#Cosmetic Cardboard Boxes

[shopsystem]

Bendito Mockup / Supply.Family / Cosmetic Box (01) / Mockup / 2024

 Download

[ipulpmedia]

IPulp Media’s business directory offers a comprehensive list of suppliers for various business needs, including retail packaging supplies. With easy access to top vendors, businesses can find solutions for customized packaging, eco-friendly options, and wholesale pricing, helping them meet diverse packaging requirements efficiently. This directory simplifies the sourcing process by connecting businesses with trusted suppliers, making it easier to enhance brand presentation and secure durable packaging. For companies focused on retail, the platform is an invaluable resource to streamline procurement and boost brand impact.

[lynxdesigners01]

Recycled Cosmetic Packaging Suppliers

There are several suppliers that specialize in recycled cosmetic packaging. One such supplier is Eco Vision Packaging, which offers a wide range of eco-friendly packaging solutions for cosmetics and personal care products. They provide packaging made from materials like post-consumer recycled PET plastic and glass. Another supplier is Earth to Business, which offers sustainable packaging options, including recycled plastic bottles and jars. They also have a range of biodegradable and compostable packaging options for those looking for even more Recycled Cosmetic Packaging Suppliers.  Additionally, 

Sustainable Packaging Solutions India

One such solution is the use of biodegradable and compostable materials for packaging. These materials, such as bioplastics derived from renewable resources, can decompose and return to nature within a reasonable time frame. Additionally, they can be recycled or composted, reducing the amount of waste going to landfills.

Cosmetic Packaging Suppliers

When looking for cosmetic packaging suppliers, it is important to consider a few factors. First, ensure that the supplier has a range of packaging options to suit your specific needs. This could include various sizes, styles, and materials. Next, check for the supplier's reputation and reliability. Look for reviews and testimonials from other customers to ensure that they provide quality products and prompt delivery. Additionally, consider the supplier's expertise in the cosmetic industry. 

Box Manufacturing Company

A box manufacturing company is a company that specializes in the production of various types of boxes. These boxes may be used for packaging, shipping, storage, or display purposes. The company may offer a wide range of box sizes, shapes, materials, and customization options to cater to the needs of different industries and customers.

Corrugated Cardboard Box Manufacturers

Corrugated cardboard box manufacturers play a crucial role in the packaging industry. These manufacturers specialize in producing cardboard boxes that are durable, cost-effective, and sustainable.

Corrugated Box Manufacturers

Corrugated box manufacturers utilize advanced manufacturing techniques and machinery to produce high-quality boxes that meet specific requirements. They work closely with their clients to understand their packaging needs and provide customized solutions. These manufacturers have a deep understanding of the different types of corrugated boards, adhesives, and finishing techniques, ensuring that the boxes they produce are strong enough to protect the goods during transportation.

Chocolate Packaging Box Suppliers

There are numerous suppliers that provide chocolate packaging boxes. Whether you are a small chocolate business or a large confectionery company, you can find a range of suppliers to choose from. Some popular suppliers include paper packaging companies, specialized chocolate packaging manufacturers, and online platforms.

When searching for chocolate packaging box suppliers, it is important to consider the quality of the boxes, their durability, and the design options available. You may also want to take into account factors such as price, minimum order quantities, and delivery timelines.

[verdancepackaging]

Custom Cosmetic Boxes as Brand Identity Amplifiers

Suppose you are looking for well-manufactured custom cosmetic boxes for your brand. In that case, you can choose Verdance Packaging to deliver your products in high-quality packaging.  Custom Cosmetic Packaging Boxes point your cosmetic brand in the right direction of success. Custom Cosmetic packaging boxes are a creative way for your business to make your brand prominent with the versatility that also gives the benefits to packing & uniquely presenting your product.

[nickistuffs]

Design Choices

Hi, I’m back with some inspiration! As a designer in product development, this photo really resonates with me.

Pairing: Harry x Designer Reader (curvy or plus size—whatever you feel works best! This is just my preference 😌)

Summary: Harry invites you to a Pleasing meeting.

Word Count: 874

Warnings: None. Just fluff 💗

Please enjoy! I’m just doing this for fun.

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there ...

Today, Harry had a meeting for his cosmetics brand, Pleasing. While getting ready, he saw his girlfriend sitting at her desk, working on designs and 3D renders for various brands vying for her talent.

He’d always wanted to add Y/N to his team of designers or do a small collaboration. However, being the shy and offline person she is, Y/N mostly kept her work to her portfolio and artworks online, with little to no social media presence. She’d told him before that she didn’t want to be seen as the girl who got work because of her boyfriend—something Harry found ridiculous since he would’ve gladly welcomed her on the team if she’d asked.

After slipping on his socks, he tiptoed to her workspace, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and placed soft kisses on her head. Briefly, he watched her work on what appeared to be a floor plan for a coffee shop. An idea crossed his mind, one he hoped she’d be open to.

“Hey, baby. Are you busy today?”

“Uhmm, not really. I’m just finishing my files, and my meeting got moved to tomorrow. Why?” she replied while continuing to type up details and notes for her contractors.

“Well, if you’re done with that, would you like to join me in a meeting today?”

She quickly saved her file and closed her laptop, looking at Harry with curiosity.

“For… your next album?”

“No, silly! For Pleasing. We’re finalizing some packaging boxes and stickers for a new nail polish release this New Year.”

“Oh! Right, sorry. My mind’s been all over the place.”

“No worries, love. So, do you want to come?”

“Sure, but can you pack my stuff for me? I’ll just go change.”

“Go ahead. I’ll take care of it for you.”

Harry rummaged through her work bag, filled with her essentials: a pen case, notebooks, journals, sample swatches, three different types of measuring tools, and other knick-knacks she might need for meetings or site visits. Knowing her, inspiration—or a design mishap—could strike at any moment. He added her laptop and earphones to the bag just as she walked back into the room.

“Ready! Do you have my bag, babe?”

“Yup, everything’s secured. I’ll just put on my shoes, and we can go.” ...

As Harry drove them to Pleasing’s unofficial office, he broke the silence.

“Babe, thank you for coming with me today. I thought you’d say no and stay home.”

“Well, I know I’ve said I didn’t want to be part of the product development team, but I still want to support you. If going to this meeting means so much to you, I’ll gladly hop in when I’m free.”

At a red light, Harry grabbed her hand and kissed it gently. ...

When they arrived at the small office, Harry and Y/N were greeted warmly and offered coffee, pastries, and nuts. She placed her bag on the floor and settled onto the couch, her eyes immediately drawn to the sparkly, hot-pressed foils on the PR boxes inside a nearby cardboard box.

“You can touch them if you like,” said Harry’s head designer.

“Thank you. Harry, may I?”

“I know you’re dying to feel it, love. Don’t let me stop you.”

Harry smiled at her excitement as she examined the new products Pleasing had created. He silently observed her body language, sweating a little as he hoped nothing was out of place—knowing how detail-oriented she was.

“These are so nice. The feel is great. Do you have options where the box is fully foiled or mixed with matte finishes for texture variety?”

