#Office Supplies Market share

[chibinasuu]

Sweet Treats | Chopper & Reader

Part of the Thousand Sunny Slice-of-Life Series

Other parts: { Sanji | Nami | Usopp | Chopper (here) | Zoro }

Summary: You trick the Straw Hats' hard-working doctor into taking a break by bringing him a sweet treat you know he can't resist Word count: 929  Tags: one-shot, pure fluff, domestic bliss onboard the sunny, slight sanji x reader if you squint, platonic straw hat pirates x reader, no use of y/n, GN but written with F!Reader in mind

The Thousand Sunny cruised on the open waters of the Grand Line. The warm sun and gentle breeze provided a peaceful atmosphere on the crew’s fourth day at sea following a brief supply run at a small harbor town. 

A picnic table was set up on the Sunny’s deck, complete with a parasol to block the sunlight — a perfect spot for your routine afternoon tea with Brook and Robin. A disembodied arm sprouted from the table and refilled your cup, and you thanked Robin before taking a slow sip to savor the rich flavor and fragrance of the black tea. 

Afternoon tea on the Sunny was never complete without some finger sandwiches, and of course, the assortment of sweets that the Straw Hats’ cook specially whips up for the occasion. 

Sanji went the extra mile today and brought out a whole cake, smothered with his signature whipped cream and decorated with plump strawberries. 

“Oh wow, Sanji, that looks gorgeous! You’ve certainly outdone yourself this time.” You gushed as he sliced into the cake, revealing more of the red fruit hidden between the layers.

“Looks good, right?” Sanji grinned, always confident with his own cooking, although you spotted a slight tinge of pink dusting his cheeks at your praise. He added, “I wanted to use up the rest of the strawberries we got at that last island while they’re still fresh.”

He served a slice on a plate and presented it before you, then did the same for Robin. Another slice soon followed for Brook, albeit offered with a lot less flourish. 

You look around the ship at your beloved crew. Franky was seated not far from where you were, tinkering with something inside the open panel of his own arm. Zoro napped against the railing beside Usopp and Luffy, who were trying to catch some fish for dinner. Nami was reading the newspaper as she sunbathed near the helm, silently keeping Jinbe company. 

Notably, a certain little reindeer was nowhere to be seen. 

You glanced towards the direction of the infirmary, positive that’s where Chopper would be. You remembered how excited he was after obtaining some medicinal herbs at the market a few days ago, and he had been spending so much time in his office since then, busy replenishing the crew's stock of medicines, ointments, antibiotics, and other sorts of concoctions you're not sure you understand what for.

You looked up at the blonde cook, “Hey Sanji, do you think I could have another slice of the cake?”

“Why, of course, dear!” He answered with a hand on his heart, “I’d give you ten more, if that’s what you had wanted.”

You shook your head at his habitual flirty antics and thanked him, accepting the extra slice and fork before making your way to the ship’s infirmary. 

A peek through the circular window on the door showed the Straw Hat Pirates’ resident doctor hard at work, his small hooves diligently moving a pestle in a circular motion to grind up a bunch of herbs into a paste. 

Chopper looked up at the sound of your knock, face lighting up as he motioned for you to come in. 

“Hey, Chopper,” you called out, “what are you making?”

“Zoro seems to be training extra hard lately, so I’m making this salve for him — to ease muscle soreness.” He explained as he continued on with his work. 

His hooves slowly came to a stop, however, when he finally noticed what you were holding. The reindeer’s big, round eyes sparkled at the sight of the layered cake, and you chuckled at his apparent weakness for sweet treats. 

“Care to share? Sanji made it for afternoon tea.”

Chopper, of course, nodded excitedly. You sat on the edge of the empty patient bed and handed him one of the plates. You both immediately dug in, and audibly sighed at the explosion of sweetness in your mouths. 

“Sanji’s cake is the best!” Chopper exclaimed with his mouth full, “I could eat this for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”

You laughed, “Now, that’s not exactly a healthy diet, is it Doc?”

“Oh, I guess you’re right.” He looked slightly dejected, before grinning cheekily as he realized that you were just teasing him. 

You two continued to talk about your days, all the while taking bite after bite of the scrumptious treat. Before long, the cakes were gone without a single crumb left on both of your plates. 

Chopper rubbed his tummy in satisfaction whilst slowly spinning on his favorite swivel chair, “Thanks for sharing the cake with me!”

“Anytime!” You replied with a smile. 

You moved to stack the empty plates and used utensils on one hand, glancing at the clock hanging on the infirmary wall, “Well, I took up enough of your time. Better let you get back to work.”

You pat his head gently, "Don't be late to dinner, okay?"

Chopper nodded, “I'll be done soon. I just need to finish Zoro's salve and then quickly mix some more lotion for Nami. She just ran out of it the other day!”

“Oooh, the one that smells like tangerines?”

At Chopper’s nod, you leaned in and playfully whispered, “Could you maybe set some lotion aside for me too?”

“Of course! I can even make a lavender-scented one for you!”

You can't help but smile at his thoughtfulness in remembering your preference for calming scents, “Thanks, Doc! You’re the best!”

