stuff, swearing

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of a strip club, swearing, committing crime ig, nothing much really.

You sure as hell weren’t a criminal. Well- your record would say otherwise, but it’s not like this was your dream profession. You wouldn’t call yourself a criminal. More of a Walmart Robin Hood; stealing from the rich and giving too...well...yourself. Fine. You were a criminal. But a girl had to pay the bills. At least you got to stick it to the man, right?

You let out a sigh while evaluating your life choices. It wasn’t every little girl’s dream to be breaking into houses and apartments for some cash or valuable possessions. Technically, you were an artist by day, going to art school in New York, living the aesthetically pleasing dream of student loans and a sky-high rent that your shifts at the strip club were hardly making a dent in. But hey, at least one time you got to dance for Captain America, even if he was reluctant and a bit shy. You were certain very few women could say the same.

And that’s how you found yourself in the elevator of a cozy apartment complex, traveling upward toward your new objective. Bella, your roommate, literal partner in crime, and the only good thing that came out of socializing with your coworkers at the club, had given you a new lead of a man who was supposedly loaded and yet lived in an accessible and modest living space. He was single, and worked some sort of political job that left his apartment constantly vacant, specifically on the day you planned for your heist. A perfect target. Some corrupt government worker who wanted to live a ‘low profile life’ yet was dumb enough to settle down in a complex who’s only security was a couple cameras and guards. Bella would easily be able to freeze the frames on the cameras for an hour, giving security the false pretense that the hallways were empty and giving you the perfect window to snatch some fancy watches and some cash.

The elevator doors opened right as you received a text message from Bella.

Cameras taken care of. Now go pay our rent ;)

You exited the elevator only to collide with a blonde woman carrying a laundry basket.

“Oh god, I’m so clumsy I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed while bending down to pick up the clothes that had fallen out of the basket.

You bent down to help her collect her clothing. “No, I’m so sorry! That was completely my fault!” You offered a smile as you stood back up, but was met with a calculating gaze as she studied you.

“I’m sorry, are you new around here?” She seemed to catch herself and her demeanor changed. “It’s just, I’ve never seen you around here before.” She gave  a small smile.

“Oh ,I’m just a girlfriend!” you replied. “Just stopping by.”

“Are you Steve’s girlfriend?” she asked while gesturing to the door at the end of the hallway with her head. It was your target’s door. So the political scumbag’s name was Steve. Lovely. “I don’t think he’s home right now.”

Your brain churned out a fast response. “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately for me, he’s always working. I just left my purse, and he gave me his keys to stop by and pick it up.”

“Well I’m just glad he’s found someone with all his work. I know it’s been hard for him.”

The two of you exchanged one last goodbye smile before she stepped into the elevator.

“I’m Sharon by the way. And you are...?”

“Olivia,” you replied, the fake name came out as a second nature as the elevator doors closed.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. 

“Well that could’ve gone worse,” you mutter to yourself as you approach the door at the end of the hallway.

You slipped the lock picker out of your sleeve before checking your surroundings cautiously. A minute after proceeding to insert the pick into the lock, a soft click resounded from the wooden door, and it easily swung open with a turn of the knob.

As you entered through the doorway, you took into account the little bits of vintage decoration that was dispersed amongst more modern furniture. A small Uncle Sam poster, a couple of war antiques, and some old photos with figures that remained unrecognizable in the distance. This government official seemed to have fought either in World War II or Vietnam, probably making him old. You shuddered at the fact you’d called yourself his girlfriend, but Sharon hadn’t seemed to bat an eye. Either way, you didn’t care for antiques, as much as they would have sold for a hefty price. They were probably personal to him and as you walked around, you realized there were quite a few personal items that were no use for you. As you walked into the bedroom a glint from the dresser caught your eyes, and your chest filled with giddiness and excitement as you neared. Three beautiful watches were on display under the mirror that sat atop the dresser. A Cartier that would probably sell for 8,000, a Rolex that would go for 10,000 easily, and then a beautiful older Rolex. With careful hands you snatched up the two newer watches and placed them into the small knapsack you’d been carrying. After consideration, you decided to leave the older one as it probably held a sentimental value and wouldn’t give you as much money as the other two.

You walked around some more, occasionally picking up valuables like solid gold tie clips and little pieces of Stark technology, which you were surprised he had. You had to be filthy rich to support, much less afford, anything made by that war profiteer. You picked up stashes of cash lying around, which seemed to be a lot. This man definitely seemed to use cash more than credit card which wasn’t as common around people your age. As you were rummaging around his study for any pieces of fine art (which you had already gotten two of) or government documents you could sell on the black market, you knocked over a picture frame which had landed on a file that read CLASSIFIED in red letters...right under the six letters that spelled S.H.I.E.L.D. This fucker was a S.H.I.E.L.D official. You were gonna kill Bella for the vague intel.

“Shit I need to get out of here,” you mumbled. Senators and representatives were fine targets, all usually too old and skeevy for you to care about, but a S.H.I.E.L.D. official was dangerous and could get you somewhere worse than jail. Hell, you could’ve accidentally broken into Nick Fury’s place. You were screwed. So screwed. And you needed to get the hell out of this apartment. As you went to put the picture back, you glanced at it, before doing a double take and squinting at it in the dark room. Oh. This was much worse than accidentally breaking into Nick Fury’s place.

The two men laughing with an arm around each other in war uniforms with an arm around one another was innocent enough until you could finally make out their faces. Steve Rogers an easy enough one to make out, especially considering you were on his lap a couple weeks ago, and James Buchanan Barnes looked practically unrecognizable without a murderous glare on his face.

“No,” you muttered before quickly placing the picture back down. 

You once again assessed your surroundings. It all made sense. The subtle 1940’s vibe, the war antiques. Bella had said he did work for the government and that wasn’t a lie. In the corner of the room you spotted a large circular leather case that was partially unzipped. Through the slight opening of the brown leather, the red, blue, and glinting bright silver was unmistakable.

“No, no, no, fuck,” you muttered frantically as you checked your watch. You still had 38 minutes before the security cameras in the hall unfroze. That was enough time to put everything you stole back. You’d much rather work open to close shifts at the club every day for three months straight than get fucked over by Captain Fucking America. 

You scrambled out of the study, moving to the living room first to put back the authentic paintings. You grabbed a stool from the high bar counter in the kitchen so you could rehang the medium sized work of art. Your mind was racing. This had to be karma for all the horrible shit you’d done in the past. God decided he had enough of your delinquent shenanigans and set you marching straight into the arms of America’s righteous hero. As you finished hanging the painting you spun around on your heel, completely forgetting you were on a wobbly wooden stool. Your heart stopped for a moment before you regained your footing. Carefully climbing down the stool, you almost missed the subtle turn of a lock coming from the door.

Oh you were so done for. Your limbs flew everywhere as you scrambled to the bedroom, sliding under the bed right as you heard the door open. The rumble of Steve Roger’s voice was clear as he talked on the phone and it cut through the walls from the living room.

“Well yea Buck, obviously Tony’s gonna be a little cold toward you. Not that I blame him. I’m just thankful he didn’t start an entire civil war over it. I guess it’s just a good thing we’re not war criminals.” He let out a chuckle before pausing. “Hey Buck? Yeah. I’m gonna have to call you back.” Another pause and you heard some rummaging around. “Why? I think my apartment was just broken into. I gotta go down to security. Yeah, thanks bud.” 

Steve hung up and you heard some angry muttering as he walked into his room. From under the bed you saw his tennis shoes and dark jeans as he paced at the foot of the bed. You covered your mouth to stop your anxious breathing, afraid he’d hear you from your hiding spot. 

The few minutes he spent in his room felt like eternity before he stomped out and you heard the opening and closing of another door as he exited the apartment. You crawl out from under the bed, your head spinning as you attempted to think of a way out of your predicament.

The window.

Quickly and quietly, you stood up and made your way to his bedroom window, looking out for a fire escape and letting out an annoyed huff when you saw none.

‘Maybe there’s one for the living room window,’ your brain chimed.

You rushed to the living room, scooping up the two watches and your empty knapsack on your way, and almost screamed with joy at the sight of the fire escape next to the window. Your fingers curled around the bottom of it and give it a sharp tug up, opening it just enough for you to squeeze through. 

Just as you were about to lift your leg over the ledge and climb down the stairs to sweet sweet freedom, being able to forget about everything that ever happened tonight, a large hand wrapped around the back of your neck and wrenched you back with such force that you tumbled backwards and landed on your butt.

He was massive. Six feet of pure muscle towered over you as you trembled from your position on the floor. He squatted down, resting his elbows on his knees as he took you in, blue eyes practically cutting through the darkness, and you let out a small whimper.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you stealing is wrong?”

[castielsshield]

Sutton

Title: Sutton (Leave A Message Part 3)

Pairing: Female OC/Sam Winchester

Synopsis: After losing Jess, Sam continues to leave messages on her phone as a coping mechanism. Unbeknownst to Sam, that number has been adopted by another person.

Word Count: 1,871

Warnings: None

Part 2 || Part 4 || Masterpost

— • —

   May 14th, 2006 - 8:13 p.m

    ��“Hi, babe. Dean and I went after a werewolf earlier today. I almost messed up the entire hunt. I had gotten to know the werewolf before we knew she was the monster, so I didn’t shoot her when she came after me. I just stood there and watched her come after me. I couldn’t see her as a monster. I only saw her as the girl I had previously been protecting. I’m sorry, Jess. I wish I had stayed away from you. If I had, you might still be alive. Sure, you would be with someone else, and I would be alone, but at least you would be alive. For that, I’m sorry.”

     May 27, 2006 - 10:18 p.m

     “Hey, Jess. Dean and I pulled over for lunch by the ocean today. It reminded me of the first time you took me to the beach. Do you remember that? I cried when I first stepped into the water and felt the waves. I know you saw, but you pretended not to notice. I don’t think I ever said thanks for that so, thank you, Jess.”

     June 6th, 2006 - 5:29 p.m

     “Hey there, Jess. I wish you were here, babe. I think Dean’s not telling me something. I don’t know what it is, but I’m so worried, and I don’t know what to do or what to say. I need your help, Jess. You were so good at figuring out a way to convince people that it was okay to tell you their secrets. I remember you wouldn’t even tell me what was going on if the other person wasn’t okay with it. I just don’t want Dean to get hurt. I wish I could get your help, Jess. I miss you.”

     June 7th, 2006 - 6:37 p.m

     “Jess, you wouldn’t believe what just happened. Well, maybe you would. Dean ate five burritos at dinner, and now he’s locked in the bathroom. The thing I left you a message about yesterday, how I thought Dean was keeping something important from me, he was just deciding what he wanted to eat five of today. I still wish you were here. I still miss you. I love you, Jess.”

     July 16, 2006 - 7:06 a.m

     “Jess, I don’t know what to do. We found Dad and saved him, but a demon hit us with a tractor-trailer when we were in the Impala. Dad is hurt, but he’s okay. Dean isn’t waking up and the-- the doctors are talking about taking him off of life support. A reaper is after Dean, but I can’t lose him. If Dean’s gone, I’ll only have dad left. Jess, do you remember what I told you about how dad used to treat Dean and me? What if he starts doing that again? What if-- what if dad tells the doctors to let Dean go? God, I wish you were here, babe. I need your help, Jess.”

     July 19, 2006 - 6:32 p.m

     “Jess, dad sold his soul. He’s gone. The last thing dad did was sell his soul so Dean could live. The demon that killed you and mom killed dad too. Jess, I’m losing everybody. What if I lose Dean too? I’m going to kill this damn demon. I’m going to kill it for killing mom and dad and you. I swear, Jess. I swear to you that I will kill this demon. I’ll kill it even if it kills me.”

     July 27th, 2006 - 1:09 a.m

     “Hey, babe. Dean and I hunted down a vampire nest today. I had to kill one as it stared right at me. I hope I never have to kill another one. When it looked at me, it seemed so human. I almost stopped and dropped my machete when it came after me. Its eyes were blue, just like yours. I miss you, Jess. I wish I were back at Stanford with you. I was so close to asking you to marry me, Jess. You would’ve been Mrs. Jessica Winchester. You would’ve been my wife. We would’ve been happy together. I would’ve been happy.”

     Those were the types of messages I got for the next couple of months. At first, I didn’t understand a thing about the werewolves or vampires. I especially didn’t know anything about the demons. However, my lack of understanding quickly mutated into motivation, yearning for knowledge. 

     I began reading old lore books. I bought everything from lore on werewolves to lore on angels and demons. I had my own money from selling my art and writing pieces online, so I never had to bring my father into the loop on what I was doing. 

     I would research one type of monster at a time, taking precise, organized notes about it as I read. I wanted to be able to reference the notes years in the future, so I kept the order of the records consistent. 

     The title of the page was the name of the monster, always placed at the top. The middle of the page was the signs and identifiers of that monster, how to kill it placed at the very bottom. On each side of that was a small column about half the size of the body paragraph. The right column was a rough sketch of the monster while the left column was filled with wardings, symbols, sigils, and other items that could be used against the monster.

     As I got farther along in my research, I decided to buy a laptop to help me research more and find signs of monsters around the country. I was also able to make copies of the lore pages in a document, so that will be helpful if I ever need to move around.

     After the message where the man revealed his last name, he began saying where he and his brother were going to ‘hunt’ the next monster. Every time I got a new location on the brothers, I would read up on the latest news articles of the town they were going to. Sure enough, every single time, the lore would match the signs in the town.

     As time went on, I learned more about the people that kill the monsters; Hunters. I learned what they did and how they moved around. I often found hunts around my state and the ones that surround it. Most of the time, I couldn’t hunt the monsters I found, but they still needed to be taken care of. My solution to that: inform other Hunters.

     At first, it was difficult to find other Hunters to pass the information to. But all I needed was one. Alexander Sutton is his name, and he was the key to my own life as a Hunter. 

     I first met Alexander when there was a string of odd killings in my hometown of Clayton, North Carolina. It was the end of February, a bit over a year after I got the first voicemail. I was at the gas station just down the road from my house. My dad was out on business again, and I had felt a need for something sour.

     I placed my sour gummy worms and bottled Coke on the counter, reaching behind me to pull out my wallet. As I twisted to my right, I caught sight of a newspaper headlining murders. I picked up the paper and began reading the first section of the article.

     ‘New Body Found By Police, Signature Matching Murders From Previous Months,’ read the headline. My eyes darted down to the sub-heading, and I inhaled as I read the bolded text. ‘Bodies Found In Clayton, North Carolina Without Their Hearts.’ 

     “Werewolf,” I murmured to myself, wincing as I remembered werewolves eat the hearts of their victims. I tapped the newspaper I was holding, signaling that I wanted to buy it as well. Pulling the cash for my purchases out of my wallet, I handed it to the cashier. He bagged my items and gave me my change. I gave him a tight smile and said, “thank you” before walking out of the building. 

     Before I made it out the door, I heard the man behind me rush forward and toss something light onto the counter. “Keep the change,” he said, pivoting on his heel and heading for the door as well.

     I was following the pale squares of the sidewalk away from the store when I felt a hand grab my shoulder. My body snapped around, and I took a step away from the person behind me. Instinctively, my left hand strayed to my back pocket, where I kept my new silver pocket knife. 

     Looking up, I realized the person who had grabbed me was the same man who stood behind me at the cash register. His eyes flicked to my hand, and he chuckled, taking a small step away from me.

     “Calm down, kiddo. I’m not trying to hurt you.” He leaned against the brick wall at his side, and he looked down at me. “You’re a Hunter.” It was a statement, not a question.

     “I’m more of a researcher, so far, but yes. I’m a Hunter,” I responded, mirroring his actions of leaning against the side of the building. I looked up at him, meeting the intense gaze of his grey eyes. ‘I might be young, but I’m not ignorant,’ I thought to myself.

     I hooked my thumb in the back pocket of my jeans, keeping my other fingers wrapped defensively around the knife. “I take it you’re a Hunter too.”

     “Yes, ma’am.” The man pushed himself off of the wall, extending his hand towards me. “My name is Alexander Sutton. I’ve been a hunter for fifteen years now. I started when I was twelve, so a bit younger than you, I’m guessing.”

     Reaching out, I clasped his hand in mine and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Ashley Whitman, but I go by Ash.” As I pulled away from Alexander, eyes focusing on his once again, I noticed the shock registered on his face. 

     His eyebrows furrowed together as he squinted his eyes. “You said your last name is Whitman?” 

     “Uh, yes. Is something wrong?” I questioned, my head quirking to the side.

     Alexander rubbed his hand down the side of his face as though trying to brush away a thought. “No, nothing’s wrong. I, uh, I just confused your last name with the name of another Hunter. That’s all it is.” He flashed me a grin, using it as an ending to his reassurance. “So, Ash, you seem to know quite a bit about hunting and I’m looking for a partner. Would you like to work on this case together?”

     I considered his offer for a moment before returning his grin with a crooked one of my own. “I don’t know. Would you be able to keep up with me?” 

     At my words, he threw his head back and laughed. Once he had regained his composure, Alexander stepped forward, gripping one of my shoulders in one hand. “I think we’re going to get along just fine. You’ve got potential, kid. You could go far in the hunting world.”

[recurring-polynya]

I know I missed Renji's birthday but if you ever have time, I would absolutely love to see anything about Renji and Orihime's friendship. I always headcanon him as her no.1 weird bakery experiment supporter, but really anything would be great! They just seem like they would be each other's go-to supports and I would love to see your take on them!

