#today rubber price

[cost-masters]

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[potatoesandsunshine]

now if i had some stamps... i'd be unstoppable

[sacramentohistorymuseum]

August 21st is National Senior Citizens Day! First observed in 1988, Senior Citizens Day is intended to raise awareness of the factors and issues that affect older adults.

For today, Howard prepared something in our print shop exhibit that he thought was fitting. This photo engraving selected is of Howard operating our Chandler & Price jobbing press with the text “HOWARD POWERED” below.

The artwork was made by our staff member, Shawn. That artwork was sent to OWOSSO Graphic Arts in Owosso, Michigan where the photo engraving was designed. This was printed with green rubber base ink using our Washington hand press.

[dostoyevsky-official]

this a view of someone who's ignored european developments since 2007, opting for a rosy, outdated view of european politics, i.e. the exact type of american committing the exact type of mistake i'm warning about.

to address this point by point: not only has inflation been a global issue, but the US has consistently enjoyed the lowest inflation of any developed economy. american CPI has remained below the british, polish, and eurozone average numbers. european economies have to deal with fallout from the russian invasion of ukraine that the us can ignore: notably, in energy prices, as the US became self-sufficient in energy (and never imported any from russia to begin with, something squeezing the german economy). america is also not hosting millions of ukrainian refugees.

when discussing european instutions—and "europe" in general—one has to be more specific. do you mean the overarching institutions of the EU, criticized for a democratic deficit that many have pinpointed as one source for euro-skepticism and the rise of the far right? the EU Council, widely ignored and headed by charles michel, an incompetent, blatant nepobaby appointment whom everyone grinds their teeth over? the EU parliament, recently filled with a fresh batch of far-right hooligans, which functions more or less as a rubber stamp for the commission? the EU commission itself, headed by VdL, the latest in a string of failed local politician commissioners (who remembers the alcoholic swindler juncker?) masquerading as technocrats? the ECB, which smothers the monetary (and through the maastricht criteria, the fiscal) policy of eurozone members, thereby fueling resentment, far-right movements, and economic disparity? and all of this held hostage by the veto of one orban or fico, —or the german supreme court, when it decides it's had enough with public investment. those institutions, which remain so opaque that even educated americans—and europeans—aren't entirely aware of their function?

or do we mean the institutions of individual countries, ranging from undemocratic autocracies like hungary to the fief of the jupiter king, who called elections in june, lost them, refused to nominate a prime minister from the winning coalition, didn't name any for over a month, and then appointed a rightwing politician from a party that scored dead last, sidestepping his own centrist party? the UK, where sir keir is handing out five years in jail time to climate protesters, raising tuition fees, relying on private investment companies, and through rachel reeves' plan to fix the alleged budget hole left by hunt before further investment, again enacting austerity? this is all front-page headline news from the last half year.

european countries indeed have cheaper healthcare costs, better pensions, and other public goods that the united states does not. when considering "quality of life," remember, however, that most european countries have unemployment rates considered astronomic in america, especially for under-35s:

to focus again and again on european social democracy is to ignore that it has been steadily eroded since the end of the cold war and especially since the great recession by neoliberal political forces that crush the left and open the door for the far right. in the most blatant example, beside's macron's legislative politricks, the IMF-ECB-EC troika cut off euro cash liquidity flow to greece when syriza was trying to undo austerity under varoufakis. the greek collapse consigned a generation to economic failure, killed seniors, and curtailed possibilities for the youth. this erosion happened even in the nordic model, long imagined by americans as nothing short of a utopia:

In part due to the scrapping of wealth and inheritance taxes and a lower corporate tax than both the U.S. and European averages, Sweden has one of the most unequal distributions of wealth in the world today: on a level with Bahrain and Oman, and worse than the United States. Perhaps most dispiriting for Sanders, Sweden also now hosts the highest proportion of billionaires per capita in the world. Many of the country’s trademark social services are now provided by private firms. Its private schools even benefit from the same level of state subsidy as public schools��a voucher system far more radical than anything in the United States and that Democratic politicians would be crucified for advocating. Both here and there, right-leaning commentators in 2020 decried Sanders’s portrait as little more than what Johan Norberg, Swedish author of The Capitalist Manifesto, has called a 1970s “pipedream.” On this, Swedish observers on the left gloomily agree: despite official rhetoric, the “Nordic welfare model” is now more nostalgic myth than reality. (x)

to problematize further, there's an unadressed first world perspective: who's getting the good quality of life, why are the main economies of the EU so wealthy, and how does the EU continue to enrich itself? there are certainly many living outdoors today, drowning in the mediterranean, or dying of exposure in białowieża. fortress europe is a crime against humanity—and it doesn't beat back the far right. it weakens civic and human rights, undermines legal oversight, and criminalizes humanitarian engagement, allowing an authoritarian creep.

you shouldn't understand the political and the historical as a snapshot in time, but as a moving train. this is the state of europe today. all of the above is necessarily a simplification and an abbreviation, but there's a trajectory you can begin to trace out: given all of the above, where do you think europe is headed?

[gnocchibabie]

Target Practice

author's note: this is my first piece of writing I have ever put out into the world hahah ok bye <3

“600 yards out,” Price’s sudden words almost break your focus “3 notches up, about two to the left accounting for the wind.” he instructs as you stare down the scope of your rifle, looking for the next target. They’ve been getting smaller and smaller as your training progressed and you were struggling to find this last one. Finally, your eyes land on the red balloon.

It smiled back at you.

“Cute,” you chuckle at the poorly drawn smiley face decorating your unfortunate target, “Is that your handiwork or Gaz’s?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Price responds coyly.

You scoff, lining up the shot. The happy balloon swung right and left, fighting against the wind that was now picking up. “Might wanna go three to the left, love” Price suggested. 

“Right,” you say, trying not to give much thought to the name - and how your captain had been using it more and more often. 

You’re finally satisfied with how you’ve lined up your shot. Three up, three left.

You squeeze your finger and feel the butt of the gun kick into your shoulder.

The bullet hits the ground a foot away from the balloon, kicking dust into the wind. The balloon smiles back at you, taunting your marksmanship. 

“Damn” you whisper. 

“S’alright” Price says. It’s not, you scold yourself and line up your shot again. He hears this thought. “Really Y/N, take your time.”

The balloon’s bobbing slows and you feel the wind calm. Readjusting your shot, you feel more confident this bullet will land right between its squiggly sharpie black eyes. The pad of your pointer finger rubs the cold trigger. 

Squeeze.

You see red rubber erupt and flitter off into the air, the wind once again picking up as if it had patiently waited for you to finish shooting the unsuspecting balloon in cold blood. “There you go, love - dropped ‘em!” you finally take your eyes away from the rifle and look at John, offering you a smile. “Or should I say “popped ‘em,” he jokes. Lame, you think to yourself; although you fight back a smile. You don’t miss the warmth that spreads throughout your chest, and fear it creeps into your cheeks. You shake your head, “Should’ve gotten it the first time,” you quip back and begin to stand. Rising, your legs ache from having been lying prone for so long.

Dismantling the rifle, you begin to return it to its case when you feel a hand land on your shoulder. 

Squeeze.

“That’s what practice is for.” your captain reassures you. You knew you were being hard on yourself - in reality you were a great shot. Your skills and potential as a sniper are what had led Laswell to pick up your file months before. She had observed you in action before recommending you to Price, adamant that you would be a great fit on the team and prove to be a useful asset. Amazingly to you, he seemed to agree. It’s why you were receiving this extra training, courtesy of Price himself. You were only embarrassed because you had missed in front of your captain. Who definitely did not make you nervous. 

“Yeah” you respond lamely, latching the case shut, throwing it over your shoulder, and turning to walk back to base. Price sighs, “Y/N.”

Oh no, you thought, he’s using his captain's voice.

