#we buy houses wood stock

[blueridgeone]

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[alexihollis]

Unintended Beneficiaries

*Follow-up of People We Leave Behind*

"Holy shit," Cleon muttered as she looked down at the paperwork in front of them, laying so innocently on the polished wood desk.

Mercy shifted in her seat, pulled on the too-short sleeves of the tweed jacket they found at a thrift store last minute. Cleon decided that they needed to look more presentable once she saw the address of the bank - financial advisor, technically. Said financial advisor - Mr. Barnaby who Mercy vaguely recognized and who smiled at her, asked about her schooling - had left to go finish up the paperwork and withdrawal for the first bit of money Mercy asked for.

"Holy shit, Mercy, this is- this is more than money," Cleon looked at her, eyes wide.

"Yeah..." Mercy shifted, again. She didn't know what to do with her hands as Cleon kept staring at her.

When they sat down, Mr. Barnaby had started on about the shares of some buildings Mercy shared with her younger siblings. Then, how well her investments were doing.

"Your mother was a smart one," Mr. Barnaby had laughed. "She liked those volatile stocks, but they've done well. Eh, mostly, one or two were a bit of a wash, but it barely impacted your overall portfolio. We sold some early last year for you, gave you a good boost - your father approved that management style, of course, but we can discuss that if you'd like to change it-"

That wasn't even beginning to talk about the straight cash inheritance from her father's accounts, which is what they were withdrawing from that day.

"I don't even- You need to keep him," Cleon gestured to the door, referring to Mr. Barnaby. "I mean- Jesus, investments?! You own buildings." Cleon looked at her once more, eyes wide. "You could do whatever the fuck you want."

Yeah. Mercy was getting the sense of that with these papers.

"I wasn't supposed to," Mercy said. Matter of fact, staring down at the paperwork with her name printed neatly under Beneficiary. At Cleon's confusion, she continued. "They had a clause that Cheryl could challenge the trust, if I didn't graduate high school. If I didn't go to college. Before I turned twenty-one, Cheryl could challenge it and it would all go to my siblings. She was dumb enough to let that pass, though...so..."

Cleon shook her head. Rubbed a hand over her face as she leaned back in the chair, "I cannot- Holy shit. Holy fuck, I should not be here."

That startled Mercy. "What?"

"I should not be here. You- this is crazy money. This is real money. I thought- I thought we were talking, like, a lot of money, but...this- this is set you up for life money. This is run away upstate and buy a fucking house money." Cleon stared at the papers, still disbelieving. "Between the investments. The buildings. You and Swan...you could have a life. A real life."

Mercy stared at Cleon. "I don't want that life."

"Mercy-"

"I still have the money. I can make life easier for us. For all of us, but I'm not leaving. And you're crazy if you think Swan would let me take her away from Coney," Mercy said.

"You should at least talk about it with her."

"We already talked about it."

"Yeah, when you were vastly underestimating how much money this was!" Cleon once again shook her head, as if she could barely believe the situation, a somewhat dazed movement. "You shouldn't waste it-"

"Shouldn't you be considering our previous plans less of a waste, since it's way more than we thought?" Mercy asked. "Besides, it's generative. According to those numbers, it'll recuperate within six months."

Cleon blinked, owlishly, as she realized Mercy was right. "That is a disgusting fact. How are you making money with it just sitting there, that doesn't make any damn sense?"

Mercy just shrugged. She never understood much about this stuff, either.

Mr. Barnaby returned with the envelope of cash and the small new checkbook.

"Do you have a car waiting outside for you?" He asked as he handed the items to Mercy. "We'll be happy to call one for you, but I must insist on you not taking the subway with this much on you. Remind me next time you come in to set you up with a debit card! I won't bore you with all the details now, but it truly is ingenious."

"We have some friends waiting for us," Mercy smiled and, as he walked them out of the building, sincerely hoped none of the Riffs chose to stand outside of the car in their colors.

Fortunately, they did not, though Barnaby did seem rather perplexed as he watched her and Cleon get in the car.

"Did it go well?" Masai asked as they began the drive back to Coney.

"Eh. Well enough," Cleon said, ever calm and collected.

Mercy felt like her pocket was on fire.

No one said anything as Cleon described the meeting, Mercy sitting on the couch, holding the envelope of cash. The envelope of more cash than they initially planned on withdrawing. Far more.

It was silent, everyone staring at Cleon or Mercy once Cleon finished.

"Wow," Cowgirl all but whispered, breaking the tense atmosphere.

Ajax barked out a laugh, incredulous and shocked. "Wow is fucking right! I mean- damn. What do we do now? Buy the island?"

"We are not buying Coney Island and we aren't doing anything," Swan narrowed her eyes. "It's Mercy's money."

"Aw, no fair, that means Swan's gonna get all the shit," Ajax whined, kind of teasing, but Mercy could watch as everyone started to come to the same conclusions Cleon had.

This was way more money than Mercy assumed. This was more money than any of them thought they would see in their whole lifetimes. This was money that could get them killed if any gang got even a hint that they had it, even the Riffs, even with the alliance.

Mercy set her jaw. Opened the envelope and started counting while feeling heavy eyes on her. She pulled out a good majority of the envelope, a healthy amount left over, but a good amount now in hand.

And handed it to Cleon.

"What the fuck." Cleon stared at it.

"That should be enough for rent for the year."

"This is way more than our-"

"For all the apartments. Use it for that or put it in the pot, but...If that's okay." And now Mercy felt self-conscious. "I mean, it's not like I earned that. And, really, my father would have hated this, you're doing me a favor-"

"Oooooh, we could break our lease and get a place without roaches!" Cowgirl exclaimed. "Cleon, please, please let us use that money to break our lease. I am sick of the bugs!"

"We talked about this," Cleon kept her voice low as she looked at Mercy.

"This is what I want to do," Mercy said. "I want to help my family. Let me."

"I cannot believe I am letting you do this," Cleon muttered under her breath, her eyes closed, before opening them once again. "All right. Okay. Rent is cleared for- Yeah. Uh. Cowgirl, Cochise. You can break your lease and- Mercy, we are having a conversation about money, because I am starting to think you don't have a clue what things cost if you think this is how much are rent is."

