#coffee table wholesale

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 2 -Creeping Shadows

master list

Part 1,

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I ca

Synopsis: After a month of getting settled in her new home, Lucy is awoken in the middle of the night. Something strange is happening, but she isn't sure what to make of it.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Eventually: Older Man/Younger Woman, Horror themes, long form fic,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Lucy put on another pot of coffee, it was late in the evening now. But there was still lots to do. She had cleared a whole section of the wall to lay the map out, she had taken a black marker to outline each piece of land she owned. Then she took sticky notes with tenants' info and stuck them on each piece of property. Besides the maps, she had put up a whiteboard, with to-do lists. More papers were put up with contact info, wholesalers, buyers, butchers, and more. She felt a little more settled about all of it. It was still confusing as hell, but it made her feel good to see it like this. She had always been more of a visual learner. 

Then there were taxes, initially, Lucy figured she could do it. But after going through her Grandpa’s files, she was completely overwhelmed. So tomorrow she’d be phoning around to see who could help her with taxes. Tomorrow would be a town day Lucy decided. She would talk to a few accountants and see if the bank had finalized transfers. Everything took time, and out here everything ran on country time. So things took a little longer, but it would get done. She wanted to get some fresh vegetables, garden seeds, and gloves. The only gloves here were her Grandpa’s, she had put a pair up beside the door. She hadn't been able to put them on or get rid of them. So they stayed by the door and the rest tucked into the closet.

She added calling the tractor dealership to her list, there were a couple of older models that had been sitting for a while. She wanted them to be looked over and get them running. She knew basic stuff but getting someone out who knew what they were doing was desperately needed. As she sipped on her coffee looking at the different spreadsheets on her computer Lucy pondered about maybe getting some chickens. An old coop tucked in the woods close to the house, would be perfect. Of course, chickens meant predators. 

Rubbing her head she pushed the thought of chickens out of her mind. There were so many other things that needed to be done first. Her mind went to Cooper, her mind had been wandering over to him a lot since he had stopped by. Lucy tried to remember where she had seen him before. She knew he had been at the funeral, he had been with Richard Howard. Howard's family, her mind tried to remember who they were. She remembered that Richard was good friends with her Grandpa. They had had all boys, four or five of them. Most of them had married and stayed in the area. But Cooper had moved down south with his wife. At least that’s what Lucy could remember. It was always hard to keep all the different families straight. 

Lucy had finished her coffee and looked out through the big window. There was a back deck with a BBQ, a table with chairs, and a closed umbrella. Past that it was dark, that was something she still needed to get used to. Once night hit it was very dark out here, the starlight illuminated the grass, but once you hit the woods it was pitch black. Looking out through the window Lucy felt a shiver run up her spine. It felt like something was watching her, as if she peered just enough she would be able to see something move. 

Backing away from the window she grabbed the pull string and closed the blinds. 

“Yeah, I definitely need to get some dogs. Maybe lights, a few lights would be good,” Lucy said out loud, “Also renew my gun license.”

Lucy woke in the middle of the night confused, sweat had broken out across her brow, the room was cool but she was on fire. Tossing back the heavy quilted blanket she fumbled for the side table light. As the light turned on Lucy screamed as a black shadow darted into the closest. Grabbing her phone, and a machete that was tucked beside the bed. Lucy moved toward the closet. Pulling the doors open she raised the machete flicking on the closet lights. Nothing. 

Sagging Lucy looked around the rest of the room. There was no sign of anything, taking several deep breaths she threw on a housecoat and walked through the whole house. Checked the laundry room, kitchen, living room, hall closer, spare bath, and bedroom. Nothing. 

Sitting on the edge of the spare bed her heart finally slowed down. “You’ve been here a month and you’re already jumping at shadows, Lucy,” 

Walking back to her room, she went to walk by the kitchen window. The blinds were up again. Lucy stopped there confused as to why they were now up. Looking out, something flickered and ran across the grass into the woods. She grabbed the blinds and dropped them again. There wouldn’t be any sleep tonight. 

The morning sun had peaked through the tall trees, thank god it was spring. Spring meant earlier and earlier sunrises, and after last night Lucy was more than happy to see it pop up. Lucy clutched her coffee mug in one hand and her phone in the other. She had done her damndest not to phone anyone all night. The last thing she needed was people thinking she was some chicken-shit city slicker.

“You are beyond tired,” She sighed, rubbing her face, “You should go lay down for an hour.”

Looking through her bedroom door she saw her bed, blankets, and pillows still askew. As much as she wanted to, the thought of even trying to sleep made her stomach turn.

“Maybe when we get back from town,” she said quietly, standing up and leaving her cup on the table. 

Throwing on some clothes, and making sure nothing was inside out, Lucy hurried to grab her purse and keys. Once outside she took a deep breath, it smelt like rain and grass. Her heart slowed as she made her way over to the beat-up Chevy in the driveway. Putting the truck into gear she sped up and onto the dirt road. 

The drive is peaceful, gravel roads kicking up pieces of stone, it’s about ten minutes before she reaches anything paved. Once on the pavement, she rolled down her window, just enough to smell the fresh air. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses she slips those on to head southwest to Roseville. It had been affectionately named the driveby town. Smack middle between the south and north of the area. A crossroads divided the town into four neat sections. It had never been a booming town, more of a trading post or place to rest between cities. Over the last decade, the current mayor and council had done their damndest to try and attract more folks to live there. It had sort of worked. They now had a new rec center, hockey rink, and Tim Horton’s had moved in. The population stayed around three thousand. It was a small place surrounded by farmers’ fields and woodland reserves. The place boasted four bars, three grocery stores, a handful of terrible restaurants, a couple of hair salons, ten churches, and an elementary slash high school. Not to forget the two farm equipment dealerships and four feed stores. If you went south or west you’d hit some of the large cities. Though groceries were significantly cheaper there, many folks still stayed in town. This was especially true during the winter when the highway was one missed salt truck away from a death trap. 

Lucy pulled into the Super-K-Mart, parked her truck, and grabbed her purse. She was feeling the lack of sleep now, the spike of adrenaline fading.  Maybe a stop at the cafe down the street was needed. She briefly wondered when she had become such a scaredy cat and coffee drinker. Even doing work at the hospital she had never drunk this much caffeine. Trying to shake the feeling off of her, she grabbed a cart, pulling out her phone with a small list of needs. Lucy noted that she needed to ask her Uncle when the farmer’s markets started up, the grocery stores were good for hard goods, but fresh produce was lacking. Still, she grabbed a handful of apples, bananas, a few peppers, and head lettuce. Most of it looked sorta fresh. She went over to the meat section, she cringed internally at the price of the meat. Grateful that she had a freezer full of Grandpa’s cows and neighbor’s pigs. She grabbed a discounted chicken, maybe some soup was needed. 

“Hey,” Came a familiar voice, “Won’t be buying any of that. Most of it’s from way south.”

Turning she saw Cooper leaning against his cart, a small smile playing across his lips. Man wore a loose-fitting black t-shirt, a grey zip-up hoody overtop, blue jeans, and boots. All he was missing was his hat. Lucy tried her best to hide that she was looking over the man. 

“Do you know where I could get some decent chicken?” Lucy asked as she put down the offending carcass. Tilting her head at him with a smile, something about the man made her heart skip. 

Cooper nodded his head, “Yep, can swing by my place. Got a freezer full. Can trade yah for maybe some of that fine tallow Shirley always kept around. Pretty sure Tim kept making it.”

Lucy chuckles, the freezer had at least a dozen jars of rendered tallow at home. Plus, nothing beats fresh chicken, “I think that’s more than a fair trade,” She replied, moving over to follow him down one of the small aisles. 

“You look a little worn down today,” He says as he stops in front of a shelf of cereal, Lucy looking at all the various brands in front of her. Cringing inwardly at the comment, she hadn't thought about how she must look. 

“Long night,” She replies, noticing that his cart has fruit, some veg, sandwich meat, white bread, and various snack bars. 

He grabs some Cheerios and a box of lucky charms,” Mmhmm, can take a bit to get used to being outside the town.”

Lucy grabbed some mini wheat and a bag of oatmeal, watching the man move about the aisle,  “Yeah, must be something like that. Didn’t picture you as a Lucky Charms guy.”

He chuckles, grabbing at bag of oatmeal as well, “My daughter refuses to eat anything but those in the morning. I try to sprinkle some fruit in, occasionally when she allows it.”

