#Selling united miles

[bussiness123]

Unlocking the Value: A Guide to Selling United Miles

Welcome to "Unlocking the Value: A Guide to Selling United Miles." If you're a frequent flyer with United Airlines, you're likely familiar with the perks and benefits that come with accumulating MileagePlus miles. But did you know that those miles hold more value than just free flights and upgrades? In this comprehensive guide, we'll delve into the world of selling United miles, uncovering the strategies, considerations, and potential pitfalls along the way.

[jonnesstuart31-blog]

The Ultimate Guide: How to Redeem United Miles for Cash

Introduction

For frequent flyers enrolled in United Airlines' MileagePlus program, the rewards earned in the form of United miles hold significant value. While these miles are traditionally used for flight redemptions, there are times when converting United miles into cash may be more desirable. In this comprehensive guide, we will walk you through the process of redeeming United miles for cash, highlighting the benefits, considerations, and steps required to maximize the financial value of your MileagePlus rewards.

Benefits of Redeeming United Miles for Cash

Instant liquidity: Converting United miles to cash provides immediate access to funds that can be used for various financial purposes, including bill payments, investments, or personal expenses.

Flexibility: Unlike traditional redemption options, cash offers complete flexibility in how the funds are utilized, allowing you to allocate them according to your specific needs and priorities.

Potential higher value: Depending on the conversion rate and market conditions, redeeming United miles for cash can sometimes yield a higher value compared to flight or travel redemptions, ensuring maximum return on your loyalty rewards.

Considerations before Redeeming United Miles for Cash

Program restrictions: Familiarize yourself with the terms and conditions of the United MileagePlus program to ensure cash redemptions are permitted. Be aware of any limitations or potential fees associated with converting miles into cash.

Conversion rates: Understand that the value of your United miles may vary depending on the method of conversion and the marketplace you choose. Compare rates across different platforms or buyers to secure the best deal.

Potential devaluation: Stay informed about any changes or updates to the MileagePlus program that may impact the value of your miles. Timing your conversion strategically can help you maximize their worth.

Steps to Redeem United Miles for Cash

Research reputable platforms: Start by researching trustworthy platforms or brokers that facilitate the conversion of United miles to cash. Look for positive reviews, reliable payment methods, and secure transaction processes.

Compare offers: Take the time to compare conversion rates, fees, and redemption options offered by different platforms. This will help you identify the most favorable terms and ensure you get the highest return on your United miles.

Initiate the conversion process: Once you have selected a preferred platform, follow their instructions to initiate the conversion process. This may involve providing your MileagePlus account details, specifying the number of miles you wish to convert, and confirming the preferred method of receiving the cash.

Verify the transaction details: Before finalizing the conversion, carefully review all transaction details, including the conversion rate, fees, and estimated payout. Ensure that you are comfortable with the terms and conditions before proceeding.

Complete the transaction: Once you are satisfied with the transaction details, proceed to complete the conversion. Follow the instructions provided by the platform to finalize the transaction securely.

Receive the cash: Depending on the platform, you may receive the cash via a direct deposit, PayPal transfer, or another agreed-upon method. Confirm the receipt of funds and ensure their accuracy.

Conclusion

While United MileagePlus miles are primarily used for flight redemptions, converting them into cash offers immediate liquidity and flexibility for various financial purposes. By understanding the program restrictions, comparing conversion rates, and following the steps outlined in this guide, you can successfully redeem your United miles for cash. Remember to stay informed about potential devaluations and choose reputable platforms to ensure a secure and rewarding experience. Unlock the financial value of your MileagePlus rewards and leverage them to achieve your financial goals with the option to redeem United miles for cash.

[drdemonprince]

So that was the DNC. The young liberals, white feminists, and leftists-in-name only have gladly fallen in line behind Kamala Harris, because she makes them feel good, and because all they have wanted was to find sufficient reason to stop feeling bad and get back to brunch. They've abandoned Palestine, the same way they abandoned the immunocompromised and abolition of the police, because these and so many other left political movements were little more than fashion to them. They were never interested in seeing the destruction of a political system that many of them could, theoretically, make themselves comfortable inside. They just wanted to be seen as current and good.

Did you know that there are 24 million millionaires in the United States? 24 Million. Millionaires. 24,000,000 millionaires. Up from 22 million in 2022. That's about 7.2% of the population. So much for "we are the 99%." There is a sizeable segment of this population that benefits from economic inequality and imperialism, increasingly so, as both the size of the lower class and the upper class expand.

Many millions of additional people have no interest in changing the U.S. political paradigm, because they have been propagandized to believe all compassion and competence fall away under "anarchy," or because they lack community in any meaningful sense and have no conception of how to act collectively. This is not their fault, but it means they act in ways counter to leftist organizing: calling the cops on people, refusing to show up for others, hoarding what property and wealth they do have, demanding that all acts of resistance be peaceful and brief, and pouring all of the political energies into exhorting others to vote (no matter how dyed blue or gerrymander red their districts are, no matter how genocidal, transphobic, and xenophobic all the options might be).

People think that participating in community is buying a $355 Chappel Roan ticket. The big voices for leftist organizing, supposedly, are individuals who market themselves as such on Instagram and TikTok in order to sell books, tarot decks, subscriptions, and workshops.

The sole method for social or political engagement that most people know of is making posts online, on an overblown advertising platform, and then complaining that they did not receive enough attention on their (monetized) posts. A person with shrewd social media instincts and a strong writerly voice can fake an entire political identity, professional connections, and expertise, and be followed by tens of thousands while doing nothing constructive in their day to day life or even being the person they claim to be. The more actively they post and generate revenue for Meta, the more lucrative their grift becomes for themselves and the more social power they accrue. Chasing power and profit for oneself is definitionally counter to leftist ideals. Even if they do not believe in electoralism, people like this produce endless content about the subject, because people follow it like it's sports. They're glorified entertainers, selling politically themed content, never taking themselves off the stage.

Challenge any of this and people will lash out at you, because you've attacked their cloth mother, and they're very lonely and afraid. The corporately-moderated semblance of connection is nearly all they ever get. You can't talk about sex, drugs, death, or any difficult human realities. If you don't present a disneyfied version of yourself you get accused or being a degenerate predator. If you don't participate at all, you must be apathetic, which is very bad, because having the wrong emotions or thoughts makes you evil.

The protests at the DNC were all either ill-conceived PSL honey traps leading dozens of 19-year-olds into arrest via Signal chat, or bloated 3-hour fundraising attempts miles away from the United Center and corralled by the police and Department of Justice marshalls and their collaborators. Everybody else is far away, enjoying brat colored cocktails and picking out demure tradwife clothing to disappear into for the fall. Dreaming of not having to worry anymore is akin to longing for death, and many liberal Americans have gladly embraced total obliteration.

It's not just conservatism that is a death cult. It's also the preservation of the nation-state. State-making obliterates whole cultures, languages, lands, traditions, and unique, person-to-person modes of relating. You get your food from a corporation or a government bureaucracy that does not know you and makes you fight for it, never from a person. This makes you forget that it's just persons, like the ones you know, like yourself, who do everything. It makes you cling to the state, and to normalcy, rather than speaking openly and messily to anybody else.

This is where it all begins and ends. The hope of a revolution rising up to somehow liberate Palestine was always a fantasy, the stuff of kid's movies. The truth is much darker, but more bearable, because it's real. We are very far from a dramatic political change. Most people aren't willing to even let a stranger into their homes to keep them sheltered. Did we really think they were going to rise up and put their body on the line to fight the state? Give up Starbucks and their PPO? Break the law? Lower their property value? Of course not. Get real.

And so, where do we start? By moving far, far away from the individualistic, capitalistic, clout-based avenues of political "participation" that do nothing but benefit people who present themselves as influential voices. By doing the small, slow, humble work of actual community building. Talking to your neighbors, feeding people, housing people, sacrificing something for others, driving a senior to the doctor, building a way outside of your own head.

We have to become more reliant upon one another and less moved by big personalities who will never know us or give a damn about us as people. Instagram pays me the more of you look at my posts and share them on their app. It pays every other high follower account you take political guidance from, too. You should be suspicious of me. And all the rest of them. You should place more trust in your friends, your neighbors, and the power of your own mind.

The way out of all this will not be easy. And it will not happen on here.

[reasonsforhope]

"On a blustery day in early March, the who’s who of methane research gathered at Vandenberg Space Force Base in Santa Barbara, California. Dozens of people crammed into a NASA mission control center. Others watched from cars pulled alongside roads just outside the sprawling facility. Many more followed a livestream. They came from across the country to witness the launch of an oven-sized satellite capable of detecting the potent planet-warming gas from space. 

The amount of methane, the primary component in natural gas, in the atmosphere has been rising steadily over the last few decades, reaching nearly three times as much as preindustrial times. About a third of methane emissions in the United States occur during the extraction of fossil fuels as the gas seeps from wellheads, pipelines, and other equipment. The rest come from agricultural operations, landfills, coal mining, and other sources. Some of these leaks are large enough to be seen from orbit. Others are miniscule, yet contribute to a growing problem.

Identifying and repairing them is a relatively straightforward climate solution. Methane has a warming potential about 80 times higher than carbon dioxide over a 20-year period, so reducing its levels in the atmosphere can help curb global temperature rise. And unlike other industries where the technology to decarbonize is still relatively new, oil and gas companies have long had the tools and know-how to fix these leaks.

MethaneSAT, the gas-detecting device launched in March, is the latest in a growing armada of satellites designed to detect methane. Led by the nonprofit Environmental Defense Fund, or EDF, and more than six years in the making, the satellite has the ability to circle the globe 15 times a day and monitor regions where 80 percent of the world’s oil and gas is produced. Along with other satellites in orbit, it is expected to dramatically change how regulators and watchdogs police the oil and gas industry...

A couple hours after the rocket blasted off, Wofsy, Hamburg, and his colleagues watched on a television at a hotel about two miles away as their creation was ejected into orbit. It was a jubilant moment for members of the team, many of whom had traveled to Vandenberg with their partners, parents, and children. “Everybody spontaneously broke into a cheer,” Wofsy said. “You [would’ve] thought that your team scored a touchdown during overtime.”

The data the satellite generates in the coming months will be publicly accessible — available for environmental advocates, oil and gas companies, and regulators alike. Each has an interest in the information MethaneSAT will beam home. Climate advocates hope to use it to push for more stringent regulations governing methane emissions and to hold negligent operators accountable. Fossil fuel companies, many of which do their own monitoring, could use the information to pinpoint and repair leaks, avoiding penalties and recouping a resource they can sell. Regulators could use the data to identify hotspots, develop targeted policies, and catch polluters. For the first time, the Environmental Protection Agency is taking steps to be able to use third-party data to enforce its air quality regulations, developing guidelines for using the intelligence satellites like MethaneSAT will provide. The satellite is so important to the agency’s efforts that EPA Administrator Michael Regan was in Santa Barbara for the launch as was a congressional lawmaker. Activists hailed the satellite as a much-needed tool to address climate change. 

“This is going to radically change the amount of empirically observed data that we have and vastly increase our understanding of the amount of methane emissions that are currently happening and what needs to be done to reduce them,” said Dakota Raynes, a research and policy manager at the environmental nonprofit Earthworks. “I’m hopeful that gaining that understanding is going to help continue to shift the narrative towards [the] phase down of fossil fuels.”

With the satellite safely orbiting 370 miles above the Earth’s surface, the mission enters a critical second phase. In the coming months, EDF researchers will calibrate equipment and ensure the satellite works as planned. By next year [2025], it is expected to transmit reams of information from around the world."

-via Grist, April 7, 2024

[collapsedsquid]

The Darién Gap was thought for centuries to be all but impassable. Explorers and would-be colonizers who entered tended to die of hunger or thirst, be attacked by animals, drown in fast-rising rivers, or simply get lost and never emerge. Those dangers remain, but in recent years the jungle has become a superhighway for people hoping to reach the United States. According to the United Nations, more than 800,000 may cross the Darién Gap this year—a more than 50 percent increase over last year’s previously unimaginable number. Children under 5 are the fastest-growing group. The U.S. has spent years trying to discourage this migration, pressuring its Latin American neighbors to close off established routes and deny visas to foreigners trying to fly into countries close to the U.S. border. Instead of stopping migrants from coming, this approach has simply rerouted them through the jungle, and shifted the management of their passage onto criminal organizations, which have eagerly taken advantage. The Gulf Clan, which now calls itself Ejército Gaitanista de Colombia, effectively controls this part of northern Colombia. It has long moved drugs and weapons through the Darién Gap; now it moves people too. Everyone who works in the Darién Gap must be approved by the cartel and hand over a portion of their earnings. They have built stairs into hillsides and outfitted cliffs with ladders and camps with Wi‑Fi. They advertise it all on TikTok and YouTube, and anyone can book a journey online. There are many paths through. The most grueling route is the cheapest—right now, about $300 a person to cross the jungle on foot. Taking a boat up the coast can cost more than $1,000.