A sigh of relief escaped Harry’s lips as he saw her getting into her element.

“Yeah, we have all of that here,” the head designer replied. “Here are the inserts, the bottles, and other packaging we’ve printed, along with the initial samples, if you want to try them.”

They laid everything out on the table. Y/N immediately locked eyes with Harry.

“These are amazing! The supplier you got is really good. You have to tell me who they are!”

Harry chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“It’s a secret, love. I can’t reveal that to the competition. I might even ask the team to whip up an NDA before you leave.”

The three of them laughed at Harry’s joke, but soon the meeting shifted into a more serious tone. Work began in earnest, with Harry choosing his preferred designs, giving feedback, and discussing limitations and options with the team.

Meanwhile, Y/N started snapping photos of Harry looking serious, as well as top-down shots of the table and the stickers he was pointing to.

**“What do you think, love?” Harry asked.

“Sorry, I was distracted. Can you say that again, babe?”

“I asked if we should add another color to the collection, or if this is enough?”

“Well, is it in your budget? I thought you already finalized a color story. Adding another might confuse the supplier if it’s a last-minute change. I’d recommend saving it for your next release or an expansion of the range, maybe with a different collaborator.”

Harry nodded, impressed by her quick, thoughtful response. He felt a surge of pride, knowing he was in a relationship with someone as brilliant and passionate as she was. ... Thank you so much for reading! I have more in store and might write again soon. See you! 💗

[fr0mthefires]

haunted. - vampire!shigaraki x f!reader / part 1

In which you’re down on your luck, taking the first job that will have you after being laid off from Endeavor Dynamics. There, you cross paths with a certain mysterious, red-eyed individual who seems to be harboring a secret, and (un)fortunately find yourself tangled in a web of obsession and danger you’re not sure you can handle. Or stay away from.

cw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced drug and alcohol use, death, loss, not beta read

~5.9k words

Christ. What day is it?

You're barely awake, a lingering dream still blurring the edges between sleep and awareness.

You weren’t privy to keeping up with time much these days. It all seemed to bleed and blend into a blur now, minutes feeling like seconds, days feeling like hours or sometimes vice versa, the sunlight too hidden behind the thick black curtains you’d hung weeks ago to truly know whether it was day or night. You simply go through the motions, sleeping or gaming or watching whatever mindless content you click on and stare at absently to fill the overwhelming silence in your apartment.

Some would call it heaven to be holed up like this with no real responsibilities; you, however, have taken to calling it the Void. That’s what it feels like, anyway. A black hole of nothingness, chewing up time and spitting it out whatever which way it chooses.

You’d been laid off of your computer tech job a few weeks ago, Endeavor Dynamics having suddenly decided to do away with your particular position in the company in favor of funneling that money into lining their own pockets and beefing up their marketing, all in hopes of bringing in more poor, unsuspecting unpaid interns who were fresh out of college and hoping to make a name for themselves in the world of corporate greed.

You had enjoyed the newfound freedom at first after the initial shock and despair wore off. You could sleep in past 6am for the first time in ages, could spend all day grinding in your favorite games for legendary cosmetics and leveling up your stats, got to catch up on your anime watchlist and eat shitty takeout whenever you wanted. It truly felt like the life, until it didn’t anymore.

Your savings account had begun to noticeably dwindle after the first three weeks. No big deal, you’d told yourself. A new opportunity would come soon. You’d spent all that time and money grinding for that fancy college degree, after all. You had a decent resumé with slightly-more-than-decent references. But after your sixth application to various companies in the city returned no results, you began to worry.

As it turned out, employers didn’t really care all that much about degrees in Computer Science and Game Development. Not when they had to narrow down their options in the shit job economy to other candidates with flashier degrees like Business and Accounting. And now, nearly five weeks into unemployment, the pickings are slim. The amount left in your savings will likely only cover rent and necessities for this month if you’re frugal, and after that, you’ll have to make your way to the nearest dumpster and pick out a nice cardboard box to call home.

Unfortunately, you're not one of the privileged souls out there with family to rely on when you’re down and out. Life had sobered you up to reality at a young age. Your mom never did live up to her title as such; she never put in any effort to connecting with you, caring for you, or loving you beyond what was necessary to keep up appearances.

It was clear even at such a young age that she wanted nothing to do with you. You were a blight on her life, a responsibility she never really wanted, and she made it known in as many passive aggressive ways as she could get away with without your dad noticing.

Your dad, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of your mom. He loved you in a way that was loud and all-encompassing, and he made it known to you in any way your little mind could understand. Trips to the park, countless stuffed animals and toys, more books read at bedtime than you could count on your little fingers, bear hugs and kisses on your forehead as he tucked you in for the night. He made up for all the love you lacked from your mom ten-fold.

He was your safety blanket, the first and only best friend you'd ever had. But life was cruel, and it made sure you knew that. You'd never forget when your dad collapsed that first time during your sixth birthday party. The second of silence that followed that seemed to stretch for hours before the panic ensued. The sound of the sirens blaring as the ambulance screeched to a stop in front of your house.

He was always so tired after that day. The trips to the park went from three times a week, to one every other week, to none at all. The animated way he would read your favorite bedtime stories was replaced by your own little voice while he laid next to you, his eyes closed as he nodded his encouragement.

"The a- animals saw the tree and knew that Fox was still a part of them. Owl raised his gran- his gran-"

"Grandchicks, darling." His voice was barely there when he'd help you pronounce the words you struggled with.

"Owl raised his grand... chicks on the br- branches. The tree gave love to everyone who loved Fox."

"And so, Fox lived on in their hearts forever," he mouthed along with you, a shiny bead trailing down the side of his face. You traced it with your little finger, and he gave you one of his most tired smiles.

He was gone by the time you'd turned seven. His body was too riddled with cancer for him to withstand it anymore. He left the world with one final, unsteady caress on your cheek and a barely whispered "I'm sorry, pumpkin." Your mom left the room, left you as you cried and cried and cried. She made one of the nurses drag you out to the car.

It didn't take long for your mom to pick up habits after that. The kind of habits that made the house smell like chemicals and made her sleep for hours and hours, or the kinds that made her breath smell gross and sour when she'd yell at you for leaving your room. If she wasn't passed out on the couch she was gone for hours at a time, late and long enough that you learned how to tuck yourself into bed. You didn't really like bedtime stories anymore, anyway.

She met your stepdad around the time you turned eight, a wanna-be drug lord with a serious heroine addiction. You figured maybe him and your mom were meant to be in that regard. She needed someone to rely on, after all. The addiction made it impossible for her to function on her own, let alone raise you. A couple months after that, the neglect evolved into abuse.

Your mom was often too out of it to realize or care what she was doing, but on the rare days she was lucid, she made it a point to let you know it was all your fault. You’ll never forget the way she’d look at you, her eyes distant and slightly unfocused as they trailed over your cuts and bruises.