Chopper blushed, swaying back and forth with a silly expression on his face, “Aw, shut up! You saying that is not gonna make me happy or anything~”

a/n: oda revealed in an sbs (vol. 104) that chopper makes skin care for nami and i thought that was the most wholesome thing ever

Other parts: { Sanji | Nami | Usopp | Chopper (here) | Zoro }

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Precaratize bosses

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SUNDAY (Apr 21) in TORINO, then Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Combine Angelou's "When someone shows you who they are, believe them" with the truism that in politics, "every accusation is a confession" and you get: "Every time someone accuses you of a vice, they're showing you who they are and you should believe them."

Let's talk about some of those accusations. Remember the moral panic over the CARES Act covid stimulus checks? Hyperventilating mouthpieces for the ruling class were on every cable network, complaining that "no one wants to work anymore." The barely-submerged subtext was their belief that the only reason people show up for work is that they're afraid of losing everything – their homes, their kids, the groceries in their fridge.

This isn't a new development. Back when Clinton destroyed welfare, his justification was that "handouts" make workers lazy. The way to goad workers off their sofas (and the welfare rolls) and into jobs was to instill fear in them:

https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2018/03/welfare-childhood/555119/

This is also the firm belief of tech bosses: for them, mass tech layoffs are great news, because they terrorize the workers you don't fire, so that they'll be "extremely hardcore" and put in as many extra hours as the company demands, without even requiring any extra pay in return:

https://fortune.com/2022/10/06/elon-musk-jason-calacanis-return-to-office-gentlemens-layoffs-twitter/

Now, there's an obvious answer to the problem of no one taking a job at the wage being offered: just increase the offer. Capitalists claim to understand this. Uber will tell you that surge pricing "incentivizes drivers" to take to the streets by offering them more money to drive during busy times:

https://www.uber.com/blog/austin/providing-rides-when-they-are-most-needed/

(Note that while Uber once handed the lion's share of surge price premiums to drivers, these days, Uber just keeps the money, because they've entered the enshittification stage where drivers are so scared of being blacklisted that Uber can push them around instead of dangling carrots.)

(Also note that this logic completely fails when it comes to other businesses, like Wendy's, who briefly promised surge-priced hamburgers during busy times, but without even the pretense that the surge premium would be used to pay additional workers to rush to the restaurant and increase the capacity:)

https://www.theguardian.com/food/2024/feb/27/wendys-dynamic-surge-pricing

So bosses knew how to address their worker shortage: higher wages. You know: supply and demand. For bosses, the issue wasn't supply, it was price. A worker who earns $10/hour but makes the company $20 profit every hour is splitting the surplus 50:50 with their employer. The employer has overheads (rent on the shop, inventory, advertising and administration) that they have to pay out of their end of that surplus. But workers also have overheads: commuting costs, child-care, a professional wardrobe, and other expenses the worker incurs just so they can make money for their boss.

There's no iron law of economics that says the worker/boss split should be 50/50. Depending on the bargaining power of workers and their bosses, that split can move around a lot. Think of McDonald's and Walmart workers who work for wildly profitable corporate empires, but are so badly paid that they have to rely on food stamps. The split there is more like 10/90, in the boss's favor.

The pandemic changed the bargaining power. Sure, workers got a small cushion from stimulus checks, but they also benefited from changes in the fundamentals of the labor market. For example, millions of boomers just noped out of their jobs, forever, unwilling to risk catching a fatal illness and furious to realize that their bosses viewed that as an acceptable risk.

Bosses' willingness to risk their workers' lives backfired in another way: killing hundreds of thousands of workers and permanently disabling millions more. Combine the boomer exodus with the workers who sickened or died, and there's just fewer workers to go around, and so now those workers enjoy more bargaining power. They can demand a better split: say, 75/25, in their favor.

Remember the 2015 American Airlines strike, where pilots and flight attendants got a raise? The eminently guillotineable Citibank analyst Kevin Crissey declared: "This is frustrating. Labor is being paid first again. Shareholders get leftovers":

https://www.thestreet.com/investing/american-airlines-flight-attendants-bash-citi-analyst-who-put-shareholders-before-workers-14134309

Now, obviously, the corporation doesn't want to offer a greater share of its surplus to its workforce, but it certainly can do so. The more it pays its workers, the less profitable it will be, but that's capitalism, right? Corporations try to become as profitable as they can be, but they can't just decree that their workers must work for whatever pay they want to offer (that's serfdom).

Companies also don't get to dictate that we must buy their goods at whatever price they set (the would be a planned economy, not a market economy). There's no law that says that when the cost of making something goes up, its price should go up, too. A business that spends $10 to make a widget you pay $15 for has a $5 margin to play with. If the business's costs go up to $11, they can still charge $15 and take $1 less in profits. Or they can raise the price to $15.50 and split the difference.

But when businesses don't face competition, they can make you eat their increased costs. Take Verizon. They made $79b in profit last year, and also just imposed a $4/month service charge on their mobile customers due to "rising operational costs":

https://www.reddit.com/r/LateStageCapitalism/comments/1c53c4p/79bn_in_profits_last_year_but_you_need_an_extra/

Now, Verizon is very possibly lying about these rising costs. Excuseflation is rampant and rising, as one CEO told his investors, when the news is full of inflation-talk, "it’s an opportunity to increase the prices without getting a whole bunch of complaining from the customers":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

But even stipulating that Verizon is telling the truth about these "rising costs," why should we eat those costs? There's $79b worth of surplus between Verizon's operating costs and its gross revenue. Why not take it out of Verizon's bottom line?

