#china carton fair

[theseshipsshallsail]

Happy Birthday, Armie Hammer ❤️ May your day (and car) be filled with love, laughter, and the joy of things to come.

He’s precisely where Armie hoped he would be: perched on the low, circular wall at the centre of Luca’s Renaissance garden. 

Long legs crossed at his Conversed ankles. 

Gimlet eyes closed in obvious contentment. 

A thin halo of cigarette smoke gilding his chestnut curls. 

Just like always, the gently sloping lawn masks his unhurried approach, but Tim’s smiling all the same when he brushes aside the tumbling wisteria; turning his face towards him as if fully expecting he’d seek him out. 

As if his company is a given.

Because here they are - two days shy of wrapping their Italian idyll - and they both know that it is.

“I thought you’d quit?” Armie teases, scooping up the familiar carton of Marlboro Golds.

A joint resolution, to be fair, but Tim merely shrugs as he takes another drag: arching his spine in a decadent stretch. “What is it they say?” he murmurs, gesturing for him to sit. “The road to hell is paved with drunk intentions?”

Armie scoffs. “Something like that, yeah.”

They’ve each made an effort to curb the tongue-loosening vino , too.

Nevertheless, he’s so close there’s barely a sliver of breeze between them, and the next time Tim lifts that slender hand he snags his arm mid-movement: autopilot fingers forming a pinion bracelet over the thin blue veins at his wrist. 

The thrum of anticipation is immediate: a subtle, head-to-toe tension born from the effort of staying still. Armie leans in - Tim’s body an extension of his own - and angling the filter he commits the slide of bone and tendon to memory: thoroughly enraptured by the staccato drumbeat beneath his sweeping thumb. 

Self-preservation falls by the wayside, and with no further thought he slots the pilfered cigarette between his waiting lips, relishing the shallow dip in the orange paper from the other man’s teeth: the enticing hint of surrogate dampness as he breathes in deep, invoking the acrid sting at the back of his throat.

“Careful, Hammer…” Tim says softly, fumbling a China demitasse from the ledge of an ornate water feature to ash the smouldering tip. “Just ‘cause you’ve ditched the Giorgio Armani, don't make it any safer to play with fire.” 

His words hold an insight that can’t be dismissed, and Armie exhales slowly; a fresh wreath of silvery-grey blooming like the courtyard’s fragrant azaleas as he tempers his awkward grip. “The last thing I’d want is to see you get burned.” 

“No,” Tim mutters, insouciance personified. “With that martyr complex your sporting, you’d set yourself alight before the flame dared touch me.” 

As accusations go, it’s terrifyingly honest. 

“Some habits die hard, you little asshole.”

“Some habits need to,” Tim counters, discarding the butt in the dregs of his espresso as the rumbling crunch of tyres on gravel issues from the nearby driveway. 

It’s a powerful magic: the element of suspense. Especially when paired with such raw inevitability. There’s so much more Armie longs to tell him - promises and declarations he’s not quite ready to voice - yet braced for the Hollywood falsehoods ahead he settles into the liminal silence: cradling Tim’s hand under the burnished kiss of dawn.

[fanficfish]

explaining Hetalia character badly: highschool edition

Honestly this is prob just gonna be "if Hetlaia was MHA" but bigger and mixed with some American archtypes lol....just imagine they're in some weird highschool anime!

this is the same format as my Family Reunion explaining post. i'm just make this a tag.

again- ALL HEADCANON CRACK! FOR FUN! :D

also not affiliated with W Academy!

Germany: Class Prez. Who you watched struggle with the milk carton from the cafeteria. And the vending machine dispenser.

N. Italy: The class idiot. Every good class has one, you don't know how they're here but OH GOSH WHEN DID HE LEARN TO USE A SCYTHE LIKE THAT-

S. Italy: The one in the back of the class that gets surprisingly decent grades but also has a potty mouth. You know who I'm talking about.

America: Thinks he's the main character.

Canada: Knows he's not the main character.

Estonia: Is the main character and doesn't realize it until he realizes he's in a love triangle, keeps adopting random animals off the street, has an archnemesis that actively tries to murder him, and somehow survives things he definitely shouldn't have survived.

Lithuania: The one with the highest GPA but everyone thought he was a delinquent.

Latvia: The one with the second-highest GPA that everyone knows is a delinquent. Mostly because he was selling test answers out of the janitor's closet.

Russia: The school bully every good school has.

Belarus: The popular girl every school has that can't decide if she likes the "main character" or not.

China: The guy that acts like he's actually 70 and not 17.

Japan: The quiet kid that knows everyone's dark secrets.

France: Of course he's the obligatory French dude in the Japanese anime. Actually what's up with that? Seriously, all the big amines have either a French guy or a super short person (the best ones have both)....

Lichenstein: She's the short one.

Switzerland: Aaaaaand there's the one in the corrner of the cafeteria scheming how to make the most out of the Job Fair.

Austria: That one weird kid that's got a full ride to Juliard and is the reason why your underfunded school has a MUSIC ROOM, HUH-

England: The guy that somehow got himself class monitor, and does a mostly decent job. Unless you ask him about That Clique.

The Clique: aka, the jocks who miiiight also bully the class monitor by flaunting popularity points a little. Just a little. -Denmark: Clique ringleader, acts friendly with everyone so he's popular but you KNOW you're not getting in on the real action unless he invites you to one of his legendary house parties.

-Norway: Clique leader's second in command who's some introvert the clique leader got attached to. Y'know, as extroverts are required to do. Usually has his face in his phone.

-Finland: Popular on his own, the one person in the clique who doesn't understand that in a clique you generally don't socialize outside the clique. Is the reason the main character gets character development through a house party halfway through the series.

-Sweden: That one jock in the group who looks like a jock, talks like a jock, sometimes acts like a jock, but has the highest GPA out of all of the jocks. He's the one that knows Genovia's official fruit but not the name of the fictional kingdom, if you've seen the meme.

-Iceland: Someone's brother who got absorbed into the clique.

Hungary: The girl campaigning that everyone should do the same kind of pushups, that girls can compete with guys and making presentations on the gender gaps in atheltics. Ofc she's the jock that falls in love with the nerd (Austria).

Ukraine: Bakes everyone treats

Netherlands: Bakes everyone treats but makes everyone pay for them

Luxenberg: Your obligatory rich kid., riding to school in Gucci glasses, a Mercedez-Benz, and a jacket with a high-end brand splashed across the pocket. Also has the latest iPhone.

Belgium: Student council rep, joined fifty clubs.

Greece: He shows up, but usually late, with Starbucks, and sleeps through class.

Romania: He shows up every other day, and bribes the class monitor to mark him present. Does show up for Halloween though.

Bulgaria: You show up?

Spain: Complains about the cafeteria food to anyone who will listen.

Australia: Resident jock #1

Cameron: Resident jock #2

Cuba: Resident jock #3

Portugal: Don't mind him he's in a goth phase. The skulls lining his locker will pass. Probably.

Seychelles: The one that secretly brought all the girls flowers from the fundraiser during Valentine's Week despite not knowing what the fundraiser was for.

Poland: The one on the student council who is the reason everyone is wearing couple outfits for School Spirit Week and the theatre club is doing Legally Blonde.

India: The guy who everyone asks to copy his homework because he sure isn't the most popular but damn does he actually know what's going on.

Turkey: The guy that tried to punch a guy, got punched, then turned around and punched the other guy's bullies. Basically he's That Kid That Got Detention For Trying To Be Helpful, though he did start the fight sooooooo

Egypt: Recorded the fight. For historic purposes of course.

idk i ran out of ideas i'm gonna sleep and fix this if i remember who i was gonna put where lol

[trolleyspeaker]

AUSMAN Carton Fair China 2023 | Best Portable Bluetooth Speaker Factory ...

[filmfacedplywoodchina]

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Grade: AA

[route22ny]

Survivor stories: Death, loss and selflessness during the pandemic

By Jacqueline Cutler / New York Daily News

Those days when the word corona made you think beer or crown feel like long-gone innocence.

So much happened during these 18 months that how we’re reacting to different phases of the pandemic and how survivors are coping are worth documenting.

“Voices from the Pandemic: Americans Tell Their Stories of Crisis, Courage and Resilience” is a powerful reflection on the last year and a half. Pulitzer-winning journalist Eli Saslow has managed the near-impossible: He makes you want to read more about the pandemic.

This doesn’t bother with maps of where the virus is spiking or death tolls. It can’t be of the moment. Instead, it’s the story of all of us — those who have taken every precaution and those who refused to acknowledge COVID’s deadly path.

Done in the style of the late great Studs Terkel, these are oral histories as the history is happening. Each section has people sharing their stories in their words.

Sure, it’s edited for clarity, but there’s no spin. It’s unfailingly fair: When a tenant recounts her eviction, the next entry is from a landlord who exhausted her savings trying to not evict people.

Even though we think we know the stories of the pandemic, we can’t – at least not all of them. And we never may. Saslow carefully selected a cross-section of people; some who have since died, some who recovered, some who never may.

Saslow reminds us of the first whisperings. On Jan. 4, 2020, there was news about what was considered a pneumonia outbreak in China. Five weeks later, it had a name, COVID-19.

A month later, life as we knew it stopped.

