#Parcel delivery costs

[stuartm1962]

Parcel cost comparison

In the modern day world of global markets many businesses require an efficient, prompt, and reliable courier service to deliver documents and parcels to global destinations the next day after despatch. If your company has recently begun operating within the export of goods to global customers or will have/has a need to send documents or parcels worldwide for next day delivery or if you are an established in a global marketplace but your current courier service is letting your down then there is only one company to contact and that is Overland Express. Overland Express offer global next day delivery of documents and parcels through their trusted partner network which includes household names such as DHL, FedEx,and UPS and they guarantee to provide the very best customer service, a reliable on-time efficient delivery service at very competitive prices. The team at Overland Express are dedicated to working with you by understanding your business and your requirements from a courier service to enable them to provide the very best customer service and recommend the best method of delivery for your parcel, documents etc. For more information on sending parcels or documents, visit Overland Express at https://www.overlandexpress.co.uk/compare-parcel-prices

[fineexcouriers]

Sending Parcels from Canada to India: Costs, Tips, and Services

Discover the essential information you need to know about international shipping and courier parcel delivery services when sending parcels from Canada to India. Learn about the factors that influence shipping costs, compare different shipping carriers, and find tips to ensure a smooth and efficient shipping process while navigating customs regulations.

[ageingfangirl2]

Imagine Being Bonten's Receptionist (Bonten x F Reader) - Tokyo Revengers

PART 2: MAIL SERVICE WITH A SMILE

ONE THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE

A week has passed since you first started working for Bonten. It was safe to say this wasn't your regular 9-5 office job, and the people you worked for were ‘rumoured’ criminals, but as long as you got paid and did your job, that’s all that mattered to you. Your last receptionist job had been pretty shitty, no one acknowledged you unless they had a complaint or some post that needed sending, so you kept to yourself and got by without so much as a smile or pleasant greeting in the morning. If they were going to ignore you, you could ignore them back.

But working for Bonten seemed like a fresh slate, a new start, and you were going to make a good impression every morning, even if they were a ‘rumoured’ criminal organistaion you wanted to bring some normality to the whole situation. 

The week had flown by, and you were looking forward to having the weekend off, but today you had a bunch of mail that needed handing out, and you were going to do it with your friendly smile.

Manjiro Sano was the first into the office, which was a rare occurrence since he usually showed up a couple of hours after everyone else, did some work, delegated tasks and took a nap for the rest of the day. You pick up the parcel that had been delivered to him and smile brightly, ‘Good morning, sir, I have a package for you.’

He barely reacts at first. He walks in like a ghost - unreadable, silent. He pauses for a heartbeat as you hold out the package to him, takes the package from you without a single word uttered. The next day, the same thing. By the fifth time, he gives you the tiniest of nods. That’s a breakthrough, and it made you feel good.

If Manjiro was in the office, he would be swiftly followed by his shadow, Haruchiyo Sanzu, but unlike Mikey, Sanzu acknowledged you when you held out his post to him with an unwavering smile, ‘These came for you.’

He bursts out laughing the first time, ‘What the hell is this? Mail delivery service now?’ he takes the envelopes and leans in close and asks, ‘You know who you’re smiling at, sweetheart?’

You simply nod, and he walks off laughing to himself. He’s kind of low-key obsessed at how you were able to keep your smile around him despite everything he’s ‘alleged’ to have done.. The next time mail arrives, he shows up grinning ear to ear, ‘Where’s my fan mail, huh?’

The Haitani brothers were two completely different personalities. Ran was amused and skeptical, smirking when you greeted him holding a letter. He simply leans on your desk and teases you, ‘You always this nice, or only to criminals?’ you laugh it off, ‘only when it pays my bills.’

Ran tries to make you slip up, drop your friendly mask, but it never slips, and he is resigned to the fact that you were going to be a tough cookie to crack. His brother, on the other hand, Rindou, well he was awkward, didn’t know how to respond. He simply takes the mail and utters a quiet thank you on the first day, avoiding eye contact at all costs. After a while, though, you slowly start to notice him arriving early so he can enjoy the way you say good morning to him with a smile. You made him feel normal for a criminal, and he kind of liked that.

Kakucho was a sweetie, Polite, reserved. He nods and accepts the mail with a quiet ‘Thanks.’ He’s wary, but he can tell she’s genuine. She starts remembering small things — like his preferred coffee or that he doesn't like loud noises. He respects her calm and starts trusting her a little faster than the others. You saw him like a puppy dog, scary, but would happily roll over on his belly to get his tummy rubbed. Out of all of the members, you felt more comfortable with him, and if you had any future issues, he’d probably be the one you went to for sound advice and a quiet shoulder to lean on.

Hajime Kokonoi, the one who hired you and gave you the lovely flowers that you kept alive as long as you could, looks you up and down suspiciously the first time you hand him his mail already organised with a friendly greeting. He’s used to manipulation, so your kindness does throw him off, even though he had a feeling you would be like this during the hiring process. 

If there was one word he used to describe you, it would be consistent. And soon after, he starts dropping off his invoices and banking letters without comment, almost like you’re becoming part of the system he depends on. It also helped that you were one of the few people in the office who took organising seriously.

Takeomi Akashi was annoyed at first. ‘This isn’t a damn law office.’ he huffed and took his mail like it personally insulted him, even though mail had done nothing to him. But you are stubbornly nice; your smile could warm the coldest of hearts, and he felt his starting to thaw after a long time of being frozen. Eventually, he sighs and starts grumbling back at her greetings like an old man — ‘Yeah, yeah, good morning, whatever.’ It becomes their little routine. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you quickly become the main reason he makes an effort to come into the office. You were a ray of light in the darkness that was Bonten, and he liked the fact that you seemingly kept him grounded in the real world.

Kanji Mochizuki, or Mochi as he asked you to call him, thinks you are hilarious. ‘You’re way too sweet for this place, you know that?’ He tries joking with you or even startling you when you’re focused on the computer screen, but you never flinch in his presence. Over time, he gets weirdly protective — doesn’t like seeing her stressed or upset. If anyone yells at her, he steps in, and he makes sure to keep an eye on those sneaky Haitani brothers and even Sanzu because he doesn’t want anyone scaring you off. This place needs you, and he will become your shadow if that’s what it takes.

[gilverrwrites]

Meet Cute Uglies [Bruce]

AN: Shout out to @luckyarchaeologist whose comments inspired me to go a completely different direction to what I had envisioned.🩷 And everyone else who reblogged/comments/voted for a part 2! I hope it lives up 🩷

GN!Reader/Bruce Wayne, 1.6K Words [2/?]