“Didn’t know you had kids,” Lucy replies, as they walked to the next aisle. She felt her heart clench a little, thinking he probably had a wife at home. 

“Yeah, Janey is ten and Matthias just turned twelve.” He says a fond smile crossing his face. “Didn’t see any kids at your place.”

“Nah, I was too busy looking after Grandpa and before that school,” Lucy replies, it’s true she didn’t have much of a love life. Few flings here and there, and the one relationship she had had had ended bitterly when Grandpa got sick. 

He reached and grabbed a box of spaghetti, “I can relate. Between the kids, the farm, and looking after Dad. Not really a lot of room for dating.”

Lucy grabs a couple of cans of corn, “Oh? Divorced?” Her heart surged a little at the thought he was single. Single with kids, she reminded herself. 

Something dark passes over his face like he is remembering a bad memory. “No. Umm. widower, actually. Lost her about seven years ago.”

Lucy stops feeling like an asshole for not knowing, “Oh. I am sorry about that.” 

Cooper shrugs, his face masking what clearly was pain. “You didn’t know. Long story.”

The two of them moved onto the freezer section, Lucy feeling awkward about the whole thing. She hadn’t known he’d lost her wife, she didn’t know a lot of things. With that said she could have maybe used a little more tack. It wasn’t her strongest trait, she was a straightforward person. But sometimes things needed a more delicate touch. 

“Have you heard about anything happening in the woods around us,” Lucy says, trying to change the subject. Even if it was about the fact she couldn't sleep due to shadows that were probably nothing.  

“Happening?” Cooper asks as he drops two bags of curly fries into his cart. 

Lucy shrugs, “Thought I saw something, or someone moving around the forest last night.”

“Need to get yourself a few dogs,” Cooper replies, grabbing a bag of perogies.

“Yeah, it’s on the to-do list. Just, sorta, spooked me I guess,” Lucy replies, not sure how to broach the subject without sounding like a damsel in distress. 

Cooper stops and looks at her, “Why don’t I swing by this afternoon? I pick the kids up at the end of the road at four. I will stop by and I can walk the property with yah. Make sure there isn’t any sign of someone coming on the property.” 

Lucy was taken aback by his forwardness, but also grateful he seemed to take her concerns seriously. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense, better to know there isn’t some creep living in the woods than not.” He replied as you both made your way to the registers. 

“I really appreciate that. I don’t want to be a bother, just on my own,” Lucy replies with a small smile. 

“I just phone call away,” Cooper replies as they unload their carts. 

The door to the trailer was open, Lucy is stuck motionless in the truck cabin. She knew she’d locked the door, a habit that had always irritated her family, but she did nonetheless. From her spot she could see that the door was askew, possibly kicked in, papers flying about as the wind blew in. She grabbed her phone, hitting her Uncle’s number with trembling fingers.

“Lucy, how’s it going-” Harris added cheerfully.

“I think someone broke into the house,” She hissed, her free hand pulling the stick shift into reverse and starting to back down the road. 

“Shit,” The man cursed, “I will be right there, do not go inside.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” She muttered as he hung up the phone. She backed up until she hit the gate. The gate that had been locked and closed when she came home, felt fear run up her spine as she opened the gate, backed up, and parked the truck down the road. 

A moment later she saw a truck with a cloud of dust behind it roaring up the road. A beat-up red Ford with Cooper sitting in the front. He slides to a stop beside Lucy. 

“Your Uncle called,” He said, his forehead wrinkled as he looked at Lucy over, “Someone broke into the house?”

Lucy nods, fear making it hard for her to speak, her hands shaking in her lap. Her heart was pounding in her chest, even with Cooper there she was nervous. 

“I am going to go in, follow me but stay in the truck,” Cooper says as he jerks his vehicle into gear and turns down the road. 

Lucy looked in the rearview, there was no sign of Harris yet, she jerked her vehicle into first and drove back down. Cooper had driven his truck up the small embankment, parking by the door. She watched as he got out, shotgun in hand, pulling her truck by his. 

The door wasn’t just askew, the top two hinges had been busted. The deadbolt having gouged along the door frame, papers, and artwork littered the floor. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for him to come out. It felt like an eternity before she saw him, his brows scrunched as he beckoned her inside.

part Three

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** Most of my fics will be updated once a weekish possibly more often depending on how much writing I can get done! Want to keep the quality and make sure I am putting out my best work.

[octuscle]

Another kind of gentrification

For years, this had been a quiet street. With his grocery store, Alfred had supplied the neighborhood with delicacies. And at lunchtime, his guests could sit in the sun on the street. But the peace and quiet was over now. A shisha bar had opened across the street. And that was the end of the peacefulness. The guests drove up in their high-powered luxury cars, accelerated again briefly to 60 km/h, braked with squealing tires, let the engines roar. From 11:00. Until 03:00. And each time Alfred wondered how a young lad in his mid-20s could afford a car for 200,000 euros.

His guests remained loyal to Alfred to a large extent. However, the lunchtime business was slackening more and more. The cheese store down the street had already disappeared. One of the lads had opened a store there selling protein products. And the hairdresser's store had become a Turkish barber's store. When Alfred sat at the window of his apartment above the store in the evening and watched the shisha bar full of hatred, he could see more than clearly that business was being conducted at the tables that was undoubtedly not legal. Alfred had already sent the police once, and they had come. Nothing had happened. But since then, the only policemen patrolling the street were obviously of Arab origin. And they were good customers for protein powder. More and more men with enormous muscles could be seen in the street.

At some point, Alfred had begun to adjust to the circumstances. He sold only beef and no more meat. The young men loved expensive, high-quality beef. Nevertheless, one evening Alfred's mind was blown. It was a hot summer evening. Alfred tried to sleep with the window open. But in the bar, the terrace was crowded. All the windows were open. The music was playing at maximum volume. Alfred put on something and entered the bar, full of rage. Two absurdly muscular policemen were standing at the bar, drinking coffee and talking to the no less muscular bartender, who, however, was wearing only a very skimpy tank top instead of a uniform. Alfred yelled at the policemen whether they were not planning to do anything about this disturbance of the peace. While one of the policemen explained to him that one should have understanding for the young people on such a summer evening, the other one waved the manager over. The manager smiled, invited Alfred to a separee and offered him a cup of tea and a shisha. In life, Alfred would not have smoked a shisha. But a tea was a good idea. And after a sip of tea, he somehow also felt like having a shisha. And then his eyes went black.

Fuck, he had overdone it again with the weights. Ahmad must have fainted for a moment. He took a sip of water and looked at his watch. Almost 04:00. Time to finish the workout. He had to go to the wholesale market, he definitely wanted to be back home before the sunrise prayer. He dried his sweat, put on his work overalls and headed for his van. And as he did so, he ran through his shopping list again in his head. He definitely needed pita bread, sucuk and ayran. Fruits and vegetables and so on. Apple tea, too, probably. And somewhere there was also the order from his boss for the shisha bar opposite his Turkish supermarket.

[sixshotsinatumbllr]

Rating Good Omens Characters by whether I would employ them in my IRL cafe or not.

Aziraphale: 100% would employ. He'd be on service, taking orders and running them out. Also, we have a small retail book corner, which I am currently failing at making work, so Aziraphale can also get that going (he'd be great at sourcing books, not so great at selling them). He is not allowed to perform his magic act though, which makes him sad. Sorry Azi.

Crowley: Absolutely yes. That (infernal being) knows their coffee. The ywould be a shit-hot barista. Sadly, they get fired after a week because the only person in my life that is snarkier and grumpier than Crowley is my husband (the actual owner of the cafe, I'm just along for the ride). They get into too many arguments and Crowley quits majestically. But we really appreciated the handful of times they yeeted someone off into another dimension when they were difficult customers.

Nina: Obviously. She has the experience for the job (unlike probably all the other characters); and she has the personality for it. She'd be the one that gets all the good gossip from the customers and be able to handle it be stupid busy. She'd be our number one reliable employee. My husband and Nina would also fight and snark but they'd both feel refreshed by it.

Gabriel: NAH.

Jim: Also NAH, but we'd probably put him on for a week of work placement through a job placement agency to help him out a bit, because he clearly needs it. Unfortunately, he becomes a liability because he drinks too many hot chocolates on shift and that costs us too much in stock.

Beezlebub: I'd really like to, but the council food inspector won't allow it with all the flies that come with zir.