For 40 years, neoliberal economists have emphasized our role as "consumers" (as though consumers weren't also workers!). This let them play us off against one-another: "Sure, you don't want the person who rings up your groceries to get evicted because they can't pay their rent, but do you care about it enough to pay an extra nickel for these eggs?"

But again, there's no obvious reason why you should pay that extra nickel. If you have the buying power to hold prices down, and workers have the labor power to keep wages up, then the business has to absorb that nickel. We can have a world where workers can pay their rent and you can afford your groceries.

So how do we get bosses to agree to take less so we can have more? They've told us how: for bosses, the thing that motivates workers to show up for shitty jobs is fear – fear of losing their homes, fear of going hungry.

When your boss says, "If you don't want to do this job for minimum wage, there's someone else who will," they're telling you that the way to get a raise out of them is to engineer things so that you can say, "If you don't want to pay me a living wage for this job, there's someone else who will."

Their accusation – that you only give someone else a fair shake when you're afraid of losing out – is a confession: to get them to give you a fair shake, we have to make them afraid. They're showing us who they are, and we should believe them.

In her Daily Show appearance, FTC chair Lina Khan quipped that monopolies are too big to care:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

Philosophers of capitalism are forever praising its ability to transform greed into public benefit. As Adam Smith put it, "It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest." The desire to make as much money as possible, on its own, doesn't produce our dinner, but when the butcher, the brewer and the baker are afraid that you will take your labor or your wallet elsewhere, they pay more and charge less.

Capitalists don't want market economies, where they have to compete with one another, eroding their margins and profits – they want a planned economy, like Amazon, where Party Secretary Bezos and his commissars tell merchants what they can sell and tell us what we must pay:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Capitalists don't want free labor, where they have to compete with rival capitalists to bid on their workers' labor – they want noncompetes, bondage fees, and "training repayment agreement provisions" (TRAPs) that force their workers to stay in dead-end jobs rather than shopping for a better wage:

\https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Capitalists hate capitalism, because capitalism only works if the capitalists are in a constant state of terror inspired by the knowledge that tomorrow, someone smarter could come along and open a better business, poaching their customers and workers, and putting the capitalist on the breadline.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

Being in a constant precarious state makes people lose their minds, and capitalists know it. That's why they work so hard to precaratize the rest of us, saddling us with health debt, education debt, housing debt, stagnating wages and rising prices. It's not just because that makes them more money in the short term from our interest payments and penalties. It's because it de-risks their lives: monopolies and cartels can pass on any extra costs to consumers, who'll eat shit and take it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#overinflated

A workforce that goes to bed every night worrying about making the rent is a workforce that put in unpaid overtime and thank you for it.

Capitalists hate capitalism. You know who didn't hate capitalism? Karl Marx and Freidrich Engels. The first chapter of The Communist Manifesto is just these two guys totally geeking out about how much cool stuff we get when capitalists are afraid and therefore productive:

https://pluralistic.net/SpectreHaunting

But when capitalists escape their fears, the alchemical reaction that converts greed to prosperity fizzles, leaving nothing behind but greed and its handmaiden, enshittification. Google search is in the toilet, getting worse every year, but rather than taking reduced margins and spending more fighting spam, the company did a $80b stock-buyback and fired 12,000 skilled technologists, rather than using that 80 bil to pay their wages for the next twenty-seven years:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Monopoly apologists like to argue that monopolists can rake in the giant profits necessary to fund big, ambitious projects the produce better products at lower prices and make us all better off. But even if monopolists can spend their monopoly windfalls on big, ambitious projects, they don't. Why would they?

If you're Google, you can either spend tens of billions on R&D to keep up with spam and SEO scumbags, or you can spend less money buying the default search spot on every platform, so no one ever tries another search engine and switches:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Compared to its monopoly earnings, the tech sector's R&D spending is infinitesimal:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/11/nor-glom-of-nit/#capitalists-hate-competition

How do we get capitalists to work harder to make their workers and customers better off? Capitalists tell us how, every day. We need to make them afraid.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

Image: Vlad Lazarenko (modified) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wall_Street_Sign_%281-9%29.jpg CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[rahuratna]

The Feast at your Table (Part 1 of 2)

Content: Sexual content (MDNI!), explicit sexual content in next chapter, pining, friends to lovers, food play mentions in this chapter.

Posting some drafts that I've been sitting on for a while. Here goes.

It was official. You had no idea, whatsoever, how deal with your burgeoning attraction to Taishiro Toyomitsu, known to most as the pro-hero Fat Gum.

It wasn't that Taishiro was unapproachable. Quite the opposite. He was the embodiment of comfort, the patron saint of open door policies. There was nobody, out there on the streets he worked so hard to protect, or here within the doors of his agency, that wouldn't trust him with their lives.

Taishiro was kind, effusive, magnanimous and always determined, the kind of man who'd never fail to cheer you up, who'd be the shoulder you could always lean on.

All of which formed the basis for the reasons you couldn't ever let him know how you felt about him. You didn't know when it had started. And by the time you caught it, it was too late, spreading like a rampant infection through your system, weakening you to each and every one of this kind man's habits, gestures and traits.

It wasn't as if heroes were strangers to public attention or people wanting a piece of them. As pro-hero Fat Gum, Taishiro had his fair share of fan mail, propositions and adoring followers. As an employee of his agency, with a quirk that certainly didn't fall under the category of 'flashy' you'd managed to make yourself quietly indispensable over the past year.

