#Unknown Distillery
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Campbeltown Journey, Hunter Laing Blended Malt
Review by: dustbunna Distillery: Undisclosed. Bottler: Hunter Laing. Region: Campbeltown. ABV: 46%. Age: NAS. Bottled in 2023. Cask type: Unknown, likely various fills of ex-bourbon. Price: $35 USD. Natural Color. Non-chill-filtered. Bottle open across approx. 5 months, notes taken leisurely across that period. Bold notes taken beneath the shoulder, regular-formatted notes taken further…
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#Blended Malt#Bottle Review#Campbeltown#Dustbunna#Hunter Laing#Rated 80-84#Scotch#Scotch Review#Unknown Distillery
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Prohibition AU: The Family
The Outer Circle
These members have a limited amount of knowledge into the scale or even the degree-of-illegality of Naven's empire (Bliss Ocean).
Molly Blyndeff, trudging through hard times with an uncaring family, Ms Blyndeff has been quietly emancipated in exchange for her eyes, ears, and unassuming demeanor. A little spy in short.
Trixie Roughhouse, a close friend of Molly's with a fascination with concoctions. Upon introduction, they were assigned to be apprenticed in moonshining at one of Naven's underground distilleries, though they personally prefer experimenting for unknown product.
Phoenica Fleecity, another friend of Molly's. She isn't of much use in criminal activities (also the least informed of Naven's doings), but her generous allowance does help grease the financial side of activities she has no business knowing about.
Howie Honeyglow, an engineer and construction contact of Naven's. He provides maintenance and solves any lack of facilities for 'business activities', by building them up in record time with little excess charges.
Giovanni Potage, leader of a band of misfits who broke off from another street gang; now in Naven's employ. As mentioned in a previous post, he provides the majority of grunt work in Sweet Jazz City for Bliss Ocean. His talent lies in his rousing leadership which keeps morale steady no matter the branch, much to Naven's surprise. Hosts weekly hotpot nights for his brothers (in-arms).
Percival King, the officer who chose peace. She sees Naven as a major businessman with some connections to the criminal underworld; thus a deal was struck where Percy cooperates with Naven in removing the violence on the streets (and kills off competition) while Percy avoids further investigating Naven's influence that made the deal possible.
Indus Tarbella. Formerly Mera's self-declared servant and bodyguard, he now provides security and butler-like services in extension to Naven as a means to remain close to Mera.
The Inner Circle
Everyone here has blood on their hands. These are the men and women who initiates and executes the family's plans. Aka Bliss Ocean Proper.
Zora Salazar: former bounty hunter, gunsmith, and living action film 'protagonist'. Once carried out a hit halfway across the country within a single day by jumping off a wing of a plane midair onto a passing train to cut time. She usually works alone over larger distances outside of Sweet Jazz City.
Mera Salamin, the main (once) licensed surgeon and occasional strategist. She was out of a career after leaving glass shards in a patient and former co-worker who allegedly harassed her. But her swift manner of action caught Naven's attention, and she refuses to play on the sidelines this time.
Ramsey Murdoch is the accountant and financial advisor, mainly for Naven's legitimate ventures but also reaffirms good and competitive business sense for an empire balancing its legal and illegal standings. Whilst Naven is a great dealmaker, Ramsey makes those bigger deals possible.
The Driver is Naven's eyes on the city, as well as his personal companion. Always (seemingly) a different person to outsiders, some speculate that Naven has Sweet Jazz City's private chauffeurs under his patronage. Though in reality, Yoomtah Zing is a master of disguise and has a more hands-on role in managing Naven's criminal operations alongside Mera.
Naven Nuknuk, former arms dealer to the IRA and the man who came from selling apples to apple cider. He is just a small fish in comparison to the big bosses in New York or Chicago, no need to pay heed to him! (The FBI certainly doesn't anymore)
#epithet erased#epithet erased au#molly blyndeff#giovanni potage#percival king#mera salamin#ramsey murdoch#zora salazar#howie honeyglow#trixie roughouse#feenie fleecity#epithet erased phoenica#naven nuknuk#yoomtah zing#indus tarbella#epithet erased prohibition au
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Judith Leyster (Dutch, 1609-1660): Portrait of an unknown woman (1635) (via Frans Hals Museum)
From the museum website:
Judith Leyster was the first woman to become a member of Haarlem’s Saint Lucas guild of painters. She took her name from her father’s distillery, De Leystarre. Whether Leyster studied under Frans Hals (1582/3-1666) – as is commonly assumed – is debatable. While she did build on innovations that Hals had introduced into painting, she did so in her own way. This painting was long thought to have been by Frans Hals. Judith Leyster’s monogram, JL*, was simply overlooked.
#judith leyster#early women painters#early women artists#seventeenth century#dutch painters#women artists#women painters#art#painting#portrait
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the unknown craftsman
This is a another location prompt table fill that fills two prompts. One from @sweetbabyangels and one from @eleanor-is-fine, who sent me 'The British Museum' and 'a beloved place' respectively. I'm sorry this isn't set at the British Museum itself, but it was inspired by Grayson Perry's exhibition there called The Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman. Our beloved place is the MI6 Memorial Wall. Warning for grieving/mourning and (the aftermath of) a Major Character Death.
[Read on AO3]
Under a gnarled tree in a private garden—the kind of garden people rarely saw in the urban sprawl of London these days— sat a mound of earth lay recently disturbed and repacked. It sat at the edge of a neat and well-tended-to memorial wall, and for days it had been drawing a crowd of mourners.
The mourners were not tourists or flighty visitors. They were sentinels, defenders, worker bees and secret keepers, and they did not lay flowers as most people would. Not fresh ones, at least.
Instead, they built a frame of objects around the soil. To any outsider, it would look mad; cult-like and strange, but then the man they were remembering was strange too. He would have been—or would be, depending on one’s beliefs—delighted to see the bullets dotted on the ground around him. He would have smiled at the model planes and the innocuous-looking watches and the ripped-apart computer accessories. To his right, a jade vase shaped like a hairless cat sparkled in the sun. He’d never seen it in life. It was a gift planned for a day too late, and it was one of the giver’s deepest regrets that he never got to give it to the man now in the ground.
One woman, who could not keep her tears in whenever she looked upon the grave, placed a bouquet of steel-wrought roses on top of the fresh dirt. They remained there through rain and shine until a new white headstone arrived, gleaming brightly.
“He was one of the greatest inventors of our age,” explained a man called Tanner to a crowd of colleagues as the headstone hit the ground. “And no one even knows his name. But you have him to thank for the peace of this country and the lives of our agents, half of whom would be dead without the things he built them.”
Tanner looked to a man at the back of the crowd, whose blue eyes were shining.
All the mourners raised a toast to that. They were drinking a fine single malt from a small distillery in Wales. It reminded Tanner of the sweeping green hills of Bannau Brycheiniog and of marmalade on rye.
“To our Quartermaster,” he said. “To Q.”
“To Q.”
The whisky went down smooth and warm, and people began to desert the grave in hushed groups. They returned to work with memories of Q flowing from their tongues, stories of technical prowess and nerve and shared pots of tea early on weekday mornings.
At the end, two men remained: Tanner and the blue-eyed man.
“No chance your talent for resurrection extends to others?” asked Tanner. Alone with a friend, he slumped with fatigue and grief.
“If it did, I wouldn’t be looking at a headstone.”
The man poured Tanner another drink, and they stood for an age in silence. The tombstone in front of them spoke well enough of everything they wanted to say. It read, simply:
Q, the unknown craftsman 1982 - 2038. A stalwart defender of the nation and a dear friend.