[...] Guides and porters follow the migrants in the jungle with their iPhones rolling, asking, “Do you feel good?” and “Have we treated you well?” They film incessantly during the first day of walking, when people are still able to conjure a smile. (Even I ended up in one of their videos.) They post the videos on social media, selling trips across the jungle as if they were joyful nature walks. The profit motives of the cartel have become yet another factor fueling migration. [...] The porters we had paid to continue on with us told us to stay close together because bandits were thought to be intimidated by large groups. Later, we learned that was false—they were in fact targeting large groups, perhaps because it was more efficient than robbing a handful of people at a time. Our anxiety grew when we passed a couple of abandoned backpacks. We pushed through thicker and thicker brush until I realized there was no longer any sign of a path. One porter accused another of leading us astray. They started arguing, until a third hissed, “No yelling!” We turned around, but a bottleneck formed in front of a fallen tree trunk. One of the porters shouted for us to hurry: “Grab the kids and go!” [...] Most of the migrants I met in the processing line told me they’d been robbed by bandits at a checkpoint within a day’s walk of the community. The women said they’d been groped; some said they’d been digitally penetrated under the guise of a search for hidden cash. Panamanian border officers standing nearby showed no interest in investigating. Indigenous leaders say they have asked the government for help addressing crime against migrants, but the situation seems to be getting worse. In February, Doctors Without Borders published a report on sexual violence against migrants in the Darién Gap, showing a frequency more typical of war zones. Soon after, the government kicked the organization out of the area.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from the Substack Distilled:

In the last few months, the Biden administration has quietly passed multiple federal policies that will transform the United States economy and wipe out billions of tons of future greenhouse gas emissions. 

The new policies have received little attention outside of wonky climate circles. And that is a problem.

Earlier this year, I wrote that Biden has done more to mitigate climate change than any President before him. For decades, environmentalists tried and failed to convince lawmakers to pass even the most marginal climate policies. It wasn’t until Biden took office that the logjam broke and the climate policies flowed. And yet few American voters are hearing this story in an election year of huge consequence.

It’s been two and a half months since I wrote that article. In that short time, the Biden administration has passed a handful of climate policies that will collectively cut more than 10 billion tons of planet-warming pollution over the next three decades, more than the annual emissions of India, Russia, Japan, South Korea, Canada, Saudi Arabia, and the entire continent of Europe—combined.

One climate policy that flew under the radar recently was the administration's latest energy efficiency rule, unveiled at the beginning of May. The new rules will reduce the amount of energy that water heaters use by encouraging manufacturers to sell models with more efficient heat pump technology. The new regulation is expected to save more energy than any federal regulation in history. 

Most people give little thought to how the water in their homes is heated, but water heaters are the second-largest consumer of energy in the average American home and one of the largest sources of climate pollution in the country. 

A few days before the administration announced its water heater efficiency rules, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) announced another sweeping policy.

According to the new rules, existing coal power plants will need to either shut down or install carbon capture technology capable of removing 90% of their carbon pollution. The policy will also require any new natural gas power plants that provide baseload power—the ones that run throughout the day and night, as opposed to the peaker plants that only run for a small fraction of hours in the year—to install carbon capture technology. 

The new power sector rules are effectively a death blow to coal power in America, which has slowly faded over the last two decades but still emits more carbon emissions than almost every country in the world. 

The water heater rules and power plant regulations will help the country meet its goal of cutting emissions by 50% by 2030. But impactful as they will be, they weren’t the most important climate policy that the Biden administration passed in the last two months. 

That honor goes to the EPA’s tailpipe rules, which are set to transform the auto industry over the next decade.

Today the transportation sector is the largest source of climate pollution in the United States. Within the sector, passenger cars and trucks are the biggest contributors to emissions. While electric vehicle adoption has grown in recent years, America lags behind many other countries in decarbonizing its vehicle stock. 

The EPA’s new rules will force automakers to reduce the amount of pollution and carbon emissions that come from their vehicles. The federal policy doesn’t specifically mandate that automakers produce EVs or stop selling gas-powered cars but instead regulates the average carbon emissions per mile of a manufacturer's entire fleet over the next decade. That means automakers can still sell gas-guzzling, carbon-spewing trucks in 2035. They’ll just need to sell a lot more EVs or plug-in hybrids to bring their average fleet emissions down if they do.

Like the power plant rules, the EPA’s new auto regulations are designed to avoid being thrown out by a conservative and hostile Supreme Court. 

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

BOOM! (1/3)

Part 1: The Cowgirl & The Oilman

Stunning, wonderful, perfect art by @lya-dustin

My submission for the 2024 @hotd-bigbang

1928. Targaryen's, the foremost business conglomerate in Europe, is seeking to establish a foothold in the United States - and the mass of wealth and resources it offers. Viserys Targaryen has dispatched each member of his family to a different city to oversee the company's expansion into various new industries. His second son, Aemond, has chosen Dallas, Texas as his destination to take advantage of the continued prosperity of the oil boom. But getting Targaryen Oil & Petroleum off the ground may be harder than he anticipated, all thanks to the determined efforts of a single, stubborn, spellbinding cowgirl.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Nameless Female Character

Warnings: Language, Aemond is a cunt but so is the OC so it evens out?

-

The birds did not chirp. No squirrels were scuttling around, and no deer creeping through the undergrowth as they emerged from their dens. Even the cicadas were quiet, observing the mournful procession below them.

A beat-up truck hauling a rickety trailer kicked up dirt as it drove away. East, she knew. In a few miles, it would turn south. Then, there would be paved roads. Traffic lights. Other cars with roaring engines and blaring horns. Civilization.

Around these parts, ‘civilization’ meant one thing: Dallas.

The family inside the truck, the Cordrys, had been able to afford a new two-story house with the money the oil company gave them. They even had enough left over to buy a second if they wanted. But they wanted to stay together – family is family, after all. Instead, they would send Buck, their eldest son, to the university that opened in Dallas some years ago. He hadn’t yet decided whether to be a preacher or a lawyer.

The young woman watching them leave from atop a nearby hill dearly hoped he would be a preacher. Buck was always good with words, which would suit either profession, but he was also kind. She had never met a lawyer herself, to her knowledge. But given that it was a lawyer who negotiated the deal for the Cordrys to sell their ranch, she decided she didn’t like lawyers.

Lawyers had come for her home, too. Vermillion Ranch apparently sat on very valuable land, not that her ancestors knew it when they first settled there over 100 years ago. All they knew was that it was the prettiest piece of land for miles and miles. Still was.

Her Papa loved that land so much that when the lawyers came to buy it from them, he’d chased them off with his shotgun. He hadn’t been so proud or happy in years, but it cost him, leaving him so exhausted that he hardly got out of bed for a week. So, when the lawyers came back, she’d taken up the shotgun and did the scaring herself.

They hadn’t been back in a while, but she knew they’d try again soon.

She would never let them have the land, even if they offered her all the gold in Fort Knox.

Loral, her beloved horse, knickered as she chewed at the shoulder of her shirt, breaking her from her thoughts just in time to see the Cordrys’ car fading in the distance, little more than a smudge of dirt against the sunset as they passed by a half-built oil derrick.

“Come on, girl,” she said, patting Loral’s neck. “Let’s go home.”

-

Within minutes of stepping off the Gay Abandon in what locals called the “Free State of Galveston,” Aemond Targaryen decided he hated Texas. 

From what little he had seen of the United States, he could confidently say he hated most of the country, with only a few notable exceptions. But this place? With its cacophony of warring jazz music and industrial clanging, undercut by overloud radios and the people shouting to be heard. With the skyline jumbled with shoddily rebuilt slums, sprawling stone factories and warehouses, and brightly painted beachside resorts teeming with people that would look much better suited to Los Angeles or Miami. With the stench, a horrid combination of fish, brine, booze, and oil.

Perhaps “loathe” was a better word than hate for this city.

At least he didn’t have to stay long. 

A car was already waiting for him at the dock to take him to the train that would deliver him to Dallas. The moment the chauffeur was back in his seat, he opened the glove box to reveal an amber bottle of ‘moonshine,’ which he then offered to Aemond in a truly incomprehensible accent. How the man hadn’t already been arrested for so blatantly defying prohibition, he didn’t know.

Yet another reason to hate America - the continued illegality of alcohol.

Though he’d yet to find a city where liquor couldn’t be found with even the mildest of efforts, he still refused to indulge. He could not risk arrest just for the brief escape a good glass of wine offered. There was too much riding on his new task.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum Inc.

As of now, it was only a packet of legal documents and an office somewhere in Dallas that Aemond hadn’t yet laid eyes on. But given a year or two and no small amount of hard work, it would be one of the most profitable ventures in the history of Targaryen & Sons. After all, it had by far the best potential of any of the other new projects. Texas was at the heart of the booming oil industry, and as the world’s demand for electricity, cars, aeroplanes, and more grew exponentially, so would the market for so-called “black gold.”  

Much of the state's southern half had already been claimed, but the north had begun showing new promise. All Aemond had to do was buy a few hundred thousand acres of land from the farmers there and start drilling.

He would win, he had no doubt.

Not that it was truly a competition. Or at least, his father had not called it such. Still, how could it be anything but? The old man sent each of his children and two eldest grandchildren to the New World with one task: make money - lots of it.

Aemond’s elder brother, Aegon, had purchased a film studio in Los Angeles to invest in the new talking pictures. His sister, Helaena, was in New York, where she bought some magazine about nature, or geography, or something similar. His younger brother, Daeron, had gone to a city called Detroit to manufacture automobiles for racing. Viserys’ grandsons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, followed Aegon to Los Angeles to pursue aviation engineering and radio broadcasting, respectively.

All respectable prospects, but not nearly as lucrative as oil was. In truth, the only competition Aemond faced was from his elder half-sister. Rhaenyra had also gone to New York to start an investment bank. She would surely do well, especially with the support from her husband’s shipping empire. But Aemond knew she would soon lose interest and pass her responsibilities onto someone else so she could indulge her own interests - namely parties and men.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum would prevail in the end, and Aemond could return home as the heir apparent to Targaryen & Sons.

All he had to do was spend a year or two in this hellhole.

-

“You have gotta settle down, girl,” she grumbled as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with her Momma’s old handkerchief. She glared at the massive mare who had been giving her nothing but trouble for the past six months, holding tight to her leads, only letting go when the new stall door was closed and double-latched. “Lumber’s expensive. We don’t have the money to keep this up, and we’re all outta spares.”

There were seven stalls in the horse barn. Only two were occupied, and only those two still had doors. The mare had broken five of them. Not to escape the barn or the ranch. No, she never went anywhere. She did it just because she was cranky, and she could. The cowgirl also suspected that the horse was somehow amused by it.

“But you like making me suffer too much for that, don’t you?” An exaggerated shake of the mare’s huge head certainly seemed like a gleeful yes. She sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

With the horses tended, she made her way to the house to fix lunch for her and Daddy before riding out to meet the herd. She was only halfway across the yard when she heard a far-away engine growing louder and louder. It couldn’t be neighbor - they were all gone now. That only left a few options, and none she was too pleased about.

Each step up to the porch creaked as she climbed toward the house. Maybe she could use some of the salvageable wood from the latest destroyed stall door to replace them, even if the color wouldn’t match. Paint was just as pricey as lumber. 

“Daddy! You up?” She only poked her head through the door, not wanting to get barn muck inside the house. Momma's strict rules still applied, at least to her. “Daddy!”

His grumble sounded an awful lot like the cranky mare’s. “I’m up! How can I not be with all yer hollerin’?”

“It’s almost lunch, Daddy. You need to be up!”

“Fine, fine. I’m up!” He tried to snark back more, but it quickly became wracking coughs. Daddy was sounding real bad again, and even if it wasn’t the usual day, maybe it was Doc Spooner in that car coming to check on him.

The car had gotten close enough that she could start to make out its shape within the cloud of dust it kicked up. A shiny bumper and bright green paint. Not a car she recognized. “Hey, Daddy, is the doctor comin’ today?”

“Not today, hun. It’s Tuesday, ‘member?”

“How ‘bout Pastor John?”

“He’s down in Waco for the rest of the month! Why you askin’ anyway?”

Then who the hell was in that car? She had an inkling, but she was sure the last time Daddy got the shotgun out would be the last time they’d be bothered about this. “Car’s coming up the drive. You wanna handle it?”

She hoped he would. But to her disappointment, he shouted back, “Too damn tired! You take this one, hun.”

So, she shut the door and leaned against it, watching that shiny green car pull into the ranch proper. Chickens scattered away from it, even though they weren’t anywhere near its path. The goats and sheep meandered to the edge of the yard, not wanting to be disturbed but unwilling to wander too far for fear that one of the dogs would come after them. Meanwhile, the dogs barked ferociously at the mechanical intruder but didn’t so much as stand from where they rested in the shade of the house—lazy good-for-nothin’s.

The car finally stopped. It was even fancier than the cars the other lawyers came in, with brass polished to look like gold on bits that were usually chrome. If it wasn’t absolutely coated in dust, she might even like it. A man in what looked to be a green police uniform came out the driver’s door. Very fancy, then, if the lawyer wasn’t driving himself. 

When he emerged from the back seat of the car, the man nearly took her breath away.

He was tall and thin as a beanpole. But he didn’t seem delicate. Maybe that had more to do with his suit - deep blue pinstripes with what surely must be padding in the shoulders. Most of it was likely due to the sour expression on his handsome face. Not handsome like farmhands or cowboys were handsome - gruff and rugged - but like how movie stars were handsome - softer and refined.

Or at least, he would have been if he weren’t sunburnt to all hell and sweating like a whore in church.

This man was not from around here, and as far as she was concerned, he could fuck right off. Of course, he didn’t. He just walked right up the porch and took off his hat, revealing his slicked silver hair.

“Who are you?”

He raised a brow as he looked her over, head to toe. Judging by the slight sneer pulling at the corner of his mouth, he wasn’t impressed with what he saw. “My name is Aemond Targaryen.” Lord, he even talked fancy, with a soft, pretty voice and some kind of accent she’d never heard before. Though his sharp tone left something wanting. “May I ask for your name, miss?”

“No.” Handsome as he was, it didn’t change that she wanted him gone as soon as possible.  “What do you want?”

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “As I said, my name is Aemond Targaryen, proprietor of Targaryen Oil & Petroleum. Have you heard of our business?”