Part One >[Here]<

CWs: Mild/nonexplicit threats of violence, teasing

His hands are soft, and warm, soothing the tension from your body as he uses them to cup your face and hold you steady as he pushes closer, pressing your body deeper into the wall with his broad chest. Up close you can see a smattering of his five o’clock stubble coming through, even under the dim slivers of moonlight breaking through the gloomy alley. You note a hint of coffee on his breath before his lips brush against-

Loud banging at your apartment door startles you awake. Tired eyes sluggishly take in the time on the nearest clock, you’re barely able to process the numbers before the knocks come again. It’s too early. It’s your day of for goodness’ sake and it sounds like someone is trying to break down your door with their fists. When you answer it’s an equally disgruntled delivery driver. They ask your name before bombarding you with a large box and snapping a proof of delivery photo. You ponder your unkempt morning appearance and pray the sender of this parcel doesn’t ever check that photo.

It was almost certainly not from you because you hadn’t ordered anything, especially not anything this big. You don’t recognise the logo, but it, the matte black tape, and the distinct florally smell permeating from the smooth white container tells you that whatever is inside is expensive. That or it’s a trap, designed to lure you in with its unsuspecting exterior, then BAM Ivy toxin or Joker gas. You’re not dumb, you’ve seen the PSAs.

30 minutes, one morning brew, one disposable mask, one sharp knife, 2 gloves, and a whole lot of nerve later you gently remove the contents from its packaging. It’s wrapped in a layer of security card and glittery tissue paper but it’s pretty evident what it is. It’s a very nice bouquet of flowers. A mix of carnations, hyacinths, and baby’s-breath, already sitting in a pretty crystal vase that probably cost more than your rent.  A gold envelope stands out amongst the colourful petals, and you fork it out to read despite being certain you already know who it's from. Nobody else in your life would spend this much money on flowers for you, even if it were a special occasion. The repercussions of telling your name to a stranger, even a famous stranger, who you’d known of all your life, but never known hadn’t occurred to you until you see it printed in foil against the high-quality textured card.

“As you understandably didn’t allow me the chance to apologise last night, please accept these as a token of my penitence. Regards, B.W.”

You’re not sure which irks you most, him cornering you in a dark alley in the first place, his seeking you out to apologise in an unsettlingly short amount of time, the absurd display of wealth, his pretentiously unironic use of the word ‘Penitence’, or the fact that you kinda liked it. The fact that you’d spend the night dreaming about slivers of moonlight and soft hands that didn’t exist. In actual fact, the remainder of the scene had been clumsy and anticlimactic.

“Who are you?” He demands. “And why are you following me?” You squint to read his expressions, barely able to make him out under the faint light of apartment windows high above your figures. There's a disconnect between the upper and lower halves of his face that adds to your already heightened nerves. His jaw and lips remain in an ever-present scowl, but steely blue eyes seem to soften as you tell him your name. “I'm not following you.” Your voice is stunted, weak due to the unrelenting pressure actual billionaire Bruce Wayne is applying to it. “I swear! It’s a coincidence.” He seems to believe you, or at least, he doesn’t consider you much of a threat because his grip loosens enough for you to find your footing again. Before he can change his mind, you scramble out of there, almost tripping on your accidentally discarded bag on the way. Whatever is up with him is not your problem. “I-“ “Save it.” Creep. You’re not interested in his apologies or excuses. You’re just an average person trying to make their way in the crime capital of the world, probably. It’s a miracle he didn’t put you in an early grave due to a heart attack. You could see the headlines now: ‘Playboy Billionaire Charged with Manslaughter: Officials unsure why he corned innocent Gothamite’ which is to presume a man with as much wealth as Bruce Wayne would ever be charged with a crime. Rich, ill-mannered, paranoid, handsome, creep. “Just stay away from me.”

As you stand motionless, relaying the events of the previous night in your head, it occurs to you that there's still something in the envelope, something slightly smaller and thicker than the apology card. You slip it out and flip it between your fingers, a gift card to the coffee shop you’d first seen him in, with a pre-paid value high enough to keep you and all your colleagues caffeinated for the rest of the year, if not longer.

The remainder of your day is spent relocating the two gifts between errands and relaxation time. The gift card is inserted and removed from the card section of your wallet so many times you’ve probably incidentally rubbed off its magnetic strip. Accepting it, and using it wasn’t bad, not really. He wasn’t buying you or your forgiveness it's just a show good intent, not to mention it was basically pocket change to a man with that much money.

But it did feel a little bit like being bought.

And the flowers reminded you of that conflict every time you looked at them, so they made their way onto every feasible surface and counter until you found a spot with enough light to keep them alive that wasn’t in plain sight 90% of the time. Maybe you could sell or donate the vase once the flowers are dead. It really did make the rest of your living space look shabby-er in comparison.  Or maybe you could paint it to match the rest of its new home, cover it in acrylic paint and use it to hold anything else. If you ever see Bruce again you could show him a photo, see if he really did give it in good faith to be used however you pleased, or if it makes him uncomfortable.

In fact, on your next day back at work you’re scrolling through Pinterest for design inspiration as you queue up for the first of many Wayne-funded drinks when you sense it. Him. The enticing scent of his cologne clueing you into his presence. You cast a look over your shoulder and there he is, smiling at you with perfect white teeth. He seems more casual today, his hair still perfectly styled but appearing free of any products, his suit traded in for just the slacks and button-up. Once again, you’re reminded of his player image, it’s not hard to tell why so many people swoon all over him.

“Oh, hello.” He greets, raising his hand as though to wave at you. His fingers don’t look nearly as soft as you’d imagined. They look sturdy and calloused, strange for a man who guzzles champagne and stands behind a podium, smiling for photographers more days than not. Paperwork does not account for skin that thick. “I was hoping to run into you here.”

“Really?” Internally you’re suspicious, but your voice comes out an octave higher than usual, your skin growing warm under his gaze. It’s stupid to think that he’s pursuing you, flirting with you. He’s probably just looking for closure on his apology, ensuring you don’t slander his image by selling the story to the papers. He really is buying you. Your silence. “Why?”

“I was hoping I could buy you a drink.” And without your confirmation he sides steps around you, joining you in your spot amongst everybody else waiting to be served.

“You’re already buying me coffee.” You flash him the gift card he’d paid for. “Or did you forget casually dropping this much cash?”

He laughs at that, like you’ve made a joke. He’s deflecting? Maybe. But he sounds so genuine, so hearty it’s contagious. Your laugh isn’t as cheery as his, but it slips past your lips regardless.

“No, no. I didn’t forget. I couldn’t forget anything about you. Especially not after seeing you in that delivery photo.” He finishes with a wink. That was flirting, definitely flirting. Or maybe an insult. Either way, you’re feeling just as nervous, if not more than you had been that night in the alley. This is just a different kind of nerves, it’s the butterflies in your belly instead of the pit in your stomach kind. “What’s one more between new friends, huh?”

“Friends?” You raise your brows. He does not have the decency to look sheepish under your dubious stare, he just looks back at you calm and collected, just like he is on the TV. A few days ago, you might have bought it, but you’ve seen him lose his cool in person. Something feels off.

“I’d like to be friends, or I’d at least like to apologise in person. If you’ll let me.” For a man so bent on making amends with you, there isn’t a hint of sorrow in his tone or posture.

It’s almost your turn at the counter, you have seconds to make your decision.

The barista gestures for the next customer, as you answer. “Okay fine, let’s be friends.”