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Jack Daniels Whiskey...$480 million dollar High School dropout....Fawn Weaver and Uncle Nearest Whiskey
A high school dropout who left home at just 15, Fawn faced numerous challenges early in life, including a harrowing moment at 20 when she tried to take her own life.
In 2016, a photograph in the New York Times caught her eye—a black man sitting next to Jack Daniel. This was George Green, the son of Nearest Green, a former slave who was erased from many historical accounts. The story online at the time was that Jack Daniels had stole the recipe from a slave. But Fawn had another theory.
For her 40th birthday, she took a trip to Lynchburg, Tennessee, thinking she would write a book about Green. They left after making an unexpected purchase: spending $900,000 for the 300-acre farm she hadn’t realized was on the market, the same location where Green first taught Daniel how to make whiskey.
Fate had one more twist: Weaver eventually found primary documents proving that the farm is the original home of Daniel’s first distillery. As Weaver researched Green’s history—she learned that a 20-year-old Daniel had hired him to be his first master distiller after founding his eponymous distillery in 1866—she also traced his genealogy, reconnecting unknown relatives.
She knew that the three descendants who still worked at Brown-Forman wanted to know why Green had been erased from tours. (The two brands now collaborate on a summit promoting Black-owned businesses.) She had already begun gobbling up trademarks, shocked that Jack Daniel’s had not secured them. And when one descendant shared the opinion that Green deserved his own whiskey, Weaver’s mission became clear.
Fawn started Uncle Nearest Whiskey in 2017.
Today, Uncle Nearest has not only tripled its sales since 2021, projecting $100 million in revenue this year, but it has also become the fastest-growing American whiskey brand in history.
Forbes estimates the company’s worth at $1.1 billion, with Fawn's personal stake valued at approximately $480 million. The brand has garnered over 1,000 awards, emphasizing its excellence and impact on the industry.
Fawn is no 68 on Forbes self-made women's list.
🌳🫶🏼🌳
#UncleNearest
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Faeries and Alcohol
Faeries are mysterious, mischievous, and profoundly connected to nature and human culture in folklore and mythology. Alcohol has a special position in faerie culture. From ancient to present, the relationship between faeries and wine tells much about humanity's supernatural relationship, rituals, celebrations, and concerns. This relationship between faeries and alcohol is full of symbolism, cautionary tales, and evolving cultural practices. Many cultures believe wine connects humans and faeries. Brewing and drinking alcohol has long been considered magical or transformational, altering vision and creating a liminal condition. This altered state is associated with faeries, who live in between realities. Celtic legend typically associated faeries with sacred wells, streams, and forests, where people left alcohol for them. People made these sacrifices, usually mead, ale, or whiskey, to please the faeries, seek their favor, or avoid their mischief. Pouring or leaving alcohol in the ground was not merely an offering but a method to acknowledge hidden forces.
Narratives depicting faeries as avid drinkers illustrate their connection to alcohol consumption. People say that faeries host sumptuous feasts with rich wines and enchanted liquors. Typically, faeries invite—or force—people who stumble into these parties to join. However, drinking fairy drinks is dangerous. Many traditions say drinking fairy booze can charm you or lock you in the faerie realm forever. This symbol warns against gluttony and alien temptations. It also reflects society's concerns about alcohol's intoxicating and confusing effects, which can blend reality with fiction. Reversely, faeries often enjoy human alcohol. People claim that faeries steal mead, beer, and whiskey from houses and bars. According to these stories, faeries enjoy drinking just like humans, demonstrating their mischievous and hedonistic nature. Faeries may bless or condemn a dwelling based on its brewing, according to some traditions. A well-made brew may win the faeries' favor, while a counterfeit one may anger them. This relationship emphasizes the cultural importance of brewing as a practical skill and ritual that required care and respect. The morality of faeries and drinking typically reflects the society that originated these tales. For instance, the idea of faeries seducing people into drunken celebrations could potentially represent overindulgence. Like faeries, alcohol can bring joy and disaster. The stories teach us to be cautious and moderate. Alcohol's importance as a social and spiritual link in faerie lore is also evident. Drinking together is a sign of hospitality and community in many cultures. By linking wine with faeries, these beliefs make drinking practically sacred, a way to explore existence. Modern art still uses faeries and alcohol, but in a more whimsical way. Modern fantasy literature and media often depict fey as naughty drinkers who revel in the mayhem of alcohol. Craft brewers and distilleries have even created products inspired by fairy tales, replete with names and labels that conjure the wonder and mischief of the faerie world. Modern depictions combine myths with new culture to preserve the heritage. The link between faeries and drinking illustrates our tendency to use stories to explore the unknown. Alcohol, like faeries, is familiar and strange, bringing delight, creativity, and danger. Folklore weaves the two together to convey the intricacy of these events, delivering lessons, warnings, and awe. Whether through ancient rites or modern brews, the interaction between faeries and booze continues to captivate and remind us of the delicate line that separates the ordinary from the extraordinary.
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t r o u b l e // chapter one
A Peaky Blinders Balletcore Modern AU
Chapter list
John
"Fuck!" Tommy was pacing, he'd have thrown the glass in his hand at me if I'd have pointed it out but he was, he was pacing. From his desk in the center of the room at which he'd taken our cousins call, to the window where the early morning slow rising sun burn orange like the tip of his cigarette.
The news from London had been bad. Someone had hit our main distillery, made an attempt on Arthur, stabbed Michael and beaten him half to death. They'd made no subtle job of sending us a message and now Tommy was fucking pacing.
I was thinking of our sisters, all three of them in London at that very moment, minding their own business, living a life as untainted by their brothers underhand dealings and fucking awful reputations as was possible.
Any minute now they were in for a nasty shock. At least thats what I thought as Tommy picked his phone up off the desk and called our brother.
"Come on Arthur fucking hell.." his words were punctuated by his gritted teeth, his jaw sharp, grinding as he spoke into the phone that was ringing out with no answer. "You call him..." he snapped his fingers at me, "get him on that lass he's been fuckin..." he added pausing as if trying to remember her name though we both knew she was one in a long line of hopeless cases. He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away from me leaving me to try and do as he'd said.
"Jesus fuckin hell Arthur pick up your god damn phone!"
I didn't have the lass's number, no surprises there so as my brother drove himself mad trying to phone Arthur, I opened Instagram and tried searching for her there. It didn't take a lot because she'd been tagging our brother in every single post she'd made since they started seeing one another.
"Bit fuckin needy aint ye," I smirked to myself as I took her number straight from her profile and phoned her.
When she answered I struggled to hold in a laugh. Not one of my sisters would have answered the call from an unknown number at this time in the morning, or ever in fact, all of them far too clever.
"Listen uh..." i pulled my phone away from my ear to check her name again, "Taliah... Am lookin for Arthur, is me brother with you?" I asked not expecting the gasp nor the enthusiasm with which my blunt request was recieved.
"Oh my god which one are you? Tommy, John or Finn? No wait let me guess you sound like..."
"John," I said cutting her off, "is he there with you? Tell him Tommy needs him now alright..." I was blunt, it wasn't exactly the most congenial tone but I felt my brothers frustration from across the room and understood where it stemmed from. Panic.
Something very bad was happening to our family and the fact that we didn't know what it was or who was doing it made it all so much more dangerous. It meant it could hit any of us. Even our sisters who were innocent and, for the most part, completely detatched from us.
"John boy?" Arthurs voice was gruff as though thick with sleep but I knew it wasn't sleep he'd been in the middle of when we'd disturbed him.
"Arthur bout fuckin time brother..." I started, tossing my phone to Tommy with a small smirk when my brother snapped his fingers again and held his hand out. He was impatient but I could hardly blame him.