You turn around to face him and your eyes meet. “What’s going on with you today? Been quiet. Been a bit off…” John trails off, unsure of how much he should say. “I know I was a little hard on you the other day-”

You cut him off before he can continue. The last thing you wanted was for him to believe that he had done something wrong - something to upset you. “No! No,” you respond quickly “you didn’t do anything - besides, I need to hear that stuff from you - during training. It’s what makes me better.” you see the corners of his mouth quirk up for a moment and you continue. “Sometimes…I just…wonder if I’m worthy of being on this team. I feel like I’m dragging behind. You’re all more experienced. You’ve all been doing this stuff longer…don’t wanna drag everyone down with me…” you finish your rant quietly. You don’t want to meet Price’s gaze and focus on a patch of dirt near your feet, convinced it’s suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. His soft laughter breaks your concentration. 

“You need to get out of that head of yours love - you are not dragging us - me, down,” it is not lost on you how Price made it a point to emphasize himself. Maybe you really were in your head too much. Price continues, “We help you because we want to. Help you because we have been doing this longer. We know what you’re about to deal with on this mission and want you to be as ready and prepared as you can be. Can’t have anything happening to you can we?” He grows more stern at the end of his explanation and you can’t help the smile forming on your face. 

“Yeah, because I’m so valuable-”

“You are.”

Your laughter ceases and smile quickly leaves your face. Your eyes rake over Price’s face, serious as ever. Tension looms in the air over you two and your throat goes dry. “I mean it,” your captain doubles down. His eyes poured into yours. You were suddenly very aware of the flush spreading across your face and the way your mouth parted slightly at his words. “Understood,” you reply breathlessly, “...thank you, Captain.”

A beat of silence rings out between you two as you soak in each other’s words and stare into the other’s eyes.

“And don’t you forget it.” Price breaks the silence, his tone a bit more playful now as he takes the rifle case from your hands and begins down the path leading back to base. You jog after him, telling him you’re perfectly capable of carrying your own gun all while he chuckles. 

[dmitriene]

THOUGHTS ABOUT JOHN PRICE IN A ROBE.

cw: fluff, comfort, flirting, pet names, reader working in delivery, male anatomy, slighty smug price pairing: captain john price x fem reader

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

delivering is quite difficult in the morning, the point is not in the number of possible traffic jams, but in the fact that from the very morning you have to quickly bake a batch of delicious buns, brew aromatic coffee, pampering your nose with a deep aroma even after a certain amount on the road, and then load all this in a basket on a bicycle so you can sit down and open your morning with the first delivery to the neighborhood closest to your cafe.

the path is not long, but it’s enough to see your immediate surroundings, a scattering of freshly green trees, evenly trimmed bushes and updated fences around the houses that you have come thousands of times already, greeting those who caught your eye, high-fiving the little guys who often ran to the cafe for bread, and now they ran to school, calling you loudly as you passed by, exclaiming in one voice — «lady from the cafe, lady from the cafe!», little devils still can't remember your name.

after a few minutes of listening to the asphalt under the rubber wheels crunching with small pebbles, the bicycle brings you to a rather spacious house, a light facade and a small porch, an evenly trimmed lawn, but a slightly more empty area than when a large family lived here, a sweet woman with her husband and two wonderful children, meek, sweet guys, only they moved away.

the house was put up for sale again quite quickly, and bought again just as quickly, only you didn’t have time to see by who exactly, and didn’t even hear any discussions, but today was a great chance, especially considering that he turned to your cafe for the delivery of delicious baked goods in the morning, it means the person is not just good, but also open to meeting people, and besides, the house is big, probably another big family buyed it.

and you quickly realized that you were mistaken when you left the bike at a small fence, carefully walking inside and climbing the threshold, before knocking a couple of times, for a while you are met with silence, you don’t hear much outside the door, but very soon quite heavy steps are heard and you intuitively straighten up, holding a bag of pastries in one hand, and in the other a stand with two large cups of coffee, slightly moving away from the front door when its handle is lowered and it opens slightly inward, to the side.

— «good morning! thank you for your order and welcome to our neighbor.. hood..» your babble comes out before john can fully open the door, and to be honest it hits his ears quite hard in the morning, but you quickly fall silent as soon as you capture the rich picture in front of you.

the olive colored robe is casually opened, exposing a muscular, but slightly soft looking chest, covered with thick, moist dark hair, which makes the sight seem even more intimate when your gaze involuntarily descends lower, where a path of even darker hair goes to the navel, following the wet drops, forming a happy trail that disappears where the robe is still tied with a satin, thin strap, hiding more intimate things, while the awkward, but somehow ringing silence drags on for too long.

john is the first to interrupt her, clearing his throat loudly, without even trying to hide his smile, which makes the corners of his lips stretch and raise his mustache, which he touches, looking into your eyes with a slight tilt of his head while he leans his body on the door frame, crossing his strong arms on his chest, the same hairs, somewhere you can see pale, years healed scars, and the muscles that intuitively tense and bulge out his wide biceps, obscuring the view of his chest and forcing your gaze to finally switch to blue, piercing eyes, warming from the inside just like the honey baritone of his voice when he speaks — «well, good morning to you too, miss?»

you finally fully come to your senses, masking your embarrassment with a friendly, bright smile — an incredibly good quality that comes to you after years of work, when you hand him a bag of pastries and his coffee, and he changes his position, stepping through the threshold barefoot a little closer to you, taking the packages carefully, before opening them slightly and sniffing the smell with curiosity, emitting a satisfied, chesty growl, saying — «smells bloody good, not surprised that everyone recommended your pastries»

you light up in response to an unexpected compliment, feeling proud of your own work, rushing to thank him heartily, as if with childish enthusiasm — «thank you, sir!», while he turns around to put the packages on the cabinet near the entrance, taking his wallet from there, hearing your respectful address and grinning under his breath, amused before adding — «john price, darling»

— «thank you, mr.price, then? nice to meet you» you say just as respectfully, tenderly, when he lets out a satisfied grumble, rummaging for a while presumably in his wallet before turning back, beckoning you with two fingers closer while he counted the bills, and you obediently walk in response to the gesture, stopping literally near him as he steals a glance at you, squinting into another warm smile that lifts his facial hair before john holds out a few comfortably rolled bills and you notice that something is wrong.

your fingers briefly touch his casually, shooting something warm and electrical through his body when you take the money, exchange a smile, but before you can leave you notice that he went too far, or rather, overpaid, and the amount is pleasantly large even for a tip, so you awkwardly, slightly meekly notice — «uhm.. you overpaid, mr.price», receiving only a short laugh in response.

john is clearly amused by your misunderstanding, your naive reaction to what he did more than on purpose, causing the wrinkles around his eyes appear endlessly from his smiles, and the corners of his lips to stretch the skin, hiding behind a grayish mustache, when the blue gaze catches yours, slightly confused, and his voice, almost a gentle purr, calms you down by half a beat — «a tip for you, darling»

you gasp, lips parting in an «o» shape as you giggle awkwardly, adding sheepishly — «o-oh! it's just.. the biggest tip i seen, so i thought.. thank you» before getting ready to leave, after all, the working day is just beginning, and there are a lot of orders ahead, despite the fact that you wouldn’t mind talking longer, take a longer look on him, even?

he just waves his hand slightly, brushing the situation off again from the pure amusement, before adding unexpectedly, so much so that the blush on your cheeks cannot be calmed down and it grows over your ears and neck, not avoiding his gaze, but he pretends not to notice, keeping silent about the amount of scarlet paint on your face, burning, exactly like the compliment he said so simply, even as if flirting — «that's for your pretty eyes)»

and you don’t have time to utter a word or an embarrassed squeak before he nods and, with a fleeting wink, goes back into the house, disappearing behind the threshold and the closing wooden door, closing it with a slight click that pulls you out of embarrassment, letting you sigh raggedly and absolutely discouraged, before rubbing your cheeks with the palms, as if trying to disperse the color, and finally unsticking yourself from the place, walking back to your bike, so far that there is only one thought in your head, an immodest desire — to see his playful smile, meet him again, and maybe… invite him for tea?