“She’s dead, and I’m quarantined,” Tony Sizemore, of Indianapolis, says of his love, Birdie Shelton, in the first entry from March 2020. “That’s how the story ends. I keep going back over it in loops, trying to find a way to sweeten it, but nothing changes the facts. I wasn’t there with her at the end. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I don’t even know where her body is right now, or if the only thing that’s left is her ashes.”

With that gut-wrenching opening, we’re off. We meet dozens of people we’ve never heard of, which is precisely the point. Everyone knew when Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson were among the first celebrities to get COVID.

But this book introduces Bruce MacGillis, a man in an Ohio nursing home. He refused to let temp workers who couldn’t wear masks correctly get near him and isolated himself until he was vaccinated.

“I’m a hard-ass about this stuff, and I’m not even a little bit sorry,” he told Saslow. “I can’t afford to take chances.”

Some who tell their stories are the superheroes of the pandemic.

A shift leader of a nursing team in Detroit, Sal Hadwan, recounts insane shifts. While we celebrate and honor health care workers – now more than ever – the dire conditions they were working under were horrifying. Remember garbage bags serving as protective gear? Some had one mask per shift.

In April 2020, Hadwan said: “We’re basically handling the most severe cases in the ER, which is not our training. These nurses don’t have a second to relax. You’ve got one patient’s oxygen running out and another whose heart rate is going wild. All you can do is try your best to hear the alarms and then sprint as fast as you can from one emergency to the next. You hope you make it in time. Sometimes you don’t.”

Naturally, it’s bleak. But there are also stories of humanity at its best.

Burnell Cotlon of New Orleans (pictured above) turned his grocery store in the Lower Ninth Ward into a food pantry. He couldn’t afford to, but some of his neighbors couldn’t afford to eat.

As he said in April 2020, “Last week, I caught a lady in the back of the store stuffing things into her purse. We don’t really have shoplifters here.” He knows the customers in his two-aisle market. The woman swiped a carton of eggs, hot dogs, and candy bars.

“She started crying,” Cotlon told Saslow. “She said she had three kids, and her man had lost his job, and they had nothing to eat and no place to go. Maybe it was a lie. I don’t know. But who’s making up stories for seven or eight dollars of groceries? She was telling me, ‘Please, please, I’m begging you. How are we supposed to eat?’ I stood there for a minute and thought about it, and what am I going to do?”

Colton started running tabs – for the first time. He went from having zero customers on credit to 62 within a month. He kept giving to neighbors until he fell three months behind on his mortgage.

In a postscript, Saslow adds that when Colton’s generosity became known, online fundraisers brought in $500,000. Naturally, he put it to great use: forgiving his customers’ debt and beginning construction on a subsidized apartment building. “He also gave out free school supplies and turned his store into a free vaccination site for the community.”

Every page in this is sobering. Every story chilling, relatable, and absolutely forthright.

For those who lost their jobs and who were living paycheck-to-paycheck, rent became impossible to pay. To lose your job, your health, your relatives and now your home is unbearable. Granted, the news often focuses on the tenants, while many of us assume landlords only take time out from counting their money to harass tenants.

It’s a lot easier to feel for the tenants, who are doing all they can.

Saslow interviewed Tusdae Barr, evicted during the pandemic. Although money was tight before COVID, Barr was making rent with everyone in her family chipping in — until work dried up. Barr eventually found herself ousted, then in cheap motels, and finally with relatives.

If you never thought you could sympathize with a landlord, meet Jayne Rocco of Deland, Fla. She became a landlord 25 years ago when broke, reeling from a divorce. Rocco found a lender, bought and fixed up a cheap house, then flipped it and bought two houses. She continued doing this until she had 10 properties, none fancy. Rocco’s profit was about $40,000 a year pre-pandemic.

Trying to help her tenants and pay her bills, Rocco exhausted her savings. She’s still trying, and still has troubles. With some of the people featured, their troubles are financial. For some, such as a newlywed, former athlete Kaitlin Denis, of Chicago, the effects of long-term COVID, are medical. She’s drained and can barely get out of bed.

And some trying to help, such as Amber Elliot, county health director in Farmington, Mo., found herself threatened with anti-vaxxers posting photos of her kids online.

The book ends with a leading voice of science. Stanley Plotkin, 88, a virologist, “developed the rubella vaccine that’s now in standard use throughout the world.” He’s worked on other life-saving vaccines and consults for the World Health Organization.

“Parents can expect their children to grow up, and that’s a relatively new thing,” Plotkin told Saslow in January. “It shouldn’t be taken for granted.”

If this pandemic has taught us anything, it’s that nothing can.

(source)

[antivirus-mh-au]

Antivirus - Chapter 2

TW: None Chapter 1 here Ao3 link If you like this, please leave a like, reblog, or send me an ask! It encourages me so much.

He blew the smoke from his mouth around the cigarette, the morning sun catching all the particles as they floated into the air. Tim drew the J on top of the fresh carton and dropped the pen onto the dashboard. Pulling the cigarette from his mouth, he drew in a deep breath of fresh air, fresh as you could get at a gas station by a highway. Looking around the parking lot, at the people filing in and out, he shook his head and gave a wry smile. Hard not to be in a good mood when you got some decent sleep for once.

Becca and Lukas were okay. Lukas's leg had been taken care of, and the two had set back off for Idaho, back to the families that loved them. Another success case for Timothy Kane. Another group of people adding to the myth of his existence. Seemed like every month there were more of them. The Operator never tired. The sickness never eased. In fact, it only grew worse.

But like hell was he going to start off a good morning with that depressing shit. He'd gotten paid, gotten rest, and he'd found out where the nearest library was with free internet. He was not going to let a rare moment of peace escape him. He'd lost too much for that.

The library wasn't far away from the gas station he'd refilled at. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, it was open, as were the windows on the front of the building. He spoke briefly to the clerk at the front desk, making sure he understood their internet rules and that it was okay for him to bring in his thermos of coffee, before finding a convenient spot by a power outlet. 

His laptop was getting old, it took a while for it to boot up. As Tim waited, he thumbed through a newspaper. Experts predicting a war with China for the third time in as many years, conflict in the Middle East, the royal family in Britain getting roped into some scandal or another. That was why he didn't read the news much, it was always the same. By the time he got to the comics (never his favorite part of the newspaper), his laptop had finished, and Tim traded the two without a second thought.

He could and did check his email on his phone but he was old-fashioned and preferred to use his laptop when he had the chance. Earlier Becca's mother replied to his report about her daughter returning home, a message he'd saved in a special folder he looked at when he felt particularly shitty. 

Another email was waiting for him now, from a 'Meridith Frederickson'. Another client, looking for her son and his missing best friend. He replied to that one, offering to schedule a Zoom meeting later that same day. By now he knew all too well what happened if he wasn't on top of his cases. 

And of course, he had new messages in the spam folder. Tim glanced over the subjects of the emails without opening any of them. Some didn't have any, but most were vaguely threatening, the kind he usually got from trolls and kids. 'Always watching', 'there's no escape', 'how could you', and on and on and on. People thought they could get a rise out of him by acting like totheark, but none of them even came close to what Brian had been all those years ago. 

Tim glanced at the tab next to his email, frowning. There was no sense in trying to put it off, even if he hated doing it. Everything on that site made him feel worse, and today had been a pretty good day. But if he didn't look, he'd regret it later, falling into a rabbit hole of updates that was guaranteed to fuck him over. So he opened YouTube.

The videos were taken down years ago, the channels involved with Marble Hornets wiped from the website. But that didn't mean they were gone, just hidden away on Google Drives and shock sites. What was on YouTube was... the fandom.

It made his skin crawl thinking about it. People from all over the world were obsessed with what he and Jay had been through. He'd seen hundreds of articles about the videos, from five minute listicles to long analysises about the events and the people involved. He'd seen other things, too, things he'd rather not remember. Like the fanart...

Out of everything, though, it was the YouTube community that unsettled him the most. The passionate, wide eyed college kids. The naive high schoolers. The older people, with their backgrounds in criminal science and forensics and cryptids and God knew what else. They picked over the videos and tweets and codes like vultures at a pile of bones. Like it was just a fictional web series, like people he knew and once liked weren't dead. And they spread the disease. It didn't take all of them, leaving the YouTubers alone, but claiming their followers. It made him sick thinking about all the people he couldn't save, the people who had no one left to try and find them, the people who vanished into Rosswood Park and were never seen again. It made him sick, watching these ignorant people talk about his pain as if they were all insects under microscopes.

But if he didn't pay attention, who knew what might happen. The Operator was watching all of them. One slip up was all it took.

He scrolled through both the front page and his subscriptions. The videos were, in the end, all the same. Speculation, discussion, analyzation. Some of them he could watch later. Others needed his attention now.

Tim’s eyes landed on a video, and his heart clenched. The Neophyte was streaming again.

The still image didn’t show much. Neophyte_Calling didn’t put much work into his channel. It was just a shot of what the streams normally showed, pale, unkempt hands poking free from black robes, resting on an old plastic table. That was what he expected to find once he opened the stream.

And he’d be correct, that was what awaited him once he got the courage to click. The hands twitched and clenched and dug at the table. It wasn’t the hands that were special though, it was what the owner of those hands were saying.