See Arthur, Michael... They could protect themselves, they were armed, they could fight... Ada would be armed for certain, Ada would think she could fight, but the twins would be completely overwhelmed. They wouldn't be strapped, wouldn't be able to fight... So Tommy's impatience my impatience too.
"Arthur I need you to get yourself down to Ada's and bring her here alright, I'm calling the whole family home, we're closing ranks until we know exactly who called a hit on Michael..." I listened to him talking quickly and calmly, he was so certain now that he had Arthur on the line and even when Arthur tried to protest, stating the obvious... That Ada wouldn't come wihout a fight, he remained the same, level tone, certain,"I don't give a fuck if she knocks all your fuckin teeth out brother just bring her and the kid back here and if she tries to argue you tell her its for her own fuckin good and you tell her when have i ever lied to her about life or death alright... "
Calm and certain was more than i could have done in that moment.
"Alright, alright," sighed Arthur down the phone, "but what about the twins Tommy... I can handle Ada alright but I'm not going to that fucking school..."
I laughed at that, realising my mistake only when Tommy raised his brow at me, replying to Arthur in the same breath.
"Johns gonna get the twins."
"What?" I asked flatly. Down the phone i heard our brother laughing, his hands clapping together as he grinned and revelled in my misfortune.
"You heard me John boy," said Tommy, the corner of his mouth tugged into a little smirk, "Londons a long drive brother, you don't have time to pack a bag, not that you need one, you drive down pick em up and drive straight back, i mean it, closing ranks..."
"Whyve I got to go?" I swallowed down uncomfortably as a pathetic kind of panic stirred in me. Somehow Arthur had landed the easier job.
"Cause out of all of us lot, you're their favourite," he shrugged as if it were that simple. As if he wasn't asking me to do something I genuinely believed might end up getting me killed.
Our little sisters see, carried the same stubborn streak the rest of us had. Just because they'd tried to distance themselves from the family name didn't mean they weren't still family. Didn't mean they didn't have the shelby temper running through their veins.
"Aye if it were only one of them I might stand a fuckin chance... Fen y'know, she might but..."
"You'll pick both Sonya and Sylvie up tonight... If they argue with you it doesn't matter because they don't have a choice... And you can tell em that from me eh? If it eases your conscience," the wink he shot me at the end of that sentance did little to draw a smile from me, "take Isaiah with you if you like, Sonya's always been soft on him..."
I let out a long groan, head in hands as I fell back against the window ledge, leaning into the curtains as I swore and thought of my two baby sisters. They'd been terrors since the day they were born, but they'd been easier to handle before they'd learnt how to talk. How to walk and run around causing trouble the rest of us had to clean up. Before they'd learnt their talents and torn away, pursued their own glowing horizons and slowly but surely begun to bury their ties to the Shelbys.
They were both prima ballerinas now, training with the royal ballet, both of them household names among households who were into that sort of thing. Where our eldest sister Ada had pursued politics and teaching, a real community woman, the twins had drawn fame from their talent and, from their beauty. It was better for their careers to distance themselves from the family business and so theyd taken Aunt Pols surname and then they'd stopped coming home, the two of them choosing boarding school and the ballet over Small Heath and a hug from their big brothers.
If there was one thing I was really and truly certain of in that moment it was this. That no matter whether I was the favourite brother or not, if I barged into their life demanding they return home and abandon the lives they'd built for themselves, I was going to get more than just a sock in the mouth.
"Fuckin hell tommy you do realise they won't come back without a good fuckin reason..." I started but before I could really make my point he was chucking my phone back at me hard and making a point of his own.
"How fucking good a reason do you need John? Someone tried to kill our brother today, and they nearly fuckin killed Michael! We don't know who they are and we don't know what they want or how fuckin far they're willing to go to get what they fuckin want.. So i want the whole family back home where I can see them yeah? Not just for their safety but for the good of the family! For the good of the fucking family alright!"
He'd dropped his voice, his jaw clenched tight, his finger pointing accusatory and shaking towards me, the vein in his forhead pulsing with his rising temper. For a second I was quiet. I wanted to tell him it wasn't me needed convincing. That I understood the situation perfectly well, that I wanted the same as him. To keep them all safe.
"Alright..." I said nodding my head, "but its not me I've got to convince..."
next chapter
#peaky blinders imagine#Peaky Blinders fanfiction#Peaky Blinders modern au#tommy shelby imagine#Bonnie Gold imagine
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D&D AU
Ao3
Masterpost | Next Chapter
Content Warnings: Mentions of Fantasy Racism, Mentions of Assassination/Murder, Mentions of Blackmailing, Thievery
Please reblog my writing!
All rolls will be listed at the end of the chapter, and is notated as rolls
Taglist: @cutebisexualmess @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat
The Adventure Begins
Six adventurers, fates intertwined beyond belief, are in the same town. Only two of them have met, having known each other since birth. Other than that, these wanderers have no idea of the existence of the others. Yet, they must meet. They will meet. For they are important to how the kingdom of Schelendor changes, whether it be for the better or the worse, only their choices will tell.
Their journey to the city of Haolewyn is something personal to each of them, Virgil; an urchin who learned to survive on the streets is searching for a dear friend who kept him alive, Roman and Remus; two brothers who ran from their village after an incident that the former refuses to speak about while the latter making a pact with a deity to get revenge, Janus; a criminal who lives in a city further west travelling to see what he can exploit from the nobles there who have something to hide, Patton; on a journey to try to bring peace between the nobles who are on the verge of a war over whose town Haolewyn’s is, and Logan; he is researching magic and how it works to connect to his research on how sorcerer’s magic works. None of them realize just how important they are, but they soon will.
However, they are currently in separate parts of the city, most of them attempting to find the information they need and find a place to rest before nightfall. Remus and Roman however, are currently at the tavern that employed Remus.
Remus’s job was to make and mix the drinks, he also helped out at the distillery a few miles away when needed. Roman entertained the guests at the tavern most nights, although one could find him almost anywhere in the city. As usual, Roman’s performance was astounding the crowd, giving them all something to stare at. Only one heckler could be heard above the noise, only one who had the right to make fun of him.
“Your voice could use a drink or two!” His brother cackled. Rolling his eyes, Roman launched into his story of the night. Another tale of heroes defeating dragons terrorizing crowds, when the doors slammed open. Eyes tore from Roman momentarily to stare and glare at the newcomer who had interrupted the story.
The newcomer of course was Logan, of course. He hadn’t meant to slam open the doors, however that did not stop the patrons of the bar from judging this newcomer with suspicions high, Logan suspecting it due to his orcish heritage, that is until he noticed that the performer was a tiefling. Perhaps this section of the town was different, which was a thought that brought a certain comfort to him. Roman was entranced, as most travellers avoid this bar. Especially those who have something to study, yet he was very aware of the glares heading this individual’s way and gave him a wink before turning to continue the story. Logan was utterly confused as to what the wink meant, but went over to the bar area to find where to request a room for the night. As this had been the cheapest place available, and Logan had not acquired nearly as much funding as his peers, a cheaper place would allow him to save his gold for something of more importance. Still Logan couldn't help but be entranced by the story the tiefling who had winked at him was telling. It was of a grand adventure to slay a dragon in the town of Aqin. It made no logical sense, and usually Logan is one to scoff at stories like that. But for some reason he couldn't this time and he did not understand why. However, unknown to him as it was, it wasn't because of something completely intangible. As long as one believes in fate that is. The reason Logan was so entranced was because of his intertwined destiny with the bard on stage. Remus on the other hand was having the time of his life looking at the wizard who had joined the tavern, especially the books he was reading.
“You a fan of magic?”