“Excellent. You just made my day.” And then his hand cups the small of your back as the two of you step up to order. He does it so casually that you almost don’t notice, you’re not sure if you’re just susceptible to his moves, or if he’s practised them to perfection. Maybe you’re reading too much into it, maybe all pretty boy billionaires act like this, maybe it’s all strategy to keep his image clean, or maybe there’s something shady about Bruce Wayne and his weirdly hard, slick hands. Maybe he's hiding something, and whatever it is, you intend to figure it out.

If you should enjoy the view along the way, well, who could blame you?

[liss-art]

MXTX TEMPLES - orders

The temples are made of laminated paper, quite strong but lightweight and flexible. The small temples have double-sided printing, the bigger temples are larger, but the reverse side is white. You can hang it on the Christmas tree (not this year but the NEXT…), and on the mirror in the car, on your favorite shelf with merch, ANYWHERE you want). The cost of any temple is 10$ + delivery (from 5 to 20$ - I hope post will consider it letter, not parcel). The form is ---> HERE <---

If anything is not clear - leave a comment or DM me ^^

[chismeando-con-el-barrio]

Cómo se conocieron Frank y Eddie? 😭💖

🚛 [contexto] 📻;; Frank siempre ha usado paquetería particular, siempre, y dada la mala fama de los servicios públicos de mensajería se negaba a usar dichos servicios para sus materiales, y m��s con un desfile de moda en Milán al cual había sido invitado y para el cuál quería hacer unos diseños exclusivos con telas especiales. En las prisas de alistarse para todo lo que tenía que hacer, Frank le pidió a Wally que alistara el envío, confiando que QUIZÁS su amigo pagaría una mensajería particular, pero la neta es que puro pedo, a Wally le valió tres palos y lo mandó por Correos de México, en donde Eddie trabaja! :D

Cuando Eddie llego a la zona, en alguna parte de Polanco— pues todo está bien lindo, bien bonito, bien pipirisnaiz y pues toca la puerta y TRAS, que sale el aclamado Hugo Lombardi hecho muppet, perfumadito y luciendo una cosa pero boniiita! Y Eddie, para qué mentir? Quedó flechado a primera vista! :D

📂 Eng. Version. 🌐

🚛 [context] 📻;; Frank has always used private parcel delivery, always, and given the bad reputation of public courier services, he refused to use said services for his materials, especially with a fashion show in Milan to which he had been invited and for which he wanted to do some exclusive designs with special fabrics. In the rush to get ready for everything he had to do, Frank asked Wally to get the shipment ready, trusting that MAYBE his friend would pay for a private courier, but the bottom line is that it cost Wally three bucks and he sent it. by Correos de México, where Eddie works! :D

When Eddie arrived to the area, somewhere in Polanco— well, everything is very neat, very nice, very cute and when he knocks on the door, SHOOKA, the acclaimed Hugo Lombardi (please, look up this character, I love his sassyness) comes out, turned into a muppet, perfumed and looking pretty! And Eddie, why would we lie? He was fascinated at first sight! :D

[stampmark16]

I absolutely LOVE your charm designs! Do you intend to sell any time soon?

I'd really like to do this. I've no experience sending anything abroad yet, but I can give it a try if you're interested!! The only problem is the very long delivery time from my country (from 2 to 5 months). The cost of delivering a small parcel can range from 25usd to 35usd. But only EMS delivery is available in some countries, it costs 85usd.

Shipping costs 👇

Some ma things below btw👇

I HAVE A LOT. And Im really tired with merch, so i wanna sell it in da near future also for ppl not from my country

[bootleg-parable]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

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Breathe…

Come on, Donnie, think.

If his hands weren’t both entangled in his hair and pressed to either side of his head, they would have been shaking. His breath escaped him on quaking waves of panic, and his eyes burned with tears that dropped onto the unfamiliar floor below him.

What’s the last thing that you remember doing before any of this happened? Where were you? How…How did I wind up here–?

You have to remember something.

Anything!

Anything…

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Donatello Angelo: Parcel delivery extraordinaire. That's what he called himself to lessen the drab of this soup-sandwich of a life he was living out. He never found any particular joy out of waking up every morning before the breaking of dawn for work. His only saving grace were off days, but with bills to pay and mouths to feed, those came very few and far in between. He was lucky enough to have the privilege of splitting those costs, but that didn't make them come as any less. Sure, he could spice things up with a new occupation, but this was the best-paying one that he could find in his area. He loved his quaint little neighbourhood away from the city, he really did. It was quiet. Everybody knew everybody. It felt like being surrounded by family that he didn't have before. But in being a good distance away from proper civilisation, it made job-hunting an extraordinary feat. It was just his luck that there was a Postal Index at the base of the mountain on which the houses were arranged, otherwise he'd have no job at all.

He had to take what he could get. That's just how life worked- no use in complaining. He knew better than to complain about that which could not be changed. Life was meant to be mediocre. You live and you die, right?

Right.

.

.

......RRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNG!

Donnie groaned, eyes screwing tighter shut while the duvet came up over his head to drown out the rudeness of his alarm clock that he'd set himself the night previous. It was a Wednesday morning, and the sun was barely up. Wednesdays were always the busiest and therefore the worst. He'd be scrambling up and down every street on the roster all day long, and even now, with about two hours between waking up and actually having to get to work, he already wasn’t looking forward to it. Exhaustion was heavy in his mind and body and he hadn’t even stirred to get up yet. Ugh.

"Good morning, my light," Lulled a whispering tone as the ringing was willed swiftly to silence. He must’ve been asleep with the door open- he didn’t hear it click. A weight settled on the bed just beside Donnie, and that voice spoke directly against the back of his neck when the covers were inched down. "I made breakfast."

Donnie opened his eyes and turned himself over to face his housemate, being greeted in return with a pat on the cheek and a pair of smiling amber eyes. "...Mornin', Shie."

Shiloh Karmello, or, if you wanted to get informal about it: Officer Pompadour. They were the best detective on the entire police force, but more importantly, they were Donnie’s housemate, and have been for years now. The two kept each other well in line, balancing one another out in departments where they lacked. Shiloh was nicer than Donnie was, and they maintained a much stronger work ethic than he could ever dream of. The Police Department was thirty minutes away from the Postal Index, which was already almost a thirteen-minute drive, so Shiloh had to be up nice and early to get there on time. Donatello had no problem admitting that his clock was never actually the one to wake him up. Shiloh was. If they could make it day to day without so much as a sigh too heavy, then so could he.

He sat up from bed and watched as his friend's navy-blue figure slunk out the door, fastening a less-than-dress-code-friendly, pink tie around their neck. Or, well. Trying to.

"Come back here," He mumbled, his voice carrying quiet and airy, as it has for years since his childhood. He kicked on a pair of slippers and sleepily hobbled after the other, just barely missing the doorframe with his shoulder. "Idiot."

"Whaaat? I almost had it."