"Yesssss, no more bugs," Cowgirl cheered to herself.

"They are not that bad," Cochise said.

"Yeah. You lived in the jungle for two years. You don't get an opinion."

"I lived in an army hospital."

"Army field hospital and you have described the bugs-"

It was a weird feeling, having the money. Toeing the line between wanting to spend it on the people she cared about, but also not insulting them. Making sure no one felt like it was charity.

Like when Rembrandt complained about her cans on a tagging mission and Mercy spent the rest of the night trying to figure out how to offer to buy her new cans.

It ended with Rembrandt catching her trying to read the label on her current cans.

"The fuck are you doing?" Rembrandt asked. Not even mad, really, but bemused.

"Do you want new cans?" Mercy blurted out, because this was already awkward.

Rembrandt blinked at her. And then - realization. "Oh, my God. Yes. Yes, I do."

And...

Well.

They went a bit crazy at the art supplies store the next morning. They dropped them in the middle of the living room and Mercy helped Rembrandt sort it all into three separate art bags. One for tagging, one for her murals, and one for her at-home-only supplies.

"...What happened in here?" Mercy startled at Ajax's voice, looking up to see Cleon, Swan, and Ajax all staring at them.

"Art," Rembrandt said in the most gremlin like voice Mercy had ever heard in her life. "So much art. I got the fancy spray paint." Rembrandt laughed. Maniacally. "It'll take at least three layers of paint to cover it."

Oh, boy.

"I think you broke my girlfriend," Ajax said after a moment.

"I'm sorry." Mercy wasn't, not really, but there wasn't anything else to say really.

"Don't be. Yet. Do those cans need special masks?"

"I got them in five different colors," Rembrandt held up the special masks.

Ajax covered her mouth, very clearly trying not to laugh as she nodded slowly and managed to say. "That's great."

Then, that night, a night that Cleon had decided was to be for fun and bonding and going out, Mercy tried to subtly slide more money into the piles Cleon was making for everyone.

"I can see you," Cleon said, not looking up from her pile making. Mercy stood, stock still, money still in hand as Cleon looked at her. Cleon rolled her eyes and held out her hand, "You are ridiculous."

That night, Cochise raised a suspicious eyebrow at her portion. Then, to Mercy's horror, "Dead dad money?"

"We are not calling it that," Swan said immediately.

"My father was against women drinking," Mercy tried to explain.

Ajax's head immediately whipped towards Mercy. "He was against women drinking?"

Mercy shrugged. "He said it was immodest."

Ajax nodded slowly. "Yep. Okay, let's get blasted on dead dad money."

"We are not calling it that!" Swan insisted, but Ajax was already in the bar. "Jesus Christ."

"We can call it that, I don't mind," Mercy promised at they went in themselves. "I didn't like the guy anyway."

Swan shook her head. "Its not that. If we start running around talking about dead dad money in our colors, someone's going to think we killed him."

Mercy considered it. "Yeah. Probably for the best we don't do that, his death was suspicious enough already."

Swan paused. Looked at Mercy. Looked away. Looked at Mercy.

"I'm kidding," Mercy smiled.

"You are the worst."

"Eh, I'll buy you a drink to make up for it."

"Yeah, with dead dad money."

Which was the worst time for Swan to make that joke, because there was Ajax suddenly, handing them both drinks and saying, "We aren't calling it that, Swanie."

"Oh, fucking bite me," Swan grumbled, before slamming back the drink.

It was three days later when Mercy dragged Swan into a bookstore.

"What are we doing here?" Swan asked.

"Books."

Swan eyed her. "You don't like reading that much."

"But you do," Mercy said. "And...we do have Dead Dad money."

Swan rolled her lips, eyes darting between Mercy and the rest of the store. "Will you stop calling it that if I say yes?"

"Probably not," Mercy smiled.

Swan picked out books, anyways. Not as many as Mercy urged her to, but enough to satisfy Mercy.

"You don't need to do this," Swan said as they left the store. "The library is good."

"The library's great," Mercy checked Swan's shoulder gently. "C'mon. I don't get to spoil you a lot, let me?"

And Swan did not say anything to that, but the red on her cheeks said more than enough.

It wasn't always big things or fun things. It wasn't always trips to the art store or nights out.

It was getting to go to the Urgent Care instead of the free clinic when Cowgirl twisted her ankle going down a fire escape.

It was buying the nice butter or multiple kinds of ice cream for the apartment.

It was being able to turn down jobs when they needed to. Like when Ajax and Swan both came down with the flu at the same time.

That had been miserable, even with the medicine from the fancy aisle at the pharmacy.

Over the months, though, the Warriors got used to having their fall back. They got used to having a bit of fun here and there. Subtle fun, because no one else needed to know.

But fun all the same.

In the back of Mercy's mind, though, she knew that this did not come without strings. There was nothing Cheryl could do, she went back and triple checked with Mr. Barnaby, explained the situation in the vaguest of terms. Cheryl could not touch the money.

"I must tell you, though, when your siblings turn eighteen, you will be in contact with them," Mr. Barnaby said. "It's simply the nature of how your father split his real estate assets."

Mercy considered it. "Can I sell them? When they turn eighteen?"

Mr. Barnaby shook his head. "Not without a discussion with them. They have right of first refusal."

Fantastic.

"What about before?"

"Then that would be a conversation with your stepmother."

Amazing.

So. Yeah. The money meant not being able to leave that family behind. But it also meant being able to safeguard her family.

And that would always be more important.

[floridaboiler]

DIARY OF A SNOW SHOVELER:

Moved to North Dakota this fall. We heard that summers are fun and winter is beautiful. We think there is no more beautiful a place in the whole world!

December 8 - 6:00 PM It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses print. So romantic, we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!

December 9 - We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the whole world? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had! Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks.

This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life!

December 12 - The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment! My neighbor tells me not to worry- we'll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. I don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man, I'm glad he's our neighbor.

December 14 - Snow, lovely snow! 8 inches last night. The temperature dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish I wouldn't huff and puff so.

December 15 - 20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.

December 16 - Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an hour, which I think was very cruel.

