#Paper Cigarette Boxes For Sale

[daisiescomelate]

A rose for a rose

Prompt: jjk characters buy you flowers 🌹

Characters: shoko, toji, gojo, nanami

masterlist

Shoko - 'The one that loves too much'

Shoko held her cigarette to her lips and looked sideways at the man sitting on a chair on the street with buckets filled with fresh flowers arranged in bouquets. He had a small variety of flowers, and the bouquets were simple but pretty.

She left the school to get to a nearby pharmacy to restock on bandages and ointment for the infirmary. She walked without a rush. It was a nice sunny day, and she wondered if she should pick up a snack for lunch at the convenience store she knew was right ahead on the next block.

The man sat in silence immerse on his own thoughts. He remained invisible to the crowd that didn't spared him a glance. The handwritten signs on cardboard boxes read the prices. "Big bouquet", "Small bouquet", "Small rose bouquet", "Single rose".

Shoko put out her cigarette and approached the nearest set of flowers. White, yellow, pink, red. She didn't actually know how to call the flowers by name. She bent her knees to her chest to give them a closer look, and reached out with a single finger to caress one of the petals.

"Flowers are a nice way to say 'thank you'." A soft voice said. Shoko lifted her eyes to see the man on the chair who pointed at one of the small bouquets. "Since sometimes it's a hard thing to say with words."

Shoko looked at the set of small bouquets on the bucket. She asked herself if it would be alright to take one with her. She considered it carefully, and then reconsidered to consider it some more.

It never escaped her how odd was the amount of time she had to ponder around this type of thing. It shouldn't be so hard to buy a gift for your partner. But there was this hesitation, faint but ever present around her heart, the fear of exposing herself as the type of person that loved too much. The fear of finding out to be the one that loved more.

She picked a set of flowers from the bucket. The plastic crinkled under the light weight of her fingers. Three light pink roses with small white flowers around them. How nice it would be to not be scared to buy them.

You would love them.

You would kiss her thank you and smile at her with your whole heart. 'I love you', you would whisper, the way you did every morning and every night.

Sometimes Shoko wondered why it was so hard for her to trust and let go, guessed she was too scarred.

Maybe not just yet.

She placed the flowers back into the bucket and stood up, putting her hands back into the pockets of her white coat.

"You don't look like you're hesitating because of the price", the man said.

Shoko debated with herself if she should make something up to avoid a salesman speech. She started to feel as if she was in the way of the walking crowd.

"They are quite cheap, actually. You should raise your prices." She decided to answer.

"Saying 'thank you' sometimes makes us feel too vulnerable, doesn't it?"

The man had an eccentric way to do sales.

Yet...

Shoko looked back at the bouquet of flowers, picking at her nails inside the pockets of her coat. Just do it. It was normal to get gifts for your partner. You had done it multiple times for her.

If a bunch of flowers felt like too much... Did she really love you?

Her eyes flickered between the colors.

If a bunch of flowers was too much–

Shoko bent down and picked one of the single roses wrapped around clear plastic paper decorated with prints of white hearts and stars.

Small steps.

She reached for her pocket and took out a bill from her wallet.

"Keep the change." She said to the man.

"Have a good day, lady." He accepted the money.

Shoko carried the rose carefully in one hand and decided she would stop at the convenience store after all before getting back to the school.

Toji - 'Poor man with rich solutions'

Toji walked back home in the afternoon after work.

The road he usually took was cut due to a festival on the streets that would take place that night and for the following week, therefore he had to take a detour and move to one of the busy streets he usually avoided.

The crowd of busy office men and women in their tidy suits moved forward ready to get back to rest for the day.

His groceries hung on the tip of his fingers. His mind was elsewhere, pondering between his next gig and what he should make for dinner.

You were supposed to come by tonight. He went out for some ingredients for dessert, since he wanted tonight to be a little more fancy. He did have a rough moment at the store when he realized he didn't know about your ice cream preference, but everyone liked chocolate flavor, right?

That was a thing he should ask about tonight.

Lost in his thoughts, he caught himself on time before clashing with someone that came from the side at a hurried pace.

The man had come out from one of the stores that lined one against the other on the street. He carried a phone in one hand, and his wallet, a bouquet, a bag and a jacket in the other. He held everything with a deadly grip while trying to put the backpack's straps on his shoulders without dropping everything else. The bouquet flapped around and got caught under the jacket for a moment. A rose petal fell on the sidewalk.

"I'm on my way, baby. I stopped for a little surprise for you." The man said on the phone, "You'll see, you'll see..."

He had a dumb smile on his face and his eyes shined bright. He was so stupified by the voice on the other side of the phone he still didn't realize Toji was right behind him and he was close to hit him in his stupid little dance.

Toji raised an eyebrow at the anxious little man.

"I'm going to the train station right now, I'll be there in twenty minutes. Do you want me to pick something up from the store?"

He finally got to put his backpack on properly, and get his wallet in his pocket. He hung the jacket on one of the straps of his bag, and he stared at the yellow bouquet with a tender expression.

The person on the other side of the phone must have said something funny because next he was turning around while giggling like an idiot.

The man walked away jumping on his toes, blind to the pedestrians he barely avoided in his trance. His laugh lingered as he lost himself in the crowd.

Toji mumbled some not nice words under his breath and looked to the side to where the man had come from. The flower shop was a little hole in the wall. The front of the shop was almost completely glass so you could see the flower arrangements lined up for display.

Toji thought of how stupidly in love that person looked while looking at the bouquet he bought.

He wondered if you would like to receive some too.

He stepped closer to the window of the shop. He looked at the shades of pink, orange, blue, white and red. A bucket of red roses was set on the middle row to the left. The price of half a dozen roses was...

Insane.

Toji scolded at the amount. It was ridiculous. What do they water these flowers with that got them to be this expensive? He pressed his jaw tight, doing some quick math on his brain. No. There was not enough on his wallet right now, and the money he had left on the bank was everything he had to work with until next month.

Whatever. You never mentioned flowers anyway.

He turned away from the flower shop and resumed his walk home.

A bitter feeling followed close behind him with every step as he left the busy streets and began walking into a residential area.

Toji thought of the men and his stupid smile again, and the feeling of frustration grew on his chest.

He sighed, thinking there was no reason to make such a big deal out of a simple idea that had flashed through his mind and you didn't even know about.

Still, there was a lingering feeling of having disappointed you-

Until a sudden idea struck.

Toji stopped on his feet one more time and looked at a house to his left. It was an old house like all the others in this particular neighborhood. Around this area the streets were quiet, and the rent was cheap. It was the kind of neighborhood that had many elderly people hanging around.

The type of people that had a lot of free time and enjoyed gardening.

The particular house he had spotted had a flower pot hanging by the window that faced the street.

Toji listened attentively and looked straight into the window for any sight of life. Then, he walked slowly to the pot. He left his grocery bags on the floor and drew a knife from his waist.

A few minutes and a few bad cuts by thorns later, Toji was walking down the sidewalk with his handmade bouquet.

If you think about it, handmade gifts are always more meaningful than something anyone could buy in a store.

The following morning a grandma cursed at the bandals that had massacred her roses and swore to one day get her revenge.

Gojo - 'Black Card in love'

Satoru was on his lazy hour after lunch scrolling on his phone. A new picture of you crossed his feed and he instantly liked it and opened it to read the comments. Friends, family and some random weirdos complimented your sweet smile hiding behind a wildflower you were holding on one hand.

Taking a break with friends at the park, the caption read. He smiled. He wanted to ditch work and teletransport next to you right then. He sighed dramatically.

"My beloved is out there being monopolized by a bunch of randos and I'm here rotting." He complained to no one in particular, or maybe to the entire Universe.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head, to then refocus his attention at the comment section of your post.

so cuteeeee

youre eyes are so pretty

Today is a sunny day lets enjoy it!

so pretty.. the flower too...

Satoru frowned at the screen. Vultures. And then he typed a comment of his own.

My partner is so beautiful!!

And filled it with an exuberant amount of red hearts so the comment would stand out to anyone who entered to leave their own.

Satoru knew he had nothing to be afraid of, there was nothing this people had that could match with him. Money, power and a good name. Gojo Satoru was one hell of a catch. He was exactly what everyone looked for in a partner. Exactly what you deserved. That was why those comments were so preposterous to him.

He tapped on your picture and looked at your profile, checking if there was any other photo he hadn't seen yet that you upload recently, but he was proud to say he was up to date.

He returned to his feed and the torment of the infinite scrolling, pausing every once in a while on some pictures not because he was interested but out of boredom, when a particular picture caught his attention.

It was the picture of one of your friends holding a big bouquet of roses that covered most of the frame with a wide smile on their face. The caption read, Happy birthday to me! Thank you to my one and only for this beautiful gift.

You had liked the picture and your comment was between the first few of the bunch.

happy birthday!! those flowers are so beautiful i wish someone did that for me some day too!!

Satoru took his feet off the table in front of him. He sat up, leaned his body forward and prompted his elbows over his knees, tapping his cheek with his finger.

You never said that you liked flowers? Silly you.

He closed social media and opened his browser. It took him a few minutes to find a place that spoke quality, but after that he was quick to get on the phone.

"La Boutique Florale, my name is Amy. How might I help you?"

"Amy! Hello~. I would like to order five hundred roses, please."

"Absolutely, sir. Is it for an event?"

"Just a bouquet." He said while playing with his nails.

"A bouquet, sir?"

"Yes. But add some of those tiny white flowers to make it look pretty..." He smiled already thinking of the picture you would post of it. He needed to be on them.

"The price of a five hundred bouquet of flowers would be–"

"Don't worry about that. I'll pay with credit." Any price she could name was not a struggle for him.

"Good, no problem. Would you like to add a note, sir?"

"A note? Mmm... write something like 'for my pretty bumblebee with love from your one and only' on a nice handwriting. Add a little heart to it. I'll tell you the address..."

As easy as that.

When everything was set and done he hung up the phone and stretched on his chair with a satisfied smile.

Gojo Satoru was one hell of a catch. He just liked to remind you of it once in a while, so you wouldn't be tempted by something less than you deserved.

Nanami - 'The ways of a gentleman'

Nanami parked his car in front of a tiny flower shop in the outskirts of the city on his way to school. It was early in the morning. The sunlight was still hushing away the cold of the night. It tickled his skin when he opened the car's door and as he walked the short distance to the shop.

A bell dinged as he opened the glass door. A nice lady offered him a ‘good morning’ and asked if he was looking for anything in particular.

Nanami brushed his gaze around the flowers on display. A line of flower arrangements on a table at the center of the room caught his eye. He walked to the table and pondered on the colors. He already had something in mind before coming in. One of the bouquets in particular seemed to be what he was looking for.

"That's a beautiful choice, is it meant for a special occasion?" The lady asked when he placed the roses over the counter.

"It's our anniversary today." He said, and took out his wallet to pay.

"Well, I'm sure your partner would love it. Small details are what makes a long lasting relationship."

Nanami slightly smiled for himself, agreeing with the lady but having nothing else to add.

The lady smiled too and reached under the counter for a piece of paper and a pen. She bent over to place the pen over the card. Nanami could guess what she was going to ask before she had the chance to do so, so he said instead,

"Do you mind if I write it?"

"Of course not, here you go.” She slided the pen to place it in front of him and accepted his card. The lady passed the payment while he scribbled a short message. It was straightforward, but in no way not less meaningful because of it, coming from Nanami.

For another year together. With love, Kento.

"Here you go..." Called the lady as she left his card over the counter.

Nanami thanked her and placed the card and his wallet back in his back pocket. He left the shop followed by a 'have a good day', and got to his car. He opened the driver's door and carefully placed the roses over the passenger seat.

As he started the engine, he thought if there was still time to pick up another treat for you or if he risked getting late for work. The thought only troubled him because he wanted to see you before you started your class with the first years.

He might as well rush, because truth be told, he was kind of excited to see you to give you your gift and a sweet 'i love you' kiss.

[tuliptired]

more of egon x ta!reader 👉👈

Hello? You're My Very Special One

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Ta!Reader

Warnings: Very familial and child-centric, though stuff like reader anatomy isn't specified

Askbox is little backed up (my bad) but that's ok because now I have more time to write for you all :)

Strayed from the ask a littleeeeee bit

Better formatting on Ao3!

Egon sighed to himself as he pushed the campus door open, setting out into the warm air of the afternoon. Ray was on his tail, while Peter stood up straight and off of a wall after waiting for them for so long. They’d come out of a meeting with a professor, after getting a sufficient scolding from the Dean. One accidentally too loud experiment late at night, and the pair couldn’t hear the fire alarms going off. The chemistry lab’s lights were the only ones still on, and Egon suspects that everyone outside assumed they were burning alive- thus the door was torn down. Thankfully, their professor was able to get them out of sufficient trouble as he was the one who suggested the experiment. They were off scot free, as the scholar let them know that the least he could do was give them community service.

“What’d he tell you?” Peter walked with them down the front steps.

“Just some service,” Ray didn’t seem all that upset, which wasn’t surprising after the rapsheet the trio had managed to build over their years in academia. Egon could handle an hour or two of giving back to his city, it just felt like a big inconvenience in his plans.

Peter clicked his tongue. “You won’t find any luck at the bulletins. All filled up.”

Ray’s pace didn’t falter as he put his hands in his pockets, unbothered. “No problem, we can go to the library.” Egon was lagging behind then, almost coming to a full stop before catching back up to his friends. Anywhere but the library. He’s had enough of a backwards day. The soup kitchen had to have a few spots left.

He walked behind Ray’s shoulder. “No need. We can get vests and pick trash off the road,” he tried to hide the desperation in his voice. Ray only laughed at such a suggestion.

“I could rob you with a cigarette box. Let’s just go and check, and I’ll renew my book while I’m there,” Ray spoke casually, tapping a hard spot on the inside pocket of his jacket. Egon swallowed, unable to convince his oblivious friend. Peter leaned into Ray, voice at a stage whisper.