Shiloh leaned in a little closer for Donnie to finish- in a matter of seconds- what they'd barely started in minutes. Seeing as his own uniform required a well-done tie, he'd become a master at shaping one up. Shiloh's was only for show. Donnie didn’t doubt that they only started wearing one to match him.

He patted the side of Shiloh's chest. "'Almost had it', my ass."

"You're always so mean to me." Pouted Shiloh.

“You’re used to it.”

And to announce the coming of his early-morning awareness, he raised his arms above his head in a stretch and let go of a mighty yawn. Shiloh grabbed a hold of the wall and hunkered down like the ceiling was about to collapse.

"Woah. Did you feel that earthquake? It was stronger than the one from yesterday."

Donatello humoured them with a smile. "Shut up."

Dressed, right. He needed to get dressed. How long ago was breakfast made? If it was still fresh, he could probably shovel it down before it got cold. But then again, he didn't mind cold food. Microwaves existed, sure, but time did not. He could eat it in the car, warm or not. Shiloh was driving anyway. He fumbled around for a while putting on the layers of his uniform. Undershirt. Overshirt. Pants. Belt. Tie. Coat. Hat. So many different things to keep track of, and the clothing wasn't even the worst of it. He was lucky to live in a place where the heat was merciful. Running around in various sheets of fabric, lifting heavy boxes and taking care in placing them gently upon doorsteps to avoid incidents of damaged goods. It wasn't necessarily damning work, but it was enough to make a poor bastard sweat. ‘Tedious’ is how Donnie would describe it. The main challenge came out of interacting with people if they answered the door before he could run back to the vehicle. Nobody wanted to hang around anymore than they had to.

"Are you bringing Archie with you, today?" Shiloh questioned while shuffling through a bag for their utility belt. "Or is she staying around the office?"

Donatello mulled over the pros and cons in his head and grinded his molars together. It wasn't healthy, but it helped him think up until the constant pressure carried in a headache. "Not much help lounging around an empty building."

"Empty?"

"It's all hands on deck, today. We'll need all the help we can get, and with a small staff, it won't be much."

Archie was Donnie's service dog. She went with him everywhere, but sometimes when it came to making deliveries, he had to, unfortunately, leave her behind in the office, and one of his trusted coworkers would take her place. There were usually people in the building that could keep an eye on her and keep her busy, but Wednesdays were always an exception.

"Well," Shiloh jingled the car keys. "Her vest is hanging by the door. You can dress her up in the car." That was their nice way of saying 'get moving', which meant that they were running late.

Donnie could respect their patience. He would’ve just gotten straight to the point, no matter how it came across as he said it. They must've had a lot of composure over themselves, especially with a job like that. A detective? Jeez. Looking for evidence leading to the finalisation of a crime, picking out suspects and determining one's guilt by time, place, and a couple of strangely-placed smudges alone. Helping people was hard enough- so much so that sometimes it felt hopeless. Shiloh was strong to be doing what they do. Donnie admired that.

"C'mon, Chia," He patted his leg a few times, and out from her blanket-fort emerged Archie, shaking out her long, tricolour coat.

He gave her a good scratch behind the ears as good morning and scooped the paper plate up from the table that held his lukewarm breakfast. Almost show time. Just a car ride away. He scooted into the passenger seat and let Archie hop up and rest her front paws on his lap. In the time that it took Shiloh to buckle up, start the car, and pull out of the driveway, half of his food was already gone.

They almost seemed disgusted. "Where the fuck did it go?"

Donnie shrugged mid-swallow of an egg. He snuck a sausage Archie's way before strapping her into her vest and attaching the leash to the back hook. All set and ready to go. Maybe she could help him carry letters...Although, nobody wants slobbery mail. Maybe they'd make an exception since she was cute.

Maybe.

He stared out of the window during the spiralled descent down the road. Driving was one of life's greater tediums, as if it wasn’t already full of them. There were so many things to focus on at once, but even with a mind full of life-risking factors, Donnie would find a challenge out of fighting to stay awake while doing so. His brain was always asleep, but especially on the road. He would look into his mirrors to change lanes and receive the horn from a car that he swore wasn't there before. Stupid. He hated driving. It took him so long to get cleared for that licence, and for what? That's why Shiloh usually took him to work. It was safer that way. They went the same direction half of the time anyway. Though, on occasion, Donatello would take the wheel to give the officer a break after a long day. It wasn’t much since it’d always be on the way back home- a much shorter distance than what Shiloh had to travel just to pick him up- but every second counted. They deserved the rest. All he had to do was pay real close attention so he didn't kill the both of them in a wreck. Easier said than done, but anything for his friend.

Almost anything.

“Try to behave yourself today, okay?” Shiloh pulled the car around to the front and kept their foot firmly on the brake instead of shifting the gear to park. “I’m off early, so I’ll be here sooner.”

Oh, great. Maybe they’d send him home when they noticed that his ride was waiting a ridiculous amount of time for his shift to be over. Yeah, right. His boss would never have that kind of mercy on him. Work was work. You had to get it done, or you weren’t going anywhere. That’s how it was for everyone.

“Gotcha,” He said through a yawn. “If I’m not in the office when you get there, just hang tight ‘til I’m back.”

“I’ll be sitting pretty.”

His expression got flatter than he meant for it to. “Right.”

He popped the car door open and allowed Archie the honours of stepping out first. She bounded in circles to work out some of her energy while her not-so-energetic human dragged himself onto his feet, shutting the door behind him. Shiloh gave their housemate a wink and a snappy finger-gun just before the car revved forward, looped around, and peeled off down the road, vanishing around a corner. The day was officially starting. Don didn’t take enough time to mentally prepare himself for all of this, even if every day was the exact same routine with the exception of a few changes. It was too early in the morning. Maybe his coworkers would be too devoid of energy to spark much conversation. A couple of hellos, if even that. Anything more would be a surprise.

“Pray for ease.”

Archie whined.

The ground, composed of 90% gravel and 10% sparsely-growing grass, crunched underneath the soles of his shoes with every step that he took toward the door. He checked the parking lot while it was still within his view: either delivery trucks and three civillian cars, and one of them was definitely his boss’. Most of the bunch that he worked with still hadn’t arrived. Perfect. A bit more silence to relish in before daylight. He was so focused counting cars and getting lost in the personalisation of each individual vehicle to notice that the door was opened before he even reached it, and he collided face-to-chest with somebody much taller than he was…A lot of them were taller than him, but this person was colossal. That meant that it could be one of two people. Remmy, or…

“Marc.”

“Donnie.”

Marcellus was Donatello’s worst enemy. You know, the usual rivalry between coworkers. And of course, he had to be the first big-bearded face to greet him. It was going to be an excellent day.

“You’d ought to pay more attention to where you’re walking, little man,” He sneered as he stepped aside to let the other enter.

Don casted him as dark of a glare as he could manage. Archie did the same. “Keep your tits outta the doorway, then.”

“I was already on my way out before you came by, jackass.”

On his way out? Where could this lumbering idiot be going this early in the morning? He was already at work, what else was there? Whatever. It didn’t have enough of Donatello’s concern to sit and debate. He wanted to get inside and kick on the space heater by his chair. It was too cold outside without the sun.