Famine: I think Famine would be a food rep. These people come around from food wholesalers to introduce us to new products. A lot of these seem pretty questionable. I reckon Famine's taken Ciao on the road after the Notpocalypse for something new to do. He's a very polite and enthusiastic rep, but we politely decline his products. The following week, a critical potato shortage hits the market and we have trouble sourcing good quality chips, a key menu item in the cafe.

Furfur: I wouldn't give him a job even though he appears to have a solid set of organisational skills, because he personally irritates me. But then he becomes a regular customer, coming in for a large cap everyday, pays in the low-denomination coins, takes up an entire table of six for two hours, and then asks for a bag of coffee to be ground in the middle of the lunch rush.

Maggie: she'd be in charge of the playlist. (at least, after Crowley quits in a fury, up until then he'd hogged the spotify and dictated all of the music- and miracles it to continue even when he's not on shift. There's slightly less Queen than there is on our playlist currently). She'd be a day barista one or two days a week. I reckon Maggie and Aziraphale would be the Monday server/barista duo.

Every now and then, the playlist gets possessed for a few hours and none of us can do anything about it but let it pass and see what Crowley's digging musically these days.

The Metatron: Absolutely not. In fact, he's banned from coming within 500 metres of us and our oat milk supply.

[lifewithaview]

Gillian Anderson and Kristin Lehman in The X-Files (1993) Kill Switch

S5E11

Mulder and Scully's investigation into a mass shooting in a coffee shop leads them to believe that the targets were not the low level drug dealers and wholesalers who were killed but rather Donald Geldman who had been sitting at a table working on his laptop computer. The Lone Gunmen tell Mulder and Scully that Geldman was one of the original computer geniuses who disappeared years before. His laptop leads the agents to a hacker, Esther Nairn, who goes by the name Invisigoth. She tells them of a vast government conspiracy involving artificial intelligence that allows them to see everything and take action against all enemies.

*Gillian Anderson's fight scene with the nurses is one of the actress' favorite scenes in the series.

[cicaklah]

Oooh! If I may, for the ficlet with gloves: watching the other prepare and enjoy a mango. I leave the ship and whether the execution is messy or precision-clean up to you.

Being in such close quarters for an extended time was maybe a mistake, Diana thought. Twenty years of knowing someone, however strangely and intimate it was between her and 47, there were still things that could surprise her.

Olivia had been to the morning market, waking the whole house up at 4am as she muttered and swore under her breath as she extracted herself from her mess of a lair. She had returned when Diana had been standing bleary eyed in front of the kettle with three boxes of fruit straight from the wholesalers.

"if I don't have some vitamins I'll die," she said bluntly. "Unlike the three of you, I can't live on spite, cigarettes and black coffee, and that disgusting bottled protein slop," she indicated grey, Diana and 47 in turn. "Humans are supposed to eat the rainbow, guys, didn't you learn anything at spy school?"

The three of them exchanged looks and then mutually decided to let it go. Olivia prepared a bowl of fruit, added some yoghurt and then a full two servings of her usual super sweet imported cereal, and then went back to her lair.

The fruit sat on the side, judging Diana every time she made a fresh v60, but other than a small apple pressed on her under duress, it continued to sit there.

The mangos were the only thing to disappear. They were good ones, smelling incredible as they rotted slowly in the cool berlin autumn. It turned out grey had a taste for them. Still though, it wasn't enough.

Dianas insomnia absolutely wasn't related to her consumption of coffee, oh no, but still she finds herself awake at 2am. Perhaps a camomile would help, she reasons, despite knowing better.

Getting up, she doesn't pull her robe on around her, letting the cold do it's tricks and make her miss her bed. She pads down the hall as quiet as she can, and rolls her eyes; Olivia had left the kitchen light on again.

She steps in and is startled by the sight of 47 instead. He's in what must be his sleepwear, a t-shirt and a pair of scrub bottoms. Her analytical brain notes the gama logo embroidered on the hem.

He has a large knife on the table, but that isn't the thing that surprises her. It's the remains of three mangos, inexpertly hacked up, sitting on a towel.

47 has a fork in his hand and is eating tiny cubes of the flesh from a bowl, but it makes dianas heart hurt how little he's removed from each fruit.

"first time?" She asks, and 47 looks at her.

"yes. Olivia stated they needed eating or we would get flies."

Diana takes a seat, and grimaces at the mess. "far be it for me to argue,"she says, and takes the knife and an intact fruit, and begins to cut.

She has seen many methods, but with fruit this ripe, you can't chip the skin off or even try and peel from the outside. She finds the stone and makes a deep utilitarian cut, following the curve until it's hairy husk is exposed. The neat half falls into her hand, and she begins to score it into cubes, before then flipping it inside out. It's messy, sure, but at least there's no waste. She takes her first bite, and groans; these are good. Still a bit sour despite their advanced ripeness.

They eat in silence, 47 watching her watching him. Then, he moves to get up and throw the rest in the trash, but Diana stops him.

"there's still the best part," she says, and as he watches, picks up the stone and sinks her teeth in.

It's sour and juicy and so so good it makes her make a noise. 47 sits again, but it's with an emotion; the chair clatters slightly under the sudden weight.

Diana finishes it, but doesn't meet his icey glare. This is a situation emerging, and must be played correctly.

"your turn" she says, after she places the stripped pit on the mess below. "Use your teeth."

47 picks up the fattest and juiciest pit in both hands. He holds it to his face, and with his eyes locked and burning on hers, he digs his teeth in. Juice, so much juice, runs down his face. He huffs a small noise, and chases it, letting it pool on his tongue. Then, with incredibly inexpert but extremely arousing skill of another kind, he proceeds to sensually, strip the pit down to the husk with his teeth, lips and tongue, his eyes on her the entire sopping time.

[one-piece-one-shots]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

It was a crisp spring morning not long after sunrise. Sipping your coffee, you unlocked the flower shop and passed through the entry. Setting your personal items down on the nearby table you flipped on the lights and moved around the counter to turn the register on. It wasn't long before you heard the soft footfalls of the owner coming down the back steps from his above apartment. He didn't have to be in until noon since you were opening, but he couldn't resist having coffee and whatever breakfast treat you'd brought with you.

He stepped lazily into the room stretching and yawning while greeting you. Dark circles lined his lower lids denoting his lack of sleep and bringing out the sunny shade of yellow that barely pushed through his stormy gray irises. Another muffled yawn swept passed his lips as half-lidded eyes swayed in your direction, his stretches ending in a satisfied shiver before he strolled over to the bag you'd placed on the table.

"What do you have this morning F/N-ya?" his voice still husky from what little sleep he'd gotten.

"It's a breakfast quiche," you replied removing the tin pie trays from the paper bag, "they should still be warm."

"What's in it?" He questioned suspiciously glancing over the tiny personal pie.

"You really need to stop being so picky. Have I fed you something you haven't liked yet?" You retorted hands firmly placed on your hips.

"Not yet." He muttered with a roll of his eyes.

"Exactly." You affirmed turning for the breakroom, "I'll get the coffee started if you don't mind waiting a few minutes."

He only hummed in response.

You had worked for Law in this flower shop he inherited for the last three years. The grumpy male was reluctant to keep the shop going after the passing of his adopted father, having been in medical school at the time, it was a lot to throw away. Rosinante, his father, had hired you not long before he got sick and with some convincing, you managed to get Law to remain open. The first year was rough, a lot of regulars didn't return, and Law wasn't exactly in a state to greet customers much less help them celebrate occasions he'd never get to celebrate with the only family he had left. Many days you had to climb the stairs in the back and drag him from the apartment yourself.

Now, though he doesn't get much sleep, his mood has improved a little. You started this morning ritual by accident. He'd come downstairs while you were opening and was lured in by freshly brewed coffee and breakfast tacos you'd made for yourself; Law seemed to enjoy it so you just kept it going.

It was usually pleasantly quiet while you scrolled through e-books and he read the newspaper.

"Black like your soul." You smirked handing him his designated cup.

Law deadpanned, slender fingers brushing against yours as he overtook the handle, "Thank you."

While you were in the kitchenette he'd taken the liberty of setting the table. You grabbed your coffee and a clipboard from the counter and took a seat across from Law, who was hesitantly taking his first bite of the quiche. Watching quietly with a raised brow as he went back for another forkful you couldn't help but chuckle resulting in yet another eye-roll from the male.

"There's another Charlotte wedding this weekend." You reminded him glancing over the order forms on your clipboard.