“Spengs is just embarrassed to ask the librarian for forms,” he confessed, making the man in between them snicker. Egon could feel his face burn, adjusting the wrists of his dress shirt.

As they reached the library, Ray reassured Egon that it’d be fine, hand on the door. “Don’t be like that! Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“The hell did you do?” Your fingers stopped flipping around your binder as the reality of what he requested hit you. “Mr. Spengler? Doing community service?” He had a blank expression, eyebrows down as he tuned out the bustle of the main library floor. You kept on teasing him, baffled at the idea that he could be in trouble warranting civil service.

He resisted rolling his eyes. “Is it that surprising?” You smiled, continuing to go through the binder anyway. He noted the way you decorated your little corner, obviously not an official desk but a secluded spot for you to work.

You stopped at a certain page, pulling a piece of paper out of the plastic divider. “Always in such a bad mood. And no, it isn’t,” you remarked, placing the paper in front of him. “You’re the reason we can’t smoke in our dorms anymore.”

He took a look at the paper, scanning for an open square. He could hear you ask “what’s with you and fires?” as he surveyed the document, but he was more preoccupied with the lack of openings. You pointed your pen towards two free spaces at the bottom, though there was no assignment corresponding with any of the columns or rows.

“The art department’s book sale,” you sat a bit forward, seemingly trying to contain your excitement. “Every year, downtown. It's always a lot of fun.” He raised a quick eyebrow before you passed the utensil over to him. “You’re lucky these were left. That first one’s helping with the science fiction section.” If he had looked up, he’d seen you gazing at him, expectantly. Without thinking, he knew Ray would prefer this over something else. He could always take it for himself, though, and tell his friend that he didn’t get to pick, but that’d be a little too selfish. Ray could enjoy some time here, Egon thought to himself as he wrote “Raymond Stantz”' in the rectangle.

As he finished the z, he nearly drove the pen off the page as you let out a noise of delight. When he looked up again, he was met with your smiling face. “That means you’re gonna be with me! And a bunch of little kids! For a whole evening!” You took the paper back before Egon could contest, scrawling his name down in the last available place. He watched your wicked expression as you slid him another paper, one with the date and address. “You can help me while I look for something old and out of print. Hope you’re a good babysitter.”

Community service was more than an inconvenience, he thought, folding the sheet and stuffing it in his pocket while Ray happily finished up renewing what he had out.

Ray was, undoubtedly, bouncing off of the metaphorical walls as they made their way down to the closed off block the fair took place. Egon was happy for him, he really was, as his friend talked his ears off about the volumes and editions that aren’t available anywhere else anymore he’d be able to talk about with patrons. So excited, that he had yet to give Egon a chance to mention what his responsibility for the evening would be. Maybe it was for the best, as Egon adjusted the collar of his shirt for the seventh time since they left. It would be a warm night, so he figured just a dress shirt and a light coat would suffice. Would a sweater scare the kids? How old were they? He let his eyes close, somewhat dreading the few hours ahead of him.

Ray stopped them at a crosswalk, checking the light. “I just realized- I never asked what you’re doing there.” Egon bit his tongue as they were clear to cross.

“Babysitting,” he confessed, a little exasperated after keeping it in for so long. Ray looked at him with a wide expression, a bit disbelieving as he brought his eyes back to the sidewalk ahead of them.

Ray couldn’t resist the need to look at his friend again. “You’re good with kids?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he answered honestly.

Ray looked sympathetic as they reached the entryway, more and more people joining them on the reserved street. “We could switch! If that’s not your thing,” he offered. Egon shook his head, remembering the “volunteer” pins Ray picked up from the library office leading up to the event, passing one to the man.

“Don’t worry. Have fun,” he pinned it to the pocket of his shirt. Ray protested some, eventually settling on apologizing profusely as they waited in line to get in. When they did, it was almost like its own ecosystem. The area was nearly separated from the rest of the city with the amount of tents and booths lining the far edges of the worn grass and pavement, warm colors giving the space a mystifying effect. Egon took a breath in, taking a moment to get to the comforting part of the experience as there were just so many people there. Lots of cheer, lots of noise as Ray eventually had to depart, reaching his assigned tent while he radiated joy in the presence of fellow enthusiasts.

While he made his way through the path, he passed a man sleeping peacefully on a blanket underneath a tent, a girl reclining on his back as she read to herself. There was an elderly woman with an infant tied to her back as she bought picture books, and he caught sight of two young men holding hands under a table while they sold novels. There was a strange energy going around, he thought to himself. He tried hard to name it, but he could only fall flat in his nomenclature. As he walked, a voice called out to him from the edge of a booth.

It was you, waving him over. Only, you weren’t alone; you had at least 4 little children leading you around. The tallest was still fairly young looking, if not for her awkward height, long brown hair in two loose ponytails while she stood in a shirt that was too big on her. There was a boy next to her, clearly a handful of years younger, standing in a hockey jersey as his fingers threatened to enter his nose, shadowed by a girl around the same age in a decadent pink dress, all frills and bows up to the ribbons holding up her short blonde hair. All of them were connected by a brightly colored walking rope with a ring for each, save for a little baby sitting content in a wagon you pushed as the contraption was tied to the front to make an easy train.

“Okay guys, this is Mr. Spengler. He’s a friend.” You address the children, all watching him with wide and curious eyes. “This is Rebecca, Ryan, Amelie, and Nico,” you went down the line in age order. Rebecca gave him a small wave, and he returned it, stiffly. Ryan spoke up, pointing high up at the tall man’s head.

“My daddy says guys with long hair are draft-dodgers.” Egon could hear you sigh.

“Educational deferment,” he couldn’t help but correct the child, who looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. Before he could say anything else, you cut both boys off.

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Ry. Now-” You instructed them over to the grass, where many people were sitting under the shade created by the proximity of the tents and overhangs. “I’ll be two seconds, just over there. Stay with Mr. Spengler. Can you help me, Becca?”

Said girl nodded, and she followed you. It was just Egon and the 3 kids now, Ryan electing to sit on the grass while Amelie leaned over into the wagon, playing with Nico. They were wary of Egon at first- and he didn’t even know where to start. Meeting children was different from adults, they just did whatever, whenever. He realized how odd he must’ve looked, a grown man awkwardly standing over a few toddlers entertaining each other, and he silently wished you’d be back quickly. As they got a little bored with themselves, all 3 of them took to staring at him with round, large eyes as they huddled around the wagon. He kept his eyes on where you disappeared, wishing even harder.

Wishes must work fast, because you reemerged with Rebecca, holding small cups of something, as well as spoons. You had all the kids sit, and, as Egon stayed standing so as to not have to sit on the ground, you silently took off your jacket and laid it out across the grass, and he thanked you quietly. Rebecca did the same for Amelie, with a blanket from the wagon instead. The cups were distributed, and even Egon got one- vanilla ice cream upon further inspection.

“Didn’t know what you liked,” you apologized, pulling Nico into your lap. “Sorry for leaving like that. This is the only way I can get them to listen to me later,” you glanced over at Amelie and Ryan stretched out across the grass, enjoying themselves.

“It’s alright,” Egon looked on as Rebecca leaned against you as she ate, watching a group of kids on the path. He spoke low, still disoriented by the quickness of the situation he was put in. “And their parents..?”

You brought a bit of the dessert to the baby’s mouth, miniature hands trying to do it for himself. From what Egon could tell, he was on the tail end a year old. “I’ve known them since they were born.” Ryan got distracted, ice cream pouring off his spoon and onto the side of his hand. “Their parents were my professors- they put this whole thing together. But it gets so busy,” you wiped Nico’s chin, “that they can’t really run an event with a toddler on their hip.”

Egon nodded, and in turn you spoke low, leaning towards him slightly. “They really want them to get into books. But nothing’s really worked. Ryan’s gonna be five, and he’s still pretty behind.” He watched on as the little boy gnawed on his plastic spoon, staring at Amelie as she kept eating. “Typical reading trouble for a kindergartner, but he noticed how ahead his classmates were. Now he’s too embarrassed to give it another shot.” It almost reminded him of himself, accustomed to experimentation and documentation, rather than retention and comprehension. But, a certain college course really turned him on his head, didn’t it?

“Embarrassment is a normal milestone in development,” Egon challenged you.

“Yeah? Even when he’s crying and screaming at the library?” Ryan toddled over to you then, holding out sticky hands.

You helped him clean up, white napkins over small white fingers. “What book are you gonna look for, Ry?” You asked, still holding his hands. Ryan squirmed a bit, frowning.

He broke free, hands to his shoulders as he avoided your question, twisting around. “None,” Ryan mumbled with a shy smile as he looked up and away from you. You shook your head, holding his tiny hands again.

“I promised your dad I’d get you something you liked.” Ryan shuffled his feet, eyes now on the grass. “C’mon, tell Mr. Spengler what we read about bears the other day,” you coaxed him, before Ryan gave up, leaning his weight onto you as Nico babbled into the fabric of the shirt draping over his face. You gave up, letting him recline on your shoulders.

Egon collected Ryans discarded pot of dessert, putting it inside his own quietly. “Bears are a keystone species,” he uttered off-handedly. Ryan looked at him once with wondering eyes, then hiding his face in your hair when Egon raised his head.

“He doesn’t know what that means,” you comforted Nico as he babbled. Amelie appeared at your feet, warily handing Egon her empty cup. As she clumsily placed it in the stack, arm outstretched like he was alien, you got her attention. “What book are you gonna get?” She pouted at the question, whining a bit.

“I don’t want one,” she announced, heading back to her blanket and pulling a doll out the wagon. Egon could hear your disappointment as the little girl took to playing with the princess rather than look for something to read.

You leaned into him, again, and he leaned in your direction as he curiously watched her brush her toy’s hair. “Turning five in a few months. Her mom’s a music professor. But her stepmom doesn’t think girls should be learning anything important. Hence,” you pointed up and down at the cloying decoration of her ensemble, Egon’s eyes widening slightly as he just noticed the bows on her socks, the large ribbon across her waist and tied at her back.

He nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowed. “Ostentatious.”

“O-s-t-e-n-t-a-t-i-o-u-s,” a voice sounded from your other side. Rebecca absentmindedly braided the ends of her hair, before letting them loose again.

Egon was fairly impressed as you brought her closer to you. “Eleven as of last week. She’s a great speller, and would be even better if she stopped caring about what other girls in her grade did and picked up a book.”

Rebecca groaned as you scrutinized her, combing her hands through her long, frizzing hair. “Cindy Mulfield is dropping out when we get to highschool. She’s gonna run away and become a singer.” Nico reached over, toying with the older girl’s sleeve. He was very tactile, Egon thought.

“That’s great for Cindy. But you’re on the honor roll.” Rebecca rolled her eyes, before you handed Nico over to a confused Egon, rising with Ryan hanging off your back. “I bought your love with ice cream- now it’s time to learn stuff. Let’s look for your book, Ryan.” You resolved, herding them back to the wagon as they reluctantly obeyed. Egon stiffly held the toddler in his arms, who kicked his legs back and forth as he was suspended in the air. He gingerly lowered him into the wagon as the other children unenthusiastically took their section of the tether.

You were all a parade, Rebecca leading the caravan through a winding path of vivid canopies, each advertising a different service or genre of literature. Egon walked by your side as you pushed the wagon, Nico hanging off the edge. He couldn’t help but wonder how you got so comfortable with such little children. Not to mention- juggling all of your other academic responsibilities. He had to admit, your ability to multitask was admirable, when it wasn’t irking him.

All was relatively fine, until Ryan started to bother Amelie. He kept on teasing her, poking and prodding the girl and ignoring your warnings- until she let out a shrill cry, Egon’s eyes widening at a thick hunk of dirt smeared into the back of her doll’s thick hair. Amelie stopped in her tracks, cheeks red and damp from her bawling as she brought her hands to her face . Children were loud, Egon’s under eye twitched. He felt dumb at your side, but not in the way he did when you were in lectures together. Should he say something? Your face was unreadable, at least from his perspective. Ryan looked apologetic when she burst into tears, feebly attempting to clean up his fault, failing as Amelie leaned over the wagon, Nico grabbing at the ornate detailing of her dress.

“I don’t want him here anymore!” She pointed to the boy, sniffling. You were surprisingly calm while the last of tears fell from Amelie’s eyes and onto Nico’s head.

“He can’t go anywhere,” you tried to reason with her. Rebecca fidgeted with her split ends.

Amelie looked conflicted, palms drying her cheeks. She didn’t say anything, instead making her way over to Egon and dragging him between her and Ryan. His head swung between the little girl and you, her tiny hand dwarfed in his large one while she dragged him along. Egon was not one to be dragged, especially not by children. He looked to you for release- maybe a little say in the matter, but you simply shrugged, smiling smugly. Damn you.

And so the procession kept on, Egon just short of doubled over to accommodate the 4 feet little lady steering him along, disregarding the tether that kept all the children together. Soon enough she was at his side instead, nearly white blonde hair bouncing as they silently walked, hand in hand. He had to admit, when she calmed down, she was an awfully endearing little girl- regardless of her dress, fit for a porcelain statue. As she stood close to his leg, miniature fingers curled over his own, he felt some sort of pang near his heart. The strange energy was back, loud as a buzz yet soft as a whisper.

Inside a mellowly lit tent labeled “nature”, Amelie still hasn’t let go. Egon hums, looking at all the titles and thinking back to his brother. Elon’s one of the few biologists Egon knew personally, every manuscript or picture book about the natural world reminding him of his twin. While you held Ryan up to properly talk to the seller, he had his head hidden in your shoulder. This boy really was shy, refusing to open his mouth.

“C’mon, Ry,” you tried coaxing him, “he’s here to help.” The child wouldn’t budge, eyes watering as he went languid in your arms. You let him down, smiling apologetically to the vendor. Rebecca must’ve taken note of his disquietude, perspective as she’s proven, gently guiding Amelie to help her look in his place, Nico in tow. You were at Egon’s side now, arms crossed as you watched over Ryan- painting an almost filmesque scene

He could feel your frustration. “He hasn’t cried, yet,” Egon offered.