"He always loved you more than me," she'd murmur, almost sounding sad, before her eyes would refocus, sharp with anger and loathing. “This is your fault, you know. If you’d never been born, I could have been happy. Your dad could still be here. We would have been happy without you." Young, impressionable you believed it more and more each time she’d spit those words at you, right before her hand cracked against your cheek, your step-dad laughing as he watched. 

You learned how to disassociate by the time you were nine. It was a skill you valued a lot as you got older, made it easier to drift through your life however you pleased before you decided to get your shit together.

Now, freshly 24, you’re able to recognize that your mom likely just projected her own feelings towards herself and life in general onto you. You were an outlet far more than you ever were a daughter to her. But no matter what you know now, the facts don't always make reality easier to cope with, and they don't erase the memories. You didn’t go to her funeral when she finally died of an overdose a few days after your nineteenth birthday, and word on the street was your step-dad didn’t either.

Her death was what spurred you out of the life you'd been living up to that point, a glaring reminder that you were on a path to becoming just like her. It was maybe the one good thing she'd ever done for you.

Your fault. All your fault.

Your eyes fully blink open as the echoing remnants of those words die with your unconscious mind, quickly shoved in the box you keep locked away in the back of your mind with all the other shit you never really tried nor wanted to unpack and face.

***

Thursday. It's Thursday.

You notice the date displayed in the bottom right corner of the screen, absently taking note that it’s already the middle of October. You think that should be more impactful than it actually feels. Sighing, you shift your attention back to the task at hand, scrolling through the first page of job listings you’d filtered as “Sort New to Old” and unfortunately seeing nothing fucking new at all that you haven’t already applied for. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes out of irritation, tiny little bursts of colors appearing behind your eyelids from the force.

“Fuck this,” you mutter to nobody but yourself and stand abruptly, a newfound determination born from nothing but the dejection and exasperation flaring up inside you. If you haven’t had any luck online, maybe you’re looking in the wrong places. Maybe good, old-fashioned face to face interaction is what you’re missing. Companies still did that in this decade, right? The possibility is better than nothing, you guess.

You peel off the sweatpants and baggy shirt you’d been wearing for a few too many days, take a much needed shower, and dress in something you feel is appropriate and fitting enough for a depressed and desperate individual searching for a job who is trying to look put together and not at all depressed or desperate. Whether or not you convey that, you aren’t sure, but you’re out the door without a second glance.

The sunlight feels like it’s cooking your retinas the moment you step outside, and for the first time in awhile, you wonder how long it’s really been since you’ve left your cave. The street you live on is right outside the main heart of the city, but it’s still alive and busy with people hustling back to their 9-5s after their lunch breaks, coming and going from the few cafes and restaurants, or just out for walks in the mid-October chill.

You take a moment to observe, let your eyes adjust, realize the world has in fact still been turning around you since you’ve been holed up, and then set off down the sidewalk in the direction of the busier part of the city. You start simple. Modest. Coffee shops, ramen houses, small stalls and tourist traps. You even try the lone fucking GameStop that’s somehow still in business.

You’ve resorted to the barest of minimums, all of which telling you they’re not hiring or you’re “over-qualified” for the job, whatever the fuck that means. Each bell chiming over your head when you exit leaves you feeling more dejected than the last. It’s not until you’re at a crosswalk waiting for the little green stick figure to pop up on your way back home, fully intent on spending another night buried in despair and self-loathing, that you see it.

A lone flyer haphazardly stapled onto the pole below the crosswalk indicator, the red color of the paper so faded and the words so hardly legible you’re sure it’s been out there awhile.

Now Hiring

Nine Lives Nightclub

Apply in Person Only

It doesn’t give you much to go by, like, at all, but you’re so desperate for any type of income at this point that you’ll try anything. You realize the word “anything” maybe shouldn’t literally mean anything though after you pull out your phone and google Nine Lives.

It’s located on the shadier side of the city, the area you wouldn’t dare be caught in alone without at least a can of pepper spray and your keys wedged between your fingers, even during the day.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, assessing your options, but it’s not long before you’re turning around and walking back the way you came, passing through the vibrant part of the city and eventually into the emptier, more industrial side. Your pace becomes more cautious, your attention more focused on your surroundings and the people inhabiting them as the welcoming, well lit ambiance is replaced by cracked brick walls and long, dark alleyways the deeper you go.

It’d be hard to miss it. Nine Lives is nestled in the corner of a dead end, the vibrant neon sign boasting the name flashing in a dark red the same color as the flyer. It’s almost blinding in the setting sun and sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the gray, dingy spaces surrounding it.

You can tell right away, all the other many red flags aside, that this place is seedy. Somewhere the people shunned from the main city go to do things that are heavily frowned upon a few blocks up the sidewalk. The type of place where everyone turns a blind eye to anything and everything because they’ve all committed sins of their own.

If you were smart, like you think yourself to be, you’d turn the fuck around and-

“Um, hello,” you murmur to what you assume is the bouncer at the front door with all the confidence you can muster. It admittedly isn’t much. His gaze is faintly disinterested as he tilts his head forward to stare down his nose at you, his eyes beady and black. His head seems too small for his ridiculously muscular frame, obnoxiously on display in the red tank top he’s wearing that seems to qualify more as a sports bra than a shirt. His blonde hair is short and chopped haphazardly, and the cold smirk he’s now leveling you with seems to say he knows you’re intimidated by him.

“What’s a little mouse like you doing in a place like this?” he asks in a tone that makes you want to shiver, his gaze unabashedly roaming over you from top to bottom. It makes your skin crawl, and you have to hone every bit of confidence you have left to answer him evenly.

“I saw a flyer about a job opening here. I wanted to see if it was still open.” He crosses his arms over his hulking chest and seemingly assesses you for what is longer than strictly necessary, his gaze hard and unrelenting before it shifts into something like amusement. It just serves to set you more on edge. “Still open, alright. Think the boss’ll love to meet ya.” He says it in a way that sets a faint alarm bell off in the back of your mind, but before you can dwell on it much, he’s shifting his huge frame out of the way of the entrance.

“Just go in and straight to the right, to the bar in the corner. Ask for Kurogiri.” You nod once and duck your head, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer. “Good luck, little mouse,” he chuckles as you hastily pass by, a harsh sound that grates your ears. “Hope they don’t eat ya alive.”

***

The first thing you notice, oddly, is there are no windows, and the next, more obvious thing is how busy it is even on a Thursday. The bass of whatever dark house mix they’re playing is loud and reverberates through your entire being, the ground subtly shaking beneath your feet. It’s completely dark, save for the red and white neon lights flashing in random strobing intervals over the surprisingly large space, and there’s a fog drifting through the room that adds to the already unsettling atmosphere.

It smells like a mix of weed, liquor, and smoke, not as unpleasant as you expected but not necessarily good either. It’s an onslaught on all your senses, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You'd had your fair share of experience with nightclubs back when you weren’t a complete recluse and admittedly fairly self-destructive, but never anywhere like this. Only the types of clubs more upper-class people frequented, the kinds in the more upscale parts of the city. The safer parts that the men you once used for empty entertainment preferred to stick to.