Logan looked up, surprised that someone was willingly talking to him as he was almost always avoided.
“Ah… yes! I am currently doing some sanctioned research.”
“Oooh how fancy! Why'd you want the government involved?”
“If I am to be completely honest, I would lack the funding required to conduct this research on my own. Other than the necessary expenditures it is of my professional opinion that I am capable of coordinating the required research independently.”
“Interesting, whatcha wanna learn about magic for? Becoming a wizard? Trying to curse someone as a one off thing?” Remus leaned towards Logan, watching as the taller halforc’s eyes widened a bit.
“Ah, I’m already a wizard. Apologies, I am not in my official robes currently. It was of my opinion that I’d be more agreeable in common clothes.” Logan startled, intrigued at the way the bartender cackled a bit.
“You and my brother would get along well then! Both of you people pleasers to the core!”
“Might I inquire as to who your brother may be?”
“Roman is currently performing! He’s the storyteller! I’m Remus! What d’you go by?”
“My moniker is Logan.”
The two kept chatting for a bit, Logan ecstatic to talk about the research he’d been looking into and completely forgetting about asking for a room. That is until someone else came in.
Janus entered the tavern, having travelled all day to get to Haolewyn. While he was anxious to get started on the blackmail case, he’d mess up horribly if he didn’t get a proper night’s rest.
“Bartender,” he said, addressing Remus who was preoccupied with talking to Logan. “May I ask where I can get a room?”
Logan startled a bit at the sudden voice, turning to look over to where Janus had just entered.
“Yep! What’s your room for? Got someone else coming too?” The eyebrow wiggle confused Logan, as he knew it was meant to mean something yet the connotation of it eluded him. He watched as the newcomer sighed, clearly exasperated at the question.
“If you must know, I require a place to rest. Nothing exciting I’m afraid.”
“Aww. Maybe next time! Here’s your key, we do clean the rooms after each patron leaves, but we do not take any responsibility for any leftover mess! It’s 2 silver a day to stay here!”
“Apologies to interrupt, however this has reminded me that a room would be necessary for me as well.”
“Here’s your key too!” Remus sang, tossing both of them keys. Cackling when the newcomer didn’t seem to catch it.
Just a moment later, Roman’s story ended. And with roaring applause, he made his way over to his brother. Passing a tip jar around for those in the tavern to give him some extra copper (and if he was lucky silver) for such a stunning performance. Watching him talking not only with the halforc from earlier, but the yuan-ti as well, he elected to introduce himself.
“Greetings weary travellers, I am Roman. The main entertainer for this wonderful establishment! I see you’ve met my brother Remus already.”
“Salutations I am Logan. And indeed, it has been delightful conversing with your brother.”
As all three of them turned to look at the fourth companion, it became certainly clear that something about the conversation made them uncomfortable. All of them going through what might have offended the humanoid still unknown to them. Unbeknownst to them, it was just the subject of dropping his name that made him uncomfortable.
Eventually the silence became unbearable for the fourth, and he introduced himself.
“You may call me Deceit.” His voice as smooth as possible, Janus watched the other three process what he had said. If they were smart, they wouldn’t say anything about it.
Turns out, the one named Roman seemed to have a deathwish.
“Oh, so you’re too special to just give out your name? What are you, a government officer?”
“Oooh, are you the officer funding Logan’s research,” Remus chimed in and Janus couldn’t help but slightly wish the assassin he knew was nearby. Sadly they weren’t as this assassin avoids this city for some unknown reason. Which is a very fortunate thing in this case, as if Janus were to have them murdered he would be interrupting fate, and fate is not a thing to be messed with.
Rubbing his temples attempting to avoid his oncoming headache, Janus sighed. “I’m not a government agent—”
“Something a government agent would say.” Roman interrupted quickly.
“I am just not fond of handing my name out to strangers.”
“Like a government agent!” Remus cackled, both twins high fiving each other as Janus looked like he wanted nothing more than to murder someone.
“If it is any consolation Deceit, I highly doubt you have the capability to be in such an esteemed position.”
For some reason, that annoyed Janus even more. Especially since it got Remus cackling even more and Roman snickering at him.
“Ooh yeah, he’s too short!”
“Remus, you can’t be mean to humanoids smaller than you! That’s mean.”
“I was not aware that there was a height requirement to be a government agent.”
However, before Janus could be humiliated even more, the tavern doors opened again. And a rather small, Shadar-kai elf walked in, a glare etched into his face.
The tavern’s mood seemed to sour a bit when they saw Virgil, but he didn’t care. He had enough to not sleep on the streets here, and so he wouldn’t. And why should he be nice when as far as he was aware his friend had disappeared from this city without a trace. What good could come from a city like this. Although where he was from wasn’t any better, at least he had others that he could rely on there.
“Why the long face my friend?” Roman asked, attempting to figure out what was going on with this newcomer who looked a few missteps away from murder.
“I’m looking for a room, not an interrogation,” the elf growled at the tiefling.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that wanting guests to be happy and content qualified as an interrogation!” Roman sneered back, not enjoying the mood the other brought with him.
“And making fun of me for not divulging my name counts as keeping your patrons happy?”
Roman wrinkled his nose at that, clearly upset that he was getting told off by two different humanoids that he had just met. Thankfully for both Virgil and Janus he did back off, however he did continue to glare at them for a bit. Remus looked between both Deceit and the newcomer, before opening his mouth.
“Apologies but we’re out of rooms for the night. You’re new friendo here just got the last one, you can share if you want!”
“Why in Phythmia would I share with him!” Janus hissed out, feeling completely out of his depth when it came to the tavern owner and his brother.
“I need a room,” Virgil growled, narrowing his eyes at the other, “and I personally don’t care how I get it.”
“What do you mean by th—”
Virgil stormed off, fists tight, and Janus was left stunned as to what had happened with the shadar kai. What none of the four who were left there seemed to notice was that one key thing was missing. At least for a few minutes anyways, as when Janus went to look at his hand, he noticed the disappearance of an important item if he were truly to stay the night; the words of the elf ringing in his ears.
“Something wrong Deceit?” Remus asked, curious as to what had soured the yuan-ti’s already lemony expression.
“That elf stole my key,” he growled in response to the bartender, about to go off on a rant before Remus interrupted him.
“Oooh yeah, that’s gotta suck. Too bad you already paid for the room. We don’t do refunds here!”
“Oh of course not, why would you! Is there anything I could do to get a room at this point?”
“Nope!”
“Of course not.” Janus sighed, scanning the room for any sign of the thief right before someone more interesting caught his eye.
A cleric had just entered the tavern, one that was well dressed too. Patton, was his name, not that Janus knew. His autumn nature was kind and alluring despite how uncomfortable he seemed to be in this environment. Clearly he was knew to this scene, considering his dress and his expression. Nervous as he was, Patton strolled over to the bartender anyways.
“Hi I’m Patton. Do you know of anyone with the name of Gallan?”