“Autumn after firestorm, the nights don’t listen and the butter is on the corn. Ten days or twenty paces of living guts wrapped around an old man’s neck. The water comes up to your waist but you don’t feel the attitude of denial inside the bastard daughter’s heart. Oh, god, eureka, industry was never so smooth…”

Complete nonsense. The ramblings of a man on some kind of drug, or lost to some unknown mental illness. Despite this, the chat flooded with messages. Donations popped up occasionally, attempts to get the Neophyte’s attention. He didn’t notice. He never noticed. He just kept talking. And he would keep talking until the stream ended on its own, or he passed out on the table.

People called him a prophet. Claimed every word he spoke had a double, or even a triple, meaning. They recorded every word he said and discussed them among themselves, coming up with ‘translations’ for his maddening dialogue. And to be fair, they could have a point. Sometimes, what the Neophyte said did seem to foretell events that happened not long after he spoke them. But the god the Neophyte channeled was not one Tim would ever ask someone to worship.

Silence. The man stopped talking, his fidgeting hands resting flat on the table. Dread filled Tim’s body. Speak of the devil, he was doing this again?

The Neophyte spoke again, his voice deeper now. The words came clumsy from his mouth, uncomfortable, heavy, as if he had never spoken before. The emphasis, the tone, it was all wrong. Tim had no trouble understanding them, however.

“You always fight,” It said through the Neophyte’s mouth. “You always resist. You tire, and exhaust, and fall. You continue to fight despite.”

The robes shifted, the head hidden from the camera’s view tilting.

“Tim,” It said. “You are a grain of sand. I am eternal. I am here. I will always be here. You understand. You continue despite.”

On the side of the screen, the chat surged with messages. It raced so quickly, Tim couldn’t have read any of them even if he tried. He didn’t look away from the livestream. 

“Tim,” It said again. “Enough. You have fought hard. You are getting old. That’s enough. It’s time to come home. To us. To all of us.”

The hair stood up on his arms, on the back of Tim’s neck. He shuddered.

“Like hell,” he whispered, and closed the tab.

But even though he closed the livestream, he could swear he heard the Neophyte, the thing puppeting him, whisper in his mind.

“Coward.”

When 2pm rolled around, Tim was back in his van in the library parking lot. Obviously he couldn’t do a Zoom call inside the quiet space, but their internet reached well past the parking lot. He sat on his bed, now folded up like a couch inside the converted van he lived in. His laptop open before him, the program open and ready. Now he just had to wait for her.

Hard to say what this Meredith Fredrickson would expect a private investigator like him to look like, but Tim did his best to look presentable anyway. Hair combed, beard trimmed, leather jacket kept to the side out of her line of sight - leather jackets weren’t worn by authority figures, and that was what he was trying to be right now. Not anyone could do this job, but who’s to say she knew that? If she didn’t like the way he looked, she could try to find someone else to find her son and his friend. And if she did that, by the time she realized only Tim could help her, it would be too late.

Thinking about it that way made him shudder.

Of course, while he was prepared to deal with what she thought he would look like, he wasn’t as ready for what she herself would look like. As the call began, and Meredith’s face came on screen, Tim hesitated. He looked at her closely again. Had he seen this woman before?

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fredrickson,” He greeted.

The woman shook her head, her curly brown hair tossing around her slim shoulders.

“Meredith is fine,” she said. “I haven’t been called ‘Mrs’ since my husband died. I changed back to my maiden name - my son’s last name will be his, not mine.”

“Of course,” Tim said. Odd information to include, but people tended to ramble when they were nervous.

He looked at her again, at the frown lines developing around her lips, and the worry and pain in her wide-set eyes. Behind her was a normal looking home, a few windows with pale curtains, a kitchen kept clean from what little he saw. Something was nagging at him. What was it?

“Did you fill out the information packet I requested?” He asked.

Meredith nodded.

“Yes.”

The file appeared, Tim half-listening to her as he opened it.

“I know this is a very strange thing to ask from you,” Meredith said. “But circumstances have changed in a way I really didn’t expect. I know it’s hard to believe that after ten years my son could be alive, but I don’t have any other explanation for…”

She trailed off. Tim didn’t look away from the document she’d sent. The names written on the very first line.

Missing People: Jay Merrick and Alex Kralie

Motherfucker, had he been tricked?

Tim shot the woman a sharp glance, examining her expression in seconds. She was not the first person to ask him to track down Jay and Alex, but she was the first he hadn’t screened out before it got this far. Most people were upfront about their intentions, or were obviously trolling, or he otherwise got weird vibes from them. This Meredith had slipped him by, and wasted his time in the process.

“He is my son,” Meredith said. “I’ve included his birth certificate, since I thought you might not believe me.”

“I don’t need it.” A birth certificate? Those weren’t easy to fake, but Tim was no expert on Photoshop either. 

“I would’ve included Alex’s, too,” Meredith continued. “After all the years he and Jay knew each other, you would’ve thought I’d have it too.” She laughed, and there was pain within it. “But his parents died in a car accident about six years back, and…”

“Wait.” Tim refocused. “Alex and Jay knew each other?”

“Since the first year of middle school,” Meredith said with a nod. “I have a lot of photos of them. You know, Jay went through a phase, where he wore all black, and listened to rock music with singers I couldn’t understand. He got a tattoo of one of the bands on his ankle behind my back. I was so angry...”

She laughed again, and her eyes went distant. Tim stared at her, his mind flashing back to all the conversations he’d had with Jay, things that didn’t go into the videos. Being Alex’s childhood friend, since middle school - the phases he went through as a teen - that damn tattoo he was so embarrassed of. None of these were known by the fandom.

Oh god, this woman was the real deal. Even her face, now that he looked at her, was just like Jay’s. The distant look in her eyes as she thought… Jay got that same expression.

“Meredith,” he said, his voice softer, kinder. “Do you know about Marble Hornets?”

“I can’t bring myself to watch them,” she said. Meredith folded her hands together. “But I know what… what was shown on the videos. I know that they are…” She swallowed. “Considered dead by most people. I was one of them.”

His gut twisted. By most people, including her. “But something… changed.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, and moved to wipe her eyes. “I got a package in the mail about a week ago. Inside was a flashdrive and a few printed photos. It had been placed in my mailbox - I don’t know who sent it.”

Oh no, Tim thought. Not this again. Please, don’t play this game with people again.

“What were the photos?” He asked, aware of the sound of his own voice more than anything else.

“I’ve included most of them in the document,” Meredith said. “I… I still can’t believe what I’ve seen, but… But they don’t look like they could’ve been faked.”

Dread pressed down on his shoulders. Dread and something else, some kind of energy buzzing through his nerves. Tim looked at the document, scrolled down, and opened the photos.

Some were blurry, taken from a distance and zoomed in before being printed. Some were clear as glass. It took him several seconds to process what he was seeing, what the subjects of the photos were. Tim blinked, looked again, and his pulse quickened.

Alex, standing on a street corner, gray in his hair, exhaustion on his face. Jay in a dark cloth jacket with a hood, looking over his shoulders. Alex, and Jay, Alex, and Jay, in all the photos, in every single one. The clothes were different, the faces aged, but there was no denying what he was seeing, and like Meredith said, no way to fake what he was looking at.

“Oh my god,” Tim mumbled.

Jay and Alex were alive.

[whirlybirbs]

all I can think abt is how cozy obi looks in that one gifset in his robes in rots & now I’m thinking about sith!obi just looking like a cute lil thing in his huge dramatic sith robes.,

a/n: this spurred the next installment in “fortem is tiptoeing around his feelings while the senator leaps around them”, read the whole work on ao3!

He wakes to sound of something sizzling in a pan on the oven, the smell wafting over to his perch among the cushions on your sofa. 

The Sith inhales long and slow, pulling his eyes open as he shifts in the small nest he’d burrowed himself into throughout the night -- the two blankets you’d provided, plush and soft, are around his legs and his robe is balled up beneath his head, making him look like he’s drowning in a river of bedding. He can feel a crick in his neck from the odd angle he’d dozed off in, having been guarding the apartment with more seriousness than he’d originally anticipated. 

He couldn’t help it, though, after you’d ambled from your room at an odd hour with anxiety painted over your usually stoic features. It was... out of character for you. Though, the Sith couldn’t blame you. There’d been an attempt on your life earlier that night. Sleep, for many, wouldn’t come easy after a threat to that degree. Even for an icy, powerful, young Senator who has a Sith Lord wrapped around her very thumb. 

Fortem exhales. He pulls himself upright and blinks blearily over the back of the couch at the morning sun streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. 

When in the seven hells did she pull the shades up? Had he really slept through that?

The morning traffic has already begun, the sound of the air-lanes humming by. It dances on the plush, maroon carpet. The light is soft, warm and sweet -- the exact opposite of how Fortem looks right about now. 

He has to fight the temptation to fall back into the cushions. 

Fortem’s hair is strewn about, with his auburn cowlick pointing straight up, yet simultaneously in every direction possible. His black under-tunic is the only thing around his shoulders. After all, he’d hucked his top robes off his body in a flash of heat in the middle of the night. Your apartment had been freezing one minute, then unbearably hot the next. He was trying to get comfortable. 

Fortem scratches his beard as he swings his legs off the couch. Woolen socks meet the carpet and he cracks his neck, rubs his face, all before being greeted with a soft laugh from your direction.