[cod-dump]

Try not to laugh: COD addition

___

Round 2: Soap

___

Soap: I ain’t scared! You guys better give it your all!

Soap: *aggressively sips water*

Gaz: *walks on stage where a white coat*

Soap: *raises an eyebrow*

Gaz: *pulls out rubber gloves and puts them on. He snaps one and makes eye contact with Soap*

Gaz: Time for your prostate examine. Bend over

Soap: *spits his water out* FUCK

Gaz: Heh heh— *skips off stage*

Ghost: You’re right, he would’ve reacted differently if I did it

Soap: wait HOLD UP—

___

Soap: *bobbing his head to whatever song he’s thinking of, sipping water*

Ghost, backstage: I can’t touch him?

Price: No, you can say and do anything as long as you’re not touching him

Ghost: Damn, there goes the lap dance

Soap: *spits out his water*

Soap: CAN WE CHANGE THE RULES?!

Price: Sorry, son. Ghost’s turn is up

Soap: FUCK—

Gaz: Bro didn’t even have to go out there—

___

Soap: I have been robbed today. ROBBED

Soap: *solemnly sips his water*

Price: *walks out on stage. He stands next to Soap, looking like he’s trying to figure out what to say*

Soap: *eyes him suspiciously*

Price: So… wanna hear about the time I smoked oregano thinking it was weed?

Soap: *spits his water out* WHAT?!

Gaz: HOLD UP—

Ghost: OREGANO?

Price: Sorry, Soap already lost. Another time— *runs off stage*

*Gaz and Ghost run across the stage after Price, Soap jumping off the stool and joining them*

[cost-masters]

Rubber Price Per Kg in Assam Today: Latest Update

Monitor rubber prices in Assam with CostMasters. Access historical data, price charts, and market analysis to make informed decisions.

[riddlerscumshot]

Push and Pull

NSFW!

contains: simp/guard dog edward, soft dom mc, use of "ma'am", praise, dry humping, naked woman clothed man, multiple orgasms, creampie

words: 6,196

pairing: Edward Nashton x Original Female

The office supply shop I work at is small, but it's conveniently located and has reasonable prices. I see a lot of well dressed adults on their lunch breaks, high school students in the afternoon, and more adults in the evening. None of them usually leave an impression. Well, almost none.

There's this man. He never looks at me unless I'm not looking at him. Sometimes I avoid eye contact on purpose because I know he gets shy when I catch him looking at me. He'll look away, at his feet, or the pens or paper or thumbtacks I'm ringing up. But I like looking at him too. When he's walking down each of the two aisles the shop has, I like to observe. I don't know, I guess it's weird, but I think he's cute, and soft, even though he's always in dark clothes and heavy boots. When I hear his boots rounding the second aisle, I start organizing the front desk, busy work.

When he sets his items on the counter I start scanning and speak to him at the same time.

"I hope you found everything you needed!"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

"Looks like it's nine dollars twenty-seven today." I finally look up. His glasses always have at least a couple raindrops on the lenses. He shifts his eyes down, focusing on his wallet as he pulls out a twenty dollar bill and hands it to me.

"Do you work late?" The question just sort of came out of my mouth as I finished counting his change and handed it to him. I'm always thinking it. Wondering why he's always my last customer. I never ask him anything, I never make conversation, I don't do that with any customers. But I wanted to talk to him.

"I-- Yes." He was dropping the coins in his pocket and stuffing the bills in his wallet as I tucked his receipt in his bag. "Thank you." He took the plastic bag by the handles and made his way out of the store, only a little faster than normal.

That was stupid. I could tell he's introverted, I shouldn't have tried to talk to him. I should have left him alone.

He came back.

Four days later, his usual timeline. His boots are louder and faster than last time or all the times before that. He grabs the product he needed in no time at all, rounding the second aisle in a personal record of his. I didn't have time to look busy, he didn't have time to look at me. He let the items he picked out fall onto the counter.

"You're... getting a lot more than usual."

"Yes."

I must have made him uncomfortable last time. I should apologize. Should I? He is buying extra so he can stay away longer, He means to avoid me. Did I really do something wrong?

I hear him clear his throat, and realize I hadn't started ringing him up, I was just staring at the counter full a months worth of office supplies. "I'm sorry. For spacing out, and for invading your privacy last time."

He doesn't speak for a moment, his haul almost ready to be paid for. I take off the price for his electrical tape, as an extra apology.

"I uh-- Don't worry about it," his hand outstretched with forty dollars, ready to pay. He left, with his change and two plastic bags. He was walking slower.

I had been going through the motions for a while now. Every day blending together, all feeling he same. Sitting on the uncomfortable wooden stool behind the cash register. It's still more comfortable than being on my feet for all 9 hours of my shift. Home is calling my name. My shower, my pantry and refrigerator, my bed, all ready to see me and I them. The day can end now and I would be completely fi-- He's back.

When I watched him walk in, he looked back at me, then he ducked into the first aisle. Heavy rubber soles march around, he's in the second aisle now. I can see the top of his head, as our shelves don't go very high, and he is also quite tall. When he swings around the corner, we are looking at each other. His stride long and focused.

Eyes locked together as the man gets closer. I'm sat on my stool the way I always am, but I get this instinct, like I need to move. I'm not sure if I have to go forward or backward. The raindrops are all over his shoulders and hair too, this time. I can see when he's suddenly right in front of me. I didn't realize the it was such heavy weather tonight. I don't say anything at all this time. Even though I always ask if he needs anything else. I read him his total, he pays in cash, I give him his change, he puts it away, he walks out--

He's not walking away.

"My name is Edward. I work late into the evening, yes, and I accept your apology from last time, even though it was not needed and it was my reaction that was out of line."

Seconds passed us by as I figured out was to say back. I wasn't expecting this. I wasn't expecting anything, but especially not this.

"Hello, Edward. My name is Marley. I hope to see you back again soon." I gave him a smile, still looking into his eyes. He really is soft. If only I could hold his cheeks in my hands, and keep looking into his eyes forever.

"Thank you, ma'am," he nods his head as drops his eyes and turns away from me, leaving again.

The next time he came in, he looked cleaner than usual. Haircut, he got a haircut. The same general shape was there, side part and flat texture in all, just trimmed and kept.

I smiled at him when he rounded the corner, and he smiled back, but dropped his eyes right after. Since he wasn't gonna look, I will.

He fidgets with the zipper on his windbreaker while I tuck the last of the printer ink into his bag.

"Your hair looks nice, Edward. Did you get it cut?"

His eyes come up, then go back down. "Uh, yes. Thank you, ma'am."

"Marley."

"Thank you. Marley," Edward's face flushed.

"You're welcome. You got some money for me?" He's sweet. I didn't want him to leave. I want to ask him why he's so shy. I want to listen to him speak. I want to know who he is.

I guess I really don't get out much. Meeting new people is not a regular occurence in my life. So I find myself fixating and thinking about a man that shops at my place of employment twice a week. Is that really bad? A lack of social interaction is considered a negative trait to most people, right? Should I be worried?

Nah, I'm fine.

"Hi Edward," I say to him as he walks in the door.

"Hello, Marley."

I listen to his footsteps. I hear him switch rows, and wait for him to make the last turn. I'm smiling at him before he knows I'm looking. He doesn't look away, but I can tell it's hard for him. It's like he's almost blushing.

"Do you work here every day, Marley?" He asked me a question. He's looking at me too. Not at his printer paper on the counter, not at his shoes, Edward is looking at and talking to me.

"My boss, the owner, works Saturday and Sunday every week." Edward gives a hum of acknowledgement as his total gets higher.

"Enjoy your weekend, then," he takes his paper and leaves. I forgot it was Friday until he reminded me. I felt momentum for the last few minutes of my shift. It feels silly, like an elementary school crush, but Edward is a cute guy. And I find myself looking forward to interactions with him, and feeling rhapsodic after them. I want to get to know him, and let him know me.