Rolls:
Roman: Performance: Roll: 16 Modifier: +8 Total: 24 (performance at the tavern) Logan: Insight: Roll: 10 Modifier: +3 Total:13 (Contested with Remus's persuasion check to see if he trusts him to tell about the research) Remus: Persuasion: Roll: 8 Modifier: +8 Total: 16 (Contested with Logan's insight check to convince the wizard to divulge information Virgil: Intimidation: Roll: 3 Modifier: +7 Total: 10 (Contested with Roman’s Insight roll to keep the bard from questioning him) Roman: Insight: Roll: 3 Modifier: +2 Total: 5 Remus: Deception: Roll: 14 Modifier: +5 Total: 19 (To Decieve Virgil and Janus that there are no more rooms and it’s Janus’s fault.) Virgil: Insight: Roll: Nat 1 (No modifier, just fails) (To see if he believes Remus about the rooms or not) Janus: Insight: Roll: 3 Modifier: +5 Total: 8 (To see if he believes Remus about the rooms or not) Virgil: Sleight of Hand: Roll: 17 Modifier: +5 Total: 22 (To steal Janus’s room key, contested with Janus’s perception. Usually passive, but considering the situation, Janus gets a roll) Janus: Perception: Roll: 14 Modifier: +2 Total: 16 (Contested with Virgil’s sleight of hand check in order to see if he notices his room key being stolen.) Remus: Deception: Roll: 19 Modifier: +5 Total: 24 (Contested with Janus’s insight. Lying yet again to Janus about there being no rooms left) Janus: Insight: Roll: 2 Modifier: +5 Total: 7 (Contested with Remus’ deception to see if there really is no way to get a room.)
#Mentions of Assassination/Murder#Mentions of Fantasy Racism#Mentions of Blackmailing#Thievery#glacier's writing#glacier's fanfics#sasi fic#sanders sides fic#sanders sides#sasi#tss#thomas sanders sides#ts sides#virgil#virgil sanders#ts virgil#roman#ts roman#roman sanders#remus#ts remus#remus sanders#janus#ts janus#janus sanders#patton#ts patton#patton sanders#logan#ts logan
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YOOO I didn’t know you had fallout ocs tell me abt them. Who are their companions what’re their roles etc
Ah, what the hell.
My Lone Wanderer is Paladin Elizabeth Titus, who spent her early 20s trying to help the Capital Wasteland by completing her father's dream of Project Purity and bringing the might of the Brotherhood of Steel to those who most need it. She's been romantically connected to Amata Almodovar, Sarah Lyons, and Point Lookout's Nadine, and she's on good terms with Butch DeLoria, Star Paladin Cross, Fawkes, and a liberated Clover. Post-game, she has become estranged from the Brotherhood of Steel, and she's now doing work with the Abolitionists and Reilly's Rangers despite her activities being a topic of much speculation throughout the Capital Wasteland. She is a field medic and a pilot, she wields heavy weaponry with finesse, and she tends to keep everyone at arm's length in the belief that her own reputation will eventually harm them.
My Sole Survivor is Murphy Olson Kelly, thawed pre-war lawyer who made her way through the Railroad and the Brotherhood before finally settling with the Minutemen to find her son, then bring down the Institute. She's been romantically connected to Mayor John Hancock, Elder Arthur Maxson, and Robert Joseph MacCready, and she considers the rest of the companions close friends. She is a darling of the Commonwealth and is on good terms with nearly everyone besides the Institute, fundamentalist Brotherhood members, and skeptical Railroad agents. She relies on her charisma, persuasiveness, and twin plasma pistols to get by, and she is chock-full of survivor's guilt that sometimes manifests as psyker abilities, but more often results in her getting involved in every problem she finds.
My Courier Six is Fox, a desert enigma who seized New Vegas and the Hoover Dam as her own in an attempt to crush the Legion and fend off the New California Republic. She's been romantically connected to Benny Gecko, Rose of Sharon Cassidy, Red Lucy, The King, Ulysses, Beatrix Russell, and Craig Boone, and she is on good-to-mixed terms with the companions not because of her perceived reputation as a heartbreaker, but because of her inability to stand still and commit. She is generally liked, if a little feared, by the Mojave Wasteland, and she is considered a threat by Caesar's Legion and the NCR, albeit one that will eventually move on in the pursuit of something new. Fox follows whatever trail she is inclined to at the moment, and she wards off most dangers with shotgun blasts. It's unknown whether she still has her memories from before Goodsprings.
My Vault 76 Dweller is Dolores, the daughter of a wartime photographer and a veterinarian who took up residence in the Savage Divide in an abandoned train station that she turned into a home and renowned moonshine distillery. She's connected primarily to Foundation, but she's on good terms with the Crater, the Blue Ridge Caravan Company, and the Responders because everyone in Appalachia loves liquor. Her weapon of choice is a railway rifle.
My other Vault 76 Dweller is Rosalyn, whose last act before the bombs fell was making sure her mob-connected husband didn't make it to the vault in time. She spent some time with Rose and the raiders of the Crater, but recently became fascinated with the ill-fated Order of Mysteries and has been trying to restart the group. She primarily uses the Voice of Set and the Blade of Bastet in combat, but she does occasionally bust out the silver submachine gun of the Mistress's paramour.
With the exception of Rosalyn, my OCs have all made it onto my Archive of Our Own account in some form. Murphy and Elizabeth cross paths in my long-running post-game Fallout 4 series; Fox appeared in a one-off prompt fic that explores her relationship with Boone; and Dolores underwent a name change for some explicit encounters in Appalachia.
#fallout#fallout ocs#lone wanderer elizabeth#sole survivor murphy#courier fox#vault dweller dolores#vault dweller rosalyn
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27 for the spotify starters!
starter for @lucienmelaina || Scared of the dark - Lil Wayne, Ty Dolla Sign
Way too drunk thanks to the distillery last round, Harry was half laughing half helping Lucien to walk home. "The fuck you're doing man, don't go that way!" He complained despite the laugh. They were in the middle of the night, in the middle of the dark, Redwood was quiet... or almost quiet thanks to Harry still laughing for some unknown reasons. Hopefully, drunk Harry was also happy Harry, saving him from all those traumatic memories, like none of them happened, like none of them scared or horrified the man.
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Rosnen is a unique continent. It is one of the smallest land masses to be considered a continent, and has many attributes that set it apart from its titanic counterparts of Lenvai and Norphendra. It's history is grim and cruel, but the people of Rosnen have endured.
Bullet points on Rosnen
All native Rosnish people have violet colored eyes. It is the defining trait of their race.
Much of the land that makes up Rosnen is controlled by overseas powers from Norphendra.
Contact was made with Rosnen when a group of Yevsburgish sailors were blown off course by a strong gale in 34 PCC. But through the stormy night, a bright and mysterious star appeared and led them to the previously unknown continent. This star is known as the Star of Rosnen, and has not been seen since.
Yevsburg founded the first Norphendran settlement, Shulie, near where the lost sailors came ashore and were taken care of by the Rosnish. This sign of generosity was never forgotten by Yevsburg.
Gulsen is a dominion of Yevsburg, and has almost no Rosnish population in favor of a settler population. This is because they viewed the land, which was inaccessible to them due to mountains and extreme tides, as forbidden.
The Rosnish were deemed inferior due to their technological status, which was more primitive compared to the Norphendrans. They exploited this disadvantage and ravaged the land and its people for economic gain. Yevsburg is the only country that actively protected the people of Rosnen.
Rosnish lakes: All of the drinkable water on Rosnen is purple. That water is perfectly safe and unpolluted, but is saturated with fine minerals that can only be found on Rosnen. This water is sweet, and lucrative in other parts of the world, so was exported from the colonies. Large distilleries, such as the Heteks facility, separated the minerals from the water and sold them as well.
The Rosnish people have been subject to brutal slavery. Ecosiar and Soaratia once engaged in a slave trade when they were rival superpowers, with Ecosiar being especially cruel. They viewed the Rosnish as sub human, and themselves as the supreme ethnicity. Slavery only ended in Ecosiar in 143 ACC (what would be 1992 Earth).
Some of the countries:
Gulsen: A dominion of Yevsburg, Gulsen remains loyal to the crown of its mother country. It’s population is nearly all Yevsburgish, as the region was seen as forbidden by the native population of Rosnen. Gulsen is a full member of the TCA, and is entirely developed and modernized.