So he retreated into the building, past Marcellus and through the double-doors to the main office. It was a b-line straight for his desk, where he bent down and twisted the knob on the heater at the foot of his seat to warm the place up a bit. Archie stretched her paws in front of the heat waves and plopped down right beside the machine. If she were a cat, she'd be purring louder than the mechanical hum of it. Donatello patted her lower back and placed himself in the chair near to her. Maybe he could take a nap. How long until the shift started, again..?

"Donnita!"

Oh, here he comes.

Of course, Donnie wasn't able to keep a perfectly straight-face on when Iilak came skipping over to him. The man was hard to be totally sad around. Something about him was just so contagious, and whether you liked it or not, every area that he was in became a no-moping zone.

"You're here early, my man," Iilak pointed out while playfully shaking Donnie's shoulder in greeting.

"Not by choice."

"Oh, I bet."

Iilak dropped to his knees as Archie quickly sat up to say hello to him. Her tail was wagging so hard that her entire body moved with it. She was all wiggles and excited whines, licking his hands and biting at his sleeves once they were in reach to pet her.

"Ooh, you're so happy. Are you so happy?" Iilak's interactions with Archie always made Donnie laugh. They were just so needlessly and effortlessly goofy. "Archie, Archie, Archie! Happy girlll."

"Stealing my dog, Remm?”

A smirk was sent Donatello's way. "Maybe I am. I'dunno, D.T., I think she likes me more."

Honestly, if Donnie were ever to kick it sooner than Archie did- which was entirely possible in his condition- he'd be perfectly fine with her being handed over to Iilak. Shiloh wouldn't have enough time to take proper care of her. Plus, she really did love the big guy. Who didn't?

"Fuuuuuck."

....Felix didn't. And Rem showed it plainly on his face: once holding a huge smile, and now nothing more than a deadpan, like his day had been ruined before it even began. There were always enemies in the team. Felix and Illak, Donnie and Marcellus. Luckily the others were none to hold gripes against one another, or else nothing would ever get done around here.

"I don't wanna do this fuckin' job, man."

And following Felix came Anwyllo, the head of their every operation and the voice of absolute reason. Sanest guy on the team. Coldest, too. Nothing could shake him. Donnie looked up to him a lot....literally and figuratively.

Gods, he wished he was taller.

"Nobody does," He droned, almost robotically. He must have gotten used to saying something along those lines every single morning. "But we get paid, and that's that."

Iilak hadn't even said anything yet. He only opened his mouth to give some sort of input- maybe he wasn't even going to speak to either of them, and was instead going to continue fawning over Archie- but Felix set himself a few steps ahead, no matter how blind the foresight.

“Shut the fuck up, Loch-Ness."

"Well, shit, good morning to you, too."

Anwyllo rolled his eyes. He usually had something uplifting to say to people, because he knew better than anyone how hard life could be, no matter how mundane or uneventful or problematic. But Felix- and lord knows Anwyllo hated to say it- was just a case that wasn't worth trying for anymore. Not to him.

"The boss'll be back in ten, and I have every intention to be halfway down the street before he does," Anwyllo announced. "I'll take whoever's willing to leave early."

"Dibs," Iilak kissed Archie's head and got to his feet, immediately stepping over to help Anwyllo pick up the three separate courier bags for their simple route.

"Perfect. See you guys at the stop signs."

Ten minutes, huh? That’s all the time that Donnie had to get up and get out of here if he wanted to avoid the boss. But time went fast ticking by in the face of his indecisiveness. If the larger bundles and boxes that Annie and Loch just hauled out were any sign of today’s workload, then Don knew that he’d have to take someone with him as well in order to get through a route faster than if he were by himself. But he didn’t want to go with Felix, much less with Marcellus. However, by the looks of it, Aella and Elliotte hadn’t even arrived yet- late, characteristically, even with an hour left before the shift. Donnie shouldn’t have even been surprised.

He was stuck with two poisons. One was just a bit more lethal than the other.

Ugh. Today was going to suck.

“Marc,” Donnie barked right as Marcellus returned through the door.

He halted in place with a flinch, muffin in his teeth like a rabbit to a wolf’s maw. Why was he holding it like that? There was no use in questioning it. Not out loud.

“Suck it down, red-head,” Donatello jutted his thumb toward route eight’s deliveries. “We’re out of here.”

The other spoke muffled from behind his assumed-to-be breakfast. “Me an’ you?”

Donnie nodded to keep it simple. His throat was starting to hurt already.

Marc groaned.

“I don’t like it either.”

Archie was standing before Donnie even had to give her the command. Any slight movement of his sent her right to her paws and glued to his left leg to support every step that he took, even if he didn’t need it.

Even if he didn’t think he needed it.

“Careful, little man,” Marc cautioned when Angelo put one of the straps around his shoulders. “Those are heavy. We don’t need you falling over again.” He must’ve thought that he was funny. So, so funny.

If Donnie were any less wise, he’d wonder how a bunch of paper mail added up to being almost ten pounds altogether. In truth, sometimes it still baffled him. Just a bunch of envelopes and sealed folders organised neatly side-by-side in a leather bag, and somehow just a few minutes of carrying them around made his body ache. But whatever. He could manage one and a few small boxes just fine, and luckily Marc wouldn’t have any problems carrying the other two.

Their route was a lengthy one. A long street lined with fancy houses and well-trimmed yards. Donnie called it “the rich neighbourhood”, because there was no way in heaven or hell that somebody with a normie salary was living in a place like this. Not unless they were barely scraping by on their higher-than-average mortgage, or living with a dozen other people to help pay it off. That might have been the case for some considering how much mail certain houses accumulated. Marc dropped off almost fifteen letters at one residence alone, and that didn’t include the arm-length package that Donnie had to drag onto the porch step. The only good thing about route eight was being able to look at all of the well-decorated lawns and to marvel at the architecture of each individual building. Otherwise, it sucked just as much as all of the others. Especially on hotter days.

Good thing today wasn’t one of them.

“Angie,” Marcellus huffed after a long unbroken silence.

Donnie looked up, puzzled. They were almost halfway through the day, and barely halfway through the neighbourhood. They hadn’t said a word to each other the entire time, and hardly any words to the homeowners, praise be. He hated when the homeowners kicked up conversation. He was getting tired. His head was spinning and his steps were less calculated than they were before. Slower, even. His chest hurt. He blinked a couple of times to try and clear his head. He wasn’t sure if it did much or not.

“What?”

Marc turned his attention over to Archie, and Donnie did the same. She was pressing her nose against the side of his leg, and when he didn’t make any moves to sit himself down, she  pulled herself back for enough momentum to boop her snout against him again in hopes he’d notice her warning. Of course. Right as they're getting to the midpoint.

“Explains a lot.”

Marcellus nudged him in the opposite direction of the driveway, toward the truck. “Go have a seat, Barbie, and let Ken handle this one.”