“Lucky me.” The little boy ran his fingers over the edge of the green tablecloth. “He’s a smart kid. I know he is. He loves this stuff, really. He’s just too scared of ‘getting it wrong’.” Egon hummed lowly. He couldn’t help but think of Elon for the second time in a few minutes. His carbon copy was confident, witty, and incredibly passionate about his preferred science. He was also, evidently, extremely persistent, prospering as an incredible academic but a fairly poor mathematician. Their parents bluntly told him to pick a different niche if he couldn’t handle the arithmetic demanded of him. But- he worked hard, and didn’t let his natural setbacks stop him from doing what he liked the most. Ryan was Elon, if he listened to the voice saying that he “couldn’t”.

Egon silently stood next to him, flipping through a few children’s books about the forest. Ryan’s eyes had dried, discreetly peering at the covers Egon flipped through. “Do you have any siblings, Ryan?”

The boy was quiet for a moment. “A brother. But he’s old.” Egon found something that looked pretty suitable.

“I have a brother as well. He lives in California, studying brown bears.”

Egon can practically hear the glow coming off Ryan, smiling internally to himself. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s his job. He follows them around and learns how humans affect their homes- in the woods.” Ryan stood on the edge of his toes, trying to read the book in Egon’s hand. The Child’s Guide to North American Bears”. Age appropriate word count, educational pictures- this would do fine.

Ryan chewed his nail, obviously interested beyond his shy nature. “How’d he do it?”

“Reading as much as he could to know as much as he could.” Egon tilted the open text to the boy, eyes bright as he took in the pictures and words speaking to him on the page. He looked conflicted, brought down at the realization that books held the door open for his future dreams. “He read to get into school, he read to get a job- he never stopped.” Ryan frowned.

“I’m not good.” Ryan mumbles, barely audible, but holding so much weight. Egon dropped his normally hygienic inhibitions, now on one knee and eye level with the anxious child in front of him.

“It’s not a matter of being good. It’s trying, and knowing you’ll get better. You can be a biologist, too. But you have to start now.” Ryan only nodded, eventually smiling.

Egon held an open page out, pointing to a small passage. “Here, try this. Only a sentence.”

He hesitated, glancing up and back down at the words. As soon as he did, his face started to shine again. “Brown bears are one of America’s smartest animals.” Ryan took the book from Egon’s hands without a second thought, quickly scanning every note, fact, and passage.

Egon was satisfied. That’s one child down, he thought, corralling the boy to the register as he spouted off more facts enthusiastically. He found you settled at his side, eyes full of something he couldn’t place.

“What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing, Mister Rogers.” After happily handing the vendor a bill, you hoisted Ryan into the wagon with Nico as he kept on reading, nose buried in the pages.

Egon back at Amelie’s side, you march on, trying to find a general kids section for her in hopes of finding a suitable princess story. Any princess story, you stressed. Ryan was even reading to Nico, who lazily took to laying on the fabric floor of the chariot he was being pushed around in, disinterested.

Rebecca started to tease the younger girl, not once looking over her shoulder. “Are you gonna get put in a dungeon?” Amelie crossed her arms.

“No,” she announced defensively.

“Are you gonna get a suit of armor and fight for New York like Joan of Arc?” Amelie was turning a bit red.

The toddler spoke before you could calm her down. “No! Princesses get saved by princes and they get married!” To Egon, this seemed like it must’ve been a pretty common spiel, as Rebecca tried to provoke her again before you put your foot down.

“See?” You whispered to him while she hugged her doll tighter. She was, again, a cute kid, but this was turning out to be a nasty phase. Simple psychology- a budding complex brought up during development manifested by the teachings of her mother and the women around her. It didn’t seem very fair- the poor girl wasn’t given a chance to see what kind of person she wanted to be yet, and now she could barely recognize her own name in writing.

Rebecca slowed, looking around. “I think we went too far.” She pointed to a few signs displaying sheet music and liberatos rather than works of fiction. Egon could hear you click your tongue, ready to reroute your little group until Rebecca strayed, eyes fixed on something wooden and on display. Naturally, the other children followed, crowding around the stand.

You let Nico teethe on you as you both peered over the kids. It was an antique viola, still in working condition. Egon was impressed by its craftsmanship, noting the delicate carvings that blossomed across the bout.

“Cool,” your charges seem to say in unison.

Rebecca haphazardly lifts it by the fingerboard, making Egon cringe. “Play it,” she holds it out to you.

You lift your free hand in defense, looking at her incredulously. “Who said I know how?”

The near-teenager shrugs, ready to put it back. Amelie reaches up, flexing and unflexing her fingers, cheering “Give me! Give me!” She obliges, passing over the bow as well. Amelie slugs it back and forth, producing a sound that would make the dead cover their ears. As you get her to stop, Egon worries for the integrity of the strings. They could’ve snapped and hit her, poor thing.

“Any chance you play violin?” Egon takes the instrument from you carefully.

“Viola.” How old was this? He plucked a string or two- it was relatively in tune, if his ears were up to speed. He thought back to any pieces he knew by heart. Senfter was always a nice time. Finding his bearings, messing around with a few bow positions, he found his way back to one of her sonata’s- very smooth, very German. He can almost see his mother behind his eyelids, in front of him with a cane for when he forgot his key signature.

Egon wasn’t expecting to play the whole thing- no kid can sit through nine minutes of classical music. When he let his eyes open in the middle of a decrescendo, you and all the children were watching him in awe, waiting to applaud. He felt himself sport a rare blush, ready to stop then and there until you spoke up.

“Keep going. Didn’t know you had an artistic bone in your body, Mr. Spengler.” He let himself continue, bow gliding across the strings as he (impressively) managed to multitask.

“Funny. I was raised with cello, viola, harp…my brother took the fun stuff- piano, flute, clarinet. I would’ve opted for the gurdy, or even the theremin.” He let out a vibrato note. “But mother said no.”

“Well, you play very beautifully. I wasn’t expecting this from Mr. Facts-and-Truths.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve been praised for my dancing, too.”

“No way.”

Amelie ran up to him, clinging to his leg, large eyes kept on the instrument against his shoulder. “You made that yourself? The song?” That was as far as her vocabulary was willing to take her as she watched him change positions.

“It was written a long time ago by a lady named Johanna. She wasn’t much older than you when she started learning to read music.” Egon could picture the gears turning in her developing mind as she looked between him and a piece of sheet music on display.

“A girl made it?” Egon did his best to nod while the bow graced the corner of his face. Amelie smiled the widest she had all evening, running up to you a few feet away. “A girl made it! Did you hear?” For the first time tonight, she let her feet really hit the dirt, leaving dark brown all over her satin flats.

“I heard,” you laugh, as she bounces a bit, racing over to the vendor of music and song books, vividly exclaiming that she wants to be like her mom and “joe hannah” and learn to read the dots on the page to make pretty sounds. As the older man, just as enthusiastically, shows her to the children’s books, Egon finishes the sonata.

“It…kinda counts as reading, right?” You ask, watching as she sorts through thin volumes. Egon rubs where the chin rest was absentmindedly.

“Small victories. There are studies confirming the cognitive benefits of learning an instrument at a young age.” As he said this, she came running back, a large book with music for an even larger instrument. The tuba.

You shrugged- a win was a win, and paid the small fare. Egon gently placed the viola back on its stand, there was no way he had enough cash for it, before the older woman tending the tent smiled at him kindly.

She helped him set it back, speaking softly as she did. “You look a little young to have such a big family.” Egon blinked.

"They're not-" He stammered, not sure of what to say until she apologetically waved her hands around.

Amelie called out for him, holding up a graphic in the book of a young lady with the instrument in her lap. He watched you smile down at her, and then up at him. "I didn´t mean to assume. It's just- sturdy husband, young spouse, happy kids. It's very picturesque." Egon racked his brain for a response, but you appeared at his side, then.

"Ready?" He never noticed the color of your eyes until then, catching the light. Picturesque.

There was a buzzing around him. “Almost,” he murmured.

“You both look happy,” she commented as soon as you joined the children by their wagon. He was too stumped for words, the woman called over by her own husband for something.

Before you could tackle another section, Nico started to whine and cry. You shushed him, letting him sniffle into your shirt. “He’s tired. And we are, too,” Ryan rubbed his eyes, trying to keep awake for his newfound treasure but failing, Rebecca leaning against the handle of the wagon. “The song put us to sleep”. Maybe Egon did play for too long.

Rebecca, somehow, ended up in the wagon with the remainder of the younger kids, knees to her chest as she dozed off. You lamented, trudging along and pushing the trio. Nico still couldn’t sleep- he was tired, as you explained to a confused Egon, but now too tired to actually go down. He didn’t feel like crying, rather staring at the man with owlish yet sleepily round eyes.

“I don’t suppose he’s looking for Hemmingway anytime soon?” He speaks low, a rare attempt at humor, which successfully makes you laugh, full and clear. That odd feeling was back as the festivities around you wound down, the warm glow that you seemed to bathe in getting impossibly warmer. “Shakesphere? Austen?” Your giggling grew.

“No, not for him. He’s a muppet kind of guy.” You rub a hand over his back.

“Really?”

You nod. “That’s his passion. Puppets.”

"Understandable."

There was a light breeze, blowing past the hair around his ears. "Sorry you haven't seen him do much but cry and sleep. He's pretty talkative, I guess he just wants to be pampered today." The toddler whimpered a bit at the sudden chill.

"I know, I know," you soothed him. It all felt oddly paternal, a sudden urge inside of him to run out and get medicine or a warm coat. Nico pressed his cheek against your chest, Amelie and Ryan laying against each other. "Little angels, when they’re not kicking and yelling,” you cooed.

Egon hummed. "They'll be up all night."

"That's a problem for their parents."

Right. They had parents. Who weren't you- or Egon. "I'm sure."

He takes note of the plays and novels you passed as you went on the path. Colorful and adorned covers he’d know you’d like, works and authors you’d praised endlessly in class. “You never found what you were looking for?” Egon put his hands in his pockets.

“Hm? Oh. My old and out of print book- Turn of the Screw. It’s okay, I can look some other time,” you shrugged.

The Turn of the Screw. He knew that one. “You don’t mind?”

He frowned, slightly, as you shook your head. “I’m happy as long as these guys got what they needed.”

You ended up in a large, blanketed area, where other families, or just families, rested with their young children. Books were scattered around, as mothers and fathers held their kids close to them and got well deserved downtime, a couple or two huddled around an open novel. You lay on your side as Egon took the liberty of reading to the exhausted Nico who sat back in his lap. Admittedly, he really didn’t know how to care for a child who was barely forming sentences, but it was fairly easy when they latched on to the rhythm and timbre of his voice as he read the words to Peter and Wendy.

Nico took to running his hands over the pages after a while. “Thank you. For helping me out today.” You looked into his eyes, sincerely. There wasn’t a fire behind them, like usual. He nodded.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You probably changed their lives.” Amelie twitched in her sleep. “I didn’t know you were so good with kids.”

Egon felt warm under your spotlight. “Neither did I.”

You lifted your gaze to the night sky, peeking through the faraway corner of the tent. “Well, thank you for doing my job better than I could,” you admonished him.

Egon sat up straighter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“So you agree?” You sat up in turn.

“I’m-”

“I’m joking, Mr. Spengler.” There it was. The smile that reached your eyes. He smiled- uncertain if it was voluntary or not. He was dreading this night; the crying, the germs, the sticky hands. But it was nice. The children, the tents, the books. You.

He could admire your dedication to offspring that weren’t your own, managing to treat them as such. They even looked at you, clung to you, like they were of you. It was selfless.

“Do you enjoy it?” He looked on as you brushed hair away from Ryan’s face.

You gathered what he meant, eyes still on the little boy. “Of course I do. I just hope they are, too.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” You locked eyes. You looked wonderful in this lighting.

“Very fun. I think it’s time we get back to my mom.” Rebecca was awake now, making a daisy chain in the grass. Egon could practically hear your brain making the connection before you crossed your arms.

“Very fun, Becca. Now, let’s get you your book.” You spoke to her as if she was a handful of years younger than she actually was, carefully placing a sleeping Amelie and Ryan back into the Wagon. The older girl complained, rolling over onto her back and reluctantly rising.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched her back, Egon lagging behind the two of you as Nico was now in his own arms. He was peaceful, but heavy. “I don’t need a book. I need to go home. I’m gonna miss Maude.”

“Cindy watches Maude?”

“No, but it’s on before Mary Tyler Moore.”

She trudged along ahead of you, no clear direction in mind. Egon walked on wordlessly, feeling the animosity bouncing back and forth as neither of you said anything. Even Nico seemed to have felt it, burying his head into Egon’s coat. He opened his mouth to speak, before you cut him off.

“Don’t even try. I’ve done everything, and it doesn’t work.”

Rebecca turned her head to you, almost shouting as she was a fair distance away. “Can’t I get an encyclopedia and call it a day?”

You were just short of shouting back. “No. Tell Mr. Spengler what you like to read.”

She turned to Egon this time, smiling sweetly, but facetiously. “I don’t like anything, thank you.”

He could tell she was a handful, even at 11. He didn’t risk handing you Nico, placing him in the wagon instead. “May I…?”

“Do my job? Please.”

Egon walked ahead with her, wordlessly while his hands found refuge in his pockets again. Before he could speak, Rebecca did first.

“It’s not gonna work on me.”

“I know. Because you’re not a baby.”

“Exactly.”

Silence. “Do you even know what you like to read?”

She looked at him incredulously. Ouch, lots of attitude from someone who’s only had a two-digit age for about a year. “Of course. But you’re not gonna know, because I’m not gonna tell you.”

“I know. Why not?”

Egon caught her rolling her eyes. “Because, it’s so weird and gross you’ll freak out.”

“I’m a scientist. I got my degree in weird and gross.”