This… This is fucking overwhelming, to say the least. Dangerous, if the people packed in like sardines are anything to go by. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen a couple of these faces on news broadcasts for various crimes of varying intensity.

You push through the crowd towards the bar after the initial stun wears off, ignoring the looks you get; some of annoyance, some of less than admirable interest, all of which set you even more on edge. Fuck, have you really stooped so low? Goddamn Endeavor Dynamics, goddamn Enji, you'd make him curse the day he ever decided to-

“What can I get you?” the overly cheery blonde girl behind the bar asks you, looking just old enough to even be in a place like this, let alone working in it. Her wide smile gleams as the strobes pass over her face, and you swear for a second her eyes glow yellow. “I- Um, I’m looking for Kurogiri?” It comes out more like a question, as uncertain and lost as you feel. “I’m here about a job opening.”

The girl perks up even more if possible, the messy buns on top of her head bobbing in time with the excited nod she gives you. “Ooo, yay! There’s way too much testosterone floating around in here!” She wastes no time maneuvering around the bar, abandoning the other poor bastard to man the bar by himself. He throws a disbelievingly panicked look her way, but she’s far too busy grabbing your hand and yanking you away from the crowd to notice or care, leading you towards a staircase in the far corner of the club.

“I’m Himiko Toga! Oh, you’re so pretty! I already know we’re going to be great friends!” You’re bewildered by her enthusiasm and seemingly immediate like of you but give her your name anyway, offering her an unsteady smile as she unclasps a red rope and then swiftly replaces it after you pass through.

She tugs you up the stairs faster than you think someone of her stature should reasonably be able to move, and as you hit the landing, you realize she’s brought you to what you think is some sort of VIP area. It’s far less crowded than downstairs, but there’s still a few shifty looking people lingering around. It’s quieter, which you’re grateful for, but still just as dark; the strobing lights below don’t quite reach up here, and the only real source of light is a couple of dim sconces on the walls that may as well not be lit at all.

There’s a balcony lining the entire top floor providing a view of the swaying crowd below and a few dark red leather couches scattered around the space. Black velvet curtains line the back wall, complimenting the surprisingly clean dark hardwood floor. There’s a small bar on the right wall with a few stools in front of it and a lone door in the far left corner that leads… somewhere.

Toga pulls you along too fast for you to really get a look at anyone, but you can tell the people milling around know her well based on the various hellos and nods thrown her way. You do manage to get a look at one person as you pass by, a tall guy about your age with jet black hair and the most shocking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. More shocking than that, however, are the angry scars covering the skin you can see. Burn scars, you think. You realize you’re staring when you notice he’s smirking at you, a gleam in his eyes that both unsettles and intrigues you as he raises his glass to you. You look away quickly, stumbling after Toga.

She doesn’t stop until she reaches the bar, only one man behind it. He’s wearing a white button down with a green vest over top and a black tie, something that strikes you as odd compared to everyone else in this place. Dated almost, like he came from a different era. “Kurogiri, my friend here is interested in our job posting!” Toga beams at him, her teeth surprisingly sharp.

Her volume has caught the attention of the few people lingering around, all of whom seemingly more interested in this budding conversation than you think they should be. You ignore them despite the eyes burning a hole in your back. You swallow dryly, offering Kurogiri your name and what you hope is a confident smile, but you can tell it doesn't quite hit the mark.

“I see,” he says almost robotically, his voice void of any emotion. The full force of his gaze turns to you, his dark purple eyes scrutinizing you in a way that makes you want to squirm. The color is so unnatural that you wonder absently if he wears colored contacts. You remain still with effort and meet his gaze head on despite the instinct to do precisely the opposite, your drive to not be homeless the only thing keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor.

“Do you have any experience working in a place like this?” Your already fragile smile falters slightly. You hadn't expected that question, but you push to keep your voice confident as you opt for honesty. “I don’t, but I’m a fast learner. I pick things up very quickly. And I have open availability.” You tack the last part on hastily to hopefully sweeten your chances. After a moment of hesitation, you continue. “I- Um, I really need the job. I promise you won't regret it.” It pains you to say, makes you feel as weak and vulnerable as you sound, a spiral already coming on and ready to suck you in. Failure, failure, failure.

Kurogiri stares at you for what feels like ages, and you can feel the spiral start to take hold before Toga speaks up again. “Come on, Kurogiri! She’s my friend, and we need another girl in our group! There’s too many of you guys skulking around, it’s depressing.” She almost sounds petulant, making you again question if she’s even old enough to be here. She nods her head toward the dark corner on her left and gives him a meaningful look, but you can’t make out what she’s looking at.

Kurogiri glances towards said corner and then returns to stare at you a moment longer, his blank expression giving nothing away, before he finally puts you out of your misery. “Very well. You’ll start tomorrow night. Be here at 8pm, and do not be late. You do not want to displease him.” He doesn’t clarify on who exactly he’s referring to, instead picking up a glass you’re sure is already clean and beginning to polish it, effectively ending the conversation.

Toga squeals, bouncing up and down in excitement. It baffles you that she's seemingly more excited about this than you are. “Yay! Oh, I’m so happy! You’ll love it here!” She grabs your hands and grins up at you, and you’d be lying if you said her enthusiasm wasn’t rubbing off on you a little bit. Maybe it won’t be so bad. You offer her a tentative smile of your own, letting her lead you over to one of the couches as she dives into everything she claims you need to know.

She rambles on about the basics; what you’ll be doing (a server, basically), who you’ll be reporting to (Kurogiri, who is apparently not the actual boss but the infamous He who is yet unnamed), and the people you should make it a point to get to know (her friends, who apparently are here every night. You ask how they don't get tired of it, and she just laughs like you'd told a very funny joke.) “Oh! And make sure you wear… well, not that.” She gestures vaguely at your current outfit of choice, the one you’d chosen with the expectation you’d be applying to places not like this. “Just take a look at some of the clientele if you need inspiration!”

You try not to grimace, having already seen what some of the “clientele” down there were wearing. You guess you should have expected as much, if her own outfit was anything to go by. She wraps up her rambling and offers to walk you back down but you decline, thanking her for all her help. She pulls you up into a hug, all but yells when she tells you how excited she is for tomorrow, and you think you’re already kind of getting used to her overt friendliness. Maybe you’ll even make a friend out of this gig.

You wind your way back the way you came, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone, and descend the stairs, your heart in your throat. You’d finally fucking done it. It certainly wasn’t your first pick by any means, but at least it was a job. A source of income. And it was only temporary, right?

You’re too caught up in your own mind, trying to ignore the fact that your mom would have frequented a place like this and hoping you’re not on a path back to your own self-destructive tendencies to notice the pair of eyes trailing after you from the balcony above.

***

He’d been watching you from his place in the corner since he’d heard Toga’s grating voice babbling about yet another incompetent fool interested in the opening. Kurogiri had put those flyers up weeks ago, and it had been a constant revolving door of rejected idiots ever since.