Locking up the shop for the night, ready to start my walk home, and I can't stop thinking about his big glasses that sit on his baby face. Traffic noise always irritated me. Honking is moronic and police sirens are piercing. LED lights on every inch of a GCPD vehicle, but every third street light is burnt out on this block. Cars swerving to miss potholes, they would rather hit a pedestrian than change their tire.

Making my way to the first alley I have to cut through on my way home, the pepper spray on my keychain ready, just in case. But I can't stop thinking about how respectful he must be. Always using 'ma'am' and how he came back, ready to resolve any tension. Left and down this block, then cross right and through the second and last alley I need to walk through. Welcome to Gotham. Shed fifteen minutes off your walk home, all for the low risk of your wallet, and your life.

I can't stop thinking about Edward's build, in his bulky clothes and sturdy boots. His stride wide, steps heavy. At my apartment door, the key is entering the lock. It's foolish to be thinking about him so much; and being aware of the foolishness makes him more appealing.

The office supply shop I work at is mundane, the shifts are long, entertainment is sparse. My lack of free time in my personal life due to my long shifts, causes me to spend my free time on the clock daydreaming about a conversation with Edward lasting more than four minutes. I picture him staying so long, he's there while I close the store. He'd walk me home, and we'd get to talk even more.

I wish I could know more about him. He's like a half-open letter sat on the kitchen counter, addressed to someone else. A naturally curious person would want to take a peak, at least the first sentence. But out of respect, no such action is taken. One must wait for the contents to be shared voluntarily, if ever.

Edward's last visit was on Monday, three days ago. He'll most likely be in today. Nothing new will happen. For maybe weeks now, the only things that are different are me knowing his name, and now I ask 'how are you?' and he replies 'well, and you?' before I say 'well' and ring him up.

I could hear the rain and thunder tonight. I can't see it, the window tint combined with the dark evening was an attempt to deceive me. I wouldn't want to make extra journeys in this weather, so I didn't blame Edward when there were ten minutes left of my shift and I still hasn't seen him. I never close early, but I was so sure the store wouldn't see another customer tonight. I stood from my seat behind the counter so I could lock the door before counting the cash register. All but two steps away when the door swings open and I'm inches from being body slammed.

"M-Marley, I apologize," Edward slows himself down just in time to miss me and gently lets the door close behind him. "I was rushing in to dodge the rain, I did not intend to knock into you."

I've never been so close to him, there's always two feet of counter space between us. I can smell him, natural musk, baby powder scented deodorant, and rain water. He's crowded near the door, as I'm stood in his normal path. It takes me just a bit too long to realize I should move and speak.

"It's all right, Edward," I finally say as I take two steps back. "I didn't think I'd see you tonight, I was on my way to lock the door."

Edward was looking at his feet, then the keys in my hand, then his feet again, then toward the first aisle of product. The smile on his face was very small, but I saw it.

"I suppose the rain did try to keep me. Thank you for staying open, ma'am--Marley"

"Of course," I turn to head back behind the counter so he can shop.

He's quick to meet me at the register. I keep my head and eyes down as I help him. I feel him looking at me.

"How are you?"

"Well, and you?"

"...you know, you can tell me more. When I ask that, you can be more honest if you want, or-- not that you're a dishonest person. I mean if you just want to say you're well, that's okay I want you to feel comfortable. I just mean if there is a deeper answer, I'll listen." What is wrong with me.

I look up to see what his face can tell me, but he looks away after I have half a second. The expression I did get to see was mostly a mix of surprise and confusion.

"Noted," Edward spoke, his tone delicate and his new expression soft. It didn't take him that long to answer, but seconds feel longer when your heart is pounding.

Why am I so anxious?

The next round of silence is actually long this time. Edward has a bill between his fingers, waiting for me to say the total and reach out my hand. I contemplate taking too long to bag everything, or maybe miscountung his change and having to start over. But the store closed two minutes ago and I'm sure he has somewhere to be. So top tier service is all I can offer.

"How do you get home?" I have to pause counting his last few pennies for just a moment, then I continue and hand over his change. "I was just-- I hope you don't have to be in the rain for too long."

"Thank you, Edward. I walk home, but it's not too bad with some short cuts." Edward looked in my eyes. His brows were pinched and raised.

"Every night?"

I let myself chuckle. "Yeah, I wear a raincoat."

"Raincoats aren't bulletproof."

"Jesus, Edward."

He cleared his throat. "I apologize, that was blunt. Gotham has more danger than the rain, is what I meant."

"You meant both, that's okay. I also carry pepper spray, and like to kick." This made him grin. Not a soft smile, but he grinned. It made me grin too. It was something about this connection, like we've finally cracked the code and started communicating. I felt like I could keep it going if I wanted to, and he gave me the confidence, so I did. "It would be nice to keep it in my purse for a night, if you have time to walk me home."

And just like that, a man I know nothing about save his name found out where I live.

"Do you live this direction?" I asked when we left the store and crossed the street.

"No."

"How long is it for you?"

"Don't worry right now, ask me when we're closer. I don't mind the walk."

"So it's really out of your way."

"I said not to worry."

"We need to duck through this alleyway," I say, his pace was too fast and we almost passed it. I felt like I was keeping up with him, when I'm the one that knows where we're going.

"Marley, there's barely any light down this way. You take this every night?"

"It's the only other path, unless we walked five extra blocks. It's not so bad." And honestly, this was the only time i've meant that. I don't think I've heard sirens once, and the street lights are brighter tonight, some must have been fixed over the weekend. The rain let up only a bit, but there wasn't anymore lightning and thunder. Edward and I both had our hoods up. He was stoic. He knows this city is rough, he can feel the chill of the night, and he can see the puddles in our way, but he remains as is.

"When you leave the shop, are you going or coming from work?"

"Both," Edward answers, he glances over for a moment, then forward again, his soft smile making an appearance.

"Damn, what kind of schedule do you have?" My tone light, but still expecting an answer.

"I work from home, and make my own hours. It's hard to find a stopping point, so I leave when I'm out of supplies. Or food."

"That's a lot of focus and drive."

"What a nice was of saying obsessive compulsive."

"We need to cut through this one now," I point to the next alley that leads to the street my building in on.

"This one is even darker."

"That's new, the light on the other side went out, I guess." I look behind me as we enter the alley, I always do just to be safe. There was someone, on the other side of the street, smoking a cigarette outside the laundromat. If Edward wasn't with me, I would have been a bit paranoid about them, maybe even broken into a jog, once out of sight, but I followed Edward down the path at his pace. I looked up and over at him, my feet had to move faster than his, but i could still keep up. "Can I know how long your walk is now?"

"I live down the block from your store, around the corner."

"Thank you for walking me, Edward." We've slowed down and then stopped once the whole of the alley was behind us.

"Yes," he cleared his throat. "You're welcome. I would be happy to do it again."

"Sometimes, when you speak, I feel like you're trying to sound as normal as you possibly can. Are you really this collected, or do you censor yourself?" "

The latter."

"I'd love to know what your thoughts are before you turn them into sentences."

"I'd love to know what your hands feel like in mine," Edward blushed as soon as he blurted out what must have been an unfiltered thought. The smile on my face couldn't be slapped away if he tried. He was back to staring at his shoes when I took his right hand in my left, and laced our fingers.

"They're dry and chapped, cold air."

"They're perfect," Edward was looking at our hands together, before he reached for my other. That was the most confident action I've seen him commit, and also the most action I've gotten in three years.

"I wanted to hold you hand the whole time, I thought you would be uncomfortable, when I wanted you to feel safe."

"You're so sweet," he was blushing at my words. Or rather, hearing my words, in a soft tone, while holding my hands.

"Thank you, M-Marley."

"You wanna help me cross the street, Edward?"