December 17 - Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God! I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.

December 20 - Electricity's back on, but had another 14 inches of the damn stuff last night. More shoveling! Took all day. The damn snowplow came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but. they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.

December 22 - Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white shit fell today, and it's so cold, it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again, I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob-who has a plow on his truck-for the rest of the winter, but he says he's too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 23 - Only 2 inches of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she, nuts?!! Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago. She says she did but I think she's lying.

December 24 - 6 inches - Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a bitch who drives that snow plow, I'll drag him through the snow by his balls and beat him to death with my broken shovel. I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling, and then he comes down the street...at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents...but I was too busy watching for the damn snowplow.

December 25 - Merry f---ing Christmas! 20 more inches of the damn slop tonight - snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God, I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's a fricking idiot. If I have to watch "It's A Wonderful Life" one more time, I'm going to feed her through a chipper shredder.

December 26 - Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.

December 27 - Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze; plumber came after 14 hours of waiting for him, he only charged me $4,400 to replace all my pipes.

December 28 - Warmed up to above -20. Still snowed in. The BITCH is driving me crazy!!!

December 29 - 10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30 - Roof caved in. I beat up the snow plow driver, and now he is suing me for a million dollars, not only for the beating I gave him, but also for trying to shove the broken snow shovel up his ass. The wife went home to her mother. Nine more inches predicted.

December 31 - I set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8 - Feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed ???

-Author Unknown

[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren #2

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: brief mention of future non-con

The carriage ride back to his home was… awkward. Now that he had someone to talk to, what was there to say?

He had to encourage the slave to sit on the carriage bench and not the floor. The slave sat obediently, staring at the floor. 

“Is the wood so interesting?” Silas joked. The slave startled. 

“I’m sorry, Master,” said the slave, who wrapped his arms around himself.

“No, I mean-” Silas sighed. Off to a great start. “I’m sorry. I’m Silas. Do you have a name?”

“Only what you wish to call me, Master.” 

“Well, what did your mother call you?” The slave looked up at him, surprise on his face. He looked away, out the window.

“She called me Wren,” he said, wistful.

“Then that’s your name.”

“Oh! Thank you, Master.” Wren smiled at him, a tiny happy thing. He was pretty when he smiled. His freckles stood out more and they matched well with his reddish hair.

Silas noticed a mark on the back of Wren’s left hand. It was raised, a perfect circle with an S in the center. A brand. He searched his brain for a pleasant conversation topic. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Have you ever been over the border?” he asked.

“No, Master. I don’t know anyone who has.” 

“Oh. Well, it’s very nice. Lots of trees.” He could have smacked himself. ‘Lots of trees’? Really?

“Um, that does sound nice. I like trees.” 

They lapsed into silence again. Wren had taken to watching the countryside go by. 

Maybe things would go better at home.

___________________

He paid the driver and tipped well. The estate was small, compared to his family home, but Silas preferred ‘spacious’ over ‘enormous’. He didn’t need more rooms to emphasize that no one visited him.

He had converted part of the east wing into a kitchen and pantry for his human, and ordered plenty of food. Hopefully Wren wasn’t allergic to anything.

His home didn’t have many original widows, so he had a few made. He would just figure out a way to avoid them if he got a cold. 

Wren’s bedroom was also in the east wing. His was in the west. Silas didn’t want to intimidate Wren, so neighboring bedrooms wasn’t an option. 

He prayed Wren wouldn’t avoid him. He wasn’t sure if could stand the prospect of more rejection.

He led Wren to his bedroom, and his eyes were as big as saucers.

“This is all for me? Really?”

“Do you like it?” asked Silas, nervous. “I wasn’t sure about the color, but it could be painted again. And I could get you a different rug if you want. And anything else you want.”

“I- I don’t need anything else, Master. You don’t need to waste your money on me.”

“It’s not a waste,” said Silas. “I just want you to be comfortable.” He shifted a little. Wren looked like he was about to cry. 

___________________

It was all for him. The bedroom, the brand new kitchen and fully stocked pantry, he even got his own bathroom and shower. 

The door even had a lock on the inside. He could lock his Master out, even if only technically. Vampires were far stronger than a bit of copper.

He thought Master Silas was pretty scary, but maybe he wouldn’t be so bad. Wren had put up with a lot without all of these nice things. Surely having them would make whatever Silas wanted to do to him easier to bear. 

Master Silas’s house was so impressive, he could give a slave a room better than most Masters reserved for themselves. Dark wood panels, vivid wallpaper, a plush rug, and a full furniture set (including a couch!).��

The star of the room was the queen-sized four poster bed. He ran his hand over the comforter, almost afraid to touch it. It was so soft.

“I’m sorry,” said Master. “I didn’t buy you any clothes.”

Wren could have cried right then and there. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, Master,” he wiped his eyes, “I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Do- do you want to see the rest of the estate? Or we could play a game?”

A ‘game’ could mean anything, so the tour it was.

“I would like to see your house, Master.” Silas smiled at him. 

Master showed him the library (it was impressive, but Wren couldn’t read), a very nice sitting room, the drawing room, sun room, and finally Master’s own bedroom. 

Master’s room was large, and clearly meant for two. It was in what Master Silas called the ‘family wing’, but Wren hadn’t seen another soul in the house. There must be a maid service that he hired, because there was no evidence of servants despite the lack of dust and unpolished furniture.

Wren had never lived without at least a few people around him. He couldn’t talk much to free people, but he made friends with other slaves, even some servants. 

It would be an adjustment for him.

Master also showed him the garden, which was a little confusing. He thought vampires were burned by the sun. It was cloudy out now, but why bother with a beautiful garden when Silas could only enjoy it when the weather was bad? 

He could be wrong. After all, he was only a slave and not very smart. And people who avoided the sun didn’t have windows in their homes, much less in their own bedrooms.

But more importantly, when would Master Silas drink from him?

When would Master want to bed him?

taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @secretwhumplair @freefallingup13 @mylovelyme @whumpzone

[acurlygirlamy1]

DIARY OF A SNOW SHOVELER:

Moved to North Dakota this fall. We heard that summers are fun and winter is beautiful. We think there is no more beautiful a place in the whole world!