"Feels like there's one every weekend." He muttered bringing his cup to his lips.

"Well, when you have a million kids I guess that's what happens." You shrugged, "I wish I had what they spend on the flowers alone. They must be ridiculously loaded."

"Ridiculously indeed." He stated flatly, "Do we have enough inventory for that? I don't want a repeat of last time. That Linlin lady is insane when she's pissed off."

"I planned to visit the wholesale market this afternoon when Barto gets here."

"What tacky arrangements did she order this time?"

You chuckled.

"Pink chrysanthemums and stargazers. While they go together in both color and meaning, they have no place at a wedding."

"Meaning?" He pushed the now empty pie tin away.

"Mhm," you hummed, "pink chrysanthemums represent the afterlife and are often used for funerals in Eastern countries. Stargazers symbolize resurrection. It's probably bad luck in the end and also ... way too much pink."

He chuckled as you scrunched your nose, "How do you know all of this?"

"I like flowers." You shrugged between bites.

"Maybe I'll come with you," he suggested nonchalantly sparing a glance from his paper to you.

"You're the boss." You chimed finishing your food and rising to clear the table.

It was surprising, his offer to tag along, he'd never gone to the wholesalers with you before. Rosi had taken you several times so you knew most of the vendors which made it easier to get deals. Law had never shown interest in coming, he fully trusted you to get the job done.

When you rounded the corner, Law had switched on the 'Open' sign and propped the door back allowing the chilly breeze to flow through causing you to shiver. You threw on your apron and together set up the spring display in the doorway.

"You don't have to help ya know."

"I get paid regardless." He shrugged moving some potted daffodils and tulips to the front window.

Law sat nearby finishing his coffee while you made random arrangements for the display case. He watched occasionally over the brim of his cup as you concentrated making sure colors matched and scents didn't mix unpleasantly. Quietly you clipped greens and baby's breath for filler and seemed to find the perfect places in each arrangement for them. Before he realized it, noon had rolled around, and Bartolomeo was stalking through the entry.

"F/N, Boss." Barto nodded passing through to hang his bag in the breakroom.

"Afternoon." You chimed scooping up the vases you'd just completed.

"You have a lot of hospital deliveries today." Law called.

You frowned at the raven, "You could at least say hello before ordering him around."

Your boss scoffed and narrowed his eyes at you.

"Good afternoon Barto-ya, you have a lot of hospital deliveries today." He said robotically.

"It's ok F/N, I'm used to the boss' cold greetings." Barto winked at you slipping his apron over his head.

Law shot him an annoyed look, "I need you to be back by four so F/N-ya and I can go to the wholesale market."

Bartolomeo raised a non-existent brow to you and then nodded, "No problem."

Law helped Barto load the delivery orders into the van out back while you moved from vase arrangements to bouquets. A few customers came in and milled around purchasing a potted plant or two. There was a sudden tug at your apron strings as you were reaching into the cooler to move an older vase arrangement to the front. The gesture made you stagger back off-balance bumping into the body behind you. Startled you turned to find Law retying your apron.

"You've come undone." He murmured in a pleasantly low tone, eyes still fixed on your lower back.

Fighting a flush, you turned back allowing him to finish, "T-thank you."

Lately, you'd noticed Law would stand closer or brush passed you when there was plenty of room to pass by. Initially, you discarded the actions but as they became more frequent you began to suspect it was on purpose. Why though? He couldn't possibly have some sort of crush on you. You're just a silly little flower nerd, not all that flashy and you certainly didn't feel you compared to his stunningly handsome presence. Barto already teased you relentlessly when you were alone since he discovered your hopeless crush on your boss.

Barto returned from his deliveries at 3:45 and handed the van keys off to Law.

"You may have to close up by yourself. Sometimes it takes a while and we have a lot to purchase." You warned removing your apron and hanging it behind the counter.

"I can handle it thanks." The greenette smiled cockily, "Don't have too much fun F/N."

"Yeah yeah." You waved trailing behind Law.

"Seriously, no funny business you two that's a company vehicle!" he called earning a pointed glare from you as Law continued forward with a smug smirk.

"Ignore that idiot." You muttered pulling yourself up into the passenger seat.

"It's sound advice," Law stated nonchalantly turning the ignition.

You gulped and turned away to hopefully hide your blushing face.

The harbor was already buzzing when you arrived.

"Lead the way." Law gestured forward as you entered the large warehouse.

Immediately vendors were greeting you and calling you over to show what inventory they had for the week. Happily, you bounced from booth to booth introducing Law as you went. More than few of the older vendors expressed their sympathy for Rosinante's passing causing Law to tense.

"You can wait at the van if this is too much." You palmed his shoulder, "I wasn't expecting this many people to bring it up."

He searched your guilty expression feeling a pang in his own chest and returned your comforting motion, "It's fine I invited myself. I can just take what we've got to the van and come find you when I'm done."

"Ok, I shouldn't take much longer." You smiled relinquishing the cart of obnoxiously pink flowers.

Continuing your quest you stopped by one of the newer booths run by a woman not much older than yourself.

"Hmm, pink chrysanthemums? For a wedding?" Questioned the raven-haired woman.

"That's what I said, but it's a big return client so I'm just filling the order." You sighed leaning on the counter.

"Where's your partner?"

"Ah, my boss? He got a little overwhelmed." You chuckled resting your chin in your palm.

"He doesn't look at you like a boss." She commented pulling your order.

"I have no idea what you mean." You glanced away.

"Hmm, like a puppy," she tapped her chin in thought, "a puppy that's a bit protective perhaps."

"Robin," you started sternly, "you're being ridiculous."

She just shrugged and continued removing the less pink flowers from the batch.

After an hour of mingling and finally filling your enormous order, you began searching the warehouse for your wayward boss. Eyes sweeping the thinning crowd with your cart in tow you caught a glimpse of the raven, an impish smirk gracing your lips as you approached him from behind. He stood glancing over some tulips and peonies in colors you didn't have at the shop. Quietly you lifted your right foot gently pressing it to the back of his locked knee nearly sending him to the ground. Giggling wildly over the embarrassing yelp that pushed passed his lips as he went down; you immediately hushed meeting his stormy glare.

Oops.

Spinning on your heals you made a mad dash for the nearest exit tugging your full cart behind you.

"F/N!" Law's usually calm voice strained over the crowd as he dodged people in your wake.

Ignoring his calls, you pushed forward, it didn't matter you'd have an entire twenty-minute car ride to deal with once you reached the van anyway. He'd probably scold you the entire drive back. Enough human obstacles blocked him allowing you to get to the van first. Flinging the back door open you began loading your haul. Just as you placed the last bucket in the back of the van a familiar tattooed arm wrapped around your waist snatching you back.

"Law!" You gasped feet leaving the ground as you were lifted to his height.

He remained quiet breath fanning over your nap moving stray strands that had fallen from your messy bun during your rush. Opening the driver's side door, he pushed you across the bench seat and climbed in behind.

"I'm sorry." You immediately stated turning to catch his intense gaze a sly simper dragging the corner of his lips upward.

"You like to take people by surprise?" His tone was dangerous as he continued across the seat pushing passed the stirring wheel.

"I - I mean... it was funny."

"You should be punished for that." His slender arms caged you in against the seat.

"Wa-wait..." your hands came up against his chest, "what?"

He leaned further into your space, noses brushing, his lips so close it was hard not to tip your chin up and kiss him. The air around you was warm and heavy. Your pulse muted out any sound that may have been heard in or outside of the vehicle as he continued to loom over you. The smell of coffee and those damn stargazer lilies filled your senses in a dizzying haze; it shouldn't have been so intoxicating, but it was. Your eyelids dropped anticipating contact as Law's half-lidded gaze swept over you taking in this glorious new expression.

Your heart wasn't the only one beating like crazy, he almost had to catch his breath still contemplating what he was about to do. Finally, he had you in such a delicious position, defenseless and practically offering yourself up to him. Leaning just a hair further allowing a feather touch to your lips he almost gave in. Such a quick motion, not even full contact, an involuntary whimper escaped you. Eyes flitting open once again to meet Law's smoky glare, he grinned mischievously.

"Now you'll think twice before knocking people down and running away F/N-ya."

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #16

Runway Ready 👠 / Crystal Ball 🔮

Q offers to clean up the kitchen, which is great because if Eliot doesn’t get horizontal right now, he’ll probably die. The remnants of their Chinese takeout are strewn across the coffee table, and Eliot arranges himself as come-hither as he possibly can while lying on the couch and stuffed with so much fried rice, lo mein, egg rolls, and Sichuan chicken, that he’s afraid to take too deep a breath lest he burst the buttons off his waistcoat. 