"Yes," he drops my right hand but keeps the left. Onward. "I should have your phone number, for the next time my pepper spray feels too heavy."

[You'll be closed soon]

The text message was from Edward, we had exchanged the courteous 'this is me' texts just after he walked me to my door last night, besides that, I had went on with my routine and made it my whole day without communication. I didn't want to be overbearing and too much. Unless he's okay with that.

{Is this you offering to walk me home}

[It's also me wondering why you haven't asked yet]

{Come here}

I was locking the door when I heard Edward's footsteps approaching me from down the sidewalk.

"Hi," I said with a smile, stuffing my keys in my purse so either hand is free for him to take.

"Hi," he looks down, this time it's at my hand, not his feet. I hold it out for him.

"I've been thinking about you all day, and how sweet you are to me. But I'd hate to disturb you too much, so I didn't want to make you walk me home two nights in a row."

"I like it," we made it to the other side of the street before he clarified more. "I like doing things for you."

"Sweetie... I think I just started liking you even more." I got him blushing again. There wasn't even any rain tonight, and it felt nice to not have my hood up while also looking over my shoulder for potential harm as we made the trip home.

"How old are you?"

"...32... Is that--"

"I don't mind, sweetie, I just want to know more about you. I'm 26, so you know," I tried to face him when I spoke, but I kept bumping into him from the side.

"You've always lived here?" He asked me.

"Gotham or my apartment?"

"Both?"

"No."

He giggled.

"Since moving to Gotham, that apartment is where i've been planted. I moved here from Michigan, after I tried to go to college but couldn't decide on a major to declare so when the university kept pushing me, I broke and dropped out and googled 'cheapest cities to live in' and I picked the first one out of state but close enough by car. I had to sell my car my first year here though."

"It's not necessary in the city, to drive. Your walk home would take just as long by car. Plus someone would've stolen your catalytic converter if you'd had it a week longer. Not to mention the city pays no attention to the potholes, faded road lines, or the sewer grates that flood from the rain. Attempting to drive a car here is redundant, costly, and ineffective."

"You were born here," it wasn't a question, I could just tell.

"Yes. I grew up in Gotham Orphanage. It's burnt and abandoned now. I've lived in dorms and then my current apartment since then." "The same apartment since you left college?"

"Cheapest city to live in, right?"

"Touché."

We got to my place too soon. "I want more time with you." Edward smiled.

"Until I am measured, I am not known. Yet how you miss me, when I have flown."

Now it's my turn to smile. "Just because time keeps going doesn't mean you have to. Have some tea with me, Edward." My tone came out a bit more demanding than indented, but it worked in my favor.

"Yes, ma'am."

Edward was following my suit as I hung up my coat and took off my shoes at the front door.

"Come on." I lead him to the kitchen. "Sit." I started the kettle. "Black or green?"

"Black, please."

"Sugar?"

"No, ma'am-- Marley."

"Ma'am." He went silent. I finished prepping our mugs before turning to face him. His blush was different this time. Deeper. He was looking at his hands as they rested in his lap.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Oh sweetie, it's okay. I wasn't mad, just letting you know what I like. Is that okay, that I like that?"

"Yes," it was like he couldn't wait to reply but didn't want to at the same time. "I like it too." He was embarrassed. Oh there's more to this. I took away the distance between us, and he finally looked up at me once I was roughly a foot away. I reached my hand to his cheek, and held his head in my hand as he looked up at me from his position at my kitchen table. I rubbed my thumb back and forth just next to the apple of his cheek, and stared back into his eyes as they whined at me. "What is the most kissable flower?"

"Hmmm," I moved my thumb a tad lower, until it traced his mouth. "These tulips?" Edward sucked in a breath and accidentally let out a whine in the process. He wanted a kiss so bad, I couldn't deprive him. Poor thing.

There was realization and excitement in his eyes went I started to move, then panic, before he closed them in acceptance. It only took him a second or two to kiss back, and follow my lead. And it only took him him a few more seconds before his hands reached out for me, landing on my waist. His kisses were gracious. Sweet and wet and perfect. I can't stand this angle anymore, I need to sit in his lap, or get him up, or--

The hiss of the kettle is what broke me off of him. I turned around quickly, turning off the stove as I moved the pot over to an unused burner.

"My room is this way, Edward." I said as I left the kitchen, my decision made. He stumbled as he tried to catch up, and followed me through my bedroom door. "I want to do a lot more than kiss tonight, Edward. Is that okay?" "

Yes, ma'am."

"It's been a while for me, I hope I'm not being too forward for your liking." I sat down on my bed, and he followed me. "Forward is my liking."

"Good boy..." Edward's face got red and he looked in his lap. "Do you like when people call you that, sweetie?"

"You're the first, but I do like it."

"How experienced are you, Edward?" He was getting embarrassed again.

"I lost my virginity in college. We... hooked up two more times that year. I haven't really met anyone since." He couldn't look at me.

"But you've met me. I guess that means I get you all to myself, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I kissed him quickly before backing further onto the bed, and he followed, chansing a kiss down. I held his face in my hands as he held himself over me, I spread my legs so he could rest comfortably against me. His arms on either side of my head, but not holding up too much weight. I let myself wrap my legs around his waist and our kiss built into something wet and rough. Edward started to whine right around the time I felt his hard on against me. Getting him so worked up is the best foreplay I've ever had.

Edward's hips started rocking into mine and he broke his mouth off mine and dove his lips down my jaw and neck. He tried kissing me, or maybe giving me a hickey, but quickly, we was letting his open mouth pant and whine into me. I hummed, and stroked his hair and back. His head shifted and I felt him trying not to nuzzle into my chest. One of his hands moved, cupping one of my breast.

"You wanna take my shirt off, baby?"

"Yes, please," Edward sounded lost and safe. He sat himself up so I could too. His fingers gripped the hem of my shirt and I raised my arms for him, I heard him take a deep breath when my bare chest was finally on display for him. I was about to see about taking his shirt off next, but he was already returning us to the previous position. Kisses are planted down my neck, collarbones, and chest. Edward's hips resume their movements, and his hand finds my tits again. My hand is suddenly on the back of his head when I feel his lips on my nipple.

"Gooood boy." Edward sucks on my tit harder and he continues to hump his clothed cock against me while I comb my fingers through his hair. He's whimpering and his spit is leaking all over my chest as he switches to give my other nipple attention. He can't decide if he wants to keep humping me and cum, or slow down and ask for guidance, and he's needs to decide soon. He can't keep his mouth on me any longer, because he can't stop panting and moaning for me. "It feels so good, doesn't it? Dry humping me, getting to feel me up?"

"Ye--es ma'am. Ah! Thaank you. AH!" Edward's rutting into my spread legs as I hold him in my arms. Poor thing can barely hold on, let alone hold himself up. I thought I was touch starved, but Edward is proving there is a deeper hunger one can reach. He needs this. Edward can't stop using the friction of our bodies to get off, he is a dehydrated man to water, a dog to a bone.

"You're so perfect, baby. Such a good boy for me." A cry fell from Edward's lips as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, his hips twitchings as his pace hit a brick wall. His hips barely twitch as the rest of his stays still.

"Aww, good job, Edward." He was still whimpering for me, trying to say something but it wasn't coming out right. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Oh, it's okay, sweetie. You'll just have to get me off now, huh?"

Edward shot up. "Yes, ma'am."

I hooked my thumbs under the waist of my pants and slid them off me, my underwear going with them.

"Why don't you take yours off too? You've made a mess of them." Edward's eyes avoid me. "You don't have to, I just want you to be comfortable."

Edward looks back for just a moment, a peace offering. He's smiling and looking away before saying, "Thank you, ma'am. But I think I want them on right now."

"Okay, sweetie," I smile at him and he smiles back.