December 8 - 6:00 PM It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses print. So romantic, we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!

December 9 - We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the whole world? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had! Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks.

This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life!

December 12 - The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment! My neighbor tells me not to worry- we'll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. I don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man, I'm glad he's our neighbor.

December 14 - Snow, lovely snow! 8 inches last night. The temperature dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish I wouldn't huff and puff so.

December 15 - 20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.

December 16 - Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an hour, which I think was very cruel.

December 17 - Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God! I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.

December 20 - Electricity's back on, but had another 14 inches of the damn stuff last night. More shoveling! Took all day. The damn snowplow came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but. they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.

December 22 - Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white shit fell today, and it's so cold, it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again, I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob-who has a plow on his truck-for the rest of the winter, but he says he's too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 23 - Only 2 inches of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she, nuts?!! Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago. She says she did but I think she's lying.

December 24 - 6 inches - Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a bitch who drives that snow plow, I'll drag him through the snow by his balls and beat him to death with my broken shovel. I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling, and then he comes down the street...at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents...but I was too busy watching for the damn snowplow.

December 25 - Merry f---ing Christmas! 20 more inches of the damn slop tonight - snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God, I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's a fricking idiot. If I have to watch "It's A Wonderful Life" one more time, I'm going to feed her through a chipper shredder.

December 26 - Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.

December 27 - Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze; plumber came after 14 hours of waiting for him, he only charged me $4,400 to replace all my pipes.

December 28 - Warmed up to above -20. Still snowed in. The BITCH is driving me crazy!!!

December 29 - 10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30 - Roof caved in. I beat up the snow plow driver, and now he is suing me for a million dollars, not only for the beating I gave him, but also for trying to shove the broken snow shovel up his ass. The wife went home to her mother. Nine more inches predicted.

December 31 - I set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8 - Feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed ???

-Author Unknown

[handeaux]

Memories From Half A Century Ago; The Cincinnati Tornadoes of April 1974

On the evening of April 3, 1974, your narrator interviewed a woman who found a perfectly new, pristinely crisp, twenty-dollar bill in her front yard. This random occurrence of good luck became newsworthy because her miraculous benefit had floated down into her yard from a passing cloud that had recently spawned an F5 tornado.

At the time, I was not a reporter exactly but everyone that evening became either a reporter or a source. The memory of that day remains so fresh and clear it seems impossible that it transpired exactly fifty years ago.

In the fading afternoon, a heavy storm blew in as I drove a clunky Ford Econoline van from the Hopple Street Viaduct onto Westwood-Northern Boulevard. I was, at that time, a senior at the University of Cincinnati desperately yearning to graduate and move on to the next chapter in my life. To cover tuition, I worked as a printer for the Western Hills Publishing Company. Our offices were on Davis Avenue in Cheviot and our printing presses occupied a floor in the historic Crosley Building on Arlington Street in Camp Washington. My duties as the junior member of the printing crew involved shuttling copy and page flats from the editorial offices to the typesetting and composing staff.

As I climbed out of the valley toward the English Woods housing development, hail scattered across the road. Hailstones rattled on the van’s roof, then pounded, then stomped. It sounded like some gremlin with a baseball bat hammering on the roof as ice balls the size of oranges smashed into the asphalt all around. Tree branches cracked and split and thatched the roadway.

Somehow, I made it to Cheviot and pulled into the Press parking lot. It was full of people, just standing around. I got out and looked at the van. The roof looked like a moonscape, there were so many dents in it.

“Hey! Look at this,” I shouted. No one turned or said a word. And then I saw why.

Stretching from the horizon halfway to zenith was the tornado. It was impossible to comprehend the scale. More than two miles away, we heard no sound except endless sirens calling to one another from every direction. Where we stood transfixed it did not rain. There was no wind. There was only the tornado.

“Look at all that paper swirling around,” someone said.

“Those are garage doors,” another answered.

We watched as the horrendous vision scraped its way northward, the finger of God plowing a furrow along South Road out in Mack. We watched as it withered and lifted and twisted into nothingness against a pallid sky, waving it seemed in farewell at last as it vanished. We stared at each other, silent, unable to find any words.

Gradually, we realized that all the lights were out. There was no power in the offices. The publisher sent me around the corner to a hardware store to buy all the candles they had in stock. It was going to be a long night.

At this point, for the benefit of readers younger than I, it is necessary to explain a few details. The cash register at the hardware store was mechanical. It did not require electricity, much less Wi-Fi, to operate. The editorial offices were stocked with manual typewriters. The telephones were landlines, on a separate network, and functioned even when the power was out. Everyone had a battery-powered radio.

Anyone with the ability to write a coherent sentence became a reporter. I was sent out, still wearing my printshop uniform, in the divotted Econoline, to gather eye-witness reports. I found a small crowd at the Western Hills Country Club who had been herded into a downstairs bar while the sirens howled. They queued up for every available telephone to check in with their families. I found people in shock, wandering through piles of rubble that had been their homes, clutching any random possessions they recovered. I saw ambulances backed up in a line, waiting for utility poles and power lines to be moved. I saw people wrapped in blankets, standing in the middle of nothing left, sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

There were people who swore they saw two funnel clouds and people who claimed there were four, twisting like snakes in the sky. There were people who confessed to being so transfixed by the surreal wonder of the twister that they stood paralyzed as it swooped down on their houses.

And, in the curious way the universe laughs at we mere humans, I found humor.

There was the guy who, in a dispute with his insurance company, was photographing damage to his roof when the warning sirens erupted. He saw the funnel approaching and dove into his basement. When he emerged, his roof was gone, and so was the rest of his house, but he bragged that he had the photos to press his prior claim.

I talked to one of the rescue workers who told me about a kid, maybe 15 or 16 years old, who approached him and begged him to hide a bottle of vodka. The kid didn’t want his mother to know he had the bottle hidden in his bedroom – the bedroom that was now nothing more than a debris field.