She certainly had. Not only had it snatched up the land from most of the farmers and ranchers in the area, but it had also started buying land from other oil companies, too. Undoubtedly the worst of all of ‘em. And Mr. Targaryen himself was now standing on her porch, looking down at her as if she was a piece of shit on his shoe. She clenched her jaw to stop it from dropping open and pointedly stayed silent.

“Well, we are relatively new.” He glanced off to the side, his distaste for everything around him as clear as day. “As the name “Oil & Petroleum” implies, we are in the oil business. I’m - ”

“No shit.”

He looked at her like she’d just shot him. “Pardon me?”

“I said, ‘no shit.’” She gave him her best, over-sweet smile.

“Yes, well…” His hat creaked as he clenched it in his fist, his jaw so tight she half expected it to snap. “Our petroleum geologists - very smart people who study oil - have determined, or found, that there is a large deposit beneath this land,  meaning that there is a lot of oil deep underground. Oil is used to power electricity, cars, and many other things, so it would be very good for everyone if we could get the oil out of the ground. We do this by drilling. Do you understand me so far?”

Uppity bastard. Did he really think she was so dumb she needed all this explained? “Oh, I understand you just fine.”

“Very good,” he praised, as if she were a child who’d taken her first steps. “Now, to be allowed to drill for oil, you must -”

“I’m not selling my land.”

The last dregs of false politeness faded from his voice. “I’m sorry?” 

“I am not selling my land.  Not to you or anyone else.” Even if it meant her only neighbors would be oil derricks and lawyers circling like vultures.

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Miss, based on the value of the land and the oil under it, I am willing to pay you forty dollars per acre.” He stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to keep looking him in the eye. Very pretty eyes, even if they were filled with frustration. “Given the size of your property, that comes out to over forty thousand dollars. Do you know how much money that is?”

She shrugged as she crossed her arms, raising her brows in mock awe. “Sounds like forty thousand dollars.”

“I -” He shook his head, so visibly exasperated that she had to stifle a laugh. With his skin as red as it was, he looked like an angry tomato. “That is a life-changing amount of money, surely.”

“I don’t want my life to change.” Other things, sure. Of course, she would love it if her neighbors came back or if she didn’t have to listen to the grinding of metal from one of the derricks whenever she was on the west side of the property, but those were just minor annoyances. 

“You could go wherever you want, do whatever you want, yet you would rather stay here?” 

Looking him dead in the eyes, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Something funny ‘bout that?”

It took him a moment to reply. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to offer -”

“I understand you completely, Mr. Targaryen. You ain’t the first lawyer to come try to convince me and my Daddy to sell.”

Perhaps it was a mistake to mention her daddy. As soon as she did, Mr. Targaryen’s exasperation disappeared, and he was once more calm and smug. Still looked like a tomato, though. “Your father is here? May I -”

“No, you may not.” She pushed away from the door to block him from moving closer. No way in hell was she letting this ass anywhere near her daddy. “I promise he wants to talk to you even less than I do. Now shut up and listen.”

To her surprise and satisfaction, he did.

“You really think everyone else sold their land but me because the lawyers never came my way? Oh, they came my way. Over and over again until Daddy got so fed up, he took his shotgun off the mantle. They all stopped comin’ pretty soon after that. You are, in fact, the eleventh lawyer to come here and try and buy my land. Surprising, ain’t it? I can count higher than ten. I also know how oil drilling works. I s’pose you didn’t notice when you were drivin’ out here, but there are oil fields all around me.”

She stepped toward him, throwing an arm out to point to the nearest one, its steel towers rising from the earth like black weeds. Mr. Targaryen barely glanced at it, his eyes remaining on her as he stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. 

“So I know exactly what you’re gonna say to try to convince me to hand over the deed, and I’ll tell ya right now, it’s not gonna work.” When she took another step forward, he did the same. So she did it again and again, until one more step would send him tumbling into the dirt. “So get off my porch, get off my property, and go straight to hell with your forty-thousand dollars. This land is worth at least 90 bucks an acre, and you goddamn know it.”

She didn’t wait for his reaction before turning and storming into the house, regardless of Momma’s rules, the door banging shut behind her. But she stayed just inside the house, her back pressed against the door as she waited for him to leave.

It was a while before she heard the porch steps creaking again, and longer still before a car engine hummed to life and drove away. He’d hung around, for whatever reason.

Daddy was waiting for her when she went to the kitchen, his handkerchief already tucked into the collar of his shirt. “Who was that man you were yellin’ at, hun? Gotta be either a lover or a lawyer for you to get that mad.”

“Lawyer,” she answered. “A new one. Wanted to buy the land.”

“He give you a good offer?”

She laughed as she opened the icebox to grab the meatloaf from last night that would fill their sandwiches today. “Lowest one yet. Think he thought I was dumb enough to not know the value of my own land.”

“It’s still my land for a little bit longer, girl. Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.” She knew he was joking, but it still stung. He’d been doing that a lot recently, making light of the fact that the doctor had told them he couldn’t be cured and would likely be dead within a year.

“Don’t talk like that, Daddy. Please?” 

“I know. I’m sorry, hun,” he sighed. The jokes helped him feel better somehow, she knew. But they made her feel so much worse. “Now come on, you woke me up for lunch, so where is it?”

-

Aemond was once more in the back of his car, dust obscuring the view as he returned to that ranch – Vermillion, according to the faded sign on the side of one of the barns.

After his last visit, he’d pored over every paper in the Targaryen Oil & Petroleum offices, searching for a way to alter his plan without having to acquire the land. It was possible, but it would slow down development and cost him far more than he’d initially planned to invest. Purchasing the land at the price that stubborn cowgirl claimed the land was worth was the frugal option.

Or at least, that’s how he justified the decision with his investors and executives. It certainly factored into his decision to return, but was far from his central motivation.

The cowgirl had pushed back at him, and he refused to concede to a half-wit hick with illusions of superiority. If she wanted to be stubborn, so would he.

So, he once more stepped into the rocky, dirty, foul-smelling yard surrounding the dilapidated farmhouse. Ranch house? Either way, it should have long since been condemned. The wood paneling was saggy and greying, the roof messily patched, and the steps onto the porch groaning like a rusted wheel. And when he pounded his fist on the front door, he half-expected it to fall off the hinges.

Miraculously, it didn’t. But neither did it open.

Instead, a remarkably gruff voice called from inside, “Who’s there?”

Thank God, it wasn’t the cowgirl. She had mentioned a father, who might be far more amenable to selling, but she had also mentioned something about a shotgun that made him hesitate before calling back. “My name is Aemond Targaryen. Do you have a moment to speak?”

There was no answer other than the sound of shuffling feet and something pounding on the floor.

Then, the door opened to reveal a massive man, his years of hard labor evident in the width of his shoulders and stern set of his brow. This was the kind of cowboy who inspired the legends that had spread around the world. But he was also undeniably weak and ill. His skin was thin and sallow, his broad shoulders slumped, and his eyes sunken and shadowed with fatigue. He leaned heavily on a wooden cane, a compass fixed to its head, and its wood mottled yellow and brown and charred in spots. Aemond did not doubt that if he took the cane away, the man would collapse.

Still, the cowgirl had talked about this man scaring away other oilmen with a shotgun, and he didn’t want to risk the same fate.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, dipping his head. He’d allowed himself to be too terse with the girl. Perhaps a more genial approach would help him find success with her father. “I’m very pleased to meet you. May I ask for your name?”

“No.” The word was deep and rasping, followed by a wet cough. “You the man that pissed off my little girl couple days ago?”

Aemond gave a strained smile. “I did have the… pleasure of speaking to your daughter, yes. My apologies if I left her angry following our conversation. I’m afraid I have not yet become used to the heat here and allowed it to affect my mood.”

“I’m not the one you should be sayin’ sorry to.” The man thumped his cane a few times, then turned away.

Damn it, not again. “Sir, I – ”

“She’s in the horse barn,” he called over his shoulder. “Go bother her. I’m too old for your bullshit.”

-

When she’d heard an engine outside, she assumed it was Doc Spooner coming to check on her Daddy, even if it was a little earlier than normal. It wasn’t until the door to the barn opened that she knew it was someone even more unpleasant than the grumpy old Doc.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” She asked Mr. Aemond Targaryen as he walked into the barn, nose wrinkling in disgust. This time, it was justified – she was in the middle of mucking the stables, a shovel full of shit in her hands.

He forced a smile. “First, I wanted to apologize for my behavior the last time I saw you. I offended you, and I deeply regret it.”

If he hadn’t seemed so genuine, she might have just flung her newest load of shit in his face. Instead, she dumped it into the wheelbarrow beside her before putting her shovel down. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Her Momma’s voice echoed in her head: a little kindness goes a long way, hun. But why should she be kind to a slimy, good-for-nothing oilman who was probably only saying sorry to butter her up so she’d sell him the ranch? Still, Momma’s angel was firmly planted on her shoulder, and she’d never been able to say no to her.

“I’m sorry too,” she sighed, crossing her arms. She felt like a scolded schoolgirl again. “You were rude first, but it was tacky of me to be rude back.”

Again, silence fell in the barn, only broken by an impatient grumble from the old mare. Mr. Targaryen immediately turned to her, his eyes going wide at the sight. “Who is this?”

“The Jacksons just called her Ol’ Gal,” she explained, stepping forward to try to stroke the horse’s nose. “I’ve been doing the same.”

He just hummed as he came closer, looking at the mare like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “The Jacksons… they owned Live Oak, yes?”

Ah, so he’d been the one to buy it. She missed that place. The Jacksons always hosted the nicest picnics. Mrs. Abbie Jackson made the tastiest green bean casserole in the county. “Yeah, that was them. When they sold, no one wanted to take Ol’ Gal. Too old ‘n too ornery. They were gonna take her to auction, but I knew the only folk that would buy her then wouldn’t treat her right, so I offered to take her.”

“That was very kind of you,” he murmured, stepping closer to her stall. Somehow, the mare didn’t startle or even stamp her hooves.

“I don’t think she’d agree with you. She’s been madder than a whole nest of hornets since she got here.” And had cost her five stall doors and a dozen fence posts, not even counting the time it took to care for her when she fought every bit of it. “Hey, I wouldn’t get too close. She’s prone to bitin’.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, not even looking at her.

In all honesty, she wasn’t gonna be too mad if he lost a finger, or at least a couple knuckles. But he would very much mind and, as a lawyer, would probably use the accident to force her to sell Vermillion. “No, really, she’ll – ”

Lean into his hand quite happily, apparently.

“How the hell did you do that?”

He smiled smugly, shrugging as he continued to stroke her snout. “My father keeps horses. I had a fondness for the older ones that were largely ignored in favor of the new acquisitions, and they had a fondness for me.”

“Funny, I thought animals were better judges of character than that,” she mumbled. Oh shit.

His smile was gone, and he dropped his hand from the Ol’ Gal. His eyes, which had seemed to see her as a person, again looked at her like she was the very shit she was shoveling. “Apologizing was not the main purpose of my visit.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” The voice of her Momma was screaming in her ear, begging her to apologize for her unforgivable rude words, but her pride shoved it down, down, down, until all she could hear was the hum of cicadas and the faint swishing of Loral and Ol’ Gal’s tails. “What is it you want, then?”

He crossed his arms behind his back. “After some new research, I’ve determined that my original estimate of the value of your land was, as you said, incorrect. I am now willing to pay you ninety-three dollars an acre, bringing the total value of my offer to more than ninety-six thousand.”

Offering her so much money pissed him off, judging by his clenched jaw and strained voice. It didn’t amuse her as much as it did the first time. Still, she wasn’t going to give in just for more money. “My answer is still no. Hell no. Fuck no. Whatever no you need to go away and never come back.”

Something snapped for him, and he surged forward until their chests were nearly touching. He craned his neck to look down at her, fury burning like the summer sun in his eyes. “You stupid little cowgirl. Are you so stubborn that you’ll tell me no just to what? Feel powerful? Feel like you’re somehow superior to me? It’s a fucking joke.

“I’m offering you the chance to become a person. To live in real, modern civilization.” He laughed, cruel and humorless. “But you’d rather stay here? In a house that will fall apart the next time there’s a strong breeze, and spend your days shoveling shit? My God, you’re hardly better than the animals you keep.”

Oh, how she wished she was a horse, if only so she could trample him under her feet. Or one of her cattle, so she could gore him with her horns. Even if she was one of her dogs, she could shred him apart like he deserved.

But she was just what he said, a stupid, stubborn cowgirl.

She turned away from him, opening Loral’s stall to saddle her as quickly as she could. She needed to get away, or she was going to do something she would regret. Likely hurt him. Possibly cry. Either way, she refused to do it.

“Where are you going?” he asked once she was in the saddle, clutching the reins so hard they dug into her skin.

“I have chores to do.”

He stepped in front of Loral, arms out to try and prevent her from riding off, but Loral sidestepped him with ease. “I’m not leaving until I get my yes.”

“Then I guess you better follow me. Or you can always go sit with the dogs where you belong.”

Without waiting for an answer, she spurred Loral into a gallop and left Aemond Targaryen behind.

-

When the cowgirl and her horse faded into the distance, Aemond screamed. He didn’t care if her father or his driver heard him. He needed to scream. What had he done to piss off God enough that he would put this girl in front of him?

Behind him, the old mare snickered, banging her legs against her stall door.

“How do you endure her?” he asked. God, he really had lost his mind if he would stoop to commiserating with a horse. At least the horse seemed to dislike the cowgirl as much as he did – he had one ally.

If he was going to succeed, perhaps he needed an ally, even an equine one. After all, horses had helped win the Great War, and this girl certainly felt like his personal war. Very well, then.

He had the mare – Ol’ Gal needed a proper name – saddled in mere minutes. Then, he was off, chasing after the most infuriating woman he’d ever met with the determination of a general.