Rebecca shook her head, the shadow of a smile on her face. “Not like this.”

He challenged her. “Try me.”

She stopped in her tracks, facing him. “Molds and fungus.”

He didn’t really know how it happened, but very very quickly he was leading her around the nearest tent marked with some mixture of molecular biology and ecology, adding books to her ever growing stack. “Avery is a very accomplished author. This journal’s a favorite- its about incorporating fungi into the human diet.” He added the heavy book into Rebecca’s arms. She swayed under the weight a bit, eyes wide, but this was the price to pay if she wanted to be a mycologist. It was a demanding field. Not for nothing, but he made it his bitch.

“You do this for fun?” She asked, eyes peeking over the spine of a book about moldborne sickness.

He stilled. Not an uncommon question, when he got deep into his passions. “It’s my hobby, and I enjoy it.”

“People pay you for it?”

“More or less.”

Silence, again, until he could hear her stacking more books into her arms. “Cool! I’ve been just,” she nearly dropped them, “collecting mushrooms and moldy cheese. Cindy said it's gross.”

He felt himself smiling knowingly, taking a few volumes away so he could see her face. “Cindy doesn’t know what she’s talking about. When livestock runs out, we’ll be eating chicken of the woods.”

All the children were returned to their rightful owners not long after that, slowly waking up from their naps and excitedly showing off their new books to their eternally grateful parents. You couldn’t stick around very long, having to leave Egon alone after bidding everyone a goodnight. He swung by Ray’s stand with his little cash in hand, tempted by the titles silently calling his name, painfully ignoring them as he was on a sacred mission. There was a copy of The Turn of the Screw on your desk a few mornings later, a red faced Egon too shy to hand it to you personally.

[chesters-ocs]

finally quenching the thirst we have for these assholes interacting properly with each other

wc: ~800

Stepping out into the busy London streets and locking his car, Butcher looked around him for a moment, before remembering the boy was not with him currently, and his tense shoulders drooped a little. Charlie had opted to stay home, letting him do the shopping on his own.

Deep breath in... And out. He pulled down his sunglasses to cover his eyes as he left the parked, pure black SUV, with windows tinted just dark enough where it could still pass as legal, while giving him the much desired privacy.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he blended right in, especially after having shed his vest and collar. And then he pulls out a pack of cigarettes - Marlboro, gold to be exact - and lights one. No kids around, so it's free game.

The mall is a bit of ways off, the other parking garages were full. He'd have to walk. Whatever, he thought, sounds like as good as time as any for a smoke.

After crossing several intersections, some legally, some not, the building comes into view.

Butcher stubs out the cigarette on the way inside, grabbing a trolley and getting a move on with it, after fishing out the grocery list written on scrap paper, which was shoved in his back pocket.

Veggies, rice, chicken, and eggs. Oh, and a little snack for the kid, even if he was too sheepish to ask for anything ever. Silently, he bagged the fresh vegetables and fruits, dropping them in the cart. Not a lot, but it'll last them a few days.

Despite his best efforts, the man did end up getting distracted, and wanted to stray away from, what would have been, tonight's dinner of rice, chicken and steamed greens. The sale sign just caught his eye.

Browsing the section for pasta, he reaches for the box of lasagna pasta, inspecting it thoroughly. It had been a while since he's had Italian grub, and he recalls a recipe Ivy shared with him a while back. Better late than never, he concluded, adding a few boxes to the cart, previous dinner plans be damned.

Momentarily, he considers putting back the vegetables, but ultimately changes his mind. They'll make a good salad. At least Charlie adores broccoli, Butcher mused, strolling to the sweets section, which is also his least favorite, by a long shot.

Standing there for a minute or two, deciding, Butcher finally selected regular sour gummy worms. He imagines the kid will like it. If not, it's at least cheap enough where he won't cry over the money he's wasting by throwing it away.

At the sound of a kid giggling, he looks its way, meeting the eyes of a little girl, and someone who is probably her father. Caretaker? Whatever. Not his damn business...

Until..

"Hey, do-" The man begins, looking hopeful for a moment. Quickly though, it was wiped from his eyes.

"No." He cuts the stranger off, not intimidated by their tall stature or the obvious scars. Butcher was already taking in weak spots in case of a brawl, which was unlikely, but that did not stop him form considering it.

"I'm busy." He almost growls out, as a warning. He's not in the mood to talk.

The stranger does not flinch, and the girl giggles when the man who's hand she's holding seethes quietly, instead trying to speak again "... I was going to ask if there were healthier... uh... candies here."

".... What?"

"Don't listen to him!" The girl yells, running forward to Butcher, who's already freezing in place. He looks at her in confusion as she continues to blabber on "Baba wants me to not have sugar! Don't tell him!" She basically begs, stunning the man further.

In seconds, the man had already scooped up his daughter, berating and scolding her in an unfamiliar tongue, shooting Butcher a glare, despite him not doing anything.

After the man sends one last glare Butcher's way, he decided he's had enough and heads to the cash register.

Unfortunately, so did the man and daughter combo. The little girl at least seemed to amuse the cashiers slightly, with her never ending questions and comments about everything.

Butcher accidentally catches the stranger's name from his drivers license stored in the wallet: Vikram. Doesn't sound local... But then again, neither is he. himself.

Well. At least Charlie seemed to enjoy the gummies he got for him. Maybe too much, with how the poor kid overate. Hes going back to the mall a few hours later: for medication now. He hadn't noticed the ibuprophen had ran out, and silently cursed himself for that.

And by some unlucky draw, the misery man is in the pharmacy with him. Just his luck. His daughter still staring at Butcher with big, curious eyes, as the guy, or as hr now knows him as, Vikram, argues with the poor nurse behind the counter.

Taking a deep breath, he steels his resolve, and dons his persona of anger. Anything to get people to stop staring, so if it works, it works.

Well. it works on everyone but kids, it seems. In fact, it only entices them further. Like little moths to an ugly, barely passable flame.

[dollsonmain]

Work related

So I keep mentioning that I'd like management to set it up so that everything at the gas station that has an UPC scans into the register, and that's not just to reduce cashier error, though that is a big reason.

It is also about inventory management, tracking, and ordering.

Every retail place I've worked so far before this gas station, and my expectation of how the gas station would be run, was set up where everything scanned, scanned items were tracked by the database, and both inventory checks and ordering were streamlined by said database. If I needed to know how many of a certain watch we were supposed to have in stock at the Walmart jewelry counter I could scan one with the little pricing gun thing and see not only a count but where it was stored.

The gas station isn't set up that way.

For some things that are bought frequently but don't have UPCs, like fountain drinks (there is a button for each size of cup or any size cup of ice is $0.50), self-serve coffee, and bagged ice, there are buttons you can hit to automatically both record what was sold (though not specifically, like not which flavor of drink, which kind of coffee, or how many pumps of syrup, etc.) and automatically add the price to the tally.

For beer, chips, sodas, juice, and energy drinks they also scan, though there are deals for energy drinks that have their own buttons. Individually scanned items are tracked, but if you hit the "2 Energy Drink Deal" button, the system puts a price but doesn't know the exact items that sold. Same goes for 2 Red Bull 8oz and 2 Red Bull 12oz. The register knows how much that should be and marks that 2 of that size of Red Bull were bought, but not which flavors. We often run out of some flavors and have an excess of others.

Cigarettes scan, but only branded packs of cigarettes, snuff, chew, and pouches, not bagged loose tobacco or wrapping papers. Cigars, CBD/THC, and Vapes all have a button. You hit the appropriate button, hand-key the price, and that's it. No scanning other than two specific brands of vape, so there's no actual sales tracking in that regard. Except they ALL say "cigarettes" on the receipt.

For everything not mentioned, yet, there are other buttons.

The main buttons are Grocery 1 (items that do not have sales tax) and Grocery 2 (items that do have sales tax, which includes the deli/in-store made sandwiches). If any item that's supposed to scan doesn't, I have to look it up on a printout of an outdated spreadsheet and hand key the price into the correct category. For anything that isn't set up to scan, I have to either find a price sticker on it somewhere or look it up and put it into the correct category just by remembering what goes in which category. The spreadsheet doesn't say.

Ice creams have buttons but sometimes the ice creams look like candy bars, so I'll accidentally ring them up as King Size Candy instead of ice cream. Many ice creams use the same button, like multiple items that aren't Eclair Bar fall under "eclair bar", but the ice cream candy bars are all "candy bar" so there's no tracking which. exactly, are selling.

There's a button for King Size Candy, and one for Regular Candy. I have to know which are which. There are also other candies that don't use those buttons nor do they scan and I might not realize if I don't see the price sticker. I have to hit Grocery 1 and input their price manually. Which specific candies are selling are not tracked via the POS system.

Wine also doesn't get tracked, there's a Wine button.

Things stored in the freezer (frozen meat patties, extra ice cream) are not tracked. We take them out until they're getting low and tell the manager more is needed. There's no indicator for the fact that, for example, there's a whole box of chicken patties in the ice cream case because there wasn't room in the freezer. We just have to hope someone mentions that to us so we know to go look, there.

There are also ice creams in the not-ice-cream freezer which should be in the ice cream case.

As far as I know no one but me knows there is another box of chicken patties in the correct freezer, they're just at the bottom. That is always compeltey frosted over to the point that the frost takes up precious storage space and needs replaced with a stand-up freezer so that products can be spaced out enough to be seen and not have to go digging everything out to get to something at the bottom then tetris it all back in again.

It's a mess and it stresses me the fuck out.

To decide what to order, Manager goes around and writes down things that are low on a piece of paper, but she doesn't check expiration dates so doesn't know to pull things that need pulled and either reordered or not reordered because they didn't sell.

Deli sandwiches are just Grocery 2 499 with no indicator of what, exactly, was sold. Was that a turkey and swiss? A cheeseburger? Pulled chicken? Who knows?! How much of those ingredients is stored? No idea!

She misses things, underorders things, overorders things... There are TOO MANY little bread rolls taking up a huge section where bread is supposed to be in the drinks cooler because that's the only fridge in the store, they will go bad before they get used, and there are not nearly enough burger buns (I am on the last pack and it's Tuesday, more will arrive Friday), there are 5 rows of a specific brand of green tea when there should be one row of that brand of green tea and the other rows should be other flavors but she ordered too much green and not enough of the other flavors. There are no more small bottles of milk because they keep running out and she doesn't order enough.

At the same time, often vendors decide what we will order and that's just fucking chaos. Due to the way the cooler is stocked, for example, often vendors will not see their product is full because it's not where it's expected to be, because it was put there to fill a hole left by another product, and then will order, say, more Green Tea thinking "Wow they went through that fast, they must need more" when it's just here and there.

So yeah, I really, realllllyyy wish she'd make everything scan. It would take maybe two to three days of staying focused on that task and not having to hop on the register to get it done, which isn't much.

-

I can understand her not wanting to do it. She's always busy (partly because of bad inventory management and lack of storage so she has to deal with vendors all the time) and it IS a daunting, tedious task that is never ending because new stuff comes in all the time and would have to be added to the database, but that's much easier to do bit by bit once the bulk of the information has been established.

Just like when I was trying to establish the naming convention for my pony work photos. Now that I have it figured out, keeping it going is very easy.

[devilsskettle]

Bad Luck: Erasure of chapter 1 of Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn

Boxed up, I sat staring at a couple of tuna sandwiches,

three days, just forgotten. Just slipping.

Sitting on a shambled-down sofa —

A sharp burst of smoke, cinnamon smell, cigarettes and old coffee.

I see a tree, see leaves.

They can even make trees from the suburbs;

there’s room to sprawl. Like a spill

suffered by a brand-new city.

The story: just bad luck.

Original text:

My sweater was new, stinging red and ugly. It was May 12 but the temperature had dipped to the forties, and after four days shivering in my shirtsleeves, I grabbed cover at a tag sale rather than dig through my boxed-up winter clothes. Spring in Chicago.

In my gunny-covered cubicle I sat staring at the computer screen. My story for the day was a limp sort of evil. Four kids, ages two through six, were found locked in a room on the South Side with a couple of tuna sandwiches and a quart of milk. They'd been left three days, flurrying like chickens over the food and feces on the carpet. Their mother had wandered off for a suck on the pipe and just forgotten. Sometimes that's what happens. No cigarette burns, no bone snaps. Just an irretrievable slipping. I'd seen the mother after the arrest: twenty-two-year-old Tammy Davis, blonde and fat, with pink rouge on her cheeks in two perfect circles the size of shot glasses. I could imagine her sitting on a shambled-down sofa, her lips on that metal, a sharp burst of smoke. Then all was fast floating, her kids way behind, as she shot back to junior high, when the boys still cared and she was the prettiest, a glossy-lipped thirteen-year-old who mouthed cinnamon sticks before she kissed.

A belly. A smell. Cigarettes and old coffee. My editor, esteemed, weary Frank Curry, rocking back in his cracked Hush Puppies. His teeth soaked in brown tobacco saliva.

"Where are you on the story, kiddo?" There was a silver tack on my desk, point up. He pushed it lightly under a yellow thumbnail.

"Near done." I had two inches of copy. I needed six.

"Good. Fuck her, file it, and come to my office."

"I can come now."

"Fuck her, file it, then come to my office."

"Fine. Ten minutes." I wanted my thumbtack back.

He started out of my cubicle. His tie swayed down near his crotch.

"Preaker?"

"Yes, Curry?"

"Fuck her."

Frank Curry thinks I'm a soft touch. Might be because I'm a woman. Might be because I'm a soft touch.

Curry's office is on the third floor. I'm sure he gets panicky-pissed every time he looks out the window and sees the trunk of a tree. Good editors don't see bark; they see leaves--if they can even make out trees from up on the twentieth, thirtieth floor. But for the Daily Post, fourth-largest paper in Chicago, relegated to the suburbs, there's room to sprawl. Three floors will do, spreading relentlessly outward, like a spill, unnoticed among the carpet retailers and lamp shops. A corporate developer produced our township over three well-organized years--1961-64--then named it after his daughter, who'd suffered a serious equestrian accident a month before the job was finished. Aurora Springs, he ordered, pausing for a photo by a brand-new city sign. Then he took his family and left. The daughter, now in her fifties and fine except for an occasional tingling in her arms, lives in Arizona and returns every few years to take a photo by her namesake sign, just like Pop.