None of the ones that had been interested so far had been good enough. None of them had been special. They were all too excited, too bubbly or too loud. Too fucking irritating in every sense of the word. They all had one underlying thing in common - too much life left in them, an annoyingly glaring light in their eyes that told him immediately they had no place here, no place in his presence.

None of them would have been up to the job anyway, the true job behind the facade they were putting on. He's fine with that, if he's being honest. He still doesn't understand why Master insists on doing things differently now. They'd been just fine the way they had been for years. Sure, they've had to indulge a little more lately to keep up with the number they now have in their circle. And sure, maybe it's been a little more difficult to cover their tracks. And fine, he's mature enough to admit that the amount of missing persons cases in the area have increased enough as of late to maybe cause some problems for them if they aren't more careful.

But things were fine. Are fine. He doesn't want some nobody at his beck and call every time he needs a pick-me-up. He prefers sticking to the randoms below, the ones he can swoop in on in the midst of their drug and alcohol induced hazes and drag them away into the shadows before they can realize what's happening. Fast, easy, efficient, no brainless coercion involved. One and done and he's set for another week.

But Master says it would be safer to have a constant source, for now. A drip he can leave alive and take a little from each day instead of adding more numbers to the growing missing persons list in the area. Long enough for the news to die down a little bit, and then things can go back to normal. The others could travel to other cities if they needed to. He preferred to stay local.

He figures Master has been around long enough to know what's best, if he's to be rational. It's why he's blindly followed him for so long, not to mention he owes him everything. He wouldn't have what he does now if not for Master finding him when he did. Nine Lives had been built for the sole purpose of enshrouding him in the shadows while he adjusted to his new life and doubled as a base of sorts for Master’s hobbies, as he so elegantly puts it.

An easy way to get what he needed while he learned and grew into himself, somewhere he could easily prey on a few lives at a time that likely had no one at home to notice they'd gone missing. It just happened to be a plus when it ended up attracting certain individuals that he and Master could benefit from keeping around. 

The ones currently in his circle were handpicked by him alone before he'd brought them to Master for final judgement. He'd seen something in all five of them, something that told him they were just as ruined as he had once been. Desolate and empty, but still longing for a taste of the divine. An insatiable desire for something more than mere humanity could offer, an escape from the world that had wronged and abandoned them.

That was something he could understand more than anyone, and he'd given them what they’d wanted, in time. Only after they'd proven they'd stick by him, offer their servitude in exchange for the opportunity to have something grand.

But he'd somehow miscalculated somewhere along the way, and now five on top of himself, Master, and Kurogiri had become too many to remain as inconspicuous as they were before Shuichi joined. And now, here you are as consequence, a reminder of that rare failure, another worthless human he'd never see again once you're turned away like the last. It makes him itch just thinking about it, makes him want to claw at his own fucking skin at the sight of you knowing you'll be no different than the rest.

And then you speak, your voice so timid and quiet he would've missed it if not for hearing like his. "I- Um, I really need the job." The way you say it gives the impression that you're down to your last resort. Like nobody else out there wants you. Already, you're different than the others based on that sentiment alone.

He looks at you a little closer then, daring to shift partially out of the shadows, his head tilting to the side slightly as he eyes you. You look like you're trying to come across as confident, but he's been around long enough to know when someone's pretending. The slight tremor in your hands, the waver in your voice, that look of uncertainty in your eyes as you speak, it all gives you away. More importantly, you likely have nothing left to lose if you've willingly stepped foot in here when you look like you want nothing more than to be anywhere else.

You look like you're one more bad thing away from crumbling, like this is the last opportunity you have before there's nothing left. There's no light in your eyes no matter how long he stares. He starts to consider then that maybe he was wrong about you.

So far, you've ticked none of the boxes that would have him wanting to throw you out the door himself. It helps that you're also not bad to look at. Unassuming, but not plain by any means. He'd maybe even call you beautiful if he wasn't so disturbed by that word manifesting in his mind. But that's what you are regardless of what he does or doesn't want to call it, the only word that fits the quiet way you carry yourself, the sadness that seems to cling to your soft, fragile features.

He shifts his gaze to Kurogiri, who has now glanced to him thanks to Toga's irritating ability to read anyone like a book. The exchange lasts a mere millisecond, just a simple nod of his head that would be imperceptible to anyone else, but Kurogiri understands. He always does.

You perk up a little at the good news, but it's overshadowed by Toga's incessant enthusiasm. He can tell you don't understand her yourself. If only you knew how long they'd all been waiting for him to come around and choose someone, then maybe you'd understand. He watches as she drags you away out of his current line of sight, surprised at the way his body twitches like it's primed to follow. He doesn't like that, the way his subconscious doesn't want to let you out of his sight. But you were his now, weren't you? Whether you knew that yet or not. And he's always taken care of his things.

It's not until you've disappeared down the stairs that he allows himself to leave his corner, scowling at Toga before she has the chance to make any comments. She just gives him a pointed, saccharine smile before she fucks off, mercifully sparing him from whatever bullshit she'd had primed to say.

He watches you from his spot on the balcony, observes you as closely as the distance and strobing lights allow. It’s not that difficult with sight like his, really. He again notes that wariness about you, more obvious now that you think nobody's looking, like the world has wronged you somehow. He banks on that, hopes for it. Maybe even preys on it, just a little.

There’s a slight downturn to your lips, a little v between your creased eyebrows. Your eyes are clouded over and your shoulders are slumped slightly as you move through the crowd, surprisingly graceful despite your absentmindedness.

He finds himself wondering what you’re thinking about so intently, what could possibly be bothering you, and then promptly wonders why the fuck he cares. Already, you’re making him notice you, and that’s not an easy feat to accomplish. Maybe Master was on to something after all.

Yes, he confirms, there’s something special about you. He can’t put his finger on it yet, but he knows something’s there, hiding beneath that demure air of yours. You’re like him somehow, the old him. Lost and forgotten, the weight of the world on your shoulders that he hopes you’d do anything to alleviate. His gaze tracks you all the way until you disappear out the door, and even then, it remains lingering on the spot you’d just been.

He feels something then that he hasn’t felt in a long time - anticipation.

***

The music continues to blare behind you even as you make it past the exit, the massive bouncer throwing a knowing smirk your way before he focuses back on the line queuing to get in. It’s a particularly haunting beat, one you could see yourself getting lost in if you were more like who you used to be and less like who you are now.

The lyrics echo in your mind and your bones long after you’d made it back home.

If I were you, I’d find a place to hide.

If I were you, I’d stay inside.

If I were you, I’d run for your life.

***

note: well, hello if you've made it this far, and thank you for sticking around to the end of this first part. this is the first major work I've ever posted, and I have high hopes for it. I have a lot of ideas swimming in my head for this story, so there's a lot to come for dear reader and our enigmatic red-eyed man.

I currently have the next part in the works as I post this. unfortunately, it is not beta read, so I apologize if there are any errors.

the song at the end is run. by arya x, if anyone is interested.

see you in part two.

[sooz-art]

It is finished!