Donatello accidentally made a particularly nasty face out loud. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

Marcellus only scooted him away again. “And stop talking while you’re at it. You sound like shit.”

Of course. He’d hardly spoken enough for one day, and already, his voice was giving out on itself. He was weak. A waste of space. A waste of air. He was tired and tired of himself. Tired of this job, tired of Marcellus. All that he could think of on his way back to the truck was how much better things would be if he just…wasn’t here. He didn’t know where else he would go– where else he could go–but anywhere was better than here. He stumbled. Marcellus had said something, but Donnie didn’t catch it.

He was tired. He just wanted the day to be over already so that he could sleep…But then he’d have to do it all over again, huh?

Sleep…He wanted to sleep.

And as the world suddenly faded away from him and the ground came rushing forward, sleep is exactly what he got.

.

.

.

“Don? Angel? Can you hear me?”

That was a muffled voice that Donnie knew better than he knew his own, and it slowly dragged him into a very hazy consciousness. His head was reeling. His chest still hurt. He peeled open his eyes to find that he was back at home, laid in bed, though not quite covered, with a very distressed-looking Shiloh sitting close at his side. Wasn’t he supposed to be at work? Was Wednesday just some elaborate and thorough dream? Er…nightmare. Nothing with Marcellus in it was a dream.

He tried to speak, but he struggled to make any sound above an airy groan. Irksome, as always.

“Save your voice,” Shiloh spoke in gentle whispers. They brushed their thumb across his head. “You fell out at work. I came as soon as I got the call.”

Donnie put his hands up in surrender before falling them back down into the blankets. And to think that he was doing so well up until this point. Almost a month without a collapse. Now he’d have to start back at zero.

Despite the strain that it posed, he forced a few words out of himself. “How long have I been lying here?” He sat himself up.

Karmello didn’t stop him. “About two hours, give or take?”

Two hours? He leaned over to tug the curtain aside for a second. It was dark out. Damn…He meant to stop at the store on his way home. It was his turn to cook dinner tonight, and the fridge was practically bare. There was no way that the market was still open. Takeout was a touch too expensive right now, but they couldn’t end the day hungry.

“What time…–” He took a breath. Damn this. He started to motion with his hands instead. ‘What time is it?’

“It’s only about 7 P.M.”

The store didn’t close until 8. He could make that if he left soon. He felt fine enough, aside from a raging headache and another ache here and there. But that didn’t come to him as anything new. Besides, they were dull. Shiloh shuffled off of the bed and onto their feet, pushing their dark, deflating hair back up to maintain its shape.

“You rest here, okay?” They softly requested. “I’m going to shower, and I’ll be right back.”

Donnie nodded. He’d be there and back before Shiloh was out. They usually took almost thirty minutes in the shower, and a few more just to dry off and get dressed. It was insane how one person could spend that much time in the bathroom. As soon as the officer was gone and the door clicked, Donatello hobbled his way upright and to the key-rack. Shit, he was still in his work clothes, minus the coat and the hat. He’d have to wash his linen again. Ugh.

Focus.

He pushed open the front door. Rain. He didn’t notice the white noise that was raindrops pelting the roof of their house until now. Now that he could actually see it. Inconveniencing. Looks like he’d be taking a shower of his own, too. He ran out to the car and hopped in as fast as he could to escape the weather before sticking the key in the ignition and starting it up. The windshield wipers were his first priority.

In, and out.

In, and out.

The car started forward. Donnie tried to avoid the deeper puddles along the road while he drove down the spiral. The last thing that he needed to end the day with was Shiloh yelling at him for getting the car stranded in the thunderstorm equivalent of a lake. Though, Shiloh wasn’t one to yell. Get to the store, get back home. Easy.

My head hurts…

God…

I can’t…see…

 Maybe he wasn’t as okay as he thought. The windshield looked so blurry to him, and the aches once fading from him were sinking their teeth back into his core all over again. He took a breath and swallowed down his unease. It wasn’t too late to turn back and burden somebody else with driving in this rain. He could find something cheap to have delivered, right? Most of the cost would go to the delivery fee…Yeah.

He’d forever be a stubborn sort of man. It always came back to bite him a few moments too late. He needed to pull over, but between the rain and the tunneling of his vision, he couldn’t very well see where the driving lane ended and the shoulder began. He couldn’t even call for help if he wanted to. Cars didn’t come with phones built into them, and he already passed the phone-booth at PointB of the descent. He didn’t tell Shiloh that he was leaving. Where he was going. An estimate of time to expect him back. He should’ve waited.

He tried to ease himself to the right and slow the vehicle, but the tires did not yield to the brake, instead spinning out of control against the water beneath them and causing the car to sway. Was he hitting the brake too hard? He couldn’t focus. Shit. Not now. Donatello fought to get everything under control, but the world was falling away from him. He couldn’t see the road. He could barely even see the lights on the dashboard.

What the hell was he thinking?

Something slammed against the hood and sent cracks up the windshield like a shockwave, but the sound of it tumbling over could not shake Angelo from his oncoming syncope. The car veered off and rattled uncontrollably, but for a moment of pure bliss, everything around him stopped moving. It was quiet, all except for the sparse pitter patter of rain that was once unrelenting. He felt weightless. Was it over? Maybe he already passed out. Maybe the car struck the side of the mountain and stopped itself, and somebody would come looking for him soon. He wondered where he was, but his slipping mind didn’t allow for much imagination to draw himself a picture.

It was so peaceful.

Everything was so light.

That was until the world shattered and buckled around him in a cacophony of chaos. The car alarm screamed out once or twice as its exterior sounded like it was being ripped away, and Donatello blipped out of existence and into a dark and dreary silence in almost an instant.

He didn’t feel anything.

He didn’t see anything.

It was quiet again, at last.

.

.

.

.

But soon the ticking of a clock swelled into the silence.

[yaekiss]

#MailroomOpen! hi hi my darling qi this is the promised letter to my Special Little Guy!! letter delivery for yandere tartaglia with a nsfw reply back and also a meme reference for number 25 if it's alright? pet names are a-ok, encouraged even. ok here goes, thank you so much for doing this!!! i am cringe but i am free ♡

(The letter that arrives is black with gold borders and purple ink, with a purple lipstick kiss mark on the back of it. There are doodles of stars, moons, skulls, and hearts in the margins. The penmanship is neat and playful, every i and j dotted with either stars or hearts, depending on the subject matter. A small box of the same color as the letter comes with it, inside is an ocean-blue collar with a tag that says "My Ajax". It looks expensive.)

My lovely Ajax,

It's only been a few weeks since you left, but in my opinion, any time away from you is too long. I miss your presence, your conversation, your cooking, and some more...intimate things. I'm sure you feel the same. I really wish you didn't have to leave so often, sometimes I think you might care for your Tsaritsa more than me~ Hehe, I'm only joking, of course. I know you're very loyal, and love me very much... (There's a furious scribble over the next words, but you can just barely make out that it says "maybe more than you should") Anyway, moving on, this letter should arrive with a collar. I picked them out special just for you; blue like your eyes! There's a matching leash, but I kept it with me so we can use it when you get back, hehe ♡. Make sure to show me how pretty you look with it on, okay puppy~? ...And come back safe. I'll be patiently awaiting your return, hopefully soon.