Meanwhile, at the University of Chicago, Dr. Theodore Fujita drafted a questionnaire to be sent to almost every newspaper, every radio station, every television station in the country. Dr. Fujita asked a lot of questions about the duration and intensity of the 148 confirmed tornadoes reported that day. He and Allen Pearson of the National Severe Storms Forecast Center hoped to refine the tornado classification system they had created just three years previously. Someone at the Press filled out the questionnaire and sent it back.

A year later, having graduated from the university and transferred to the newsroom, I found a largish cardboard tube lying amid the usual pile of news releases and complaint letters that constituted our daily mail. On opening the tube – it was addressed to no one in particular – I found a map of the eastern United States titled “Superoutbreak Tornadoes of April 3-4, 1974.” Dr. Fujita, compiling all those questionnaires, had mapped and labeled every one of those 148 tornadoes.

In the center of the map, there was my tornado, the only tornado I have seen with my own eyes, officially designated as an F5 monster.

[lunamkardas]

COZY GAME?

So last night I saw this really cute looking farm sim game, yes another one, called Grimshire. It's just a demo but the pixel art is charming and it seems really interesting. So far you can only be a bunny or a fox so I picked bunny.

Game opens with a boat horn sounding. I and some random goat lady have been rescued from The Capital where Some Shit Is Going Down and we are both unconscious, dragged to safer shores by an otter named Fin. He lets the town know shit's going down and he's going back out on his boat to see if he can get more info.

We get taken to the town healer and I'm just a little banged up but fine. Goat lady is hurt much worse so she's going to take longer to wake up.

Day 1 Basic "hey welcome to town here's a run down farm house for you to live in new dude, we'd really appreciate it if you contributed to the town's root cellar by growing some stuff" tutorial. Quickly followed by the "You should talk to all 26 people in town newbie!"

They got a small town/hamlet version of Animal crossing's museum thing going on so any stuff I forage or catch for the first time can go there.

They gave me a pump and water pipes straight off the bat so it was SO MUCH easier getting the watering down for my baby farm.

Holy shit fishing is so much easier than Stardew valley my god I love it.

Day 2

Goat lady died in the night from her wounds.

None of us knew her name. The town burned her atop the mountain peak with all in attendance.

Everyone is pretty down about it. Some people mention they hope Fin gets back with news, especially since him and his boat are such an important part of their food supply because they're an island.

My eyes lock onto the root cellar and then to the previously mildly annoying but NOW VERY IMPORTANT game mechanic of food spoiling.

I immediately start selling everything I own including the swank new bed and bookcase I got for collecting specimens and begin rapid fire purchasing as many drying racks as possible, throwing every fish, fruit and mushroom I find onto them to start stocking up.

Day 3

Normal day of collecting and throwing stuff onto the drying racks. Selling junk to buy more drying racks. The game refuses to tell me how to make them myself.

Get a crack at the mines which has an interesting quirk where you actually mine out the rock from the walls and if you remove too much of the supporting walls it can cause a cave in. Also you can very easily find the ladder to lower levels, which I appreciate.

Learned how to make more pipes to improve my pumps range.

Did some logging for the woodcutter. Mining for the Smith.

Day 4

The Mayor and his assistant come get me and start walking me through the root cellar tutorial while telling me that they will no longer be expecting me to pay ANY TAXES under the circumstances. (Waaaaay ahead of you dudes I already pieced together I'm now the most important person on this island and I am panicking a little bit because I'm pretty sure Covid just entered your reality and thank FUCK we burned Goat lady.)

Thank you kindly can I PLEASE get back to foraging and fishing and drying so I can keep both herbivores and carnivores alive while we Quarantine.

Healer lady and her assistant had the same idea about us suddenly being cut off from the outside world. No one's saying 'disease' yet but I have my suspicions.

Anyhoo they put the town up to a vote over what we should build, a new medicine herb garden she definitely knows how to maintain and use or a mushroom hut to alleviate the island hamlet's food needs even though no one on the island knows the first thing about mushrooms.

I am sitting on a fucking throne of fish jerky and dried fruit/veg. WE ARE MAKING THE HERBAL GARDEN.

The other villagers agree and I immediately bum rush the donation box and slam all the wood and rocks we need into it.

Day 5 Herbal Garden is complete and Healer lady is excited to start researching new medicines.

I am desperately mining as much copper as I can to make more water pipes because I only have so much energy each day and I can't be wasting it watering 30 plants.

I also start planting the tree seeds I've been shaking out so I can have fruit trees. Fishing is easy but the island has both carnivores and herbivores and the plant supply is harder to come by every day plus Drying takes Time.

Day 6 The town gathers because Fin is FINALLY back with news!

It ain't covid.

The Capital is Gone and most of the other landlocked population centers are too.

But they weren't empty.

It's Zombies.

It's Zombies and the only places that still exist are boarded up and armed to the teeth refusing all entry or trade because it's ZOMBIES.

Thank FUCK we burned Goat Lady.

10/10 I need this shit now

[perchanceapoet]

It has sort of been a crazy few months. Or make that a crazy year.

We are moving, to start somewhere. After three years of searching, we are finally moving to the house with the garden my husband wanted so desperately.

Which, when I say it like that, sounds like I did not want this. And yes, I wanted this, but truth be told , I would have also been happy to stay where we are. That is more my weird semi-irrational emotional attachment to this house than anything else, though.

So, we are moving. By Christmas, we should be laying down presents in the house we will grow geriatric in. Perhaps the house we will die in. If we do not make it to the nursing home.

Yes. I am in that kind of mood. Mostly because of this other thing.

We are undergoing future human making treatment. Or I am. And like. I am not even going to mince words. It sucks huge balls. And we got the easy treatment. I mean, they do not call it the easy treatment, but it is heavily implied.

Let's just say there's a number of tries after which this should work, and we're about at the halfway point. After this, there is still another option. But that one is, you guessed it, one of the more hard/complicated ones. So, I am here. Halfway in. And despite my husband's constant optimistic reassurances, I am taking stock of it all. Standing still and just thinking out loud. Sorry if you feel like I dragged you into this. I can ramble.

Honestly? There's a part of me that wants to quit right now. Just let my body also be a failure at this one thing that does not require a functional neurological system. I always said, before all of this, that I would let the universe decide. And I will be damned if this isn't a crystal clear message of "it's not going to work".