It’s very unlike Eliot to have kept quiet about his kinks for so long, but what he’s whispered in the ear of many one-night stands suddenly gets stuck in his throat when he thinks about telling Q. It’s not that he thinks Q will react badly — it’s just that he seems so vanilla that even something as relatively mild as “Hey, I wanna eat until I physically can’t anymore” seems like a risk. Eliot would have to explain everything and it would be awkward for both of them and that, Q might not be as willing to put up with. It feels, as so many things about Eliot do, that the whole picture might be Too Much™ for any one person long-term.

So instead, he’s trying to settle for dropping clues. It’s like therapy; if Q puts it together himself, it’ll be more meaningful than if Eliot tells him. Or something. It’s been a long time since Eliot’s been to therapy.

Now, as Q scoops empty plates and half-empty containers from the table, Eliot groans performatively and rests a hand on the rounded swell of his belly, aiming a plaintive look up at him. 

Q looks back fondly. “You ate a lot, huh?”

Eliot’s ears perk up. “Mmm-hmmm,” he hums, trying to apply a coy overlay to the sound. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good thing we got the extra order of eggrolls,” says Q, ferrying the plates and containers to the kitchen. Eliot slumps back on the couch.

He knows Q is just being careful, that’s the thing. He would be, too, if the roles were reversed and it was Q who’d gained some weight recently, whose clothes fit differently and whose appetite had changed. He wants to think that in that case, he would be the one to talk about it, to open a conversation about how Quentin felt about his body, how he wanted Eliot to feel and talk and touch about it. It would be so easy if it were Q’s body. He knows exactly what he’d say: Q’s body is Q’s body, and bigger or smaller it’s the one he loves. Nothing could dissuade him from thinking it was perfect. But of course his confidence in his own body is much less; he can’t imagine being less into someone for a few extra pounds, but it’s frighteningly easy to imagine the same scenario with himself in the crosshairs.

Maybe tonight is the night that Eliot pioneers voluntary telepathic communication. As the sounds of running water and clinking plates waft in from the next room, he tries to beam his kink profile to Quentin wholesale, just upload the whole thing to him in one go so they can pass the checkpoint and move along. 

The water runs. The plates clink. Eliot thinks he might burst a blood vessel.

Q’s right; he did eat a lot. The heaviness is starting to pull at him, the weight of his overfull stomach bearing down on his hips, shading discomfort into even the most comfortable position to bloat in. He stifles a burp and gives his stomach a little massage himself, but it’s not the same. It’s like trying to give yourself a scalp massage; it’s just nicer when it’s someone else’s hands on you. 

He huffs and adjusts the pillow behind his head. Fine. He’ll wait.

Finally Q flops back down on the couch, carrying the crystal ball he’s been working on fixing for the better part of a week. So far it’s managed to outsmart Margo, Katy, and even Alice, so now it’s Quentin’s turn. Eliot watches through half-mast eyelids as Q turns it over and over in his hands, looking for a scratch or a hairline fracture or some other clue as to why it’s suddenly taken to showing everyone their deepest desires no matter what they’ve asked it. 

“Mmmm,” he tries again, rolling his hips gently and sighing. “I’m so full.”

Q’s busy pulling something up on his phone. He pats Eliot’s knee absently and goes back to squinting between his phone screen and at the crystal ball.

Are you fucking kidding me!!! Eliot beams in Q’s direction. Q doesn’t get the message. 

His stomach cramps, and he pulls in a sharp breath. Eliot’s no stranger to overeating, overindulgence is kind of his whole thing, but there’s a lot in his stomach right now and he’s starting to have a few regrets. He swallows a burp and tries to subtly work the cramp out with one hand. Until tonight, he’s been playing a sort of game with himself to see how far he can get without replacing any of his clothes, but it’s starting to look like he’s nearing the limit. The waistband of his pants bites into the soft flesh of his waist, and even on its last hole, his belt constricts his movement. 

He whines and rolls his hips with more urgency. “Oh,” he whines, aiming for a balance of exquisite suffering and irresistible seduction. “I shouldn’t have eaten so much. Mmmm, Q, I really overdid it.”

“Yeah, you ate a lot,” says Q, the crystal ball barely a centimeter from his face. 

“Put that down,” complains Eliot. “Feel, Q.” 

Q puts down the crystal ball, and Eliot grabs his hand and pulls it to the straining buttons of his waistcoat. “Feel,” he repeats, but it’s too much movement for how overfull he is, and he loses the word in a hiccup that does more to erode his dignity than most of his middle school gym experience, which is saying a lot. 

Q stares at him, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. “Are you okay?” 

“I could use a little — hic — help,” Eliot mumbles, turning his face toward the pillow. God forbid any of this process be normal and dignified and casual. 

“Oh,” says Quentin, his whole expression changing. He tosses his phone onto the coffee table, turns himself to face Eliot. “What is it? Your stomach?”

Eliot nods, keeping his mouth shut in case he hiccups again.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Hic — touch me, please.”

“Like …?” Q reaches up and brushes Eliot’s hair from his face. “Like that?”

“More like — hic — here,” says Eliot, pulling Q’s hand back to his belly. “Just … rub it? It helps.”

Q looks uncertain, but he straddles Eliot’s hips and looks to him for confirmation, as if to say Is this okay? Eliot nods, his stomach jumping with another hiccup.

“You, um, kind of seem to do this a lot,” says Quentin, concern lining his face. “Not judging you! It’s fine, as long as you’re not, like, hurting yourself. Which … you’re not, right?”

Eliot shakes his head and hiccups. Unbelievable that millions of magicians have existed throughout history and not one of them has figured out a spell to get rid of these? What’s even the point of having magic if not to rid life of all its little cruelties and indignities?

“Promise?” says Q, laying his hand softly on Eliot’s stomach. 

“Yes, Q. I — hic — promise I’m not hurting myself.”

“Okay,” says Q, applying some pressure, “then … what?”

Eliot burps miserably. This is not how he wanted this to go. He’s supposed to be in control, putting Q at ease, divulging his preferences with the practiced, easy sex appeal of the hedonist, not beached on the couch with his partner hovering over him trying to figure out if he has an eating disorder. There’s no glamor in this! 

He groans instead. “Can we talk about this later? When I’m not about to pop a button?” He can tell from the way Q’s eyebrows jump that he isn’t satisfied, but it’s the best he can do at the moment. 

And it does inspire Q to undo the buttons of his waistcoat, which is something. He can breathe a little easier, even if now he’s on the hook. Who knows, Q might get too caught up in fixing that crystal ball tomorrow to even remember to ask.

—

Eliot gets up early the next morning, or earlier than Q, at least. He makes coffee, starts pancakes, even slices fruit, all the trappings of a very well-adjusted partner with a totally normal relationship with food. His bloat from last night is gone, but his stomach is stretched, and he’s starving. If he’s fast enough, he can eat a few pancakes before Quentin even wakes up, and he can avoid any potential questions about what happened last night until he’s ready to bring up the conversation himself, gilded and gift-wrapped and perfectly packaged to present him in the most confident possible light.

An illusion that’s instantly shattered when Quentin wanders into the kitchen and says suspiciously, “You’re up early.”

“I slept well,” replies Eliot, pouring him a cup of coffee and adding milk before passing it to Q. “You?”

Q sits at one of the kitchen barstools, elbows on the counter, mug cupped between his hands. He’s sleep-soft in a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms Eliot has been trying to convince him to donate for years, and his hair is in the bare minimum of what could be called a ponytail, falling around his face in tendrils like a ’90s pop star. He’s lovely in the morning sunlight. He’s definitely worried.

“All right,” he says finally. “Thanks for making breakfast. I like seeing you cook.”

Eliot’s long past the days of his substance abuse, even if something like that is never truly gone and always lurks like a specter just out of sight. But cooking is what he threw himself into once he’d come out of rehab, once he’d joined a magicians’ recovery group, once he’d come far enough to trust himself with knives and hot pans and cooking wine. It took a long time to get here, and he’s not unaware that Q associates it with recovery. Is it a strategic choice for this morning in particular? Maybe. But he’s hungry, and the only thing he wants in his stomach after a night of indulgence is something else indulgent, and besides, he’s not the only one who’s cute with his mouth full.