I've been slowly working away at making Baba Yaga's house for a bit over a month, and I am so pleased with how it turned out. She is made from the cardboard of cereal boxes and cosmetics packaging, air dry clay, wire, and moss, painted with acrylics.

This was a bit of a learning experience for me, because I primarily work two dimensionally and rarely do sculpting attempts work out in the way I hope they will. She's far from perfect, but I kind of like that Bout her. I doubt the old crone would bother with keeping her home in tip top shape anyway. She's got more important things to do, like being tricked by hardworking and good natured children, or dealing with meddlesome Ivan's.

[hamsterbellbelle]

Additional CC list #1 for Shabby Shared Apartments🎦:

CC list #2 HERE

Ad flyers || Air-con || Animated garland [Day 16] || Backpack/CD pile/Uno cards/Wall organizer || Bandage roll || Bathroom clutter/contact lenses/razor || Beaded curtain || Blanket || Books || Bottles (simlish) || Broom || Bucket/dipper/water faucet ||

Cabinet shelf || Calendar || Canned food/cup noodle || Cardboard boxes/box || Box || Cardboard posters || Certificate/notice board || Chair with bag || Clock (wall) || Clothes pile || Coat rack || Coat rack ||

Coat rail || Conduit || Cookware || Crate chair || Decor money || Dirty dishes || Dish soap || Drink crate || Drying rack/towels || Duffle bag/cosmetic bag/sandals || Electric meter || Family photo/pills ||

Fan (desk) || Floor clothes/socks/shoe || Floor/ceiling - A - B - C [Day 12] - D [FloorCollection#4] || Folded chair || Folded clothes || Fridge (mini) || Fridge/kitchen clutter/hood || Fridge || Fuse box ||

Graffiti || Hamper bag/floor towel/brushes || Handbag || Hanging clothes || Hanging coat || Hanging wire || Kitchen rack || Leather bag/floor towel/rug || Light (bathroom) || Light (stringed bulbs) ||

Magazine || Magazine || Mailbox || Mirror || Mirror || Newspaper stack || Panel with sparkle || Paper bag || Phone with charger || Pipes || Plastic bag with food || Plastic dresser || Plastic stool/dining table/clothes pile/plastic bag ||

Plates || Posters || Posters || Power socket || Radio || Rug (cardboard) || Scattered papers || Shoe rack/keys tray || Shower || Side table || Signs || Slippers || Stew pot/plastic box/plastic basket with plates/stack of pans || Stove/mattress/cereal box/breadbox ||

Tapestry || Tissue box || Toilet paper (floor) || Toilet plunger/toilet paper/wall tv || Trash bin (toilet) || TV || Used tissue (18+ post) || Vent || Video console/power strip || Wall hanger with bag || Wall panel || Wall photo/make up || Wall shelf with hair dryer ||

[antiquepearlss]

Rapunzel receives a new gift and decides to make Varian her new canvas. Freckle Sibling bonding time + gnc Varian. Not proofread because my head is killing me. 🖤

Rapunzel hummed as she tore open the pink packaging covering a small box. It was small, and not particularly heavy. Rapunzel had no idea what could be inside it, furthering her excitement. She wasn’t particularly fond of surprises, but the package had been a gift from a penpal of hers, the Princess of Atlantica, whom she had bonded with. The two both shared a fondness for the world, and would send each other gifts when they encountered something that excited them.

The princess gasped when she opened the box, plain brown cardboard revealing a large and shining silver shell. Gingerly, she lifted the opalescent shell, inspecting it, enjoying the way the light reflected off the smooth surface.

“What’s that?” piped a small voice, a little ways from her. 

Varian lay on his stomach, his feet kicking mindlessly in the air as he read. Pascal and Ruddiger happily napping on his back. The group had been content sitting in silence, wrapped up in their own projects and simply enjoying eachother’s company. (Even if, admittedly, Rapunzel had become very bored by the quiet atmosphere.) But Rapunzel’s excitement must have drawn his attention. 

“My friend sent me this, it’s a seashell and- wait I think it has a clasp!” Rapunzel quickly placed her fingers over the clasp, easily opening it. The shell sprung open, revealing a mirror under to top shell, and the bottom shell holding beautiful array of shades of blue, like a set of paints. Except they weren’t paints, they looked more like-

“It’s makeup.” Rapunzel hummed, intrigued. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Varian said, quickly losing interest and letting himself get reabsorbed into his book. 

Rapunzel inspected the makeup palette. The powders were beautiful, shades of navy and royal blue alongside pastels and baby blues. Some shades seemed to have a shimmering effect, like glitter had been infused into the shadow. Rapunzel had never seen makeup this beautiful before. 

Corona had never seemed to be all too intrigued by cosmetics, following the trends set by their queen, Arianna, who preferred to look as natural as possible. Getting by day to day with rouge on her lips and a little face powder- nothing more. Which was fine with Rapunzel, truly. She didn’t enjoy having powders and creams smothered on her face, and was content to go barefaced. (Though she didn’t mind tinted lip balm, hers smelled like strawberries.)

Even if she had no plans to use it, it was still a beautiful palette, and she enjoyed looking at it. Placing the seashell on her vanity, Rapunzel made a mental note to herself to write a letter of thanks to her friend.

“The colors are really pretty, do you think there's a way I can turn them into paints?” Rapunzel mused aloud, only half expecting Varian to answer.

But, unsurprisingly, Varian responded, not looking up from his lowered book, but his attention still on her “I mean, probably, off the top of my head you could just mix them with water for watercolors. Or maybe coconut oil for something firmer.”

“Ooh that sounds nice.” 

“Why? You not gonna wear it?” He asked, looking up, his big blue eyes locked onto hers curiously.

Rapunzel hummed as she set the seashell down onto her vanity “probably not, I don’t really like wearing makeup, it makes my skin feel weird” she playfully smushed her cheeks with her hands.

“Besides, I don’t feel the need to cover up my face, I think I look fine as is!”

Varian raised a brow “unlike your husband, who carries concealer with him everywhere he goes.”

Rapunzel playfully rolled her eyes in response “if it helps him feel more confident-”

Varian snorted “yeah, cuz that’s what he needs, more confidence.”

“Be nice” Rapunzel playfully chided. 

A moment later the two were back to their previous arrangement. Varian reading, and Rapunzel keeping herself occupied with little tasks. She looked around her room, trying to think of something quiet to do, a sense of boredom beginning to overtake her. She slightly felt the childish urge to pester Varian, seeking entertainment from his company.

She looked again to the makeup palette, the pretty hues catching her eye. Then, right above the palette, the mirror, reflecting Varians form laying on her bed. The angle allowed her to see his blue eyes skim the page he was reading, the shade matching the streak in his hair.

The shade of his eyes almost perfectly matching a shimmery shade of baby blue eyeshadow below the mirror; the streak almost perfectly matching a shade of teal in the palette.  

Rapunzel had an idea.

“Hey Varian?” Rapunzel sang, eyes now full of mischief “Can I do your makeup?”