You’re slipping a prevva egg omelette onto a plate for him as you speak, gaze lingering on the sleepy Sith from your spot at the kitchen’s island.

“I was worried you’d gone and died in your sleep, Darth Fortem.”

Fortem groans and stands, moving to snatch his tunic and tug it over his head. As he does, you spy the hem of his long-sleeve lift, showing a trail of hair up his abdomen that matches that of his beard along with dark Dathomirian tattoos -- you pretend having not caught the sight, lowering your eyes as you fix yourself a plate for breakfast while he clears his throat and moves to fix the mess he’d made of the couch in his sleep.

And his hair. Gods, his hair is a mess. Atrocious. He fusses it down.

His is hoarse with sleep when he finally speaks. “I might as well have. How long have you been up, then?”

“Not long,” you tut, switching off the oven and gathering the two plates. You move gracefully across the apartment, dropping the plates at their spots on the dining table outlooking the air-lanes of Coruscant’s morning traffic. It’s practiced, and Fortem wonders if you’ve made breakfast for many overnight guests before.

He steps from the sofa, moving towards the table that you’ve settled at -- you sit unlike he’s seen before. One leg pulled to your chest, arms leaned around to dig at the omelette on the delicate china plate. Your fork and knife tinker softly against the setting as you drop a bite into your mouth and chew.

You look softer -- less... dangerous. Fortem wonders if it’s the warm light of the morning, or the domesticity radiating from your actions. He settles down at the table without a word, golden eyes glued to you the entire time he moves.

You shift in your seat as Fortem chews, happily realizing you are a good cook; he spares you a sheepish look as he digs in for another bite. 

“Hungry?” you ask softly after swallowing your mouthful, a polished example of etiquette even in the informal setting of a hit-man and his employer eating breakfast together, “There’s another carton in the fridge --”

“You didn’t need to feed me.”

“I don’t have guests often,” you shrug, “It’s rare I cook for someone aside from myself -- and you did pluck me from a free-fall last night. This is the least I could do for saving my life.”

You gather your napkin from your lap, placing your fork and knife down as you stand -- Fortem continues his endeavor on finishing his plate, stealing a side-ways glance as you move across the apartment. You snatch something from the counter, then sit back down. 

You’re still in your robe from the night before, hair relaxed and face bare -- he spies a glimmer of gold along your neckline and tries his best not to stare at your décolletage as you slide a platinum card his way. 

Manicured nails recoil as his face warps in confusion.

“Your payment.”

His mouth is full. He chews quickly, eyeing you and the card and you again, before snagging the credit crypto-card with a measured level of scrutiny. 

He’s only seen these a handful of times before -- but it makes sense. It’s an account, essentially, operating off your usual banking chain-code and heavily encrypted. Maul had once copped a collection of these little beauties; not even the best cryto-pirates in the guild had been able to slice the binds off the credit transfer system. 

Reliable, clean, secretive. 

Perfect payment for a man of Fortem’s caliber.

His brows are knotted. “I’ve not delivered my end of the --”

“The deal has changed,” you mutter, “I think it’s fair to say.”

His fork wavers in the air. Golden eyes blink at you. 

“I’d like to keep you around,” you say finally, digging around your omelette and pushing the egg about on your plate, “Until this is sorted and I find out who is trying to ensure I end up dead... For the price of triple our original agreement, if you agree.”

“Forget the price.”

You balk. 

He doesn’t even look up, just forks another mouthful and chews. Fortem’s jaw tightens as he does which gives you a better view of the tattoos along the column of his throat and neck. They’re jagged and puzzle-like, running like deep rivers across his skin. They disappear beneath his collar and the stubble of his beard. You wonder if they’re everywhere; his chest, of course, but his arms? Legs? Back?

You can see the edges of some peeking out from the hem of his under-tunic’s cuff, darting up his wrist. Typically, his hands are hidden beneath jet-black, leather gloves. But now, in the morning sun, you can see the callouses and scars alongs his knuckles from years of fighting.

His gaze meets yours. “I am serious, stop looking at me like that.”

“... Why?”

A shrug. He tosses his napkin onto his now empty plate and sits back. He crosses his arms and shrugs. Fortem speaks slowly, ignoring the annoyed wane of his heart and mindful logic as he does. 

“Wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me to take advantage of a kind Senator in need, would it?”

You narrow your eyes, albeit playfully. “And what of serving your best interest?”

Fortem shrugs. “You said it yourself; things have changed.”

His lips quirk and your face plays at something just as amused. Your lashes flutter, a scoff on your tongue, when suddenly, there’s a call at the door. 

A sharp knock, followed by the buzzer announcing loudly:

“-- Senator, Sir Praze from the Financial District is here for you.”

Your head whips up from the meal. 

Fortem makes a face.

Instantly, you’ve sprung up; your eyes are wider than ever, face contorting into an expression that fleets between worry and fear and anxiety all at the same time. Fortem screws his brow as you usher him up with hushed words and gentle hands.

“Get up,” you hiss, “Into the bedroom.”

“What?”

You move quickly across the room, hands pressing the buzzer as you speak cooly into it. “One moment. Send him up.”

Fortem is confused -- but suddenly realizes that you’re about to receive a guest... and can’t help but snort. You swat away any remarks he’s about to croon your way with your hand, opening the door to your bedroom and nearly shoving him in. 

“Stay here and,” you bite your tongue, “Just... be quiet, Fortem, please.”

He leans on the door frame. 

“So ashamed of me, dear?”

“Terribly,” you bite, smacking his arm away as you close the door, grumbling as you do, “Please! This... of course he’d show up --”

Fortem is then left with the sight of your door as you hurry away and slam it quickly in a haze. 

From the other side of the door, he hears you greet someone -- this Sir Praze character, he assumes -- rather stiffly before a moment of silence washes over the room and Fortem has to lean his ear to the door to get a good listen.

“My love, I’d been so worried.”

... Oh. How curious. 

[fulang1]

Ma vie au temps du coronavirus

23/07/2020

Et voilà, je suis de retour, momentané, à Paris. Vol sans histoire, si ce n’est des vents arrières qui nous ont bien secoués mais qui nous ont fait arriver avec trente minutes d’avance. 

Contrairement à la partie nationale qui était assez animée, la partie internationale de l’aéroport de Pékin était vide, 

il n’y avait que quatre vols prévus sur les écrans. 

Les magasins hors taxe étaient bien sûr fermés, faute de clients. En revanche, l’enregistrement chez Air China a pris une heure et demie alors que l’avion était rempli au tiers environ. Les passagers non européens devaient donner des raisons de leur voyage: affaires, familiales, études. Les voyages de tourisme ne sont pas autorisés. 

Covid 19 oblige, nous avons eu le service minimum malgré le prix maximum payé pour le billet (2300 € pour un aller simple en économie). Seule boisson pendant tout le voyage, des bouteilles d’eau distribuées généreusement. Même pas une petite tasse de café. Les deux repas servis dans des boites scellées en carton , pour être bien sûr de la sécurité virale, étaient difficilement mangeables mais quand on a faim, on ne fait pas le difficile. Un peu avant d’arriver, le personnel navigant s’est transformé en cosmonaute, pour éviter toute contamination possible à l’ouverture des portes.

Le contrôle automatique des passeports “paraf” est fermé car il faut poser ses doigts pour s’identifier, d’où risque de transmission de virus. Le contrôle manuel a été très rapide, même pour les passagers chinois. Aucune caméra de détection de température mais en revanche on propose gratuitement de faire un test Covid-19. Comme je l’avais fait deux jours auparavant, je ne l’ai pas fait. D’ailleurs, personne n’avait l’air intéressé par mon certificat, que ce soit à l’embarquement qu’à l’arrivée. Drôle de pays. 

Ce matin en rue, peu de masques, mais en revanche, tout le monde porte un masque dans les magasins sous peine d’amende. Les Français n’arrivent pas à se discipliner et il faut les menacer du bâton pour qu’ils obéïssent. En Chine, un rappel à l’ordre gentil mais ferme suffit. Autre culture.

Un nouveau foyer de contamination à Dalian, dans le Nord Est chinois. Ce virus n’a pas fini de nous “ennuyer”.

[egtcp-blog]

Expand Your Business In China: www.egtcp.com

[secret-rendezvous1d]

D E C E M B E R  5 T H

REQUEST Could you do maybe a sadder one after Ellie and Alfie’s miscarriage and for Christmas they all cheer him up

A little bit of a sad one.

Edited from the request but still following the concept.

We haven’t really gone in too deep with Alfie and Ellie’s miscarriage so that may be something we need to talk about in the new year; it’s a massive part to their storyline, therefore a huge part in the missus and Harry’s storyline so, as sad as the topic may be, it would be something I’d like to delve deeper into. To give you an insight to that part of their lives.

I know a lot of you are eager for some smut to commence and those stories will soon be posted for you to read; keep bearing with me as Blogmas progresses.

!! TRIGGER WARNING; THIS STORY CONTAINS AND MENTIONS ELEMENTS OF MISCARRIAGE !!

If this is one topic that you are don’t want to read, can’t handle reading or don’t feel comfortable reading then please SKIP this story.

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read.

Enjoy! x

D e c e m b e r  2 0 t h  2 0 1 8.

YN had always loved big, family Christmases.