Whatever it took, he was getting his yes.

-

Author's Note: yeehaw motherfuckers

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst

One of the great unknowns about the 1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst is exactly how many cars were built. Estimates put the total as low as 485, and as high as 502 cars. Regardless of what the figure actually is, the car itself is a pretty special piece of machinery.

The 300 Hurst is a giant of a car at 19′ in length. All of the Hursts rolled off the production line finished in Spinnaker White. The cars were then shipped to the Hurst factory in Warminster, Pennsylvania, where a substantial transformation was performed. The first change to be made was the removal of the standard Chrysler steel hood skin, which was replaced with a fiberglass unit. This featured a decorative hood scoop and the obligatory set of recessed hood locks. The deck lid was also removed, and once again, a fiberglass replacement, complete with a spoiler integrated with the rear quarter panels, was also installed. The White paintwork was complimented by the addition of Satin Tan highlights and contrasting pinstripes, and the wheels were adorned with the same Satin Tan color in the centers. This Hurst is a clean car, with a small area of rust visible in the lower section of the driver’s side front fender, and surface corrosion present on the car’s underside. The Spinnaker White paint appears to be in good condition, but there has been some deterioration of the Satin Tan paint on both the hood and the deck lid. The exterior trim and chrome all look good, while the tinted glass is close to perfect.

The 300 Hurst was a premium car at a premium price, so naturally, it required a premium interior. In this case, seat upholstery was available in a single type and color. Continuing the exterior theme, the color is Saddle Tan, and the material is leather. The plush front seats are not standard 300 items but have been pilfered from the Imperial parts bin. While the original intention was for a Hurst shifter to be part of the interior features, this is something that never eventuated. The interior of this Hurst is close to perfect, with a single discolored spot on the dash pad being the most obvious fault. The rest of it presents in virtually as-new condition, and as befits a luxury car, it is loaded with luxury touches. These include air conditioning, power windows, six-way power seats, cruise control, a remote trunk release, and I think that there also might be an 8-track player hanging under the dash.

The 300 Hurst was the biggest of the muscle cars, and as such, it needed a big motor to get it moving. In this case, it is the TNT 440 engine, pumping out 375hp. The Hurst also features a 727 TorqueFlite transmission, a 3.23 rear end, power steering, power brakes, heavy-duty rear springs and front torsion bars, and sway bars. The exhaust was a full dual system, ending in quad tips. This Hurst hasn’t seen a lot of recent use, and documentation confirms that between 1986 and 2019, it managed to accumulate a grand total of 20 miles! Since being removed from its climate-controlled storage, it has undergone a meticulous mechanical check and recommissioning, and it is now said to run and drive perfectly. The owner does suggest that while the tires look good, they are pretty olds, and replacing them might be a good idea. He also says that the Hurst may need mufflers fairly soon. The car does come with a fair collection of documentation, including the original Build Sheet and Window Sticker, a pristine Certi-Card, Owner’s Manual, as well as dealer paperwork and other assorted items.

While there has always been some question surrounding the build totals for the 1970 300 Hurst, one thing is certain, and that is that there are less than 300 cars in existence today. Pristine examples can fetch sums in excess of $30,000, and even a rough example in need of restoration can still sell for anywhere around $13,000. This one doesn’t need a major restoration, but it does require some cosmetic work. I’m not sure where bidding is eventually going to go with this one, but I would suspect that it will be somewhere around the low to mid $20,000 mark. Even at that price, it probably wouldn’t be a bad buy.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝟑𝟖𝟏

Toji Fushiguro

Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

[Chapter 1] New Beginnings

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Nipple Play, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Creampie, Cum Play

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Not even two months after your husband’s death, you find yourself completely broke. There’s no more jewelry or rare items in your house that are actually worth something. You don’t have any more furniture that you can sell. The money you make is barely enough to pay the mortgage to your house. Leading to only one option:

Selling the house.

You hold many memories dear to you between the house’s walls, but at some point your basic necessities are more important than mere memories. You have many pictures that can help you recall the happy moments, which should be enough for some time. Maybe one day you can rebuy the house, but for now you don’t count on it.

In the end, the house is far too big for a single person. And too gloomy for you. The sun doesn’t shine and brightens the house like it used to. Lately every corner is dark, full of recollections of him and his life. It completely brings you down because he’s gone. 

When you pack everything up is when you come to the realization that you’re better off elsewhere. Somewhere that’s big enough for you, a place you can afford. A place that doesn’t bring back the happy memories that not too long after turn gloomy and sorrowful. Somewhere you can start fresh and forget about it all. Forget the first twenty-four years of your life. Even the happiest moments.

Your quest to forget leads you to the outskirts of town, finding an apartment cheap enough that allows you to take two months off work to live off the bit of your savings and the profit of selling the house– But of course, you won’t be doing that. You’ll find a job immediately and use your savings to buy what you need and buy some of the furniture that you had sold. 

But right now you aren’t all too worried about what couch you want for your living room, instead you’re more concerned about getting the mattress up to your floor and into your room. You rented a moving truck and managed to convince the old grumpy neighbor next door to help you pack up some of the stuff, but now he’s miles away. You have no idea what you’re going to do next because you have no idea who anyone is.

So you stand outside the building, arms crossed as you try your best to figure out what you’ll do next. You can try to carry all of it to the third floor, but that won’t be too easy or good for you. You decide to leave it there for a moment and begin to go upstairs to finally see your new apartment. You were in a rush to find a cheap place to move to, and you didn’t even bother to check the unit out. You don’t really care if the place is luxurious or if it’s the biggest dump in the place, you just want to figure out where you’ll be putting your stuff. 

It feels like quite a workout when you get to the third floor, making you put your hands on your knees and pant for a moment. You realize that getting your stuff upstairs won’t be such an easy task, but you’ll somehow manage. Somehow. You still have to figure it out.

When you catch your breath, you walk to your door, your hand going into your pocket to find the key. As you get it out, someone who you can only assume is your new neighbor, walks to the door that’s next to yours. Apartment 381.

He’s tall and seemingly strong, or at least the shirt that hugs him tightly gives that impression. He has black hair that reaches around his ears, certainly in need of a haircut. He doesn’t look like the friendliest to approach, but you wouldn’t feel too comfortable knocking on your other neighbors’ doors asking for help. You’re too focused on the stern look on his face that you nearly miss the little boy that holds the white plastic bag.

“Uhm… Excuse me?” You cringe at the way your voice cracks when you speak up, but regardless, you continue walking up to your neighbor. He turns to look at you, and while usually men’s eyes light up at the sight of you, he holds the same expression throughout. You tell him your first name before asking, “I need help carrying some stuff up, and I was wondering…”

He looks you up and down, taking in every detail before he nods in response. “I need you to watch the kid for me.”

“Oh– Okay. But I’m not sure you can carry it alone.” You tell him, and he chuckles. You’re not sure why he laughs, but you know it makes you nervous. You begin to question your words before he speaks again,

“Oh, trust me, I can.” He answers. “Just open the place, take the kid in, and make sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

You aren’t too sure if it’s the wisest thing for him to leave his son with you, but you aren’t going to argue with it. You know you’re not a murderer or a bad person in general– But your neighbor doesn’t know that. Regardless, he’s accepted to help you and you won’t argue about it. 

“Okay, Megumi, will you go with the nice lady for a moment?” The man asks his son, who tries to hide from you behind his father’s leg. It doesn’t work too well, while his father is big he isn’t quite big enough to completely hide him. You lean down a bit, putting on a smile for the kid.

“Hi, Megumi.” You wave at the little boy, and you see him peek. He pulls on his father’s jeans a bit, making the man sigh. When Megumi senses he’s made himself too visible, he goes back. You can’t help but chuckle. “Seems like Megumi is shy.”

“C’mon, Megumi. She’s nice.” The man says, and you can’t help but chuckle again as you decide to open your apartment. Megumi doesn’t let go of his father’s pants, and the man ends up sighing. “I’ll get you some ice cream afterwards.”

It takes you by surprise when the boy comes to your side, but at the same time you really aren’t. It’s a hot summer day and kids love ice cream. You open the door and peek at the place. Nothing too luxurious, that’s for sure.

“Here.” The man gives you the plastic bag, which you take. He looks to find the truck where your stuff is, and he quickly spots it. He points at it just to make sure, “That’s it, right?”

“It is.” You respond, and he nods in response. You watch as he begins to walk away and you decide to walk inside with Megumi. The place is rather small. You’ll say that. The living room, dining room, and bedroom are all in one place, and there’s a small door that leads to the bathroom. To the left of the entrance is some counter space, a small stove and a small fridge. The apartment isn’t something big, but you weren’t expecting much because you’re not paying too much for rent.

“Alright, Megumi, you can sit wherever you want… Sorry I don’t have anything to entertain you.” You tell him, and he walks to a corner of the place and takes a seat on the floor. You look at the contents of the bag that you hold, and you see some convenience store snacks. Which you can only assume is their breakfast.

“Is this your breakfast?” You ask, walking over to the young boy. He hums in response and you grab the sandwich from the bag and give it to him. He takes it from you and struggles to open the food so you end up opening it for him. You give him the food and he begins to eat quietly, and you’re unsure of what to say or do. Which leads you to ask the question, “What’s your daddy’s name?”

“Daddy.” Megumi responds with a mouthful of food and you can’t help but chuckle. You aren’t surprised by his response, although he should be old enough to know his father’s name, but you won’t pay much attention to that detail. It’s none of your business. You look at him for a moment, trying to figure out what else to say.

“How old are you, sweetie?” You continue asking, and the young boy holds three fingers up when he manages to hold the sandwich with one hand. He’s not much of a talker, at least not with you. You’re a mere stranger. At least you’re glad that you know the kid won’t run off with a stranger. The front door opens and you see the man carrying the mattress in. It was faster than you expected, and he doesn’t struggle all that much. At least he doesn’t seem to be struggling.

“Isn’t this a little too big for the place?” The man’s voice sounds normal, not showing any sign of strain. He puts it right in the middle of the free space of the apartment, and you’re shocked that he was able to carry the mattress up with no problem. “Not judging… It’s your place.”

“No, you’re right. I just didn’t know how small this place was.” You share. He slowly nods before he looks at the watch that’s on his left wrist. He realizes how late it is, but he sees from the corner of his eye that his son is eating what they bought. You two awkwardly stand in silence for a second before you speak up, “What’s your name? I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier. It slipped my mind.”

“I’m Toji Fushiguro.” He answers. You smile at him, putting your hands in your pocket awkwardly. You aren’t sure what to say until you remember you have to at least thank him for his help.

“Well, Toji, thank you. I really appreciate it.” You tell him. 

“How about I help you with the rest of your stuff? I don’t have anything else to do today other than to watch the kid.” He offers which catches you off guard, but you aren’t going to refuse the help. “I’ll just get some toys from my place to keep him entertained while he’s here.”

“Alright, sounds amazing. Thank you, Toji.”

A few hours after Toji gets everything in your apartment, you find yourself attempting to organize everything. There’s no place to put everything. You don’t have a closet to put everything in so you try to put all your clothes in drawers. But obviously there isn’t enough space for everything so you’re putting old clothes in a pile to donate. 

That’s what you spend all afternoon doing, and by eight at night you’re left with two boxes. Two boxes that are filled with his clothes, ones that you’ll leave alone. Leave them in a corner to collect dust, taking up very valuable and limited space.

You don’t notice how late it is until you open the door to your apartment and see how dark the sky is. You had plans of making something special for the neighbors in apartment 381, but clearly it’s too late for that. You really have nothing in your apartment to make food, and by the time you’re done grocery shopping, it’ll be way too late for cooking and showing up at their door with food. 

However, you get an amazing idea. You go to the neighbor’s door and knock. You patiently wait for Toji to open the door, and you feel slightly nervous. Toji is an intimidating man. Although you can say he’s nice– sort of. But you still feel extremely nervous as you wait for him to open the door. You don’t want to interrupt anything. 

“Oh, hey.” Toji opens the door and he doesn’t look too pleased. You’re overthinking because that’s definitely the same look that he had on his face. He crosses his arms and waits for you to say something, but you’re taking a bit too long. When he opens his mouth to speak is when you remember that you have to say something. This isn’t your usual behavior.

“I’m going to get some food and I was wondering if you guys wanted anything… To show my appreciation after your help.” You stumble over words and you notice every mistake which makes you internally curse yourself. Toji looks at the time on his watch and spends a moment thinking about your offer.

“Kid is in bed. But I’ll take up your offer.” He answers, and you slowly nod in response, a weak smile coming to your lips. You feel bad about the kid missing out on this opportunity. Although his father did all the work, you know that he was uncomfortable with you. Poor kid barely said a word, although he was entertained with his toy.

“Were you also going to bed?” You ask and he looks in his mind for what to say. He ends up shaking his head, although he was actually going to bed because he doesn’t have anything else better to do. “Did you take him out for ice cream already? I’m thinking of buying him some tomorrow because I just feel bad.”

Toji steps out of the apartment, not wanting to wake up his sleeping son by conversing. Toji shakes his head again, he had completely forgotten about what he told his son. He ends up saying, “It’s fine. He won’t remember.”

“Well maybe a pack of popsicles or something. It’s hot out and it’ll certainly help you two.” This time Toji doesn’t say anything. Popsicles do sound nice, especially since the AC system in his apartment needs some fixing. He does wonder if that’s affecting you too since you just moved in and your unit doesn’t have AC, but he notices you wear some shorts and a tank top so it can’t be affecting you too bad. “Do you want anything specific from any place?”