I wrote the story on her last visit. Curry hated it, hates most slice-of-life pieces. He got smashed off old Chambord while he read it, left my copy smelling like raspberries. Curry gets drunk fairly quietly, but often. It's not the reason, though, that he has such a cozy view of the ground. That's just yawing bad luck.

[liu-zixuan]

WEEK 4＆5

How to analyze a design work can be analyzed from several angles, first of all to understand the purpose and goal of the design work, analyze the audience of the design work and what their needs and preferences are. Including colors, shapes, lines, textures, contrast, and more. Analyze the layout and structure of the design work, including typography, grids, layers, etc. Understand the materials and techniques used in design work, including paper, ink, paint, drawing tools, software programs, etc. Consider the cultural and historical contexts in which the design works are located and how they reflect those contexts and influences. Finally, evaluate the effectiveness and success of the design work.

Therefore, I will analyze from various angles the more impressive objects I saw in the National Museum. In the Qing Dynasty, a large amount of opium flowed into the Chinese market, which led to widespread smoking and drug abuse, resulting in social security problems, making people addicted to smoking, and seriously affecting social stability and order. Long-term opiate dependence has left many users addicted, leading to impaired health and even death. In addition, it will affect people's fertility, resulting in population reduction and changes in social structure. A very important figure emerged during this period, Lin Zexu, who played an important role in Chinese history in the late 1840s and early 1850s, was appointed governor of Fujian, responsible for suppressing the British opium trade. The Humen tobacco sale event was an important action in Lin Zexu's suppression of opium trade.

During the Qing Dynasty, opium smoking tools mainly included cigarette bags, pipes and tobacco boxes. These tools were widely used in society at the time and became essential for opium smoking. A pouch is a tool used to load tobacco and suck it into the mouth when smoking. There are often various embroidery or embroidery decorations on the cigarette bag, reflecting the identity and status of the owner.

A pipe is an instrument used to light tobacco and smoke. It is usually made of wood, ceramic or stone and other materials, some pipes beautifully shaped, some simple and plain. A tobacco box is a container used to carry and store tobacco. It is usually made of metal, ceramic or wood, some tobacco boxes are beautifully decorated, some are simple and practical. Tobacco boxes are often decorated with various patterns or patterns, reflecting the owner's taste and taste. The use of opium in the Qing Dynasty, as well as the use of opium itself, was seen as negative, because opium brought serious social problems and health hazards, although the use of opium was widely used in society at that time, the behavior was seen as bad, because it caused serious harm and loss to the health of individuals, social stability and national development.

（462 words）

[safepackagings]

Exploring Empty Paper Flip Top Cigarette Boxes: A Comprehensive Guide

Introduction

Empty paper flip top cigarette boxes play a crucial role in the tobacco industry, serving as packaging solutions for cigarettes. In this comprehensive guide, we'll delve into the details of empty paper flip top cigarette boxes, exploring their significance, design options, customization features, and benefits for tobacco companies.

Understanding Empty Paper Flip Top Cigarette Boxes

1. What are Flip Top Cigarette Boxes?

Flip top cigarette boxes are specialized packaging solutions designed to hold and protect cigarettes. They feature a hinged lid that flips open and closes securely, providing easy access to the cigarettes while keeping them fresh and protected from external elements.

2. Importance of Empty Paper Boxes

Empty paper flip top cigarette boxes are essential for tobacco companies, as they provide a blank canvas for branding and marketing efforts. These boxes serve as a vehicle for brand identity, product differentiation, and regulatory compliance in the highly competitive tobacco market.

Design Options for Empty Paper Flip Top Cigarette Boxes

1. Box Styles

Empty paper flip top cigarette boxes come in various styles, including standard flip top boxes, slimline boxes, soft packs, and more. Each style offers unique features and advantages in terms of portability, convenience, and branding opportunities.

2. Material Choices

Tobacco companies can choose from a range of materials for their empty paper flip top cigarette boxes, including cardboard, paperboard, kraft paper, and specialty papers. The selection of material affects the box's durability, printability, and environmental footprint.

3. Printing Techniques

Brands can utilize advanced printing techniques to create captivating designs on their empty paper flip top cigarette boxes. Options include offset printing, digital printing, gravure printing, and embossing, allowing for vibrant colors, intricate patterns, and tactile effects.

Customization Features

1. Branding Elements

Empty paper flip top cigarette boxes serve as powerful branding tools, enabling brands to showcase their logo, brand colors, and promotional messages prominently on the packaging. Consistent branding helps enhance brand recognition and loyalty among consumers.

2. Product Information

In addition to branding elements, empty paper flip top cigarette boxes can include essential product information such as tar and nicotine levels, health warnings, and regulatory compliance details. Clear and accurate product information builds trust and transparency with consumers.

3. Security Features

To ensure product integrity and regulatory compliance, empty paper flip top cigarette boxes can incorporate security features such as tamper-evident seals, authentication labels, and anti-counterfeiting measures.

Benefits of Empty Paper Flip Top Cigarette Boxes

1. Brand Differentiation

Empty paper flip top cigarette boxes allow brands to differentiate themselves in a competitive market by showcasing their unique identity and personality. Eye-catching designs and innovative packaging solutions attract consumers' attention and drive brand loyalty.

2. Product Protection

Empty paper flip top cigarette boxes provide a secure and protective enclosure for cigarettes, minimizing the risk of damage, contamination, and moisture exposure during storage and transportation. This ensures product freshness and quality for consumers.

3. Marketing Opportunities

Empty paper flip top cigarette boxes serve as valuable marketing tools, enabling brands to communicate their message, values, and product features directly to consumers. Well-designed packaging enhances brand visibility, recall, and engagement, driving sales and brand loyalty.

Conclusion

In conclusion, empty paper flip top cigarette boxes are essential components of the tobacco packaging landscape, offering brands a versatile platform to showcase their identity, protect their products, and engage with consumers. By leveraging design options, customization features, and branding opportunities, tobacco companies can create impactful packaging solutions that resonate with consumers and drive business success.

[lewcouwa]

Guzma x oc

Chapter 4: Grocery shopping

The next morning was spent unboxing my things from Galar and putting them in place. I decorated the room with some new fairy lights I bought just a few days before my departure. Hala was so nice to put a vanity into my room.

It looked old but still had a clean white color with small rose decorations on the drawers. The grandma vibes still had its charm. On top of it was my makeup and in one of my big drawers was my perfume collection.

I put my clothes in the walk-in closet. Finally everything was in place. All my boxes were emptied and I could just lie down on my bed and look through my phone.

That moment of bliss came to an abrupt halt when my door swung open. It felt like my soul left my body for a second until I was brought back to my senses. I turned my head only to see Hau standing by the entrance to my room with a piece of paper in his right hand.

I raised an eyebrow and sat up. “What’s up?” Hau must’ve sprinted to my room, his mouth was gaping open while his chest would inflate and deflate with huge breaths.

“Groceries..” he was hardly audible while he talked under his breath. He held out his right hand with the paper inside and walked towards me.

He opened his hand, I took the paper and had a look at the things listed.

“Are we going grocery shopping for Hala?” I asked looking up from the paper and at Hau. The boy nodded and dug his hands into both of the pockets of his shorts, out of the left pocket came a debit card resting between his index finger and middle finger.

He had the most devilish, shit eating grin on his face as he looked at me.

“He gave us his debit card. Which means we can buy gum.” He snickered under his breath, which only caused me to smile. Hau truly was a breath of fresh air I never knew I needed.

I got up from my bed and we were off to Hau’Oli city to get what we needed to buy.

I brought a tote bag so we wouldn’t have to spend money on plastic bags. It was an old one I’ve had from Galar. It was grey and had a few stains from god knows what, but it hadn’t ripped yet so I think it could withstand a lot.

Once we went in we grabbed what we found first from the list, which was fruits and vegetables. Bananas, pomegranates, mangos, lettuce and onions. After putting that in our baskets we went for the dairy products.

“I have to go to the restroom, I’ll be right back.” Hau said and left me alone in the foreign grocery store, but I still tried to find what was written on the list.

I was preoccupied with looking at the list and checking things I had in the basket off in my head, until I bumped into someone. The smell of cheap cinnamon cologne and cigarettes was the first thing I noticed before looking up. I saw a tall man with his right side facing me. He had a black hoodie on except the sleeves were resembling more of a t-shirt than anything, his face was pretty rough around the edges, downturned nose and dark circles around his eyes.

I snapped out of it when I noticed that he was side-eyeing me. I was too embarrassed by what I just did to give him an apology so I just walked around him and tried to concentrate on what I was doing before that happened.

I could feel my cheeks burn up all the way to the tip of my ears, my thoughts were spinning around in my head, so fast that they were all shooting in different directions due to the pull. I felt so embarrassed that I forgot what I was gonna do.

I felt a hand grabbing my shoulder, I jumped and turned around. It was that guy again. My hands were shaking and my eyes were batting around aimlessly, anywhere but letting our eyes meet.

“You’re that kid that kicked one of my grunts.” He said, I could feel his eyes going right through my anatomy, almost like two laser beams burning my skin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I mumbled and looked at my hands in front of me holding the handle of the shopping basket, then onto my surroundings again. People were staring, they weren’t discreet either, I could see people whispering, I couldn’t tell what they were saying for obvious reasons.

The man sighed and let go of my shoulder, I could still feel his intense glare on me. I was thankful I was in public, yet at the same time, not so thankful.

“I guess I got the wrong person.” He said and walked away with his hands in his pockets.

It wouldn’t take a genius to know that if Hau was there I would’ve been caught red handed and probably blacklisted since he was part of team skull. I didn’t know the things they did but judging from bystanders reactions and his intimidating presence, they were probably bad.

“There you are!” Hau came up from behind me, his cheerful demeanor was enough to put me at ease, even though he didn’t have the strength or size to protect me from that man, but at the very least his presence was comforting.

The olive haired boy looked into the basket to check the things off that were in it. By the looks of it we only needed three or four more things, and with the help we only spent five more minutes there before we checked out.

Hau was content, we even sneaked a pack of gum among the groceries after a fair amount of convincing from Hau, I caved.

We were chatting about all kinds of irrelevant and silly things such as our first Pokémon and middle school experiences with our mouths semi full of mango and kiwi flavored gum.

Once we got back to Hala’s place we helped eachother out with putting the groceries in their rightful places. A slight bit of culture shock hit me when the fruits weren’t just put in a bowl and left on the dinner table but rather put in the fridge so it could last longer.

A sudden realization hit me, I turned to the young boy and asked where Hala was. He smiled at me and told me that due to the vandalism ordeal that happened the night before he was getting it cleaned up with some people that specialized in it. With all the vandalism team skull is doing he was sure that those men and women got paid hella money removing paint for a living. I laughed at Hau’s witty comments.

Later that day, Hala still hadn’t returned home so Hau and I were playing uno over a fruit bowl. He was a pretty tough opponent, but so was I and sometimes we’d spend more than twenty minutes on the same match.

In the end I lost to Hau by one match, but it was pretty intense in all honesty. Hau slumped over the hard mahogany table surface after we ate all the fruit.

Hala still hadn’t returned home, my head naturally goes into worst case scenarios since it’s getting dark outside, and I haven’t seen him all day. Hau wasn’t doing the same though, so maybe I had no reason to be anxious.

“You know what we should do?” Hau looked at me, his eyes filled with thrill and excitement. This could only mean trouble. Hau is a good kid, but he’s still a kid with a hunger for crossing boundaries and testing his limits. I sigh in response, with a smirk tugging my lips. “What?”

“We should go out right now, and go hunt for night Pokémon.” Hau sprung up from his chair and ran to his room, I assume to get his gear and pokeballs before I could object. I shook my head and went into my room to get my pokeballs and my only Galvantula whereas Hau probably has more Pokémon on his team than Decidueye.

[thepackagingpalette]

Personal Touch: Crafting Personalised Paper Cigarette Boxes

Personalised paper cigarette boxes are considered one of the crucial factors that make your cigarette look more attractive. Paper cigarette boxes can grab the attention of chain smokers towards your cigarette brand with stylish, elegant and well-designed log printing. They make your brand most fascinating and eye-catching for the end-users.

E-cigarette wholesale boxes are another paramount factor that motivates consumers to buy your cigarette and leave the others. A unique, stylish, and classy paper cigarette packaging captures the customer’s mind, encourages them to buy your product and repeats the customer's love for your cigarette brand.

The blog will tell you how buying E-Cigarette wholesale boxes is advantageous for uplifting your brand.

Here is a list of the top 7 advantages of using personalised paper cigarette boxes.

Personalised Paper Cigarette Boxes Boost the Sale Volume 

Personalised Paper cigarette boxes boost the sale of your cigarettes to end users. High-quality standard, unique, stylish, and well-designed paper cigarette boxes are one of the eye-catching elements to gain the attention of customers. 

So you need to capture customers' attention to bring them to the door of your mart, store, or convenience shop. You cannot imagine grabbing the attention of your customers without classy and flawless paper cigarette boxes for sale. As you know, designed paper cigarette boxes with an elegant logo allure customers and eventually make them repeat your products. Custom cigarette packaging increases the volume of sales and makes you able to generate more revenue.

Promotion of Business 

Custom paper cigarette boxes leave a fantastic impression on the minds of customers. It does not matter whether you are a small entrepreneur or the owner of a multinational corporation. Your primary aim is to increase the visibility of your products as well as make them more presentable in the eyes of consumers. 

You need to get the attention of the audience to sell and promote your products. Plus, you want recognition for your products. So paper cigarette packaging boxes help you in the branding and marketing of your products. As you know, customers are more fascinated by paper cigarette boxes as compared to simple cardboard boxes. So, utilizing cigarette boxes with paper boxes in bulk is a paramount factor in promoting and enhancing business in the world of consumer products.