Anon, I have no excuse for why this took so long! RenHime BroTP is one of my very favorite things, but I managed to draw a huge blank on this and then I went through two concepts that didn’t work before I managed to hit on one that did. (Also, I did write two other Renji & Orihime stories in the Time of Many Drabbles, one where they make a cake and one where they act out Orihime’s fanfic)

Anyway, I love the Advance Team Arc, please enjoy this Advance Team Arc story about Renji and Orihime trying to cheer Rukia up by going thrifting, ft. the all-time greatest Renji clothing item.

👖   🧥   💀

Orihime was headed outside for lunch, thinking longingly about her curry tuna fish sandwich, when a low, gravelly voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Oi, Inoue. You gotta moment?”

Abarai was leaning up against the wall of the school, his eyes scanning the school yard like he was waiting for a brawl to break out. Abarai reminded Orihime a lot of a guy in a prison movie. Not the guy that masterminded the prison break, but the guy who had the whole prison figured out and knew how to get illicit goods and would help the main guy escape even though they were sort of frenemies. Orihime found him a little bit scary, but in a cool way. They probably didn’t have motorcycles in Soul Society, but if they did, Orihime would bet money that Abarai would ride one.

“Sure!” she announced eagerly, and followed in his shadow as he silently rounded the corner of the building. He moved very quietly for such a big person, unlike Ichigo and Chad, who crashed and thumped wherever they went, especially when they went somewhere together.

“I gotta problem and I’m hopin’ you’ll be able to help me out a little.” Abarai shifted his shoulders a little, obviously uncomfortable in his school uniform.

Orihime knew all about the stresses of the undercover lifestyle. Clearly, he needed someone for an inside job, someone who knew all the subtleties of living a normal human existence. Fortunately for him, Orihime had been a normal human almost her entire life. “How can I be of assistance, Lieutenant Abarai?” she barked.

Abarai blinked at her. “Er. It’s not really mission-related. I need, um, some advice, I guess.”

Orihime set her jaw and tightened her fists. “I am short on life experience, but I have read many magazines. Ask me anything.”

Abarai waved his hands. “No! No! Look, you’re friends with Rukia, right?”

“Yes!” Orihime agreed. That was an easy one.

Abarai nodded quickly, happy to have found some firm footing at last. “The thing is, she’s been taking Ichigo’s vanishing act kinda hard.”

Orihime gave a tiny nod, her fingernails digging into her palms. The truth was, there was a dull, Ichigo-sized ache in her own heart, as well. She couldn’t stop wondering where he was and what he was up to and if he was getting good hearty lunches. She imagined it must be a thousand times worse for Rukia who had come all the way from Soul Society to just to see him.

“She gets real crabby when she’s worried,” Abarai continued on, continuing to scan the grounds, presumably for lurking Rukias. “She’s been getting on me for not having enough spare clothes for my gigai. I wouldn’t usually let her boss me around like this, but I thought it would make her feel better so I told her we could go, ah, shopping.”

“Oh, that’s so nice!” cried Orihime.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a prince. But here’s the thing: Even though Captain Hitsugaya outranks me, I am technically the mission manager, which means I’m in charge of the budget, and I’d really, really like to come out in the black. Matsumoto already conned me out of a significant portion of the petty cash. I don’t think Rukia has a real good handle on human money and I sure as hell don’t. I told Rukia that we should ask one of her friends to come along and she said she’d ask you, and I just was hoping you could help me keep things, y’know, frugal, without making a big deal about it.”

Abarai looked a little sheepish even asking. Orihime remembered the size of Rukia’s house back in Soul Society, the beautiful kimono she had worn once she was no longer a criminal. Orihime knew all about having friends who had more money than you. Her resolve hardened and slammed her fist into her open palm. “A strict budget is no reason not to look your best!” she announced. “You have come to the right person, Lieutenant Abarai! I, Inoue Orihime, Thrifting Champion of Karakura, will help you out!”

Abarai’s face washed over with relief, followed very quickly by confusion. “The what champion?” he echoed.

👖   🧥   💀

“You are a saint, Orihime!” Rukia declared as they marched down the street, arm in arm, Renji trailing grumpily a few paces behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “A gem! I offered to borrow something from Ichigo’s father for him, but this ingrate was having none of it.”

There was some low-pitched muttering from behind them.

Orihime was trying to picture Renji in the pink, ruffled tuxedo shirt Dr. Kurosaki had worn under his lab coat the last time he set Tatsuki’s sprained ankle. “I don’t think Dr. Kurosaki’s style would be quite right for him,” she suggested diplomatically. “I… guess… he’s supposed to be a teenager?”

Rukia heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re correct, as usual.” She craned her head back over her shoulder for a moment. “You owe Orihime an ice cream for this, Lieutenant Hopeless!” She swung her head forward again with a huff. Renji shot Orihime a wink.

Orihime couldn’t quite figure out Rukia and Renji’s exact relationship. Rukia has described Renji as “her friend.” On one hand, she hadn’t said about the shinigami from Ten or Eleven. On the other, she called Renji a lot of rude names and harangued him a lot. Renji had seemed pretty concerned about Rukia when he had pulled Orihime aside that afternoon, but now he was all slouches and scrunchy eyebrows. He reminded Orihime of Ichigo.

Oh! Maybe there was something to that! Maybe Renji was being a grouch on purpose so that Rukia could yell at him and feel like she was yelling at Ichigo. Wow! That was some master-level friendship. Orihime wondered if she should be taking notes.

“Ah, here we are!” she exclaimed, pointing at a little, tucked away shop front.

“What sort of shop is this?” Rukia frowned, examining the cluttered store window.

“It’s a thrift store,” Orihime explained. “People sell old, but well-made clothes to the shop, and they resell them for much cheaper than new clothes. Sometimes you can find really neat vintage, designer things that a rich person only wore a few times and decided they didn’t want. Uryuu likes to look for really ugly things made from nice fabrics and then re-tailor them. I have to modify a lot of my clothes, too, because of-- well, you know.” She gestured vaguely at her chest.

“What a brilliant idea!” Rukia proclaimed. “That’s so practical! Renji, isn’t Orihime a genius?”

“I didn’t come up with the idea,” Orihime mumbled self-consciously.

“Maybe you should open a shop to sell off your brother’s spare kimono,” Renji suggested airily. He was definitely baiting Rukia now, Orihime could see it when she watched for it.

“I should!” Rukia declared, closing her eyes haughtily. “People would probably pay twice just because he wore them!”

Renji just snorted.

👖   🧥   💀

“How about these?” Rukia asked, holding up a pair of jeans. “They look like the kind Ichigo wears.”

Orihime pulled her head out of the rack of pants she was sorting through, and Renji’s head popped up from the next aisle. “Hmm,” she said, tapping her finger on her lips. She knew what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to make Renji feel self-conscious by talking about his body and also, she didn’t want to make it obvious how much time she’d spent looking at Kurosaki’s butt. “Those are skinny jeans. Abarai is a lot, um, more muscular? than Kurosaki-kun? He would do better with a straight leg cut, I think.” She wished Uryuu were here. She didn’t know that much about men’s clothes, but she had heard him say that once while lamenting Chad’s tragic commitment to bootleg cuts.

Apparently, Rukia had no such qualms about Renji’s positive body image. “Hear that, Thunder Thighs? This is where all those squats get you.”

If this bothered Renji, he didn’t let it show. “My thighs are majestic, Rukia. Some people enjoy a guy with a little meat on his bones, for your information.”

Rukia laughed then, a sharp, amused guffaw, almost a cackle. Orihime looked up suddenly. She was sure she’d heard Rukia laugh before, but it had been a high-pitched giggle, a girlish titter. There was a gleam in the shorter woman’s eyes, and at first, Orihime thought she was being mean to Abarai, but when she glanced at him, his eyes were twinkling and he had a slight smile on his face.

Orihime got the sudden sense that she was interrupting something, although she wasn’t sure how you could interrupt someone making fun of someone else. She ducked her head and focused on rifling through the rack of pants in front of her. “How about these?” she asked, holding up a likely candidate.

“Those look pretty worn out,” Renji frowned.

“They’re distressed, Renji,” Rukia explained pompously. “It’s human fashion. They come that way. It presents the illusion of leading a rough and tough, adventurous lifestyle, even for fancy boys like you.”

“Rukia,” Renji scolded her. “Members of the Sixth Company do not walk around with their knees on display, for anyone to see.”

Rukia snorted, and Orihime suspected they were making yet another inside joke. “How’s he gonna find out? And if he does, you can just tell him you fell down the stairs, he would definitely believe that.”

“Er, here’s another pair without any holes,” Orihime offered. “They’re black.” Uryuu also had a lot of opinions on black jeans, but she was pretty sure Renji could pull them off.

“Thank you, Inoue,” Renji said, extra-graciously, reaching over the rack to accept them.

“You better try them both on!” Rukia yelled in her bossy voice. “I demand to see the forbidden knees!”

“Whatever, you’ve seen ‘em, before,” Renji muttered, but he was still smiling.

👖   🧥   💀

“Hey, Inoue!”

Orihime ducked past a rack of sweatervests, to where Renji was contemplating a leather jacket.

“Do humans still wear stuff like this? I know they were pretty popular a few decades ago.”

“Oh, yes,” Orihime agreed. “It’s a timeless look.”

Renji looked mildly shocked, but happy.

“That’s a really nice one,” Orihime added. “You should try it on.”

Renji didn’t seem like he needed a lot of encouragement to slip it over his shoulders. “I had a roommate who had one of these,” he admitted. “They look pretty dumb over a shihakushou, but Iba has never once let looking like a moron slow him down.” He grinned. “I was jealous as hell of it.”

Orihime clapped her hands. “Oh, Abarai, it looks so good on you!” It wasn’t even an exaggeration. It was black, a classic motorcycle cut, and it fit him perfectly. Orihime amended her mental movie casting of Renji: in a jacket like that, he could definitely be the protagonist of an American motorcycle movie, flicking cigarettes into the gutter and leaving a broken-hearted girl pining after him after he got run out of town for Raising Too Much Hell.

“Is it expensive?” Renji asked, holding out the sleeve with the price tag. “I don’t know what a jacket is supposed to cost.”

“It’s a very practical wardrobe staple,” Orihime advised. “Especially this time of year. It’s just starting to be jacket weather, and this will carry you through until winter, unless we have an especially cold one.” She checked the tag. “Leather jackets aren’t cheap, but this is a very good value. If you can afford it, I think it’s worth it.”

“I think I can make it work,” Renji murmured, obviously doing a bit of mental math.

“Hey, Abarai,” Orihime said, leaning forward, and keeping her voice low.

“Eh?”

“Is it going the way you planned? Do you think we’re cheering Rukia up?”

Renji opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I think we at least took her mind off him for a bit. What do you think?”

Orihime contemplated. “She seems like she’s having a good time. I think she liked looking at your butt when you were trying on pants.” Renji raised a skeptical eyebrow. To be fair, Abarai had a very nice butt. Orihime was pretty sure she still preferred Kurosaki’s butt, but it hadn’t exactly been a trial. “On the other hand, she does yell at you a lot,” Orihime said quickly. “She’s very difficult to read.”

“Yeah, I know. It takes some practice,” Renji replied. “And she hasn’t been yelling at me. You haven’t begun to see Rukia yelling at me.” He rubbed his chin. “I think we’re doing a good job. Thanks, Inoue! I couldn’t have pulled this off on my own.”

Orihime blushed. “Oh, I haven’t really done anything!”

“I think you und--”

Orihime never found out what Renji was going to say, because Rukia came skidding into the coat aisle. She was wearing a denim vest, a feather boa, and a cowboy hat, and clutching something in her hands. “Hey! Hey, Renji! Renji, I just fou...nd…” She trailed off as her eyes scanned Abarai up and down, lingering on the leather jacket. Her mouth dropped open a little.

Orihime’s eyes darted to Renji, who looked paralyzed by this development. His hand went to his hair self-consciously, his fingers getting caught in his bandana awkwardly.

If Orihime had felt like a third wheel up until this point, she realized that sometimes bicycles can be very hard to ride if you aren’t used to them, and third wheels are helpful when you’re in danger of tipping over and crashing. “Rukia, look at the jacket Renji found! He’s being waffley! Help me convince him to get it!”

Rukia came back to herself suddenly. “It fits you perfectly, you fool! Listen to Orihime.”

“I dunno,” Renji drawled, having pulled his act together as well. “It’s kinda expensive.” He started to grab another coat off the rack. It was tweed and had elbow patches. “Might keep looking for a bit.”

“No!” Rukia commanded, and Renji’s hand reflexively dropped the hanger like he’d just touched something hot. Rukia cleared her throat self-consciously. “Speaking of things that are non-negotiable, look what I found for you!!” With a flourish, she unfurled the bundle in her hands, which happened to be a t-shirt.

At first, Orihime had no idea what she was looking at. Obviously, it was a t-shirt. If she had to guess, it had been printed by a garage band full of teens that played a lot of covers and had to bum rides to their gigs. There was a drippy looking skull and some words in English. It was objectively terrible. But in a charming way.

“I love it!” Renji shouted, with far too much enthusiasm. “I don’t read English very well, though, what does it say?”

“I don’t either,” Rukia admitted. “I think this says ‘red’, though.”

“It says ‘red pineapple,’” Orihime supplied. They had just finished the unit on fruits and vegetables in English class. She had gotten a 100 on the test.

Renji and Rukia both burst into gales of laughter.

“How much is it?” Renji wheezed. “I’ll pay a million kan for it.”

“They use yen here, you buffoon,” Rukia gasped. “It’s got an orange sticker, what does that mean?”

“That means it’s on special clearance,” Orihime explained, scanning the chart hung on the wall. “100 yen.”

“Ha, ha, that’s cheap! It’s mine!”

“You were skeptical,” Rukia lectured, wagging a finger, “But I told you, didn’t I, Renji? Orihime knows what she’s doing.”

Renji wiped a tear away from his eye. “Double ice cream for Orihime,” he agreed. “What would we do without her?”

Orihime’s face felt very hot. She waved her hands frantically. “Really, I didn’t--!”

“Also, remind me what ice cream is again.”

“You dummy!”

Orihime stopped protesting. Anyone who didn’t know what ice cream was definitely needed her help.

[iwritethat]

Damian Wayne: Expectations

A/N: I have no idea where this came from but I wrote it anyway.

Warnings: Like 1 swear word

>>>>——————————>

Life in Gotham could be difficult, horrific and down right dangerous - so like any other kid who had been living it rough you turned to crime. Firstly creating an alias for yourself equip with fitted black costume as the colour made it easier to move through Gotham at night, it consisted of a hood and bandana to cover your face and conceal your identity. You took up minor theft, so by the time you reached your teenage years you were now a seasoned professional - you had perfected 'slight of hand', acquired fighting skills as well as being very good with disguising yourself to gain entrance to otherwise unreachable areas/events.

Most of the time it was thievery from those who seemed more wealthy, you considered it better to steal from the wealthier population rather than the poor as they would need their money more - though you were a criminal you did have some values intact. This time however was unusual, Catwoman had asked for your assistance on a job, you had met Catwoman before on numerous occasions and got on quite well but you didn't expect her to ever ask for your help, clearly she thought very highly of your abilities.

As a result, after robbing a museum of a cat sculpture you found yourself standing on a rooftop waiting for the promised payment your partner was currently handing you.

"Catwoman, you're going to have to return that." A deep voice sounded from behind you, sending a string of curse words through your head.

Surprise surprise, you turned to find the Dark Knight accompanied by Robin who had joined you on the building.

"Who are you?" The sidekick asked bluntly taking a step toward you.

"Hm, wouldn't you like to know?" You quickly replied, matching the arrogant tone meanwhile Catwoman looked genuinely amused. Your temporary partner, clearly unwilling to simply hand over the stolen goods, began to flirt with Batman - apparently reoccurring behaviour judging by Robins foul expression.

"They do this often then?" You commented, observing the two adults.

"Too often. You still didn't answer my question thief." Robin replied, getting into a defensive stance mirroring his mentor.

"It's (v/n) - thief is just rude birdboy." You earned a growl before he came at you with his katana.

Though you weren't specifically trained in any martial arts, you picked up a thing or two by watching others or brief involvements with street gangs which allowed you to hold your own somehow. Instinctively, you pulled out your daggers to clash with the oncoming blade before kicking Robin in the abdomen and running for it. Successfully, you made your escape without being followed equip with money from Catwoman and so, you made you way 'home'.

.

Over the next few weeks, you had various encounters with Robin which you found peculiar as there were far more dangerous villains out there that required his attention but here he was again - confronting you about the deal you’d just completed, selling off a rich mans watch for a very good price.

"Why are you doing this?" The vigilante asked, arms crossed as he blocked your path.

"Because it pays well? I'm not quite sure what you expected." You sarcastically remarked, scanning the area for an exit.

"You seem like a good person, from my observations you only rob the wealthy. You should use your skills for something more productive." He commented, noticing your glare.

"Uh huh. You're like the same age as me Robin, you can't tell me what I should be doing. Besides, I didn't have the perfect life, I highly doubt you grew up on the streets - you can't exactly get 'productive' with that, I wouldn't have these skills otherwise. So sorry hero! If this was all part of the ‘turning me to the good side’ plan - you've failed." You defended, venom lacing your tone despite the mockery situated there. It was possible that you were a little harsh but you didn't need this at the moment, you had somewhere urgent to be.

Robin released a frustrated sigh meanwhile you put your plan of escape into action, you hopped onto the dumpster to the left, grabbing the metal ladder that lead to the staircase running up the side of the apartments. You slipped through an open window muttering a string of apologies as you ran through the now startled woman's apartment and out the front door, you made your way out of the building through the fire escape.

Checking your surroundings you discovered you'd lost the Batman's sidekick allowing relief to flood your body, though you were growing more suspicious - it shouldn't be that easy to escape Robin but it was almost like he let you get away in all of the times you'd encountered him after your first meeting. You had seen him fight other villains on the news and take them down with a degree of brutality, yet with you things never escalated to that level. Robin was obviously a better fighter and had beat you many times, brought you the police station handcuffed at least twice but never really hurt you.