“I just want a beer. Get whatever you want.” He answers as you two begin to walk to your place. Toji isn’t all that worried about leaving a sleeping Megumi in the apartment alone. It’s like leaving him in another room of a house, especially since your place is right next door. If the kid was awake it’d be a whole different problem. 

Toji notices immediately how organized everything is, and he’s fairly shocked because he completely left it a mess earlier. Boxes everywhere, the little furniture you had in the middle of the place. Majority of the boxes are now empty and piled up elsewhere. He does notice a pile of clothes on the floor, but he assumes those are some clothes you’ll either donate or sell. There’s not that many. 

“Sorry for the mess.” You comment and he can’t believe his ears. This place is way more organized than he expected. He doesn’t say anything though, he just looks around the small area and takes in every detail. His place is just like this– Well his is a bit bigger and he obviously knows how to make space for him and the kid. “Do you know any good restaurants nearby that deliver?”

“Hmm… There’s this good place down the street. You can look up the menu.” He informs you which you do. He tells you the name of the place and you look it up. Meanwhile, he awkwardly stands around, hands in his back pockets. You realize this and are quick to say,

“Please, take a seat… Wherever you like.” You can’t help but feel bad at the fact that you have no place for him to sit on, other than your bed or the floor. He’s awkward too, and if it weren’t for the fact that his brat isn’t with him, he’d suggest going to the actual place to eat. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed, and stares at you while you look at the menu, “I know I have to make a few changes around here.”

“It’s fine. It’s your place after all. Not here to judge.” He responds. He shifts around in the bed for a moment before saying, “At least it feels comfortable.”

“Oh it is. But it’s definitely taking up too much space. I might get a futon or something.” You tell him, sitting down beside him on the bed. You begin to order what you want on your phone, picking things that you think Toji might like. 

“So why did you decide to move here?” He asks so the place isn’t filled with an awkward silence. He can only assume money troubles, because why else would you choose to live here? There might be some other reason though, and he might as well get to know you. He has to know that a criminal isn’t living right next door to his son.

“Just needed a change of scenery… and money troubles.” You mutter the last part, but he hears you. It’s nothing to be ashamed about because he knows. There’s no point in hiding it, why else why would you move here? Toji might not be the brightest guy but he certainly isn’t an idiot. “So what do you do, Fushiguro?”

“I’m a mechanic.” He answers. He looks around for a second, trying to figure out what you do. But he can’t figure it out through the indistinct room. He has no idea which ends up in him asking, “What do you do?”

“I used to work at a daycare.” You respond. “I don’t know what I’ll be doing here, though.”

“Hmm… There’s many places that are hiring around.” Toji tells you. You sigh in response, already dreading going back to work even though you don’t even have a job yet. You liked your old job, but you weren’t in the mood to deal with screaming children. To be honest, you weren’t in the mood for anything. But it also helps to distract you from everything. It keeps you busy. “I think there’s a daycare around here too.”

“Who takes care of Megumi while you work?” You question since he clearly doesn’t know if there’s a daycare around. Perhaps he hires a sitter, but you find that as a more expensive alternative.

“I keep him in the shop with me. They love him there. He’s in his corner playing with his toys while I work.” He informs you, which you’d generally be worried about if it weren’t for the fact that his son is clearly a calm kid. 

“That’s a great way to save money. Kids are fucking expensive.” You chuckle before a yawn escapes your lips. You’re so incredibly tired, and it’s very clear. Toji can tell since you talk less energetically than you did earlier. “Your kid seems like a good one.”

“He’s definitely very calm. I don’t think I could’ve gotten luckier.” Toji looks at the corner with the two unpacked boxes and wonders what’s in them. Maybe it’s winter clothes that aren’t worth unpacking. He doesn’t question it, not that he cares about prying, but because he thinks he has it figured out, and the question doesn’t seem worthy enough to roll off his tongue. 

You stand up and walk to the fridge, opening it to get a water bottle. You hold one up to show him, and he opens and closes his fist which leads you to throw a bottle at him. You open the bottle and bring it up to your lips, chugging the water until it’s nearly empty.

“Any special plans for tomorrow?” You ask, walking back to the bed, taking a seat beside him. He purses his lips together, thinking about what he’ll be doing tomorrow. Which makes you bring up, “If not, I can take you two out for ice cream. Then get some popsicles.”

“Hmmm… I feel like you’re being too nice.” Toji comments, which is something he has never done before. He appreciates gratitude and getting things, but he just feels something is up with you. There’s this sadness behind your eyes that makes him feel guilty. “Dinner is more than enough.”

“Dinner for you, ice cream and popsicles for the kid.” You say. He can’t argue about it. You look at him, taking in every detail of his face. He’s quite handsome, you’ll admit. But no one’s looks compete with him. Either way, Toji is handsome. Even with the stern look on his face, one that you doubt will change because it hasn’t changed all day.

You have a couple questions, but unlike Toji, you don’t mean to pry. There’s a knock on the door, which means that the food is finally here. Definitely faster than either of you expected. You stand up and walk to the door, opening it and taking the bag of food.

“Food’s here.” You announce, although you don’t have to.

You two end up eating on the ground, and not much happens after you begin to eat. When there’s no more food left, he goes back to his apartment.

A week after you move in is when you come to realize how rare it is to bump into your neighbor. The man in 381, of course, because you have yet to meet the neighbor in 383. You have yet to meet any of your other neighbors. You don’t really care about getting to know them or having any sort of friendship with them either way. The only reason you care a bit about seeing Toji is because you owe him and his son ice cream. 

You remembered the next day, but when you knocked on his door, he wasn’t there. And every single other day of the week you were busy job hunting. As Toji told you, there is a daycare, and luckily enough for you, they needed some extra help around. Your first day is on Monday, and you feel ready. Maybe all you needed was some time off because you’re excited to start again. Maybe it’s because none of the parents know you or what you’ve recently gone through. Going back to work not even a week after your husband’s death was truly one of the hardest things you’ve had to do, mainly because everyone knew him, and everyone felt so pitiful whenever they looked at you.

It’s near four in the afternoon, and you’re carrying some groceries upstairs. Your hands are full, and you’re scared of dropping something. When you finally reach the third floor is when you get offered some help. Toji spots you and he’s quick to walk to your side and take some bags from you. 

“Thank you.” You sigh in relief when he takes majority of the bags from you. You get to your apartment and you open the door, allowing him to walk into the place and put the bags on the counter. You put the bags that you have on the floor, and while you’d usually begin to unload the groceries and put them in their designated spot, if you start doing that, Toji will walk out and you won’t see him again for God knows how long. “I still owe Megumi that ice cream.”

“Right… Sorry we’ve been busy. Poor guy got sick.” Toji informs you. You can’t help but pout, feeling bad for the kid. “If you’re not busy we can go now. He’s stuck at home watching TV.”

“Let’s do that.” You smile. You put your index finger up before saying, “Give me a minute to put these away. Groceries are too expensive to let some of them spoil.”

“You’re right. While you do that I’ll get the little guy ready.” He says before he walks out of the apartment, leaving you to put all your groceries away.

You walk alongside Toji and Megumi, who guide you to the ice cream parlor. The walk– Which isn’t so long, feels like an eternity because it’s so hot out. You’re sweating, and Toji notices the sleek sheet of sweat on your body. It makes him comment, “We’re almost there.”

“Okay.” You mutter, extremely hot. Thankfully, in less than two minutes you get to the place. Toji picks up his son from the ground to allow him to look at all the possible flavors that he can pick from, making the young boy lick his lips. There’s so many options to pick from.

“Alright, Megumi, what do you want?” Toji asks as the boy puts his hands on the cold glass that separates him and the delicacy. While the boy hums, trying to decide what he wants, you order some ice cream for yourself.

“I want…” Megumi begins, but he can’t seem to figure out what he wants. Chocolate seems amazing, but that pink strawberry-flavored ice cream really catches his eye. But vanilla is one of his all time favorites. It leads to nowhere. “I want…”

“He wants cookies and cream in a cup. One scoop.” Toji ends up deciding, getting too impatient with the indecisive child. You can’t help but chuckle as you hear this. Toji clearly isn’t the patient kind. Megumi gets his ice cream cup, and Toji puts him down on the floor. “Rocky road cone for me. Two scoops.”

“C’mon, Megumi.” You tilt your head and shake it towards the table. The boy is unsure whether to follow you or not, but then again, you’re the reason he has ice cream so maybe you’re not so bad. He does end up walking with you to sit down at the table. He slides into the booth, and you sit on the opposite side. 

You both focus on eating the ice cream in front of you, which is nice. Generally kids you’ve worked with are very talkative and don’t enjoy their food because they’d rather converse. Although you don’t usually mind, it’s nice being able to sit in silence for a moment. Until Toji sits down next to his kid and begins to talk. 

“The sweet neighbor lady is buying you the ice cream, what do you say?” Toji asks his son and Megumi is too focused on his ice cream to say anything. But Toji clears his throat, grabbing the cup from the kid and putting it on your side of the table, a place that Megumi’s short arms won’t be able to reach. You’re about to hand the child back his ice cream because you don’t really care for a thank you, after all this is all to show your appreciation to Toji and his son for helping you out next week.

“Thank you.” Megumi ends up saying, which gets his father to hand him back the cup of ice cream. He quickly indulges himself in his treat. You smile at the kid and respond,

“No problem.” You reply. You quietly lick the cone, before it comes to your mind, “Please don’t call me the sweet neighbor lady. It makes me feel like a grandma.”

“Right, sorry.” Toji ends up chuckling. Now that he hears it, it does make you sound old. You don’t look old. He’d guess you’re around five to ten years younger than him. “The sweet young neighbor girl.”

“That’s better.” You laugh. You have many questions you want to ask, and right now would be the perfect time to ask them, if it weren’t for the kid that’s sitting down next to Toji. If it also weren’t for the fact that this is practically the second time you talk to him and you don’t want to be too intrusive. You bite into the cone and chew, thinking of what question to ask because the silence with them both makes you feel uncomfortable. Until you finally swallow, grabbing a napkin and cleaning the corners of your mouth before asking, “Did you have a busy week at work?”

“Yes.” He answers, looking over at his son to see how far along he is with his ice cream. Not even halfway done. But then again, Megumi is a small kid. “How about you? Did you find a job?”

“I did. Thankfully.” You respond. You smile at him, “At the daycare you told me about. Luckily enough they needed someone else since someone recently quit.”

“Really? That’s nice.” Toji really isn’t all that interested in your job, but he won’t be his usual rude self. He likes you, somewhat. “Maybe you can get me a discount for Megumi or something. It��d be nice for him to spend time with kids his own age.”

“Hmm… I was told I can get a 75% discount for my own kid. Don’t know if they allow you to give discounts to acquaintances.” You inform him and he ends up nodding in response. Maybe he’d be a bit upset if he didn’t have a cone of ice cream in his hand. “But since I don’t have any kids, I could pass him off as my own. As long as he doesn’t snitch, I think we’ll be fine.”

“That sounds perfect.” Toji's eyes perk up, maybe it’s because he wants to get the kid off his back for a bit. Or maybe it’s because the price of child care is too expensive and the man is trying to save up money so that he and his son can move somewhere else soon enough. Either way, he does appreciate it.

“I would have to fill out some forms and whatnot, but I can take him with me on Monday.” You tell him. He’s about to thank you for it, but Megumi puts his cup down and taps his dad’s arm, causing Toji to look down at him.

“I’m full.”

Near midnight you toss and turn on your bed, too hot to fall asleep. You have yet to get an air conditioning unit, and it’s too hot for you to sleep. You’re lying naked on top of your bed, and you’re still covered in sweat. Your windows are open, but the breeze that enters the place is a hot one and it doesn’t help you at all. At this point, you aren’t sure what to do. At least tomorrow you have all day to sleep.

You sit up on the bed a sigh leaving your lips before you get up and walk to the fridge to get a bottle of water. You put it up to your forehead, relieved. You walk back to your bed and lay down once again, running the cold water bottle through your body. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

There’s a knock on your door, which makes you frown as you get up from your bed. You begin to walk to the door until you realize you’re completely naked. You walk back, grabbing the clothes that are on the corner of the bed and putting them on. They don’t cover much but it’s better than walking out naked. You go to the door and open it, a bit annoyed at whoever is knocking at this time. But you aren’t as annoyed when you see your neighbor, who holds some papers.

“I’m not bothering you, am I?” Toji asks, looking over at you, and you shake your head. He has to tear his eyes away from your body, looking at the very short shorts and the white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, your hard nipples poking through– There’s some spots that are wet which he wonders what they are but eventually figures out it’s sweat because it’s extremely hot out, and he doesn’t feel any cold air coming out of your place. “I was going to give you these tomorrow but I’m busy all day.”

“Please, come in.” You tell him, moving to the side to allow him to step into the place. He puts the papers down on your kitchen counter before he says,

“Just some basic stuff for registration. Important stuff you should know too. He’s allergic to oranges and shellfish.” He begins to tell you and you slowly nod. “Sorry for coming so late, I just couldn’t find everything. Forgot where I put it all.”

“It’s fine. Not like I was doing anything.” You respond. You awkwardly stand around, and neither of you say anything until you ask, “Megumi is asleep. I assume.”

“Yeah… Little guy is knocked out by eight every night.” He shares. He doesn’t seem like he’ll walk out soon, so you close the door. The man looks around the place, seeing no changes to the place yet. “It’s hot in here, are you okay?”

“I can’t sleep.” You confess with a chuckle. 

“Not to sound like a pervert but like this, it’s best to sleep naked.” He says making you laugh.

“I was doing that, but I obviously can’t answer the door completely naked.” You point out which he hadn’t really thought about, but it obviously makes perfect sense. He can’t blame himself though, he knows he isn’t the smartest of the bunch.