Ever since she was a little girl, when she was old enough to know what Christmas was all about, she had always loved when her parents got everyone together for the twenty-fifth of December; old family friends who they had asked round to celebrate, her grandparents who they invited round for a big dinner in the afternoon and her aunts and uncles who they had asked to come round to enjoy a buffet tea in the evening. Seeing those family members and those family friends that she and her parents rarely saw through the year but had always missed and would look forward to seeing when the time came along with hatter filling a home that was usually quiet and empty from the masses of people and wasn’t commonly filled with drunk laughter filling the rooms from silly stories and the cracking of horrendous jokes being shared throughout the house.

When Harry had walked into her life all those years ago, when she was a new teenager in and amongst the hustle and bustle of London town, each Christmas that they spent together had lead to even bigger celebrations that what she had been involved with when she was a child; Anne and Robin were now a part of her life and had table-places at her parents’ kitchen table for when they planned a dinner, Gemma and Harry had a place in her home like they were another pair of children in her parents’ lives and, sometimes and when Anne had nervously brought it up after much apprehension because she thought it was cheeky of her, his grandparents were welcomed to spend time with them and were given their spare room because it was never fair to send the elders to an unfamiliar hotel.

That was exactly how she wanted to spend Christmas with her own children and with her own web of family that came through partnership and marriage. A full home with all the people she had grown up with and met and grown to love over the years, surrounded by love and laughter and fun and excitement, gorging on the delicious food she had cooked and drinking wine as the seconds ticked passed. Playing board games and singing Christmas songs before cosying down with hot chocolates and cups of tea as Christmas specials showed on the television.

The knocker upon the front door knocked three times, the harsh sound breaking the silence of the lower level of the house and startling her from her place at the kitchen sink, the faucet switched off by her sopping wet hands that she soon wiped on her apron, soap suds popping and disappearing on their own. The sleeves of her jumper hanging over hands as she jogged through the living room and burst into the porch, pulling the door open with abrupt speed, to reveal the only person she was expecting. Her son. Standing tall upon the top step and dressed in a thick coat, with his unruly curls peeking out from underneath his beanie and accentuating his earlobe - one ear homing an air-pod with his other looked empty - and his wind-bitten cheeks matched the rim of his eyes, that were watering from the chill in the air. A bag of Christmas presents by his feet and an envelope tucked into his pocket, sticking out from beneath the wool-polyester flat, topped with a black button. A smile on his chapped lips.

“Hi, mum.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” YN crooned, wrapping her arms around her son’s shoulders and welcoming him into the warmest hug she could muster up. To keep him warm from the bitterness of the December air, the winter bite already nipping at the exposed skin showing from the hems of her tweed trousers and tingling her hands, fresh and clean after spending hours preparing a dinner at the kitchen counter and having stripped vegetables from their skin and chopped potatoes up for her signature mashed potato dish. Her apron still tied around her middle and a knot was situated at the base of her neck, just beneath the messy bun that she had pulled her hair back into. “Oh, darling, it’s so good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home. Love being up Manchester but it’s lovely to back here with everyone. It’s not as lonely,” he hummed with delight and melted into the soft hug from his mother’s arms. Chin resting upon her shoulder as he took a deep inhale of the smells filling the house, beanie loosening from the tight grip it had upon his head and showing the tops of his ears, curls slipping out from underneath the folded brim and his fringe flopped loose. Meat cooking, which he guessed were mince to be mixed with whatever else they were having to eat, and the smell of steaming vegetables wafted through the door. “It smells good in here. Shepherds pie?”

“Shepherds pie,” she confirmed, pressing a kiss to his wind-bitten cheek before pulling away, bumping the front door closed with her heel and letting it shut with a band, “how are you doing? Me and your dad were going to pop up to Manchester to go see your Nana Anne, the other day, but he was hit with the flu so we had to postpone it. He’s been upstairs for the last two days trying to get better,” she snorted, helping him take his coat off and hanging it on a hanger so he could kick off his boots and set them underneath the porch table. “Gemma travelled up there to pick her up so she can spend Christmas down here with all of us. It wasn’t fair to let her come down alone,” she said, leading the way through to the kitchen and flicking the kettle on as she passed by, “what time is Ellie due here?”

“I said six but she’ll probably be through soon. I’ve only just got off the phone with her,” he smiled. He snagged a raw carrot from the colander in the sink before hopping upon an empty space of the counter, his cheeks tingling from how warm it was and his fingers gaining their senses back as they wiggled under the heat of the atmosphere. A crunch coming from between his teeth as he bit down and chewed. “Her parents are still good to come for Christmas Day, right?”

“Of course! Me and Joan have been planning away on who’s doing what,” YN laughed, wiping down the surface with the sleeve of her jumper.

For the last six years, she’d been inseparable with Ellie’s mother and had always had a story to share about what they got up to when ever they went out and about together. If they went to a coffee house, Joan had always ordered one of each cake because she could never decide what to eat with her latte. If they went shopping, YN had always done something clumsy and silly that people ended up staring at them, which only caused Harry to perk up with a rebuttle of how she had always been clumsy - their first meeting being the basis of where his retort came about. If they went to the cinema, Joan had always ‘almost’ dropped the popcorn and YN had always ‘almost’ spilt her drink. At first, the two teenagers thought it was the worst idea - their parents becoming best friends? What would happen if they split up and had come to a brutal end? A friendship would have been over and they would have felt the guilt. But as the years went by and they realised they were strongly compatible and had a bright future ahead of them,

“We’ve got Jack coming for Christmas, too. I think he said that his parents were away on a trip around the holidays so he and Seff are coming up from Southampton together in a few days.”

Silence fills the room and YN rather enjoys it.

It wasn’t a silence that sounded eerily quiet and made anyone crave for noise; it was a silence that felt full because her little boy, her only boy, was home from university, home from living so far up north, and taking up his space in the house. It wasn’t anyone else’s to have. Irreplaceable. A space that had been left behind when he had packed up his belongings and had gone to stay in a dorm up in Manchester. A silence that the twins couldn’t fill, that Persephone couldn’t fill when she popped up for a night or two, that Gemma couldn’t quite fill when she popped through for a cup of coffee, that Harry couldn’t fill with... no matter how hard they tried, nothing seemed to feel right without Alfie.

She stood on her tiptoes and reached for three mugs of tea; one for her, one for Alfie and one for Harry because the floorboards were creaking upstairs so she knew he was walking around and dressing in something a little warmer to keep himself nice and cosy. The occasional sniffle and chesty cough echoing through the ceiling. To Alfie, he sounded rough but it was an improvement, so to speak. The china clinked as she set the mugs down on the counter, the kettle still whistling on its own as it boiled enough water to fill up three mugs, and she busied herself by gathering the carton of milk from the fridge and the sugar-pot from the middle of the kitchen island since Harry had left it there after sprinkling some upon his porridge that morning. 

“Alfie-”

Alfie couldn’t help but dryly roll his eyes because she was speaking in that tone again. 

The tone that screamed worrisome and concerning... and she had every right to be worried and concerned, and a little sad and upset, too. Because her son and his girlfriend had gone through something so terrifying, that not many teenagers would have to experience, at seventeen years old. A miscarriage was tough on anybody who had ever gone through that trauma but for a young boy and his girlfriend? Who had barely hit adulthood? Who weren’t quite independent and still depended on their parents to help? Who were so far apart from each other because of university? 

He didn’t have the time to grieve properly and YN knew that, he didn’t have the time to cry properly and YN knew that and he didn’t have the time to take in what exactly had and was happening and YN knew that. 

“Mum, I’m fine. Honestly,” he interrupted, half of a bitten carrot rolling between his fingers before he slipped it between his lips and chewed upon the orange vegetable. Eyes staring at the ground as he swung his feet, back in and back out, heels tapping the cupboard door beneath him. “Me and Ellie, we’re doing okay. At least, I think she’s doing okay. We’re not back to normal but, we’re doing okay.”

“Joan said that Ellie took it harder than she had expected. Said that her strong little girl was someone who looked like she had the world taken away from her,” she frowned, spooning two spoonfuls of sugar into the three mugs, upon the teabags that were set at the bottom, “it’s a whole kind of different upset when you go through something as traumatic as a miscarriage. It’s not like you lost a piece of jewellery or a shoe or your mobile phone. You lost a baby and it’s a huge thing to get your head around, as it is, but to lose what you were so excited for, it chips away at your walls,” YN sighed softly, spoon tinkling in Harry’s mug as she left it behind and walked across the stretch of empty space, leaning up to hug him. Her arms winding around his neck and he ducked down to hold her tightly, his face pushing into her collarbone, sighing heavily, “when you told us, god, me and your father didn’t know what to do. We felt angry because it was such a reckless move for you both but we felt happy and excited for you because babies are so amazing and they make you feel so great and you second-guess yourself but we felt so scared for you and for Ellie. Your futures would have been jeopardized.”

“We would have made it work, Mum,” Alfie informed her, pulling away and looking down. Her eyes holding a look of disbelief as he smiled warmly, “we would have, Mum. I would have given up everything to make sure Ellie had someone by her side. To know she was happy and looked after.”