Shaking your head out of the trance, you entered the old corner shop you'd made your way to and collected the items you needed. Walking over to the familiar owner of the small shop, you were greeted with a warm smile, you'd expect a form of hostility from anyone else considering your vigilante attire but upon visiting the shop on multiple occasions they soon realised you weren't a threat and never caused any trouble.

"Quite a lot of chocolate today (v/n)." The owner commented politely, knowing exactly what it was for.

"Mhm, everyone deserves a treat now and then - even me." You replied handing over some of the recently attained cash and taking the bag of items. Next you intended to return 'home'.

Unbeknownst to you Robin was tailing you, Damian was undeniably curious about you for some strange reason and had decided to follow you this time. After finding out about part of your childhood he wanted to understand why you did this, he assumed you had a home with an unstable background/parent and provided financial support though soon realised he was somewhat mistaken.

Once you left the store now carrying a bag you made your way to an old apartment building, Damian continued to follow, watching from the building opposite as you entered one of the 4th floor apartments. The area of Gotham was quite run down meaning rent wasn't expensive and you managed to maintain clean, suitable living conditions despite your situation.

"(Y/N) is back!" A young voice yelled, filled with excitement as you strolled through, placing the bag on the table.

Damian was puzzled, a small group of young children raced over to your figure which was soon lost in an array of hugs, one jumped on your back another two hugged your sides while others screamed with enjoyment.

"Yeah yeah, I missed you kids too." You happily greeted, kneeling down causing them to slowly release you.

Robin perched in the darkness now connecting everything together, you pulled down your hood and then removed your bandana, revealing your identity. Damian was stunned, the dim lighting highlighted your features perfectly and the smile you wore made you all the more beautiful.

"What did you bring us this time (y/n)?!" One girl chirped, standing hopefully in front of you.

"Hmm, well I brought some fruit, vegetables, soap, toothpaste..." You playfully listed, though the kids were grateful, they weren't exactly ecstatic to hear about the vegetables.

"And chocolate!" You grinned, excitement lacing your voice - pulling it out of the bag, the children immediately erupted into squeals and cheers taking a bar each.

Robin took this opportunity to slip through the window behind you making his presence known with a cough. You froze for a second, knowing that he probably knew you're identity now and where you lived - still, you recovered and turned around, the kids also taking notice of the unfamiliar company.

"Shit!" A child yelled from behind you, panic evident.

"Jake - language!" You whisper yelled, the children now gathered behind you.

"You're in a lot of trouble (v/n)." Robin sternly stated.

To your surprise a young girl quickly stepped in front of you spreading out her arms as a guard.

"No Robin! You can't take her away, I know she's bad sometimes but she only does it for us. Please don't take her to prison!" The girl pleaded, tears welling in her eyes.

Next was the boy, Jake, who ran to your side (chocolate long forgotten) and grabbed your arm.

"She isn't a hero like you or - or Batman but she's not a bad guy!" He claimed, also jumping to your defence.

"Yes! (V/N) is our hero, (y/n) protects us like you protect other people s-so there!" Another girl argued from behind you.

You and Robin were both shocked at the children's reactions, you found it heartwarming that they were defending you before one of their biggest heroes yet weren’t sure if their testimony’s would’ve be valid enough.

"I'm not taking (y/n) to prison." Robin boredly sighed, though he probably should - but you hadn't committed crimes at the same severity as the Penguin and you had legit reasons, so he took the opportunity to persuade you to take a more legal route.

Upon hearing Robin's assurance, the children calmed themselves dissipating into the apartment, finding suitable places to watch the scene unfold. You crossed your arms leaning on a nearby counter and looked to Robin expectantly - not having anything to say yourself.

"This is why you do it then?" He inquired, but it came off as more of a statement.

You nodded, observing the 3 children sitting on the couch while others scattered through the apartment.

"I try to take care of them when they need me, I'm pretty sure they live on the streets so I provide for them the best I can when they come to stay. But when they do, I need extra cash - with studying and my job I can just afford rent and the basics for myself. I steal so they don't have to, I want them to grow up 'good' I suppose." Robin listened carefully as he too looked at the children.

Silence.

"So... There you have it bird boy, I grew up on the streets but want them to have a better life than I had. The end." You calmly explained, your tone getting more defensive as you went on.

"You're not what I expected." Robin admitted confidently.

"Oh really? And what did you expect?" You countered, smiling with a challenging hint to your voice.

"It doesn't matter. I think you could be of assistance to me, obtain information and getting into secured areas etc. In exchange I can offer my assistance." The sidekick clearly proposed, observing the consideration dashing across your features.

"...Maybe.”

.

Within the next few weeks that's how it happened, you would assist Robin on select cases and in return he'd bring over extra supplies for any kids that decided to visit. Today was one of those days, you came in from work to find the children swarming around Robin who probably had to leave for patrol. Upon seeing you they rushed over with hugs and "Welcome home!"s before returning to their activities.

"What did you bring them this time Robin?" You curiously greeted, he threw the bag over to you which was effortlessly caught, after looking inside you nodded and placed it on the counter.

Out of gratitude, you made way to Robin and gave him a hug to display such thankfulness as you felt words weren’t quite enough this time.

"Thanks for everything bird boy." You added and pulled away from him.

"You're welcome?" Robin replied, still bewildered due to the sudden contact that it sounded as though he was questioning himself.

"So are you boyfriend and girlfriend now?" One of the girls mischievously inquired appearing out of nowhere.

"Uh - n-no. No." You briskly stuttered knowing you were blushing and attempted to conceal it to the best of your ability.

"(Y/N) is very beautiful but we are not dating." Robin answered in a much less embarrassing manner compared to you. You flushed deeper upon hearing the compliment, of course the sidekick quickly noticed your behaviour causing a smirk to appear.

Robin headed toward the window to leave for his previously mentioned patrol, though the young girl followed him and gently tugged on his cape gaining his attention.

She moved her hand to the side of her mouth so only Robin could hear her whisper "I think you should ask her out!"

"TT, I will." He assured her before disappearing into the night, finding that he’d have to learn to expect the unexpected when it came to your mismatched adopted family.

[tibbinswrites]

Suptober Day 6 - Outfit of the Day

Castiel liked going to the farmer’s market in town held on the first Saturday of each month from May through to October, before it became the daily ‘Christmas market’ in December. Sam would go with him most times but some days, like today, he’d prefer to stay in. Cas mostly went for the local honey; the stall was run by a sunny woman called Lucy in her mid 40s who lived on the outskirts of town with her apiary and she always slipped Castiel an extra jar because he ended up standing there letting her talk about bees for at least 20 minutes.

“You could come and see ’em for yerself, y’know,” she told him with a friendly wink, “I open them to the public some days. There’s a little tunnel and shed there with information of the types of bees I keep. For schoolkids mostly, class trips, y’know on the last Wednesday of the month in the summer. But if you come by sometime I’d let ya in no trouble. And if you’d like to help out, I could always use an extra pair of hands around harvest time.”

“I’d like to,” Cas replied with a wistful smile. “But I work a lot, a lot of trips out of town. I can’t guarantee I’ll be around.”

“Just if you can.” Lucy said, handing him his brown paper bag. “It’s nice to talk to someone around here who actually cares about the world outside of the one they see.”

Dean would say that the woman was flirting with him, he’d nudge Castiel in the ribs, encouraging him to try some kind of line, but Castiel never would. For one thing, he was pretty sure that Lucy wasn’t interested in relationships of any kind. She’d mentioned this once or twice, laughing about being happily single in the way that suggested it was true, rather than the way people often did, trying to cover their loneliness. For another thing, Castiel wasn’t interested. He liked Lucy, would like to consider her a friend, and he very much enjoyed talking with her when she was at her stall. She set up one most days while the market was on, though earlier in the summer, she had no honey.

He bought the honey mostly for Sam, who liked to spread it on toast in the morning before his run. It was more expensive than the squeezy bottles at the supermarket, but Castiel liked to show support for Lucy. Apiaries were a fine hobby in his opinion, and he would like a hive of his own, but until then, it was nice to support a friend.

Lucy sold other things on her stall too; beeswax candles, some scented with different floral or herbal tones. He’d bought one or two of these. He liked to light them in his room at night, just breathing in their fragrance. Everything was in some way bee-related: pencils and erasers, cheap things that Lucy probably bought in bulk from some warehouse, leftovers from the school trips that she could sell on, but there were also some things clearly lovingly made by hand. Beautifully stitched patches, delicately painted teacups, even a few small framed paintings done in watercolour, lace doilies, t-shirts, a few clay sculptures, some knitted items. There were also some larger prints in varying styles done and donated to her by local artists. She apparently taught weekly classes in the village hall on painting because ‘bees don’t pay the bills’, and attended several other crafts classes, to help her make things for her stall.

The weather was unseasonably warm for October and he’d gotten more cash than he needed at the ATM (he never liked paying with his fake card at the market; it felt disingenuous, like he was stealing) and he was feeling frivolous and this would be the last week of the market until May and the last honey until next year (there were less than five jars left on her stall, the last of her harvest) so he bought more than just the honey. One of the small watercolours caught his eye just after he’d made his purchases and so he bought that too; a bee in beautiful pastel shades of pink, purple and blue. It was in a chunky, plain white plastic frame and very small, the bee itself was about half the length of his middle finger. He would put it on his desk, he decided, right in the middle.

He felt a little bad, spending the Winchester’s money on things that he didn’t strictly need. Dean never complained about him buying food, so the honey wasn’t an issue, but he’d never really bought anything else except with Dean or Sam on a case so he wasn’t sure how they’d react. Perhaps it was only useless things Dean wouldn’t like him buying. If that was the case, then he could just utilise everything. He bought.

Xxx

“Cas?” Dean said, squinting at him through the steam coming off his coffee mug the next morning.

“Hmm?”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Dean’s tone was strange, thick, like he needed to cough.

“Oh,” Castiel said, looking down self-consciously at the black leather biker jacket, faded band t-shirt and worn jeans that could pass as being ripped by design, though they weren’t. “The jeans are yours, I hope that’s alright. I bought the rest at the farmer’s market yesterday.”

His fingers came up to the fabric hem of the shirt. Dean looked confused, and something else too, something soft.

“Why?” He asked.

“I-” Castiel hesitated, looked down again, at the light blue t-shirt with a little cartoon bee on the front, sporting scowl and a pair of crossed arms, a speech bubble that emanated from its mouth said ‘Buzz off’, at the yellow and black striped woollen socks, at the pocket of his jacket, onto which he’d sewn a patch of another brightly coloured cartoon bee, this one was happily leaving a trail of wonky lines in white thread that Castiel had sewn himself to try and make it look like the bee had come out of his pocket. He’d been proud of himself for this small accomplishment, under Dean’s heavy gaze though, his effort suddenly felt stupid and pointless.

“I liked them.” He finished in a very small voice.

A gentle smile split Dean’s face.

“Well okay then,” he said. “I think I’ve got a spare suit jacket you can use when we need to pass off as feds.”

“Can I wear my new tie?” Cas asked eagerly, tugging on the one around his neck and showing it to Dean properly, it was dark blue, similar to his other one, but a slightly different shade and with a very small bee outline stitched on the end in shimmering gold thread.

Dean laughed and took the end of the tie to examine it. “Sure, buddy,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he looked up. “It’s nice. Matches your eyes.”

@winchester-reload

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

[fcklennox]

· * . ˚ ✦ ⋆ . · intro post for lennox !!

okay are y’all ready because lennox is a wild ride from start to finish. i’ve had her for a while and she’s just.... you’ll see she’s a lot

lennox was the result of a then-a-list hollywood director ( jonathan sims ) having an affair on his first wife with nineteen year old katherine de luca. when the pregnancy was announced & she began selling stories to the tabloids he denied ever having met katherine, let alone having an affair with her… but still showed up for the paternity test the day she was born

obviously, he was the father & he agreed to give katherine whatever child support settlement she desired & agreed to sign the birth certificate, just as long as lennox was given her mother’s last name, not that of a sims

all lennox’s father cared about was trying to make the world forget lennox was in fact his child, and all her mother cared about was clinging on to the 15 minutes of fame she had acquired from lennox’s existence  

her mother began taking her to acting auditions at 18 months & lennox soon became the bread winner of the household before the age of two. at three, she was signed on to her first television show (think full house). the show quickly got picked up & she remained there until she was eight when it finally wrapped up & came to an end

fast forward she’s doing a lot of loose acting jobs + trails into modeling at around 14, this is when things get a lil dark for lennox

her mother would do anything to get lennox famous + make lennox do anything that would help get her famous. teeth whitenings, highlights, spray tans, the works. if a pageant mom does it to her child, lennox’s mom probably has too.  

eventually this turned into lennox’s mother dropping her off at hollywood “casting parties” which just consisted of underage girls in their bikini’s doing what they could to impress the talent agents there and earn the next big rolls

her mother was aware of what happened at these parties + encouraged it, putting lennox is a multitude of bad situations and due to the things that happened at these parties, she is still contacts her therapist regularly to talk things out when seeing the directors and producers that used to attend the parties alongside her.

now on to happier things for her yes?? kinda?? there’s some sad spots still but u know

at fifteen she signed with the manager she’s with now + shine studios offered to take her any direction she wanted. she had already acted most of her life, modeled time and time again and decided she wanted to do what she knew she was destined for all along–singing. she began releasing music at 16 & quickly rose to the top of shine’s social ladder.

the day lennox turned eighteen she cut her mom off completely due to her literally shoveling money out of her accounts & stealing items from her to pawn off for extra cash. she had no addictions, nothing of the sort–she literally just wanted lennox’s money & felt as if she was entitled to it. between her mother & father, she has an extremely hard time fully trusting people. she’s currently trying to work through both relationships – keeping her mother in contact, but only via phone, & seeing her father’s new family at least once a month & spending time w her new siblings ( whether or not her dad is there is his choice )

lennox has been in a lot of pr + real relationships, some lasting a few months, other’s lasting years on & off. recently, she and ryder abbott ended a pr relationship that was ended with him cheating ( we’re looking for a girl for that hi ) and now.. she’s just off the rails

very vulnerable and destructive and kind of acting out just a little??  

sO THAT’S LENNOX’S BASIC BACKSTORY THANKS FOR STICKING W ME

she’s really just a sweet baby who’s been through a lot and will do anything to help anyone else going through anything at all ?? she just wants to help and make other people happy even if she’s miserable asdfasf

she’s like a golden retriever and she’s loyal as all absolute fuck bu…t also if you piss her off she’ll probably hold a grudge forever

i think that’s all ?? she’s here for plotting of all kinds just hmu !!

[healthyworthyofficial]

Woman, 24, makes £30k A MONTH selling nude pics online after quitting her job

A GLOBAL jet-setter has revealed how she went from being a “skint student” to earning over £30,000 a month virtually overnight, by quitting her degree to sell nude pictures and saucy videos of herself online. Raking in 12 times the average annual UK salary of £30,420 each year, at just 23, singleton Kaya Corbridge owns her house in Lancashire outright, and holidays in far flung destinations such as Bali, Barcelona and Australia.

Kaya Corbridge makes £360,000 per year on OnlyFans selling racy photosCredit: PA Real Life Her luxury lifestyle became possible after she quit her degree course in international relations and global development at Leeds Beckett University in September 2017, after just four weeks, to focus on her OnlyFans account – a subscription service where content creators provide exclusive material to their subscribers, or “fans.” Kaya explained how her content  – which fans pay a fee to view – can range from naked pictures to videos of her feet. She said: “I set-up my OnlyFans account on a bit of whim.  I just thought I’d give it a go – I never thought it would change my life in the way it has. “In my first year I made £255,000 and now I earn about £30,000 every month – I’m in the top one per cent of OnlyFans earners in the world.”

Kaya now owns her house in Lancashire outright after joining the platformCredit: PA Real Life Life before her saucy endeavours was far from luxurious for Kaya – who also provides additional “favours” for fans, which can include rating pictures of men’s intimate parts. Her previous jobs have included being a “cash-in-hand” waitress at 14, working in McDonald’s, Lidl and as a part-time tour operator. But now Kaya, who has a brother and two sisters who she prefers to keep anonymous, says money is no object, adding: “Last year I bought my first house and paid for it outright. “It cost £125,000 and it’s lovely. It’s got two bedrooms, a kitchen, two bathrooms, a balcony and a garden and it’s made me want to buy a second property soon. “But I’m hardly there, as I spend most of my time travelling the world.”

Kaya now holidays in far flung destinations such as Bali, Barcelona and AustraliaCredit: PA Real Life She continued: “I love exploring and seeing new places and I love being my own boss, as I can still work from wherever I am in the world. “Since I started OnlyFans I’ve visited 20 countries, I’ve taken my mum to Paris, Poland and Barcelona, and I spent a few months in Australia. “I travelled in America, saw more of Europe, then went to Bali and now I’m travelling around South East Asia. I’m hoping to have been to 30 countries by the end of the year.” OnlyFans content providers like Kaya have a photo feed, like Instagram users, showing pictures but she also takes private requests.

Her previous jobs have included being a “cash-in-hand” waitress at 14, working in McDonald’s, Lidl and as a part-time tour operatorCredit: PA Real Life

She usually does one post a day  – a mixture of pictures and videos Credit: PA Real Life “For private requests people can pay for nude pictures and videos of me and some more naughty things, too, like strip teases. “There’s a function called Strip for Tip, and during a live video the more money my subscribers send me the more clothes I’ll take off. “I usually post once a day  – a mixture of pictures and videos – but the most time consuming part of the job is making sure I reply to everyone’s messages. I can get hundreds in a day and it can take hours to reply to them all.”