“I don’t think anyone would complain about that.” Toji comments and it makes the heat go straight to your face. And it isn’t due to the high temperature from outside. You bite your bottom lip as you begin to walk over to him.

You’re lonely, touch-deprived and feeling a bit too confident. Maybe it’s the heat that’s taken over your emotions, but Toji is very handsome and you haven’t been touched in over a year.  Your body craves it. Maybe you should listen to your body for once.

“What are you trying to say, Fushiguro?” You ask when you’re right in front of him. He looks at your lust-filled eyes, much different than that look that you always have. A smirk comes onto his lips as he looks down at you. “Do you want to see me naked or…?”

“Who would complain? Certainly not me.” He answers as you grab his hands and put them on your hips. How horrible would it be to have sex with your neighbor? It certainly isn’t the smartest idea, but you aren’t thinking of future consequences. You feel his hand go under your shirt and his touch feels as if it burns your skin. His lips go down to meet yours while his hands go up to feel your breasts. He begins to play with your nipples as his tongue enters your mouth.

He’s touch deprived as well, the last time he’s been with someone was around three years ago. And like you, he knows it’s not the best decision to fuck his neighbor, especially since you’ll be taking his son to daycare and getting him a discount, but he isn’t thinking of the consequences. Although he should, because he knows how women are, and he certainly doesn’t want an actual relationship from this. Yet he doesn’t stop his tongue from pressing against yours, and he doesn’t stop one hand from going to your ass while the other continues pinching your nipple.

You pull away from the kiss, grabbing the hand that squeezes your ass and telling him, “Follow me.”

He does so, and you guide him to your bed. You sit down on the bed, and you give him the sweetest look as you look up at him. Toji smirks before he pushes the rest of your body down on the bed, “The first thing I thought about you was how hot you were.”

“Hmm… Really?” You bat your eyelashes. He hums in response as he begins to pull down your shorts, and he’s very surprised to find that you’re wearing no panties. His lips go back to yours while two fingers run through your folds. He feels how wet you are, and he’s surprised because he hasn’t done anything yet. His lips go down, kissing your neck and down to your covered breasts. He pulls down your tank top and latches around your nipple, gently sucking. Soft moans begin to leave your lips as he does so.

He unlatches and kisses the valley of your breasts before he latches on your other nipple. His fingers continue to run through your folds before they begin to play with your clit. You’re so touch deprived that every subtle touch is enough to drive you wild. So much so that you’re way too loud, causing him to detach himself from your nipple and he says, “The walls are very thin. Don’t want you to wake anyone up.”

“Sorry.” You mutter as he stands up straight, pulling down his sweatpants. He takes his cock into his hand, his thumb spreading the pre cum that’s on the tip before he slowly pumps it. He looks down at you, watching as you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Don’t think this is something more. This is just sex.” He tells you, causing you to laugh.

“I should be the one telling you that.” You reply. Once he knows he’s gotten the message across, he runs the tip through your folds. He slowly pushes his dick inside of you, and you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head. Toji’s dick is long and thick. You weren’t expecting anything else, but it’s definitely much more to take in once he’s actually inside of you.

He gives you a moment to adjust, while also giving himself a moment to adjust. He shuts his eyes, barely being able to handle it. He just forgot how good this was. So incredibly good. You’re biting down your lip as he slowly begins to move, remembering his comment about the walls. You didn’t think this would be so hard.

“S’ fucking good.” Toji groans, feeling as you squeeze around him. He can’t take so much but God, is it good. His hands grip to your hips so hard that you’re sure there’ll be some bruising. But you really aren’t focused on that. “Your pussy is so good.”

“Fuck…” You mutter as his thrusts pick up speed. Your back arches, pleasure overtaking your body with each of his movements. And you’re so focused on yourself that you don’t notice how his thrusts become unregulated, until you feel that warmth fill you up, causing your eyes to go wide.

Toji’s eyes also go wide, realizing that he finished so quickly. It leaves him embarrassed. It causes his cheeks to go pink, which is thankfully not noticeable. This has never happened to him before. And you definitely know it’ll strike his ego if you tell him that you were planning on telling him to pull out, something you should’ve done before you started. He’s about to apologize but decides otherwise, getting on his knees and his tongue running through your folds.

Your mind goes blank again, all other thoughts leaving your brain as he begins to lick your cunt. He tastes himself on you as his cum oozes out of your cunt. His tongue goes to your clit and he slowly flicks it while your hand goes to his hair.

He has the purpose of making you come on his tongue, and you feel it as he’s so eager. You lick your lips before you bite down on your bottom lip. His tongue goes to your entrance, getting some more of his cum on his tongue before he pushes his tongue inside of you. It’s so good. Too good.

“That’s really good.” You say, trying your best to control yourself as his tongue wanders inside of you. When he takes it out, his tongue licks up and down your cunt before once again focusing on your clit.

You feel your orgasm quickly build up, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as it slowly overtakes you. Him finishing so fast was worth it because you doubt you would’ve felt like this before. Your thighs begin to squeeze his head while he works so diligently.

“Oh, fuck!” You moan as you finally reach your peak. He detaches himself from your pussy, first leaving a kiss on your clit. He stands up and starts getting himself ready.

“This never happened.” He tells you, not even a minute after. But you have no problem agreeing with him.

After all, the last thing you want is a relationship.

🏷️ @Instantgalaxysheep @happidiluc @Konekobby @bbqyuyuworld @slut4madara @keithslonelyreadingcorner @Tarajaxx @galactict3a @cloudsinthecosmos @uhremmi @sillyalo @klonisx @sakurasimppp @sunflwrsugar @tojianddabisslut @hiraeth117 @charismaya @megumuro @lilith412426 @violet-19999 @otakusan90s @jumpinjaxx @whatdudtheysay @jjmsg

[sourvers]

01: DON'T BE A STRANGER

chapter summary: a familiar face visits and asks for your help. the choice of refusal is dim.

⤷ this is the first chapter of 'Petrichor'! hope you enjoy lovelies. minor plot change for my heart's sake.

cod main masterlist . petrichor masterlist . ao3 link . next chapter .

The Yukon was pleasant and frigid beyond belief. 

Nevertheless, you craved haskap berries, and spring was inching over the horizon; crawling up your spine and shaking you alive. 

You sigh, gingerly closing your copy of ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea’ , your hand instinctively tracing over the gold details as your French pronunciation lingers across the plain of your tongue.  

‘Vingt mille lieues sous les mers’ , You think, the ventures of Captain Nemo still fresh in your mind like Kate’s stilted voice reverberating in your ear: a siren, a horn, a whisper of dread you couldn’t shake. 

It started outside the grocery store, four days ago. 

Whitehorse was a 15-minute drive from your secluded home, found on the very outskirts of the capital and wrapped by lush pine trees. In the summer, grand fields of wildflowers spread across your horizon and became your choice of commerce during the warmer months, knowing how skilled local businesses made soap from dried fireweed. 

You drove into town to buy items you had put off: flour for the pie, extract, a new toothbrush after your other snapped in half, and red yarn. 

The locals kept to themselves and united all at once. A strange, inexplicable harmony you couldn't penetrate or grasp. Perhaps years of unyielding winters carve and shape people, like a sculptor holding the heart of their project. You hoped one day, you’d understand it too. 

Nevertheless, what you did understand was the townspeople's standoffish and overwrought nature. You were new to the town, a woman who only came to town to buy or sell, spending your ‘elusive’ days in or around the outskirts of your home or a vague “out” as you’d phrase it.

A group of the townspeople’s children even titled you the ‘Wicked Witch of the North’ after you accidentally struck over several vases during a summer market. While it was the talk of the town for several weeks; muttered under hasty quiet breaths despite being miles away, it was when the townspeople heard the most of your voice. From the strange resonance in your voice to how you pronounced your ‘o’s and ‘r’s. 

However, there was one citizen who seemed to find your presence jovial. 

“Oh my!” exclaims Sophia, her brown eyes gleaming under the fluorescent light of the grocery store; casting the small store in an odd shade of green, “Even you don’t come this late, what brings you here witch?” she teases, her bright smile flashing like headlights. 

“Well, I’ve come to pick up my ingredients,” you explain unfazed, your eyes scanning the shelves for your brand of flour,  “I have to keep up appearances of course. Can’t scare the children if I don’t tempt them with pie.” 

Sophia chuckles, her laugh bright and boisterous like the sun beaming down on you. “I suppose you can’t.” 

You scoff, yet, the subtle pull of your lips rivals your sarcasm. 

“You know, the new delivery of flour is behind,” Sophia smiles, “Small tip.” 

You take the one in the front, a small cloud of flour coming to life at your touch, “Thank you… I’ll take note of that.” 

Sophia smile dips and she sighs, tilting her head as she watches you promptly take what you need, contemplating for only a few seconds. 

“Do you have something to say?”

Sophia’s breath hitches, however, she gives you a small tentative smile, “You should come over… have dinner with my family some time, being alone in a place like the Yukon isn't good for the soul.” 

Your hand freezes as you reach for the vanilla extract, its sweetness exuding from the bottle like an elixir. Sophia’s eyes don’t reach you from behind the shelves. Despite being considerably older than Sophia, a part of you stung with childish envy. 

You sigh, and hum in mellow amusement, reaching for your thin wristwatch as you emerge from behind the shelves growing shadow, “And who told you that?”

“My grandmother,” stated Sophia, a small bud of pride growing in her chest, “She is our elder in the community.” 

The corners of your lips rise into a tentative and strangely warm smile, one of kinship even. “A wise woman I can surmise.” 

Sophia grins, “More than you can know.” 

Soon, you line your groceries on the belt and Sophia scans them silently. The beeping and incessant hum of the heater were the only words communicating in the air. 

“You must think I’m annoying.” 

You raise a brow, your eyes searching through your wallet before responding, “How so?” 

Sophia scoffs, “Well, I’m a nineteen-year-old store clerk who bothers a grown woman every time she shops. A bit of an asshole move if you ask me.” 

You let out a momentary laugh, swiping your card, “I’ve seen worse assholes, you’re by far the least dangerous.” 

“So I’m still an asshole?” 

“The good kind.” 

Sophia cracks a smile as she hands you the receipt, “If you let people know you more, they’ll like you.” 

“And why’s that?” you muse, stuffing the receipt in your jacket pocket while starting the car.

“I’m sure you know why,” states Sophia, “Don’t be a stranger.” 

You gaze at her, half amused, “I’ll take note of that.”

You amble towards the door, the sun long set as you reach for the door handle–

“Wait! God I almost forgot,” piped Sophia, “A woman came here earlier, I think she was looking for you given her description. Blond short hair, blue-greyish eyes I think? Anyways, do you know anyone like that? She spoke a bit fast too–”

Your eyes widen before promptly sharpening like the blade of a knife, “Thank you, Sophia. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“But wait-” 

You swing the door open, a blast of frigid evening air brushing against your cheek as the grip on your grocery bag tightens. You let out a slow, restrained sigh, tuning into the crunch of your boots on snow, leading you to your car. Despite the layers you wore, you still shivered as the moon gleamed down on you, its rays tender and soothing. 

Too soothing. 

“It's rather rude to not announce your presence,” you mutter quietly, lacking any bite as you sink your empty hand deeper into your right pocket, eyes fixed on your reflection in the car window and the crunching of snow.

“I hear the townspeople call you ‘The Wicked Witch of the North’, quite the title. I wonder what you did to get it.” 

You hum in amusement, gradually turning your head to face her, the first fall of snowflakes landing on the tip of your eyelashes, “What are you doing here Laswell?”

Kate let out a sharp exhale, a cloud of white rising into the atmosphere. She crosses her arms over her chest, “I need your help, but first, we need to talk.” 

Your eyes go up and down her figure, as your lips curve into a smile, ignoring her pensive face, “As punctual as always. But you didn’t come prepared did you?” 

“Winter’s never been my type.” 

“A shame, you’re missing out,” you quipped, turning your back as you opened the passenger door, “Come on, I don’t have a choice do I?” 

Kate gives you a small smile, uncrossing her arms and shoving her hands deeper into her thin coat pockets, “According to my weather app, it's expected to be spring soon.”

You scoff amused, “Word of advice? Don’t fully trust the weather app.” 

Kate’s smile falters and you become acutely aware of the paper cut between your fingers. You pull out of the parking lot and onto the road. Snowflakes collect on your windshield while the hum of your tires against gravel fills the silence; looping like a song’s beat, over and over. 

“Kate.” 

“Yes?” 

Kate turns her head to face you: your face stiff, steadfast, unwavering; gazing head-on into infinite darkness. Even now- face cast in the evening shadows and dim starlight- Kate’s stomach churned at the sight of you, twisting like a knot. You seemed to be untouched by time: delicate scars still engraved in your skin, acute angles and tender curves still bridging together the map of your face, sharp and ever more subdued. As if deep in slumber. 

It was just as Kate recalled it to be. 

“This ‘help’ that you’re going to ask of me,” you probe, eyes fixed on the road, Kate’s gaze burning through your neck scarf, “I won’t be able to refuse, will I?” 

Kate releases a strained sigh, leaning back into her chair, she gazes ahead. Frost grows on the window. “I don’t want to force you into anything.” 

“But it seems you’ll have to,” you reply smoothly, methodically as if in thought, “Don’t downplay yourself, the only reason I’m here in the Yukon is because of you .”

Kate stiffens and gazes at you shortly, awaiting your words behind the small, tentative pause. 

You shake your head and sigh, lowering your voice, the sound near soothing, “I owe you a debt I will never be able to repay.” 

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

“And yet, here you are.”

You look at Kate for the first time since you’ve entered the car; a sly smile reaching your lips before your eyes swiftly dart away from Kate’s weary stare. 