But then there's the part of me that loves this man beyond reason and comprehension. That wants to leave something of him behind. When our geriatric bodies do or do not leave our new home in between four pieces of wood. The part of me that can just picture this future human, how much I would love it. How much we would love it. How happy we would be. That is the part that has made me start every new cycle of treatment thus far.

But, halfway in, I cannot help but start to grapple with the reality that this may all be for nothing. I mean, even if it works. There is a whole lot of possible calamity ahead. At some point, it will just be too much. Too late. Too complicated. I will be too old.

Stopping now would also mean that I would never really know if my body is also a failure at this. This very basic thing. And I am not going to lie, I kind of like the idea of living with the possibility of what could have been rather than knowing that it just does not work.

I feel guilty for being so broken up by this. I was never 100% team future humans, and I am still not. I think any rational minded person should be on the fence about it. I mean, there's climate change, just to name something. I think for me, as a neurodivergent person, at this point, it is still more about my body failing me in this entirely new way. And it's about letting go of the image of my husband and this future human walking into the library together. That one hurts like balancing Mount Everest on my chest.

But I do feel guilty. I mean, I have this life twelve year old me could have never dreamed of. That isolated, bullied, traumatized girl would have been so relieved to find out it ends up like this. And incredulous. Future humans or not; this, loving this man, having these friends, buying this house, it's all icing on the cake.

So, I am torn. And probably forced to take a break from treatment due to circumstances. I don't know how I will feel when the crimson invader comes next time. But I will probably start the treatment. And it will probably not work. And I will probably have another good cry. And I will remind myself of all the things I have to be grateful for. And I will be grateful, so very grateful and also ugly crying.

Both can be true. I keep telling myself that. I can be not 100% team future humans and broken up by this. I can be grateful and sad. I can start treatment again and think it's a bad idea. I can live another day and hope and trust that whoever or whatever has gotten me this far knows the way. That future me has gotten through this. I hope she is ok, regardless.

[adleryoung]

If I was journeying to the North Woods to find "Wild Rebecca of the Wood," I would need to prepare myself. Dr. Cesawonki might not know about wraith-rabbits, but I knew they were sinister shadows that flitted furtively around the edges of their victim's vision just before they pounced! You had to be constantly on the lookout!

I rummaged in my Elfintory to make sure I had the supplies I would need for my trip, and happened to find the scry-orbs. They were painted to look like eyeballs. I had a dim recollection of (sometime during my long isolation) making a face out of dried grass and putting the orbs in it so I would have someone to talk to. Hopefully I would never have to resort to that again, but one never knew… I carefully put the orbs back into my Elfintory and continued taking stock of my supplies.

Once satisfied that I was ready, I changed into a suit of lowfolk-style clothes and set out. I had a small detail of Ixies accompany me - but at a discreet distance, so as not to attract attention as I roamed the lowfolk world. This was to be my biggest adventure yet!

The journey itself held little of note.

Stopped by inclement weather on the other side of Ballynure, I had to spend the night in an abandoned mansion where I met a group of lowfolk youths who had a large house-ant named Folly (after an old folk song that went "Fa la la la la, where art thou?" which the youngsters sang loudly at every opportunity.) I was initially surprised to learn that Folly could talk, but my interest waned after I realized all he could say was "Merthy thaketh, Thlovenly," to the unkempt goat lad who was apparently his master. The rest of the time he was getting underfoot and begging for "Folly treats" which were grimy lumps of sugar which Slovenly carried in his pockets. It was my misfortune to be in the mansion the same night these youths were there to investigate an alleged haunting. They spent several hours bumbling around and "investigating" only to find out the mansion wasn't really haunted at all! What a disappointment! Old man McJack, the property's caretaker, had been disguising himself as a ghost to scare away visitors and spread rumors. His goal was to drive the value of the property down so he could buy it cheap. A rather lame plot, I must say! But I suppose it takes a fool to catch a fool. I left that place feeling slightly dumber from exposure to these meddling kids and their talking pet.

After that, I decided traveling by foot was not suitable for a person of my stature, so I took a ride on a lowfolk train for the first time. Would you believe it: A grisly murder happened while I was on board. Coincidentally, there happened to be a lowfolk detective aboard as well, a clever chap named Heracles Parrot. I helped him do a little bit of detecting. He was much better at it than the doltish children I had met earlier, and it didn't take long to discover that everyone on the train except Monsieur Parrot and myself had taken part in the murder. That guy must have been unpopular. The police arrested everyone at the next station, and with no engineer we were stranded.

At that point I found out, much to my chagrin, that I had boarded the wrong train and had been traveling in the completely wrong direction. On top of that, the station was in the middle of a wild, desolate moor. Monsieur Parrot invited me to accompany him on the next train, but he was heading South and I needed to go North. I set off on foot, but once again got caught by bad weather. I was forced to spend the night in an old cabin where I met a very intense young fellow who, for some reason, had a saw instead of a hand. He was (somehow) in possession of an evil book of Netherhells lore, and of course had foolishly used it to release a bunch of evil spirits that could reanimate the dead. If I hadn't come along, he would have been in real trouble, but fortunately my knowledge of magick allowed me to dispel all of the wicked bogeys in a trice.

At that point I remembered (with a vicious smack of my own forehead)that I had the ability to teleport. I notified my Ixie escort of my intentions and simply pooked as far North as I dared. From there I again pooked to the horizon, and again, and so on until I eventually found myself at the edge of the fabled North Woods.

What would Rebecca be like? We hadn't had a chance to speak at our last brief meeting. I hoped she and Burnside hadn't changed too much. Did they still talk about me? What if they were a couple now? I tried to think of vaguely positive things to say if that were the case. What if Rebecca had taken up knife-fighting? What if Burnside managed to turn her on to the joys of gutting and filleting live victims?

It occurred to me that I might be walking into a very dangerous situation. I paused and summoned my ixies to me.