“We raised you right, didn’t we, huh? You are your father’s little boy, to a T,” she sighed and pinched his chin with her fingers and thumb, holding his jaw with her palm. From the green eyes and curly hair to his gorgeous personality and stealthy height, no matter whether they were close or strangers, anyone would comment on just how alike Harry and his son were. How Alfie resembled the good guy that Harry had always proved himself to be; how he stood out in a crowd and how he lit up an empty room from just his laughter and his smiling face; how he was so kind and charming and respectful to everyone he came across, no matter how he was being treated. Anne had said it, Gemma had said it and YN had said it - “the world needs more Harry’s living upon it” and Alfie was one of the minimal number of blokes that could be categorised under that. “Everything we ever wished you would be, you are, and we’re so proud of you, Alf. We’re proud of all of you kids. You make us feel so lucky, every single day, to be your mum and dad.”

“Would I have been a good dad, Mum?”

YN’s face fell. Her palms cupping his cheeks and stroking under his eyes, wiping the moisture away, with her thumbs.

“If you’re anything like your father in that aspect, you will be an exceptional dad, sweetheart. The best father to your little ones,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek and swiped her thumb beneath his eye, “you’ll do just fine, I promise. You might have you dad’s charm and his witty behaviour but you’ve got my brains. All you kids have-”

“Heeeey,” Harry whined from the entryway, a rasp in his throat and a sniffle sounding around the room, “I’m smart, as well. Would like to think I have input in your brains, somewhere along the way.”

“Of course,” YN grinned, turning back to her son and winking, “dad’s pretty smart, too.”

*

There was something different about being back in London...

His family and his girlfriend and his best friends were there, for starters. The scenery was different in London than it was in Manchester; from the journey down, it changed from a city centre to plentiful countrysides before changing to a busy city centre that seemed much busier than where his temporary location had been. In an Uber on the way home, there were more streets than he had remembered driving down. From the balcony in m his parents’ bedroom, he could see street lamps that lined streets that were miles away in the distance and the town of Hampstead that was just a short walk down the road, to the left.  

But there was a homely feel that hit him when he walked through the door. The feeling that was missing when he left London town.

“Here you are.”

Alfie lookee over his shoulder and took in the look of his bleary-eyed girlfriend, with two glasses of mulled wine in her hands, a warm smile on her lips.

“Wondered where you were. Said you went for a wee but never came back. Your dad thought you’d fallen in the loo,” she giggled, walking over to him and stretching an arm out, offering a glass of mulled wine to him, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just thinking about things. Uni, bow this year went, you and me, our holiday next year,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and taking the glass from her, “do you ever think about what life would have been like if-”

“If I never miscarried?”

Him falling silent was all Ellie needed to know that that was exactly how his sentence ended.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, taking a seat at the table and setting her glass down and gripping the lapel of her jacket, tightening the garment around her shoulders, “we wouldn’t be going on a holiday next year,” she smiled quickly before looking down at her lap and twiddling her thumbs, “we would have had a baby, Alf. Our own little bub. Our life would be so, so different and- and I wish they weren’t taken away from us.”

“It was cruel,” he muttered, leaning on the balcony and dragging his fingertip around the brim of his glass, “it wasn’t fair, El. Our baby, they were taken away from us so unfairly. So horribly. We never got the chance to see them or hold them, got to see who they looked like the most. We never got to become parents,” his voice sounded wet, eyes glistening under the light that came from the patio beneath them, “they gave us a baby and then they took them.”

“Oh, Alf.”

“Ellie, we were going to be a mum and dad,” he laughed bitterly. She stood from her seat, forgetting about her glass, and wrapped him in a warm hug, ducking her face into the warmth of his neck. Inhaling a deep breath, smelling the musky scent of his cologne before exhaling a deep sigh. Her arms tight around his middle as he squeezed her with one arm; his other making sure that his glass didn’t spill down her back. “I miss them.”

“I miss them, too,” she whispered, straining away and looking up, kissing his chin softly, “but there will be a better time. A better place to have a baby, yeah?” He nodded softly and pressed a kiss to her nose, “we’ll try again when the time is right, baby. We will.”

[topease]

How To Buy Goods In Yiwu Market

Generally speaking, many importers buy products from Chinese fairs, Alibaba, or market in Guangzhou, but you can only attend the fairs in specific times, and there are so many suppliers on Alibaba, some do not have enough experience for the business. Also, the market in Guangzhou is mainly selling electric products and other single category product.

So I highly recommend that you come to Yiwu Wholesale Market , Which is the biggest wholesale market in the world, and buy yiwu goods. I am sure you will find the proper supplier for yourself.

1. Where is Yiwu?

  Yiwu is located in central Zhejiang province near the central eastern coast of China. It's famous as the world's wholesale commodity center. It close to Ningbo port and Shanghai port. There are more than 70, 000 booths in the Yiwu market exhibiting different products. It makes Yiwu be more of a huge fair instead of a market. And what distinguishes it from all the other open fairs is that Yiwu market is open all year round, except during the Spring Festival.  Many suppliers also come from different parts of China, they concentrated their superior products on the Yiwu market to sell, which makes it easier for customers at home and from abroad to make centralized purchases.

2.The map of Yiwu market

  Yiwu market has a total of 5 districts, each district have 3-4 floors, it is better to know where is the product before you go inside, you can refer to the map below:

3. How to communicate with the suppliers in the market ?

Most of the suppliers in the market understand basic English, like price, quantity, delivery time, they usually show you the RMB price from a calculator .So if you do not have special requirement for the order and can pay cash, you can do yourself .

But if you want a deeply communication for the price, or the packing, it is better to get a translator .The translator will help you negotiate the price, tell the suppliers all your requirements, like MOQ for customizing packaging and so on . The reward of a English translator will be about $40-$50 per day .

But the translator will help you only in the market, after leaving the market, the rest will be not her job . It is better for you to find a agent to do the rest work for you.

4. How to find a yiwu market agent？

If you are abroad but want to find a good agent in advance for visiting the Yiwu market, then you can search for "Yiwu Market Agent" on Google, where you will find some Yiwu agents. If you have already arrived in Yiwu, you will see a lot of advertisements about Yiwu agents at the airport, train station, and even at your hotel entrance. You can choose one of them. it is important to find a good company and build trust with them, since long-term cooperation is important.

5. What does the Yiwu market agent can do for you?

1)If you plan to come to Yiwu, the agent can book tickets and hotel for you, and pick you from the air port or train station to the hotel .

2) The agent will take you to the market to find the products you want , and help to negotiate price with suppliers, and make records for all the information of the product, like price, qty/ctn, cbm/ctn, size, weight, delivery time, and take photos.

3)The agent will print all the products information for you before you go, also send to your email. It is easier for you to choose the items, and save time.

4)After you decide to make an order for some items, the agent can help you to arrange the order, and follow the order to make sure it can deliver on time .

5)The agent usually have their own warehouse in China, which can protect the goods well. They will also check the goods when the supplier deliver, and can send you inspection pictures in you need.

6）The agent will help to contact with your shipping forwarder to arrange the shipment for you, if you do not have, the agent will recommend you a experienced forwarder to make sure the goods are shipped successfully .

7)The agent will prepare all the documents to you to help you clear the containers. If you need special certifications, it is better to inform the agent in advance .

6. How to customize your products?

1) Find the factory or your agent with the products you need, provide the quantity and design requirements, and get a satisfied quotation.

2) Provide your exact design drawing and design requirements (usually in AI format). If there is no source file for the design, ask the factory to help with the design.

3) If you need to see the accurate effect of finished products, you can ask the factory to make the proof (1-10 pc), and then the whole production can be carried out after confirmation. If you do not need to make the sample, you can directly make the whole production after confirming the whole production sample.

4) Get your custom products

7. How to change the packaging and tag?

1) Provide accurate packaging style and label template to the factory or agent.

2) Pay a certain labor cost, carton cost and packaging cost.

8. How to distinguish a foreign trade company from a factory?

Foreign trade company: Have many kinds of products, the minimum order quantity is usually small, the price is slightly high, middle- specialization level in products. Timely reply, thoughtful service, clear communication. Problems solved in a timely manner, professional trade process, let a person be at ease.

Factory: The variety of products is relatively single, the minimum order quantity is usually large, the price is relatively low, high- specialization level in products. Not timely reply, lack of good service, communication is sometimes difficult. The problem was solved slowly and the trade process was not professional or even existed.

[mogood]

1:12 TYPE82 KUBELWAGEN RC cars china wholesalers- FMS

1:12 TYPE82 KUBELWAGEN RC cars china wholesalers- FMS

size： Remote: 118 x 73 x 145mm Car: 317 x 135 x 129mm Tire: D:58mm , W:12mm Wheelbase Wheel Base : 202mm Ground Clearance: 30mm Approach Angle: 60° Departure Angle: 40° Mail order box: 377x 275 x 165MM Outer carton: 565 x 387 x 355MM

weight： Remote control: 131g (without battery) Car: 635g (without battery) Battery: 20g Mail order box total weight: 1.49kg Large outer box packaging total weight: 6.64kg

The FMS 1/12 Kubelwagen RC model was unveiled in the mid-term. With its spectacular design, it takes you back to the war-torn era.

The boxer’s air-cooled horizontally opposed four-cylinder engine is the core of the car. The cylinders of the horizontally opposed engine are distributed on both sides. There is a 130 motor on the right cylinder and another 130 motor on the left. When applied to the Volkswagen T1 or Porsche 356 platform, it can output twice the power.

