#import shipments handling

[doralcustomsbrokers]

https://www.doralcustomsbrokers.com/customs-clearance-in-miami/

Doral Customs Brokers offers expert customs clearance services for all your shipments coming into Miami, FL or any port of entry in the US. We believe that to truly offer valuable customs clearance services to our importers, we must become a valuable, efficient and helpful part of their logistics team. We go beyond to make sure that your shipments are handled with care and accuracy, and in an expedient manner.

[saphronethaleph]

Fascist, Thus Inefficient

“As you can see, my young apprentice, your friends have failed,” the Emperor said, triumph in his tone. “Now, witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station!”

Luke looked at him in shock.

“Fire at will, Commander!” the Emperor said.

Fourteen months previously…

“Shipment IL-214-73 arriving,” a petty officer reported.

“Thank goodness,” muttered one of the technicians. “After the delays we’ve been having, we need to get those Khyber crystals into the third main focusing array. It’s been on the critical path for a week.”

He brought up the display, frowning. “All right, I think we can make up a bit of time if we just get them straight to cutting and installation.”

“Don’t we need to run them through the testing process first?” a more junior technician asked. “That’s on the list.”

“I know it’s on the list,” the senior tech replied. “But the list was written when they didn’t expect there’d be rebel attacks hitting our supply lines.”

He waved at the screen. “The testing process means heating each individual crystal up to eighteen hundred, even though we know Khyber can all handle temperatures of up to forty-seven-fifty. The cutting process doesn’t rely on heat tolerance either. Any crystalline flaws will come out in cutting, and we can just junk them. It means cutting takes a bit longer, but by going straight to cutting we can save at several hours on the overall process. And you know how much time we’ve lost already.”

The junior tech looked worried, then shook his head.

“All right,” he replied. “I guess so.”

“You need to learn how things are done in practice,” the senior tech said. “No big deal.”

Eleven months previously...

“I’m quite sure Rothana Heavy Engineering’s XJ-15 hypermatter feed systems will meet your needs better than the alternatives,” the Rothana representative said, as Admiral Jerjerrod examined the datasheet.

He wasn’t so sure. The newer units had better specifications, certainly, but they weren’t proven, and they were also somewhat more expensive.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily the case,” he said, out loud. “While I appreciate Rothana’s position, the Sienar alternative has similar flow rates and more proven applications.”

The Rothana representative nodded, sagely.

“I understand entirely,” he said. “However, I must point out that Rothana has some important additional information to present.”

He held out a credit chip, which Jerjerrod took and inspected.

“Owing to the XJ-15’s protracted development, we are willing to provide our test units at cost,” the representative went on. “That is in addition to having a higher production rate than our competitors and a less committed production output.”

Jerjerrod hesitated, then pocketed the credit chip.

“That all seems in order,” he said. “The XJ-15 it is.”

“Marvellous,” the representative declared.

Nine months previously...

“I’ve examined the records that exist from the first Death Star,” a senior technician said. “The amount of strain that was placed on the flash suppression systems was minimal to nonexistent. Even with the full firing that destroyed Alderaan, surviving records indicate that the flash suppressors had no more than a five percent load placed on them – an amount that can be handled by untreated durasteel.”

The other men and women in the meeting looked at the data on the screen behind their colleague.

“You’re suggesting we forego the duratemp treatment on the flash protection systems?” one of the women asked, cautiously. “I can see the advantages, but the downsides seem significant. I’d even say potentially destructive.”

“It is my position that the cost of including the duratemp treatment is unacceptable,” the tech replied. “It takes time and effort, including supervisory attention which cuts into the available man-hours on the project. We only have so much experienced manpower.”

That drew winces, though none of the humans in the room drew attention to the fact that they were spending a lot of that time in interminable meetings.

“In the following presentation, I’ll discuss my proposal and how it could shave as much as one week off the final completion timetable,” the senior tech continued, flicking to the next screen of his presentation. “This model shows how the flash suppression systems are built around the main weapon…”

Six months previously…

“There simply isn’t an option,” the head of personnel replied. “Our existing system is not providing enough technicians and operators.”

“This was quite sufficient for the first Death Star,” Jerjerrod protested.

“The first Death Star was a project that took decades,” the manager replied, shrugging. “It didn’t come up at first, sir – for that I apologize – but if we are going to redress the problem, we need to act now. There is no alternative.”

Jerjerrod rubbed his temples, thinking about the problem.

The fully functional Death Star was going to need hundreds of thousands of qualified technicians and operators, familiar with the systems of the vast battle station, and so many of the men who knew much about the Death Star at the moment were busy building it.

There hadn’t been many left after the destruction of the first battle station, because most of them had been working on it at the time.

“All right,” he said. “So your proposal is…?”

“We keep the same number of trainers for now, but abbreviate the course,” the manager answered. “Two months – at most. Then we have the new graduates train the next batch for two months, and so on. Exponential growth. At twenty students per instructor and a hundred instructors to start with, we’ll end up with eight hundred thousand in six months.”

That was extremely tempting… they wouldn’t be anything like the equal of what they should be, but they could learn on the job.

“All right,” Jerjerrod said. “Approved – see to it.”

One month previously…

“Next item on the checklist?” Commander Jaskier asked.

“Step one hundred and seven,” Technician Mils replied. “Self test.”

She pressed the self-test button, and the computer system clicked and flickered as it ran through the diagnostics.

Data results and readouts went up on the screen, and Jaskier and all the others in the control station watched the results.

None of them had any comment to make about the numbers. The checklist said to run the self test, so that was what they were doing.

“Step one hundred and eight,” Mils went on. “Sign off on results.”

She did that, as well, and Jaskier nodded.

“Good,” he said. “And I believe we’ve finished that half an hour ahead of schedule! Good work, everyone.”

Now.

The firing commands flashed out through the Death Star’s systems, triggering a cascade of further commands, and the whole massive battle station’s main superlaser woke for the first time.

Fifty XJ-15 hypermatter flow regulators controlled the flow of energy from the power core into the power collectors, and the energy being channelled into the system surged rapidly – rising to one hundred and eighteen percent of nominal, above what would have been anticipated, and greater than the one hundred and two percent that the older, more proven Sienar systems would have generated.

Thousands of high powered beams were generated, controlled and focused through an enormous array of Khyber crystals… a small but measurable fraction of which were cheap industrially grown diamonds instead, added to the shipments by subcontractors eager to stretch out their production from the strip-mined planet of Ilum without running so late on their deliveries that financial penalties were imposed.

None of the technicians who were in a position to spot the problem at this stage were actually capable of doing so. Their necessarily abbreviated training had mostly been on what buttons to push, and nobody had the deeper knowledge of the systems to recognize that the system was in an anomalous state.

Then some of the diamonds shattered under the load, allowing the beams free to damage adjacent systems, and in moments the whole of the energy drawn from the hypermatter core was unleashed.

The flash suppression systems were wholly, and fatally, inadequate.

“Watch yourself, Wedge!” Lando called, his head on a swivel, and banked the Falcon around so his ventral turret gunner could clear off one of the TIEs attacking Red Leader. “We’ve got to-”

Then there was a sudden blinding flash, and Lando did a double-take.

The Death Star’s protective shield was instantly, and dramatically, visible – because the entire inside of it was full of plasma and flame, lighting it up as clearly as Ackbar’s briefing had done back before the operation was launched in the first place. Then something blew up on the surface of the forest moon as the plasma followed the funnel of the shield, and the explosive force was no longer contained but began to drift out into space.

“...the kriff?” Lando asked, eventually. “What just happened?”

“Ow,” Darth Vader said, indistinctly, reaching up to feel his helmet, which had been crushed in by an impact with the ceiling.

The Emperor’s throne room seemed to mostly be intact, though there was an Emperor-shaped hole in the window nearest his throne, and Luke had his hands out to either side as he stood on the wall.

“Father, are you all right?” the younger Skywalker asked.

“What happened?” Vader replied. “I remember the Emperor ordering that the Death Star should fire…”

“I don’t know, it exploded just after he said that,” Luke answered. “It turns out that overconfidence was his weakness… do you have any idea where the nearest spaceship is? Keeping the atmosphere in is tiring me out a bit.”

[ddejavvu]

Jake seresin doing that bathroom door thing to a sweet shy reader would be so cute😭😭

that bathroom door thing - i changed it up just a bit for the plot's sake! i hope you still enjoy it <3

--

Jake's forever grateful that Penny bought the Hard Deck, because it brought about changes that have only ever benefitted him. She's begrudgingly fond of him, so he drinks whenever he wants and pays his tab in grunt muscle when new shipments of booze are delivered and need to be hauled in. He also drives Amelia around to various after school activities, so Penny's rewarded him with his own personal set of keys in case she's waiting for pickup in the bar and can't lock up behind herself.

The bar is cleaner now than it was under previous management, which means more women are willing to set foot inside; something about the earlier gunk and grime drove them away. It's no longer a place for aviators to drink their sorrows away- it's fun, it's full, and it's family, something Jake cherishes more than he'll ever admit.

Those keys feel especially important in his pocket now as he watches you try the handle of the bathroom door, clearly in a rush. Jake's surprised that the bathroom isn't constantly occupied, what with the amount of liquor that gets consumed on a nightly basis, but some people might just be better at regulating themselves than others.

Apparently you're not one of them as you find the door locked, your face contorting into clear displeasure.

You scan the bar for Penny but- Jake realizes with a jolt down his spine, she's not here. She'd stepped out, and he'd been casually monitoring the counter to ensure that no one started touching anything that didn't belong to them.

"Coyote," Jake calls, catching his friend's attention from where he's crouched over the pool table, "Cover for Penny."

Usually the team would be annoyed at being interrupted, but Coyote is just as fond of Penny as Jake is, and he nods once, passing his cue over to Rooster. He takes up a seat opposite Jake, giving the man the chance to stand and make his way over to you.

"Hey there, darlin'," He greets, digging the keys out of his pocket, "You need'a get in there?"

"Uh, yeah, I do," You laugh sheepishly, watching intently as he slides the key into the door, "Oh my god, thank you, I couldn't find the bartender and I thought I was shit outta luck."

"I gotcha, honey," Jake grins, bicep flexing as he pushes open the door for you, "Come get me when you're done so I can lock back up, okay?"

"Alright," You agree, slipping into the bathroom and peeking through the door to call after him, "Thank you again!"

Jake beelines for the bar, reaching around the countertop to grab two bottles of beer. They're stored in an ice bucket, but he prefers them to the tap because they're quicker and easier.

"Hey!" Coyote barks, mad dogging him playfully, "You gonna pay for those, sir?"

"If these help me get that lady's number," Jake rushes back to the tables near the bathroom, sitting at one and setting the other bottle across from him, "I'll give Penny my life savings."

[autisticadult]

The deal

Chapter two: the meeting

Warnings: once again yall, pretty tame :) mafiaboss!elijah AU :) slow burn has me in a chokehold so buckle up. As always, minors DNI !!!! Dom/sub dynamics are coming !!!!

A/N: I’m so glad chapter one got so much love yall :) I am really feeling slow burn for this for some reason so I hope that’s ok, I did give yall a nice lil moment at the end though, enjoy <3

Taglist(message me if you’d like to join!): @tinysunshine

Life under Elijah Mikaelson’s roof was nothing like you’d expected, though you weren’t sure what you had expected. Perhaps more violence, more overt displays of the power that made him the most feared man in New Orleans. Instead, you found yourself tangled in a web of subtleties, power plays, and rules so unspoken they might as well have been etched into the mansion’s walls.