It was also why you wouldn't want to pursue anything actively with the man who was essentially your boss. Taishiro was kind to you, as he was to all members of the agency. He'd buy you takeout, make sure to check in on you even with his busy schedule, and even dragged you out of the office at times to have celebratory meals with the team.

There were times when you felt something, perhaps a figment of your sorry, affection-starved imagination, times when you felt his eyes linger on you a moment too long, when his expression would switch from its usual congeniality to something more tender. But you'd studiously brushed away any thought of hidden feelings. On his part, at least. Why would he even look in your direction, anyway?

You certainly weren't anything special. Ordinary you'd always been and ordinary you'd remain. All you had to do was continue being the silent support, the rope that bound this agency together behind the scenes, the one who was always there with the towels, bandages, extra snacks and comforting words, the one who fielded the phone calls and briskly dealt with paperwork nobody else wanted to handle.

On this particular evening, there had been an emergency alert in downtown Esuha City, and Fat Gum along with two of his interns, Kirishima and Amajiki, had been called in to deal with a potential hostage situation. You remained at the office along with the two other employees of the agency, Rei, who handled marketing and publicity and Fukushima who dealt with tech and communications.

It turned out to be a tense evening, fraught with danger, and the added challenge of crowd control, considering how packed the area where the hostage situation occurred had been. By the time everything had been resolved, it was almost 2 am and the ragged heroes, their various sidekicks and interns included, were slowly making their way back to agencies all over the city. The rest of the team had left, packing up and congratulating each other with tired eyes on a job well done.

You remained, however. You wouldn't be able to rest easy without knowing that Taishiro was back safely and had a ready supply of food should he be low on energy. Time ticked by and the elevator pinged with its customary chime. Standing hurriedly at your desk, you breathed a small sigh of relief when Taishiro's bulky form appeared in the doorway to the office.

He'd obviously expended a lot of his fat today, his tall form still bearing a visible protective layer around the middle, the raw brute strength beneath now more evident in the chest and arms. His uniform hung on him. It was dirty and torn in various places, the signature knee pads scuffed and dented. The golden tufts of his unruly hair were streaked with dust and grease. He looked worn down and weary when he came in, but his expression changed to one of surprise and tenderness when he saw you.

You realize that's it's been a while since you've been alone with him. To take your mind off the potential awkwardness your infatuation could induce, you hurry forward and start to warm up some of the food you'd ordered earlier, calling over your shoulder to him.

"I'm glad you're back in one piece. But you look like you need something to eat. I'll have it ready in - "

A large, solid hand on your shoulder cuts off your stream of words.

"Why didn't you go home with the rest?"

"I - well, I was worried."

"About me?"

He huffs out a small laugh, and coming from him, it's never condescending or mocking.

"You never have to worry 'bout me, sweetheart. This ol' body of mine can take a real beating and come out just fine. But hey, I'd never turn down some snacks. Now what ya got for me?"

The endearment rolls so naturally off his tongue, and for a moment, you wonder what he would do if you grabbed his collar and tugged him down towards you. You flush and turn away from him, suddenly very occupied with the pork buns you've been re-heating.

"There's a lot we - I ordered in earlier, because I thought you'd be low on energy. Why don't you go clean up while I handle all of this?"

"Gotcha."

He ambled away, yawning and stretching sore muscles slightly with a groan. He headed to the locker rooms that could be accessed through a door in the hall outside the main office. Normally, you wouldn't hear sounds through the partition so clearly, what with the bustle of the office during the day, but the quiet of night allows you to hear the shuffle of clothes being shed, the water turning on and Taishiro humming tunelessly as he gets in.

Those pork buns just might spontaneously combust under the laser-lit stare you're giving them. If you could just focus on getting this food ready ...

In what feels like too short an interval, you hear Taishiro's slipper-clad feet approaching the office once again. You look up and take him in. He is wearing a simple t-shirt and loose cotton pants, of a size more suited to his current form. He lifts one arm up over his head and his shoulder pops, allowing him to utter a distinctly masculine grunt. The shirt hugs his powerful shoulders and stretches over his abdomen in a way that you find very difficult to look away from. Oblivious, Taishiro approaches, warm eyes gleaming at the spread you've set out for him.

"Well now. You've outdone yourself. You know just what I need, dontcha?"

You hope the shaky laugh you utter doesn't give you away, but then the laugh turns to a yawn and you lift your hand to your mouth in surprise, eyes watering. Taishiro chuckles, but he hasn't touched the food yet and his gaze suddenly holds something warmer, something you hope you're not reading too much into. He reaches across the table and pushes a plate towards you.

"You must be tired too."

"Oh, come on. I've only been here in the office all day. It's just late, that's all."

"Late enough that the rest of the team have gone home hours ago. Now eat what's on your plate."

You pause, chewing on an onigiri.

"Don't worry, I'll just... stay over at the office. We do have the sofa here."

He stares at you, the seriousness of his gaze catching you off guard.

"You're telling me you've slept on the couch before?"

"Um ... "

"That's not okay! If I'd known you'd stayed over when we were out on missions, I would've given you the key to my place. It's only a block from here."

The idea of sleeping in Taishiro's bed, surrounded by sheets that smell of him, on the mattress with the dip in the centre that his body would make, almost shuts your mind down. Luckily, you have the wit to respond.

"You don't have to do that! It's only been ... once or twice, anyway - "

"Once or twice too often. Seriously, I ain't gonna let you sleep on that couch again, princess. Just say the word when you're ready to go and I'll take you over."