~Your darling

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Tartaglia, no gendered terms for reader, Tartaglia calls you "dearest exalted", mentions of blood, unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Tartaglia, worshipping (reader receiving), collar and leash (used on Tartaglia), masochistic Tartaglia, mentions of mirror sex, Tartaglia calls himself puppy once, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: Weird, as soon as he handed his parcel to me, he started booking it to your address, like damn it's not a race?! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

A medium-sized parcel finds its way into your possession, placed in front of your doorstep. The box is made of smooth varnished timber and the intricate details are inlaid with gems and shards that match the stunning shade of your eyes. Judging by all the elaborate carvings and the overall quality of the trunk, it must have cost him a pretty penny, especially if it was commissioned just for you. 

Flipping the lid of the box open at its hinge, your eyes are greeted by the sight of the sheer amount of items he sent to you. Ajax is nothing but a generous lover and it's definitely evident with all the gifts he prepared for you this time. Starting out, there are a few neatly packed food containers imbued with a charm that helped to preserve their contents perfectly over the lengthy delivery trip. Each one is labelled with the name of the dish it holds and after looking through the various containers, you realise they’re all your favourite dishes, lovingly made from scratch by Ajax.

To a side, there’s a hefty drawstring pouch. Tugging the bag open, a large pile of mora shimmers back at you. You should’ve known he would spoil you like this even if he were away. Tucked underneath the bag of mora, is his letter.

The envelope is a version of the one typically used for fatui matters, except this one is a lot gaudier than usual. …It’s the kind used for letters addressed exclusively to Her Royal Highness, the Tsaritsa. Just the look of it is expensive: A frosted gold border lines the front of the envelope and his wax stamp seals the letter shut at the back, away from prying eyes. Surely using an envelope reserved for the Tsaritsa for you is more than a bit… blasphemous. Nonetheless, you try not to think too much about it and gingerly open the letter up to read his reply.

His handwriting is scrawling and slightly messy as always but you know that it’s just from the eagerness that he seems to constantly have while around you, like some sort of oversized puppy. Present is a tangible tenderness in all his words and you can just about picture the silly little smile he had on his face while he wrote this letter to you. Additionally, there are hearts blotchily drawn in a rusty red around in the margins to match your love letter sent to him. His response reads:

“To my highest divinity, my owner,

It’s so so so good to hear from you, dearest exalted! Ah, I can’t believe you’d miss me, I’m swooning, at least now I know I’m not the only one left longing. I saw you mention that you missed my cooking so to remedy that, I prepared some of your favourite dishes, I didn’t quite know which one would be the best to send to you, so I just sent all of them, haha. Please let me know if they’re to your liking, dearest exalted. Regarding missing my presence… there’s only 1 solution for that which you’ll see soon enough!

I saw your scribbled-out words. ‘Maybe more than you should.’ My reverence for you must not be enough, and that’s why you still doubt me, doubt my love for you, right, dearest exalted? Although the Tsaritsa may be important to me, however, even the loyalty I have for her cannot hold a candle to the utmost adoration that I have for you. Far, far, far from it. What you see right now is but a mere glimpse of my endless devotion and love for you, dearest exalted. There is so much more that I would do for you. Just say the word, that’s all you’ll ever need to do, and I’ll carry out any of your orders till the end of my days. Even in death, I’d still be yours to command. Beyond the grave, that’s how much you deserved to be loved, dearest exalted. (His paragraph drips with festering lovesickness in the way the ink looks to be redder than the one in his inkwell.)

Ahem, moving on! Thank you for the collar, it sits wonderfully around my neck and fits like a glove. Really brings out my eyes too, was that intentional? And the tag… oh, the tag. I must confess, I’ve imagined what it would be like, to have you attach the leash to it and tug me in front of the mirror, making me watch through the reflection as you have your way with me. I would let out all the sounds you said you liked hearing from me, my moans or whines or screams, I’d give you anything you want. You could be as rough as you’d like to too, pulling harshly on the leash as you take your frustrations out on me, you know I love whatever you grace me with, dearest exalted.

I’ll end my letter here, my remaining words can be relayed when I’m back soonest, I promise! Remember to tell me if anyone has wronged you, I’ll gladly rid you of them, dearest exalted. Can’t wait to be under you again! 

Your most devoted puppy,

- Your Ajax -”

That’s certainly… a reply worthy of your contemplation, to say the least. Inserting his reply back into the envelope, you wonder what else he could’ve left unsaid in a letter that’s already chock full of the rawest form of veneration towards you. Sitting in pensive silence, your mind reels. Fortunately for you (or perhaps it’s the contrary), your answer arrives frighteningly fast, disrupting the stillness. 

There’s a knock at your door, a familiar keening whine bleeding through the wood.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for (kind of) porch pirating?

I live in an apartment complex with shared outdoor hallways, and about a month ago a huge box containing an entertainment center was dropped off beside my door. It didn’t appear to belong to me, so I left it there assuming whoever would come get it later. Two weeks passed and it was still there. The leasing office started sending out emails to the community saying we’re not allowed to use the hallways for personal storage, and obstructive items will be picked up by management and discarded if left out for an extended period of time. So, I decided to check the box for any kind of identifying label. I couldn’t find any… so, figuring that management would probably throw it out, I took the entertainment center inside and unpacked it, figuring it was probably abandoned by this point. After doing so, I found a tiny shipping label addressed to an upstairs neighbor. I’d already opened it, so I figured the safest option was to get rid of the box + label and just keep the thing, hoping my neighbor reported their package as misdelivered and got a refund/replacement. I looked the item up and found it costs about $400 so it’s not cheap.

For context, I frequently get my neighbors’ Amazon packages mistakenly delivered to my door and always redeliver them to whichever unit is on the label. No one has bothered to do the same for me when my parcels go missing, and people do sometimes outright steal my stuff—I know this because the delivery email shows a picture of the package at my door, then it’s gone when I go to retrieve it. If I’d found the shipping label before taking the entertainment center, I’d have left a note at my neighbor’s door informing them where the item was delivered. As it is, I kept it and have no intention of giving it back. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[stuartm1962]

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Call Overland Express now for an instant quote to see how they can help your export business. Telephone: 020 8977 2777 or email:sales@overlandexpress.co.uk  www.overlandexpress.co.uk

[fineexcouriers]

Get the Best Rates for Shipping from Canada to India with FineEx Couriers

FineEx Couriers offers some of the best Canada to India Package Rate and services for international shipping. As a reliable and affordable courier service, FineEx Couriers can help businesses save money and hassle on their shipments from Canada to India. In this article, we will highlight the benefits of using FineEx Couriers for your international shipping needs.

[cowboymantis]

YIPPIEEE!!!