The engine crankshaft flywheel is connected by a belt and drives the generator and cooling fan at the same time. The semi-circular fan fairing is a major feature, where the airflow is distributed to the cylinders on both sides. Everything is restored on the model, which means you can observe the blade rotation through the fan inlet when the motor is running. Kübelwagen has 4 forward gears, their top speeds are respectively 1st gear 18.4km/h; 2nd gear 32.4km/h; 3rd gear 54.2km/h; 4th gear 83.6km/h. There is a corresponding red line shift prompt on the dashboard. On the model, a 2-speed shift was designed to simulate the speed of the first and third gears of a real car. The power passes through the top of the rear axle differential and then returns to the rear axle. This model has the same structure as the real engine and has the advantage of compactness, and can easily switch between 4WD and RWD modes. The shift function is perfectly reproduced on the model, providing more driving pleasure for off-road driving.

[focusightech]

Focusight would like to to invite you all to attend Printing South China 2022, South China International Printing Exhibition between 4th to 6th March 2022. Save the dates and visit us at Hall No. 1.1 1625, Guangzhou China Import and Export Fair Exhibition Area A where we are going to show our FA-Falcon and FS-SHARK-N650. FA-FALCON is an online/offline Gravure/Flexo printing and rewinding inspection system which is jointly developed by Focusight and world's top Film inspection manufacturer "Israel AVT", which can accurately detect the appearance quality defects of films, labels, tipping paper and other products. . FS-Shark-N650 is a product made by Focusight, which can detect the appearance quality of medicine, food, daily chemical, electronic product outer packaging carton printing, lamination, bronzing, die cutting, variable code, etc., and the maximum speed is as high as 350 meters single-sheet inspection machine/minute; and can be used online with a folder-gluer, saving labor and increasing efficiency. Can't visit, no worry. Now you have option to visit online and see the exhibition. Codes are given in Event flyer, please scan and proceed. Please do visit us. #follow #followus #packaging #quality #event #printing #china #china #medicine #film #technology #focusight https://www.instagram.com/p/CaWTUw0vq8k/?utm_medium=tumblr

[pixiealtaira]

Dragged Kicking and Screaming  ( 8/ 22)

Title: Dragged Kicking and Screaming  

Or How Burt Hummel Mashed the Hummels and Hudsons Into One Functioning Family.

Characters(s): Kurt, Burt, Carole, Finn, with short appearances by the New Directions guys and various ops who mostly take up space. Rating: PG13 Summary: Somehow the Hummel household and the Hudson household had to come together…

Chapter One  Chapter Two

Chapter three  Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter 6

Chapter seven

8.

Burt left them inside and went to watch as Kurt had the whole lot of the boys in the yard focused and organized.  Kurt had replaced all the power strips with the ones that were made for outdoor use and were also timers and had sets of boys wrapping each bush and tree with lights from the untangled bunches, another two groups were resetting up inflatables…in smaller groupings which he suspected Kurt had had a hand in putting together.  The final group of boys was handing Kurt up lights as he quickly and efficiently set the clips and then hung the lights…tool belt sitting on his hips.  He and Mike were leading the whole crowd in Christmas songs and most were singing without much fuss.  Before long Sam and Puck came out, carrying Artie down the porch stairs, carting out the last few strands of lights they’d managed to get working and untangled.

They joined in the singing and Kurt took a moment between songs to set them to the task of lining the walk with Kurt’s little lantern lights.

The lights were up within an hour and half, even those around the door and windows.  The inflatables were all filled and every tree and bush was lit.  Kurt had headed to the garage and pulled out the two small trees that flanked the door on the porch and he was even kind enough to let Mike flip the switch to light the whole house up.  Even though it wasn’t dark, you could see it.

“Cookies and hot chocolate will be served in the house.  Thank you all for your help.” Kurt said loudly, smiling. “Why don’t you go find a movie to watch or play video games while I get it all together?”

The crowd of boys whooped and hollered as they rushed to the house.

Kurt stood for a few moments smiling at his work.

“I find most the inflatables questionable,” Kurt finally said. “However, I really like the way the guys did the bushes and trees.   It doesn’t look too bad all mixed together since we have white or red and green and we kept the house just white and spaced the red and green evenly throughout the multicolored mixtures about the yard. It would be overwhelming with more colors of lights, but this works.  Amazing what happens when Men are in charge.”

Burt snorted as Kurt flounced off.

“He might have a point.” Mike said.

Puck and Artie started to laugh.  By the time they all were back in the house, Kurt had water warmed enough to start serving hot chocolate and had produced several tins of cookies which he was passing around with strict rules to the number allowed each pass, which all the boys were following. Burt doubted the fear Kurt had installed in the guys would last past the day, but for now they were all behaving. Finn was sitting in the corner of the living room pouting…there was no other word for it. They settled for a movie…Jingle All The Way…and Kurt ran Christmas Trivia for extra cookies until all the cookies were gone. Football Nelson tied with Hockey Nelson for the most extra cookies, leading Puck to complain for a good ten minutes before Kurt promised to deliver some to glee club on Tuesday. When the movie was over, the boys switched to video games.  Burt asked Puck when the Hudson Lights Parties usually ended (well, he asked Finn first, but Finn informed him that Finn wasn’t talking to him because he let Kurt be mean and Carole had already holed up their room), and ended up ordering Pizzas to feed everyone for dinner. After another round of video games, Burt sent everyone home. It was well past seven in the evening by then and Burt was tired and annoyed and had a headache. Those boys, even when being calm and nice to each other, were loud.

Carole was in their room…pouting.   She went up there after Burt tried to speak to her while Kurt passed out cookies. She took a six pack of wine coolers, a bottle of rum, and a carton of ice cream.  She was upset Kurt had ruined the Hudson Lights Party and insisted Burt wasn’t being fair about anything. Burt tried for several minutes to get an understanding on how Kurt ruined it and what he wasn’t being fair about, but received nothing coherent for an answer before giving up on that topic. Then Burt had asked if she and Finn wanted to shop for the families the shop helped Sunday afternoon or Monday evening and she said THEY wouldn’t be doing such a silly thing…if the Hummels wanted to do that then they could but she didn’t see why the Hudsons should join in, it wasn’t something the Hudsons did, after all.

“I thought we were combining traditions?” Burt said after her rant.

“We are,” Carole said. “We do things the Hudson way and you join us in doing so.  See combined.  By the way, I invited all the girls from work over on Thursday night for the Hudson Christmas Girls Night Out Party. Tell Kurt that I promised them makeovers and that he needs be ready to give make overs to about ten to fifteen ladies. The tree needs to be up and decorated by then.  I told the girls we were doing pink and purple Victorian theme this year, tell Kurt to get it right before Tuesday-ish.”

“Purple and Pink? We don’t have pink and purple.  And did you ask Kurt if he was available?”  Burt asked.

“Pink and purple Victorian, Burt.  Roses and lace and ribbons and velvet and lots of frills.  You don’t need to own it already; Kurt can go buy it tomorrow. I’ve always wanted a pink and purple Victorian tree.  I’d like the little china dolls in pink or purple dresses and the little boots. They need to be leather and white.  I’m sure Kurt can find them somewhere…even if he has to go to Dayton or Columbus or whatever. Since he is supposedly working next week he can use his paycheck as reimbursement to the family account for the decorations.  That way the household account doesn’t have to cover them and we’ll be sure to have plenty for Finn’s gifts.   And No, I didn’t ASK Kurt.  Why would I? He is home so he should be fine to do it.  We want the good stuff too. Quality polishes and oils and whatever else he uses.”

“I think you should ask him if he can do it.”

“He is a kid.  We can just tell him to do it.”

“I’ll have him get you a list of the items he’ll need by Tuesday so you can pick them up.” Burt said. “If he agrees.”

“I’m not buying the stuff; he can buy it or it can come from the household account and you can make him pick it up.  I won’t have time between now and Thursday. I work on most those days and the days free I have to get my hair done and go clothing shopping for the party.  I don’t have anything that is right for a girls’ night out party. This needs to happen, Burt. I promised the ladies.  Also, we are providing dinner but I haven’t decided on what yet, it needs to be elegant and really nice and we need drinks and since Kurt did so well at Thanksgiving I figured he could make those up. We’ll need more alcohol, we used most of what we got at Thanksgiving time then and what was left is nearly out. Oh, and we need to buy like fifteen or twenty gifts for bingo wins, which is what we will be playing after dinner.  Maybe we should aim for thirty gifts.  That way we can play longer.  And Kurt will need to set up the bingo calling station by where he’ll be mixing drinks, so he can do both, if you don’t run the bingo game.”

Burt took note of the half empty Gin bottle on the counter as Carole said she’d told the ladies she’d cover the gifts this year instead of having each lady bring one, so they had to work those in too, and those were not the same as bingo gifts. He started to rub his head to try to ease the headache that was forming, only somewhat listening as she insisted that since they had money from the jars at the shop, they could just use some of that to buy the Girls’ Night gifts and get good things this time around, and Carole could save her money for Finn’s Christmas gifts.  Oh…and she gave Finn the night off, so they shouldn’t even think of pulling him in to call the bingo game.  And she had promised the ladies that they could have individual goodie bags filled with neat stuff so Burt was surely going to offer up free auto care and she was sure he could convince Kurt to go out and buy them really nice beauty items, she’d get him complexion lists.