Arguing is futile. As accommodating as this man is to each and every request, whether from client or friend, he draws a solid, unwavering line when it comes to certain things. And he won't, absolutely won't, have you take the train home at this time. He even offers to sleep here in the office, if that makes you more comfortable, an option you hastily refuse.

Soon enough, you've both finished the food (the bulk of it having been savoured by Taishiro) and your fingers are tapping against your thigh with the anxiety that has now infested your body as you put on your coat and head out into the street with him. Taishiro has always been a walking furnace, the pleasant heat from his tall form distinct whenever he stands close to you. Proximity to him has never been an issue. His bulk, in his fully fat-protected body, is always taking up space in the office, brushing against you every time he moves past.

His confidence and the manner in which he wore his own skin, with pride and certainty, makes him all the more attractive. Taishiro always welcomes other people into his space, into his protective warmth, and you are lucky enough to fall into that category. He obviously found your spluttering reactions hilarious every time he spread his arms and asked you to 'ride the Fat Taxi'.

As you neared his place, a decent-sized apartment with modest furnishings in a high rise not far from the office, you noticed that he'd fallen uncharacteristically silent.

"Taishiro?"

"Yup?"

"You don't have to have me over, really. I understand if you just want your space and ...  rest after that mission."

He was looking at you now, but your eyes were fixed on the street ahead.

"Told you before. It's no issue at all. You'll be safe at my place, and that's what counts. Plus, I know you. You don't even want to go near the train station. You don't like the cold. Come on now. I know you want that hot cocoa and good ol' fleece blanket."

He wiggled his fingers in what was obviously supposed to be gesture of entrapment. You'd never seen anything less threatening and a laugh burst from your throat.

"Fine. I do want that fleece blanket."

The elevator ride up to his apartment was a strange reversal of roles. Taishiro was the one who now seemed a little on edge, while you were humming slightly, imagining the hot shower and comforting softness of the blankets that awaited you. It was just him. Just Taishiro. Just the man you'd already spent so much your time with. You could handle this. Nothing to worry about.

He unlocked and held the door open for you, hitching up his pants slightly. The fabric was still loose on him, even after the snacks you'd provided. You entered and immediately sighed at the warmth which greeted you. Taishiro came in, toeing off his shoes in the entryway.

"Make yourself at home. There's towels in that cupboard, middle shelf, if you need them. The bathroom is that way."

It was common knowledge that Taishiro preferred to wash off the grime of his missions at the agency showers instead of his own bathroom. You supposed that it was something to do with the desire of many heroes to create a separation between the peace of home and the slog of hero work. All the same, you couldn't help but admire the relaxing, muted colors and panel work in the bathroom, the tub huge enough to accommodate someone of Taishiro's height and bulk, with space left over.

Locking the door behind you, you unzipped the small carry bag you always packed in case of having to stay overnight at the agency. It contained a simple silk shift and shorts, a change of underwear and some toiletries. Outside, you could hear Taishiro moving around in the lounge and kitchen, pots and pans clanking. He dropped something with a loud clatter and you heard him mumbling softly.

You ran a bath, scrubbed yourself clean and got into the tub, thinking carefully over his behaviour since you had arrived. There was something different than usual. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was nervous. Surely not? How many times had the two of you worked long hours together, spending almost every day enmeshed in each other's company when he was at the office? All the same...

Standing, you dried yourself off and dressed in your sleep clothes. Suddenly feeling a little self conscious at how much the sheer shirt and shorts revealed, you slung your cardigan over them, slowly opening the door and heading out.

The scent of burning came from the kitchen. Worried, you hurried over. Taishiro was very proficient at cooking, so it was surprising for you to see him like this, waving his hands through the smoke that permeated the air, coughing slightly. The blackened remains of what looked like pancakes lay curled and shriveled at the bottom of a pan. Taishiro looked up to meet your concerned gaze and froze, one large hand coming up to sheepishly scratch the back of his head.

"Ahhh ... sorry about this. I was just ... making pancakes and ... yeah. I guess I wasn't watching them closely enough, ya know?"

You stepped slowly towards him, as if approaching a skittish animal. You'd never had this issue with him before.

"Are you okay? Was it ... something that happened on the mission today? You seem out of sorts."

Placing a hand on his arm, all earlier hesitation forgotten in the warmth you felt for this man, you couldn't help how your body gravitated to be closer to him. He had always been the one to surround everyone with his reassuring presence, his natural charisma buoying up your spirits. Surely, this was one thing you could offer him in return.

"Why don't you go sit, Taishiro. I can handle the pancakes."

For once, you were met with silence as Taishiro looked down at your hand. His gaze travelled along your wrist, lingering on the button-down front of your cardigan, held together over the shift beneath. There was a gentle fire burning in that glance that you could in no way explain through platonic means. The warmth of his regard was removed from your person as quickly as it had arrived. You plucked away your hand from his arm and his shoulders sagged a little.

"It ain't that. The mission went well. I just - I'm - "

He raised a hand and swept it back through his hair, tousling the golden strands even further, before turning to you.

"Ah, it doesn't matter. It's 3 am and you ain't even in bed yet. That's a crime."

"Not until you talk to me."

Determination was straightening your posture, allowing you to look him in the eye without any of the usual nerves that plagued you in his presence.

"I - c'mon sweetheart." The word rolled out differently on his tongue, wrapped in the sort of hushed intimacy reserved for lovers. "I can't ... don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything- "

"You could never make me feel uncomfortable."