Foster Customers Loyalty

If you see a chain smoker, then you must notice that once they find a brand, they always tend to remain strict on it, as you know they enjoy smoking a cigarette of their favorite brand because their bodies have become accustomed to its effects.

If you want to be more loyal to your customers, then you do not need to replace or alter the paper cigarette packaging consistently because they are eye-catching elements for them. Besides, you need stylish and elegant paper cigarette boxes for sale. As you know, high standard quality paper with captivating monograms and logos make the look of paper cigarette packaging. 

Protection and Preservation of Products

Custom paper cigarette boxes are essential articles to protect your items or goods. They ensure the protection of tobacco items and enhance the endurance of lighters. Paper cigarette packaging not only ensures the protection of lighters in storage but also protects your cigarettes in the transportation of goods. They protect your brand’s cigarettes from moisture, light, and any other physical damage They can preserve your goods and articles in efficient ways.

Upgrade Brand Image

Paper cigarette boxes for sale are one of the best strategies to be omnipotent in the world of consumer products. As you know, they differentiate your products in the arsenal of marketing and make your cigarettes on the shelves of stores and convenience shops. Paper cigarette packaging of superior quality with a unique and fascinating design has proven to be the most effective technique to uplift your brand’s image.  

Powerful Branding and Marketing Tool

The stylish packaging style of paper cigarette boxes is paramount to the branding and marketing of your products. No, any factor can be more effective than custom lighter boxes with a logo. As you know, it seems adorable and captivating to the eyes due to its high standard quality well-designed logo, incredible color scheme, amazing monogram, and appealing tag lines. So they not only grab the attention of chain smokers but are also alluring for social smokers. Cigarette boxes with paper and E-cigarette wholesale boxes are the most powerful tools in the arsenal of marketing relating to the products of tobacco

Conclusion

Personalised paper cigarette boxes allure the consumers of your brand as they create an aesthetic for them. They enhance your credibility in the world of consumer products and enable you to meet the high competition of the market. Custom paper cigarette boxes boost the sale volume of your cigarettes, generate revenue for the business, and eventually increase profit. As you know, they are the most effective branding and marketing tool to uplift the brand image of your product. 

Besides, paper cigarette boxes for sale reduce the cost of your packaging as they are cheap and cost effective. Last but not least, E-cigarette wholesale boxes are environmentally friendly as they are biodegradable and compostable. So they are the most appealing factor for eco-friendly customers.

[willihedgetcb-blog]

Do you love food? And Carry it always? Along with it, what about its Eco-friendly packaging? I wrote a blog on it. Link Given:

[massivecatdelusion]

Significance of Prints to Create Elegance CBD Packaging

If you are in the business industry, it's getting challenging to make unique brand recognition. You should know the ways to market your services in front of a large audience. So if you want to win the packaging competition, you should consider hemp boxes. The packaging I the ultimate way to reach potential buyers and convince them with your box styles. So you should think creatively with innovative and stylish box designs. Brands these days pay attention to making elegant CBD packaging. So if you want to get potential buyers, you should bring elegance to your box style. The appealing packaging will be helpful for you to create decent CBD boxes. So let's discuss in detail the significance of highly engaging and decent packaging styles.

Personalized Packaging Style:

Packaging with branding details is the best way to grow your brand value. The custom boxes with logo are highly helpful to make unique box displays. So if you want to stand out from your boxes, you should know the value of creative packaging style. The trend of making unique and elegant boxes is at its peak these days because everyone is in love with classy box displays. So try your best to build a unique brand identity with innovative packaging designs as it is the best way to double the worth of CBD boxes. The packaging should be interactive and engaging according to the buyer's choice. So, personalized packaging is the best way to enhance the buying decision of buyers.

Credible Box Look:

The hemp packaging goes a long way in enhancing the business credibility. You should prefer using brands that know the needs of buyers. So the trendy and stylish CBD boxes are ideal to bring uniqueness to box packaging. When you know the worth of creating unique and customized packages, you will become customers' first choice. The desired box display will help you in your brand worth and you will be able to grow your company's worth. Therefore, try to make highly engaging and decent CBD boxes to get potential buyers.

The Power of Prints:

We live in the world of technology where everyone wants to get unique box styles. You need to understand the importance of catchy CBD box packaging because everyone loves to choose trendy and stylish boxes. You should need to consider different printing patterns like:

Embossing

Coating

Lamination

CMYK

PMS

When you know the worth of creating unique hemp packaging, the customer will love to choose from your brand. So always consider the power of creating catchy and antique boxes by choosing elegant box styles.

Follow Evolving Trends:

Packaging is the ultimate way to cater to customers' attention and you should consider the evolving trends. The packaging trends keep changing with time and the hemp boxes will be highly helpful for your brand success. So you have to work on different printing techniques if you want to grow your company's worth. Always consider the power of creative box display by choosing antique hemp boxes. It will make you able to grow your company's worth with a stylish and unique packaging design. Therefore, always keep in mind to bring stylization and beauty to packaging if you want to make a long-lasting and unique impact on the buyer.

Excellence Box Display:

The packaging companies are working on innovative and stylish CBD boxes because they know they're worth it. Bring elegance and style to custom CBD packaging by creating innovative and catchy packages. Therefore, bring elegance and decency to your packages with stylish packaging designs. The custom boxes with logo will be helpful for you to make highly engaging packages. Therefore, you should consider the power of catchy and unique packages to make durable packaging styles. The use of stylish packaging and presentation will ultimately help you grow your business in front of an audience.

[wejamesflick]

Luxury Packaging is the way how you can design creative and premium custom packaging to tells your customers about specialty of your products and why it is different from others. Please read more about new luxury packaging styles for 2021

[desisapphicx]

Midnight Ruin

Moodboard

Prologue

Akanksha takes a long drag of her even longer black-filtered cigarette. She could feel the eyes on her back. "What?" She asks the person; whose eyes keep drilling her. She takes her gaze off the street -- the view from her window is buzzing with people, automatons, and everything in between. Her ears pick up those distinct yet vague sale announcements from the local vendors and the bustling sounds of automated engines. The clear sky is coloured with a pinkish-orange hue; contradicting Akanksha's dark cloudy thoughts.

She steps away from the window ledge, rolls her shoulders back, and stretches her arms, trying to relieve the cramps that have been bothering her for quite some time. Her slender fingers rake through her dark brown hair and mould them into a loose bun around the thin gold fountain pen, which she found clipped to her notepad near the window. She tucks the ends of her sea-green chiffon saree into her saree's waistline and takes one last look at the street from her window before she turns around.

"I am just saying, you shouldn't have done that," says Kesar, her childhood friend. His brows are in a knot, and worry lines crease his forehead; he makes no effort to hide his thoughts but the only person to whom those emotions are aimed at; is ignoring his existence, or at least pretending to not notice. He takes in the ambience of the huge room; high-hanging oil lamps, and mechanical gaslights, illuminate the once dark space - except for the gloomy corners encompassing the room. The tall and sturdy pillars bore the weight of the soaring ceilings. Bronze pot humidifiers at distinct points in the room, scattering the wisps of wild jasmine, sweet lavender, and musky sandalwood, give the room, a more mystifying aura; but the intense essence of tar and nicotine of Akanksha's smoke pipe tardily dominates them.

Akanksha turns around, her sharp chestnut eyes, finding the small round clay pot covered in an antique painting -- an expensive birthday gift from her mother. The gift would've eventually made its place on some museum shelf; if not for her amma -- she couldn't care less for some flashy piece that symbolized her mother's gaudy love; hence the pricey ashtray.

She taps at her filter, and the "ashtray" laying on her desk near the window collects the remains of her smoke. She takes one long puff and mushes the cigarette.

The stern woman glides toward her bookshelf, and picks up the book she recently started reading, 'Women of Mughal Empire', she searches for another fresh stick in her maroon tin box that she usually keeps near her stacks of books, empty silver insides of the metal case stares back at her, seems like she forgot to restock. Maybe she shouldn't have mushed what was supposed to be her last smoke. "Shit" she mutters, and keeps checking her drawers for that spare paper-rolled tobacco, but no luck.

"AK"

"AK"

Kesar keeps on calling her, but his words fall on deaf ears.

Thin sweat trails from her temple to her jawline, and makes its final race to her chest, the moisture on her saree dissipating into a dark patch. It could be the humidity of the room or the lack of nicotine in her system; even though she just inhaled one whole smoke, well, not whole but almost, now she urgently needs another, to calm her nerves; her friend has brought back those overwhelming thoughts, from which she tried to escape, just a few hours ago.

"Do you have extra?" She waves around her long piped filter.

"Um... no." He answers. She keeps the filter on her bookshelf and heads out of her room to the hallway and calls for, "Sheela"..... "Sheela" her words rivet back at her.

Where did everyone go?

She grunts, her nerves are literally on edge; she can't wait around for anyone to quench her addiction; so, self-reliance it is.

Her father's office, which is at the end of the dark hallway, that's where her jittery legs take her. There on his desk, she finds his cigars neatly packed in a small tin box; she quickly lights one. The spice flavour instantly hits her taste buds; usually, she is not one for that pungent essence. But, screw it, desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Are you done?" Kesar is standing near the door frame. She lifts her head and squints at him. He is a tall figure standing at 6'2", and his broad shoulders block all of the light coming from the hallway. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration and takes out the rolled newspaper from a deep pocket of his white kurta, which complements his brown skin, and throws it on the desk.

Her gaze swiftly moved from him to the paper. Resting her smoke stick on her father's ashtray, she takes a seat in his leathered office chair, unfolds the paper, and turns the knob of the table's oil lamp, illuminating the desk. She reads out the bold headline from the local evening daily, 'Is Reddy's prodigy at the centre of College Killings?' She nods to herself and looks back at Kesar.

After the lack of response, he asks her, "Aren't you worried?"

"Worried about?"

"You don't seem to get it. Do you?" She knows what he's talking about, but she'd like to hear it from him.

"Speak plainly, Kez"

"You, being a part of the investigation" he throws his hands around, clearly annoyed by her nonchalance.

"No, I am not scared, unlike you." She snorts and continues- "Tell me, Kez. Don't you want me to be free of these sickening claims?"

"Of course. I want that for you, my bondhu. But, you're being short-sighted here."

"Believe whatever you want, I'll prove my innocence by any means" Akanksha flares her nose. Her breathing gets agitated as the minutes go by; she doesn't understand how her friend is not backing her up.

"AK, you're not listening to yourself, this will only come back to you"

She quirks her eyebrow in question, to which her friend says, "You're a protham suspect, you'll be like a walking target if you get involved in this investigation"

"No, Kez. This will only show how I am still here, ready for whatever they hurl at me. I am not wavering my stance"

"Tor matha kharap. I appreciate your confidence but what part of being a suspect, you don't get?" He sighs in frustration.

"No suspect.." he begins; but by the look on her face, he quickly stammers to correct- "Sorry, no possible or alleged suspect gets involved in the investigation, it will look like you're here to not clear your name but the evidence." She cannot believe that he is sputtering such nonsense, and what hurts her, even more, is that her friend doesn't believe in her innocence.

"I can't believe you just said that" before he can explain himself, she raises her hand, stopping him from blabbering, even more, absurdity. "You may not have faith in me, but I am confident enough about what I am doing"

"If you're done, you can leave." She has nothing more to offer to this conversation.

"AK" he calls for her, but she looks straight ahead; refusing to glance at him. He nods to himself, accepting defeat, one last time he tries - "I didn't mean to offend you in any way, aamaye khoma korben. I was just looking out for you" he gets up and makes his way to the office's mahogany door.

But, then he comes across a dark silhouette. He asks- "What is she doing here?" His words are brimmed with shock and anger.

"Hello to you too, Kesar." says the hoarse voice.

  

xxx

A/n: Hey everyone. I just want to say that this fiction is set in the 1940s and in an alternative universe; so, much of the history will not be here for obvious reasons. This is not a politically oriented story, but the element may be used as a background and only that.

P.S.: Also, I am a non-Bangla speaker. I have used the help of google and google translate; for one of my characters, so if you find any discrepancies you can message me or comment here with the corrections.

P.S.S: I have not edited this thoroughly, I was in a bit rush, if you come to find any grammatical errors, please excuse me. I will edit this some other day. The updates will be slower, just so you know.

Thanks for giving this a read :)

Happy Pride!!! 🏳️‍🌈

[popatochisssp]

Hello Poppy! I hope you slept well! Here is the reminder you requested to create a mob au hc post like the cowboy post. Have a wonderful day!

Thank you, it’s finally time! I’m gonna put it under a cut immediately because having twenty skeletons makes every post with all of them automatically a long one!

Full disclaimer-- none of the boys are bosses, that falls on the monarch(s) of their universes... but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own roles to play~

(Warnings: mentions of crime, drugs, violence, sex, brief sexism [probably not the way you’d think] and ableism, plus all the usual mob-tropes I may have forgotten to mention)

Sans (Undertale): He’s a...humble purveyor of items, quality goods produced economically in order to pass those savings on to the crafty consumer who might not want to pay full, exorbitant price for ‘name-brand’ luxuries... Yeah, he’s the ‘you wanna buy a watch?’ guy and he spends most of his days (strategically) wandering around the city looking for customers to hock knockoff, lookalike watches, wallets and bags to. The fuzz know him by name but can never seem to find anything to hold him on, so he’s mostly just a harmless nuisance to be shooed along elsewhere if there’s been any complaints. (He’s real good at making friendly conversation with the law enforcement and keeping all eyes on him, and frankly, if there were any real shady business going on somewhere nearby... well, the cops certainly wouldn’t know about it, too busy hustling him along down the street, now would they?)