Torqnia: Once part of the Yevsburgish Rosnish Colony, Torqnia broke off in 104 ACC. More than a century prior, its majority native population had accepted the offer of the Yevsburgish king to protect them against the cruel expanding empires of Norphendra. While its rule in Torqnia had ended, Yevsburg’s promise to protect it against Ecosiar still stood while the country still held its colony on the Torqnian border.
Rosnen (Free State): The end of Ecosiar’s cruel empire began here. The illegitimate son of a slave and a Troidonite had escaped slavery at the Heteks facility in 142 ACC, and with the help of abolitionists brought about the empire’s retreat from Rosnen and the end of its slave trade. The free state was supposed to control the entirety of the old colony, but the rapid and disorganized retreat made way for the break away states that now sit south of it. Some of these states still desperately cling to the old imperial ways.
New Brontezland: Originally a colony of the Kingdom of Cazkania, New Brontezland belongs to the Consolidated Republic of Cazkania. The authoritarian state’s rule in Rosnen has been harsh, both on its settlers but especially on the natives who are often used as a state sanctioned slave force for resource extraction. Travel to this territory is forbidden even for Cazkanians, hinting at how awful the situation truly is.
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Undisclosed Island Distillery, Single Cask Nation for Water of Life Film
Review by: Whiskery Turnip Distillery: Unknown. Bottler: Single Cask Nation. Region: Scotland/Island Single Malt. ABV: 48.8%. Age: No Age Statement. Bottled in 2021. Cask type: Oak. Nose: Citrus, orange, maritime, minerals and soft brine, heather, malty bread, hints of dandelion greens and herbs. Palate: Medium to light-body, oily, citrusy and maritime, hints of vanilla and cream,…
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#Island#Islands#Rated 75-79#Scotch#Scotch Review#Single Cask Nation#Unknown Distillery#Whiskery Turnip#Whisky Review
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Of Hazardous Materials and the Irrelevance of Luck
Summary: Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it. Olly has walked on that thin wire many times in the past, but somehow his good luck seems more of a curse than a blessing in disguise.
[Olly's medical trauma is always "fun" to explore, especially if it has to do with what Sulu Ra did to him. This idea stemmed from a conversation between a few people in regards to headcanon clone heights, the fact the gene therapy Olly was subjected to altered his body substantially, and what would happen if he underwent further tampering with.]
Rhythm and Red Alert are @lost-on-kamino 's clone ocs. Nocte is @purgetrooperfox 's clone oc.
THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3
---
The annoying part about all of this, is that the cot Olly is laying on creaks loudly beneath him anytime he moves. And not in that subtle whispering manner that most medical cots will do after losing their newness to a handful of patients. Rather, it practically groans in a fashion similar to that of the dying squeals of a battered and frightened hog. Desperate and begging for both relief and to be spared.
A great majority of the Coruscant Guard's medbay gear is rather old and worn out (from cots and heavy machinery, to cabinets barely clinging to the walls they were affixed to).
The equipment they "own" is older than them by two decades. Salvaged from medical facilities that had undergone extensive refurbishing in the last couple of years, during expensive and flashy electoral campaigns that promised to bring change to the underbelly of Coruscant. The kind of gum flapping that evaded memory after the elections were done and dealt with.
Its scuffed and scratched, chipping and creaky, held together by duct tape and whatever materials they can cook up into makeshift caulk in the supply closet. The same one that holds the Guard's distillery where they make their own home-brewed rotgut.
The Coruscant Guard works with what it has at hand.
Be it the many derelict and long-abandoned buildings that had been repurposed into the various barracks dotted across the many layered levels of the city planet; the recovery of junked crockery with which they could create culinary concoctions they had taught themselves to make, whenever rations were cut to lesser portions and the acquisition of ingredients presented itself as opportune; or even the various means by which many of the Guardsmen had turned to to make a quick credit, for the purpose of buying medication to supply their medbay with.
They are in a sense, self sufficient. Vode in a fixer-upper stationing. The lowest of the low in the eyes of others. Survivors without praise.
Olly grunts as he tries to get comfortable on the too stiff medical cot. The sounds it makes when he so much as shifts his weight onto his side, makes him think it might finally give up the ghost and just crumple into a heap. It doesn't, of course, but the creaking is a loud and irritating backdrop to his current predicament.
A couple of days ago a squad of riot troopers that he had been leading, had ended up caught in a warehouse collapse during what should have been a routine mission. The warehouse in question had been used as a base of operations for some wannabe homegrown bio-terrorist, and the number of unknown chemicals and agents that had been spilled and disturbed during the collapse was certainly worrying. Especially when the boys in haz-suits came out to dig him and his troopers out of the debris.
The most spectacular part was that, for once, there were no casualties to report.
The entire squad had lived through the collapse, which was an unprecedentedly lucky occurrence that somehow hadn't sat well with Olly in the slightest.
He should be glad that none of the young turtles he'd been helping coordinate had gotten seriously hurt or killed. But something deep down in his very core just told him to be wary. Even if he didn't quite understand why.
Well, it had turned out that he was right to be suspicious of the bout of good fortune...
The Guard medics had their hands full with whatever this turned out to be. This unknown ailment without a rhyme or reason to it.
Olly wasn't super close to any of them (he was still learning the names of most of them anyway). And, even if Rhythm had managed to get him to go to the medbay for his PT sessions with Remedy, he wasn't entirely familiar with the medical personnel and their usual demeanor.
Even so, he could tell his fellow vode in red weren't taking this too well. And not without good reason.
Some rather strange symptoms had cropped up a couple of days after the warehouse collapse the turtle squad had been caught in. Symptoms that Olly had initially ignored because they weren't too dissimilar from his usual aches and pains he already endured on a regular basis.
A rather persistent throbbing feeling in the legs (more specifically on the front of the thighs, the calves and behind the knees). Abdominal pain that surged like a stomach ache or heartburn. Headaches and migraines that made resting an agony. Toothaches that made eating difficult. And sometimes inner-ear pain that affected his balance to the point he couldn't really get up without the threat of falling over.
None of that compared to the back pain, but it compounded the effects it had on his mood. How disagreeable he could get if he wasn't entirely 100%. Olly was often lucky that these aches and pains often struck him in the late afternoon or early evening, and that they subsequently disappeared by morning. But sometimes there were bad days where it just wouldn't go away...
So imagine his surprise (and horror) when his squad began to complain of similar instances of his condition. Something had most definitely gone wrong.
Of course, as procedure mandated, Olly and the others had been thoroughly scrubbed and hosed down after rescue, and then quarantined for a period of 48 hours while under observation. Just in case the chemicals they'd been exposed to, turned out to be more than just base components for whatever the nutjob they'd sent to prison had been cooking up in there.
As a general rule of thumb, you didn't take chances with bio-terrorism and bio-hazardous materials. Good troopers either followed the correct protocol, or they suffered the consequences of their bullheadedness accordingly.
In this case however, they had indeed followed the protocol to a T and somehow they still ended up in a bad way. Nothing major had cropped up in the first, second and third day, so they had just assumed everyone was in good health. No one had considered the possibility of it being a sickness of a latent nature...
Remedy and Nocte were trying everything in their power to figure out just what exactly was causing their bizarre symptoms. Trying to single out what sort of strange strain of bacteria, virus, compound or whatever, might be behind the alterations in their bodies, in the hopes that maybe it could be stopped and reversed.
They were a two man team, but also the only medics that could honestly be spared right now. The other medics would have to focus on the influx of troopers that always ended up in their care during the dreaded Coruscanti flu season.
Thus far the only promising results came from the blood tests that had been run on every single trooper showing visible symptoms of the mystery ailment. It didn't look good. Or at least not for the rest of Olly's squad...