Quentin drinks his coffee and rolls the crystal ball between his hands. It throws spears of light across the kitchen like a contrary disco ball, and Eliot gyrates to imaginary music as he cooks and smiles when it makes Q smile, too. 

And maybe it’s the sun, maybe it’s the smell of coffee and butter, maybe it’s Q’s determination to find what’s wrong with that crystal ball that makes Eliot think that if Q thinks there’s something wrong with him, he’ll dump just as much time and energy into trying to fix it. It’s what he does. And maybe there isn’t any sense in hiding from someone like that, because if they want to fix what’s wrong so badly, then they must care. Right?

He flips the last pancake and adds it to the stack that’s been warming in the oven, refills both their mugs of coffee, and slides onto the barstool beside Q’s, angling himself so they can look each other in the eye. “Hey,” he says as Q’s serving himself, trying to keep his voice even and non-alarmist. “So, about last night.”

Quentin’s eyes are on him instantly. “Yeah?”

“First of all, I’m okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “I promise. It’s not some fun new way to self-destruct. It’s actually … kind of the opposite. Usually. I’m not proud of my performance last night.”

The concern on Quentin’s face doesn’t disappear, but it doesn’t deepen, either. “Okay …”

“But this is something I like,” says Eliot, and he half-expects the windows to shatter or a water pipe to burst for how vulnerable and dangerous it feels. “It feels good. I know it sounds like maybe I just traded one vice for another, but — I drank because I didn’t want to feel anything. I do this because I do.”

“You … like to overeat to feel good?”

“Yes? It can’t be that much of a surprise. Once a hedonist, always a hedonist.”

“No, yeah,” says Q, “I’m just going back through the last few months and yeah, that tracks. That makes a lot of things make sense, actually.” He takes one of Eliot’s hands and laces their fingers together, then meets Eliot’s eyes. “I trust you if you say it’s a good thing for you, even if I don’t really get that part. And you’re okay with — I mean, your body has changed a little lately. Are you okay with that too?”

“Yes,” says Eliot without hesitating. “Especially in recovery. It’s like an extra fuck you to everything I spent the rest of my life trying to hide from. Like, I lived, bitch.”

Quentin cracks a smile. “For what it’s worth, I like it on you. You look settled, in a good way. Like you’re not having coke for breakfast anymore.”

“God,” says Eliot, shuddering. Sure, there will probably always be a part of him that’s rosily nostalgic for the part of his life that was one party after another, but he knows now that his picture of it isn’t accurate, that none of the ways he behaved then bear repeating now that he’s seen the alternative. That Eliot didn’t know he was loved. That Eliot didn’t know that he could be. 

Quentin squeezes his hand. “Thanks for telling me,” he says. “I’m open to playing with it. Just tell me what you want.”

“Well,” says Eliot, “I’m about to eat a lot of pancakes, and then I’d really like it if we went back to bed and you held me and rubbed my belly. Some light to medium body worship would also be welcome.”

“Deal,” says Q. He reaches across the counter for the maple syrup, and as he brings it toward his plate, his elbow catches the crystal ball and knocks it to the floor.

“Oh, fuck,” says Eliot, but Q’s not bothered. He cleans up the glass with a flick of his hand and directs it into one jagged, sparkling clump on the coffee table. 

“Honestly?” he says. “Sometimes it’s so much easier to fix shit after you just crack it open. It’s not like I’m in a rush, anyway. I’ve got a date this morning.”

Eliot grins as he piles pancakes onto his plate. When he’s finished, Q leans over, takes one more from the stack, and drops it on top.

“You know, I think I can get behind this,” Q muses, sitting back. “I’m in favor of anything that keeps you well-fed and means there’s more of you to hold.”

“Mmm,” says Eliot, cutting into his pancakes. “Then let’s get started.”

[janewaykove]

Dream ft. Kate Mulgrew & warehouse

So I'm sleeping in the aisle of a wholesale warehouse (not Warehouse 13, hehe) for whatever reason. Some guy tries spooning me so I got up and moved. I'm in the back corner and see Kate (current age, I suppose) and she starts giving a speech to a dozen people gathered there. I leaned on the end of the aisle listening. She said she needed someone to be in charge of something or other, looks at me and says I'll do. I pointed to me, thought maybe she meant the person beside me, and slowly slipped around the aisle, lol! She coaxed me back into view and I agreed to help. (She was very persuasive!)

Then she came over and sat in a desk chair but the tables were up on the walls/shelf higher up, so she's in this chair but can't reach the coffee cup on the desk, lol! I reached up and got her coffee for her (apparently that's how my dreams go lately). I sit beside her and we talk. She's got her hair in a bun and a few strands of hair hanging on the right of her face. I started to push them back out of her face (because I'm suddenly flirty and forward) and we have this moment. And I say, "I really wanna kiss you right now" and she's leaning forward to let me and we kiss and then I wake up! Argh!

[tamiliawihlen]

I chose to include some of my favorite things in my collage, and some things I have a goal of. Coffee and my chapstick are things that I almost always have next to me. The colored diamonds and the smiley face look happy, but they actually represent something darker. I have always loved colored diamonds, my sister is a luxury colored diamond wholesaler. My sister has an awesome job, and it has become my goal to purchase one in my life, they never lose value. People are constantly hoping for riches and luxury items, but it is a slippery slope to feeling always unfulfilled; this is represented by the diamonds and the smiley face falling off the table. Two goals of mine are to completely design my kitchen/house with a Spanish/Italian tile kitchen. Spanish and Italian kitchen art has always been a favorite of mine. The lemon tree represents my dream of spending summers in Italy. I am Italian, and every time my family and I have visited I have always wanted a lemon tree. I’d love to have one one day. The flower vase on top of the table represents my “fairytale world” dream job. In another world, being a florist seems like the best job, being surrounded by flowers and making creations for happy customers seems great.

Attendance Prompt:

Emperor Ferdinand III of Germany declared that indigo was the devil's color in 1654; French dyers could not touch it, on pain of death, until 1737; while in Nuremberg, dyers were still swearing an annual oath not to use it until the end of the eighteenth century. There was even a smear campaign against imported indigo: in 1650 officials in Dresden announced that the newcomer “readily loses its color” and *corrodes cloths (p. 200).

I thought this information was really interesting, for a color to be deemed the devil's color. Throughout history, colors have always had representations, good or bad, but this one confused me. When you think of the color red, you typically think of love or the devil, not indigo for the devil. This information goes to show you how much influence a person can have on a group of people.

[thepurewood]

Wholesale Wooden Furniture Manufacturers in the USA - Purewood

Purewood is one of the leading wholesale wooden furniture manufacturers in the USA. With years of experience in the industry, the company has established a strong reputation for providing high-quality, durable, and stylish furniture to customers across the country.

The company's commitment to quality and customer satisfaction is evident in its wide range of furniture products that cater to different needs and preferences. From classic to contemporary designs, Purewood offers furniture that adds warmth, beauty, and functionality to any space.

At Purewood, the focus is on creating furniture that is not only aesthetically pleasing but also eco-friendly. The company uses only the finest quality wood that is sourced from sustainable forests. The wood is carefully selected and processed to ensure that it is free from any defects or impurities, resulting in furniture that is strong, durable, and long-lasting.

The company's manufacturing process is also geared towards minimizing waste and reducing its carbon footprint. Purewood employs skilled craftsmen who use traditional techniques to create furniture that is both beautiful and functional. Each piece is handcrafted to ensure that it is unique and meets the highest standards of quality.

Purewood offers a wide range of furniture products, including dining tables, chairs, coffee tables, bookcases, cabinets, wardrobes, and more. Each piece is designed with attention to detail and is available in various finishes to complement any decor.

One of the unique features of Purewood's furniture is its versatility. The company offers furniture that can be customized to meet the specific needs of its customers. Whether you need a particular size, shape, or design, Purewood can create furniture that is tailored to your requirements.

The company also offers excellent customer service, evident in its after-sales support. Purewood's team of experts is always on hand to assist customers with any queries or concerns they may have regarding their furniture.

In addition to its commitment to quality and customer satisfaction, Purewood is also committed to giving back to the community. The company works closely with local communities and charities to support social causes and improve the lives of people in need.

In conclusion, Purewood is one of the best wholesale wooden furniture manufacturers in India. With its commitment to quality, eco-friendliness, and customer satisfaction, the company offers furniture that is both beautiful and functional. Whether you're looking for classic or contemporary designs, Purewood has something to suit your taste and budget. With excellent customer service and a commitment to giving back, Purewood is a company that you can trust and rely on for all your furniture needs.