[blueridgeone]

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[feckcops]

Our new financial masters

“Today, asset managers collectively own global housing and infrastructure assets worth, at a minimum, $4trn. The upshot is that asset managers are intimately implicated (albeit without most of us being aware of it) in everyday social life. They own, and extract income from, things – schools, bridges, wind farms and homes – that are nothing less than foundational to our being. Forty years ago, it would have been unthinkable that we would buy our gas from, make our parking payment to, or rent our home from a company like Blackstone. But this is the new reality.

“In a very physical, if also strangely intangible respect, all of our lives are now part of asset managers’ investment portfolios. Arguably, this is truer in Britain than anywhere else. Consider the quiet county of Kent in south-east England. The entire infrastructure of wastewater collection and treatment in the county, including tens of thousands of kilometres of sewers, is controlled by Macquarie, a leading Australian asset manager. Macquarie also controls much of Kent’s infrastructure of water supply ... Housing? Blackstone owns rental properties in the small Kentish town of Paddock Wood. Student housing? Chicago-headquartered Harrison Street owns digs in Canterbury. Care homes? New York-based Safanad controls homes in Dartford and Gravesend. Electricity generation? The UK’s Foresight Group owns solar farms at Paddock Wood, and Abbey Fields in Faversham. Transportation? Legal & General Investment Management owns parking spaces; Sweden’s EQT Partners owns charging stations for electric vehicles; PSP Investments of Canada owns train rolling-stock ...

“The faster the turnover of infrastructure and real-estate assets bought and sold by asset managers, the higher the returns. It doesn’t pay for fund managers to buy and hold the asset: it pays to buy it, and then sell it for a quick profit. They do whatever is needed to grow the incomes (such as rents or water rates) that the assets generate. They cut to the bone the costs incurred in operating those assets. Eying quick disposals, they have little interest in carrying out asset maintenance or repair for the long term.

“The dire consequences for the ordinary households whose lives are embedded in this asset manager-made world barely need stating. Being dependent on a real asset acquired by an asset manager – for shelter, energy supply, water or transportation – generally means higher costs and poorer-quality service, followed by considerable disruption when ownership changes hands just a few years later.”

[pixel-dreamz]

Here we are back in Chestnut Peak with the Carmine family! We arrive back with a very dapper Albert working away in his garden. Let's see what else they get up to in Round 2!

Trigger warning: This post deals with infant death. Keep in mind this is quite common in the era I am lightly replicating and thus a part of the challenge. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not proceed under the cut.

Upon the start of fall, brings big changes for the family. First, we see the age up of our darling Piper Starla. She grows to look quite a bit like Eldora but with her daddy's eyes. Then we also welcome a new baby into the world. A little boy by the name of Emerson Albert. He would be the heir had it not been for the fact that he was born asleep. Albert and Eldora were helpless as they watched grim take their little one from them. Frozen in time, forever. Life did slowly move on for the family. They poured their heart and soul into little Piper, who also felt the loss of her younger brother. Albert distracted himself heavily with the crops, and Eldora with the house keeping. After many months of grief, they found themselves smiling and laughing again. And were finally able to try for another baby. This, like with Piper, proved difficult. In between the gardening and running the business, Albert loved to dote on his little girl. He helped her skill quite often and she reveled in her father's attention. The business received a positive review which meant that we were constantly selling out of our stock. This season was going much better than the first, at least in that regard. With winter looming, it became more important for the family to have the wood they needed. Albert regularly went to Central Park to collect some branches and water, and even stopped Clark passing by to buy some firewood from him. And with the crisp air of winter, Eldora and Albert tried once again to have another baby. We leave them cozied up in their bed with a fire roaring and the sweet sounds of baby Piper in her crib. Will their family ever grow again?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ End of round stats:

The business did not rank up, but they did get a positive review.

Eldora and Albert are both 26. Piper is 2.5.

The family made a fair bit of money this round and owed $541 at the end of it. They were left with $377. Much better than the summer round!

[polyamorousmisanthrope]

Lessons I am taking from generational trauma.

One was born in 1911. She was in her late teens when the Great Depression started. Stern, staunch, and stiff-lipped. Her home was very VERY clean.

My other grandmother was born in 1928. She was still in diapers when the Great Depression started and even though her father made decent money... He drank it. She sense of humor that I think calcified at 12 years old. A hoarder. Disorganized. Found it difficult to keep on top of housework. As she aged, it was not unusual for her daughters to converge at her house a week or so before major family holidays to clean her house.

I think, in part, the experience of the world coming down around their ears (or, in my maternal grandmother's case -- that's All She Knew! Want and deprivation) was very formative to how they coped with the world for the rest of their lives.

Grandma (the elder) dealt with uncertainty by controlling her environment. The house was neat, she had years of canned food stocked on her pantry shelves. She never risked buying anything too "nice" because that money might be needed at another time for something more urgent than Pretty.

Nanny never gave the future much of a thought. Why bother, right? Things out of your control could take it away in a heartbeat. But she was always ready for good food and a laugh, and she loved sitting her ass on the beach more than anything in the world.

Up until the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, I freely admit I was firmly in Nanny's camp. What with being constantly told we were going to die in a nuclear firestorm, I never expected to see thirty, so was badly prepared to be living well into my fifties. I'm very Behind as a grownup.

My approach now is to surf the razor's edge between these two women's outlooks.

Yes, "chop wood and carry water" because it is necessary, and you MIGHT have a future.

But I'm not so dumb as to think, "It can't happen here," so I make a lot of plans to ensure that there are moments of "now" that I try my best to enjoy ON PURPOSE.

'Cause real deal...

Who knows?

"I hate reality just as much as the next guy, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal"

- Groucho Marx

[cyberbenb]

Transnistria urges residents to heat stoves with wood amid significant gas shortages

Vadim Krasnoselsky, the head of the Russia-led breakaway Transnistria region in Moldova, urged residents on Jan. 3 to heat their stoves with wood whenever possible amid gas shortages.

Russia’s state-controlled energy giant Gazprom halted gas deliveries to Moldova on Jan. 1, citing alleged unpaid debts by Moldovagaz. The suspension triggered an energy crisis in Transnistria, which now faces industrial collapse due to widespread power outages.

Authorities in Transnistria also rejected earlier Chisinau’s offer to help the region purchase gas via European platforms.