For the most part, Elijah left you alone during the first few weeks, appearing only when he had some use for you. These interactions ranged from casual conversation to tasks he assigned without explanation. At first, you had hoped that he might lose interest in you, that his fascination was fleeting. But as the days passed, you realized Elijah wasn’t the kind of man who let go of things he claimed as his.

One evening, after finishing a task in the kitchen—sorting a shipment of imported bottles for Elijah’s collection—you wandered into the dining room, hoping to steal a moment of solitude. Instead, you found Rebekah seated at the massive oak table, swirling a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Y/N,” she drawled, her tone sharp as a dagger. “Adjusting to life in the gilded cage?”

You hesitated in the doorway. Rebekah was beautiful and dangerous, her presence a constant reminder of the family’s reputation. But she was also unpredictable, and you couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious or looking for a reason to toy with you.

“Trying,” you replied carefully.

Her lips twisted into a smirk. “Smart girl. But I wonder, do you truly understand what you’ve done?”

You blinked, unsure of her meaning. “I’m protecting my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sure you believe that,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “But you’ve chained yourself to Elijah, and he doesn’t do anything without reason. Whatever he sees in you, it won’t be simple. Or easy.”

Rebekah’s words unsettled you, but you pushed the feeling aside. “I can handle it.”

She laughed, the sound musical but laced with disbelief. “Can you? Or are you just too stubborn to admit you’re in over your head?”

Before you could respond, the door to the dining room swung open, and Elijah entered, his presence immediately filling the space. He didn’t look at Rebekah; his dark gaze went straight to you.

“Y/N,” he said smoothly, “a moment, if you please.”

You followed him without question, feeling Rebekah’s knowing gaze on your back.

Elijah led you to his study, a room you’d been in only once before. He gestured for you to sit, but as always, his politeness felt like a command rather than a suggestion.

“I’ve been observing you,” he began, leaning back in his chair. His words were measured, deliberate, as though each one carried weight.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “And?”

“You’re resilient,” he said, his tone almost… approving. “You’ve adapted more quickly than I anticipated. Most would have crumbled under the pressure by now.”

“Maybe I’m not like most people,” you replied, trying to mask your unease with confidence.

His lips curved into a faint smile. “No, you’re not.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your pulse quicken—a mix of admiration and something darker.

“I have a task for you,” he continued. “A test of sorts.”

You straightened in your chair, wary but curious. “What kind of test?”

“A meeting,” he said simply. “Tonight, you’ll accompany me to a gathering of… associates. Your role is to observe and, if necessary, speak on my behalf.”

Your stomach tightened. “Speak on your behalf? Why me?”

“Because I wish it,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Consider it an opportunity to prove your worth.”

It wasn’t a request, and you knew better than to refuse. “I’ll do it,” you said, forcing confidence into your voice.

“Good,” he said, standing. “Wear something appropriate. We leave in an hour.”

The meeting took place in a dimly lit private club, far more refined than The Red Raven. The air was thick with tension, the kind that came when powerful people converged in a single room. Elijah moved through the crowd like a shadow, his every step purposeful. You stayed close, trying to blend into the background while keeping your senses alert.

At the center of the room was a long table surrounded by men and women who looked as dangerous as they were wealthy. Elijah took his seat at the head, his calm demeanor commanding instant respect.

You stood behind him, your hands clasped in front of you, trying not to let your nerves show. The conversation that followed was a delicate dance of words, veiled threats, and subtle power plays. Elijah spoke sparingly, but when he did, his voice cut through the room like a blade.

At one point, the attention shifted to you.

“And who’s this?” asked a man with a heavy French accent, his gaze raking over you. “Your new pet, Elijah?”

The insult made your blood boil, but before you could react, Elijah raised a hand, silencing the room.

“Y/N is my… advisor,” he said smoothly, his tone leaving no room for dispute. “She’s here to observe and ensure my interests are protected.”

The man smirked, clearly unimpressed. “I hope she’s worth the trouble.”

Elijah’s dark gaze fixed on the man, and the room grew unnervingly quiet. “Everything I do is worth the trouble, Monsieur Leclerc. You would do well to remember that.”

Leclerc paled, muttering a hasty apology. The meeting continued, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Elijah’s words—or the way he’d so effortlessly silenced a man who had clearly underestimated him.

When it was finally over, Elijah escorted you outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the oppressive atmosphere of the club.

“You were a good girl tonight, darling.” he said, a little too casually for your liking, as you walked toward his car.

“I was?” you asked, shooting him a shy glance while still feeling the lingering tension from the meeting.

He stopped, turning to face you. Elijah reached out, taking her chin into her hand as he spoke, his calm tone demanding to be respected. “Yes. But remember this, Y/N—appearances are everything in my world, to me. Tonight, you were seen as an extension of me. Don’t ever give anyone a reason to doubt your loyalty. Or mine.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. As y:n obediently whispered out a small “yes sir, I understand.” Elijah dropped her chin and turned to the car.

As you climbed into the car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d truly passed his test—or if this was just the beginning of something far more dangerous.

The ride back to the Mikaelson estate was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound between you and Elijah. You stared out the window, watching the streets of New Orleans blur into shadows and flickering lights. The gravity of the night weighed heavily on your shoulders, each moment replaying in your mind like a warning.

Elijah, as always, was unreadable, his gaze fixed forward. You wanted to ask him why he’d chosen you for tonight’s gathering, why he thought you were capable of navigating a room full of predators. But you knew better than to question him so openly.

When the car finally pulled up to the grand estate, he exited without a word, leaving you to follow. The mansion’s looming facade seemed more oppressive than ever, its beauty a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

As you stepped inside, you heard a voice call out from the parlor.

“Back so soon?” Rebekah appeared in the doorway, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. She leaned against the frame, her sharp eyes scanning you. “How did our little dove fare in the lion’s den?”

Elijah didn’t break stride. “She did as I expected,” he said, his voice calm but laced with finality. “Goodnight, Rebekah.”

With that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with his sister. Rebekah’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

“Well?” she prompted, arching a brow. “What did he make you do?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

She let out a soft laugh, swirling her wine. “Oh, Y/N, you have no idea what you’ve signed up for, do you?”

You frowned. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because Elijah’s games are never as simple as they seem,” she said, stepping closer. “He’s a master of manipulation, and everything he does—everything—is part of a larger plan. You may think you’re just surviving, but you’re already a piece on his board.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let it show. “I’m not a pawn.”

Rebekah smirked, tilting her head as if appraising you. “Then prove it. Survive his tests, outmaneuver his enemies, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll live long enough to understand what you’ve truly gotten yourself into.”

She brushed past you, her laughter echoing softly as she disappeared into the depths of the house.

You stood there for a moment, her words swirling in your mind. A piece on his board. The thought unsettled you, but a spark of defiance burned in your chest. If Elijah thought he could control you, if he thought you’d play his game without question, he was wrong.

Whatever his plans were, you were determined to be more than a pawn.

Later that night, you found yourself in the small room Elijah had assigned to you. It was modest compared to the rest of the mansion, but it was yours, a rare pocket of solitude in a house full of chaos. You sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the events of the evening in your mind.

Elijah’s words echoed louder than Rebekah’s. “You were seen as an extension of me.” That single statement carried a weight you hadn’t fully grasped until now. Being tied to Elijah meant more than survival—it meant navigating a world of power, deception, and danger.

As you stared at the faint moonlight streaming through the window, you couldn’t help but rethink over everything from the meeting. The gravity of your situation setting in.

The knock on your door came late, and you hesitated before answering. The mansion was quiet, the sort of stillness that left every sound amplified. You half-expected Kol’s familiar antics or Rebekah with another barbed comment. But when you opened your mouth to call out, your voice caught, something stopping you.

“Come in,” you said finally, barely above a whisper.

The door opened, and it wasn’t Kol. Elijah stepped inside, his figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the dim hallway light. He closed the door softly behind him, his eyes locking onto yours. He looked calm, composed, as always—but there was a weight to his gaze tonight that made the air around you feel charged.

“Elijah,” you said, standing automatically. “Is something the matter?”

His head tilted slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. “No,” he said, voice low, smooth as honey. “I simply wished to… clarify something.”

“Clarify?” you asked, your pulse quickening. His presence was unnerving, but not in the way it should have been. Not in the way someone so powerful and dangerous should unnerve you.

“You’ve done well these past weeks,” he began, taking a step closer. “Adapted quickly. But I sense you’re still questioning your place here.”

Your brows furrowed. “I told you I’m here for my brother—”

“And I believe that you were,” he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “But I also believe you’ve underestimated what it means to be in my world. What it means to be tied to me.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to look away, to find some corner of the room to focus on instead of the intensity in his dark eyes. But you couldn’t.

“Everything here has rules, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “Unspoken, perhaps, but binding nonetheless. Every move you make reflects on me. Every choice you make… reflects us.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m trying, Elijah. But this—this isn’t something I’ve ever—”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “And yet, you’ve endured. Adapted.”

His words sent a strange warmth through you, though you couldn’t quite place why. And then he took another step closer, his presence utterly consuming now.

“But you still don’t trust me,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Not fully.”

You blinked at him, startled. “I—”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing against your jaw so lightly it was almost like a question. The room seemed to narrow, leaving only him and the way your pulse quickened under his touch.

“You hold me at arm’s length,” he said softly. “Afraid of what it might mean to let me in. And yet, you’re still here.”

“Because I don’t have a choice,” you replied, though the words felt thin even as you said them.

His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You do,” he said. “You’ve always had a choice. You chose to step into my world, to take this path. And now…”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and your breath caught. “Sure, it started with your dearest brother but..” Elijah said with a small smirk, looking at you with hungry eyes.

“You must decide if you’ll let me show you what it truly means to be here,” he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Elijah…” You said his name, but you weren’t sure if it was a protest or a plea.

“If you wish for me to stop,” he said, his gaze locked on yours, “say the word, and I will.”

Your heart raced, the air thick between you. But you didn’t say anything.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, the kiss deepened, his hand tightening in your hair, anchoring you to him.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was deliberate, every movement carrying an unspoken promise. He kissed you as though he was trying to unravel every fear, every wall you’d built between you.

When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his voice was barely audible. “This world is dangerous, Y/N. I am dangerous. But if you choose to stay by my side, I will not let you falter. Do you understand?”

You swallowed hard, your hands still gripping the fabric of his jacket. “I… think I do.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable but intense. “You’ll come to understand fully,” he said, his tone both a promise and a warning. “In time.”

As he stepped back, the space between you felt colder, but the fire he’d ignited in your chest remained. And though he didn’t say anything else before leaving, the lingering warmth of his kiss spoke louder than words.

Whatever game Elijah was playing, whatever role he saw for you, you’d find a way to survive. And maybe, just maybe, you’d find a way to turn the tables. For now, all you could do was think

‘what the hell just happened.’

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

(Inspired by this fanart. All credits to the artist, I couldn't find a direct link to them, but THANK YOU for inspiring me to write this!)

Summary: AU of how Sylus & you (reader) met. Both are leaders of large factions in the N109 Zone, Onychinus (Sylus) and Himitsu (you). They have been cutting into your territory over the past few weeks, so you decided an introduction is required. You laid the trap and Sylus walked right into it. But this is just the beginning...

CHAPTER ONE - Golden Opportunity

Three weeks of nothing but blood and lost profits. You’re exhausted, drained, frustrated. You throw back a second glass of wine and lean back in your chair. You kick off your heels and pull your feet up into the chair, settling yourself in for another late night. You glance over at your heavy wooden desk. A pile of documents and photographs, detailing the gruesome exchange Himitsu and Onychinus had earlier that day. 

Your contact with the N109 Zone police, if you can even call them “police,” dropped the folder off along with a desperate plea to stop the carnage. 