[charmingliving]

Are you planning to buy durable coffee tables on wholesale bases for your coffee shop in Australia? Look no further than Charming Living. Whether you want small or large round coffee tables or rectangular one with a wood top or black melamine board, we have you covered. Even if you want the one for your living room or other common areas in a home, we have various ranges to help you choose from. Visit our page to check our latest collections and buy them as per your needs.

[emptymanuscript]

Definitely loved me some of these.

I have actually been thinking of trying to put together a personal best of sci-fi short stories for binding for my own personal library. I know I would probably have to cut down the list I've got for it (I think I've forgotten some). Trying to take out those already mentioned above:

All the last Wars at Once by George Alec Effinger

All You Zombies by Robert Heinlein

Coming Attraction by Fritz Leiber

The Dead by Michael Swanwick

Equinotical by John Varley

The Golem by Avram Davidson

The Grail by Harlan Ellison

I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter by Isabel Fall

The Last Homosexual by Paul Park

Kirinyaga by Mike Resnick

Let's Go to Golgotha! by Gary Kilworth

Love Is the Plan the Plan Is Death by James Tiptree, Jr.

Nightfall by Isaac Asimov

Only a Mother by Judith Merrill

Passengers by Robert Silverberg

Pillar of Fire by Ray Bradbury

The Sand Kings by George R. R. Martin

Seven Views of Oludavi Gorge by Mike Resnick

The Store of Worlds by Robert Sheckly

Story of Your Life by Ted Chiang

Think Like a Dinosaur by James Patrick Kelly

We Can Get Them for You Wholesale by Neil Gaiman

Uncleftish Beholding by Poul Anderson

I have to admit I would love to put in A World Of Laughter, A World Of Tears by Statichaos because it is my favorite alternate history but I think it's really a whole novella on its own. And it would be even better if it could be made into some kind of coffee table picture book. I know Statichaos thought about making it but was too worried about the legal repercussions.

an incomplete list of unsettling short stories I read in textbooks

the scarlet ibis

marigolds

the diamond necklace

the monkey’s paw

the open boat

the lady and the tiger

the minister’s black veil

an occurrence at owl creek bridge

a rose for emily

(I found that one by googling “short story corpse in the house,” first result)

the cask of amontillado

the yellow wallpaper

the most dangerous game

a good man is hard to find

some are well-known, some obscure, some I enjoy as an adult, all made me uncomfortable between the ages of 11-15

add your own weird shit, I wanna be literary and disturbed

[octuscle]

For years, this had been a quiet street. With his grocery store, Alfred had supplied the neighborhood with delicacies. And at lunchtime, his guests could sit in the sun on the street. But the peace and quiet was over now. A shisha bar had opened across the street. And that was the end of the peacefulness. The guests drove up in their high-powered luxury cars, accelerated again briefly to 60 km/h, braked with squealing tires, let the engines roar. From 11:00. Until 03:00. And each time Alfred wondered how a young lad in his mid-20s could afford a car for 200,000 euros.

His guests remained loyal to Alfred to a large extent. However, the lunchtime business was slackening more and more. The cheese store down the street had already disappeared. One of the lads had opened a store there selling protein products. And the hairdresser's store had become a Turkish barber's store. When Alfred sat at the window of his apartment above the store in the evening and watched the shisha bar full of hatred, he could see more than clearly that business was being conducted at the tables that was undoubtedly not legal. Alfred had already sent the police once, and they had come. Nothing had happened. But since then, the only policemen patrolling the street were obviously of Arab origin. And they were good customers for protein powder. More and more men with enormous muscles could be seen in the street.

At some point, Alfred had begun to adjust to the circumstances. He sold only beef and no more meat. The young men loved expensive, high-quality beef. Nevertheless, one evening Alfred's mind was blown. It was a hot summer evening. Alfred tried to sleep with the window open. But in the bar, the terrace was crowded. All the windows were open. The music was playing at maximum volume. Alfred put on something and entered the bar, full of rage. Two absurdly muscular policemen were standing at the bar, drinking coffee and talking to the no less muscular bartender, who, however, was wearing only a very skimpy tank top instead of a uniform. Alfred yelled at the policemen whether they were not planning to do anything about this disturbance of the peace. While one of the policemen explained to him that one should have understanding for the young people on such a summer evening, the other one waved the manager over. The manager smiled, invited Alfred to a separee and offered him a cup of tea and a shisha. In life, Alfred would not have smoked a shisha. But a tea was a good idea. And after a sip of tea, he somehow also felt like having a shisha. And then his eyes went black.

Fuck, he had overdone it again with the weights. Ahmad must have fainted for a moment. He took a sip of water and looked at his watch. Almost 04:00. Time to finish the workout. He had to go to the wholesale market, he definitely wanted to be back home before the sunrise prayer. He dried his sweat, put on his work overalls and headed for his van. And as he did so, he ran through his shopping list again in his head. He definitely needed pita bread, sucuk and ayran. Fruits and vegetables and so on. Apple tea, too, probably. And somewhere there was also the order from his boss for the shisha bar opposite his Turkish supermarket.

[sixshotsinatumbllr]

Part 2 of rating Good Omens Characters on whether or not I would employ them in my IRL cafe

This was hella fun the first time, so I am going to keep doing it. Sorry, y'all along for the ride.

Muriel

I'd like to say yes. I'd really like to say yes. But whilst she has a wonderful personality for service, I think she just wouldn't have the skill set for the job. Maybe she's a quick learner? We'll trial her for a week and see.

Turns out that the customers love her, but she breaks a lot of cups.

Adam Young

Adam is such a solid, sensible young kid (apart from the whole being the AntiChrist thing, but he did a pretty awesome job with that one). He has great references from Uncle Aziraphale and Uncle Crowley. We'd give him a weekend job dishpigging and helping out with service. He's a good worker if a little vulnerable to conspiracy theorists when they come in (which is more often than you would expect).

Anathema Device

Let's be honest, Anathema is wealthy from the stock market. She's not going to be working in the hospitality industry. She does come in as a customer, and will always chat conspiracy theories with Adam. She recommends really good podcasts.

Eric

Eric would be on the weekends as well. He's employed for his style as much as anything, but is a great all rounder on busy days. I can see him in front of the coffee machine.

Lesley

He's the delivery driver for the food wholesalers AND HE'S A WHOLE LOT BETTER THAN OUR ACTUAL IRL DELIVERY MAN WHO PUTS BOXES IN THE DRY STORE SO RANDOMLY IT'S LIKE A TREASURE HUNT EVERY FUCKING DAY BUT THE TREASURE HUNT IS FOR INGREDIENTS WE NEED IN THE KITCHEN IMMEDIATELY.

Dagon

I have no idea why but Dagon gives me hella kitchenhand vibes. I reckon she's great with a knife, precise and efficient. She's the sweary kitchenhand in the back of the cafe making snarky sarcastic comments that none of the customers can hear but the staff can, and everyone loves working with Dagon.

Mrs Sandwich

Mrs Sandwich has just the right level of snark and personality for the job. She'd be the weekend service staffperson. She can handle the busy periods really well, never gets flustered and never lets the customers get at her either.

Madame Tracy

No, but we let her set up her tarot card table in the corner once a fortnight because she brings customers into the shop.

Shax

No, she presented well but then we soon realised she had no fucking idea what she was doing. She comes in for a long black with Furfur sometimes. We do appreciate her style, so we often give her a discount on her coffee (but not Furfur, which annoys him but he still won't stop turning up.)

[tandjallinremodelling234]

5 Reasons to Invest in Professional Kitchen Remodelling Services Brookfield

The kitchen is the heart of your home—it’s where family dinners, coffee chats, and late-night snacking happen. But when your kitchen starts showing its age, it might be time for an upgrade. Here’s the thing: remodelling your kitchen isn’t just about slapping a fresh coat of paint on the walls. It’s about creating a functional, stylish, and inviting space. And while DIY projects might be tempting, there’s a strong case for calling in the pros. Let’s dive into five solid reasons why investing in professional kitchen remodelling services is worth every penny.

Reason 1: Expertise and Experience—Why Skills Matter Let’s face it: the kitchen is one of the most complex spaces in your home to remodel. You’re not just dealing with cabinets and countertops—you’ve got plumbing, electrical wiring, appliances, and lighting to consider. Professional remodels' bring years of experience and specialized knowledge to the table.