Papyrus (Undertale): An upstanding citizen, unlike his brother who’s always in some little trouble with the law or other. He is gainfully employed at a fitness center, and he commutes there by car, because paid for his license to operate one and practiced his driving skills and saved up until he could afford a very beautiful, shiny car of his own! It’s a very nice vehicle...so nice, even, that he doesn’t like to drive it for...recreational outings with friends, in case the paint might get scuffed. That’s why his friends let him borrow their cars when they go out, and let him drive very fast (but safely!) all over the city, even at strange hours or by ‘suspicious’ locations. He’s certainly never seen anything suspicious going on, he just waits outside, and if he happens to keep a First Aid kit in his glove-box, that’s just taking precautions, isn’t it? Accidents happen, you know! (He’s the best getaway driver in town and he knows it, but plausible deniability--the less he ‘knows,’ the better.)

Sky (Underswap Sans): Just your average, ordinary businessman, running a nice little bar for average, ordinary folks of all kinds. Well... he co-owns the place with a buddy of his, Grillby, but Grillbz is a free spirit and a real man about town, so really most of the ‘running’  is down to him. And he loves it! So many people (monsters and humans) to meet and chat with and serve... human food and alcohol, of course. Monster food and alcohol isn’t legalized yet to serve to humans, and a black mark like that against his little establishment would be just awful. He adheres fully to the rules and regulations set forth by human governmental agencies, no magic in anything he passes across the counter, skeleton’s honor! ...Total bullshit, obviously-- he’s running a speakeasy for humans who want to partake in a little monster food or booze, because it’s not harmful to humans and that makes it an even stupider regulation than prohibition was. Grillby taught him most of the menu and cooks on the rare occasions he’s in, while Sky handles the liquid menu and keeps an eye-socket out for snitches and inspectors trying to catch him in the act. He’s never missed a rat yet.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He works at his brother’s place. In the back. Only part-time, though, Sky’s got it mostly buttoned up there, so Paps has a lot of leisure time to wander around the city, hit up his favorite joints, chat with friends--and strangers that can become friends, he’s a friendly sorta guy. And if he’s ever seen sharing a cigarette or two with one of those friends, of course it’ll be a totally normal tobacco cigarette, and no exchange of money or anything else incriminating about the interaction. ...Doggo is the one that does the deals, he’s got the Dog Treat supply and a client base that’s steadily starting to include humans--but since Dog Treats are classed as Monster Consumables and illegal to distribute to humans, in spite of being non-addictive, only mildly affective, and non-irritant to lungs, things get a little more convoluted. Paps hits up Doggo at Muffet’s (a wholly monster establishment) for the Dog Treats and a client list, ‘refurbishes’ the Treats to resemble cigarettes, and then meets up with anybody who prepaid for their order real casual-like to fence ‘em. He gets a little cut of the profits, and a discount when he’s picking up for pleasure instead of business--like a (slightly) more illegal girl scout cookie racket.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Him? He’s just an average joe in all respects. He’s got a little auto shop, spends his days tuning up cars and bikes and such as the like, and most evenings out having fun with anybody else who’s out looking to have a good time--food and drink and maybe a little gambling, but small games, low stakes, for charity, yanno? Nothing illegal, he’d freely assure anyone concerned about the law. Yep, he’s a perfectly normal, law-abiding citizen...as far as anyone can tell. If he does a little work on the side, when specifically requested to, by perhaps one of his monarchs or one of the parties they’d approved to ask for his...services... Well, he’s certainly too quick and clean about it to leave any hard evidence behind, and he’s always far away from...whatever may have happened...with too many witnesses all in agreement that he was there and couldn’t have been anywhere else, unless he could somehow make it across town in the blink of an eye. (His side-gig is as a hitman. He keeps his shortcut ability very tightly under wraps to make for perfect alibis, and takes his targets out with magic bullets which he can disappear afterwards. If he’s ever somehow implicated in anything, he’s happy to point out to the nice officers that he doesn’t even own a weapon. They’re free to look, but all they’ll find is a set of knuckledusters he keeps on his person, purely for protection--and look how shiny the brass is, never even been used, officers! Guess they’ve got nothing on him, after all...)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A law-abiding citizen. He must be--surely one can’t get more law-abiding than a lawyer...right? He actually does keep his (lack of) nose clean, but studying the convoluted mess that is human law doesn’t leave time for much else--even when your studies are funded by royalty and you’re given everything you need to open up your own practice as soon as you’ve passed the bar. Still, his skill and knowledge in arguing the law is very valuable and his services are in high demand, so he’s well-compensated for his chosen career and lives his life outside of it both comfortably and legally. His clients...are innocent until proven guilty and it would be an extreme failing of his duty to give any of them anything less than his best in the courtroom, regardless of their character, their associations, and what they happen to have been accused of. (Yeah, he’s a mob lawyer, used almost exclusively by Asgore and Toriel to protect them and anyone they send to him and all of their collective...interests. He respects the law, but values justice above it, so in spite of having a lot of clients who are definitely criminals in one way or another, he has no trouble sleeping at night.)

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He’s an accountant, nothing more, nothing less. ...For Toriel, of course, so he’s paid well for his services. And he has quite a head for numbers and figures, so he plays the stock market and does quite well there, too, smart investments and reading the writing on the wall, and all that. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his very healthy finances and his lavish lifestyle--fur coats, fine suits, fancy cars, shiny gold pocket-watches-- it’s all expensive and almost over the top, but hey, he is the money-man and all the numbers check out. It seems that he’s just very good at handling and investing his capital, it’s no wonder the monster-queen herself hired him on... (He is, of course, running several money laundering schemes at any given time, taking all the less-than-legally-obtained money earned by constituents of the [former] Empire and layering it through official channels to make it look legal in such a convoluted, complex web that it doesn’t raise any significant red flags. He’s got his claws in a lot of pies, and he takes what he needs off the top to live a little luxuriously, with Toriel’s knowledge and permission-- a perk for the necessary service he provides.) Whatever else may be true, it’s a simple fact that he’s very, very good at his job.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): With the lucrative career his brother has, the lucky SOB doesn’t have to work a day in his life if he doesn’t want to, but he’s using the safety net to pursue his passion in art. Subjective as it is, it’s hard to say if he’s really any good, but people seem to like what he produces well-enough--not a household name, but people passionate about the subject might recognize his work and his pieces sell with at least moderate success. For all that it’s probably not going to make him famous or rich(er than his brother), he’s dedicated to his craft and regularly makes bulk purchases of his supplies, canvas and reams of paper and paint and ink and the like, to keep up his steady work and art sales. He seems like an altogether normal and down-to-earth sort of guy, nothing suspicious about him at all. (He’s a counterfeiter and works in tandem with his brother--they even hit a Bureau together to lift a set of plates for the one and only active crime he was involved in--and his art is just a really good cover for why he needs so much ink and paper and other supplies on a regular basis. He does love and care about his art career, that part’s not fake, but he’s also got a good eye-socket for detail and steady hands to replicate it, and if fake human money that looks really real can help monsters, he doesn’t really see why he shouldn’t.)

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s...been through a lot. All monsters have, really, but he was hit kind of especially hard and... Whatever Gerson, or Undyne, or whoever’s running things now up on the Surface are getting involved in...he doesn’t really want any part of it. He gets regular stipends for some unspecified ‘service’ he performed for the Queen, Underground, and while no human (alive) knows what that was, it’s apparently enough to live off of relatively comfortably without being employed himself. He has a nice little place with his brother on the outskirts of the city and he lives there quietly, peacefully. He rarely goes into town, just the occasional walkabout, stopping at restaurants or scoping out the architecture. (Part of his one concession to being left out of whatever illegal, mob-type business may or may not be going on: he needs a good mental map of the city and at least a few landmarks that he’ll definitely remember, because he’s the emergency evac should...anything...go especially south. The house phone doesn’t ring too often in the middle of the night, but when it does, he needs to know where he needs to be, and quick.)

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s, ah... not involved in any ‘business’ either, but he does spend a little more time out of the house, at the local hospital. He was allowed to make a study of human medicine and become a nurse by Very Special Exception--mostly due to some friends (or at least one) in high places, and some very backwards human attitudes about parts that constitute a ‘man’ and how a skeleton without any parts could perhaps be allowed into nursing--and he’s proven himself a valuable member of staff and even made friends with all of his coworkers. He’s happy at his job, and with his life, and returns home to his quiet, peaceful house every night with a smile. (He has a go-bag ready by the phone for those late night calls, though, full of healing items and medical equipment he may have subtly nicked from the hospital, just so he has everything he needs to treat a monster or a friendly human that may have gotten hurt...somehow...and for reasons they have no need to specify, can’t risk going to a doctor.)

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Just a poor street musician...or at least, that’s what most people figure, ‘cause he doesn’t dress too well and the trombone he plays while sitting out on the sidewalk looks like it’s probably the nicest thing he owns. He gets a couple bucks from time to time, but rarely any second glances, and that... That works in his favor. You’d be surprised how much people talk about when they think nobody’s listening (or at least...nobody important) and he can pick up a lot of interesting information of what’s going on in the city just by setting up in the right spot and waiting for folks to talk business. He’s pretty quiet when he’s not tooting the ol’ horn and great at blending into the background, and that’s made him the guy to go to when you want to know something--like how much somebody else knows, or if there are any plans in place for say, a raid or a sting or some kind. (Law enforcement is the worst about keeping proprietary information ‘proprietary’ when they think their only audience is some nobody monster bum sleeping on a bench...) He’s also got something of a whole information network going on with the actual homeless people in the city, since he gives great tips about places who are hiring or somewhere to get a meal or a bed for the night and he always gives his earnings from busking to those who need it more than him. He’s paid for the service he provides and he’s got a home to go back to, it just seems right that the music-money goes to help somebody else.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a nanny for the Queen! Not too long ago, she might’ve opted to just stay home and look after her newly adopted child herself, while Asgore handled business with the humans, but... They’re freshly split now, and Toriel wants to be just as involved in things as Asgore as much as she wants to s l o w l y ease into being a full-time mother again. Yrus is the solution, already fond of little Frisk and a very warm and trustworthy soul who stayed bright even in the gloom of the Underground. He happily takes the job when asked and splits his time between supervising and caring for Frisk, and tutoring them in all the important subjects (math, history, magic, et cetera). He finds he has a passion for teaching and thinks he might go into that someday, when Frisk is older and Toriel has a little more time and confidence to no longer need him as a buffer. (Whatever it is, specifically, that takes up so much of Toriel’s time and keeps her out so late that he sometimes has to wait around well past Frisk’s bedtime for her to come back and ask after them... Yrus couldn’t fathom a guess and isn’t going to ask any questions. That would definitely be out of his scope as a simple child-minder and even if he knew anything, it would be an extreme violation of the family’s privacy for him to tell tales, which he’s happy to point out to anyone with a lot of questions for somebody so close to two of the Dreemurrs.)

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s on his brother’s payroll. It seemed like the best way to kill two birds with one stone: he’s a big, scary-looking wall of bone who isn’t well suited to a regular-joe sorta job, and his bro’s a very high-profile guy who needs somebody big and scary-looking to stand next to him and be a deterrent. Nepotism, maybe, but they’ve been looking after each other their whole lives already and it’s something Brick knows he can do--he’d do it for free, but if King thinks it’s better (and safer) to have it as his job description, he’s probably right, so Brick’ll take the paycheck for it. King’s also very likely the only one who could stop him if he...lost control...somewhere out and about, so sticking close to him makes Brick feel better and hey, maybe they’re actually killing three birds with this stone of an arrangement. Still, he mostly just goes about town with King, standing around and watching his back and staring people down when he needs to while his brother carries on with his conversations and business. He hardly ever has to do anymore than that...almost never. (One of his favorite places to go is a little hole-in-the-wall craft shop, where King always pretends to take longer than he needs so Brick can peruse the yarn and try to pick up a little sign language from the nice old deaf lady who owns the place.)

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Yes, yes, he’s very high profile--he did lead monsterkind for a time, getting everyone up to the Surface and settled there--but he’s since stepped down. He’s retired, and anything his successor may be involved in... surely, he couldn’t say. He and Toriel are barely in contact and the money he receives from her on the regular is a gift of goodwill, mostly for medical expenses (his leg, and his brother’s...well). All he does these days is collect for a charity, a pet project of his, Monster Reparations. Lots of people give such generous donations when he goes around to ask for them, maybe impressed a little by his fame, but he can’t feel too terribly about using it for such a worthy cause... (It’s a thinly veiled protection racket and the people and businesses who buy into it tend not to fall victim to ‘mysterious’ criminal activity. Toriel may be officially calling the shots now, but King, as the monster who put her back there, is in a very unique position of power in having her ear, an unofficial underboss totally off the books. Some ‘donate’ more than necessary when he comes collecting, hoping to earn preferential treatment, and sometimes they get it and sometimes they don’t--it’s entirely down to King’s opinion of them personally. ...The old woman who runs the craft store pays about half the going rate, and the immigrant who imports the miniature trees he likes gets a heavy discount, too. The deli-owner he overheard hurling discriminatory epithets at a customer, however, pays triple. You get the idea.)

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a researcher. Highly confidential, he’s sworn to secrecy and even mentioning that he’s being funded by Elder King Shroomba is pushing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to talk about. Still, he has his own facility, and several assistants, monster volunteers and sometimes human ones--but they have to sign papers swearing not to talk about what goes on in the lab, too. From what they are allowed to say, the gist is just that it didn’t seem like anything sinister was going on; not even a blood-draw... Merc seems pretty happy to leave at the end of every day, though, and whenever it comes up, he talks very fondly about being able to finish the project. (He’s researching DT, specifically how it can be used to enhance monster physiology and make them more resistant to damage from intent. Merc’s misadventure with DT destabilized him, but from 1HP he’s now more durable than ever, and his second attempt with his brother had less dramatic but still noticeable and successful results. The king wants that safety net for more monsters, especially ones who are on the front lines of...potentially less than legal dealings...who could really be at risk. Merc is reluctant, but with the stipulation of informed, willing volunteers for DT extraction and infusion, he can’t bring himself to turn down the resources and funding to research his own condition and bring the possibility of being normal again ever closer. He still has a hard time with the idea of ‘enhancing’ monsters, but the fact that it’s at least being done safely, willingly, and with a whole team behind it this time helps a lot.)