Kaya says money is no object now and she wishes she had joined soonerCredit: PA Real Life Despite her enviable curves,  Kaya says many of her fans – who are mainly men but also gets women and couples interested too –  just want to focus on her feet. She said: “People have a real thing for feet. I’ve made thousands from mine! “Sometimes, they just ask for pictures of them – or they’ll want videos of me rubbing oil on them, or of me just walking along in the sand. It’s easy money.” She added: “Men also pay me to rate their privates. They’ll send me a pic, then I’ll tell them what I think of it in exchange for money. “Plus there’s the girlfriend experience. Men ask me to speak to them as if I’m their girlfriend for one day and pay me for it. I chat through messages or voice notes. Usually, they’ll tell me what type of girlfriend they want me to be. “Honestly, it would blow people’s minds if they heard what some men ask for – but I just let it go over my head.” She has turned down some of her fans’ more lurid requests for items of worn underwear, to shave her hair off and, on one occasion, to put a slice of bread in her shoe, walk around on it all day and send a male admirer her crumbs.

Sometimes Kaya’s fans use their initiative and buy her surprise presentsCredit: PA Real Life She also has fans who want to “gift” items to her, which she says can be very useful. Kaya, who did her own poll to determine the profile of her fans, which she believes are mostly men in their 20s or 30s, said: “For fans who want to give me gifts, I have a ‘Wish List.’ All I do is add items that I want to it, so they can go and buy them for me. “I ask for all sorts, usually just boring every day items. My brother needed a new mattress recently, so I added it to my list and someone bought it. “When I moved into my house, I asked for things like a kettle and microwave, as well as candles and cushions – and got those gifted too. “I’ve also been given a phone, trainers, clothes, vouchers and books.”

Kaya did her own poll to determine the profile of her fans, which she believes are mostly men in their 20s or 30 Credit: PA Real Life Sometimes Kaya’s fans use their initiative and buy her surprise presents. “I get sent outfits that people want me to wear on camera,” she said. “I’ve been sent a policewoman and a nurse outfit before, as well as a tutu, fishnet tights and a corset. “I also had rope sent to me. I was just like, ‘So, what am I meant to do with this?' “The next day a book arrived which was called The Art of Rope Tying, so I’m guessing they wanted me to tie myself up in rope.”

Within the first month of Kaya being on the app, she had made £8,500Credit: PA Real Life Her fans can also help to maintain Kaya’s immaculate appearance. “There’s a function called ‘Adopt a Bill,'” she said. “Using that, people can pay for me to get things like get my nails or toes painted.” She continued: “Or if something crops up – like if I need to go to the dentist – they can pay for that, too. “I have extensions, which can cost a small fortune to maintain, so, sometimes, I ask for contributions for my hair.”

Her fans can also help to maintain Kaya’s immaculate appearance. Credit: PA Real Life Looking back to September 2017 when she first opened her account, Kaya’s life now is unrecognisable. “For those couple of weeks when I was at university I was as poor as hell and could barely afford to eat,” she said. “I was always worried about money, my parents didn’t have a lot, but they scraped together all they could to give me an extra £30 a week. “I remember being in tears because my laptop basically blew up and I couldn’t afford to fix it.” Her life changed in an instant, however, when, browsing Twitter one day, Kaya found someone with an OnlyFans account and decided to follow suit and start her own.

Fans have sent her a phone, trainers, clothes, vouchers and books Credit: PA Real Life

Kaya decided to quit her university course and concentrate on OnlyFansCredit: PA Real Life She said: “I set it up, then forgot about it for a while. “A few days later I uploaded a bikini picture of myself to see what happened. "When I woke up the next day I checked my account and I’d made £250 overnight – I couldn’t believe it!” After that, she continued to post intimate images and videos to the website. “Within the first month I’d made £8,500,” she said. “I knew I was on to something good, so I decided to quit my university course and concentrate on OnlyFans.

When Kaya was at university she was as 'poor as hell' and could barely afford to eat Credit: PA Real Life “To be honest, I only went to university because I wanted to get a charity job doing international aid. “Now I can volunteer for charities while still earning a wage through OnlyFans. “In January I volunteered at a dog rescue centre in Koi Samiu in Thailand for a couple of weeks – I loved it, and I hope to do some more volunteering soon.”

She said she can now volunteer for charities while still earning a wage through OnlyFansCredit: PA Real Life Meanwhile, Kaya’s online work is fully supported by her loved ones. “My family and friends are happy for me and so supportive of what I do,” she said. “I’ve been honest with them the whole time. As soon as I posted my first photo, I told them what I was doing. “And while my family would never expect anything from me, they know I’ll always look after them.” “I’ve taken my mum on countless trips, I bought my brother an electric bike and I bought my mum a new washing machine and a laptop. “My sister had a baby and when she got her own place, I put together a little moving in fund for her, so she could get everything she needed for her new home.”

Kaya’s online work is fully supported by her loved ones Credit: PA Real Life And Kaya certainly has no plans to quit her current role any time soon. “One day I want to have my own little empire,” she said. “Now everything is so much easier, I never worry about money. “Whatever I do next I’ll have to transition into, because right now the money I make is too good to give up. “This job has given me complete freedom to do what I want and, hopefully, I’ll never have to see my family struggle again. “My only regret is that I didn’t start doing this sooner.” Read the full article

[bangtan-babe]

i met you in the dark. 02

summary: Jungkook was rich and well dressed. The perfect target. But, everything changed once you decided to steal from him. And you’re beginning to find out he’s not exactly who you think he is.

pairing.: jungkook/reader also namjoon/reader

word count: 3.5k

genre: angst/ mystery/ drama/humor

Part 1.  Part 2. Part 3.

Chapter 2: Stolen Goods

The warm breeze hit your face and filled your lungs with air. As the bus went faster and the wind moved simultaneously, you closed your eyes. For a slight moment, regret rushed through and you wished things were different. The reality of almost getting caught, regardless of how small or large that chance was, left you feeling hopeless and slightly ashamed. A very rare feeling for you.

The “if onlys” started rushing in and they were inevitable to avoid. You wondered how different your life would have been if you weren’t alone from the start. Would things change if you had parents to support you? If you had a home you were comfortable in? If you had money and didn’t need to resort taking from others? The impending anxiety of these questions became too overwhelming so you forced your eyes open.

When the bus stopped, you strolled out slowly as a cloud of confusion and despair hovered over you. Usually, the walk to your apartment took about 5 minutes, but today you wanted to walk by the river. The calming nature of the water was definitely refreshing. However, it also left you feeling envious. A part of you longed for that comfort and calmness in your own life. As you walked by the edge of the river, you noticed people laughing, smiling...being happy.

But, it wasn’t long before the noise and laughter faded and the only thing you could hear was the sound of your own breath. It was heavy and fast, similar to the millions of thoughts that crossed your mind. As you tried to compose yourself and forget about the hotel, your eyes traveled to a couple sitting next to you on the grass. Their bright smiles were terrifying. How on Earth was it possible to be that happy? The thought lingered in your mind for a while before you turned your gaze away from them and pulled out your phone.

“Fuck it.” you muttered as you typed Seoul Park Hotel into Naver. You clicked their careers page and saw the receptionist position listed. The apply box was at the very bottom of the page. Apply. A simple yet devastating word. Part of you wanted to exit and forget about the job, but when the interaction with the girl replayed in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel infuriated.

Your rage fueled your desire to prove her wrong. In an instant, you attached your resume and clicked apply.

“Fuck.” There was no going back now, so you got up and went home.

Like usual your closet spaced apartment had no heat. There was also no point in calling your landlord because you knew he didn’t care at all. To begin with, your apartment wasn’t rentable. There was one sink that you used for connecting your showerhead and also washing your dishes. A living area which was also served as your bedroom. And a mini fridge next to a portable shelf filled with plates and packets of ramen. That was basically it. So, your apartment wasn’t actually an apartment and a human being couldn’t actually be happy living there. But you still felt blessed that you even had a place to sleep in, something that in the past wasn’t so easily available. This messed up blessing was all thanks to your grandma. She used to be neighbors with your landlord and asked him to let you stay here. Granted you did have to pay rent, but he reduced it tremendously because of her. Even though he should have regardless because this place was horrible. Nevertheless, you were thankful, you truly were. But with it still being cold outside and absolutely no heat in your apartment, it was hard to remain positive.

As you were about to get all bundled up in bed and call it a night, you suddenly remembered that you forgot to take the watch and wallet to the pawn shop. The watch was a good $200, which would cover your rent for the next 2 months. And the genuine leather wallet would be an additional $40-70. You checked the time on your phone and saw it was 8:13pm. The shop closed at 9pm. In about 30 seconds you grabbed all your stuff and bolted out the door.

“Hello,” you called out as you made your way into the pawn shop. The owner, who usually worked the front, wasn’t in today. In his place was a guy that looked about your age. He was wearing a baseball cap that hid most of his blonde hair and a simple white t-shirt. He replied with a hello but his gaze remained fixed on his phone.

“I’ve got some stuff,” you casually said as you dug into your backpack. Again, you noticed he wasn’t really paying attention.

“So where’s Mr. Kim?” you asked as you placed the wallet on the counter first and then the watch. He finally put his phone down and lifted his head up once he noticed the items in front of him.

“He had something to do,” the guy replied nonchalantly as he picked up the watch. To be honest, you were surprised by his deep voice. However, it wasn’t intense. It was soothing and calm.

After examining the watch he picked up the wallet. You were surprised when he started trying to grab something inside of it. “What’s this?” he asked curiously moving a key around in his hand.

Your eyes turned bloodshot. You completely forgot you had placed the key back in the wallet.

“Oh..um..sorry must have put my key in there by accident,” you tried to explain grabbing it from his hand.

He looked at your frantic expression for a few seconds before letting out a slight chuckle. “So...you put your key...inside of someone else's wallet..by accident?” he sounded out.

You were taken aback by his carefree inquiry. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re trying to say but that’s my wallet,” you tried to defend.

“Why would you be selling off your own wallet at a pawn shop?” he continued to question playfully.

“That’s none of your business,” you stated coldly. He didn’t say anything this time. Instead, he put down the wallet and picked up the gold watch. “Don’t tell me this is yours too?” he asked with a clear rhetorical tone to his voice.  

You rolled your eyes in disbelief. But, just as you were about to respond, he cut you off. “It’s okay. I don't really care if these are yours or not” he stated all of a sudden. And for some strange reason, you believed him.

“Wonderful,” you said throwing a fake smile.

He went back to looking at the items now. “So $80 for the wallet and $300 for the watch,” he stated.

You were shocked because that was definitely more than you expected. Typically Mr. Kim gave you a low value, so this was surprising. 

“Thank you,” was all you could say. He opened the cash register slowly, looking like he was thinking about something.

“I’m just curious-” he began. “-Why not just show this stuff off?”

His question was unanticipated so you didn’t reply right away.

“Because I need the money,” you finally said truthfully.

Now, he was the one who looked shocked. “Why do you look surprised?” you asked noticing his confusion. “You do work at a pawn shop. That’s kind of the whole point of this business.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” he chuckled.  

As he gave you the money, a thought popped up in your mind and you had to ask him. “Would you?”

“Would I what?” he asked.

“Would you show this off?” you reiterated pointing to the watch and wallet.

He looked straight at you and you realized how intense his eyes were. They were dark and piercing for sure.... but definitely not empty. In a way, they made you feel comfortable.

He was now leaning slightly across the counter with his hands folded. “I think-” All of a sudden the door opened and a middle-aged woman walked in. He gave you a smile and lifted himself up. “Next time,” he said before greeting the women.

You put the money in your bag. “What makes you think there will be a next time?” you wondered.  

“Something tells me you’ll be back,” he coyly said as if he knew the secret you were trying to hide.

-|-

It was 8 am and your phone starting ringing. In a groggy, half-asleep state you picked it up not knowing the number that was calling you.

“Hello?” you murmured.

“Hello, is this Ms.Y/LN?” the male voice on the other line asked.

“Yes. Who’s this??” you asked annoyed since it was so early in the morning. It better not be another spam call.

“I’m the manager at Seoul Park Hotel. We got your application a couple of days ago. Are you free anytime soon for an interview?” he explained.

You instantly shot out of bed. “Yes...Yes, I’m available. When can I come in?” you asked enthusiastically. This was completely surreal.

He paused. “Give me one second.”

You were left to your own thoughts until he returned. As you thought more about the conversation, you realized his voice was familiar. Then all of a sudden he came back on the phone and your thoughts diverged back to the present moment.

“Would it be possible to come in today at 11am?” the manager mentioned. His voice was definitely familiar.

It was such short notice, but you didn’t say anything. This was your one shot. “I’ll be there,” you confirmed.

“Great, see you then,” he stated.

You hung up the phone and ran to the bathroom to shower and get ready. The true challenge, however, would be figuring out what you were gonna wear.

As you scrimmaged through the pile of clothes across your bed, you realized that you had absolutely nothing except for jeans, hoodies, and t-shirts. But out of the corner of your eye, just as you were about to give up, you noticed a dress. It was the dress Grandma had gotten you after your first met her. It was your only option at this point.

It was a light blue wrap dress with pastel flowers, You had no idea what you were supposed to be wearing to these things, but anything was better than jeans and a hoodie.

Now the struggle was going to be finding shoes since you only owned sneakers. The cleanest shoes you found were a pair of black, slip-ons. You decided on those.

Even though spring had arrived, it was still cold out. You rummaged through your coats and found a leather jacket. It wasn’t entirely professional but at this point nothing you had on was. You put on the jacket, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door.

As you were about to walk down the stairs of the building, you stopped dead in your tracks. “Fuck my resume,” you remembered.

In the chaotic pursuit of figuring out your outfit, it completely slipped your mind that everything you had written on your resume was a lie. You checked the time on your phone..it was 9:30am. That meant you had about an hour left to memorize everything.

-|-

Scrolling through your phone,  you re-read the fake resume a dozen times. You muttered all of the information to yourself hoping it would stick in your mind somehow.

“Okay, Sogang University. Management degree. Past Experiences include....” you were suddenly blanking on the experiences you listed. You glanced quickly at the document on your phone.

“So I worked at a department store. Managed a local restaurant, and did freelance work. Okay. Easy enough. I got this. Department store. Restaurant. Freelance.” you kept repeating those three words hoping that if you said them long enough they would become part of you.

The bus stopped and in a frantic state, you looked out the window. You ran out, realizing this was your stop. When you looked at your phone you saw one hour had already passed.

Seol Park Hotel was in one of the most reputable areas in Seoul. As you walked down the street, you noticed elegantly dressed and seemingly pretentious rich people. They were all carrying their designer bags and wearing their expensive jewelry so carelessly. It would be so easy to pickpocket them. But, you tried to bury that inclination and instead walked past them normally.

“Wouldn’t even have anywhere to hide it,” you thought to yourself.

You were standing in front of the hotel now. When you looked up at the twenty-something floored glass building, there was a small part of you that didn’t want to go in. The paranoia of seeing the guy from the subway again began to set in. You stood outside for about 10 minutes before you noticed people staring strangely. Despite your hesitation, you buried your feelings and walked in.

As you got closer to the desk you saw the girl from last time there. “Great,” you gritted through your teeth.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview with the Manager,” you stated giving the fakest smile as you tried not to say anything too offensive.

“What’s your name?” she asked less than enthusiastically while avoiding any eye contact with you. It seemed this was her regular personality.

“Y/N.”

She typed away on her computer. “Okay, take the elevator to the 2nd floor and wait for the manager there,” she explained looking up at you. As she did that, her expression changed and her eyes widened.

“You-” she began to say. But before she could finish her sentence you walked away and made your way to the elevator.

In contrast to the extravagant lobby, the second floor was more simplistic and modern. You got out of the elevator and sat down on the couch that was positioned parallel to the windows. It looked like you were the only one on the floor.

You were beginning to feel anxious. It was five past 11 and the manager still wasn’t showing up. Giving in to your restlessness, you kept looking at your phone every few seconds trying to see how much time had passed. Then, as your eyes were glued on the time, a deep voice spoke in the distance, “Sorry I’m late.” You got up quickly, startled at the suddenness.

As you put your phone inside of your bag and looked up at the man, a rush of panic ran through your body. He also stopped cold, noticing you as well.

“Pawnshop?” you stuttered as the guy from the pawn shop stood in front of you. He looked surprised as well, but after a few seconds, he relaxed and walked over to you as he was doing beforehand.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he started laughing at the situation.

“Wait so you’re the manager?” you asked confused. “I thought you worked at the pawn shop.”

“I was covering for my father that day,” he explained nonchalantly.

Your eyes widened even more. “Your father? Wait, Mr. Kim is your father?” you asked in an even more confused state.

“He is,” he confirmed.

“Wow,” you said aloud, which led him to laugh slightly.

You noticed your dazed expression. “Sorry, this is just a strange coincidence,” you admitted.

“Not really. I told you I’d see you next time,” he replied with a hint of confidence in his voice. Your fingers curled at the cringy way it came out.

You forced a weak laugh. “Yeah...”

After a few seconds of silence, he spoke up. “Anyways let me formally introduce myself. I’m Kim Namjoon, the manager here at Seoul Park,” he stated extending out his hand. You bowed slightly and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you..again. I’m Y/N.”

“Alright Y/N, follow me and we’ll start the interview,” he stated turning slightly and pointing towards a door at the end of the hall. You nodded your head and followed him inside.

Once you were both sitting down, he opened a folder and pulled out your resume. Now you were nervous.

“You know I’m kind of surprised. I didn’t expect such a strong resume,” he mentioned looking over the piece of paper.