I take his hand in mine, and lead his fingers to touch me. He just sits and watches as I guide him. He swallows and looks up at me, then down at me, then up again. "You got me that wet, Edward." I dip his middle finger into my hole and push it in and out then back in, then he starts to do it himself. "You can put another in, baby."

Edward slips his ring finger in, pressing in and out at first.

"You can use them to massage me, push them in me and then--" I had to stop talking to breathe instead as Edward got the hang of it quicker than I expected.

"Like that?"

I couldn't tell if he was being cocky or genuine, but i nodded and let out a soft moan anyway. I relaxed my upper body and let myself lean back as I felt Edward's fingers get further than mine ever could. I moved my own hand to my clit, he can work up to multitasking, or apparently not. Edward is swatting my hand away immediately.

"Let me do it." Edward uses his own split and my wetness to glide his fingers in circles on my clit, while stuffing me with his fingers at the same time. I can't remember the last time I was touched like this, if ever. His fingers fit just right. He curled them inside me, pressed them against me, and pumped them into me. My clit still getting all it needed.

"Fuck, baby. Good job," My speech is breathy. I watch Edward watch me. He eyes taking in my body, my cunt, my face and the way my eyebrows hike up when he gets his fingers even deeper.

"It feels good?"

"Yes, Eddie, baby, fuck. Just like this. I'm so lucky to have such a pretty boy getting me-- OFF!" Edward was moving both hands faster, I didn't tell him I needed him too, but I didn't even realize I needed him to until he did. The new speed added a roughness to the fingers inside me. It's like he's just finished reading my body, cover to cover. He knows what I know before I know it. I can't find much more in myself but moans and nods and variations of "Good job," and "Thank you," before my orgasm starts to creep up.

"Yes! Yes baby. God, you're gonna make me cum," Edward maintained his pace, even as my hips started to buck, like they were trying to meet his pattern but failing. Even as my moans hiked in pitch and volume, fingers gripping at the bedsheets and shoulders, And even as I quieted down, chest still heaving and eyes closed.

"Eddie!" I tapped his hands with mine, and that's when his fingers finally left me. I was trying to find more breath and words when Edward moved to kiss me. His movements were easy, disciplined. I'm so pleased to have been right when I pictured his lips as soft and sweet. Hands were all over me, unsure of where to stay, or trying to memorize all of me in case this is a dream. Fingertips dusting over my bare thighs, flowing down to my knees before backtracking all the way up to my hips. If my body was a sea, he's a sailor, exploring how far I really reach. Hands on my shoulders, my arms, I thought he might hold my hands as we continue to kiss but then his hands move again along with his lips. Trails of kisses are dropped across my cheeks, my jaw, and my throat. I feel taken but not captive. Held.

"I'm hard again." Edward's flat tone grounded me, but otherwise didn't bother me. Straightforward, he had something to say, and saw no need to ease into the conversation when precise language did the trick.

"I think you'll have to fuck me then, Eddie."

"...Yes, ma'am." Unsure of himself, Edward sat up slowly, looking at my face before breaking the gaze and choosing to look at his lap instead. Fully clothed, Edward was sat on his own legs, between mine that have been spread open for him all night.

"You can keep them on, sweetie." I said to him as I sat up. I reach for the button and zipper on his bulky, canvas pants. His eyes are focused on my hands as I carefully undo his pants. "I'm just gonna pull it out, you don't have to take anything off if that makes you feel comfortable." There was a mess in his underwear waiting for me, his cock covered in his previous load and already leaking precum for the next. I pump my hand over his dick a few times, though he really didn't need it. I reach my free hand up to the back of his neck so I can bring him with me when I lay back down. His cock so close to me at last, but still not inside me.

"Put it in, baby. I wanna know what your pretty cock feels like inside me."

A yelp of excitement and nerves comes from Edward as he positions himself against my hole, his swollen and pink tip begging to know what I feel like.

"Wait I don't-- do you have--"

"I'm on birth control, Eddie."

Edward's smile is back and he presses his cock against my hole, finally giving the push it needs to sink into me, and all the way down. Slowly, his cock pulls almost out, and another gradual plunge back in. His whines start on his third or fourth thrust, which is when he picks up speed, if only a little. Careful and comfortable, Edward gets himself deeper into me, a proper fuck soon enough. I lift my legs lift a bit more, helping his tip reach even further than his fingers did. A mutual "Oh, fuck..." shared between us. Edward had a new gravitational pull. He wasn't meant to fall to the Earth, he was meant to fall to me. Each thrust just an unfortunate separation followed by the inevitable destiny of his dedication to me.

"You were made for me, Edward."

All he could muster was a moan, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried so hard not to come too fast. As he went on, though, he found out his best try wasn't enough. His whines and whimpers and pants just fuel for my euphoria. Little breaths and repeated "ah, ah, ah"s as he built himself up and fucked me deep. His once fixed pace getting faster when his voice got louder. His shoulders shaking with his jagged breathing.

"I know, I know."

"Please, please, please," his words match his thrust, showing me the punctuation.

"Please?"

"Please, ma'am. Please, I need-- ah!" He's lost any tempo he once had, still fucking me deep, fast, long, but unable to control much more.

"You need to cum, Eddie? You need to cum in me?" He nods quick and plenty.

"Use your words, come on."

"I'm gonna-- I need to cum. Let me cum in you please-- fuck! Your pussy feels so good around me. So fucking perfect. Please ma'am please say I was good enough please. Please let me cum for you please."

"What a good boy, so desperate. You fucked me so good. Show me how good it feels. Cum for me, Edward."

His head drops into my neck, panting as he lets go inside of me, warm and wet, serene and satiated.

[opencommunion]

On October 11th the occupation cut off electricity and water from many of the prisons where it incarcerates Palestinians, including children, often without trial or charge, while denying them legal representation. Long before October 7th the occupation tortured Palestinians in these prisons — again, including children — on top of the inhumane conditions that are torturous in themselves. The conditions are getting worse every day, and every day the occupation is abducting dozens or hundreds of Palestinians from the West Bank and occupied interior. The number of abductions since October 7th has reached 1000. The number of abductions since January 1st has exceeded 6000. 25% are minors, disabled, sick, or elderly, and sick prisoners are being denied medical care. Additionally, after forcibly transferring 18,000 Gazan workers to the West Bank, the occupation is now rounding up these same workers and detaining them in existing prisons or new camps, giving the excuse that "it is not possible for them to return to Gaza." The Palestinian Prisoners' and Ex-Prisoners' Affairs Commision estimates, based on occupation reports, that 4000 people are trapped in these camps. In their nightly raids, the occupation targets Palestinian journalists, activists, and representatives of the Palestinian Legislative Council. They also abduct the family members of targets to pressure those targets to surrender themselves. During these raids Palestinians are beaten, teargassed, and shot with rubber and live bullets. Then they are dragged to prisons where conditions are worse than ever. Today, October 20th, Qadura Fares, head of the Prisoners' and Ex-Prisoners' Affairs Commission, wrote:

"Developments in the scene inside the occupation prisons compel us to expose the injustices committed against the prisoners. Many prisoners have had their limbs, legs, and hands broken, and after the beatings, their comrades could no longer recognize them. The Naqab prison has become like Abu Ghraib prison, a center of brutality and savage treatment towards the heroic prisoners. 'Israel' is making the Palestinian prisoners pay the price for its failures, acting solely with a spirit of revenge. We call upon all the countries of the world to raise your voices in support of the principles you claim to uphold, or have you returned to your history as colonial powers?"

In short, in the past two weeks the occupation has: - Made the already brutal conditions in their prisons deadly - Created new camps where they trap displaced Gazans - Doubled the total number of detained Palestinians - Kidnapped numerous Palestinian journalists, activists, and elected officials

Given the occupation's practice of "administrative detention," occupation prisons have arguably met the definition of concentration camps for decades, and now detained Palestinians are being deprived of basic survival necessities. I do not know how to describe these facilities except as death camps. A regime does not need to build death camps in order to qualify as genocidal, and the Zionist occupation has been committing genocide by various means for 75 years. That being said, these are death camps or are on the verge of becoming death camps, and I don't think we have time to waste being squeamish about applying that terminology.