"Well ... it's just that ... I've never had you over before. Like this, I mean. It's just a little ... you know."

Oh. Oh.

The simple fact that he felt this way, that the implication of being alone with you at his apartment carried the same weight for him as it did for you ...

Something in your expression must have changed because he was hastily waving his hands and attempting some form of what he must have thought of as damage control.

"I mean, it ain't every day that you come over here. And sure, I'm a pro-hero and all, but ... " he paused to chuckle ruefully, "I guess I'm just like the average guy when it comes to having a ... lovely lady like you over. I just ... was wondering if being here was okay for you. I wasn't being pushy or anything, I just wanted you to be safe."

"Taishiro."

Your voice was soft, some part of the slow, steady creep of passion you kept hidden from him on a daily basis filtering through. You couldn't help yourself.

"Taishiro, I was ... also a little nervous to come over here. Not because I don't trust you. I trust you with my life. You know that. It's more... to do with the same reason you're ... feeling the way you are now."

There. You'd gone and said it. You'd finally let him know some small part of what you felt for him. He was staring at you with his mouth slightly open. Something about how ridiculous this situation was, two grown adults behaving like hormonal teenagers simply because they were under the same roof and feeling attraction to one another, snapped you back to some form of reality.

You covered your mouth and looked down. Taishiro raised an eyebrow.

"Are you giggling?"

"What? I don't giggle."

"Oh yeah you do. When you think nobody's looking."

"So you're watching that closely?"

He glanced down at the pan and prodded at the burnt remains of the pancake. He was also smiling now.

"Ahh ... okay, yeah. Most times. Can't help it."

"I see. Now do you want help with those pancakes or not?"

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"That thin little sweater you have on ain't gonna do the job in this cold. I got some warmer stuff in my closet. Go choose something and then you can help me."

Seeing that he had finally regained a semblance of his usual hearty confidence, you smiled and did as he asked. You'd never seen the interior of Taishiro's bedroom before. The decor was simple, with plenty of room to accommodate him moving around. The bed looked custom made, reinforced and sturdy, a huge mattress cushioning the top.

Hastily looking away, you approached the built-in closet against the right wall and opened one of the doors. It took you a while to find a suitable sized sweater, and when you did, it was obvious that even the smallest size he had would be very, very large on you. At least you'd be warmer. Shrugging, you slipped off your cardigan and had just taken the sweater from where it hung, when Taishiro entered the bedroom.

"Hey, you want syrup and cinnamon with your pancakes or just - "

He stopped dead, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. If you'd been alone in your own home, your choice of sleepwear would never have raised any issues. Suddenly, you were very conscious of just how sheer the material was, how you'd forgone a bra in the desire for comfort, how the shorts were little better than underwear, now that you really thought about it.

It wasn't as if your body was anything special to look at, at least, in your view. You considered yourself average in most aspects, definitely on the curvy side. Your work clothes were always modest enough to never draw attention. Taishiro, however, was looking at you as if you'd somehow covered yourself in syrup in lieu of the pancakes. Your breathing accelerated a little, and with the way he was watching the rise and fall of your chest, it would probably be very hard for him to miss it.

He swallowed thickly and turned his head.

"Uh, sorry. Didn't know you were still looking for the ... ah ... "

"The sweater."

"Yeah. That. Found one?"

"I did."

You waved the garment around and he must have seen it in his peripheral vision, because he nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets, as if not quite sure what to do with them.

"Okay. Well, when you're ready, the pancakes are done. Come and get yours."

Hurriedly pulling the sweater over your head, you followed him into the living room. Although you weren't particularly hungry, you wanted to keep him him company while he ate, at the very least. Taishiro was now pouring steaming milk into a mug, before stirring and handing you the cocoa.

"One sugar. Just how ya like it."

You didn't know whether it was the encounter you'd just had with him in the bedroom, but somehow, everything he said now seemed laced with innuendo. It didn't help that his warm, deep voice was huskier than usual, that his honey-brown eyes were helplessly tracing the shape of your legs when he thought you were looking away.

You shifted in your seat as your own growing arousal threatened to unseat your composure. You ate the pancakes he placed in front of you and wondered what it would feel like to cover those thick fingers of his in syrup and slowly take them into your mouth with him watching. Your knees brushed against his under the table and you thought of how easy it would be to straddle him, the plush flesh of his stomach cushioning your abdomen. You took a sip of your cocoa and wondered whether he'd taste as rich. You thought of his skin, the soft growth of barely visible stubble on his jaw, the wide and generous mouth, those heavy, powerful hips and how they might undulate between your trembling thighs.

Taishiro has always been so open, so free with his emotions, and now that same transparency is doing little to hide just how much he wants you when he catches your eye across the table. He takes another bite, as if making an effort to tear his gaze away.

"Are these any good? I kinda rushed them."

"They're wonderful. Your batter is always the best."

If it had been a normal day at the office, your comment would have passed unnoticed. Under these circumstances, though, with this tension growing in the air between you both, Taishiro choked slightly. You felt a rush of embarrassed heat cross the bridge of your nose. He cleared his throat.

"Ahh, err, thanks. It's ... just pretty basic. My batter gets the job done."