She notices.  

“Now that we have that out of the way,” you begin, promptly, “What exactly do you need help with?”

“I hope you don’t mind being in a bit of a boy band.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “I think the Backstreet Boys are alright if that’s what you’re referring to.” 

Kate releases a laugh, “It’s a different kind of boy band.” 

Kate gave you a week to pack, say goodbyes if you had any, then depart. 

The file she had given was still placed, rather haphazardly, on your coffee table alongside your book while your craving for haskap berries gradually faded, melting into the Earth like snow. 

You sigh, gradually rising from the couch and crossing your arms. The file staring back at you, its contents spilled across the table while its words were thoroughly engraved in your mind. 

“A covert task force,” you muse, bringing one of the papers to your face, your eyes dancing over the lines, rearranging them like a puzzle, “Four members. All men,” you scoff, “No wonder Kate called it a boyband.” 

Kate had given you a considerable amount of time to pack despite not owning any items worth considerable significance. A duffel bag would do just fine, you’d wear your trench coat, and leave the winter gear behind. 

You haven’t even begun packing.

“God. I even bought groceries,” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Might as well give it to Sophia for free.” 

After Kate stayed for that night, she left the following morning, her phone ringing call after call. 

“Busy?” 

“More than you can imagine.”

A part of you wondered why she decided to visit from the States; probing your mind until you wrestled in bed for an answer. She could have easily phoned you. Nevertheless, Kate plotted peculiarly. A method of thought meant for only those who understood. Perhaps she came to dangle the medicine for your terrors over your lips, to be of some consolation and company. Or more likely, to ensure the handcuffs around your wrists were still burning through your skin. 

“I never said we needed a new asset to the team.” 

Kate sighs, gingerly placing the cup of tea in front of John. Its smell quietly blended with the air, “You and I both know that we’ve run dry on information.” Kate pulled her chair open, taking a seat, “This friend of mine provides a new set of skills to the task force, something to give us an edge.” 

“Then why is there a strain in your voice?” 

Kate stares at John blankly, her voice low, grave even, “After what nearly happened to Soap, we should reconsider who we consider our assets and informants.”

John remains silent, heaving a sigh before gazing out the window, his eyes mellow for a brief moment. The cup of tea still untouched. “When is he coming?” 

A small smile reaches Kate’s lips, “Bold of you to assume it’s a he John,” Kate pulls out a thin file, its contents scarce, “She’s outsourced, not military but has more than enough skills to carry her weight.” 

John reaches for the file, his eyes scanning over the information: height, weight, eye color, name. 

‘Someone from the outside’ he remarks.

“No photo?” muses John, “She wears a mask like Simon?” 

“No time for a photo. Had to call her in quickly. Though, she prefers long coats instead of a mask.” 

John hums, amused, “Anything else I should know? Before telling the team?” 

Kate pauses, her small smile remains, her tone candid, “Negative.”

[bignaz8]

ARIZONA INTERESTING FACTS:

1. Arizona has 3,928 mountain peaks and summits, more mountains than any one of the other Mountain States (Colorado, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, New Mexico, Utah, and Wyoming).

2. All New England, plus the state of Pennsylvania would fit inside Arizona.

3. Arizona became the 48th state and last of the contiguous states on February 14, 1912, Valentine’s Day.

4. Arizona's disparate climate can yield both the highest temperature across the nation and the lowest temperature across the nation in the same day.

5. There are more wilderness areas in Arizona than in the entire Midwest. Arizona alone has 90 wilderness areas, while the Midwest has 50.

6. Arizona has 26 peaks that are more than 10,000 feet in elevation.

7. Arizona has the largest contiguous stand of Ponderosa pines in the world stretching from near Flagstaff along the Mogollon Rim to the White Mountains region.

8. Yuma, Arizona is the country's highest producer of winter vegetables, especially lettuce.

9. Arizona is the 6th largest state in the nation, covering 113,909 square miles.

10. Out of all the states in the U.S., Arizona has the largest percentage of its land designated as Indian lands.

11. The Five C's of Arizona's economy are: Cattle, Copper, Citrus, Cotton, and Climate.

12. More copper is mined in Arizona than all the other states combined The Morenci Mine is the largest copper producer in all of North America.

13. Clark Gable and Carole Lombard, two of the most prominent movie stars of Hollywood's Golden Age, were married on March 18, 1939, in Kingman, Arizona.

14. Covering 18,608 sq. miles, Coconino County is the second largest county by land area in the 48 contiguous United States.(San Bernardino County in California is the largest).

15. The world's largest solar telescope is located at Kitt Peak National Observatory in Sells, Arizona.

16. Bisbee, Arizona is known as the Queen of the Copper Mines because during its mining heyday it produced nearly 25 percent of the world's copper. It was the largest city in the Southwest between Saint Louis and San Francisco.

17. Billy the Kid killed his first man, Windy Cahill, in Bonita, Arizona.

18. Arizona grows enough cotton each year to make more than one pair of jeans for every person in the United States.

19. Famous labor leader and activist Cesar Chavez was born in Yuma.

20. In 1912, President William Howard Taft was ready to make Arizona a state on February 12, but it was Lincoln's birthday.

The next day, the 13th, was considered bad luck so they waited until the following day. That's how Arizona became known as the Valentine State.

21. When England's famous London Bridge was replaced in the 1960s, the original was purchased, dismantled, shipped stone by stone and reconstructed in Lake Havasu City, Arizona, where it still stands today.

22. Mount Lemmon, Tucson, in the Santa Catalina Mountains, is the southernmost ski resort in the United States.

23. Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch in Picacho, Arizona is the largest privately-owned ostrich ranch in the world outside South Africa.

24. If you cut down a protected species of cactus in Arizona, you could spend more than a year in prison.

25. The world's largest to-scale collection of miniature airplane models is housed at the library at Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University in Prescott, Arizona.

26. The only place in the country where mail is delivered by mule is the village of Supai, located at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

27. Located on Arizona's western border, Parker Dam is the deepest dam in the world at 320 feet.

28. South Mountain Park/Preserve in Phoenix is the largest municipal park in the country.

29. Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station, located about 55 miles west of Phoenix, generates more electricity than any other U.S. power plant.

30. Oraibi, a Hopi village located in Navajo County, Arizona, dates back to before A.D. 1200 and is reputed to be the oldest continuously inhabited community in America.

31. Built by Del Webb in 1960, Sun City, Arizona was the first 55-plus active adult retirement community in the country.

32. Petrified wood is the official state fossil. The Petrified Forest in northeastern Arizona contains America's largest deposits of petrified wood.

33. Many of the founders of San Francisco in 1776 were Spanish colonists from Tubac, Arizona.

34. Phoenix originated in 1866 as a hay camp to supply military post Camp McDowell.

35. Rainfall averages for Arizona range from less than three inches in the deserts to more than 30 inches per year in the mountains.

36. Rising to a height of 12,643 feet, Humphreys Peak north of Flagstaff is the state's highest mountain.

37. Roadrunners are not just in cartoons! In Arizona, you'll see them running up to 17-mph away from their enemies.

38. The Saguaro cactus is the largest cactus found in the U.S. It can grow as high as a five-story building and is native to the Sonoran Desert, which stretches across southern Arizona.

39. Sandra Day O'Connor, the first woman appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court, grew up on a large family ranch near Duncan, Arizona.

40. The best-preserved meteor crater in the world is located near Winslow, Arizona.

41. The average state elevation is 4,000 feet.

42. The Navajo Nation spans 27,000 square miles across the states of Utah, Arizona and New Mexico, but its capital is seated in Window Rock, Arizona.

43. The amount of copper utilized to make the copper dome atop Arizona's Capitol building is equivalent to the amount used in 4.8 million pennies.

44. Near Yuma, the Colorado River's elevation dips to 70 feet above sea level, making it the lowest point in the state.

45. The geographic center of Arizona is 55 miles southeast of Prescott near the community of Mayer.

46. You could pile four 1,300-foot skyscrapers on top of each other and they still would not reach the rim of the Grand Canyon.

47. The hottest temperature recorded in Arizona was 128 degrees at Lake Havasu City on June 29, 1994.

48. The coldest temperature recorded in Arizona was 40 degrees below zero at Hawley Lake on January 7, 1971.

49. A saguaro cactus can store up to nine tons of water.

50. The state of Massachusetts could fit inside Maricopa County (9,922 sq. miles).

51. The westernmost battle of the Civil War was fought at Picacho Pass on April 15, 1862 near Picacho Peak in Pinal County.

52. There are 11.2 million acres of National Forest in Arizona, and one-fourth of the state forested.

53. Wyatt Earp was neither the town marshal nor the sheriff in Tombstone at the time of the shoot-out at the O..K. Corral. His brother Virgil was the town marshal.

54. On June 6, 1936, the first barrel of tequila produced in the United States rolled off the production line in Nogales, Arizona.

55. The Sonoran Desert is the most biologically diverse desert in North America.

56. Bisbee is the Nation's Southernmost mile-high city.

57. The two largest man-made lakes in the U.S. are Lake Mead and Lake Powell, both located in Arizona.

58. The longest remaining intact section of Route 66 can be found in Arizona and runs from Seligman to Topock, a total of 157 unbroken miles.

59. The 13 stripes on the Arizona flag represent the 13 original colonies of the United States.

60. The negotiations for Geronimo's final surrender took place in Skeleton Canyon, near present day Douglas, Arizona, in 1886.

61. Prescott, Arizona is home to the world's oldest rodeo, and Payson, Arizona is home to the world's oldest continuous rodeo, both of which date back to the 1880's.

62. Kartchner Caverns, near Benson, Arizona, is a massive limestone cave with 13,000 feet of passages, two rooms as long as football fields, and one of the world's longest soda straw stalactites: measuring 21 feet 3 inches.

63. You can carry a loaded firearm on your person, no permit required.

64. Arizona has one of the lowest crime rates in the U.S.A.

[odinsblog]

Thousands of Ukrainian children put through Russian ‘re-education’ camps

New report details network of dozens of Russian camps aimed at giving children pro-Moscow views, with some children detained indefinitely

At least 6,000 children from Ukraine have attended Russian “re-education” camps in the past year, with several hundred held there for weeks or months beyond their scheduled return date, according to a new report published in the US.

Russia has also unnecessarily expedited the adoption and fostering of children from Ukraine in what could constitute a war crime, the Yale Humanitarian Research Lab report found. The report was funded by the US state department.

Since the start of the war nearly a year ago, children as young as four months living in the occupied areas have been taken to 43 camps across Russia, including in Moscow-annexed Crimea and Siberia, for “pro-Russia patriotic and military-related education”, said the report.

In at least two of the camps, the children’s return date was delayed by weeks, while at two other camps, the return of some children was postponed indefinitely.

Russian authorities sought to provide a pro-Moscow viewpoint to children through school curricula as well as through field trips to patriotic sites and talks from veterans, the report found.

Videos published from the camps by the occupying regional authorities show children in the camps singing the Russian national anthem and carrying the Russian flag. In separate videos, teachers, employed to teach the children, talk about the need to correct their understanding of Russian and Soviet history.

Children were also given training in firearms, although Nathaniel Raymond, a Yale researcher who oversaw the report, said there was no evidence they were being sent back to fight.

“Mounting evidence of Russia’s actions lays bare the Kremlin’s aims to deny and suppress Ukraine’s identity, history, and culture,” the US state department said in a statement. “The devastating impacts of Putin’s war on Ukraine’s children will be felt for generations.”

There is little information on the explanation given to children regarding delays in their return. An official at the Medvezhonok camp told a boy from Ukraine that his return was conditional: the children would be returned only if Russia recaptured the town of Izium, the report said. Another boy was told he wouldn’t be returning home due to his “pro-Ukrainian views”, the report said.

Some parents were told that their children will be released only if they physically come to pick them up. Relatives or people given power of attorney were not allowed to pick up the children. Travel from Ukraine to Russia is difficult and expensive, and men between the ages of 18 and 60 are forbidden from leaving the country, in effect meaning only the mothers of the children may retrieve them.

“A significant portion of these families are low-income and have not been able to afford to make the trip. Some families were forced to sell belongings and travel through four countries to be reunited with their child,” the report found.

One of the camps is located in Magadan oblast, roughly 6,230km (3,900 miles) from Ukraine. This puts it “roughly three times closer to the United States than it is to the border of Ukraine,” the report said.

Raymond said that Russia was in “clear violation” of the Fourth Geneva Convention on the treatment of civilians during war and called the report a “gigantic Amber alert” – referring to US public notices of child abductions.

The Russian activity “in some cases may constitute a war crime and a crime against humanity”, he told reporters.

Ukraine’s government recently claimed that more than 14,700 children had been deported to Russia, where some had been sexually exploited.

(continue reading)

[jonnesstuart31-blog]

Why Selling Miles for Cash Makes Financial Sense

Introduction:

If you're a frequent flyer and have accumulated a substantial number of miles, you might be wondering how to maximize the value of your loyalty rewards. While redeeming miles for flights and upgrades is a popular choice, an increasingly attractive option is selling your miles for cash. In this transactional blog, we'll explore the compelling reasons why selling miles for cash can make excellent financial sense.

Monetize Your Unused Miles:

Many travelers find themselves with a surplus of miles that may go unused or expire. By selling these unused miles for cash, you can transform them into tangible value. Rather than letting your miles go to waste, you can monetize them and use the cash for other financial priorities or indulge in experiences beyond traditional travel.

Flexible Spending Options:

Cash provides ultimate flexibility compared to limited redemption options offered by loyalty programs. While flights and upgrades are popular choices, selling miles for cash allows you to utilize the funds in any way you see fit. Whether it's paying for everyday expenses, treating yourself to a luxury purchase, or investing the cash for future financial goals, the possibilities are endless.