“Looks like it’s getting worse, your boys are working overtime and only getting cut down. Please, I’m begging here, tell Hunter to resolve this. I can’t keep bringing you this intel. My superiors are already on edge.”

You always chuckle when you hear the name “Hunter” - the name of the head of Himitsu. At least that’s what the public believes. You had to come up with a name that carried some weight and maybe some danger. But was ambiguous, most refer to “Hunter” as a he, making you smile every time. You wish you could reveal yourself and watch their jaws drop when they realize a woman runs one of the deadliest crews in the Zone. But you’re far too careful to show your hand. There’s only one person who knows and you always intended to keep it that way.

Every move you make, every client you secure, Onychinus is right on your fucking heels. Himitsu has gunned them down over and over. You’ve ordered their warehouses to be burned to the ground and dealers bought out. The violence continues, and has been getting worse every day. You lean forward to grab the wine bottle off your desk and pour another glass. How do you get this to stop? You need to get back to Linkon and recruit some new blood for your shrinking crew. Not to mention work on repairing the damage made to the Himitsu reputation and bank accounts. You swirl the dark liquor in your glass, you lean back once more, contemplating your next move. 

A shrill creak brings you back to reality and you look over at the door to your office opening slightly. Dorian, your right hand and the “face” of Himitsu, enters quietly. You can tell by the look on his face that the news he brings is not good. 

“How many glasses deep are you?” Dorian says before sitting on the edge of your desk. You chuckle softly.

“Not enough I’m sure.” Dorian smirks, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Good news and bad news.”

“Just rip the bandaid off.” You gulp down your third glass of wine and pinch the bridge of your nose, bracing for what Dorian will say next.

“Our latest shipment coming in from Linkon was intercepted. I don’t have to tell you by whom.” His voice deepens. “Onychinus is taking bigger risks, attacking a convoy so close to the border.”

“Did we lose everything?” You can feel your stomach flip as your brain has already started crunching the numbers. Not only was money lost, but one of your most important clients was depending on you to get that shipment to them. Disappointing them will be a huge hit.  

“Well, yes, but…” Dorian can’t finish his sentence before you stand up and flip open your golden butterfly knife, dark sapphires inlayed in the handle. You start pacing, flipping the knife in quick circles and slashes. Your nerves were officially shot and so were your chances of retaining that client. Your bare feet shuffled along the carpet. 

“Boss, do you remember the last time you were angry pacing and practicing your new little hobby?” His teasing tone only made your frustrations grow. You wince at the memory as you glance down at the scar on your knee. You were careless and hadn’t held the knife correctly, the slice across your flesh happening so quickly you thought it hadn’t happened. You shake your head and glance up at Dorian.

“Do you actually have good news related to Himitsu or are you going to give me some bullshit about a new bakery stall opening at the night market?” 

Dorian chuckles. He stands and walks toward you, careful to avoid your hand continuously flipping the butterfly knife. “We lost a lot today, but gained something that will turn the tide.” 

You snap the butterfly knife closed and look at Dorian closely. He might be taller than you by several inches, but your white-hot stare sent the right signal. Dorian sank into the red leather armchair in front of your desk. He raises his hands in surrender.

“It’s a bit of a long story, but I’ll tell you the abridged version.” His typical goofy smile tugging at his lips helped relax your shoulders. 

“No, tell me everything.” You grab the wine bottle on your desk, now already half-way empty and sit down in the armchair next to Dorian. You don’t bother to use the glass, now abandoned on the desk, you just drink from the bottle as he tells the story.

Himitsu always had a backup plan, and this convoy was no exception. A massive order of damaged protocores coming directly from the UNICORN Division. The deal you made with the disposal company to reroute the truck to the N109 Zone had been in place for nearly 2 years. A backup squad always accompanied the operation. Traveling in the neighborhood parallel to the convoy's route. The route had changed every month to avoid an interception from police or competition. Somehow, Onychinus knew what path they had chosen this month and launched their attack on the truck, backup was only two blocks away and arrived quickly. While the product was taken, a member of the Onychinus team was injured and left behind. Dorian was fortunate enough to be riding with the squad when the attack happened and made the split second decision to keep the man alive. Dorian informed you that your golden opportunity is handcuffed to a chair, ready for an interrogation. 

You stand up, trying to ignore how dizzy you’d become, and straighten out your fitted dress. “I’m going to talk to them.” Dorian reaches out for your arm to steady you and attempts to pull you back. You lose your balance and he catches you pulling you to his lap. Dorian laughs at your tipsy state and you can’t help but join in. 

“I don’t think that is a smart play, boss. He’s still unconscious. We had to dig a couple bullets out and put a couple staples in his head. Get some rest, talk to him in the morning.”

“Fine.” 

You stand up slowly. You circle around your desk to pick up your shoes before continuing to your office door still barefoot. You smile to yourself as you leave your office and head to the elevator. You have a piece of the puzzle. This man could give you confirmation about the intel you’ve gathered on the leader of Onychinus. And it would offer you the chance to set the trap you’ve been dreaming about for the past few weeks.  

You hit the penthouse button and pace around the elevator until you reach the top floor. You press your thumb to the pad on your door and push it open when the chimes confirming the lock has come undone. You drop your shoes at the door and use your butt to close it behind you. The chime automatically plays to secure the lock. You place the nearly empty wine bottle on the kitchen counter and shuffle to your room. Along the way, you remove your heavy gold chain necklace and golden hoops and tug at the zipper of your dress. 

You discard the jewelry on your bedside table and let your dress fall to the floor in a heap around your ankles. You don’t bother to remove your makeup - one of your many bad habits - and slip into bed in your underwear, relishing the cool feeling of the silken sheets against your warm skin. You usually don’t drink that much, but lately, wine has been your closest friend. Besides Dorian. He’ll just have to get used to cleaning up after you for a few more days. This man will be your ticket out of this bloody war. You smile into your pillow, remembering the cage you have prepared for the illusive Onychinus leader.

“Sylus…” You mutter into your pillow as you drift off to sleep. 

Chapter 1: https://shorturl.at/Bx95C Chapter 2: https://shorturl.at/3PwTi Chapter 3: https://shorturl.at/a7xnF Chapter 4: https://shorturl.at/fKYgX

[serickswrites]

first- lovelovelove your writing!!!!

no pressure request: a classic team whump betrayal BUT the traitor is team leader!!! (like maybe they work for an organization or something but the leader of this particular team has been secretly working for the enemy)

maybe there’s even another member of the team that’s also working with the enemy (whether they know about each other or not i don’t know, but either way could probably work well)

anyway i was just scrolling ur betrayal tag and you write it so well so i decided to suggest a version i enjoy,, no pressure of course!!! love ur work, keep it up:))

Hello, friend! I can absolutely write this for you (I love this idea!) This is a series with 6 parts including this one. It will be published under 'Twist'

Warnings: captivity, restraints, betrayal

"UNHAND ME! LET ME GO!" Smallest Teammate screeched as they were dragged along the corridor. The absolute worst had happened: they had been captured by their enemies and brought to the enemy lair. They knew it had to be the mole. It had to be the mole. There was no other way for them to be caught.

They had to stay strong. They had to keep their wits about them. And most of all, they had to protect the rest of the team, including Team Leader, no matter the cost. The mission, the purpose of their organization, could not fail. They would give everything up so that it did not fail.

Smallest Teammate's captors handled them roughly, twisting their arms behind their back hard. One captor held Smallest Teammate's cuffed wrists in a bruising grip. "We'll be letting you go, just as soon as you're ready to start talking."

"I won't tell you anything! ANYTHING!" Smallest Teammate shouted as they shoved back against their captors.

"Then you can sit in here and think with your comrade. Perhaps it'll be nice to see there are worse things that can happen to you."

Smallest Teammate's mouth went dry as they were shoved into a cell and saw the familiar hunched over form of Team Leader. Team Leader's wrists were cuffed tightly behind their back, arms twisted painfully. They lay very still in the center of the cell. No. No. "They got you, too?" Smallest Teammate said as they scurried over to Team Leader.

Team Leader rolled onto their side and stared at Smallest Teammate, their bruised face pinched with pain. "Been here.....few days I think. Did they bring in anyone with you?"

Smallest Teammate shook their head. "No. No, I'm alone."

"Thank God for that. Well, not that you were captured. I mean that's terrible, I--"

Smallest Teammate nodded. "I know what you mean Team Leader. It's better just one than the entire team. I don't think they know where Teammate One and Teammate Three live. And Teammate Two is out," Smallest Teammate looked at the door pointedly before scooting closer to Team Leader, "doing some recon as Organization Leader ordered."

Team Leader looked relieved. "That's good about Teammate One and Three. I don't even know where they live."

"Oh, they live two apartment buildings over from me. So not far." Smallest Teammate's brow furrowed. "Hopefully they are more vigilant than I am."

"What recon mission did Organization Leader send Teammate Two on? So much has happened while I've been here. And Teammate Four, where are they?"

"Teammate Four's probably at the coffee shop on Main Street. They have a crush on the barista there." Smallest Teammate took a breath. "Organization Leader reckons they have a way to break into Oppositional Organization's base." They looked around. "Well, I guess that's where we are."

"How would they break in? Think that means they can rescue us without even knowing we are here?"

Smallest Teammate smiled. "Yep, they're definitely going to be able to save us. And as for how they can break in," Smallest Teammate dropped their voice low, "rumor has it that this place imports a lot of product and their receiving team isn't very thorough in their checks. Teammate Two is observing their shipment patterns to come up with a plan of attack."

Team Leader smirked. "Thank you, Smallest Teammate. That's all I needed. All we needed."

Smallest Teammate froze. "What do you--"

Team Leader popped the cuffs off their wrists. "You gave me everything I need to round up the rest of the team and take care of all of you once and for all."

"NO! It can't be. You....You....I trusted you!"

Team Leader chuckled. "I'm the perfect plant. I've been working against Organization for years from within. And now my life's work will be complete. Really, I should be thanking you more, Smallest Teammate."

Team Leader practically skipped out of the cell. They could hear Smallest Teammate's screams from far down the corridor. But it all didn't matter. They had won. They had beaten Organization. And now they just had to round up the rest of the team and then they could stand victorious at long last.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@acer-whumpstuff @organizedchaos03

[vren-diagram]

What are the great positive effects of automated freight handling that longshoremen are denying you? What would become so much cheaper?

https://blogs.worldbank.org/en/transport/why-ports-matter-global-economy

Efficient port infrastructure has also been identified as a key contributor to overall port competitiveness and international trade costs. Unfortunately, ports and terminals, particularly for containers, are too often main sources of shipment delays, supply chain disruptions, additional costs, and reduced competitiveness. The result far too often is that instead of facilitating trade, the port increases the cost of imports and exports, reduces competitiveness, and inhibits economic growth and poverty reduction. The effect on a country or the countries served by the port can be severe. Inefficient ports can slow the circular system of container shipping, thereby reducing capacity, and reducing costs. Ships have to wait unnecessarily incurring additional fuel costs, additional emissions, and additional costs.

Improving container port performance lowers the cost of trade, contributes to food security, improves resilience, and reduces unnecessary emissions from vessels. The role of ports as the linchpin in the global economy is a major reason why the World Bank and S&P Global Markets are tracking port performance for nearly 350 global ports in the Container Ports Performance Index (CPPI).

When the cost of things goes up, that makes almost everyone worse off. I don't know how this could be clearer. You don't like it when you pay more money for things. Almost nobody likes paying more money to get the same things.

The US currently has some of the worst performing ports in the world. Because of resistance to modernization and make-work programs. Driven by dockworkers unions that use their monopolization of government-granted monopolies on infrastructure to....extract large amounts of money for themselves. This literally causes everything to be a little more expensive than it has to be. This to benefit dudes doing the equivalent of digging up holes just to fill them in again.