“Thank you, neither did I,” you stated jokingly, hoping he didn’t notice the sarcasm in your voice.

“Well, you should be proud. All of your experiences are perfect for this position,” he commented.

There was a slight pause. ”But to be honest, what really interested me was your experience with VIP customers at the department store,” he added reading from the resume.

You nodded your head in agreement, but internally you completely forgot that you had written that. “Yes, it was a very challenging and rewarding position. I learned a lot by working with VIP clients,” you lied.

He put the resume down. “Oh? Like what?” he questioned as he leaned back onto his chair.

You gripped onto your bag tightly and tried to think of something to say. “Um... I would probably say how to interact with VIP clients,”

But as that explanation came out, you noticed Namjoon didn’t look impressed. “And how to steal,” you nonchalantly announced. Instantly his head popped up. “What?” he blurted, worried by your answer.

“Not that kind of stealing,” you said laughing. “What I mean is that all VIP clients have money to spend. And at my last job, I learned how to give them what they wanted but also what they needed,” you tried to rephrase. But Namjoon looked completely lost.

“I stole their money by essentially making them spend their money on things they didn’t necessarily ask for,” you continued.

His demeanor changed and he looked more reserved. “And you don’t see anything wrong with that?”

As you thought about his question you weren’t sure if it was a trick or not. Were you supposed to say that there was something wrong?

You decided to go with your gut. “No, I don’t. Good customer service is recognizing what your client needs without them having to say it to you.”

His eyes lit up when you said that. Your gut was right.

“I agree,” Namjoon said giving you a slight smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but awkwardly paused and looked down at his desk.

“So I want to be completely transparent with you,” he finally said. “The position you applied for is a bit different from what the job posting actually mentioned online.” You quirked up your eyebrows in confusion.

“It is a receptionist position. But it would be for the VIP desk at this hotel. So you would be in charge of all VIP related activities,” he reassured noticing your perplexion.

You nodded your head slowly. “I see.”

“I’m sorry this wasn’t in the description. But it’s a discreet position because you’ll be having a lot of interaction with VIP clients. So we didn’t want just anyone to apply,” he tried to explain more sincerely.

“No, I understand. I’m fine with that,” you emphasized.

“Great! So we’ll contact you in a couple of days to let you know when to come in for your first shift. And you’ll get your schedule and everything else then.”

“Wait?..I got the job?” you questioned surprised. Namjoon nodded his head in response as he got up from his chair. You also got up.

“Wow..um thank you. I really appreciate this opportunity,” you stated fathomed at the situation.

“You deserve it,” he said. His words were sincere which made you feel very vulnerable somehow.

Namjoon followed you out of his office and pointed towards the elevators. “See you next time,” he added as you were about to walk off.

You smiled.

The elevator came and you got in completely overwhelmed. You lean your head against the wall. Somehow it was taking longer than normal to arrive at the lobby, so you lifted your head to check the box that read off the floor numbers. It was going up. When you checked the buttons, you realized that you had pressed the wrong floor number. The doors to floor 11 opened up and a man wearing all black walked in. He was also wearing a hat so you couldn't see his face properly. But by his muscular build, you expected his face to be attractive.

As you moved back to give yourself some space, your eyes traveled to the floor. That's when you noticed it. The gold ring.

A huge knot formed in your throat and your eyes unknowingly traveled to look at his face again. He stared back at you with a sinister look in his eyes that made you nauseous. Before you knew it, he grabbed a hold of your wrist and threw your arm up to his face.

“Where’s my stuff?!,” he spat through his clenched jaw.

[plushgallery]

In 1984, Nike collaborated with Michael Jordan to dispatch Jordan Brand, a brand of shoes and athletic wear worked around the player. At that point, Nike was a battling brand offering running shoes with a plan to rehash itself as an organization for athletic stars.

nike air jordan 28 tennis shoes

Nike

Source: ESPN

ESPN announced that it wasn't so natural for the organization to sign the then-sprouting NBA newbie. Nike allegedly offered Jordan $500,000 per year — in real money — for a long time, trusting it could persuade him to come ready.

Jordan and Air Jordan 1

Streeter Lecka/Staff/Getty Images and Courtesy of Flight Club

Source: ESPN

Lamentably for Nike, Jordan truly needed to work with Adidas. Yet, Adidas wasn't generally a possibility for Jordan, as the organization was experiencing an authority move at that point.

michael jordan speak

Concentrate On Sport/Contributor/Getty Images

Source: ESPN

Speak, the shoe Jordan wore while playing for the University of North Carolina, needed to sign Jordan, however it previously had big name competitor endorsers in Magic Johnson and Larry Bird.

michael jordan speak

Speak would later turn out to be a piece of Nike. Concentrate On Sport/Contributor/Getty Images

Source: ESPN

Speak made Jordan an offer, yet he apparently wasn't energized by it and didn't have the foggiest idea where he would fit in the brand's now elegant lineup.

larry feathered creature

Larry Bird. Boston Globe/Contributor/Getty Images

Source: ESPN

In any case, Jordan took a stab at his fantasy organization, taking Nike's idea to Adidas and requesting that they come "anyplace close" to the offer. It didn't work out with Adidas, and Jordan at last marked with Nike.

michael jordan

Bettmann/Contributor/Getty Images

Source: ESPN

Nike needed to fabricate a whole line around Jordan's nearly superhuman capacity to dunk, as per ESPN.

Michael Jordan dunk 2

Concentrate On Sport/Getty Images

Source: ESPN

When Jordan was ready, he started wearing the brand's shoes on the court. The primary Nike shoe he wore in the NBA was the Nike Air Ship seen underneath.

Nike Air Ship

Concentrate On Sport/Contributor/Getty Images

Source: Nike/Jordan Brand

The absolute first pair that he wore from his eponymous image was called Air Jordan I. It caused a great deal of disturbance both on and off the court.

Air Jordan I

Graciousness of Nike/Jordan Brand

Source: Nike/Jordan Brand

The shoes were initially discharged to stores in April 1985, and they were a moment hit. ESPN revealed that Nike had sold $70 million worth of the shoes by May — only a month into the discharge — and that the Air Jordan brand had made Nike more than $100 million before the year's over.

Michael Jordan

Chris O'Meara/AP

Source: Nike Jordan Brand, ESPN

Nike fellow benefactor Phil Knight called the achievement of Air Jordan I "the ideal blend of value item, showcasing, and competitor support."

Phil Knight

Frederick M. Darker/Getty Images

Source: ESPN

Competitor underwriting is a procedure that numerous organizations have utilized throughout the years. From burgers to cellphones, NBA players are incredible at selling pretty much anything.

Kobe Bryant McDonalds

Kobe Bryant in a McDonald's business. CyclopsCyrus/YouTube

Source: Bleacher Report

Normally, when perhaps the best player ever — seemingly the best competitor ever — began selling tennis shoes, his fans needed to get their hands on them.

Michael Jordan

AP/Anat Givon

Source: Bleacher Report

When MJ first wore those Chicago Bulls-shaded tennis shoes, the NBA had a standard about having all players in fundamentally white shoes.

chicago bulls

Tim Bradbury/Staff/Getty Images

Jordan was fined $5,000 for wearing the shoes, however as opposed to taking them off the court, Nike concluded it was incredible introduction for the brand and decided to pay the entirety of MJ's fines so he could keep on wearing the shoes.

air jordan 1 restricted

Graciousness of Nike/Jordan Brand

Source: Nike/Jordan Brand

Fans saw Jordan do things his own specific manner when it came to playing the game, however this was the first occasion when they saw him make what was basically a colossal design proclamation, Matt Cohen, VP of business improvement and system at GOAT Group, disclosed to Business Insider.

michael jordan

John Swart/AP

Two long-term Air Jordan gatherers and individuals from the tennis shoe network revealed to Business Insider their adoration for the brand began when they were kids watching MJ get it done.

michael jordan fan

Jonathan Daniel/Stringer/Getty Images

"The explanation I like Jordans is on the grounds that I like b-ball and I like Michael Jordan," Hana Mandapat disclosed to Business Insider.

Michael Jordan

ERIC CHU/Staff/Getty Images

The long-term gatherer used to see family in Chicago, and after the Bulls won their initial "three-peat" — the well known consecutive to-back title — she began focusing on Jordan, the man.

Michael Jordan tennis shoes

Concentrate on Sport/Getty Images

Mandapat began gathering Air Jordans in the year 2000, when she was a lesser in secondary school. That was the year that Nike began to "retro" — or bring once more into the market — certain Jordan styles. Her absolute first pair were the Air Jordan XIs.

Hana_Jordans_1

Hana Mandapat in a couple of Air Jordans. Cordiality of Hana Mandapat

Mandapat worked in retail — tennis shoe retail, obviously — so she could set up herself for school and bear to develop her Jordan assortment. She said she became companions with others in tennis shoe retail and they framed a kind of network, regularly approaching each other to assist them with getting another pair that was turning out.

Hana Jordans 2

Hana Mandapat working in a shoe store. Graciousness of Hana Mandapat

Both Mandapat and Cohen recognized the 2000s as a time of "everything return." Mandapat said the ascent in prominence of Jordan retros as a way of life shoe "seemed well and good" at the time in light of the wistfulness factor.

jordans will smith

NBC/Contributor/Getty Images

"I was watching Michael Jordan play ball and do things that had never been done," Cohen said. "At the point when you're a child, everything is about sentimentality ... you need to dress like the competitor that you had turned upward to."

Michael Jordan dunk

Concentrate On Sport/Getty Images

"You're observing apparently the best player, if not the best competitor ever, get things done in his own specific manner," Cohen said. "The manner in which he played the game, the manner in which he really wore shoes on and off the court."

michael jordan

AP Images

Cohen has been gathering shoes since the late '90s, when he was in his initial youngsters. For him, "it was about continually needing that shoe."

michael jordan muggsy bogues

Ruth Fremson/AP

Interest for each season's Jordans was high, Cohen said. "It was this noteworthy thing each and every year when that new pair of Jordans was turning out."

Air Jordan 1 Banned

"Restricted" Air Jordan 1 for 2016. Decent Kicks

Source: Business Insider

"I was playing hooky to go to the neighborhood tennis shoe store where I grew up at seven toward the beginning of the day. By then it was extraordinary — you just needed to arrive three hours ahead of schedule, trusting that that shoe will discharge," he said. "It was tied in with getting them, putting them on your feet, and strolling into school and everybody saying 'How would you have that shoe?' ... I was two hours late, however that is beside the point, don't tell my educators."

line outside Nike store

picture union/Contributor/Getty Images

It's been imbued in Cohen since he was a child, and he's not alone. This marvel allowed Nike the chance to effectively utilize the possibility of a "retro."

air jordans

Flickr/neilp17

At the point when a style was retro'd, that implied it was a more established style — likely from the days Jordan was taking care of business — that was restored and re-discharged into the retail showcase.

COLETTE X AIR JORDAN I RETRO HIGH

The Richest

Mandapat said that her absolute first pair of retro'd Air Jordan XIs were under $100 at the time she got them — she assesses around $80-$85 — since she's ready to wear children's sizes. In 2018, when the shoes retro'd once more, she recalled the children's sizes costing $180.

Air Jordans

S3studio/Contributor/Getty Images

Both Mandapat and Cohen said that as children, it wasn't so natural to get your hands on constrained discharge shoes.

nike air jordans

Maja Hitij/Staff/Getty Images

"'Hello mother, I need to burn through $120 on a couple of shoes,'" Cohen recollected. "Also, she was much the same as, 'For what reason wouldn't you be able to simply get the $30 pair or the $60 pair?'" He said he would attempt to arrange, in any event, saying he'd utilize his birthday cash.

Nike

Hollis Johnson/Business Insider

Grown-ups, then again, are bringing in their own cash and spending it how they need. Cohen called attention to that at the hour of unique Jordan discharges, some of the time there would be numerous colorways discharged immediately, yet he was just permitted to get one.

FC New York (picture credit_ Flight Club) 7

Politeness of Flight Club

Presently, he can get all the varieties he needed yet wasn't permitted to get in those days.

air jordan 4

Obligingness of Flight Club

He disclosed to me he used to "chase" for Jordans before he began truly gathering them. He would circumvent purchasing the same number of sets of the new discharge as he could, and afterward would exchange them with a system to make a benefit.

GettyImages 663601346

Maja Hitij/Staff/Getty Images

The Air Jordan III is Cohen's "most loved shoe ever." It was the primary shoe to highlight the Jumpman logo on the tongue.

Nike Air Jordan III FC

A retro of the 1988 shoe. Civility of Flight Club

Source: Business Insider

The shoe additionally happened to harmonize with the beginning of Flight Club in 1999. The store was called Vintage Kicks at that point.

FC Miami (picture credit_ Flight Club) 2

Civility of Flight Club

Flight Club was the first transfer store for uncommon and collectible tennis shoes. Individuals like Cohen, who were purchasing with the goal to exchange, would carry their shoes to the store and sit tight for them to sell. They for the most part offered to everybody who couldn't — or simply would not like to — hold up on the web or enter a pool to have the option to get them from Nike itself.

FC Los Angeles (picture credit_ Flight Club) 3

Politeness o

[bountyofbeads]

Neil Armstrong’s Heirs Split Over a Lucrative Legacy https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/27/us/neil-armstrong-heirs.html

Neil Armstrong is a 'NATIONAL TREASURE' and it's sad 😔 😢to know that his death could have been prevented, especially as we celebrate the 50th Aniversary of their historic Moon🌚 landing and walk on the 🌚Moon. And now the family division over many Neil Armstrong's belongings and mementos are being auctioned off to private buyers that we, our children or grandchildren, may never see again. I remember so vividly, as a child, watching to news coverage of that period and it remind me of a period AWE but also a time of UNCERTAINTY.

😢😭😭😭

‘Would Dad Approve?’ Neil Armstrong’s Heirs Divide Over a Lucrative Legacy

By Scott Shane, Sarah Kliff and Susanne Craig | Published July 27, 2019| New York Times | Posted July 27, 2019 |

Last fall, Neil Armstrong’s two sons began a round of media appearances to promote a venture that would make them millions of dollars: a series of auctions of about 3,000 mementos from their father’s moon mission and NASA career.

“One Giant Sale” was CNBC’s headline, playing on the astronaut’s famous line, as Mark and Rick Armstrong talked up the items — an American flag that had flown to the moon on Apollo 11; a flight suit their father had worn earlier in his career; and many possessions that had nothing to do with space, including Mr. Armstrong’s childhood teddy bear and a preschool report card he signed.

“You just hope that people get positive energy from these things,” Mark Armstrong told “CBS This Morning.” He told The New York Times they had “struggled with” what their father might think of the auctions. “Would Dad approve? Let’s see what positive things we can do with the proceeds,” he said.

The auctions would prove lucrative amid the rising wave of publicity leading up to the 50th anniversary of the moon landing this month: $16.7 million in sales to date. The Dallas auction house calls the memorabilia the Armstrong Family Collection, though it includes a small number of items from other sources, including the astronaut Buzz Aldrin. Another auction, the fourth, is set for November.

Those sales by the brothers, who also pursued a newly disclosed $6 million  wrongful death settlement over their father’s medical care, have exposed deep differences among those who knew Neil Armstrong about his legacy — and what he would have wanted.

Some relatives, friends and archivists find the sales unseemly, citing the astronaut’s aversion to cashing in on his celebrity and flying career and the loss of historical objects to the public.

“I seriously doubt Neil would approve of selling off his artifacts and memorabilia,” said James R. Hansen, his biographer. “He never did any of that in his lifetime.”

The astronaut had stopped signing autographs in 1994, after he discovered that many of those requesting his signature were then selling them. His personal lawyer, Ross Wales, said his client resisted the idolatry focused on his signature and possessions in part because he considered himself only the frontman for a huge NASA enterprise.

“His feeling was that he was not special because he was the first person to walk on the moon, and that he wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for the thousands of people who worked on the mission,” Mr. Wales said.

By contrast with the astronaut’s sons, Carol Armstrong — his second wife, whom he married in 1994 after a divorce initiated by Janet Armstrong, Rick and Mark’s mother — is not known to have sold anything. Instead she has lent and donated a collection of memorabilia to the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum in Washington; such loans often convert to donations in an arrangement intended to avoid gift taxes. People who know her say she and her adult children, Andrew and Molly, believe her husband would have opposed the commerce in the trappings of his work and life. (Carol and her children declined to comment.)

Mark Armstrong said that the question of what’s best for posterity and what his father might have wanted is not so simple. He said that he and his brother had already donated to museums more than $500,000 in cash and artifacts worth about $1.4 million, and that they had lent items worth several million more.

But he said donations, which offer the donor tax benefits, do not guarantee public access. “Museums can choose to store items out of sight or unilaterally decide to sell them,” he said in an email forwarded by his wife.

As for his father, Mark said, “I think he would judge us not on whether we auctioned items or not, but rather what we do with the proceeds and how we conduct our lives. Dad said that he wanted to leave the world a better place than he found it. I intend to follow his example and teach my children to do the same.”

Mark and his wife, Wendy, said they were using auction proceeds to create an environmental nonprofit in honor of Mark’s parents, called Vantage Earth, that Wendy said would work “to preserve and protect the earth from the damage done to it by its own population — a concern raised by Neil upon looking back at the earth from the moon.”

Tensions are common in any family affected by divorce. When it is the family of the first human being to step onto the moon, with global fame and a large estate, relations get only more complicated.

After leaving NASA in 1971, Mr. Armstrong taught aerospace engineering at the University of Cincinnati, served on multiple corporate boards and accepted speaking fees, accumulating a fortune worth many millions. But he turned down many opportunities to make even more money, friends say.