Access Immediate Value:

Selling miles for cash offers an immediate financial benefit. Unlike accumulating miles for future travel, which may require time and planning, selling miles provides instant value. This can be especially advantageous in situations where you need quick access to funds or when you want to take advantage of time-limited opportunities.

Maximize Value for Less Frequent Travelers:

For individuals who travel less frequently, accumulating enough miles for significant rewards can be challenging. Selling miles for cash allows you to extract value from your loyalty program participation without the need for extensive travel. By selling your miles, you can enjoy the benefits of your loyalty program without the requirement of accumulating miles through travel.

Flexibility in Pricing and Negotiation:

When selling miles for cash, you have the opportunity to negotiate and set your price. The value of miles can vary depending on factors such as airline, demand, and market dynamics. By exploring various platforms and buyers, you can potentially secure a higher cash value for your miles, maximizing your return on investment.

Supplement Travel Expenses:

Selling miles for cash can be a strategic way to offset travel expenses. Rather than relying solely on miles for flights or upgrades, you can sell a portion of your miles and use the cash to cover additional travel-related costs, such as accommodation, transportation, or dining. This approach allows you to optimize your travel experience and stretch your budget further.

Conclusion:

Selling miles for cash presents a compelling opportunity to unlock the value of your loyalty rewards. By monetizing your unused miles, enjoying flexible spending options, accessing immediate value, and maximizing your return on investment, you can make the most of your loyalty program participation. Whether you're a less frequent traveler or looking to supplement travel expenses, selling miles for cash offers a financially sound strategy to leverage your accumulated rewards. Explore reputable platforms and buyers, negotiate competitive prices, and embark on a journey to transform your miles into tangible financial benefits.

[sage-nebula]

I'm on the third case of AAI2 now (for the first time ever, so no spoilers thank you), and I think that -- at least so far -- I agree with the consensus I've seen that it's a better game than AAI1. Note that I still do NOT agree that AAI1 is a bad game or hard to get through; I think that people are way too harsh on it, especially when they call it the worst game in the Ace Attorney series. (That dishonor goes to SoJ, in my humble opinion, and you cannot change my mind on that.) But I think I know why the cases, at least so far, flow better in AAI2 and why they're easier to feel invested in, in comparison to AAI1. As in, not only can I say, "here is what the narrative problem is," but I think I can say, "here is why this narrative problem exists."

So, I don't know how many people in the fandom today know this, especially since people join the fandom anew all the time, but I think it was . . . fairly common knowledge? fourteen years ago when AAI1 first came out. (And good god the fact that it came out fourteen years ago . . . hello darkness my old friend . . .) The "it" I'm referring to is that when it was first conceived, Ace Attorney: Investigations was not meant to be a game starring Miles Edgeworth. Instead, Ema Skye was meant to be the primary protagonist. You were meant to play as her, investigating crime scenes with all of her forensics tools, talking to witnesses, et cetera.

However, executives at Capcom worried that the game would not sell very well, because Ema Skye wasn't seen as a very popular character. At the time, the only game she had featured in as a main character was AJAA, and before that she'd only appeared in 1-5 -- a case that was only included in the DS version of the first game (and subsequent re-releases after that). So at some point in the development process, the decision was made to scrap Ema as the main character and replace her with Edgeworth, since he was one of the most popular characters in the franchise aside from Phoenix himself, and so they felt that even if the concept alone didn't excite fans, the idea of playing as Edgeworth would.

Now, I don't know if it was ever revealed when in the development process this was made. But having just replayed AAI1 in preparation for playing AAI2 for the first time (because although I've been a fan of the series since 2007, I always held off on playing the fan translation of AAI2 and avoided spoilers in the vain hope that it would one day receive an official localization -- and look, it paid off!!), I have to say that I feel like it was after at least a good chunk of the cases were written. At the very least, when the majority of them were outlined. Because here is the thing about the cases in AAI1: You could replace Edgeworth as the main character, and almost nothing about the stories themselves would change.

Let's review the court record, shall we?

Case 1: Edgeworth goes to his office late at night to discover that a cop has been murdered there. First Gumeshoe, then Maggey is accused of having done the deed. Yes, it's Edgeworth finding the body in his office -- but it could have just as easily been Ema being called to Edgeworth's office as the investigator when he called the police because he found the body there. Instead of Edgeworth investigating the crime scene, it would have been Ema instead. If the game was set right after she failed her forensics exam (which would make sense! I can't remember if we were told when in Ema's life this would take place), then she could have been assigned as a rookie working under Gumshoe in the homicide unit. Either way, very little would have to change here.

Case 2: A murder happens on an airplane, and Edgeworth is accused of being the murderer. He has to prove his innocence. Again, this case has absolutely zero personal ties to Edgeworth. Even though Franziska shows up and she does know him due to the fact that they grew up together, that only gives us some fun interactions that we instead could have with Ema either having previously met Franziska when she was studying in Europe, or meeting her for the first time. Either way, perhaps this flight was Ema's flight back to the States from Europe (or back to Japan from the States in the Japanese version), rather than a trip back to the States from Europe for Edgeworth for his own "foreign legal system studies." You could swap Ema for Edgeworth and nothing would change.

Case 3: Edgeworth agrees to help Mr Amano rescue his kidnapped son, gets taken hostage himself and then realizes that someone got murdered. Edgeworth's reason for wanting to help Mr Amano is that Mr Amano helped him get in with foreign governments to study their legal systems, which . . . never made a lot of sense to me, to be honest. How does he do that if not through criminal means? But you know what would make sense? If Mr Amano bankrolled Ema's education in Europe after Lana went to prison, because all the Skye sisters had was each other and perhaps they didn't have very much money, but Amano was hoping that he could use funding Ema's education as a way to blackmail Lana when she got out of prison, and Ema -- not realizing that's why he was doing it -- took him up on the offer, and thus felt gratitude to him and wanted to help him find his kidnapped son. Badabing badaboom, we still get the same case, with just slightly changed backstory reasons because Edgeworth's "personal stakes" in this case really weren't that personal.

Case 4: This is the only case in AAI1 that seemed like it was written for Edgeworth personally, what with the appearance of Manfred von Karma, little Franziska, and the origin of why Gumshoe is so loyal to Edgeworth. This one clearly had the most work done on it to make sure that it fit in an Edgeworth game, and it's probably why most (including myself) regard it as the best case in the game. But I still feel that most of the changes are superficial. Because when you get down to it, the case still isn't about Edgeworth, even though it was his first attempt at prosecuting a case. The case was about Kay, Calisto, Byrne, and Badd. Edgeworth and Franziska were simply there to provide flavor text and investigate. It could have just as easily been a case where you played as Lana Skye with baby Ema as the assistant, perhaps shortly after Lana switched to being a prosecutor (if that worked with the timeline; maybe Lana would have still been a detective, I'd have to go back and look at it). Instead of Gumshoe, it could have been Neil or Jake Marshall under fire, or even Angel Starr. It could have been Damon Gant instead of Manfred von Karma, so on and so forth. Yes, it was Edgeworth's "attempted first case," but not in a way that really mattered for him. Not in a way that couldn't have been very easily written for someone else.

Case 5: Edgeworth goes to the embassy with Kay to see if Calisto Yew will show up; she does, a guy gets murdered, and they bring down the smuggling ring with the help of some others. Once again and for great emphasis, Edgeworth could have easily been replaced with Ema in this case and nothing would have changed, because there were no personal emotional stakes for Edgeworth in this story. And that could very well possibly be because it wasn't originally written to be his case, but Ema's case. But then they had to change it, and they changed it just enough to make it "his" case, but not enough to make it really his case.

Now, to be clear: there's nothing wrong with having the main plot of an Ace Attorney game not revolve around the lead attorney. The original trilogy of games really isn't about Phoenix. The only game in the trilogy that could arguably be about him in any way is the first one, and even then, it's only really about him in the sense that it's about him fighting to save Edgeworth. Otherwise, the original trilogy is very much about the Fey clan, and that actually does start in the main trilogy, where we meet Mia and Maya, and learn about Misty Fey's disappearance during the DL-6 incident. (Cue music and picture of That Damned Elevator.) Phoenix is there so that we can experience that story as a result of his relationships with Mia, Maya, and Pearl. Yeah, it's his name on the game box, but it ain't about him.

But the problem with the cases in AAI1 is that they were clearly written with a different protagonist in mind at some point -- namely, Ema -- and then they had to be changed. And they were changed only just enough so that they end up feeling generic, "you could slot anyone in here and it wouldn't make much of a difference." As I showed above, you could put the originally conceived protagonist in AAI1 and nothing of any significance would change. The only one that would have to change to any degree is the fourth case, and even then, the main plot would stay the same. As a result, there's a certain feeling of disconnect between the protagonist and the cases, and we as the player feel a degree of disconnect ourselves.

(Of course, this could have been fixed had they allowed AAI1 to properly be Kay's story, as arguably should have been, instead of restricting her appearances so heavily as they did -- but that's a discussion for another day.)

So all in all, while I know that there are some who blame the change in lead writer for why AAI1 has narrative struggles, I think that this is the real reason: it wasn't supposed to be a game focused on Miles Edgeworth, yet was forced to be partway through development, and the hasty switch led to a game that wasn't quite sure what it was supposed to be. There's a narrative disconnect as a result, and it's a problem that -- at least as far as I've played -- doesn't exist at all in AAI2.

Again, I am only on Case 3. But so far in AAI2, it is impossible to see this as anything but a Miles Edgeworth focused game. To be fair, the first case is not as personally tied to him; it does take place on Gourd Lake, and there is flavor text about the boat shop if you examine the sign; but missable flavor text does not a deep personal connection make. The first case, tutorial that it is, doesn't feel like it was written for him, and thus could have the same disconnect as the cases in the first game.

But the second case flips that all on its head. We meet an associate from the law firm that Edgeworth's father owned, Eddie Fender. We start to learn more about Edgeworth's childhood, about his father, and he's extended an offer to quit being a prosecutor and to instead go back to work at the practice that his father started -- the one that still bears his own name above the door. (And I'll be honest, it hurts that it's a foregone conclusion that he won't do it; part of me wants so badly for him to.) Then in the third case, which I've only just begun, we play as his father investigating his very last case -- the case where he got Manfred von Karma the penalty that von Karma murdered him for, and then took Miles so that he could turn him into the Demon Prosecutor.

Cases 2 and 3 couldn't have been written for another protagonist. And it makes sense, doesn't it? Because going into AAI2, they knew from the get-go that this was going to be a game featuring Miles Edgeworth as the protagonist. As such, all of the cases could be tailored to him. They could incorporate his backstory and history in much deeper, more meaningful ways. They didn't have to make what were essentially, for him, a game full of third cases that were interesting, but didn't do anything too deep for him. Again, that doesn't excuse how Kay was treated, since AAI1's story should have been about her in the same way that the original trilogy was really about the Fey clan instead of Phoenix -- but it does still explain why AAI1's cases felt like such filler, whereas AAI2's cases don't. It explains why AAI2's cases feel like they have so much more weight, so much more to lose your mind over in terms of lore and foreshadowing for things that you know are to come after the flashback case concludes. Because unlike with AAI1, they had a clear idea of what they were doing from the start, with no need to change protagonists partway through production.

Anyway, I'm not finished with AAI2 yet, so who knows; maybe it will do something that will massively disappoint and infuriate me and my entire opinion will change. But these are my thoughts right now. Once again, please do not spoil me on ANYTHING regarding Investigations 2, because I have never played it before and avoided all spoilers for all these years because I was just that dedicated to my fantasy of an official localization, thank you.

[myconetted]

oh my god

objectively speaking, this is based and a huge win for green energy production

but jesus christ the optics of using this site for this purpose are hilarious

[blazehedgehog]

My discord got me thinking about how Naughty Dog tried to do a Jak 4 and they were so obsessed with cinematic realism that they went "nope, this is too creepy" and backed off because they literally refused to do it any other way

Thinking of when Double Fine was still doing the Devs Play video series, and they had someone from Naughty Dog on there, and even though I don't think he worked at the company anymore, he still was so very clearly "cinematic realism" poisoned. Even when talking about Naughty Dog's Crash Bandicoot games, he was going on about how they were always trying to apply Hollywood techniques and make the games more cinematic.

And thinking about how much of the game industry is bleeding itself dry trying to replicate things we already have in real life. Across two generations of hardware, Naughty Dog has released two new games and eight ports or remakes. Some of which are double dips. When you think about Insomniac's woes over struggling to break even with Spider-man, one gets the impression from all these ports and remakes that Naughty Dog isn't doing much better.

Do you know how much money Lethal Company made? It has 260,000 reviews on Steam, and you can probably charitably double, triple, or even quadruple that number to get within the ballpark of what it actually sold. We'll reign it in a little and estimate it sold 600,000 units. That's $6,000,000 of what is very likely pure profit. People have retired on less. This kid isn't even 25 years old.

Meanwhile, for Spider-man 2, Insomniac had to sell 7,000,000 units just to start turning a profit. Spider-man 2 put them nearly FIVE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS ($500,000,000) in the hole. For a game, by their own admission, people may not even be able to tell is any better visually than Spider-man 1. They talk about smaller side games like Miles Morales as a cheap way to reuse assets and buffer the astronomical financial drain these games are. They've got to make up ground somewhere.

There's rumors Naughty Dog's next game might be a remake of Uncharted 1. The well's going to run dry eventually. Then what happens to Naughty Dog when they're writing a one-billion dollar check for the next evolution in cinematic realism that is impossible for anyone to be able to cash? When does this all break down? Soon, right?

It sure feels like it's going to be soon. This is such a boring waste of money.