[mollysunder]

Does Sevika Have What it Takes to Run Zaun?

The power vacuum in Zaun is sure to be a major source of conflict next season. There will be plenty of figures, both known and unknown, that will try to gain control of what's left of Silco's Shimmer empire and thus the center of Zaun's black market. Of all the candidates that could possibly replace Silco, one of the strongest contenders is Silco's right hand, Sevika. Sevika has many of the qualities that make her an excellent candidate to take Silco's place. Sevika is one of few key players that is trusted by the members of Silco's organization, brutally competent at her job, and genuinely believes in Zaun's independence. The real question is, can Sevika handle Silco's mantle?

Sevika has a lot going for her, but just as much against her, and one of her main problems is that she uses Jinx as a crutch for her shortcomings. When the Firelights destroyed the shipment of Shimmer that was supposed to go out on Progress Day, she laid the blame for the operation's failure squarely on Jinx. It's true that Jinx did injure at least one member of her team in friendly fire and failed to protect the cargo, but everyone else failed too, including Sevika. Not only were all of the crew easily ambushed, none of them had any countermeasures for a known enemy. One guy grabbed a harpoon gun and missed miserably with each shot. Jinx herself wouldn't have gotten involved if Sevika and the crew were better able to work proactively, maybe by investing in a net gun.

Worse still, Sevika claimed she could have handled the situation without Jinx, which is practically a lie. Without Jinx, the Shimmer would have been destroyed much faster, there would have been no one to delay the Firelights or take down 5 of the 8 that were present. But Sevika would rather use the situation to cast more focus on Jinx to undermine her position rather than manage the critical failure in defense that the rest of the team demonstrated under pressure. Silco even pointed this out, the audience was just more inclined to see his opinion as biased.

You can't let Jinx be the excuse for why everything goes wrong, all it does is make everyone zero-in on just Jinx's mistakes rather than take a few steps back to examine why things went wrong. If that actually happened, then someone might actually ask, "How did the did the Firelights know there'd be an important shipment going out on Progress Day?". Or "How did they know which ship they'd be using if they obscure any identifying information on the ship manifests?". And more importantly, "Is there a mole?". Instead, you get a team that drinks and parties after a real shitshow because their direct boss confirms that all their problems are just one person.

This all bleeds into another main issue of hers. Every time Sevika's in a confrontation, she thinks like an individual rather than a leader. The first time she fights Vi, she let's two of her underlings runaway rather than help her. When Vi comes back for round 2 with the same special hextech that caused so much mayhem at the Shimmer Refinery, Sevika tells the entire crew there to leave so they can go 1-v-1. Everytime something comes up, Sevika chooses not to delegate work or strategize with others around an obstacle, she'd rather take on the responsibility for problems like this by herself.

You could argue that Sevika was the only one capable of fending off Vi, especially with Sevika's new prosthetic's enhancements. But Sevika left no room for support in the background to at least distract Vi or give Sevika cover. If we go way back to the Cannery, Silco has to hold back Sevika from fighting Vi because he thought it was a better idea to use Deckard than do the same thing over again. And he was right! It was better to throw a Shimmer'ed up Deckard at Vi, and reserve Sevika when everyone else lost to Vi. If he hadn't Sevika wouldn't have saved him from the explosion.

If all this wasn't enough, the way Sevika is portrayed in terms of power, doesn't bode well for her potential as a leader. Plenty have pointed out that smoking is a symbol of power in Zaun, those with even a modicum of power smoke. What isn't always pointed out is how anyone who's interrupted smoking, inevitably loses power.

The first time it happened was with Vander, Marcus snatched his pipe and extinguished Vander's flame in his drink. The next episode Marcus' deal with Silco sealed the end of Vander's regime. A man on a smoke break at Silco's refinery (probably a manager) is immediately held at gunpoint by an enforcer part of the raid, where everyone caught was likely arrested and lost their jobs. Silco never actually lost his cigar, and so when he was killed, it wasn't politically motivated, it was an accident.

Curiously, Sevika and the Enforcers from the Progress Day attack actually smoke the same kind of cigarillos. These enforcers happen to be the only Piltovans we see smoke in the series, maybe because they're lower class or former Zaunites themselves. Unlike all the the other times, no one had to directly force them to stop smoking, Jinx made them drop it by simply terrifying them. And Jinx would go on to kill at least a score of enforcers including the Sheriff. Jinx likely threw the chain of command in disarray, doubly so if she killed at least 5 councilmen who the Sheriff would report to.

It makes for an interesting parallel when Vi first attacks Sevika and knocks out her symbol of power. In that scene Sevika managed to win her card game with Trump cards that heavily resembles Jinx and Viktor, but even when she wins, she still loses her cigarillo. All Vi needed to do was catch Sevika off guard and apply force, the same as the other enforcers (and even the Firelights). Later she'll let Finn light up her cigarillo while he affirms her strengths in Zaun.

By the finale, we see her after she's been beaten by Vi, Sevika chooses to go to Silco's office to smoke one of Silco's cigars while he'sgone, but she can't light it on her own. While this might foreshadow that she'll try to take Silco's place, Sevika struggles to light the cigar because if you notice in her hand is a lighter with a fancy "F" on it, Sevika's using Finn's lighter. Silco, Vander, and Finn all had their own matches and lighters. To light Silco's cigar, Sevika uses means by which she took from Finn, a man she just killed for an ill planned selfish gambit for power.

This alone wouldn't look too bad, because as I see it, in Zaun, it's not the act of smoking but the imagery of smoke itself that's associated with power, and you don't need to smoke to have smoke. Look at Jinx and Vi, both command considerable influence on the ongoing developments between the two cities and align with strong figures. Neither of the two smoke, instead they cover themselves in smokelike tattoos, Jinx's tattoos literally resembles the blue smoke of her first succesful bomb. In contrast to their predecessors both manage to embody their power more wholly onto their person in a way that's less vulnerable than the smoking tradition to usurpation. Sevika herself also wears smoke like patterns on her collar, which are less prominent or permanent than Jinx and Vi's tattoos.

Each issue alone is cause for concern in the viability of Sevika's potential leadership role, but altogether they create a solid line of doubt for if she can pull it off. To make it work she needs to shape up Silco's former crew because she can't be the only one pulling any weight. They're all going to face a conflict that will only grow more complex, demanding, and fast changing as time goes on. A situation like that prior to Jinx's rocket would have easily have incapacitated them, now it's all going to happen on a larger scale. Sevika needs to recognize what went right and wrong for Silco, Vander, and Finn.

Tldr: The chance for Sevika to be Zaun's new leader will be an uphill climb for her for sure. Her biggest problems is that she takes the lead rather than utilizing the team, she gets easily caught off guard, and Jinx can put blinders on her perspective. She's kind of like an older more seasoned Vi that never gave up on Zaun's independence warts and all.

[heywriters]

Storytelling in Any Season

Incorporating the seasons into my stories is enjoyable. Not only are seasons a relatable life experience, but passage of time can be tricky to portray without them. The best part about adding the seasons to a story is that they have strong potential to aid the plot.

Seasonal details that add to setting & plot:

CLOTHING; if I walk this path in winter, I have to wear huge boots that can handle slick mud. If I walk it in summer, the dead grass scratches my bare legs because now I am wearing shorts.

EXTREME TEMPERATURE; whatever we do today it better be indoors and out of this heat wave/blizzard. If the battle/heist/romance/etc. takes place in this weather, there will be consequences!

CHARACTER MOOD; autumn is Character A's favorite time of year! they gain a positive, upbeat attitude as soon as they see signs of autumn. Character B feels dread and becomes easily agitated during autumn. The two of them clash more in autumn than any other season.

EVENTS; holidays aside, some seasons may be busier for one character than another. I had a weekend job during summers and was rarely available. Weddings are most common in spring. Community events that affect traffic, shops, or social atmosphere can occur at any time of year.

TRANSPORTATION; some parts of the world rely on different transport for different seasons. A bicycle when it is temperate, a bus or train when it is miserable. A car for dry weather is replaced with a car outfitted for inclement weather. A regular trip to the grocery store may even need to be cancelled completely. And don't forget air and water travel!

HISTORY/TRAUMA; certain seasons in your story may be marked by pain. This is the season the war took many lives. This is the month unforgettable tragedy occurred. The upcoming season marks the anniversary of a huge mistake we'd all like to forget. Social and personal customs will reflect this memorial.

FOOD; in the modern-day US we are used to most foods being available year-round. This is not the case globally or historically. Seasons can be marked by what foods are or aren't available. This can include meat, produce, and dairy, but it can also extend to dishes and meals.

RESOURCES; like food, weather and climate affect access to many things your characters may need. Washed out roads halt shipments, but heavy rain is good for crops. Intense heat can damage perishable supplies, but dries out firewood fast. Natural disasters halt production while simultaneously increasing demand. Even a weather event in another hemisphere can affect your character's resources.

Whenever you think "How do I portray the changing seasons?" pay attention to the changes you have to make each season. Places you go, your personal habits, the items you carry with you, the events you prepare for, and all of these real-life details affect YOUR "plot" every day. Consider which ones would affect your characters, and use them to both set the scene and move the story along.

---

✩ This was written in response/addition to @writingquestionsanswered post Incorporating Seasons Into a Story. Please see their post for other important tips!

+ If you enjoy my content and want to see more, consider sending a little thank you and Buy Me A Coffee!

+ Visit me on AO3 for my fanfiction, and Unsplash for photo inspiration.

[nieded]

what are Ezira and AJ like on a long road trip? Which car from their garage would they take? What snacks do they bring? Which one gets pulled over for going eighty in a thirty?

aj and ezira did go on a road trip across california when they were first starting out as a couple! though of course, it would have taken a lot of work to import a car to the states, and so they had a rental. if they could have taken one of their cars, they would have settled on the la ferrari, which could handle the switchbacks of the serria nevada.

maybe someday they will take the road trip that newt and ligur talked about from montpellier to cologne.

the actual reality is that they would take the gti, if they had a choice from their own garage. hypercars are notoriously unreliable. they are not meant for road trips. they aren't really meant to be driven, honestly. replacing brakes on a la ferrari (which is a common maintenance item!!!) costs 40k. the SO works next door to an italian repair shop that exclusively does ferraris, lambos, alfas, and fiats. they have had a lamborghini aventador sitting in the shop for months because it requires a new set of special tires, which they only release every couple of years. so it's just waiting for a random shipment that may or may not come in the next year. the lifespan on hypercars for maintenance items like oil changes and brakes are much much shorter than the average car.

also, where would their luggage go? they will definitely need boot space. crowley's a pain to fly with because he always has extra luggage for stuff: skincare, haircare, nail polish, nail polish remover, extra hats that he will not wear, extra shoes that he will also not wear, but he has them just in case they do the beach or a hike. (and still, he wears his boots.) chargers for his electronics and back up batteries just in case. and weed. road trips are excellent when transporting the goods.

but crowley has no opinion on snacks. thankfully, ezira has all the opinions on snacks. healthy choices such as snacking peppers and carrots and seaweed chips to just cake. lots of biscuits. he has a kettle in the back so they can make periodic petrol stops to boil hot water. and should they stop and pick up more ice for the cooler? just in case? and in the end, they only eat half of it because every four hours, he's on google maps researching local restaurants and cafes for nibbles.

and realistically, neither of them will get pulled over for speeding, but if one of them had to, it'd be crowley. ezira hates driving around civilians. it's much safer to be going 190 on a race track. but average joes are unpredictable. get off your phone! use the indicator (to the beemer, i'm looking at you). oops you missed your exit and are now crossing six lanes of interstate... everybody's out here being lance stroll. ezira absolutely hates it, and if you spend 15 minutes on r/idiotsincars, you will too. there's very little ezira sticks his nose up at, but civilians. *shudders*

but they wouldn't drive over the speed limit, not too much. that's for work. crowley will take it slow through the alps so ezira can take pictures of the clear blue lakes and snow-capped mountains. they'll take turns with the bluetooth, donna summer and pink floyd for crowley, abba and death cab for ezira, and they'll talk about the race season and the spots they want to revisit in america and italy and japan. they'll wonder what ceres has destroyed at marnie and lili's and what the nibling is up to. if she's crawling yet because that means she's almost walking and if she's running they can stick her in a go kart.

but the silence would be good too at night, windows down, one of crowley's feet out the window when it's ezira's turn to drive (less people, more deer, but he will take his chances). and they'll stop on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere between two cities and look up and up and up at the sky, stars twinkling above. and crowley will think about how he's crossed finish lines filled with fireworks, stood on the platform in monza once upon a time when the tifosi flooded the track, sat in the cockpits of wheeled rocketships, unbelievable feats of engineering from mankind, and think nothing could compare to the darkest night in the quiet with his beloved.

it's not about going fast. it's about drawing it out, sitting in the cabin with each other and no one else, as if they could sneak one more minute, one more hour together before they're pulled across the globe in opposite directions. they love it. they love the racing and the adrenaline and the fireworks (but not the jet lag and missed calls and wondering if the other is sleeping ok). they love that feeling of peeling their racing gloves off after hours of sweating and swearing, the long drink of water after a long drive. but. but they love each other more.