He was just making it worse. With a sense of impending horror, you felt your nervous giggle coming on. It slipped out of you in a short, staccato burst and Taishiro looked up, surprised, before his own lips quirked upward in amusement. His belly started to shake slightly with repressed amusement. Seeing that contagious smile of his pushed you over the edge. Your shoulders began to heave and you leaned back in your chair and tried to breathe evenly as Taishiro's chuckles grew louder as well. Before long, you were both helpless with laughter.

Wiping your eyes on a nearby serviette you regard him with fondness. This sweetest of all men. He clears his throat and pushes aside his empty plate.

"You don't look so tired anymore. Did my pancakes liven you up?"

"Kind of. They've fooled my body into thinking it doesn't need sleep."

"Lucky tomorrow is a day off, then. The guys from Trackstar's agency will cover the regular shifts and call us in if anything goes wrong. Feel free to sleep in."

"I can't do that, Taishiro. I don't want to inconvenience you," you remind him, gently.

He looks disappointed for a second, before his beautiful countenance brightens once more.

"Hey, come to think of it, there's a farmer's market I wanted to check out on the city limits. Think you'd want to come along?"

"Oh? I'd love that! I haven't been to a farmer's market in ages."

"Then stay here a bit longer. We can just leave together tomorrow."

You don't miss the slightly pleading note in his voice. It softens you in ways that only he can achieve.

"Okay, sure. That's a good idea."

Face as excited as a child with a new toy at this news, Taishiro stands and collects your plate and his.

"Right, off to bed with you."

You hesitate, and he scratches his chin, as if having anticipated your question.

"I have a guest room, just down the hall. I made up the bed while you were in the bathroom."

"Oh, thanks. I'll... head off to bed then."

"Er, yeah. Have a good sleep!"

Hurriedly turning away from each other, you both head in opposite directions. The guest bedroom is smaller, but no less comfortable. You slowly crawl between the covers and realise that he'd thrown the fleece blanket he'd spoken about over the duvet. You take the warm material between your fingers and stroke it gently. A rush of uncontrolled feelings, of all the desire and affection you have for this man, comes flooding through you.

It is at that moment, of course, that a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. You call for him to enter and he does, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly in pleasure when he sees you tucked away, sitting comfortably under the covers. He places a glass of water on the bedside table.

"Just leaving this here in case you get thirsty. It gets cold up here at night. Wouldn't want you freezing your toes off in the kitchen."

He's about to leave, when you capture his large hand hesitantly in your own. He stills immediately, glancing down to where your fingers wrap around his.

"Thank you, Taishiro. For letting me stay here."

He remains like this for a minute, facing away from you, as if fully aware of just how much his expression would betray him. He raises your hand to his lips, slowly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of it.

"Anytime, sweetheart. You can come over ... whenever you feel like."

He doesn't, however, relinquish his grasp on you. You raise your other hand and trace your fingers with infinite softness over his larger knuckles, the surface scarred from old injuries and trauma. He shivers slightly under the contact and you close your eyes before placing that hand against your cheek.

These same palms that slammed a runaway vehicle to a dead stop last week. The same fists that punched a hole through a cement wall to get to the people trapped in a flooded basement. These same hands that protected from stray bullets, that ruffled the hair of his shy intern, that pushed extra sweets into your lunch box when you weren't looking. You had no adequate words for what he made you feel, for how his very presence tugged at some place deep inside of you, creating a void that could never be appeased until you were close to him.

Taishiro's unsteady breathing was loud in the small room, which had suddenly become unaccountably warmer. Before you could fully process what was happening, your body was being tugged gently, but firmly closer to his, your chin  being tilted up until his warm breath washed over you. You opened your eyes and felt a delicious, heavy heat settle in your abdomen when you saw how he wasn't bothering, in the slightest, to conceal how much he wanted you.

His gaze wandered languidly over your face, scorching where it travelled, and then he was leaning forward, mouth capturing yours, his sudden intake of breath echoed by yours. His kiss was like basking in afternoon sunshine, deliciously warm and comforting, hungry as he always was, eager and slightly clumsy. His hands were now on either side of your waist, just beneath your breasts, thumbs stroking dangerously upward. Your arms were coming up as he deepened the kiss, wrapping around his wide neck, fingers tangling in his soft, soft hair.

Taishiro pulled away, breathing hard, unconsciously licking his lips to retain some of your taste. His grip on your body tightened briefly, asking a tentative question, the answer to which pooled like molten honey down there, where you wanted to feel him most. You nodded wordlessly and your breath was briefly snatched away as he tugged at the duvet and looped one arm beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly out of the bed. The soft, intimate ache of desire in his voice, what had been lingering under the surface all evening, was now laid bare as he pressed his lips against your ear.

"C'mon angel. I'll get you real warm tonight."

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Farewell pt. 2

Farewell: Part 1

Champagne Problems: Part 1, Part 2

Max sat in the simulator, letting the sound of the car take over the void within his mind. He wasn't talking much which wasn't like him. He instead just focused on the driving lines in front of him. "Max?" The voice tore his from his empty thoughts and soon enough he was back to reality. "Max? Would you mind just pulling it in please? PR are looking for you." Max shut his eyes in frustration and agreed. "Yeah, just let me finish up the lap." He replied.