Burt looked out to the living room where Kurt was managing the cookie distribution and running trivia.  Kurt’s shoulders were slumped and he had dark circles under his eyes. Burt realized Kurt hadn’t eaten lunch; Kurt hadn’t been given a long enough break from hosting Finn’s party…Carole’s party…to find himself anything after he came downstairs. It was then that Burt then said No.  He was not offering up free anything.  He might have had Carole asked, but since she did not he was not going to do so.  Also, she could go buy stuff for goodies bags, Kurt was not.  Carole stomped up the stairs after grabbing the ice cream and the box of wine coolers and the rum.

Burt settled in to help Kurt manage and monitor the horde for the rest of the afternoon.  It took him and Kurt and Puck and Mike to get the guys to leave when he said things were done. Apparently sometimes the guys just stayed until they had to go home due to school…gaming and eating.  Puck and Mike waved as they left, after reminding Kurt to bring cookies to Glee.

Burt was trying to decide when he became the dad to three teens and why he hadn’t noticed Carole’s tendency to pout when things didn’t go her or Finn’s way. He was well aware he ought not to have voiced the three teen opinion as he tried to wrestle control of the TV from Finn after he sent all the boys home, he just hadn’t expected Kurt to hear it. Kurt did hear it and did voice his opinion. (Kurt’s comment of having only been dating her for a year and that she had always put on her best face when he was focused on her hadn’t been helpful. Neither had Kurt’s comment that if Burt would have listened to him better about what things were like when he was in the hospital and when he was first at home but not very with it yet, maybe he would have been more prepared for it all.  That just made Burt more upset actually. He had been certain Kurt had been the one exaggerating or telling the fib about that time, except…after the last few weeks he wasn’t so certain Kurt was the one exaggerating anymore.  And that irked him.  If Kurt hadn’t been cleaning up from the day long infiltration of teen boys, Burt would have sent him to his room. Except Burt was rather reluctant to interrupt Kurt’s cleaning, especially since it hadn’t been ‘Kurt’s’ party and so he shouldn’t have had to be cleaning and Kurt hadn’t reminded him of that yet. But Kurt was cleaning so Burt wouldn’t have to.  He knew Kurt was worried about his health and worried even more since he wasn’t there to make sure his diet was being overseen properly and he had the help in the shop he needed and he was doing his exercises (all of which wasn’t being done as well as Burt should have but Carole and Finn needed his attention so maintaining the things he was supposed to be doing was hard.) Finn was sassing at Kurt…again… while he sat on the remote so Burt couldn’t get to it and Kurt was sassing at everyone while he cleaned.  The din had lessened but it was still too much.

Frankly, Burt had had enough of it all.

[delifoodsmanufacturer]

How to purchase honey in the face of COVID-19?

As we all know, due to the escalation of COVID-19, many countries have introduced different levels of lockdown policies, leading to the contraction of demand in many industries, but also due to these reasons, food, fitness equipment and other industries have rebounded against the trend, with strong demand. However, due to the isolation policies of various countries, traditional offline foreign trade exhibitions, multinational factory inspection and other methods cannot operate normally. The vast number of multinational buyers and suppliers can only maintain communication online, or look for new partners. As a large-scale food producer and exporter in China. We are going to talk about how to purchase honey under the epidemic today. According to statistics, 29.6 percent of the world's honey is produced in China. So if you are engaged in the honey trade, you must not ignore China, which is a huge honey producing area, and because of the good control of the epidemic in China, the production and life of various industries in China has been almost unaffected. China's opening-up has not been stopped by the epidemic. On the contrary, it has further strengthened its confidence and determination to open to the outside world at a high level. The Belt and Road Initiative is advancing with high quality. By June 2021, 140 countries and 32 international organizations had joined the Belt and Road Initiative. Trade in goods with countries along the Routes exceeded us $1.3 trillion, and non-financial direct investment in these countries reached US $17.79 billion. These factors determine that purchasing honey in China will be an efficient and cost-effective choice. So, let's continue to analyze how to choose suppliers when purchasing honey in China.

Bee farm management The quality of honey depends on the source -- bee farm. As a honey supplier and exporter, Deli Foods Company's honey can maintain high quality and low price because of professional management of beekeeping cooperatives. China is vast in territory and abundant in resources. There are hundreds of bee farms are active in China to collect honey, and the number of bee farmers' cooperatives cooperating with Deli Food has grown to more than 200 in the past decades, professional bee-keeping co-operative management, refused to earn profits among honey middlemen, direct contact with bee farmer cooperatives, irregular supervise apiary check beekeeping diary, beekeeping process controls, The rejection of pesticide residues, antibiotic residues and other measures to ensure that we can supply high-quality pure natural honey. Trade strength Deli Foods factory and its Delee factory are one of the most famous bee products processing bases in east China. They plan their production and storage according to the trading needs of partners in more than 50 countries around the world. We have introduced advanced production equipment from Japan and Germany, with strong production and research and development capabilities. And has free and mature OEM&ODM cooperation ability, strong technical team as support. With our professional sales team and excellent customer service, we can earn and maintain the trust and long-term business relationships of our customers. With annual sales of $16 million, Deli foods is one of the world's leading honey suppliers. The mission of Deli food is to help customers succeed through quality products and mature service.  

International certification Deli foods has passed ISO90014, ISO22000, HACCP, HALAL and FDA certification. We conduct factory inspection 1-2 times a year to ensure that our honey meets international standards from raw material, processing, storage, sales and after-sales.

Professional process High-quality products not only require advanced production equipment and production lines, but also rely on modern production processes that are strictly prohibited. The honey production of Deli foods is strictly carried out in accordance with the following four steps. Scientific acceptance Full-time qualified professionals, each batch of raw materials sampling testing dozens of standard indicators, long-term cooperation with the national quarantine department. Standard storage Build standard cool, dry, ventilated raw material warehouse, semi-finished product warehouse and finished product warehouse. Implement management according to food warehouse management system. Multi-layer filtration Natural filtration can keep the original nutrition of honey, and ensure that the foreign matter in raw honey can be removed, so as to ensure the delicate taste and health safety of honey. Constant temperature concentration The temperature is controlled between 55-60 degrees Celsius, the vacuum degree is less than 0.09mpa, and the honey is in boiling state, which can shorten the time of honey concentration, kill harmful bacteria, and obtain the highest quality finished honey.

Product packaging design Good product quality can attract customers, but good packaging design can attract customers in the first time. As a professional supplier. Wuhu Deli Foods Co., Ltd. has more than 20 years of OEM and ODM experience and resources, providing almost all the packaging styles and professional brand design in the market. From glass bottles to plastic bottles, small packages to large packages, there is always one you need. +Based on years of marketing experience, we can customize the most popular packaging for you.Customization range includes logos, bottle stickers, packaging cartons, etc. One to one design service will let each customer quickly find the perfect design they want.

Sales channels Deli foods company has been participating in food exhibitions all over the world every year, such as Dubai Gulfood, Germany Anuga, The Canton Fair, IFT of the United States, Sial of France, South Africa, Foodex of Japan, APIMONDIA of Canada, etc., and we often visit our partners around the world. There are also a large number of buyers come to our company every year inspection, factory inspection.But because of the new champions league outbreak, recently we are unable to do face to face communication, however, we can have a one-to-one communication through the network and services, we have a number of professional and experienced foreign trade sales manager for your service, and we also have online store for many years in alibaba international website, can effectively guarantee and your transaction security. In addition, you can easily get in touch with us through our company website to understand our company and our products. We are in Youtube, facebook, twitter, linkedin, set up the company account, you can communicate through various channels and us. Therefore, if you want to purchase honey or other products sold by our company,Deli Foods is one of your best choices, do not hesitate to contact us immediately! Read the full article

[aliworldtrade]

Sharon Leather (Guangzhou) Co., Ltd.

86-020-86995305 13763325606

No. 95, Baofeng South Road, Longtou Market, Huadu Dist., Guangzhou, Guangdong, China

Sharon Leather(Guangzhou) Co., Ltd. is one of the market leader companies in China for glitter leather fabric, which is located in Shiling town, Huadu district, Guangzhou city, the largest distribution center for leather trade in China. Near from Pazhou international Convention and Exhibition Center(Carton Fair Exhibition) and Baiyun international airport, it’s only half an hour by car. You are warmly welcome to visit our factory. Our core competencies is glitter fabrics for shoes, bags, bows and package etc, we are factory with competitive advantages, our value message is quality and good service is a soul of an enterprise, refund money if any quality problem.As a new entrepreneur, we are persisting in domestic market and opening up the international market, the company is divided into glitter fabric line, glitter printing line and a factory-outlet in Shiling. Our R&D department design new styles regularly to meet our customers’ requirments, furthermore, the service we provided is personalized with 24H*7, as we believe we sell not only products, but also good service, we will arrange one of team work to be at your services 24H. We think this kind of services you can’t find at any company, even some big companies, but with us you will have different value, you are one of our vip, you will discover this and more by yourself.Following the management aim of “Devotion, Cooperation and Innovation”, and taking advantages of talent, funds, equipment, location and fair price, Sharon Leather(Guangzhou) Co., Ltd Sincerely hope to become your honest dealer and trustworthy supplier in China.We are always here whenever you need our support.