[doralcustomsbrokers]

Navigating U.S. Import Regulations with a Miami Customs Broker

Importing goods into the United States involves navigating a complex web of regulations, documentation, and compliance requirements. Whether you’re a seasoned importer or new to international trade, partnering with a knowledgeable customs broker in Miami can significantly ease the process and ensure your shipments clear customs without a hitch.

Customs Clearance Services

One of the primary roles of a customs broker is to facilitate customs clearance. This involves preparing and submitting the necessary documents to U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) and ensuring that your shipment complies with all applicable laws and regulations. A Miami-based customs broker, with expertise in the region’s trade dynamics, can expedite this process, helping your goods move swiftly from port to market.

U.S. Customs Clearance

Navigating U.S. customs clearance can be daunting, especially with the ever-evolving regulations. A customs broker in Miami stays updated on the latest changes in import laws, ensuring your shipment is compliant. They handle everything from tariff classifications and duty calculations to ensuring all required permits and licenses are in place.

Handling Import Shipments

Efficient handling of import shipments is crucial to minimize delays and avoid additional costs. A customs broker manages the logistics of your shipment from the moment it arrives at the port, coordinating with carriers, warehouses, and other stakeholders to ensure a smooth and timely release of your goods.

Consultation on Import Regulations

Understanding import regulations is essential for compliance and cost management. A Miami customs broker provides consultation services to help you navigate the complexities of U.S. import regulations. This includes advising on tariff classifications, duty rates, and other compliance requirements specific to your goods.

FDA Compliance Consulting

If you’re importing goods regulated by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), such as food products, cosmetics, or pharmaceuticals, FDA compliance is critical. A customs broker with expertise in FDA regulations can help ensure that your products meet all necessary standards, avoiding costly delays or rejections at the border.

Importer Security Filing (ISF) and Customs Bond Services

Importer Security Filing (ISF), also known as “10+2,” is a mandatory filing requirement for ocean shipments to the U.S. A customs broker can handle this filing on your behalf, ensuring that it is done correctly and on time. Additionally, they can assist with obtaining the necessary customs bonds, which are required for most import transactions to guarantee the payment of duties and taxes.

Managing In-Bond Shipments

In-bond shipments, which are goods that are transported through the U.S. without being subject to customs duties, require careful management to ensure compliance. A Miami customs broker can manage the in-bond process, ensuring your goods move efficiently to their final destination.

https://www.doralcustomsbrokers.com/customs-clearance-consulting/

[interstellarroadkill]

imposter syndrome hits different when you're constantly feeling like a dumbass for not picking up on social cues and never knowing when to shut your damn mouth

[sw33tsnow]

Marijuana

Mafia!Price x Bartender!GN!Reader (18+)

Summary: With the same age and the dexterity of a bartender, it's hard to find anyone to replace your compatibility with John.

Warning: NOT FOR MINORS, unedited, slow-burn, tension, mentions of violence, mentions of humiliation (towards reader, obv not from John), mentions of blood, non intrusion sex, marking, nipples play, ice kink, dry-humping, etc. Word count: 2k3

NOTE(s):

I'M TERRIBLY APOLOGIZE FOR ANY GRAMMAR ERRS.

Forgive me if this one is quite rush, iluvu.

Another busy night had come to an end, and you were standing behind the bar with your tie loosened, your body swaying slightly to the melodic jazz music still playing from the player. The dim lighting of the pub, combined with its subterranean setting, adds to the gloominess of the surroundings. You wiped the glass then placed it on the shelf behind and took a look around, there were still a few waiters cleaning, so you sighed and threw your black towel over your shoulder. Rubbing your eyes, you believed the night would finish like this after checking the locks and leaving last after those employees, but the familiar ding of the elevator indicated that the road to your bed was much further out of sight, apparently. 

John would come in exhausted, just as he did every night after the pub closed, and have a drink to help ease himself. Tonight was no exception, with his somewhat disheveled brown hair and a bulky coat with the layer of snow lingering on the collar revealed that he had just returned from a business visit. Throwing the pistol on the expensive oak surface and sitting down on the leather-covered barstool, John stroked his hair a few times and grinned up at you, a smile that you found charming because of the crow's feet on the corners of his eyes were visibly displayed.

"Evenin', love" The man began, sounding drained with a rasp in his voice.

"Tired day, I guess?" You asked, your arms resting on the lower counter in front of you compared to his as you leaned ever so little towards him.

"Oh no, pistol 's still cold, bet Marley will be very pleased seeing no stubborn impurities on my shirt t'day" John's butler, Marley, she'd been working in his mansion for over ten years so far. There was a time when you were lucky enough to hear the brunet grumble about how he was scolded by that butler for something related to laundry.

You pursed your lips but weren't able to muffle your small laugh, and that made John chuckled too. Given your similar ages, it is likely that you two get along well because you effortlessly understand one another's thoughts.

"What about you?" The man's brows raised.

Without rushing to respond, you strolled over to retrieve John's preferred bottle of Bourbon and poured it into a glass for him. Pushing the glass forward so that John could take it promptly, you set the wine down next to the brunet, and started engaging in conversation. 

That way, the two of you can sit and chat for hours on end without worrying that the other will get weary of listening to what people might consider idle banter. As the dong struck precisely one-thirty in the morning, the personnel had dwindled, well, time had gone by quickly. To be honest, you had forgotten your fatigue as soon as you saw John enter the pub, and when he spoke with you for an hour, you assumed he felt the same way. Even while it appears that your relationship is obviously unsuitable for your positions. 

John's bars used to consistently import alcohol from your supplier. Naturally, there is no need to discuss the quality of your booze, and in exchange, the brunet must handle shipment and a few necessary circulation documents on your behalf. You had one rule: you wouldn't engage in any major illegal activities but your appearance at John's pub was the complete opposite of what you claimed, which startled a lot of your mutual friends. The truth is that it's a covert promise between you and the man since John had to take charge and make all the arrangements in order to secure your safety after many inquiries strayed into your business under the permission of the authority. Initially, you were rather irritated considering the two tall men who were sent to inform you were too stern while the other had an excessively humorous demeanor. However, you complied with their instructions with perfect obedience, knowing it was John who gave them orders.

Being friends for long before, you two grew even closer and everyone in this place took it for granted that the man went to the pub every night to keep you company was a regular occurrence. Additionally, even though John never smokes marijuana, the lingering odour of cigars that permeates your nose whenever John shows up and the scent of your perfume on the brunet's jacket were enough to turn you two into addicts to each other.

“And don't forget ‘bout my friends stopping by tomorrow” Quickly downing the remaining wine, the brunet stood up and reminded you about the appointment the following day. 

You gave a modest smile, nodded, and bided your time until the towering back vanished from your sight. An ugly grimace appeared on your visage, John only informed you about these visits when the guests brought companions, in which case you believed it would either be prostitutes who were getting massive lavished or the sons who were so full of themselves. The success of those negotiations also hinges on how you handle these problematic clients. Anyway, you remind yourself, this wasn't something you had to deal with once or twice, only prayed that things wouldn't get out of hand.

_-_-_-_-_-_

Your head was already pounding with the volume of conversations being turned into screams surrounding you, let alone the sound of digital music seemed to be teasing every nerve of yours. And how wonderful your uniform consisted of a white shirt, black trousers and a gile with a matching tie didn't do anything to assist you feel more comfy in this circumstance.

It turns out that you've landed in the unlucky box because first, the guests you had to greet were a bunch of punks who were already drunk before entering your pub and second, they refused to sit at any of the tables. They chose to line up in front of you with the reason that they want to be served wholeheartedly because the bartender at the previous shop they just visited was very unqualified. You swore that what ever the fuck in front of you was no different from a pornography scene, just lacking a cine-camera and a director. They sang, hugged, kissed and attended to do more repulsive acts than you could possibly list.

"Uhm, sir...you're not allowed to use that here"

The familiar smooth voice prompted you to open your eyes and turn around. A waitress held the tray tightly to her chest, standing behind one punk who was preparing for a puff of his marijuana and poked his shoulder to remind him. However, she was clueless that she had set off a fire anthill.

"Who the fuck are ya to give me orders?" He spoke with an unsober voice, obviously inebriated, and kicked the girl's leg. His accent scratched the back of your brain disgustingly, making you want to punched into his fucking big nose right at the moment.

You hurried over and motioned for the girl to enter the staff changing area, knowing full well that nothing would stop after that warning. Also unintentionally drew the prickly brat's attention to you.

"And who are you to dare to poke your nose into my business?"

Calmly smiled and explained to this dickhead that according to the boss's regulations, all types of stimulants are not allowed because this was an open pub, not underground like others which John owned. But this punk didn't even let you finish your sentences. He yanked you down by your tie and blew the weed's smoke in your face, laughing arrogantly and forcing you not to look away. A hit stench stuck straight to your lungs, hogged your vision and felt like the breath you took demands to be a lot deeper for it to feel enough.

Unable to bear it anymore, you had to turn away only to be stunned by the liquid that had been reduced to room temperature. Dripping from your damp hair, drops of the mesmerizing crimson sparkle of Cabernet Sauvignon spread across your white uniform shirt, revealing your skin beneath the vibrant neon colour lights. 

Inhale deeply. After all, you should be thankful for this grace since your headache is completely gone. Maybe until the conclusion of the evening, your focus wouldn't be compromised. As long as John's negotiation proceeded without a hitch, just went along with this.

Clash.

Everyone's attention was drawn to your bar by the sound of the crystal glass shattering and the jerk's abrupt scream. Simon stood there, his thick gloved hand now drenched, staring at the dickhead who was laying on the ground clutching his bleeding head and still kept cursing.

"You should've watched where you are, kid" An unmistakably familiar voice which you didn't need a glance to confirm.

With the cigar between his lips, he removed his outer coat, passing it to Gaz, rolling up his sleeves and squatting down.

"Did your father ever tell you to consider your every action?"

John took grip of the jerk's hair and quickly hauled him back up after he had made himself clear. The brunet punched, then slammed his face into the floor. He dragged him, slowly, with each step to the front of your counter and threw him towards it. The torture, no, punishment was merciless. Not even the father willing to intervene, simply standing outside and shook his head in frustration.