At the time of his death, most of Mr. Armstrong’s assets, including the memorabilia, were left in a trust, the beneficiaries of which could not be determined by The Times. His sons may have received some items from their father through the trust, and they received other keepsakes when their mother died in 2018, according to Wendy Armstrong. The first auction was held five months later.

Strains between Mr. Armstrong’s first and second families came to a head after his death in 2012, at age 82, of complications after heart surgery. The Times reported this past week that Mercy Health-Fairfield Hospital, outside Cincinnati, had secretly paid the family $6 million to settle a claim that his treatment had been deficient. The family also sought changes in hospital protocols to prevent such deaths in the future.

Papers sent anonymously to The Times described how the removal of pacemaker wires installed during surgery had caused bleeding that could not be repaired quickly because no cardiac surgeon was on duty. The resulting loss of oxygen to Mr. Armstrong’s brain left him in a vegetative state; he died 11 days later after life support was withdrawn.

While there was some friction over when to remove life support, the real clash came later, over the medical malpractice claim, which the sons pushed for and Carol, his widow, declined to participate in.

“In the end, strong feelings ripped apart Neil’s loved ones over the hospital’s handling of Neil’s care,” said Mr. Hansen, who became close to the family while writing his 2005 Armstrong biography, “First Man.”

Mr. Hansen called the medical crisis “a terrible, traumatic situation” made worse by the fact that “Neil essentially had two distinct families that were not, if they ever had been able to before, thinking and feeling as one.”

Carol Armstrong, who knew her husband had considered the cardiologist a friend, “felt strongly that Neil would not have wanted her to sue the doctors or the hospital — he would not want anyone to take advantage of his name in such a way,” Mr. Hansen said.

Court records show Ms. Armstrong as receiving “zero — not participating,” by her own choice. Neither did her children, the astronaut’s stepchildren, seek any payment.

Mark Armstrong, a 56-year-old retired software engineer, and Rick, 62, a onetime animal trainer who has a software consulting business, got the bulk of the hospital’s payment, about $2.6 million apiece. Neil’s surviving brother and sister got $250,000 each, and the six children of Rick and Mark got $24,000 each.

One court filing in the case, by a lawyer arguing for a greater share for the grandchildren, discussed the uneasy equation between familial relations — even love — and cold cash. While acknowledging that Mr. Armstrong’s siblings might get a larger payment because “they loved him the longest, depended on him the most” and found his loss “most painful,” the lawyer, Bertha G. Helmick, wrote that the “opposite is equally true.”

“The minor grandchildren, having had the least time with Decedent, have suffered the greatest loss of time, attention, protection, advice, guidance, counsel and affection.”

The grandchildren, she wrote, “lost their universally beloved and revered grandfather, who could magically open any door, innocently pave ways into college admissions, and who would have always carried a de facto hero element to any school or athletic or workplace function.”

Rick and Mark Armstrong, represented by Mark’s wife, Wendy, a lawyer, got the settlement after threatening to announce their concerns about their father’s treatment at a gathering at Kennedy Space Center for the 45th anniversary of the moon shot.

The brothers would use the 50th anniversary this month for a different kind of leverage. They were far from the first to sell an astronaut’s possessions — Heritage Auctions in Dallas has sold such collections for 20 other astronauts and their families, said Greg Rohan, the company’s president. But none had the status of Neil Armstrong.

“This is really the holy grail,” Mr. Rohan said in a promotional video.

“Neil Armstrong holds a special place in the space history enthusiasts’ world,” said Robert Pearlman, editor of CollectSpace.com, a website devoted to space memorabilia.

The prices reflected that reverence. Items fetching the highest prices tended to be those that traveled with Mr. Armstrong to the moon, such as a rare gold medal that sold for $2.04 million this month — the highest price in the lot. The American flag that had flown aboard Apollo 11 got $275,000.

Personal items, from Mr. Armstrong’s own childhood and early years of parenting, also sold well. The teddy bear sold for $3,500. A letter that Mr. Armstrong wrote to the Easter bunny as a child, asking it to “please hide our baskets” and signed “Neil,” sold for $4,000. A postcard sent to his parents from Paris in 1962 (“Having a fine time and not working too hard,” it reads) went for $1,375. The preschool report card Mr. Armstrong signed for his son Mark went for $750.

Even Mr. Armstrong’s personal collection of magazines and vinyl records — most bearing no relation to his journey to space, such as his copies of The Family Handymanand Sports Illustrated — found buyers, mostly for $200 or less.

Many of the items sold at auction — ranging from photographs in his spacesuit to personal checks — included Mr. Armstrong’s handwriting and signature, though he’d been loath to see his autographs sold when he was alive.

“He went out of his way not to make his signature available,” said Mr. Wales, the lawyer, who worked for Mr. Armstrong for more than a decade. “He realized that, yes, there were young kids who just thought it was great to get an autograph, but there were young kids who had parents who went about taking their kids’ autographs and selling them. He just didn’t like to be made a fuss over.”

In 2005, Mr. Armstrong learned that a barber had sold his hair clippings to a memorabilia collector for $3,000. He directed Mr. Wales to propose that the barber either “return the hair to Mr. Armstrong” or “donate, to a charitable organization of his choice, an amount equal to the proceeds you realized on the sale of his hair.”

In a letter to the barber, Mr. Wales cited a 1998 Ohio law that bars the unauthorized use of someone’s persona for profit, either while they are that person is alive or for 100 years after his or her death. The astronaut John Glenn, also an Ohio native, had urged the state legislature to pass the law. Mr. Armstrong felt similarly, Mr. Wales said.

When the first auction approached last year, archivists at Purdue University, Mr. Armstrong’s alma mater, issued a mild public protest. In a letter to The Times, the archivists noted that Neil and Carol Armstrong had donated more than 400 boxes of his papers to Purdue, where they had been consulted by scholars and students; used to produce books, dissertations, films and exhibits; and included in a dozen courses.

“Auctioning off historical treasures into private hands at the expense of providing access to the public is problematic,” they wrote. “Archives exist to make the remnants of history accessible and long lasting so that current and future generations have access to them.”

Mr. Pearlman, of the space memorabilia site, who said he corresponded with Mr. Armstrong before his death, said he understood the mixed feelings about such auctions, despite his own avid interest in collecting.

“I understand those who frown upon selling these items,” he said. “But what do you do with them?” He said there was no perfect path for such an inheritance.

“I can’t say Neil would or wouldn’t have wanted these auctions to happen,” Mr. Pearlman said. “I can say I don’t think there’s a clear right or wrong here.”

[throughtheglassdarkly]

Roadblocks, part 2

Welcome back. When last you were here, Bella broke all the glass and I used Day as a makeshift hurdle. Onward.

The day after our last adventure, Bella spent pretty much all day meeting and having dinner with her entire extended family. Pam, being such a mom, decided to stay on call in case anything went south. So that meant only three of us were free for the next nonsense that came up. I was at home, whipping up a perfectly nice lemon cake, when trouble called. Or texted, to be more accurate. I got a message from Evain that simply was an address about half an hour away. I washed my hands and texted back, “Need me to bring lube?” He replied, “You wish. Meet you there in 45 minutes. With the others.”

I sent off a message to Yova and Day: “Evain wants us to meet him at the Goblin Market. You in?” Yova texted me back, “Do I have time to change into something appropriate?” “Do you ever?” I asked her. She showed up ten minutes later, dressed to the nines, and we drove over to pick up Day and get to the address. It was a Sunday evening around 7:00, definitely getting dark early at that time of the year. We drove on the thoroughfare for about 20 minutes before pulling off on another highway. When we got there, we had to double check the address about eight times before we realized we were in the right place. It was the saddest looking mall any of us had ever seen. The biggest sign was for the Cash 4 Gold store and the parking lot was almost deserted. The only thing that told us we were in the right place was Evain, who was sitting on the hood of his SUV next to a large unlit Super Kmart sign.

Evain greeted us and gestured for us to walk up to the abandoned-looking Super Kmart. We were skeptical, but the double doors did slide open as we approached. The first thing any of us smelled was an overpowering reeking mixture of cheap incense and burnt rubber. It got worse from there. We didn’t see any electric lights at first, but about ten feet in, things started to brighten up a bit. Inside was what could only be described as the Spirit Halloween of Faerie markets. It had none of the class, ambiance, or deafening power of the goblin market we witnessed in Arcadia and none of the charm of a usual street fair. There were tacky streamers hanging from the metal supports in the ceiling, Christmas lights strewn over the walls, multi-colored lanterns lighting individual pathways between the vendors, and fairy lights on a few of the stalls. It was laid out in the aisles like a department store and awful, just-barely-out-of-sync folk music was playing. The three of us just stood there, staring in disbelief for a few moments.

“I’m pretty sure we can get goblin dysentery just sitting here,” Day said. “I want to find whoever’s playing that music and beat them over the head with a metronome,” Yova said. “I think Bella would be right at home here,” I said.

Evain apologized that it wasn’t the classiest place in the world, but said it was the best they could do. “They don’t announce this place until the last minute, so it’s not like they’ve got a lot of time to set it up and make it look nice,” he said. “But there’s a lot more you can buy here than it looks like. And they take a lot of different stuff in exchange. Cash, memories, toenails.” All three of us turned to look at the same moment. “Wait, toenails?” Yova asked. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Couple of months ago, there was stand selling this amazing hedgebeast jerky. Best stuff I’ve ever eaten. And all they wanted was a month’s worth of my toenails. Don’t know what they used them for.”

“Please tell me you didn’t have that ready to go to exchange,” I said, feeling my gorge start rising. “Oh, no, it was installments. I just had to keep a jar of them and hand them in at the next market,” he said. “Where’d you say this stall was?” Day asked. “DAY,” I said. “What?” he asked. “Day, you don’t save your toenails, do you?” Yova asked. “No. I mean, not really. I haven’t changed my vacuum bag in a while, so-” “Gyaaaaaah,” I said, going through a full body shudder.

Evain warned us that our phones weren’t going to work inside the market due to magical wards, so we planned to meet back at the entrance in an hour and a half. He headed off to find some things of his own and the three of us tried to figure out a good plan of attack and what we were looking for. “So, uh, maybe we could pick up some things for the others? Maybe some treats for Paisley?” Day asked. Yova and I both turned our heads so slowly to look at him I heard creaking. “Day, are you suggesting we get presents for Pam and Bella?” I asked. “…maybe. I dunno,” he said. “I guess since you guys pulled me out of that office I should probably do something nice.” “Awwww, I think his heart grew three sizes today,” Yova said.

Yova, our resident strategist, suggested that we do a lap around the main floor to see if we could figure out where everything was before we started buying anything. “It’s just like an anime convention. You don’t give your money to the first person who catches your eye, you might see the same shirt being sold three different places,” she said. Nerd. We ended up doing what she said and I realized while we were scouting things out that the market was laid out just like a big box store: if you found one thing you were looking for, everything else like it would be in the same area.

Our first stop was in the pet section, which was FUCKING LOUD. All the creatures were damn vocal about not wanting to be in crates and cages. Most of what was on sale was small to medium hedgebeasts, which meant Yova was a lady on a mission. She stopped off near a cluster of tables and shelves and I saw her blinking her eyes behind her Jackie O sunglasses, the big softie. The proprietor, a short, squat goblin, took clear note of her and asked if there was anything in particular she was looking for. She tried to play it cool, but then she saw a terrarium in the back with a bunch of tiny geckos. She moved closer and they all started swarming, trying to look up at her and get her attention.

The proprietor took a puff off his pipe and waddled over, asking her, “God a soft spot for the wee dragons, do ye?” “I’ve always preferred things of a herpetological nature over things with fur and feathers, yes,” she said. “HEY,” I said. “Shush, you,” she snapped. He asked her if he could interest her in one of the little dudes and she gave him a look, asking what the price was. He eyed her up and down, asking what she wanted it for. “Cockroaching, companionship, food?” When she told him she was interested in a pet, he considered this and said, “Well, since you’re looking for something to fill that void, how about a memory, a time when you felt that void?” She extended a hand, saying, “I get to pick the gecko.” He reached up, took her hand and shook it. She told me later that as soon as he did, she felt something ripple in her memory. She could tell there was something gone, but she couldn’t even remember what. Everything around it was just missing.

(Side note: Yova lost the painful memory of the time she came out to her parents and they rejected her. Per her player, “Not the worst memory to lose.”)

That, however, was a concern for another day. She put her hand in the bowl and started feeling around. The geckos were stepping all over each other, pushing each other away. As they were doing so, she noticed one of the less excitable geckos crawl onto her and she pulled him out. He was a scrawny little guy who was much paler than Paisley and he hadn’t fully grown into his wings yet, but as soon as she pulled him out, he wrapped himself entirely around her knuckle like a ring. “Awww, look at the little guy. Whatcha gonna name him?” I asked her. “Gershwin,” she responded without missing a beat. “What?!” Day scoffed. “You had that name completely ready to go, didn’t you?” I asked her. “Yeah,” she said. As we were walking away, I overheard the shopkeep chuckle darkly to the other geckos, “And to think you guys were just going to be feed!” before he tossed one of them to another hedgebeast, which caught it and crunched down hard. I decided it would be best not to mention that to Yova.

We realized that we would probably need to look for weapons and other supplies we could use on our mission to Arcadia, but in asking around it became clear PDQ that there was a total moratorium on weapons and other deadly things. Nevertheless, Yova spotted a stand that got all our attention quickly. It was a stand with a bunch of weird odds and ends: a golden comb, a pair of mudboots, an old IOU paper, a pair of chopsticks, a spool of silver thread. The thing that really got her attention was an old Montreal Expos pennant. I tried to ignore the pennant as best I could because when I was a much smaller, even more awkward Derek, I had to play shortstop on my local Little League team for one brief and tragic summer and as a “reward” for doing that, my dad took me and my brother up to Montreal for an Expos game. I just wanted some goddamn crepes, but no, I had to sit and watch one of the worst professional teams in history get completely trounced by the Orioles. The Orioles, for crying out loud.

Sorry. I have some baggage.

Point being, every time Yova looked at the pennant, she was filled with a swelling of pride. In fact, all the items at the booth did that. The chopsticks filled you with overpowering dread, the thread with a feeling of belonging. The proprietor, a taller Mrs. Pepperpot-type goblin named Nanny Primrose, asked us if she could interest us in anything. Yova casually reached out to touch the thread and Nanny Primrose rapped her knuckles with her cane. “That is not easy to come by, I don’t want it stolen!” she crabbed. “What is it?” Yova asked. “That, my dearie, is the length of a leash that one of the fae used to keep one of their pets on,” Nanny Primrose said. “Ohhh, like Bella,” I said low-key to Yova. “And what does it do?” Yova asked. “Well, if two people love each other very much and don’t mind the thing, you just pull them back to you like a fishing rod,” Nanny Primrose said. I leaned in and murmured, “You know, nine months out of the year, the Autumn Lodge is closed to outsiders…” She didn’t dignify that with a response, but I did see her eyeballing it more closely.

Yova did ultimately end up pointing to the pennant, asking, “And that?” “That, dearie, has seen a great number of battles within the Hedge. You could call it a call to arms, as it were. When things are looking down, sometimes you need just that little bit of oomph to get the guy who’s trying to beat you down. Of course, I have it look like that right now because,” she chuckled unpleasantly, “people don’t like to buy things that are covered in blood.”

Yova asked what the cost was and Nanny Primrose asked for something that had a story. “What do any of you have that has a story?” she asked. Yova and Day looked to me and I reached up, pulling a feather out of my neck and daubing it in some of the ink that was running free. “With this, anyone can write their own story,” I said, handing it over to Nanny Primrose. She looked at it appraisingly and then looked up. “Give me another one and we’ve got a deal,” she said. I pulled another feather out of the opposite side of my neck and handed it over. She tucked the feathers away and passed the pennant to Yova. “Bit of advice: you need heart’s blood to activate it,” she said. “Pardon my ignorance, but heart’s blood?” Yova asked. “Stab yourself with a stick, dearie,” Nanny Primrose said.

With a gecko and a banner secured, we decided to start looking for some things for the others. At least Yova and I did. Day wandered into the stands that were selling food and wild horses couldn’t have helped us drag him away. So Yova and I wandered into the décor section. There were a ton of different stands selling everything from carpets woven out of vines to cups carved out of pieces of rock to still-dripping paintings to glass that bent in ways glass shouldn’t have been able to bend. We ended up near a stall that was selling a collection of geodes that were SO SHINY and while I was drooling, Yova picked up one that looked like bismuth, though circular instead of the usual geometric shapes.

Unlike a lot of the items in the market, the geodes all had clear price tags on them. When Yova flipped the tag over, she saw that there was an image of two mice on it. I was distracted by all the shiny things and didn’t notice when a tortoiseshell cat jumped onto my shoulder and meowed loudly in my ear. Over my wailing, Yova asked it, “Pardon me, are you the purveyor of this establishment?” It meowed again and popped off, rubbing its tail under the “2 mice” price tag. “I’m afraid I don’t have any mice, but what about this?” She pulled out some glittery thread and twisted it back and forth so it would catch the light. The cat stuck its tongue out at her.

“You know, I think I have an idea,” I said. I reached in my messenger bag and pulled out the laser pointer I used to give Paisley some exercise and flicked it on, running it in front of the cat. It started batting at the laser and I flicked the pointer off. It looked up at me. “How about this: I give you a good chase with the red dot in exchange for the geode?” It thought for a moment, then nodded. I flicked the pointer back on and started running the cat through its stall. “You might want to go look for something for Pam. I’m gonna be here a minute,” I told her.