Please follow RNN Prisoners to stay informed about what Palestinian detainees are facing.

[rebirthgarments]

Bidding closes for disabled 🍉mom Nara’s auction Tomorrow, July 5th at 9pm central time!

We had so much fun at the virtual pool party and wanted to keep the fun going! So, tomorrow, July 5th from 1-4pm Central time, I will be joining @drdemonprince and Madeline testdevice on “The Time Theft Today” weekly Twitch stream to talk about Nara and her auction for a little home shopping network moment!

Get tickets, dough-nate, and bid on 66 amazing items at givebutter.com/c/naraparty

Time Theft Today is a weekly round-up of discourse, neurodiversity, mad pride, liberationist leftism and social media ephemera hosted by Madeline @Testdevice_ and Devon Price! We will also be hanging out while Dr. Devon does some silly interactive polls and we play around with Madeline’s .jpg dollhouse!

Event is free, but feel free to buy a sliding scale ticket since 100% goes to Nara and her family!

go to twitch.tv/drdevonprice to watch the live stream!

This photo features a bunch of examples of protest banners to inspire you when thinking about the custom vinyl protest banner that you can win at the auction! The bid for a custom banner is currently at $43!

[Image Description: a selfie of Sky wearing a watermelon free the armpit biketard, their pink scalemaille headpiece and pink queercrip earrings in xyr bathtub with vinyl banners decorating the walls for the virtual pool party. On the edge of the bath is rubber ducky shaped pop it stim toy!

Banners photographed include:

-a black holographic rectangle with pink holographic letters that says “We are Immunocompromised, Masks are Community Care”.

-A holographic gonfalon shaped banner that says “Queercrips for Pal-eh-stime” with a flag queer crip symbol in the center,

-A large Pal-eh-stimeian flag with a heart where the red triangle usually is

-A holographic gonfalon shaped banner that says “Land Back” in red letters with a small version of flag mentioned above, above it.

-A yellow irregularly shaped banner with the words “Radical Visibility” in pink letters.]

[tunethehearts]

Lucifer invites Alastor to his room in the hotel. Alastor complies, for what else can he do while he was stuck in a deal with His Majesty?

Radioapple Week - Day 4

Prompt: Drinking/Bonding

“Come, Alastor, you have fixed me up, it’s only right for me to pay back the favour.” Lucifer smiles, as he glances down at his hands. The cloth, streaks of golden blood now forever staining its ragged appearance, was thrown to the side. Lucifer was blossoming in front of Alastor, and he was worried of the next word that fell from his mouth, either feather-like or tumbling down like crushing boulders. He didn’t want to ruin him, make him wilt all because he was blocking the sun.

“I’m good, don’t worry.” Alastor shakes his head at the offer. The staff being fixed was enough for the price that he thought Lucifer needed to pay.

“Oh, come on, we have only started today.”

“It’s late in the evening, and night is trailing just behind.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t spend it together, can we? This place smells of blood and death, let’s head back to my room, take a drink or two, shall we?”

“Are you serious?” Alastor’s eyebrows furrowed, pinched together, almost straining his facial muscles. “You better not make me sleep in your bed again.”

“No guarantee,” he teased, but when he sees Alastor’s expression unchanged, still as firm and rigid as how it was before, Lucifer says, “Okay, okay. No sleeping in my bed.”

“And not vice versa, either. I don’t want you in my room.”

“Got it. Okay, let’s get out of here, can we? I’m starting to sweat.”

The trapdoor swung open with a bang, and they climbed down. Alastor pondered over whether or not the trapdoor was cracked due to Lucifer’s unneeded immense force when we pushed the trapdoor aside.

~

“Welcome to my room,” Lucifer smiles, as his arms shoot up in a welcoming gesture. “Excuse the number of ducks, I’ve yet to transport them back to my own house.”

“Why do you have so many?” Alastor asks.

“I keep them as friends, they’re nice to have. Oh, and, did you know they were originally meant to be a chew toy? That’s funny, because I chew on one of them all the time. Stress relief, nothing much.” The rubber duck on the table next to the bed was picked with slender fingers. He placed its tail in its mouth, biting it down with jagged teeth. It was left with a couple of bite marks which glitter underneath the fluorescent lights of his room and there were more trailing downwards from where he initially bit into, past marks of hardship. “It’s not bad, I’d be dead if it ever broke, but I made it out of good material so it shouldn’t break… easily. Oh, and these aren’t actually made of rubber, they're made of plastic.”

Alastor nodded along to his every word, even though not a single word was understandable because he wasn’t interested in rubber ducks to the extent that Lucifer was, but was happy to listen to him talk so fondly about how he makes them, what purpose do each of them serve, and more—a script he had memorised in his head and was more than willing to share to anyone who piqued their interest in his creations.

After some time, Lucifer turns around and asks, “Sorry, was that too much? Am I boring you? I’m probably boring you. What was I—oh yeah, the alcohol. I keep a couple of bottles in the bottom drawer.” He pulls out one of them, liquid filled half-way. When Alastor tips himself lower to see the other bottle, he finds one of them empty.

“Have you had other guests over?” The question that Alastor asks makes Lucifer turn around to him.

“I have not. Why?” He inquires.

“One of the bottles is empty. Have you had other people finish it with you?”

His face tilts to the floor. He’s gloomy, eyes unable to meet him. Speechless. Quiet. The fist that holds the bottle is tightened, and Alastor was worried cracks would form underneath his grasp, liquid overflowing everywhere, or that the pain from healing wounds would be too much for him to bear, and the bottle would drop to the floor, screaming as a puddle of dejection would spread across the floor. “I’m not answering that question.”

“Of course, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise. Come on, I’ll pour you a glass.”

“Let me. Your hands need a rest.” Alastor picks the bottle from his hand, and gestures for Lucifer to sit on the bed.

He does so, and the bed creaks slightly, the blanket underneath him ruffling. “The glasses are behind the bottle, by the way,” he says. His voice is soft, forcing itself out. Alastor resisted the urge to envelop him at the moment, make him feel the perfume of flowers underneath the tip of his nose.

When he pulls the glasses out from behind the cupboard, Lucifer smiles ever so slightly, and Alastor feels his soul brighten with joy. “Wine? How classic.” Alastor jokes, hoping to tug that smile upwards a little more. It works, he’s got Lucifer grinning, while he pours him a glass first and hands it to him, before he pours a glass for himself.

When he sits next to Lucifer on the bed, he couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in his eyes. It dances and glimmers, it flickers with admiration, it tugs at his heart in the best way possible. The chaos that fires within him was drunk away, as he wants to live in the moment with Lucifer, stay in endless conversations with him. Neither seemed to mind the spillage of the wine on either of their suits, as they laughed and bickered as if they had known each other since life.

“I’m tired, Alastor yawns, and puts his glass on the tabletop.

“Let’s get you to your room,” Lucifer chuckles, a drunk mess—his words were slurring. “No sleeping in my bed, remember?”

A part of him chokes on regret. He wants to feel Lucifer next to him, like the night before. Curled up in his sheets, even if they aren’t touching each other, but his presence was enough to comfort him through nightmares. “I want to stay with you,” he blurts out, a thought that was never meant to make it past his razor-sharp teeth or his once filtered tongue.

“This is the drunk Alastor I’m talking to.” Lucifer stands on his two feet, wobbling. “Come on, to your room.”

“Okay, fine,” Alastor sighs, and stands too.

“Aren’t you going to go and mix with your shadow to go back to your room or something?”

“I want you to take me back.” Another sentence that he has muttered into the air, when he was too drunk to watch what he says, and he can’t ever take it back.