As for you, you just stood there, stoically thanking Soap with the towel he offered you and blotting the alcohol from your wet hair as you watched John take out his rage on the newfound meat bag.

It was a good four minutes until the brunet was satisfied. His subordinates swiftly handed him a fresh rag to clean up the blood on his knuckles while he approached the father to end the terms of their discussion. Only to blame his dumbass of a son. 

"Leave us" Was all John said.

Everyone left, Soap went in behind to tell the girl to get off work early.

"You...stay" Pointing at you, he demanded.

When it's just you and John, the brunet gave you his unwavering attention. And you knew without a doubt that you were going to be chastised, so all you did was bow your head and keep wiping your hair without looking up at the man who sat across the bar table from you.

This uncomfortable silence must have offended John, so he grunted, just enough for you to quit and fixed your gazes on him.

"You know it's not necessary, John...." You maintained your calmness.

John groaned and leaned in closer, "There's a limit to everything, and that muppet crossed the line, that's what he deserved."

"And yet behaving so childish,what will they bat around? You, the one and only John Price, beats the hell out of his party's son for a bartender?" You scowled, not willing to back down.

How hilarious it was for John to act like a teenager boy, knowing that it was too ridiculous for him to stand up for you in that situation. Even if he wasn't concerned about his reputation, you were. 

John moved away from the wooden table, tossed the partially burned cigar into a random wine glass, circled the bar and approached you. He placed his hand on your neck, drawing you in but not using too much strength.

Ultimately, your lips crashed together, it's so sudden that you froze on your ground, letting him take control over everything including your body.

"A bartender, you say. 'll fuckin' show everyone what's this bartender meant to me, eh?" He snarled in your ear.

The brunet bent you down, hands roaming all over your entire body while his lips trailed hundreds of hot, wet kisses from your mouth, cheek, down to your jaw, shoulders, and chest. He’s so strong, pinning you down making your back laid flat on the counter, unable to escape from this unbreakable bear trap. 

John was not rushed about this. He took his time, nibbled on every inch of your skin, leaving red and purple bruises from where his mouth swiped through. Like a predator marking his prey. And you were too stunned, couldn’t form a normal sentence to stop him and limps were so numbed that couldn’t hold him back. But you both knew, you’re not against this, you craved for him as much as he craved for you. So he didn’t slow down, only loosened his grip so that you’d be able to touch him for his, no, you pleasure, too. 

“Fuck, John, wait….ah, s-slow down” You let out a breathy moan, nails digged into his back.

But of course he didn’t comply. Only tucked your nipple in and started lapping and twirling with his tongue, the other one was being taken care of by his thick fingers. Setting his leg between yours, rubbing, the brunet put more pressure to his knee and pressed it to the area between your legs. He groaned, sounded not so different from a starved animal.  

And it’s almost so painful that you had to reach your hand to John's crotch and tried to ease him. Your movement was quite messy or clumsy somehow but you both were just way too horny to care. You groped him, squeezing it gently and moving your palm up and down his shaft.

"Bloody fuckin'...." John grunted out in frustration, eyes shut in denial.

Couldn’t hold it anymore, the man flipped you around, pulling your lower body stick to his. The swell of your ass to his hard-as-rock midsection and he kept you there, didn’t start moving yet. Reaching for the ice box on his right, John picked two small cubes out and held them to your aching nipples.

“Fuck, John, please no….I can’t” You almost cried out, feeling like breaking your neck just to look back at him.

And this man only responded you with a fucking mischievous smirk on his face.

Took a good handle on your hips, he began to move, rubbing his solid brother against your ass, between your thighs, filthy but tempting. The only audible noises were his grunts and you half crying half pleading tone. And stopped when you both released and panting heavily. 

Taglist: @shadowlali , @ghostlythots , @brickwall035

[godihatethiswebsite]

Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part 3 - A chance discovery and a bit of mischief

These little drabbles keep getting longer and longer...

Life had been slower since your parents passed from sickness a few years back. One of your father's business associates now handled company matters, but was kind enough to keep you informed of the goings on regarding shipments to the museum. It felt like there wasn't much to do nowadays after a few unsuccessful seasons in society, spending most of your time either upkeeping the estate left to you or in the company of your cousin who practically lived in the house with you the last few months.

Passing by familiar friendly faces weathered and old from years in service, you weaved through various wooden containers packed full of priceless relics, getting a first look as they were unloaded before any of the public could get their sights on them.

A noise drew your attention from the delicate Nubian bracelet you'd been admiring. There was a slight commotion when one of the smaller crates overturned onto the warehouse floor, a very flustered new hand getting chewed out by a man three times his age as the surrounding workers started gathering everything up. To his luck there was nothing fragile in the container, but you'd seen something small roll under one of the carts and had quickly hiked your skirts up to grab whatever it was.

Sitting back on your heels, you stared at the dark little metal contraption in your hands, educated mind picking apart every hieroglyph as you rose from your spot on the floor and walked back over to one of the unloaders. Scanning the manifest for the crate in question, you found nothing indicating towards the little box's presence even after having one of the others turn their eye to the paperwork to double check you weren't missing something. None of them had seen anything like it before, nor you to be sure.

You decided to take it up to Dr. Price for his insight, mind a little too curious to wait for the other museum curators to get their hands on it first to give you an answer. You hoped he wasn't indisposed with other matters, glad to find him alone in his study peering over the dreary headache inducing paperwork that kept most of his attention during the day.

He allowed you to interrupt his work, rounding his desk to place the item down in front of him with buzzing excitement. At first he stared at it with furrowed brows, turning it this way and that with analytical intrigue, happy for the brief distraction from the mundane. He must have caught something you missed as his eyes flashed, positioning his fingers just so to press down on something, surprising the two of you with the way the device snapped open into an almost star shape at the bottom.

Price's interest suddenly turned to that of indifference once he turned it over, revealing the hollowed out interior that at some point must've housed something you think.

But... there! What is that marking on the inside?

Gently removing the box from his grasp, you angle the interior of it towards the light to inspect the writing you'd glimpsed. Where the markings on the outside seemed to have been purposely stamped in during the initial creation, the symbols within looked to have been added with something sharp after the fact in the ancient Egyptian equivalent of chicken scratch.

It wasn't a word you were overly familiar with - your brain taking a moment to pull from long ago knowledge - but you couldn't help the gasp that followed as you whispered the name, "Hamunaptra."

The scoff that followed from Price had you feeling very much like the little girl the adults had chuckled at when you'd first shown them the book you'd found full of myths and legends, softly chided for believing in such nonsense and corrected on the differences between fact and fiction.

"Got more important things to do than go huntin' down ghost stories, love." Price spoke up at you from his spot reclining back in his chair, hands folded casually over his abdomen as he gave you the look usually reserved for long suffering parents.

It didn't matter what you tried to say afterwards to convince him to maybe consider the possibility the tales were even partially based on some element of truth. He dismissed you away with a wave of his hand, brushing off your words before instructing you to take it back down to the warehouse so one of the employees could put it away with all the other knick knacks in storage.

You left his office with your head down from your scolding, a bad taste in your mouth at not being taken seriously even if the rational part of your mind told you what you'd always known: the lost city of the dead was just a myth invented by ancient Arab storytellers to amuse Greek and Roman tourists. This was a topic of interest for the occassional treasure hunter, not scholars.

You quickly deposited it right back where you'd found it before taking your leave of the museum, having had enough excitement for one day and needing some time to cool off from your disappointment.

It was only a few days later when you'd found yourself sitting out on the balcony with your dearest cousin Kyle (freshly back from a months long trip to Tanta and mostly sober), recanting him with the circumstances and conversation surrounding the artifact. Even now it was a subject that seemed to plague your mind, having done your best to try and ignore the way it scratched an itch you hadn't felt in many a year. You wouldn't admit outloud to the various drawings you had in your sketchbook of the item in question shoved beneath your pillowcase.

Kyle listened intently to your ramblings, slouched forward in his wicker chair idly swirling two fingers worth of whiskey in his glass before suddenly speaking up after a moments contemplative silence. "Want to find out if it's real?"

Now it was your turn to scoff, rolling your eyes as you tucked your legs up under yourself in a decidedly rare unladylike fashion. Typical Kyle trying to lure you in with fresh bait to go off and do something deemed irresponsible and imbolic by normal society. You casually reminded him it was just an old wives tale, but he shrugged unbothered as he raised the glass of amber liquid to his lips, one side raised in a slight smirk.

"You just leave that part to me, dolly. I'll get your answer for you."

He'd practically disappeared after that, only coming home late into the evenings well after the staff had gone to bed and leaving early in the mornings before the sun had barely risen. If it wasn't for the pantry being pillaged no one would have ever suspected him of hanging around the estate in the first place. At least it gave him something to think about other than the memories you knew still haunted him. And Kyle had always loved sinking his teeth into a challenge.

It wasn't even a week later that you'd come back from a promenade along the river to discover your cousin lounging in your bed as if he owned the place, hands behind his head staring at you with a Cheshire cat grin that you knew could only spell trouble.

Imagine your surprise when he told you he'd managed to track down info about a man who'd claimed to have seen the fabled city with his own two eyes.

Your first instinct was to call nonsense on the idea. Preposterous. Ridiculous. Absurd. You didn't know how your cousin came to that conclusion, but surely he had been swindled by cheap honeyed words half drunk at a bar. He stood behind you in the mirror as you sat at your vanity, pulling the pin keeping your hat in place to take your hair down, his hands on your shoulders and expression adamant as he held your gaze in the reflection.

You could see the mischievous youth from yesteryear in the sparkle of his eyes, ever ready to take on the world and the challenges brought forth by it. But it was overshadowed by the man he'd become, molded by hard work and dedication to king and country. He rarely spoke of the horrors he'd seen in the British Army, but they were evident in the lines of his face. Kyle had always been a handsome lad who'd chased plenty of skirts in his time, capable of charming the stripes off a zebra if you let him. But you knew he had experience well beyond the comprehension of your comparably simple life.

If he was looking at you with such surety, then you knew better than to keep spouting words of disbelief.

What you did object to however was the part where he was trying to convince you to sneak into the museum and steal back the little metal box 'for insurance purposes'.

"Who said anything about stealin', dolly? We're merely borrowin'." Yeah, right. As if the terminology would matter to the authorities should you happen to get caught.

You cursed his sly mouth and persuasive personality as you found yourself wandering down aisles and aisles of unsorted artifacts, scanning shelves and half empty crates for the item in question. The collection in the storage rooms was large enough that you could spend hours inside and hardly make a dent, but you were keeping your eyes out for the more recent additions towards the front. It had been hardly anything to walk in there past the loading bay crew with a pleasant demure smile on your face as if you belonged there just as much as them.

You'd almost given up in frustration when you spotted it hidden behind an elaborate stone bust of Sekhmet, easily glanced over as if hidden in plain sight. No one was the wiser when you whisked it away into one of your pockets, strolling back out past the men with the same carefree attitude you always carried yourself with. They didn't pay attention to the way your hands shook in the folds of your skirts from barely restrained nerves nor the way you slouched against the nearest building to calm your racing heart. Mark your words, you were going to whip Kyle for this.

Now all there was left to do was to go meet back up with him to hunt down the man he had assured you about. You wondered where you might go about even finding such a person...

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[Edited 5/8/24: changed formatting, title, tags, and numbering system]

[magz]

Palestine summary for March 16 to March 28, 2024. (From "Lets Talk Palestine" broadcast channel). Quote.

March 16, 2024.