"I'm not exactly sure how, but whatever it is that you all were exposed to back in the warehouse, is reacting differently inside of you..." Nocte confessed as he showed Olly the datapad he'd been carrying with him. "The others show the same abnormal levels of HGH. That's to say, all of your pituitary glands are being forced to produce growth hormones at an elevated rate, which is causing unusual growth in the others... But not in your case."
Olly swallowed thickly around the lump forming in his throat as he processed this information. The terms were ones he was intimately familiar with from his time sequestered in Sulu Ra's private laboratory. The most layman way to say it being that he was under-growing another bout of growth spurts. Almost in the same manner as when he'd been put through the gene therapy that had ended up causing him so much hassle on a daily basis.
Only this time he wasn't strapped to some medical table and being injected with liquid fire, while the mad cloner of Kamino watched on in fascination. And this time he wasn't the only one. He was just the guy that had already experienced something similar (and as such had a better chance to survive it that everyone else).
"The others?" He opted to ask, finding to his dissatisfaction that he sounded weak and scared. He was usually good at hiding what he was feeling, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to be anything but pathetically afraid.
Nocte's frown said it all before he even responded.
"Remedy and I are... Trying to keep them comfortable..." The sadness in the medic's eyes bothered Olly enough that he couldn't help look away. "Your body is reacting almost positively to the hormonal imbalance. You're aching all over, have an appetite on you, and have been a little less amicable than usual... Which is honestly what one would expect of someone going through a second puberty of sorts..."
Nocte paused to massage the back of his own neck and to shift his weight from one leg to the other. He seemed to be trying his best to keep things relatively under control, but he seemed to be struggling with finding words that didn't feel overly clinical and impersonal.
The medics could often distance themselves from the patients when they were working. But this was one of those cases where the impartial act really didn't cut it. Vode were dying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
"The others are... It's not an even growth for them. It's reacting more like... Like a very aggressive cancer..." He didn't seem happy to use that word, but it was the closest he could probably find to match what he and Remedy had seen in the others. "Their entire bodies are getting covered in tumorous growths. Inside and out... And it's... It's painful for them, and they're not very likely to survive."
His squad wasn't going to make it. They just didn't have the equipment or resources necessary to save them.
Olly closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing under control.
"I'm really sorry Olly... I really wish I had a better answer to give you." Nocte sighed sadly, sounding just as defeated as the large riot trooper himself felt. "Remedy isn't too happy about just letting them go either. But at this point trying to reduce their pain is the best we can do..."
So long as the boys weren't in pain... That was all he could really ask from the medics.
"And we'll also be keeping you under observation for a little while longer." Nocte added. "Even if you're not mutating out of control like they are, you could still deteriorate if we're not careful..."
The cot creaked loudly as he turned so that his back would face the medic. The sound didn't bother him as much as the awful truth he'd just heard. It was still very annoying however, but it hopefully got the message across.
He wanted to be left alone. Just for a little while.
-
"You should get fitted for Phase II armour." Rhythm suggested as he stood on a chair, measuring tape in hand while he balanced himself on his very tippy toes.
It had been a week since he'd been confined to the medbay, and a day since he'd finally been allowed to return to the barracks.
It was a hollow feeling, as he noted the empty space his squad used to occupy. They had all passed away peacefully in their sleep thanks to the combined efforts of the medics. But the reason behind their passing still left him feeling angry and disgusted.
He'd been lucky. He hated being lucky.
He also hated having to be measured to have his gear readjusted to properly fit his frame. A frame that was no longer within average human parameters.
"8'3"... Damn..." Red Alert whistled as he stared at the tape in astonishment. He had the decency to look apologetic when he got a glare for his troubles.
"We're going to need to get you a bigger mattress..." Rhythm scratched his chin as he looked around the barracks for where they could even put a new mattress to begin with. Was probably already considering all the scavenge spots from where they usually got their "furniture" from.
"We're gonna need to get him a bigger everything." Red Alert shook his head. "Armour, baton, shield..."
Olly moved away from the two of them without so much as a word. He didn't want to be a part of this conversation. Not right now. He was too tired to get angry with his two oblivious friends.
All of this was just... It was too much.
Sitting on his old bunk (having to hunch down noticeably so that his head and shoulders weren't pressed against the bottom of the top bunk ), Olly buried his face in his hands and groaned.
He hated all of this so very much.
"Olly...?" Rhythm had, predictably, followed him.
He closed his eyes tightly and groaned into his hands again, this time gritting his teeth as he did so. He didn't want to talk.
"Is it ok if I touch your arm?"
He shook his head 'no'. He did NOT want to be touched right now.
"Do you need space?"
He shook his head 'yes'.
"Do you... Want us to leave?"
There was a minute pause as he considered this. Finally, Olly shook his head 'no' once more. He didn't want to be touched, and he wanted a little space. But he didn't want to be alone. Not really.
He was scared.
"Ok... We'll just sit here with you for a while ok?" Rhythm asked softly, in that way he always did whenever he was trying to reassure someone. "And then, when you feel a little better, we can go back to sorting out your gear, alright?"
He nodded in agreement. That sounded fine by him.
-
"Looking good Olly! Phase II is very becoming of you." Rhythm grinned at the sight of the new armour Olly was currently trying out. He ignored his Guard vod's antics, noting how some of the pieces still needed to be fitted to his specific body type.
"The Phase I armour was perfectly fine..." He grumbled as he jotted down a few notes to send to the armoury crew. He also requested some paint while he was at it.
"It's outdated." Rhythm pointed out. "Your old one had charm and reliability yeah, but I'm sure this new one's going to serve you just as well."
"Hm..." The new shield would do that, no doubt. He quite liked the heftiness of it, but would miss the history he'd had with the old one. Each deep scratch had told its own story. Stories which he could use to teach the newbies how things worked around Coruscant.
But Fox hadn't been content with just refitting his old gear to accommodate his growth. And the riot trooper suspected Rhythm, Remedy and Nocte had had a hand in requesting him an upgrade. They worried too much.
"You should try being a little bolder with the painjob this time." Rhythm offered. "Not that writing your name on it wasn't bold..."
"I really shouldn't be taking painting advice from a vod who put volume sliders on his own armour, only to then nearly deafen himself by playing loud music all day..." Olly pointed out. "Remedy is still mad about that, last I heard."
"Nah..." Rhythm grins. "Water under the bridge! And hey my paint is very stylish, I'll have you know! Some would say my volume sliders are very fashionable and fun, even!"
"The DJ community is not known for having sensible taste in fashion..."
"You wound me..."
Olly rolled his eyes and continued to inspect himself in the much too short mirror. He might be able to make this work, despite the slight inconvenience his new height offered him.
Whatever the case, he'd be more wary in the future. There were only so many times he could be "lucky" until his "good luck" finally ran out.
Hopefully the next time wouldn't be so tragic.
#Eps Writes#star wars#the clone wars#clone ocs#riot trooper olly olly oxenfree#riot trooper red alert#communications corrie rhythm#clone medic nocte#remedy gets mentioned a bunch but he doesn't actually show up#also yes olly is now canonically 8'3" and he hates it
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Sip Whiskey - Wine-merchant- Retail. Warehouse in San Diego, California, USA.
The Quality Liquor Store starts promotions with discounts on a product not yet on the market, it is to attract customers 😕
Craft Spirit Shop specifically targeted SH fans for the gin and scotch combo 🤨
It's a presale. In this way, his fans buy the product months before its launch. All SH’s products are launched from this marketing movement. For his fans eager for news. For a newcomer to the Gin market, his product is expensive for an unknown distillery - London Dry style.