The princess made a point to clasp her hands together pleadingly, pouting ever so slightly, and gave her best innocent doe-like eyes, batting her eyelashes playfully. 

Eugene had told her once that she was cute, adorable even, and she needed to take advantage of that cuteness. With her hair gone, it was now her strongest weapon. 

Varian looked up, and she could immediately see the effects of her little superpower written on his face. His features twisted into a grimace.

“No.”

“Come on, please?” 

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I- are you doing the smolder on me!?”

Rapunzel’s expression dropped, her pouted lips and squirting eyes relaxing. She shrugged “It was worth a shot.”

Varian rolled his eyes, and went back to his book, hoping Rapunzel would drop the-

“Pretty please? This eyeshadow would look so lovely on you. I’ll make you look really really nice. It’ll be fun” She continued. 

Varian watched as Rapunzel rested her head atop her crossed her arms on the back of the ornate plush chair she sat upon, kicking her feet excitedly. She had that look in her eye, the sparkle she got when she had a fresh wave of inspiration. With her shining eyes and playful smile, Varian immediately found it harder to say no to her. 

He had been her sewing mannequin, taste tester, hairstyle experimenter when hers was too short to play with, and personal engineering tutor- letting her play with makeup on him was really no issue.

Worse has come into contact with his skin.

Varian rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “Fine” he groaned dramatically, contrasting his amused expression.

Rapunzel squealed, and excitedly gathered what few cosmetic supplies she had- along with her new palette. 

Varian sat up, earning a squeak and a chitter of indignation from both animals that had taken residence on his backside. He sat cross legged on the plush bed, and leaned back, his arms supporting himself. He watched, amused, as his friend unceremoniously dropped various creams, powders, and brushes onto the bed, plopping next to them, across from Varian, out of reach.

Realizing Varian was firmly rooted to his spot on the bed, his cocky expression telling her he had no intention of moving closer, Rapunzel scooted her way over to him. 

She scooped up Pascal, who was groggily making his way over to her, and placed him on her shoulder. Ruddiger made his way over to her lap, clearly upset with his human for bothering him. Varian watched as she shifted herself into a cross legged position, allowing the raccoon onto her lap. But mostly, he watched as her eyes betrayed the cogs turning in her mind, the mood just oh so very slightly less playful.

The princess looked over to her friend, and her expression fell, having clearly come to some sort of realization. “Are you sure? Because we don’t have to, I know you don’t like doing anything super feminine.”

Varians expression softened “Rapunzel it’s fine, I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to.”

“I’m worried you would have, though. I don’t want to pressure you…”

Varian smiled “Raps it’s fine, we were just playing around. It’s okay.” 

Oftentimes, with Rapunzel’s boundless enthusiasm and confident demeanor, (and, well, her lingering lack of social cues) it was easy to forget that she was a people pleaser at heart. Deeply afraid of making someone, especially her friends, upset.

She was deeply afraid of making Varian upset. Not because she was afraid of him, afraid of what he would do to her; but because she was afraid of hurting him, of making him afraid of her.

It hurt, a little, to see. So Varian lifted a small sponge and regarded it questioningly “So, foundation first?”

Rapunzel smiled, her good mood coming back now that she was confident she hadn’t upset her friend. “I think so! I don’t know, like I said, I don’t do makeup a whole lot.”

“Well then that’s two of us” Varian chuckled.

“Well then, you can’t judge me if I mess up.” 

“Never would.”

Varian hummed as Rapunzel grasped his chin with delicate fingers and began dabbing a cream onto his face with the sponge. 

“You better make me fucking beautiful,” Varian murmured. Rapunzel lightly bopped his nose with the sponge “Language.”

Next, came a fluffy brush, and Varian failed to restrain himself from giggling as the fur and powder tickled his face. Rapunzel seemingly took this as a challenge, dusting it further on his cheeks, earning a snort and a playful shove in return. 

Soon, though, the two fell silent. Varian’s eyes contentedly fell shut as Rapunzel applied various creams and powders onto different parts of his face. Sometimes it tickled, but oddly enough, it was relaxing. 

He felt like a canvas, like he was a special work of art, something beautiful, deserving of calculated brush strokes and specially chosen vibrant colors. And with Rapunzel’s fingers gently holding his chin, and the brushes being so carefully swept across his skin, it was like he was something special to be handled with care, like fine pottery. 

It was a nice feeling.

It was hard to resist the urge to open his eyes though as Rapunzel applied the powder to them, but he trusted her not to poke his eye out.

Mostly.

“Alright open your eyes I need to apply the mascara.” Varian did as he was told, and opened his eyes as wide as they could go, Rapunzel laughing in response. 

A moment later, Varian blinked, getting used to the waxy feeling on his eyelashes. He didn’t mind the feeling of makeup on his skin, even if it was rather uncomfortable, but he decided he didn’t like mascara. Especially considering Pascal spat in it to activate it.

Varian watched as Rapunzel pulled out a small tube, and began to apply the glossy pinkish tint to his lips. He felt slightly honored, he recognized the color as one Rapunzel had worn before.

Which, the more he thought about, was a little gross. 

“Mmmmmkay! I’m finished!” Rapunzel exclaimed, given Varian’s cheek a little pat. 

Varian opened his eyes once again as Rapunzel grabbed his hands, leading him off the bed and over to the vanity. Ruddiger once again hopped off her lap, upset about his disturbed rest.

Rapunzel gently pushed him into a good view of himself in the mirror, and Varian was taken aback by what he saw.

His skin was clear and smooth, with warmth and color added to his cheeks and nose that he normally lacked, and a shimmer was dusted as well, making him glow. Any blemishes, like the small scars adorning his face or the dark bags under his eyes had practically disappeared. His eyes were painted in various shades of blue all blending into eachother, complimenting his blue eyes; the shimmer atop them highlighting the light in his own. His eyebrows looked perfectly symmetrical and styled, his eyelashes were full, and lips didn’t look dry and chapped. Even his bone structure looked better, with dark shades complimenting his jaw and cheekbones.

He looked like one of her paintings, vibrant colors swirling together in compliment to eachother, shimmers and highlights mixed with perfectly placed shading, imperfections hidden and perfections accented and highlighted, coming together to form a masterpiece- on his own skin.

Varian had never considered himself particularly good looking. He wasn’t insecure about his looks, not really. He just didn’t think of himself as attractive. The only positive comments he had received were in relation to being ‘cute.’ Not necessarily handsome or even pretty. 

(It didn’t help that he had received his fair share of hurtful comments about his appearance, being told he had creepy eyes and buck teeth.)

So it made him feel something, something warm and fuzzy, to see himself in such a way. To be, dare he say it, beautiful. 

It felt nice. 

“Do you like it?” Rapunzel asked shyly, after Varian had spent a few moments taking in his appearance, an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s not perfect, like I said i’m not very good at makeup. But once you see it as a form of art in it’s a lot easier and more fun!” Rapunzel bumped his shoulder with her own, a genuine smile on her lips “and you happen to make a very good canvas. Thank you.”