Day 162

• 1st aid shipment departing Cyprus arrived in Gaza yesterday carrying 200 tons of food, marking 1st Gaza sea shipment since 2005 + planned 2nd ship coordinated by US, UAE, Spain & Japan; but unclear on distribution of aid across Gaza

• Massacre in central Gaza as Israel destroys home, killing 36 Palestinians, incl. kids & pregnant women

🔻 Senior Hamas & Houthi officials hold rare meeting to discuss coordinated action against an Israeli Rafah ground invasion

• Israeli settlers attack homes in Nablus (West Bank), throwing stones & shooting the air + 20 Palestinians abducted in West Bank, incl. some released in Nov. hostage exchange deal

•⁠ ⁠Palestinian Authority (PA) president Abbas accuses Hamas of causing “return of Israeli occupation of Gaza”, essentially blaming Hamas for the ongoing genocide. Was prompted by Hamas criticism of ‘unilateral’ appointment of new PM of the PA (see our last broadcast)

• 63 Palestinians killed, 112 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

March 17, 2024.

Day 163

🇺🇸⁠ NBC: Biden frustrated over drop in poll numbers in swing states Michigan & Georgia due to his handling of Gaza genocide. Shouting and swearing in a White House meeting, saying he’s doing what is right

•⁠ 19 aid trucks arrive in north Gaza — first convoys to reach the north without incident in 4 months. But aid remains scarce as Israel keeps blocking entry of aid as trucks pile outside Rafah crossing + rate of malnutrition among children under 2 in north doubles in past month

•⁠ 14th Palestinian dies since Oct 7 in Israeli prison following multiple allegations of extreme abusive conditions for Palestinian hostages

🇪🇺⁠ ⁠EU President condemns an Israeli Rafah invasion, joining countless nations to do so like the US & Arab countries

•⁠ Israeli forces abduct 25 Palestinians, incl. a woman with cancer from Gaza & a child in overnight raids in West Bank

•⁠ ⁠92 Palestinians killed, 130 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

(No specific summary for March 18)

March 19, 2024.

Day 165

🇨🇦⁠ Canada to halt all further arms exports to Israel in support of ceasefire and 2-state “solution”, recognizing ICJ ruling. This came after a non-binding parliamentary resolution which called for ending arms sales. But resolution’s language was watered down during amendment, denoting Hamas as a “terror organization” + removing call to sanction Israeli officials

• 93 Palestinians killed, 142 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

• Israel escalates attacks across Gaza with 1 attack on Rafah killing 14 Palestinians + ongoing raid of al-Shifa hospital killed & injured dozens

• Israel issued 100,000 new gun licenses to Israeli’s since Oct 7 out of the 299,354 applications

• Israel massacred aid distribution committee at Kuwaiti roundabout (north Gaza), killing at least 23 people

•⁠ ⁠Israeli settlers, w/ ongoing genocide as a distraction, accelerated building of 18 new illegal roads + 15 outposts (unauthorized settlement illegal under Israeli law) in West Bank since Oct

March 20, 2024.

Day 166

•⁠ 104 Palestinians killed, 162 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

🇺🇸 Reuters:⁠ US Congress & White House reach deal on funding bill that includes blocking UNRWA donations until March 2025, based on Israel’s unverified allegations

🏥 IOF siege on al-Shifa hospital enters 3rd day, as forces surround the complex trapping hundreds inside & block rescue efforts

•⁠ 8 Israeli attacks kill 100+ aid workers in 1 week + IOF massacred 23 aid seekers in north Gaza

🚢 Israel Hayom: Israel plans to buy port in Cyprus amid fears of Haifa port closure from Hezbollah strikes, hindering military & commercial imports

⚓️ ⁠Israel’s Eilat port will fire half its employees due to Red Sea blockade

•⁠ Israeli High Court approves demolition of a Palestinian’s home for carrying out a non-lethal resistance operation in West Bank; marking first authorized home demolition by court for an operation without fatalities — an escalation in Israeli repression

🇸🇦 Saudi Arabia pledges $40m to UNRWA

March 21, 2024.

Day 167

• As Arabs celebrate Mother's Day today, we remember that on average 37 mothers are exterminated everyday in Gaza, meanwhile mothers from Gaza make up 28 of the 67 female detainees in Israeli prisons

• 65 Palestinians killed, 92 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

🏥 Israel continues 4th day siege on al-Shifa Hospital, killing 140+ Palestinians & abducted 600 people, incl. medical staff. 13 patients killed as Israel cut off electricity, depriving oxygen, medicine & food

• 18-year-old Ubai Abu Maria abducted by Israeli forces in West Bank for 7th time, impeding treatment for bullet wound requiring surgery

•⁠ Poll finds 71% of Palestinians in Gaza & West Bank support Hamas's Oct 7 resistance operation; compared to poll 3 months ago, support among West Bank residents dropped by 11% but amongst Gazans rose by 14%

• Israel ordered 25 patients receiving care in West Bank to return to Gaza. They're among the 400 patients from Gaza who were left stranded in West Bank after Oct 7

March 22, 2024.

🚨Russia & China veto US UN Security Council ceasefire resolution

The resolution showed a shift: US had vetoed every ceasefire proposal, most recently Algeria’s as the US opposed language of “immediate” ceasefire, preferring “humanitarian pause”. But now the US draft states “the imperative of an immediate and sustained ceasefire”.

The problem? It’d last only 6 weeks, is conditional on release of Israeli hostages, and condemns both Hamas’ op & the Houthi naval blockade. The wording of “determines the imperative” is also weak, implying the importance of a ceasefire, not demanding one.

The result? It wouldn’t obligate Israel to end the genocide + let it continue on the pretext that there’s no “acceptable” hostage deal.

It was vetoed by 🇷🇺 & 🇨🇳 who said it’d let Israel continue attacks & invade Rafah. Algeria also voted against it.

10 states are planning alternative resolution calling for Ramadan ceasefire, including but not conditioned on release of Israeli hostages. US likely to veto.

Day 168 - IMPORTANT

•⁠ Gaza death toll surpasses 32,000 not including the thousands buried under rubble

‼️ Israel seized 1,977 acres of West Bank land for settlements, the largest land theft since 1993

🇺🇸 Congress passes bill that bans funding to UNRWA until 2025; expected for Senate to pass before midnight deadline

🏥 Israel’s siege on Shifa Hospital enters 5th day as they bomb & demolish buildings with bulldozers; abducting 240+ patients & 10 medical staff from radiology unit. IOF forces ordered trapped patients to surrender despite continuous heavy gunfire

•⁠ 50 Palestinians abducted incl. 4 kids during 60+ Israeli military raids across West Bank in 2 days. Marking March 20 “one of the deadliest nights recorded to date” in 2024 in West Bank w/ 7+ Palestinians killed. Israeli settlers also took over 20+ Palestinian residential structures

•⁠ UN aid mission to north Gaza for 7,500 people was denied by Israel

🇫🇮 Finland to resume UNRWA funding

March 24, 2024.

Day 170

🚨 Israeli forces lay siege to 3 hospitals, surrounding al-Amal Hospital forcing Palestinians to strip naked & leave; currently carpet bombing near Nasser Hospital & sniping anyone moving, while continuing aggressive 7-day seige on al-Shifa

• 84 Palestinians killed, 106 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

• Israel denied thousands of Christians from West Bank entry to Jerusalem on Psalm Sunday, heightening military checkpoints. Israel’s apartheid system discriminates Palestinians’ freedom of movement, requiring permits for West Bank residents to enter, which is rarely granted. More info on Israeli apartheid: https://rb.gy/vjocrd + checkpoints: https://rb.gy/rabxt6;

• Israel to deny all UNRWA aid convoys to north Gaza, despite 70% of population subject to “catastrophic starvation”

• BDS launches boycott of tech company Intel due to its $25bn investment in new factory in Israel, the “largest investment ever”; on top of Intel’s $50bn+ investments in Israel in past 50 years

March 25, 2024.

UNSC CEASEFIRE MOTION PASSES

For the 1st time the Security Council managed to pass a ceasefire resolution. The US abstained while all 14 others voted yes

The US planned to veto if it didn’t mention the hostages so it “demands an immediate ceasefire for the month of Ramadan respected by all parties leading to a permanent sustainable ceasefire, and also demands the immediate and unconditional release of all hostages.”

But it doesn’t condition the ceasefire on a hostage swap the way done by the US draft that got vetoed by 🇷🇺 & 🇨🇳

It doesn’t condemn Hamas explicitly as the US wanted but it “deplores” all attacks against civilians & “all acts of terrorism” noting that it’s illegal to take hostages under int’l law. So it’s indirect condemnation

It expresses deep concern “about the catastrophic humanitarian situation in the Gaza Strip,” calling for more efforts for more aid & to protect civilians. This is weak language

Better than nothing but not enough as people are slaughtered & raped.

Day 171 — Attacks on 3 hospitals

🚨 Israel escalates attacks on “safe zone” Rafah killing 30+, including women and children amid threats of looming ground invasion

• 107 Palestinians killed, 176 injured in past 24 hours

🏥 22,000 displaced Palestinians face worsening conditions in the European Hospital, one of the last functioning in Gaza, overcrowded with patients awaiting critical care

🏥 Israeli forces lay siege to further hospitals in Khan Younis forcing critically ill patients to evacuate the premises surrounded by complete destruction

🏥 Israeli forces open fire on medical staff forced to evacuate al-Amal Hospital amid continuous attacks on the premise leaving patients in critical condition, deprived of medical supervision

• Netanyahu cancels Israeli delegation trip to US over its abstention in today’s UNSC vote, calling it a departure from their long-standing support of Israel. Biden called the move “disappointing”

• Israeli assaults targeting homes in central Gaza kill 18

(No march 26 summary)

March 27, 2024

Day 172

🚨 Gaza Gov’t Media Office demands end to aerial aid drops after one today killed 6 & caused 12 to drown in north Gaza

• 81 Palestinians killed, 93 injured in the last 24 hours

🇯🇴 100+ protesters arrested & teargassed outside Jordan’s Israeli embassy amid demands to end Jordan’s military & economic ties with Israel

🇧🇪 Brussels City Council passes motion to ban council purchases of products from Israeli settlements in the West Bank on the basis of international law violations

• Israel bombs residential building in Rafah, killing 15+ displaced Palestinians incl. 4 kids. Analysts say the Rafah bombings mark the start of a “silent” invasion

🏥 Ongoing Israeli attacks on Shifa Hospital kill 30+ people incl. a family living in a residential building near the besieged complex

• IOF abducts 30 Palestinians in overnight raids in West Bank cities

🇱🇧 Israeli airstrike in eastern Lebanon kills 2 people, an escalation as the bombing was far from south Lebanon, the usual battleground

March 28, 2024.

Day 173

🇮🇪 Ireland to follow Nicaragua and join South Africa’s ICJ case against Israel

•⁠ ⁠Israeli attacks on residential homes in Rafah kill 25 displaced Palestinians, incl. multiple children

•⁠ ⁠76 Palestinians killed, 102 injured in the last 24 hours

•⁠ ⁠IOF kills 4 in central Gaza, forcefully burying them by bulldozers

🇺🇸 ⁠US state department report claims Israel is complying with international law, as US reviewed Israeli usage of US weapons in order to validate future arms exports

🇱🇧 Israeli attacks on southern Lebanon residencies kill 12 in past 24 hours with many still trapped under the rubble

•⁠ ⁠Two aid seekers remain in critical condition as Israeli snipers target the Kuwait Roundabout aid distribution point

🇺🇸 Poll: 55% of Americans disapprove of Israel’s actions in Gaza — a 10% increase from November’s poll

•⁠ ⁠Israeli drone attack kills 8 in West Bank; IOF abducts 20 Palestinians in overnight raids

[violettduchess]

no requests for #10?? a travesty!! can i get #10 with silvio? thanks!