Buying the bottles separately is $164.98 cheaper than buying the combo a scotch and a gin 🥴
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Arielle & Ned's Daily Tips...Podcast: What The Show Gets So Right About Tips & Life Lessons
TikTok is infamous for numerous tropes -- people dancing like the Houghs to a popular song such as Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees, Ridiculous sovereign citizen police stops, Karens gone wild, and, of course, comedians proving they're not woke with the most outrageous jokes that often sacrifice wit for wildness.
Then we have the life lessons, life hacks, and daily tips. So many. Too many. After watching hours of these lessons / hacks /tips, I'm convinced that WD-40 can solve our renewable energy crisis, eliminate all credit card debt, and resolve the Middle East crisis. Apparently, WD-40 can do almost...well, everything.
This article airs my gripes with some of these life lesson, life hack, daily tip posts, sites, and shows, and offers an engaging outlet for those fascinated by such arcane and useful knowledge.
Let me start with the glass half full. Positivity, right?
In December 2023, a new podcast launched, "Arielle and Ned's Daily Tips That May Or May Not Help You." Right away, I liked this concept. No pretentiousness such as some sites or shows with titles like, "Life Hacks That Will Save Your Life" Or "Secret Life Lessons That Only You Will Know After Reading, Liking, and Reviewing With Five Stars" in this article.
Instead, Donovan and Nissenblatt tell you right in the title of their podcast that their daily tips may not help. There's no money-back guarantee that their tips will revolutionize your life.
This new podcast -- now nearly 180 episodes -- showed off podcasting at its most flexible, fun, and informative. It is only two minutes in length, offering life hacks and lessons of high or minor value, and is fun to listen to.
The counterpart to this approach are those articles or podcasts (sometimes, NPR-adjacent) where life hacks are so weighty and unknown that a pledge of silence is required before they are revealed to you. I read an article a few years ago titled, "The Secret Life Hack that will save your Marriage." Really? I was married for 24 years, then divorced, and I did not believe that "never going to bed mad" was that effective, or a secret.
When I was a newbie to management for a Fortune 50 corporation, my boss said to me, "Frank, the secret to success here starts with the mantra, 'to be early is to be on time.'" To be fair, that is not the secret to success in any corporation, but my boss was right. It sure helps a lot. Don't screw up anything else, and being early and time-reliable can be the factor that separates you from the pack of "I was stuck in traffic" wannabe execs.
Donovan and Nissenblatt offer commonsensical advice that is A. not a secret and B. often not followed and more often ignored.
For example, in their July 31 episode, Donovan offers a simple yet highly effective tip about conversations. Ned rightfully points out that people have a professional and personal life. Don't just focus on one, usually the job part. Ned is so right. At a dinner party, I met a man who was a retired U.S. Mint agent. I thought he'd be dying to tell me tales of counterfeit money and sting operations. However, he didn't get engaged until we started talking about bourbons, specifically Blanton's. What ensued was a fascinating tale of his visits to these Kentucky distilleries and his furtive efforts to attain more Blanton's single barrel bourbon.
In the July 19th episode about hanging picture frames, Ned blows me away with a simple hack to hang pictures easily and correctly. I could tell you, but then you won't go the episode. It's not a secret (like some TikTokers assert about every life hack) but it works.
A few years ago, someone gave me (possibly a re-gift) a one-a-day calendar with a quote to live by for every day of the year. To be clear, it's not a long article with hints of Freemason-type secrecy or exclusivity of comprehension. It's a quote. Here's one example from Greek philosopher Plutarch, who said, "What we change inwardly will change outer reality."
Great stuff. I don't need more. I just need to act upon that simple wisdom. That's what Arielle and Ned's Daily Tips That May Or May Not Help You gets so right. Overthinking and over analysis in long, jargon-heavy or "I know something you should know" articles or podcasts tends to divert energy away from doing into contemplating, reviewing, evaluating, and assessing.
"We wanted to create a show that feels like a daily dose of inspiration and entertainment. Life is full of challenges, big and small, and we believe that sharing practical tips – no matter how quirky or unexpected – can make a positive impact on our listeners' and viewers’ lives," says Arielle Nissenblatt, co-host of the show.
Ned Donovan, the other half of this duo, adds, "Arielle and I are people who love trying new things and optimizing our lives. We’re taking that passion and bringing it to audiences in a quick, digestible, fun format to add a little spice to your day." Notice the lack of pretension in Ned's words. He's not predicting that a listener's life will do a 360-degree flip by listening to their daily tips.
Nissenblatt and Donovan have more modest goals, yet, they have the potential energy to make real change in people's lives. I've listened to every episode of the show and then evaluated every tip. If I followed every tip -- from an act as consequential as "Being knowledgeable about your friends" to something as simple as "Maximizing your toothpaste," I would be the type of human being I would like to hang out with. Until I get there, of course, I'll avoid myself as much as possible, even ghosting myself when necessary.
To wrap up, there are no "secrets" to success and happiness. Sadly, those two attributes are partially determined by race, class, and serendipity. The other half is effort, persistence, and emotional capacity.
Are there guidelines and map coordinates to getting what you want out of life? Absolutely. Daily tips and life hacks are designed to make life a little bit easier and more frictionless.
Ironically, I am ending with a tip. Want to make your life incrementally better every day? Then listen to "Arielle and Ned's Daily Tips That May Or May Not Help You."
After all, "Arielle and Ned's Daily Tips That May Or May Not Help You."recently won the Ear Worthy Independent Podcast Award (AKA The Earlobes) for Best Short Form Podcast. The award is determined by a committee. One committee member cited their favorite episode of the show, which was a May 2024 episode about how to crack pistachio shells that won't open. All the other committee members thought he was nuts...
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$480 million dollar High School dropout Fawn Weaver and Uncle Nearest Whiskey
A high school dropout who left home at just 15, Fawn faced numerous challenges early in life, including a harrowing moment at 20 when she tried to take her own life.
In 2016, a photograph in the New York Times caught her eye—a black man sitting next to Jack Daniel. This was George Green, the son of Nearest Green, a former slave who was erased from many historical accounts. The story online at the time was that Jack Daniels had stole the recipe from a slave. But Fawn had another theory.
For her 40th birthday, she took a trip to Lynchburg, Tennessee, thinking she would write a book about Green. They left after making an unexpected purchase: spending $900,000 for the 300-acre farm she hadn’t realized was on the market, the same location where Green first taught Daniel how to make whiskey.
Fate had one more twist: Weaver eventually found primary documents proving that the farm is the original home of Daniel’s first distillery. As Weaver researched Green’s history she learned that a 20-year-old Daniel had hired him to be his first master distiller after founding his eponymous distillery in 1866—she also traced his genealogy, reconnecting unknown relatives.
She knew that the three descendants who still worked at Brown-Forman wanted to know why Green had been erased from tours. (The two brands now collaborate on a summit promoting Black-owned businesses.)
She had already begun gobbling up trademarks, shocked that Jack Daniel’s had not secured them. And when one descendant shared the opinion that Green deserved his own whiskey, Weaver’s mission became clear.
Fawn started Uncle Nearest Whiskey in 2017. Today, Uncle Nearest has not only tripled its sales since 2021, projecting $100 million in revenue this year, but it has also become the fastest-growing American whiskey brand in history.
Forbes estimates the company’s worth at $1.1 billion, with Fawn's personal stake valued at approximately $480 million. The brand has garnered over 1,000 awards, emphasizing its excellence and impact on the industry.
Fawn is now # 68 on Forbes self-made women's list!
I’m going to go buy a bottle or two of Uncle Nearest this weekend in honor of a true rags-to-riches self-made American story! Here’s to Miss Weaver!
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