Some 1,500 high-rise buildings in Transnistria are currently without heating and hot water, and nearly 72,000 homes are without gas, according to Krasnoselsky.

Krasnoselsky added that 150 gas boiler houses have been disconnected, while two large social facilities have been switched to diesel heating.

“The almost complete gasification of the (region) is one of the reasons for well-deserved pride: we strived for 100% coverage of the population with this benefit of civilization. But today, we remember with gratitude those who built housing with stove heating,” he said.

“Fortunately, our region is rich in wood. We still have stocks. Solid fuel sales points have been opened in every district. At the request of citizens who cannot provide themselves with firewood due to life circumstances, it is delivered free of charge,” Krasnoselsky said, adding that “there are no hopeless situations."

Russian troops have been stationed in Transnistria since the early 1990s. While the rest of Moldova has switched to European energy supplies, the region is heavily dependent on Russian gas.

Although a deal allowing Russian gas to transit through Ukraine expired on the same day that Russia halted gas supplies to Moldova, Gazprom insists the suspension is due to Moldova’s outstanding debt, not transit issues.

Moldovan officials dispute Gazprom’s claims regarding outstanding payments, noting an international audit failed to verify the debts.

Russia buys acceptance with cash, plunging economy into uncertainty

For Russia’s military recruiters, money talks. In July, Russian President Vladimir Putin doubled the federal signing-on bonus for contract soldiers to 400,000 rubles ($3,850) — over five times the country’s average monthly wage. Regional governments are expected to top this up further, although th…

The Kyiv IndependentKatie Marie Davies

[dukwin214]

Top Picks for the Best Watch Winder for Rolex: Dukwin

When considering the best watch winder for your Rolex, several features could matter to you.

The quality of the motor is of prime importance to the watch winder's life span and performance. Quality motors provide smooth and constant rotations without jerks or undue interruption. Another factor is the noise level: a good watch winder should run quietly without disturbing the environment. Hence, many top-tier watch winders use silent motors, which would make them very suitable for your home or offices. Different watches, in turn, have different winding needs, and the best watch winder for Rolex would come with multiple rotation settings, such as clockwise, counter clockwise, and even bi-directional. The turns per day (TPD) settings should also be considered when shopping for a watch winder. Typically, a Rolex requires a moderate TPD range, so a good watch winder should allow customization of these settings.

Watch winder is not only a device but it can be treated as an accessory. It has to be beautiful, have good build quality, valuable materials, and an overall design that reflects the luxury of the watch possible to be held within. So winders made from good materials like wood, leather, or carbon fiber should be searched as this will give the durability and premium look.

When searching for a watch winder near me, it's most helpful to start with local jewellery stores, watch boutiques, and high-end department stores. Most will carry a good selection of winder products ideal for luxury-watch owners. It is easy to see the product before buying and feel it to be sure it is as expected when you shop locally.

Dukwin is happy to mention that it brings the best watch winders for Rolex for its valued customers. Our team consists of watch aficionados and experts who dwell in the nitty-gritty of luxury watches and can help you with the appropriate-specific need with matching preferences on a watch winder only from here. Furthermore, we have stocked our catalogs of high-performing and exceptionally durable tested winders from some of the most reputable brands in the industry. Dukwin puts later customer satisfaction and our guest staff is always in-house and willing to help you with all inquiries in so far as making the decision goes. So whether you prefer buying while at home or offline, At our site, you will find thorough descriptions of everything we sell, customer review pages, and professional buying guidance so that you can never choose wrong.

Using the best Rolex watch winder, your Rolex watch always stays accurate and ready on hand for everyday wearing. Use it often to keep internal lubricants distributed evenly, as this helps maintain accurate timekeeping and the durability of your watch. Follow rotation settings according to the manufacturer's recommendations for your particular model Rolex to avoid over- or under-winding. The watch winder is stored in a stable, dust-free environment without any outside exposure.

The best Rolex watch winders will ensure that your watch is always accurate and ready to be worn. You should use a watch winder regularly to get the internal lubricants of your watch distributed evenly across various components in the watch, preventing making it inaccurate or short-lived. The rotation settings should be in accordance with the manufacturer's recommendations for your specific Rolex model to avoid over-or under-winding. Keep the watch winder in a stable and dust-free environment to keep it away from external damage.

Source URL: https://watchwindernearme.blogspot.com/2024/12/finding-perfect-watch-winder-near-me.html

[swimmingcleaner]

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They are extremely versatile and fit into any décor style, from minimalistic to traditional or even bohemian. Candle Sticks also add a touch of warmth to a space, creating a soft, flickering light that brings a sense of tranquility and comfort.

At Green Global Exports, we understand the importance of quality and design. Our candle sticks come in various materials such as brass, ceramic, glass, and wood, making it easy for you to choose the perfect piece to take home. We also ensure that every item in our collection is crafted with care and attention to detail.

Finding Candle Supplies Near Me If you’re looking to buy candle supplies near me, look no further than Green Global Exports. With our online platform, you can explore an extensive range of candle sticks, along with other candle supplies like premium candles, holders, and décor items. Shopping with us is convenient—whether you’re located near us or in a different area, we provide fast shipping to bring your purchases right to your doorstep.

In addition to candle sticks, we also stock complementary items like candle snuffers, decorative trays, and wall hangings that can complement your candle stick for creating a complete and cohesive décor style in your home.

Why Shop at Green Global Exports? The following benefits are available when you shop for candle supplies near me at Green Global Exports:

Wide Range of Styles: Whether you go for something modern, vintage, or eclectic, we must have something that matches your personal taste.

High-Quality Products: From candle sticks and candle supplies, all these products are crafted to stand at the highest standards by being beautiful and durable in the process.

Convenience: Easy online shopping is combined with fast delivery to let you shop for candle sticks as well as other candle supplies without a hassle.

Our committed staff is always ready to help you with your purchase, providing you personalized recommendations and support.

Conclusion From candles sticks to add an atmosphere in your home or just finding candle supplies near me, Green Global Exports has all the candles for you. We have a great assortment of high-quality products with quick shipping and customer-driven service, making it very easy for you to spice up your home decor. Check out our selection today and find the ideal candle sticks and candle supplies to lift up your space.