Varian blushed, both at her words and the warm, confident feeling in his stomach. He gingerly raised a hand to his cheek, and moved closer to the mirror, inspecting his reflection.

He turned over to the princess and his painted lips split into a wide grin, “I love it.”

Rapunzel beamed at the compliment, visibly pleased with herself now. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she began to chatter about the process, what techniques she used, and why she did what. Varian followed along, listening to her ramble. 

She sounded like she did every time she talked about an art project of hers; going on about the process, the colors, and how much she adored the final result. 

It was always nice to hear her talk about her art in such high praise, it was even better when he himself was the art. 

“Oh! I should get you dressed up to match! Something blue! hold on i’m sure i’ve got something that’ll fit- if that’s alright with you…” Rapunzel cut her ramble off, and stopped her stride midway to her wardrobe; catching herself in her excitement and trying to avoid pushing Varian and going too far.

Varian smiled fondly “that sounds perfect.”

~~~

And so, Varian went to dinner that evening dolled up in a fine light blue tea gown and white ballet flats, face made up and hair styled and pinned back with an ornate silver comb, and draped in fine sapphire jewelry. He was the very picture of elegance and beauty. A masterpiece.

[425599167]

Playing Nier: Automata for the first time. The game's determination to show off 2B's butt got obnoxious after a while, but I'm at the point where I'm playing as A2 and the cosmetic options are letting me have some fun with it.

This is my A2, a filthy, naked weirdo rampaging through the world. Her preferred weapons are a stick she stole and a pipe she fished out of the sewers. The green hair isn't dyed, she never washes it and now there's algae growing in it. Her support pod is a cardboard box that calls her stupid. Her brain got blown out a while ago and had to be replaced with a valve which controls how violent she is, a procedure that tripled her intelligence. The valve is stuck in the open position. Grinding for upgrade chips has made her unkillable. She's my favorite character.

[shopsystem]

Bendito Mockup / Supply.Family / Cosmetic Box (02) / Mockup / 2024

 Download

[ipulpmedia]

IPulp Media’s business directory offers a comprehensive platform for businesses to connect with trusted retail packaging supplies providers. With diverse options available, companies can find specialized packaging solutions suited to their industry needs. The directory includes suppliers who provide high-quality, innovative, and customizable packaging materials to enhance product presentation and protection. By streamlining access to essential retail packaging supplies, iPulp Media ensures businesses can efficiently source materials that support both branding and functional requirements, contributing to improved customer satisfaction and brand visibility.

[retphienix]

Not to straw man my way out of this one but it is... frustrating to be a mid-time (joined 3rd gen) monhun fan, to see the frankly disturbing shifts in monetization in one of my favorite series of all time, to present my opinion that this is fucked up and stupid and hear "Yeah it is! This stuff used to be part of the base game and event quests!" from my fellow mid and long time monhun fans and then to hear a swarm of 5th fleet fans saying

"IT'S JUST COSMETIC, ARE WE REALLY BITCHING ABOUT COSMETIC STUFF AGAIN? ARE WE REALLY LETTING THESE PEOPLE COMPLAIN, DIDN'T WE ALL AGREE UNANIMOUSLY AS A HIVE MIND THAT LETTING DEVS MANIPULATE US IS FINE ACTUALLY???? GO BACK TO YOUR OLD GAMES WITH BAD CONTROLS ALREADY"

It's frustrating, because have whatever opinion you like, but it's annoying as hell to see a fanbase more than quadruple in size but the original fourth or whatever are drowned out whenever they express concerns about the greedy shifts capcom has done the second monhun became a cash cow. It's also just disappointing to repeatedly hear defenders when so many of their arguments are just "It doesn't bother ME so it's not a problem" as if we haven't already mapped out how this stuff manipulates and draws out money from people who can't help themselves- how cosmetic stuff does impact gameplay or else we'd all be playing as brown cardboard boxes- how if this stuff didn't matter they wouldn't be dedicating dev time to it and slapping price tags on it- like I just can't be cool with it, my guy, despite not being easily drawn in either.

This shit used to be base game and event quests, my straw man friend. Why are you upset when that's pointed out- we're literally arguing that this game you claim to love could be- and should be- better. That BENEFITS you- why are you coming to bat for microtransactions of all things, cosmetic or not.

[drzootsuit]

I find it highly depressing that fortnite added cars as a cosmetic, and since then has released not a single interesting one. It's all the ford penis-90 or the lamborghini fart-shit. The car from the incredibles showed up in the files, but was never actually added.

I think I find it depressing because of the fantasy it represents. No, you can't have fun shit like an ice cream truck or a cardboard box or the turtle-van or the batmobile. Because the fantasy is not to indulge yourself in fun fantastical play, the fantasy is to lust after real-world wealth.

The lamborghini is not desirable because it's fun or interesting, but because it's expensive in real life. It is a worship of assets not for their entertainment value, but for their status. A way to cast the digital realm not as a playroom of infinite possibility, but as a showroom meant to train you to lust after shit pricks buy.

Perhaps I'm being dramatic about something that isn't for me, but I think that's allowed sometimes.

[open-hearth-rpg]

#RPGaDay2024

RPG with great form

I love cool new approaches to the physical form of rpgs. That’s why I dug things like Action Cards, Zombie World and For the Queen. I dig useful tactility– where the randomizer has some depth to it. So I prefer card-based approaches over things like tokens & tracking markers. 

One classic high-end form factor has been the slipcase. It’s probably the earliest ttrpg prestige format. But a lot of slipcases are just for show. They look nice but don’t do anything. The slipcase for Bluebeard’s Bride is particularly weak, with really thin cardboard. Slipcases also sometimes work against a game– especially if you actually need the books to reference. So you’re having to pull things out and put them back. 

So the Runequest slipcase feels like a cosmetic indulgence, versus the two volume Guide to Glorantha slipcase which feels like a high quality dictionary or encyclopedia-- a singular reference work you sit down to read. The Yellow King rpg has an interesting approach to the slipcase problem: the slipcase is magnetic and unfolds into a GM screen. However if you do that, you have to put the other three YK rpg volumes you aren’t using somewhere. 

Which brings me to the most amazing thing I’ve seen in recent years: the physical form version of Yazeba’s Bed and Breakfast. The slipcase here just feels right. It’s not just a book storage thing, but a container for the wonders. I’d backed the Kickstarter at the top level– but as I usually do I hadn’t looked at anything after that, awaiting the final version. 

I’ve never been as stunned and pleased as I am with what I got. Thematically, graphically, artistically this is one of the greatest ttrpgs things ever written. I love the box of bits held in the slipcase, giving you a clear place to manage these add-ons. It’s brilliant. It’s the kind of brilliant where I have a hard time imagining how someone surpasses it. It provides the gold standard. 

Which is part of what makes it so disappointing that I heard (second-hand) that Jay Dragon really took a beating financially and emotionally getting Yazeba produced. This reminded me of that and I signed up for Jay's Patreon today, just to do a little more to offer thanks for their work. 

(fixed reference to jay)