“You’re really drunk, jeez,” Lucifer laughs, as he offers Alastor his hand. When they slide together, a reminder of how Lucifer's hand first felt in his from the night before, the door was opened, and they stumbled back to Alastor’s room. --- 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

[useless-prophet]

GUESS WHO GOT THEIR STORMLIGHT BOX TODAY?

Beware Canadians between the conversion to CAD and duties it totals to around $150! But I expected the high price and shipping was very fast, around 3 days. Review of stuff inside:

The Syl pin is adorable, and the colors turned out really well! It is a rubber backing though so it might not be as secure since there is no screw or latch mechanism.

The Oathbringer sword is larger than I expected - around the size of my palm and with a decent bit of weight to it. It is not that sharp for safety reasons, I assume, but a cool sword if not a bit big for a keychain.

Haven’t opened the air fresheners yet so I don’t actually know if they smell good, but the art is gorgeous and each one is individually sealed with a little loop to hang it by!

The bag is so. Soft. I know it’s synthetic leather but the texture is so soft and nice to feel! The tan color is a little drab but it looks pretty cute overall. On the smaller side and looks like it’s meant to be a shoulder bag (though I think there are straps on the back to turn it into a tiny backpack) and a lot of pockets (6+?) of various sizes.

Pretty satisfied so far and excited to get to use it!

[20dollarlolita]

Hi! I hope you don't mind the question, but I've been trying to buy a sewing machine and definitely want a used one with a full metal interior relevant parts???? (for longevity and budget reasons).

I'm a student living abroad in austria and therefore have no car and should limit the money I'm spending on appliances, so local used it is. Today I've found a singer 5810 (samba 70) that is -according to the seller- fully functional but no longer needed for a somewhat decent price. Now my question is, "is this even a good machine that will last me for a long time?" or should i keep looking and hoping for a better machine/offer?

Ps: big thanks for all you do for the community

Thank you!

So, I'm saying this as someone who loves old sewing machines, you have to be careful.

If you want to know what to be careful about, the answer is plastic parts, rubber parts, and belts. An old all-metal straight stitch machine is going to be as good today as it will be 30 years from now. You're going to be expected to keep up with maintenance like oiling it and cleaning it, but any damage that could happen to that thing is going to have happened 40 years ago. Once it hits the age it is now, it won't really change.

Plastic and rubber, however, want to betray you. Everyone who's accidentally left a rubber band in their car ashtray has had the experience of picking up rubber that decided to stop being "band" and start being "puddle of crunchy mushy bits." Rubber hits a point where, through no actual action, it turns into awful mush. Plastic is great for being inexpensive to produce and not requiring a lot of machining, as well as being slightly flexible and allowing parts to come together easier since they can be less precise. Plastic will also hit an age where it goes "yeah I'm not fun and lightweight and flexible anymore! I'm angry and hard and I'm going to crack and break up when you ask me to do anything at all!" Which, like, honestly, Plastic? Mood.

The problem with sewing machines of a certain age is that they are not yet at, but soon will be at, the point where either the rubber turns to mush or the plastic turns more fragile than glass. This means you can buy a machine in "good condition" that actually IS in good condition, and through no fault of your own it can transform overnight into a machine with critical parts broken and entirely unfixable.

So I recommend getting an old machine only if you can get the following things

Part one) knowing the machine is in perfect working order. Old machines do something known as cascading, which is where one small part breaks and so you pay to get it fixed, only for another part to break, and slowly by small part after small part breaking you end up spending the full cost of a new machine on your old machine, and still end up with an old machine full of parts that are about to break. This happens because every part in the machine is close to the same age, so if one thing's already broken, it might be the machine telling you it's time to say goodbye. So I won't buy an old machine that's, "great except for this one small fix," anymore. That could easily be a sign that this machine won't be long-lasting.

Part 2) I won't buy a machine that doesn't have every single accessory that I think I could need. Old machines usually don't have parts available, so if the machine doesn't have the zipper foot or the walking foot, I have to buy it being aware that I will likely never have a zipper foot or a walking foot. If you don't require a zipper foot or a walking foot or whatever, that's fine, but never buy an old machine and think, "Oh, I just need to buy this one thing," without checking if good versions of that thing actually currently exist for sale. As a bonus, if a machine is from 1972 and the seller knows where the original zipper foot is, there's a much better chance that it was stored safely and used by someone who cared if they broke it or not. This often means that intact accessory kits indicate machines that were stored better.

Part 3) I won't buy a machine that I know was stored poorly for a lot of years. I know what the climate in my area is. If your machine has just been sitting in a garage for 25 years, I know that all the rubber and plastic in that machine has lived the life that the melted rubber band in my car ashtray has lived. I can expect those parts to perform the same. There's a HUGE difference between "this was in my garage for 10 years" and "this was in the closet in my guest bedroom for 10 years." Machines are meant to run and it doesn't mean it'll run really great right out of the gate if you stored it in the guest bedroom closet, but it's so much better than anywhere not climate controlled. If you're ever in doubt, look to see if the machine has/had rubber feet on the bottom. If those are still in good shape, there's a chance that the internals are in good shape too.

Part 4) I won't buy a machine with too many bells and/or whistles. I do not DO the Singer Touch n Sews. The Singer "touchy, and doesn't sew,"'s. At their heyday, these fuckers were $700 in the 70's and had every single bell and all of the whistles as well. It is no longer the 1970's and most of those bells and 77% of the whistles are broken. These are parts where once it breaks, it's broken. You cannot break a bell that does not exist.

Part 5) I will not buy an old machine that I do not know, for sure, is a really good price. I'm talking like $40 and under. You want this to be a good enough price that if this breaks after 3 projects you didn't waste your money. If you're lucky, you'll get many more than three projects out of your machine. Spend your money like you don't think you'll be lucky. Sewing machines are annoying to keep around if you don't use them, and someone WILL be offering one at a very good price. Just keep looking.

Part 6) Without ignoring the bell/whistle situation, I will prioritize machines that were very high end or expensive when they were made. If your machine was a little straight stitch machine and your husband spent a month's wages on it, some of that quality is going to transfer over to the modern day. A really cheap machine is maybe not going to have been a very good machine even in its prime. A good example of quality sticking around is the old all-mechanical Berninas like the 710 Record, which generally still age quite well. You'll know that they're old because their cases get fragile like glass, but you can't have a cracked cam when the whole machine's metal.

Please don't let all of that make you feel that all old machines are bad! A good old machine is, in my opinion, worth so much more than a frameless Brother or a Singer Heavy Duty. I have three old machines that I use more often than my modern, higher priced computerized machine. A well-chosen old machine will definitely outlive your modern machine that just comes with a 90 day warranty. I just means you need to be judicious with what machines you select. Sorry for not directly answering your question about that machine. The answer is "it depends on the specific machine and also the price it's offered for."

.

If all of that seems too hard, the Baby Lock Zeal has a metal internal frame and I've seen well cared-for machines of that model that are 10+ years old. Most of the BeGenuine collection is really solid and I'm a pretty big fan of them. You get fewer stitch patterns for the same price as a comparable Brother or Singer, but that cost is put into making the internals better. The Janome HD series (at least the HD1000 and HD3000 in White (black is a totally different factory with different standards) are really good. We can't get the HD5000 at work for complicated reasons but it might have the same problems as the 3000 black. Generally, mechanical machines haven't changed too much since the 60's, so a well-made one is going to not be dated to the point where you can't sew modern projects. None of this guarantees that the machine will last 30 years, but I see people replacing these machines when they feel they've got skills such that the machine no longer supports their skills. This is in sharp contrast to what people replace their $300 Singer or Brother machines for, which they do because they break. Check your warranty and anything with 5-6 year warranty on the motor is probably a good bet. Avoid anything with a 90 day warranty and be hesitant if the full warranty is up after 1 year.

[ch4sos]

received my lashinban package today 😵‍💫 got two items, the mochi megumi charm where he’s eating food and a choso rubber strap! they have good prices 🫶🏻

[cost-masters]

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