Yova ended up making her way through the rest of the décor section, noting a jewelry stand and a stall with journals that made noise upon opening. Eventually, she found the housewares section and a stall that sold a variety of different kinds of brooms. There was one with a polished oak handle and bristles made of something silky, which she knew Pam was going to love. Surprisingly, there was another changeling running the stall, a woman with blue iridescent scales and dark skin. Yova asked her what the cost was and the changeling gave her a knowing smile, saying, “I’m not complicated. I take cash. $75, I carved the handle myself.” Yova gave her four twenties and told her to keep the change.

Around this time, both Yova and I heard the music come to a blissful stop and an announcement came on over the loudspeakers: “Attention patrons: there is a blue light special on aisle 16!” Yova made her way back over to where I was still letting the cat chase that goddamn laser pointer. “Do you think we should check that out?” she asked. “Uh, yeah. Gimme one second,” I said. I threw the laser light about as far away as I could get and when the cat chased it away, I turned to go. Or at least, I tried to. It was a lot harder to do than I thought; it felt like there was something forcibly keeping me in place. I had to wrench myself away and when I did, I felt guilty. Some part of me knew I was leaving before I was formally dismissed and that part knew I should still be there.

“You should’ve just left the laser,” Yova told me as we made our way over to aisle 16. “Dude, this is Paisley’s favorite. You have no idea how picky she is,” I told her.

When we got to aisle 16, we saw a soapbox that had a blue light radiating out of it. The man standing on top of it was very pale with wavy silver hair pulled back in some updo that was somewhere between a ponytail and man bun. He was wearing a navy blue suit and had milky white eyes. Even before he could speak, I had the distinct feeling of oiliness.

When he spoke, that feeling was confirmed ten times over. He said, “Distinguished guests of the Spindle City Goblin Market, welcome! I have for you today a very interesting item, a very useful item, I’m sure you’ll all be quite interested in placing bids on.” He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a long crocheted rope with little precious gem beads embedded in it. “Behold!” he bellowed as he waved it in front of him. “A skinwalker’s trinket! Yarn woven from the wool of several different powerful hedgebeasts with beads carved from the dream gates of some of the most powerful changelings on the Earth! This is a very effective back alley doorway into the dreams of anyone you want to get into the dreams of! Bidding starts at a minor boon!”

Yova and I got into a huddle quickly and we agreed we were going to at least try to get it. “I think the best thing I can offer is to ensure a promise he has someone make is locked, but I’d have to be there for it to happen,” I told her. “True. But we just need to give him some way to get in touch with us. And worst case scenario, we get outbid,” she said.

We split up and Yova stepped forward to make the bid, holding up her hand and smiling her biggest bullshit smile. “My good sir, I have an offer!” she said. “Oh, do you, do you, do share, my good madam!” he said, matching her bullshit for bullshit. “I have the guarantee of a promise, locked down and guaranteed to happen,” she said. “What sort of promise are you talking about, a sworn pledge, a guarantee to kill someone?” he asked. “A Notarized promise. My friend here has the ability to do so – he is a Notary, a very rare breed, who can make such a thing happen,” she said, swinging her arm in my direction. I felt about eighty pairs of eyes on me and tried to give my friendliest smile, which has on occasion caused people to offer me antacids and made small children start crying.

The vendor looked over us (and me in particular) and grinned. He looked back to the rest of the crowd and said, “Well, we’ve got one going all in right at the start. Can anyone beat a promise from one who knows many of the secrets of the True Fae?” I was relieved that our gambit seemed to work. There were a few tepid bids coming in, but they were pretty puny and clearly not landing. The vendor rocked back on his heels and said, “I hate to say this, but you’re all boring as fuck. This is supposed to be a Goblin Market! Notary boy, come forward!” I stepped forward, clutching my messenger bag. He looked at the rest of the crowd and yelled, “SCRAM!” They all left, grumbling and looking unhappy.

He came forward, putting an arm around both of us (I was surprised to see he was almost as tall as Yova) and he said, “To be quite honest, your bid wasn’t so exciting either, but you have a reputation, so I’ll bite.” “We have a reputation?” Yova asked. “In certain circles,” he said. “What kind of reputation?” I asked. “You have people who are fond of you. They tell stories.” He turned to me and said, “So, how does it work? Are the words actually on your skin or what?” I pulled back some of my feathers to show the skin beneath and where some words had been printed on my flesh. “Ooooh!” he said, leaning close to see what was written. “Hey, watch your business,” I said, pushing the feathers back into place. “This is my business! This is my very business! Yuri, by the way,” he said, extending a hand. We introduced ourselves and hammered out the details of our deal, with him proposing that he come for his favor within the next lunar cycle. I agreed, pulled a feather on my lower arm out and wrote a note for him to take. I felt the Glamour leave my body and enter in the words that flowed onto my wrist under the ink that was bleeding out. At the same time, I felt some pushback from the Glamour he was pushing into the deal as well. It’s definitely a weird feeling. I’ve never gotten a tattoo, but from what I understand it’s kind of similar – it doesn’t exactly hurt, but there’s definitely a pressure there, pushing it down into my skin.

Yuri handed me the Token and I tucked it into my messenger bag right away. “One more thing before you go, and you don’t have to answer this, but it’s something I’m curious about,” I said. “You didn’t happen to have sold something similar to a young lady with tan skin and the legs of a white deer, did you?” He grinned wider and said that he had. “Sweet girl. Owes me a ton of favors now. And she’s very fond of all of you. I told you I’d heard about you.” With that, he waved and disappeared back into the throngs at the market.

“Okay, what next?” Yova asked. “Maybe we should go check on Day and make sure he hasn’t sold his toes for beef jerky?” I asked. “Day is a grown man, if he wants to sell his toes, he can do that,” she said. “Yeah, but we need him to be able to walk and stand in front of us,” I told him. “Besides that, why beef jerky? It’s disgusting,” I said. “I hear it’s very high in protein,” she said. “So is semen! Doesn’t mean you need to choke it down!” I said. She gave me a look of complete disgust and said, “This is exactly why I’m a lesbian.”

We passed by the food vendors and saw Day eagerly talking to the vendor at a stand marked “Organic” “Fruit” (yes, exactly like that, both words in separate quotation marks) and decided we’d swing back and get him later. Yova told me about the journals she saw earlier and they sounded intriguing, so we went back to the book binders. And that was when I realized that every single one of them made the sound of the animal whose hide was used to bind it. “NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE” I said. Yova quickly pulled me over to the other side of the stand. “What about these?” she asked, pointing to another set of journals. I picked one up and the face on it opened up and stared at me. “NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE” I said and she pulled me away.

“Look, Derek, you haven’t gotten anything for yourself, don’t you want anything?” she asked. I shrugged. “I dunno. I’m fine,” I said. And here’s something for those armchair psychologists of you out there: I was a middle child and I got used to getting passed over on stuff, so half of the time I don’t even really think about getting anything for myself. Yova, however, was not going to hear about that and she dragged me over to the cookware section to find something. And it was there that we found the most awesome stone rolling pin with kaleidoscopic handles. It was shiny and practical. I was about to ask how much it was but Yova had already spent the Glamour on it and she practically shoved it at me to put away. Having friends is awesome.

We found Day not long after that, about as big a smile as I’ve ever seen on his face. “You look pleased,” Yova told him. “I found the best freaking burgers I’ve ever had!” he said, pulling one out of its wrapper and shoving it in his face. He swallowed it whole and said, “And all they asked for was a bottle of my tears!” Yova and I looked at each other and she asked, “How many times did you have to punch yourself in the face to fill up a bottle of tears?” “None! They’re really spicy!” he said, chowing down on another one. And then, because I am a bad person, I started trilling, “Mind you, I can’t hardly blame them… these are probably the worst pies in London…” Yova bit down hard on her knuckle to keep from laughing and Day paused mid-chomp and looked at me. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” I said.

We were running close to the time where we said we’d meet Evain, so we took our purchases and went back up toward the entrance, where he was standing. He asked what we got and we showed him all of our goodies. He looked around and pulled a small doll out of his canvas bag. It looked eerily like Cassi and he asked hesitantly if we thought she was going to like it. “I think she’ll be very touched,” Yova said. “Yeah, you can say it’s for the first Christmas you missed. Oh! Oh, you know what I just saw this week that’s coming to Blu-Ray? Cinderella! You should get her that!” I said. “Oh, yeah, she’d love that,” he said.

“Did you watch that a lot with her when she was a kid?” Yova asked. Evain gave her a deadpan look and said, “Okay, listen. This is going to sound awful, but when you’re a single parent, sometimes you have to put them in front of the TV for a while to get stuff done. But then they want to watch the same movie six times in a row.” “Yeah, with my little sister it was Mulan,” I said. “Hey, Mulan is a perfectly good movie!” Yova protested. “She just liked the Reflection song,” I said. “She’d watch it, rewind to the start of the Reflection song, play the Reflection song. Rewind to the start of the Reflection song, play the Reflection song.” “Not I’ll Make a Man Out Of You or A Girl Worth Fighting For?” Yova asked. “Nope. Because ‘Mulan was pretty,’” I said. Evain looked around and said, “Uh, fun as this conversation is, maybe we should get going before they realize I stiffed them on the doll.” We quickly made our way for the exit and told him we’d be in touch about our mission in. And then we stopped off at PetSmart on the way home to get crickets for Gershwin.

So that’ll about do for our shopping excursion into the Goblin Market. Until next time, be safe and may you never be around well-meaning idiots who take you to go see journals bound in flesh.

[osmw1]

Dimension Wave   Chapter 13 — Cheesy

I’m standing in front of the cave. In my hand is my fishing rod with a sinker threaded onto the line.

“Let’s do this then.”

They silently nod in response and I cast my line. I have fine control over my rod, thanks to Fishing Mastery IV. The hook sinks right into the Lizardman Dark Knight. It probably dealt a point or two of damage, but it can hardly be called an attack. But it did exactly what I wanted it to—pulling its aggro.

“It’s comin’! Get ready, everybody!”

I’m not even sure if I did any damage to it, but it’s rushing towards us at the speed of lightning. If this were any other monster, we’d be instantly destroyed, but…

Kaboom!

The Lizardman Dark Knight slammed into the mouth of the cave accompanied by a terrible crash. Yup. The Lizardman Dark Knight doesn’t fit through the entrance. There are a lot of games where you can trap monsters by getting them to clip against objects. It’s an easy way to level up, but devs usually patch stuff like this out pretty quickly. Fortunately, it works in Dimension Wave. And it goes without saying that there’s a chance of it not working, but after discussing it between the three of us, we decided to try it out.

“Let’s kick its ass!” “Understood!” “Aye!”

The rest was straightforward. All we had to do was use the weapons and skills we had to and keep on attacking the trapped monster. I took out my Cetus Longsword and started hacking away at the trapped Lizardman Dark Knight too.

Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m doing too much damage. My strikes connect with a dull clank. I couldn’t tell from a distance, but now I know that it’s not only clad in armor but also covered in scales. Its defense is accordingly high too. I look over and see Shouko endlessly thrusting and swinging as well. Yamikage has some kind of scroll-shaped magic tome by his mouth and begins chanting. Moments after, a black visual effect appears, and he starts absorbing green orbs from the Lizardman Dark Knight.

That’s probably his Drain, a dark magic spell. Shouko and I aren’t using any skills though. We don’t know how much HP this boss has, so it’d be hard to guess if we’d make up any energy expended.

“This guy is literally so tough. Can you even win fighting normally?” “I have heard talk of a party defeating it before.”

We strike up a conversation, but our hands hadn’t stopped.

“’Tis naught but a rumor, but supposedly, they had tanks occupying the monster while they blasted it with light magic from a distance.” “I see. Its physical defense is as high as it looks to be.”

It’s just a guess, but I don’t think we’re quite fit to fight this Lizardman Dark Knight. The folding fan doesn’t do much damage and Drain is a dark-type skill. Our chances of winning are zero if not for cheesing it. My attacks make an unpleasant clank when I hit it and that’s with my strongest weapon I have. Oh, and if I had to say, I think a metal axe or even a blunt melee weapon would fare much better.

“In any case, if it doesn’t make any strange movements, we can just keep on wailing on it.” “Okay!” “Aye!”

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step is what they say. Just gotta keep at it.

Thirty minutes later.

“I-It’s still standing. How much freakin’ HP does this bastard have…”

If we get too close, it’ll strike back at us. We’re barely managing to outrange it. Especially with Shouko. The range on her fan is short, so she’s gotta occasionally parry its attacks. Not to mention, the AI causes it to try to run away from time to time. Naturally, I summon it back with my fishing rod. Seeing how I’m able to manage that says a lot about how smart the AI is.

“Perhaps it has regenerating capabilities.” “Nay. ‘Tis but because our offense is lacking.”

Well, that’s true, but I’m about average, I’d say. It’s been seemingly forever since we’ve attacked this monster, resulting in its armor crumbling and even scales ripped off. Still, it’s tough mentally to keep this up for a whole hour on a single monster.

“Be nourishment for my spirit. Drain!”

Yamikage’s been spamming Drain endlessly for 30 minutes and now even has more Energy than Shouko. That’s to say, he has about 27,000 right now. The Lizardman Dark Knight sure has a lot of HP.

“Whoa?”

As soon as the familiar green orbs get drained by Yamikage, the Lizardman Dark Knight moved in a peculiar way like nothing seen before. It keeled over with a deafening wheeze. It crumbles and slams onto the ground while luckily, causing no earthquakes.

“Hath it finally perished?” “Hey! That’s a death flag right there!” “Hmm, aye. I have left my younger sister behind in my hometown. Therefore, death must wait!”

… god damnit. I like his enthusiasm.

“Goodness… whatever are you two doing?”

Shouko shot a chilling glance over at us while confirming that the enemy is dead. Bosses feign death too. I raise my guard and get closer.

“Be wary. It may be feigning death.” “Gotcha.” “That is unlikely.” “Why’s that?” “Dark it may be, but it is still a knight. I believe it would have more honor than to do something so cowardly.”

Hmm, she’s got a point. It’s normally the demons and tribals that play dead, I think. Well, I guess the Lizardmen are a tribe, but still, it’s a knight. It should be honorable. More honorable than us, at least. We’re the one who trapped it and cheesed it to death. But ignore that.

“As for drops… we obtain a Fragment of Darkness and Dark Spear Splinter.” “We may sell those for a hefty sum.”

It’ll make us a good bit of coin, though I’m not exactly broke. Well, it doesn’t hurt to have more money. According to Yamikage, that two-handed spear is a material and a very desirable one for spear-wielders because of its dark element.

“Such is the prowess of a gutting-type weapon, true to what the rumors say.”

The real issue now is what to do. I glance over to Shouko and give her a look. Honestly, I want to gut it. I don’t think I’d get another chance to gut it. And likely, what we’d get from the monster would be really good for weapons and armor. A side of me is saying to keep the secret but the other side of me really wants the boss loot.

“We’re buddies that took down a boss together, so I guess I’ll tell ya…”

There ain’t nothin’ better than boss drops.

“If you are fine with it, Kizuna, then I believe it is for the best as well.” “Hmm? What is the meaning of this?” “Well, just watch. Speed Gutting…”

After chanting the skill, I take my Cetus Longsword and start to butcher up the giant Lizardman Dark Knight. I can’t do anything about the armor and scales broken off of it, but I can harvest the rest of his scales, bones, flesh, teeth, eyes, skin, tail, and even blood. But, for some reason, I can’t make use of what I broke off of it in the fight. It’s like the complete opposite of that certain monster hunting game.

“Egads…”

Yamikage mutters out in shock. Since this is a boss monster, I got as much material as I did from the Giant Herring. The Giant Herring must’ve been the boss of its species too.

“What on earth is this? Hath the items increased? Doth gutting-type weapons not increase our drops?” “It is poorly explained in the manual, but this is the proper way of using a gutting weapon.” “Never have I been more surprised in this world before!”

I can’t tell whether he’s really that surprised or his acting is just overboard, but his words are filled with zeal. Well, even if he tells everyone about this, we can still make plenty of cash if we sell these boss items quick enough.

“Then, shall I keep this a secret too?” “Huh?” “It seems as though Misses Kizuna and Hakoniwa were both keeping this undisclosed. As gratitude for saving my life, I, too, shall bring this secret to my grave.” “W-Well, I’d appreciate it if you would…”

And to think he had almost killed us. I’m glad he changed his mind. If he’ll keep it a secret, then I really don’t have any problems with him.

“However, I doth have an issue to discuss…” “What is it?” “May I perhaps join your party?” “… why?” “I have been playing alone up till now.” “Is that right?”

Shouko questions him. He’s got such a weird build. It’s no wonder no one’s letting him in their party. I almost blurted that out loud, but I held my tongue.

“It may hath been on your tongues already, but I have a communication disorder.” “…?”

… what was that? Unfortunately, I had no clue. Some might think his roleplaying is over the top, but I think most enjoy it. At least Alto or Romina wouldn’t have a problem with it.

“Many times, I have wished to join a party, but I always end up unable to.” “I am sorry to hear.”

Shouko’s totally starting to let her guard down. It totally reeks of a scam.

“Question.” “Aye?” “You said you have a communication disorder, but you’re talkin’ to us just fine.” “Speaking like this—like a ninja—seems to help.”

What kind of reasoning is that? At least come up with a better excuse.

“Mine heart is pounding as we speak now.” “Goodness! Kizuna, let her travel with us. We are fellow Spirits after all!”

What is this feeling? Like I’m watching my friends getting swindled? W-Well, I guess a party wouldn’t be too bad… hmm?

“What did you just say?” “We are fellow Spirits after all?” “No, before that.” “We should travel with her? “Yeah. ‘Her’?”

Yamikage’s wrapped up in all black. That’s not something you could tell at first glance. There’s even black cloth wrapped around their mouth, so it’s hard to tell by their voice.

“I am embarrassed to show my true face in front of others, but if we are to fight together, then please, look at me.”