A/N: Here you go anon!

@ikemen-writer you asked for #12 with Silvio so I combined your request with anon's here to get a soft and unsure + gentle, then deeper kiss with the Prince

Silvio x female Reader

WC: 2546

You’ve been to grand balls before. A ball in the Rhodolite palace is a glittering confection of gold and white, walls dripping with roses, guests dripping with jewels. But here in Benitoite, you are surrounded by smooth marbled floors of gray and white, silver chandeliers holding elegant taper candles, and guests in clothing made of expensive silks, thinner than the heavier satins and velvet of Rhodolite fashion. Your own gown is a diaphanous confection of pale pink shot through with glistening silver.  A bejeweled red rose pin rests above your heart, a gift from King Leon and a sign of your new status as ambassador. Stepping through the double doors of the ballroom, your heart skips a beat as it takes in the sea of people already drinking from crystal flutes, tinkling with laughter and spinning across the dance floor, skirts floating in the air with every twirl. It is an impressive sight. And it is an overwhelming sight. 

Every single doubt you’ve had about coming here, about taking on the responsibility Leon entrusted you with, about your own capability to handle what this job entails suddenly comes crashing down on you. Your lungs freeze within your chest, ambient sounds grow louder and mesh together, the lively language of Benitoite now stabbing your ears. How could you believe a simple woman like you, a bookstore clerk with no diplomatic experience, could take on the responsibility of handling diplomacy. Yes, you managed well with the Rhodolite princes but here, you are a fish out of water, at a disadvantage with the customs, the language, the folk, no matter how many books you’ve read.  When a nobleman comes over, greeting you in the local language, rapid fire and unintelligible, you feel ill. You manage a weak nod of your head before making your way to the edge of the crowd, pressing your back against the white walls, wanting nothing more to press yourself into the cool stone and disappear. 

I’m failing Leon. I’m failing Rhodolite. 

You catch sight of the open double doors that lead out to the gardens and the paths that take you further, down to the docks. With the music throbbing in your head you slink your way through the dazzling crowd until you feel the cool breeze of escape, of freedom.

Just a few minutes, you tell yourself as you step outside. You’ll step away for just a few minutes. Just to gather your bearings.

Your silver slippers take you away from the bright ballroom and the noise and with every step you feel yourself torn. The cool air, the night sky, they ease the tight band that has taken hold of your lungs, allowing you to breathe without feeling constricted. But every step away is a step further from your job, from what you swore to Leon you could do. Strengthen the ties with your allies. Convince the king and queen to sign the new treaty of protection. Convince Prince Silvio to come stay at the palace as a sign of good faith and friendship between your nations. All of these important, if one is to believe the reports coming out of Obsidian, the rumblings of a gathering army and an uptick in weapon shipments.

Before you know it, you’ve passed the gardens and find your feet traveling over wooden boards. You’ve reached the palace docks. The larger royal vessels are all at home in Benitoite’s vast harbor. Here you find only the smaller vessels for the royal family's private use. You stop, taking in the sight of a small, streamlined sailboat on your left, bobbing in the calm, dark water. How would it feel to  just…sail away from it all? Nothing but dark sea below and a sky full of stars above, leaving you floating somewhere in the eternity in between.

“This ain’t the ballroom.”

You gasp, turning at the sound of Silvio’s voice. He’s at the dock’s edge, watching you, hands on his hips, dressed in a suit of navy blue and glittering gold and cloud-white. With a confidence you don’t really have, you square your shoulders and smooth down the front of your gown. What did Clavis once tell you? Confidence is ninety-nine percent illusion and only one percent actual mettle. You can muster up one percent.

“I needed some air.”

“All the way out here?” He walks closer, the gold of his adorning jewelry jangling audibly in the light evening breeze. 

He stops when he is standing in front of you and you turn away from him, not wanting him to guess your other secret, the other reason you are unsure you will be able to fulfill all of Leon’s expectations. Because somewhere along the way of arriving in Benitoite, of meeting the royals and nobles, and spending time with Silvio during city tours and accompanying him to royal engagements, you have fallen head over heels in love. Suddenly and unexpectedly and maybe even unfortunately. But you are drawn to the prince like a moth to a flame. Yes, he is frustrating and temperamental and materialistic and snotty and far too handsome for his own good. But he is also intelligent and funny and honest and thoughtful and you , against all odds and all reason, have fallen hard. 

He can’t know. It would be terrible for so many reasons. So you keep your gaze on the sailboat, breathing in slowly to calm your skittish heart.

You feel his gaze on you, the silence at his unanswered questions curling around both of you until Silvio snaps it, stopping it before it can choke you.

“C’mon.” And then his hand is wrapped around yours and he’s pulling you towards the boat. You stop when the tips of your slippers kiss the edge of the dock, looking at the gap of dark water between it and the boat. Silvio releases your hand and with a graceful leap, lands on the boat’s deck with the agility of a skilled sailor. He disappears a moment, only to return with a wooden board which he slides forward until it is resting on the dock, then places one midnight-colored boot on the end and holds out his hand.

“C’mon. You got this.”

It’s only a few steps but the black water looks ominous, lapping at the sides of the boat like it wants to come aboard too. Silvio makes an impatient motion with his hand, his gaze searching yours in the silvery wash of moonlight.

“I said you got this, woman. Now come here.”

And you do. You lift your skirts and one step after the other make your way across the plank until you feel the secure clasp of his fingers around your wrist. He pulls you towards him and for a moment, you are pressed against his tall body, breathing in the scent of the sea and something else.. something exotic and alluring, salt and spice. 

He releases you as if stung, turning sharply and busying himself with pulling the board back onto the boat. Your wrist is imprinted with the feel of his strong fingers and a part of you aches at the loss of his touch.

He motions for you to follow him as he makes his way to the bow of the ship. 

“Oh…..” It’s more a sigh than a word as you look forward, across the open expanse of sea that the sailboat faces, seemingly ready at any moment to push off from the dock and go bravely forth across that endless stretch of gently rolling water.  The argent moonlight twinkles across the water’s surface, more breathtaking than any jewel in the ballroom. Your fingers wrap around the steel railing as you lean forward, feeling the way the fetters of  insecurity and worry and anxiety snap.

“Knew this would work.” 

Silvio is watching you, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smile on his attractive face. He steps a bit closer, gesturing towards the water. “I never found a problem the sea couldn’t fix.”

Something akin to shame dims the newfound light in your eyes, drops your gaze to the deck.

“I didn’t know it was that obvious…..” Your voice feels small, especially out here.

He shrugs his shoulder. “You left that ballroom…..not quite like a bat outta hell, but definitely like someone who didn’t wanna fucking be there.”

That gets a small, mirthless laugh out of you. “Truer words…..” You sigh now, turning back to the water. “I’ve had a wonderful time here. You and your family have been the most generous hosts but…..I don’t know if I am made for this. Benitoite is our ally but what happens when I have to travel to Jade or another foreign country that isn’t so friendly? I don’t know if I can handle the pressure.”

Silvio joins you now at the railing. You feel the soft material of his jacket against your bare arm and swallow at the contact, telling your heart to rein itself in. It’s only silk. (Silk that’s touching his skin, your heart whispers in reply. Silk that’s warm from his body…..)

He doesn’t speak and you can hear the faint music from the ballroom floating through the air. After a few moments of quieted melody accompanied by the sounds of the gently lapping water, he breaks the silence.

“The way I see it, either way you’re right.”

You glance at him. “How so?”

“You tell yourself, you can’t, then you can’t. You tell yourself you can, then you can.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“It is. And besides,” he says as he shifts his stance, turning to face you. “I ain’t seen anythin’ yet that convinces me you can’t do whatever you damn well want to.”

Something warm and fizzy corkscrews its way through you at his words, your stomach turning in excited, dizzying circles.

“You really think that about me?”

He looks away so quickly his pale hair whips across his forehead and cheeks. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he mutters, suddenly finding the railing incredibly interesting and worth examining. 

You tell yourself you can, then you can….

His words echo through your mind, buoyed by the music and the moonlight and the water and Silvio’s flustered expression. You reach up, touching his shoulder, curling your hand into the soft material of his jacket.

“Silvio.”

He is forced to look at you and that’s when you rise up onto your toes and, without giving yourself even a second to hesitate, kiss him. It’s a soft press of your lips against his and once you’ve done it, your nerves alight with uncertainty. He isn’t moving. His lips are stiff and unyielding, his hands remain at his sides. Part of you wants to pull away and run, leap off the boat and dash across the docks and back into the sheltered darkness of the gardens, away from what may very well be your biggest misstep ever. 

But there is another part of you, one that is louder, one that fights the desire to run. It’s the one that remembers his raucous laughter at your jokes, the way his gaze lingers on your face when you smile, the feel of his strong hand whenever it takes yours. That part of your heart knows that you are not alone in what you are feeling and it is what guides your hand up to cup his face and move your lips, pressing another soft kiss to his. You kiss him slowly, holding his face delicately in your palm, coaxing him to please, come out from behind that wall he’s hiding himself behind and join you. It feels like an eternity before you feel him respond, his lips becoming pliant against your kisses. His cheek feels warm to the touch and if you could see him, you would notice the sweep of color across it, pink as coral. His hands rise, holding onto your waist, grounding himself. 

He’s kissed people before. Of course he has. But this….this isn’t satisfying some carnal need or urge to indulge. This kiss has strings that are gently tying themselves around his heart. This is emotions and feelings and all those things Silvio keeps locked up, a pirate’s treasure buried deep inside. But you have stumbled your way to his hiding place, your smile the breeze that blows the sand off the treasure chest, your touch the key clicking into place. And now this kiss is lifting the lid, exposing his secrets. He should be terrified. But somehow…..

He shifts, pulling you closer, his hand sliding around to press against your back. You hold onto the nape of his neck, stretching upwards to meet the movement of his mouth. He’s so much gentler than you expected, leaving space amid lingering kisses to appreciate the way your lips fit together, to feel the swell of your lower lip between his. Your breath is sweet and warm against him as you turn your head, trying a different angle. He adjusts expertly, a sailor used to reading the wind and making instinctual calculations of which way to steer.

You break apart only to rest your forehead against his, eyes closed as you revel in the feel of his strong embrace, the faint music from the ballroom drifting along the air, the melody over the thunderous beating of your heart. If you could freeze time and live in this moment, you would. It feels newborn and fragile but oh so beautiful, a protostar bound for the heavens to take its place as a diamond in the sky. The hand on the back of his neck shifts to stroke his silvery hair, marveling that it really does feel as silky as it looks.

He huffs out a breath. Dio, what is happening to him?

“Silvio….”

He’s not ready for words. Not ready to vocalize what all this means. Instead of answering, he leans down and kisses you again, holding your lips captive with his. You don’t protest. Each passing second has you melting slowly into his arms. He feels your softness, the warmth of your body through your gown, and it ignites something inside of him, a flare rising up into the darkest of skies. His fingers slide down your back, back across your waist and then down to the curve of your hips where he takes hold, pulling you hard against him. You’re not startled, you don’t stiffen in his arms the way he thought you might. Yet again you surprise him, not shy in the face of your own desire but welcoming it. You wrap your arms around his neck and your lips part, opening for him like a moonflower on a silver-bright night. 

The storm that hits him at the taste of your mouth sends his heart reeling. It careens overboard, sinking deeper and deeper with every taste of your lips, every sweep of your tongue against his. The surface grows darker and darker, further and further away, no matter how often he gasps for air. There is no escape. He cannot fight the sea of desire you have unleashed upon him. He lifts you, strong hands gripping you, your arms and legs wrapping around him like the sweetest of chains, cementing his fate . 

His heart is already so entangled, there is no hope of ever being free again.

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