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He’s in a wheelchair but not letting it keep him down, and he’s running a modest little newspaper stand on the corner--papers and magazines and cheap books--nothing all that special but boy, what an inspiration, good for him that he’s got a job and can run the place by himself! All kinds come and go from his stand, and sometimes he closes it up for a little bit in the middle of the day to take a...er...roll, with some people who must be friends of his, but he’s never gone too long, so nobody says anything to the poor guy about the inconvenience. He’s a dedicated businessman, or trying to be; won’t even let people help him with those heavy-looking boxes of deliveries he gets, and for a fella with no legs, he seems to be doing his best! (...The whole thing is a low-key smuggling operation and he is making bank off it. There’s a system of code-words in place related to the publications he sells for a ‘customer’ to indicate whether they’re buying or selling, and what--magic consumables, stolen/hot items, imported goods, the works--and where and when they want things to go down. There’s even hidden compartments in his custom-built wheelchair for some of the riskier stuff, because he knows no cop in their right mind would force a guy with no legs out of his chair just to search it with witnesses around. And that’s presuming any law enforcement were to even catch wise to his set-up, which he kind of doubts: he’s sly and subtle and even if he weren’t, he knows people see the chair before they see him. Why not take advantage of that?)

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He makes his living as a boxer, and a subsequent minor celebrity. Pretty much any match he’s in is an exhibition match--not just a monster, not just a little guy (...relatively), but a short skeleton monster who’s blind, wow! You don’t see that every day, that’s a spectacle! Plenty of ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s in the packed stands every night the sightless skeleton scrapper is in the ring and nobody can figure out how he bobs and weaves so well that he hardly ever gets hit. He loses some matches, that’s to be expected, even for a ‘normal’ fighter, but hey, people love an underdog story, so when he wins, it’s an uproar every time. (For his part, Pitch hates most of his ‘fans’ who think of him the same way they probably think of a silly little dog who learned a funny trick, but the fame in general, and the thrill of the fight... Those are enough to keep him in the ring. Just... maybe not quite enough to keep him fighting clean. He’s as dirty as sportsmen come and he and a few other monsters regularly play his own odds with the bookies: he’ll subtly use magic to cheat and stay in longer, or go down when he could easily keep fighting, whatever’s more profitable with the over/under from match to match. If he’s going to be a circus act doing what he loves, he may as well get hazard pay for his dignity... and y’know, a couple of idiots who think being able to fight is a ‘trick’ because you’re blind aren’t nearly so annoying when you’re being driven away from them in a luxury car, to your expensive house in the hills decked out with all the amenities.)

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s got a place he looks after, keeps things running. Just a small joint, nothing fancy, a little cabaret variety show type place--singing, dancing, drinks on tap, that kinda thing. After dark, some of the...performances... might get a little more risqué, stuff that titillates like burlesque and striptease, but rest assured, his permits are all in order and everything’s on the up and up. Nothing illegal whatsoever going on here, just a bit of singing and dancing and everybody having a good time. (Most of the performers are sex workers--monsters, but some humans too--and patrons can negotiate private shows or off-the-clock ‘meetings’ at their discretion. Nemo opts to not know too much of the details of what his dancers do when he’s not looking, for legal reasons, but he makes sure they have a safe place to do it, are paid for their services, and don’t have repeat problem-patrons if any slip through. Being one of the gentlemen running such an establishment in the city that doesn’t happen to touch or steal from or mistreat the performers, his place is the place to get hired if that’s your line of work. He’s mostly just happy to be able to provide the job security and the job safety for a group that really seems to catch a lot of hell up here on the Surface just for how they make their money.)

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He’s a busy guy, bouncing around from place to place, job to job... Being so scattered, you might think he’d be having money troubles by now, but while he may not be the type to stick with one thing and stay there for a good few years, nobody who knows him would say he’s unreliable--he’s the type of guy that you can give him a call anytime and if you need help, he’ll be right over, and he’ll get the job done well, too! Of course he lives with his fancypants brother, and the King and Queen probably spot him a loan or two now and then, since they’re friendly, so all in all, no one really wonders how he makes enough money to live so comfortably. The answer’s right there in their face...isn’t it? (Yes and no. He is the kind of guy you can call anytime to get a job done, and he will do it well, but the money he gets from Asgore and Toriel is less of a ‘loan’ and more of a ‘payment for services rendered.’ He’s a cleaner, the guy you call to make things go away, things that aren’t supposed to be there: stains, papers, weapons, evidence... He’ll get rid of it for you, and if you need a convincing coverup or an alibi for...whatever it is that you weren’t there doing, he’ll take care of that, too. If somebody’s calling him up for his special brand of help, they probably just want to put it all behind them and forget all about that nasty business. He’s happy to facilitate--after all, what are friends for?)

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Like his brother, he gets on well with the King and Queen. (They both feel like they’ve known the monarchs much longer than they actually have...somehow...) But in any case, unlike his brother, Aster is very well-organized and thoughtful, so he’s a natural choice as an...advisor, of sorts, when monsters surfaced and it was...decided that perhaps there would be some...activities and...ways of doing things that...should remain unknown to the humans. Not unknown to Aster: he keeps track of everything, reminding the monarchs of little details they may have forgotten, pointing out things they may not have noticed, making educated suggestions for courses of action with likely positive outcomes based on past experiences... He’s the linchpin between Asgore and Toriel that makes them terrifyingly more efficient than they would be without him, a consigliere-equivalent who certainly isn’t a boss himself, but he has the bosses’ trust and their ears and that makes him a person of great interest. But...no one can get anything useful out of him: he’s loyal, above all, and much as he values truth, he also realizes that perhaps not everyone deserves to know the full truth of everything, especially not those who might use that truth to bring some sort of harm or misfortune to his friends...or to monsterkind at large. ...And trying to directly seize his extensive notes on the private and personal business-doings of the Dreemurrs is an even more doomed endeavor--he writes them all in a strange jumble of symbols that no one’s ever seen, and the code-breakers never have it long enough to decipher anything useful before its back in his hands, reclaimed quite speedily after unlawful seizure of private property containing confidential information. Lots of well-meaning law enforcement have their sights set on him as some sort of criminal white whale, but the simile is all too accurate-- they’ll never catch him, and even if they do, there’ll be nothing to hold him on. He simply has too many friends (and family members) in very high, very useful places.

[minis-gaming]

Let's talk about Colorado!

I know that Colorado isn't the most popular level from Hitman 2016, for a variety of reasons. Nonetheless, I really enjoyed the level, not least of course because it is Lucas Grey's base for his private militia. And that's why I don't want to write a level review, but rather talk about Colorado in this regard, because the level gives some material for speculation!

Of course, the first question that arises is why Grey chose this place. Of course, the farm is far away in the middle of nowhere. Far in the background we see the mountains, there are large fields and even a lake that surrounds half the house. This gives you a very good view of the entire landscape and of course offers perfect conditions for locating intruders at an early stage (except for 47, of course, but he can get in everywhere anyway haha).

If we look at the farm itself and if we look at the briefing we know that it is an abandoned apricot farm. But it doesn't look like this farm was abandoned as planned by its previous owners. It looks more like they’ve left in a hurry. Apparently a family lived there, because we can find toys everywhere and even two children's and teenagers' rooms. Curious: there is even a grave in the garden. Whatever happened here, the family has apparently left the house in a hurry. At this point it should be said that I don't think Grey drove them out of the house. Rather, I think he bought the house through some kind of foreclosure sale.

I find it interesting what he did with the house. Much of the furniture seems to have stayed in its old places while others were carried outside and used as barriers. Boxes full of equipment stand between toys and old sofas. Walls were torn down to create more space. The old barn serves as a test center for a new, planned attack and in the basement Grey's, hm let's call it an office, is protected by a high-tech face scanner.

This basement. This wall. When I saw Grey's work for the first time, I was reminded of a serial killer wall from a thriller 😅 The whole room is full of chaos, but the pictures and how he has linked them with informations seems very meticulous. Fun fact: There is crumpled paper on the table and it looks like Grey tried to fold the Origami Bird from Providence. There's also an ashtray full of cigarettes, so I'm sure Grey is a smoker (we know from his guards that he was in the basement when 47 came).

Colorado is so full of details and especially given that this place is Grey’s base for his militia, I find it all the more exciting to explore everything. Did you noticed anything else interesting? How do you think about the level and it’s story? Tell me in the comments or feel free to write me a message!

Photo credit goes to Morten Olsen and Mark Potente

[mr-im-fine]

HAPPY SPRING EXCHANGE TO @andthenthefirenationattacked​ ! I hope you like it!

EVE by mr-im-fine (witch_lit) (T | 1,039 | 1/1)

Neil and Andrew share an afternoon looking after the strawberry sales at Camp Half Blood.

/Andreil, PJO AU, Pre-Relationship

@aftgexchange

Thunk.

Andrew flicks his blade and watches it vibrate, then knocks it down, leaving another gouge in the counter.

Thunk.

Andrew knows he’s wearing out the blade, but he can have one of the Hephaestus kids look at it later. If he pretends to be Aaron, Matt would probably do it without question. Matt never was very good at telling him and his brother apart.

Thunk.

The twitch in the new kids eyebrow is entertaining. Andrew can tell he’s at the end of his rope, glaring the occasional daggers over at Andrew from his post where he’s helping a passing New York family pick strawberries. Ha, daggers.

Hey, it’s not Andrew’s fault the family had wanted to pick their own. Something about ‘hands on family time’, or whatever. If it had just been a drive by, Andrew would have taken their cash and given them a carton. But they’d wanted the ‘experience’, and Andrew will take the opportunity to put distance in between himself and the newbie. 

Besides, the roadside strawberry pickup is just barely big enough for two people, let alone two twitchy demigods. The rickety metal fan only does so much against the summer heat, and they’re technically outside of camp, so the weather regulation is a little off.  The monsters are a little more likely to come there way, too, which is why they’re both there. Buddy system and all that. 

Andrew’s not sure how effective the buddy system will be if there’s any actual danger. Neil, the new kid, looks like he would run at the first sign of danger, Andrew be damned.  Not that Andrew can really blame him. Sending the newest recruit to help with the strawberry sales has been tradition for as long as Andrew’s been at camp, but it’s a dumb one. 

Thunk.

“Will you cut that out?” Neil finally snaps, the family of four loading back into their car. 

“Or what?” Andrew says, leveling Neil with a stare as he flicks his blade. It quivers, but stays sunk into the wood.

Neil holds his gaze until the roar of an engine starting snaps him out of it. His eyes flick towards the family, pulling away from the side of the highway, before they return to the strawberry stand. His throat works as he looks down at the blade between them, then his shoulders slowly unclench, rolling back.

“Or nothing,” Neil says, his voice lighter than it had been.  He doesn’t move from his spot. 

Andrew quirks an eyebrow and pulls the knife out of the wood, watching Neil tense up before forcing a relaxed pose. It’s purposefully deferent, carefully controlled. Meant to show Andrew that he’s won.

Andrew doesn’t believe it for a second. He believes that Neil meant to pick a fight, to get him to stop. This demure demeanor is as fake as the eye color the demigod is sporting. Andrew’s seen the contacts, they’ve certainly been close enough in their time in the strawberry booth. 

“Rabbit,” Andrew admonishes, sliding his knife closed and slipping it into his pocket. Neil’s eyes follow the knife, and Andrew has never been more certain that a demigod has faced monsters before. Both the mythical kind, and the ones who claimed to be nothing but human. 

Andrew’s hands ache with the desire to touch. He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, throwing them down on the scored wood counter. He lights one, focusing on it much harder than he needs to. When Neil sits down in the booth, Andrew is grateful he’s as far away as possible.

Not looking over, Andrew slides the carton of cigarettes towards Neil. Out of his periphery, he can see Neil’s long fingers hook into the box and pull it open. The urge to lean over and light Neil’s cigarette with his own overcomes him briefly, but Andrew ignores it, tossing his lighter at the other man. 

Neil catches the lighter in one hand, pushing shut the carton and sliding it across the counter with the other. He lights up quickly, the movement obviously familiar as he hides it from the blow of the fan. He throws the lighter back at Andrew, an eyebrow quirked. 

Andrew feels annoyance, already simmering in his gut, shoot through his bloodstream like adrenaline. 

He carefully does not watch as Neil brings the cigarette close to his face, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Andrew has half a mind to tell him that that’s not how one is supposed to smoke a cigarette, but he’s not interested in babying the other man. If he doesn’t know how to smoke, despite obviously being well versed in lighting the cigarette, that’s his problem. 

Even if a little, traitorous part of Andrew wants to ask.

Divesting his gaze from Neil’s closed eyes, his eyelashes, Andrew looks out at the highway. There are not many cars, but some still pass, bright colors past a green landscape that has become dull to him with exposure.

“It’s cheaper if you roll your own,” Neil says, sometime later, his cigarette a smoldering butt between his fingers.

“It’s a waste of time,” Andrew says as he lights his second cigarette.

“It’s not like you’re doing anything out here.”

“I’m selling strawberries.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “I can see that.”

They lapse into silence again, both watching the highway as Andrew chain smokes. This is the only place Andrew can smoke in peace, which is a huge part of the reason he does this to begin with. He needs the silence, the time away from camp. Usually, the newbies give him a much wider berth than Neil has. Usually, they would have read the whispers in the camp and known to stay the hell out of his way.

As the sun begins to set, Andrew glances at Neil. He wonders what it would be like, to watch Neil roll him a cigarette. If he would know the right thickness, how his tongue would look wetting a line across the rolling paper.

Irritated at his brain, Andrew stands up. Neil stands next to him, stretching out his shoulders. Andrew doesn’t look back at him as they head towards camp. It’s going to be an interesting summer.