Think of it like this: would you trust yourself to perform surgery after watching a YouTube tutorial? Probably not. The same goes for your kitchen. Experts know the best materials, layouts, and techniques to create a space that’s both functional and beautiful. They understand how to maximize storage, improve workflow, and ensure everything meets safety standards.

And here’s the kicker: professionals stay updated on the latest trends and innovations. Whether it’s sleek smart appliances or a timeless farmhouse sink, they’ll help you achieve a kitchen that’s both modern and personalized.

Reason 2: Time-Saving Efficiency Have you ever started a small home project, thinking it would take a weekend, only to find yourself knee-deep in tools and frustration weeks later? Remodelling your kitchen can be a massive time sink—unless you have a team of experts on your side.

Professional remodels have a game plan. They’ve done this a hundred times before, so they know how to keep things moving smoothly. From securing permits to scheduling contractors, they handle the nitty-gritty details that would otherwise keep you up at night.

Plus, they work fast without compromising on quality. Instead of juggling remodelling tasks alongside your day job, you can sit back and relax, knowing your project is in capable hands. Time is money, and hiring a pro is like buying yourself weeks of stress-free living.

Reason 3: Cost-Effective Solutions Wait, aren’t professional services expensive? Sure, they’re an upfront investment, but here’s the secret: they save you money in the long run. How? By helping you avoid costly mistakes and offering budget-friendly solutions.

Picture this: you try to install your own backsplash, but the tiles end up crooked. Now you’ve wasted time, materials, and energy—plus, you still have to call a pro to fix it. Ouch. Professionals eliminate these headaches by getting it right the first time.

They also have access to wholesale prices on materials and established relationships with suppliers. That means you get top-quality products without breaking the bank. And if something unexpected pops up—like discovering a hidden plumbing issue—they know how to handle it without derailing the entire project.

Reason 4: Enhanced Aesthetic Appeal Let’s be real: a kitchen remodel isn’t just about functionality—it’s also about turning heads. Professional remodels' have an eye for design. They know how to mix colours, textures, and finishes to create a space that’s Instagram-worthy.

Do you want a cosy rustic vibe or a sleek modern look? Maybe a mix of both? Professionals can bring your vision to life, incorporating elements you might not have thought of, like under-cabinet lighting or a statement island.

And they don’t just follow trends—they set them. By combining their design expertise with your personal style, they’ll create a kitchen that’s timeless, not trendy. After all, you want a space that still looks fabulous 10 years from now, right?

Reason 5: Increased Home Value Here’s the cherry on top: a professionally remodelled kitchen doesn’t just make your home more enjoyable—it also boosts its resale value. According to real estate experts, kitchen upgrades are one of the best ways to attract buyers and increase your asking price.

Think about it: a potential buyer walks into your home and sees a stunning, updated kitchen. That’s an instant “wow” factor. In fact, most buyers are willing to pay a premium for a home with a modern, functional kitchen.

And it’s not just about aesthetics. A professionally Kitchen remodelling in Brookfield often includes energy-efficient appliances, better insulation, and improved lighting—all of which appeal to eco-conscious buyers. So, whether you’re planning to sell in five years or 15, your investment will pay off big time.

Conclusion Investing in professional kitchen remodelling services is like giving your home the ultimate glow-up. From their expertise and efficiency to cost savings and increased home value, the benefits are undeniable. Sure, it’s an investment—but it’s one that pays off in spades, both financially and emotionally.

So, if your kitchen is overdue for a makeover, why not call in the pros? You’ll get a space that’s not only functional but also a joy to cook, eat, and entertain in. Because at the end of the day, you deserve a kitchen that feels like home.

t and j all in remodelling

985 Georges Ave, Brookfield, WI 53045, United States

+12623529525

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Delhi is known as a major hub for book distribution in India, offering a wide range of options for those interested in bulk book purchases, whether for academic institutions, libraries, or retail bookstores. Among the prominent players in this space, Indian Book Distributors stands out as a top choice for reliable, quality, and affordable wholesale books in Delhi. In this blog, we’ll explore the benefits of buying books in bulk, the types of books available, and why Indian Book Distributors is a trusted name in the industry.

Why Choose a Book Wholesaler?

When it comes to purchasing books in large quantities, there are many advantages to choosing a book wholesalers in delhi like Indian Book Distributors:

Cost Savings: Buying in bulk allows significant savings compared to retail prices. Wholesalers offer competitive pricing to customers who purchase large volumes, making it an economical choice for businesses and educational institutions.

Convenience and Availability: Wholesalers often have large inventories and diverse collections, ensuring you have a greater selection. Indian Book Distributors, for example, stocks a wide variety of books across genres and subjects, allowing customers to fulfill their needs in one place.

Quality Assurance: Reputable wholesalers maintain high standards for the books they supply. At Indian Book Distributors, customers are assured of receiving books in excellent condition, suitable for display in stores or libraries.

Customized Orders: Many wholesalers offer the option of customized orders, allowing businesses to select the specific titles and quantities needed. This flexibility is ideal for curating a collection tailored to your audience’s preferences.

Types of Books Available at Indian Book Distributors

Indian Book Distributors specializes in providing a diverse range of books, making them a popular choice for various clients, from libraries and schools to retail bookstores and even corporate buyers. Here’s an overview of the types of books available:

Academic and Educational Books: Indian Book Distributors is well-known for its extensive collection of textbooks and reference materials across subjects, including math, science, history, and language studies. These books cater to schools, colleges, and universities, helping educators and students access essential resources at affordable prices.

Children’s Books and Educational Materials: The demand for children’s books has been growing, with parents and educational institutions alike looking for engaging, age-appropriate material. Indian Book Distributors offers a vast selection of children’s books, from storybooks to educational material designed to stimulate young minds.

Fiction and Non-Fiction: Catering to the general readership, Indian Book Distributors also supplies popular fiction and non-fiction titles, covering genres like literature, thrillers, romance, self-help, biographies, and more. Retailers and libraries can benefit from these collections to satisfy readers of all ages.

Competitive Exam Books: For students preparing for competitive exams like NEET, JEE, UPSC, and banking exams, Indian Book Distributors provides a range of prep books and guides from reputed publishers. These resources are essential for students aiming to excel in their exams and secure admissions or jobs in their chosen fields.

Corporate and Coffee Table Books: Indian Book Distributors also caters to corporate clients looking for books that make great gifts or additions to office libraries. Coffee table books on art, history, and culture are popular choices, providing an aesthetic and intellectual touch to any setting.

Why Choose Indian Book Distributors?

Indian Book Distributors has established itself as a trusted name among book wholesalers in Delhi due to several key factors:

Comprehensive Collection: With a vast catalog of books across genres, Indian Book Distributors can meet the diverse needs of various clients, from educational institutions to retail shops. This extensive inventory ensures customers can find exactly what they’re looking for in one place.

Competitive Pricing: Indian Book Distributors is committed to offering fair and competitive prices, making it easier for buyers to acquire books in bulk without breaking the bank. Bulk purchasing with Indian Book Distributors often leads to significant savings.

Customized Services: They understand that every client has unique needs, so Indian Book Distributors provides personalized support to help customers choose the right books and quantities. This customer-focused approach is ideal for businesses and educational institutions that may have specific requirements.

Dependable Quality: Indian Book Distributors prides itself on maintaining the quality of its inventory. Customers can expect well-packaged, pristine books ready for sale or use, ensuring satisfaction with each purchase.

Efficient Delivery and Logistics: To further enhance the customer experience, Indian Book Distributors has a strong logistics network, enabling timely and reliable deliveries throughout Delhi and beyond. This efficiency is crucial for clients who need to restock or acquire new materials quickly.

How to Connect with Indian Book Distributors

For those interested in partnering with Indian Book Distributors or placing a bulk order, the process is straightforward. You can contact their team through their website, where you’ll find a range of options and services. They offer professional guidance to help customers navigate their extensive collection, ensuring they find the right books for their needs.

Final Thoughts

Choosing the right book wholesalers in delhi is essential for businesses and institutions that require large volumes of books. Indian Book Distributors, a leading book wholesaler in Delhi, provides a wide range of options, quality assurance, competitive pricing, and outstanding customer service. Whether you’re a school in need of textbooks, a library looking to diversify its collection, or a retail bookstore aiming to offer the latest bestsellers, Indian Book Distributors is a reliable partner you can trust.