Also... The universe is scared of the snails and wanted me to avoid them at all costs it seems... First the shop email in my spam folder, then the parcel just gets put in a delivery drop off (no doorbell ringing ever tho??? German delivery people moment) and then it started raining while I was carrying them home in this ridiculously huge parcel lmaoo 😭😭

[wisesnail]

Hello friends!

It's time: my Hannibal, Sandman, Lucifer, The Untamed and Good Omens 2024 calendars are here!

All details below 💙

1) The calendars are A4 size and cost £25 + shipping (more on it in a sec)

2) You can order one or more by sending an email to wisesnail dot art at gmail dot com (until the 15 November).

3) In your email, please provide your full name and address, and your PayPal email address. Please state clearly which calendar you'd like to order.

4) All payments must be done via PayPal, by 15 November (so that I have time to coordinate the shipping). I will send a PayPal invoice to the email address provided in your order.

5) Please note that I ship from the UK and there might be extra charges if you live in Europe, compared to how things worked in the past.

6) I will ship the calendars using Royal Mail, with the trackable option. According to their website, the difference in costs between tracked and untracked shipping is not much, and I don't think it's worth to risk it for such a small amount. Sorry if this causes any problems.

Please note that I ship worldwide :)

Below some examples of the prices - feel free to email me for more info if your destination isn't among the below <:

Shipping to the UK (signed for) £3.75

Shipping to the UK (Special Delivery): £7.65

Shipping to Europe £9.55

Shipping to Canada / Japan: £11.05

Shipping to USA: £11.25

(This is according to the post office website, please allow for a small difference in price 💙)

7) I will ship the calendar in a C4 sturdy envelope, and the calendar itself will be put inside a plastic wallet. I have no control on how the post offices treat parcels, so please note that I will offer no refund or exchange for damaged items.

8) I'm managing everything on my own, so please be patient if it takes me a few days to get back to you! <:

I have a finite number of calendars, so please order yours before they sell out ᕙ⁠(⁠ ⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠ ⁠)⁠ᕗ

And this is all! Thanks for your interest and for reading until the end 💙

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #16: Third-rate

Bloody, dirty, and sore, Locke marched across the room and dropped the pouch full of Gelmorran flowers on the counter. Even cut from their roots and taken from their garden, their blue petals pulsed, flashes of scarlet light leaking from the pouch’s opening. “Rough go of things?” Odranne asked, though her face only briefly showed concern. It soon dissipated, replaced by a smile as her eyes fell upon the pouch. “Not so rough you didn’t return with the flowers, it seems. Well done.” “Only just.” Locke dropped into a chair and groaned softly. It was immediate relief for his feet, even if it did nothing for the rest of him. “Don’t think you should send anyone back there though. Whatever you’re doing, make it work just with what I brought back. Dangerous down there.” “What did you find?” She looked back up from the petals, seemingly curious. “An annoying but chivalrous ghost.”

Odranne lifted her eyebrows. “Oh?” “They kept mentioning ‘Her Highness.’ We robbed a dead princess, I think.”

“Long-dead,” Odranne said. “Centuries ago, back when Gelmorra had monarchs and nobles and, well, people. But her garden endures, fortunately.”

“In large part because of her knight, I think. They were more than happy to kill to protect it.” Locke ran his hand through his hair, brushing bangs stiff with sweat and dirt back from his face before rubbing his eye. The headache still throbbed behind it. Experience told him it was there to stay, at least until he got some food in his belly and a good night’s sleep.

“You dispatched this annoying but chivalrous ghost then?” Odranne asked.

“Nah. Not really suited to killing ghosts. Blades and bullets don’t work so good. Fought them to a draw instead.”

A draw was a generous interpretation of their duel, considering the knight had made him look like a third-rate swordsman, but they weren't present to argue that fact. Locke wondered if they had managed to save the garden, but only for a moment, then he shoved that worry to the back of his mind. It wasn’t his problem.

Odranne nodded wordlessly. Was that disappointment there, in the gentle downward turn of her mouth? Or a trick of the light? It was gone when she looked at Locke again.

“Oh, well. You brought back more than enough flowers. With a little luck, this will be all I’ll need. We can call this a success.” Odranne rose from her seat and retrieved a package wrapped in brown paper and a coin purse the size of Locke’s fists held together.

“This,” she said, holding up the parcel before handing it over, “is our friend’s medicine. Do be careful with it.”

Locke wrapped the package up in his cloak and set it at the top of his bag. Barring another woodland incident, it seemed safe enough.

“And this is your pay.” She set the purse on the table; its contents clicked and jingled pleasantly. “You seem accustomed to, ah, shall we say less than ideal conditions? I expect you’ll make it last.”

Locke tilted his head to one side, unsure of what to make of Odranne’s comment, but in the end he decided it didn’t matter. After a quick peek into the coin purse — it was, in fact, real gil — he stowed it away in his bag and stood up.

“Pleasure doing business,” Locke said, though he didn’t think he meant it.

“Likewise. Safe travels, delivery boy.”

Locke nodded and made his way across the workshop. Behind him, he heard the clink of glass bottles and the click of a pestle and mortar as Odranne assembled her equipment. He opened the door and stepped through, leaving her to her work.

He walked through Gridania, head down and eyes forward, avoiding crowds when possible and pushing his way through them when it wasn’t. He briefly entertained the thought of visiting the botanist’s guild and bartering for a bit of wood, but his tools were in the nook he’d found for himself up in Ishgard. Fixing his prosthetic meant heading north again or wasting money on a set of tools in Gridania. Anything of quality would cost him coin he wasn’t willing to spend.

It was Coerthas or rebuild his arm with shoddy equipment.

In the end, he chose neither.

Locke set off southward, back in the direction of the old hermit’s hut. Were he rested, fed, not suffering a clairvoyance-induced headache, still in possession of a functioning left arm, and in the mood to potentially be hunted by a wolf-like thing with too many mouths, he’d have chosen a shortcut through the deeper parts of the forest.

Instead, he did the sensible thing this time and stuck to the road.

Not a bell before nightfall, he found himself approaching a ramshackle little inn. Grimy lamps stood guard over a worn down sign just outside, the name illegible to literate travelers, the little picture above the name eroded by time and weather until it was illegible to Locke. He ventured inside, reserved a bed for a pittance, and purchased a meal of watery vegetable soup with a chunk of stale bread on the side.

By the time he’d dunked his head into a shallow basin, wolfed down his dinner, and passed several ticks listening to two old stablehands argue about chocobo racing, he should have been ready for bed. The previous night had been long, spent delving into Gelmorra’s halls and journeying back to Gridania, and everything ached. He needed, and wanted, rest.

But before he knew it, his feet were carrying him outside and off to the side of the inn. A gentle breeze ghosted across his skin, the light chill a relief against his newest wounds. It was a clear night, perfect for stargazing, though he hardly spared them a glance as he shed his outermost layers and drew his sword.

He had eyes only for the memory of the Gelmorran knight who’d bested him.

[mysticaleyeliner]

Bark Ruffalo: Delivery Dog must be protected at all costs. He's probably got an eldritch weapon in that parcel.