Saying that, Yamikage unravels the black cloth…

—and reveals a beauty girl with silver hair.

contents: /prologue/ /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /next/

(please support me on Patreon or Paypal)

[beinglibertarian]

Democrats Can’t Fix Healthcare – Red Dirt Liberty Report

This is a topic I have covered before, but I think it bears repeating. Now that Democrats have regained control of the House of Representatives, it is certain that they will begin to chime on about one of their top priorities at the moment – Medicare for All. It’s been a talking point for them, and it’s their way of marketing and rebranding a single payer healthcare system. They believe that by attaching the branding to something people believe already works, that it will sell the idea of socializing all of healthcare.

Already, Medicare is well on it’s way of not being able to support itself very soon. Many estimates show that nationalizing the healthcare system (Medicare for All) would cost upwards of $3 trillion. It’s easy enough for Democrats and socialists to wave a magic wand and pretend that if we just tax “the rich” more we can afford it, but the fact is that you can’t tax the rich enough to pay for this. Not to mention, if we are really talking about defining “the rich”, then everyone in the US needs to consider themselves a target. The vast majority of us are rich here in the US.

To be fair, the costs of health insurance is extremely high by most standards. It was already high when Obama took office and Democrats had their way a few years ago with the Affordable Care Act that made it even more expensive, possibly with the goal of making private insurance so unaffordable that people would be more swayed by Medicare for All. But, the single greatest factor of what makes health insurance most expensive is the manner in which Americans view health insurance.

Health insurance is the only form of insurance in the US where people view it as a means of paying regular billing and for costs of every day expenditures. It’s a little bit like if you expected your car insurance to pay for your gasoline and oil changes. Insurance is intended to transfer the risk of a major financial hardship onto another party for a fee. Everyday type expenditures aren’t real risks of financial hardship. They are virtual certainties. We expect our health insurance to pay for a routine visit to the doctor for the flu, but we don’t expect our home owners policy to pay when we change an air filter.

We have made our health insurance plans into very expensive billing services that we use to take care of all our healthcare billing and payment. Every time you insert a bureaucracy of people into the mix, things cost more money. It costs more to have people manage these expenses for you, and it costs doctors more to deal with the insurance companies. If you were to hire someone to pay all your household bills every month and to verify all the charges, you would have to compensate them to do all that, and it would be expensive to do so. The same goes for your healthcare costs.

Not only is it expensive to pay people to manage every day sorts of costs for you, but it also, in the way we currently manage our health insurance, interjects a third party that is unable to shop our healthcare for us to get the best price for the services rendered. Most people would be incensed in their health insurance company asked them to go to another doctor or a different healthcare facility in order to get less expensive treatment. We’ve maintained the service shopping within our healthcare arrangements but have removed the shopping for price. This has caused health insurance companies to be handcuffed to paying higher prices when we no longer really care what those prices are. We shop for great care but supply little market pressures to pricing, because we do not pay prices directly and demand the insurance companies pay for services wherever we choose. Coinsurance is a partial answer, but often times it is not enough of a motivator, especially when the out of pocket max that is mandated by the government is reached. This means that the most expensive procedures are the ones that receive the least amount of pricing pressure.

Pre-existing conditions have always been a sticking point, and it’s something that the majority of people don’t want to lose coverage on if there is a repeal of the ACA. The problem with it is that this is something that also falls outside of what insurance is intended to do. Insurance is intended to guard against risk. A preexisting condition is no longer a risk. it’s a certainty. If your house in on fire and you ask me to insure it for you as we watch it burn, why on earth would I agree to take on the responsibility of rebuilding your home for you if you pay me less than 10% of the cost? It doesn’t make any sense. While it may seem unfair and discriminatory, that’s just not what insurance is and it isn’t how insurance functions properly.

The problem of preexisting conditions can only be fixed by separating our health insurance from our employers. If you lose your coverage when you leave your employer, then when you adopt new insurance at the next employer, it is very easy to have some sort of preexisting condition. However, if your coverage stays with you no matter where you work, no pre-existing conditions ever occur unless you voluntarily change insurance companies.

The other item which skyrockets the cost of health insurance is that the ACA qualifies the majority of Americans to receive a subsidy for the cost of their health insurance. In fact, many people making even as much as $100,000 per year can qualify for subsidies. The subsidies are quite significant, often times covering most or all of the premiums. If the government throws out money, prices tend to adjust upwards. There is less incentive for people to price shop. It’s just like the rising costs of education that are driven by a constant influx of government money into higher education. In any economy, when more money is injected into a market, the prices tend to go up. It might feel good to pay less for your health insurance, but you are still paying for it with your tax dollars, and at a much higher rate than if you had shopped for it yourself.

The only way for the costs of health insurance to go down is to interject free market forces into every aspect. Many people are not aware of a type of health insurance known as an “indemnity plan.” These plans are not sold on the healthcare marketplace with subsidies, and when they are sold through employers, it is most typically done in a fashion where the employee purchases it as a voluntary benefit. The employer is not required to pay a portion of the premiums, but there are benefits for both employer and employee, because it is a pretax payroll deduction where both employer and employee save taxes. The employee can also keep the plan when he/she leaves.

Rather than paying whatever rates are set by doctors and hospitals at their varying prices, indemnity plans pay on a set fee basis – usually based on the exact fee schedule used by Medicare, but often paying more than Medicare. By doing this, actuaries working for the insurance company are much better able to predict the costs and risks, thus decreasing premiums. It also allows the insured to shop for his care. If you know the exact amount of flat fee your insurance company is going to pay for your procedure, then you combine the service level you want with the price you are willing to pay and you go shopping. It brings about the sorts of market pressures that are typical in a free economy that maximizes pricing and service efficiencies, driving down the costs of health insurance dramatically.

Here’s a real world example. A man needs a knee surgery, and his doctor wants him to use a hospital. He checks with the hospital and has them give him an all-in price of a little over $32,000 for the procedure. His insurance policy pays a fee of $10,400 for that particular procedure. Because hospitals are generalists and have to be prepared for almost anything, they are very expensive places to have an elective surgery. The man instead called a local surgery center that specializes in outpatient orthopedic surgeries and they offered a cash rate of $6,500. The man was able to get his surgery done and keep an extra $3,900 in the process. Not everyone can afford to pay out of pocket like he did, but it illustrates how market pressures can dramatically change prices. As a consequence, indemnity policies usually cost about a third the cost of traditional major medical insurance, and usually offer better coverage with lower deductibles and much lower out of pocket expense if someone is willing to take the initiative to act as a true healthcare consumer.

Medicare for All only increases the problems that are already in place with healthcare. Do you want to pay less money out of pocket for your healthcare, or do you want to pay a massive bureaucracy to manage it for you? Do you want private health insurance to become less expensive and allow you to choose the coverage you want, or do you want government deciding whether you are deserving of the health coverage you want?

We don’t necessarily have to go with indemnity coverages for the US, but we do need to think about health insurance much differently in order to keep government from destroying the good in our healthcare system, and magnifying what’s bad about it. We have to consider health insurance more like the other types of insurance we use. It’s intended to transfer the risk of significant financial hardship. We can’t afford to treat it like an entitlement or a right. Health insurance is not, by any means, the only factor in the costs of healthcare, but is probably one of the most significant. If we have any hope of making a real and dramatic positive change in the costs, quality, and outcomes of healthcare in the US, we have to get government out of health insurance, and we have to bring about full free market forces to bear on health coverage.

The post Democrats Can’t Fix Healthcare – Red Dirt Liberty Report appeared first on Being Libertarian.

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The majority of 2018 I spent educating people about the worst drought in 800 years. The Central Coast listened; we not only banded together to raise thousands of dollars, but we filled an entire truckload of donations to deliver to farmers in Western NSW.

It all began sometime around February, when I can recall seeing an article somewhere about how Australia was currently in drought. My family own and operate Mangrove Produce and Hardware, where we supply hay, grain and feed to locals in the Mangrove Mountain region. My mum had mentioned she was having a bit of trouble sourcing feed, because with no grass for cattle to eat, the demand was quickly rising – and so were the prices.

One night when I was reading statistics and stories about the drought, I stumbled across a charity called Rural Aid, who’d been running their fundraising campaign, Buy A Bale, for some time. The aim was to encourage donors to purchase a bale of hay for a struggling farmer by donating $20 or more.  It was a fantastic idea, and I got in contact with them. At a time when they weren’t a very well-known non-profit nationally, they were eager to send me fundraising materials to help raise money and spread the word.

March 2018: Help my Mum & I raise money for Buy A Bale!

As I asked around friends and family, and began posting about the drought on social media, I found that most didn’t even realize the majority of our own state was in the middle of severe drought. My good friend and photographer Andrew Cooney approached me with an idea; he discussed travelling to the worst of the drought-affected areas to document the damage, and we agreed to team up with our fundraising efforts to educate the Central Coast and just how bad it really was.  Below are some of his photographs from his first visit to a farm in Gunnedah, NSW, and they speak for themselves.

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His photographs caught the eye of Samuel Lentini from Eastcoast Beverages – a local juice company on the Central Coast. Sam decided that he wanted to come on board our fundraising campaign as well, and so – with me still busy collecting our donations, spreading the word, and putting together marketing materials – Andrew and the Eastcoast Beverages team headed to Gunnedah once again, where they delivered a truckload of orange peels from the factory for the cattle to eat. It was such an extraordinary site, it attracted a lot of media attention, including The Daily Telegraph, ABC and Prime 7!

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We spent another few weeks fundraising in person and online, when all of a sudden, the national media seemed to wake up. TV stations and major news publications started to report on all the debt, all the cattle lost, and all the mental struggles the farmers were dealing with.

That was when I met a lady named Sara Evans. She came into my workplace at the radio station, after listening to the breakfast shows discuss the massive impact of the drought. A co-worker steered her in my direction, as I had already been campaigning and fundraising to support our farmers for several months. Sara basically said to me, ‘I’ve got a truck and a driver who’s willing to donate his time, I want to do something really BIG to help these farmers.’

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We both agreed to organize a Coast-wide donation drive, which was a huge job, and we’d only given ourselves a month to plan, market and collect donations leading up to the event day. The idea was to run a drive-through drop-off zone in a central location near the freeway, as we wanted to make it as easy as possible for the public.

We both had a bit of previous fundraising experience, but nothing of this scale, and we hadn’t taken into account exactly just how much help we were going to need – pallets to pack the donations on, a place to sort and store the goods before they were loaded onto the truck, a forklift and qualified driver, traffic control on the day, a LOT of fuel money to get the semi-trailer across the state and back… we’d sort one problem, and then another would arise. And we were juggling this all while still working full-time. It was definitely a giant learning curve for both of us, but we were so incredibly grateful to have the help from dozens of local businesses.

Working for a media company, I was lucky enough to have marketing materials at my disposal – radio interviews and commercials, flyers and posters, and access to our promotional cars to draw listeners in on the day. My whole workplace was extremely supportive, and I am still so thankful to this day for all of their help. I couldn’t have pulled it off without a platform to send out the message across in the first place.

The Central Coast For Our Farmers Donation Drive was a success – while the number of people we had wasn’t as many as we were hoping, the amount that came brought an enormous amount of goods. There were donors who had collected that much dog food, groceries and water that they had to make second and third trips to bring it all to us. We had local schools collect items, business owners filling boxes and boxes of stuff at their workplaces, and families who had added extra items into their trolleys every week when they did their own shopping. It was just phenomenal how much people wanted to help. I certainly didn’t expect collecting enough donations to fill the entire truck, but we did!

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When deciding on where we were going to deliver the donated goods, we had a look into some of the most remote parts of the state, where help hadn’t yet reached. We chose the Packsaddle region, an area about 180km north of Broken Hill. The standout feature of this barren land was a popular venue called Packsaddle Roadhouse on Packsaddle Station, where tourists and truck drivers would often stop to stay the night and grab a feed.  The roadhouse was also home to the local SES Base, and Sara got in contact with the venue owner, who kindly offered up the venue for free to deliver and unpack the donations for the farmers, as well as a place for us to stay the night.

We began the road trip about 2 weeks later, with volunteers from Rotary Gosford North coming along as well. My wonderful Dad offered to drive my partner and I in his car, and on the first day, we traveled 14 hours to Broken Hill. As soon as we passed the Hunter Valley region, it was like entering a different country – the overcast weather and rolling hills of the wine country suddenly turned into flat open plains scattered with gumtrees. Everything was so incredibly dry and brown, it was hard to believe that it was once all green. We passed lots of herds wandering the roadside, with farmers leading them from behind to any patches of greenery they could find – the paddocks had turned to dust, so they were forced to look beyond their own properties for food.

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The halfway point to Broken Hill was a town called Cobar, and that was really when the effects of the drought were evidence. I almost expected a tumbleweed to roll past as we got out of the car for a stretch. From there, it got worse – we passed countless signs marking where rivers once were, now dry as a bone. The amount of dead animals on the roadside almost doubled, and as we drove the endless, straight route towards Broken Hill, there was almost no evidence that it had actually rained 50mm in the previous 24 hours. Most of the puddles had dried up already, and the sudden dump of rain had washed away the top soil on any spring crops that were planted. It was heartbreaking to think that at the time we were travelling, it was supposed to be the peak season for growth, but there wasn’t a blade of green grass in sight.

After a night’s stay in Broken Hill, we drove another 4 hours north to deliver and unpack around 60 pallets of donations. Sara and I had organized a party for all the local farming families at the roadhouse, and some had already arrived when we got there to help us set up.

The people I met were just amazing – the most hardworking, honest and down to earth people who could laugh at anything. The best part was seeing the joy on their faces. These farmers, they’d been stuck in a depression, some had really been struggling to get up to work each day. I feel so humbled and privileged to get to see first hand these people reunite with their neighbors and friends, some who they hadn’t seen for months, but had known all their life. We cooked them a free feed for lunch and dinner, treated them to plenty of free beer and set up the truck as a stage where they sang, danced and partied on till early hours of the morning.

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Most of them owned well over 100,000 acres. I spoke to a beautiful woman who’d lived on the land her whole life. To give you an idea of the size, the entire city of Chicago in the USA is around 149,000 acres – she had 250,000 acres, with a few thousand head of cattle. I asked when she’d last received rain. She laughed and said the last time she can recall was late 2015 – more than 3 years ago.

She had 10 working dogs, and the bagged dog food cost too much, so she was shooting kangaroos for them to eat instead. Each dog needed about 2 kangaroos each for a decent feed, but the ammunition for the bullets cost hundreds as well, with each bullet equaling about $5 each. There were hundreds of goats on her property which she could also shoot and sell (too skinny for the dogs to eat), but their value had dropped to $2 per goat – less than the cost of the bullet needed to shoot them.

This same lady had broken down in tears when we showed her the shed full of donations, because it wasn’t the donations themselves that brought these people overwhelming joy – it was the fact that we had gone to the effort to collect them, bring them out here, and put on a big party for them.

We wanted to show them that we cared beyond just making a cash donation for a farm thousands of kilometers away, we wanted to say ‘we hear you, we know you’re there, and we’re coming to give you a well deserved break from the day-to-day stresses of the big dry.’

Every farmer would only take the bare minimum of what they needed, insisting that there were others that needed it more. It was like a big supermarket; they could grab bags and boxes and fill up their utes with whatever they needed. They put aside boxes and pallets of stuff for their friends and neighbours who couldn’t make it.

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Many had told me that a major problem they’d encountered was the rise of bore water in the area. The water quality from the bore water, due to a substantial increase in bores being put in, meant they had to go deeper, and the little water that they could get was full of poisonous minerals and wasn’t drinkable. Most of the money they had went to buying bottled water and bagged feed, because hay prices had skyrocketed.(My family’s own business was suffering too, and we were getting phone calls from all over the state with people willing to travel hours and hours for any hay available to purchase). A lot had told me in terms of food, water and feed, they were down to about 3-4 weeks supply on hand at a time, because they couldn’t afford to redirect any money to stock up. The donations we brought have added another few weeks’ worth of supplies for them and – as equally as important, if not more – a well needed mental relief.

Andrew and I have continued to raise funds for Buy A Bale, long after I returned from delivering donations with Sara and the Rotary team. We just recently crossed the $19,000 mark, thanks money raised at our local Grill’d restaurants through their Local Matters program. We also raised money through selling merchandise and continuously spreading the word through an online campaign, radio commercials, money tins in our workplaces and articles in local newspapers and magazines.

Despite raising the money and delivering the donations, what truly touched my heart and made this experience stand out from other non-profit work I’ve done was actually travelling there and seeing the devastating impact of drought for myself. It’s one thing to press a button, share an article, give some money, but to actually see the difference it’s making is just extraordinary, and to this day it is one of the most challenging but life-changing things I’ve ever done.

Local businesses are doing it tough and desperately need an economic boost from visitors. A recent NSW Business Chamber survey in regional areas found the drought has negatively impacted more than 84%. Domestic tourism is the backbone of many regional communities, with 86% of domestic travel done by car.

Tourists spent $110 billion in local towns, cities and communities in regional Australia during 2016-17. However, of the international tourists that do visit, over 90% only stay in Sydney or Melbourne.

The best thing you can do to support our farmers is get out and shop in the local shops, eat at the local pubs, and get the money flowing through the local economy again, because the drought affects everyone – not just everyone in these remote towns, but our whole economy.

Drought conditions of NSW as of 24th January 2019 (Source: edis.dpi.nsw.gov.au)

How I Led A Team Of Volunteers to Deliver A Truckload Of Donations & Raise Over $19,000 For Aussie Farmers The majority of 2018 I spent educating people about the worst drought in 800 years. The Central Coast listened; we not only banded together to raise thousands of dollars, but we filled an entire truckload of donations to deliver to farmers in Western NSW.