Max had gotten out of the elevator and walked towards the main office. He stopped once he spotted Y/n standing outside looking equally as confused. "Y/n." He said lowly. "Max." She replied. "Do you know what this is about?" Y/n shrugged. "Haven't a clue." The door opened and there stood Helmut, looking more stern than usual, which was never a good sign. "Helmut-"

"Sit down." The young drivers swallowed the lumps in their throat and agreed, walking in promptly before following their orders. "Tea? Coffee? Anything anyone wants before we get started?" Christian asked, looking around the room. In all honesty, you could cut the tension with knife. Christian nodded. "Okay, marketing. Go ahead." Max and Y/n's attention shifted from their angry bosses to the head of Marketing now. "So, you may be wondering why you two have been called here, and why the entire PR team is here." She paused. "And Helmut and Christian, so we are just going to get down to the gritty stuff and get it out of the way."

She set her tablet down and slid it towards the two drivers. Their eyes went wide and they were both speechless. A video of Y/n leaving the storage closet with Max following her only moments later, appearing to be fixing his tie and sticking his hair back. She took the tablet back. "We were hoping to get an explanation for this."As opened and closed his mouth, trying desperately to form an answer but finding himself unable to. "An altercation. Me and Max were drunk and we argued so we headed elsewhere to settle our dispute. Anything else or can we get back to work?" Y/n lied, her arms folded across her chest. "Max? Is this right?" Max nodded quietly. "So nothing happened in that supply closet?" The two drivers shook their head. "Do you both promise?" A simple "yes" from the pair was all it took to resolve the issue before the team went about forming a statement for the public. "You will have to put out a statement regarding your rumoured affairs of course. Max, it may be a little bit more difficult with you being in a relationship but-"

"I'm single. I've been single since December." Confused glances we're shared around the room as Max looked to the ground. "You- single? You've been single?" Max nodded. "I've just been keeping it quiet. I don't really want to have people talking about that." The room grew silent, leaving Max to finally think about the breakup for the first time since it has happened.

Max stood nervously in the dimly lit hallway, his heart pounding as he prepared to have a conversation that would change everything. The echoes of laughter and music from the gala party lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the tension that now filled the space.

"Kelly, we need to talk." Max began, his voice shaking. Kelly turned to face him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What's there to talk about, Max? This is supposed to be a celebration, and you're acting all weird."

Max took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak his truth. "I can't do this anymore, Kelly. We're not right for each other, and I need to be honest with you. I've realized that I'm in love with someone else." Kelly's expression shifted from confusion to anger. "Are you kidding me, Max? After all this time? Who is it? Do I know her?"

Max hesitated, his gaze shifting to the floor. "It's Y/n." Kelly's eyes flared, and she snapped, "Y/n? Your teammate? Are you serious, Max? You're throwing away our relationship for someone you work with? This is absurd!" Max attempted to explain, but it was no use. It just sounded pathetic. "It's not about throwing anything away. It's about being honest with ourselves and each other. I can't continue living a lie." Kelly scoffed. "What? Did you sleep with her?" Max nodded, regret heavy in his eyes. "I never meant for it to happen." He whispered.

A tense silence hung in the air before Kelly exploded, "You selfish asshome! How could you do this to me?" Max tried to explain again but Jelly was beyond mad. This was the angriest he had ever seen her and they never really brought this side out in the other before. "Kelly, I just couldn't lie anymore. I had to be honest with you." She laughed at his poor excuse."Honesty? Now? After you cheated on me with your 20 year old teammate? You should be ashamed!" Kelly's voice rose, a bitter edge cutting through the air. She grabbed her purse off the sofa and stormed into their bedroom"I deserve better than this, Max."

"Well that's one less problem then." Y/n looked up in disgust. "That's a bit harsh. They broke up less than a month ago." She said. "Yes, but it's one less PR stunt we have to do." Y/n scoffed. "I can't believe you guys would even say that to him!" Max gave his teammate a small smile. "They're right though. Less work for us." Y/n shook her head. "That doesn't make it right, Max." She tapped her nails off the desk in front of her in frustration. "We'll cover the press releases, you two can head back to whatever you were doing."

"Thank you." Max mumbled once they left the office. Y/n looked up to him. "Pardon?" She asked. "Thank you. For what you said in there. Thank you for being on my side." Y/n nodded. "You're my teammate. That's what I'm meant to do." She replied as the continued walking down the hallway.

In the dimly lit elevator, Max and Y/n exchanged their usual intense glances as the silence between them grew thicker. Max broke it with a smirk. "Quite the meeting, wasn't it?" Y/n's once serious expression turned to a smile as she chuckled. "Youre about to do something very stupid." The air tingled with unspoken words until Max stepped forward. "Max." She warned. "Just once." He looked down, his gaze switching from her eyes to her lips. "No regrets?" Y/n's heart raced at his words. "None." In that moment, the tension peaked, and Max leaned in, sealing their unspoken connection with a lingering kiss. Y/n's hand scavenged the elevator wall, praying she hit the emergency stop button.

"I've wanted to do this all winter." Max murmured against her lips, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and desire. Y/n grinned against his lips. "Me too." She admitted, her voice barely a whisper as she leaned in to kiss him once more. The elevator door binged as they quickly pulled away, trying to disguise themselves panting for breath before Max quickly walked out, back to his work at the simulator. Y/n quickly pressed the closed door button, her face red. She slumped against the wall. Her eyes screwed shut as she practically clawed her eyes out with her fingers. "Fuck." She whispered over and over again. She let it happen again. She just came from a meeting promising this didn't happen and it just happened....yet again.

[lady-ashfade]

Could you please do poly! Crows x Male reader who’s tall and selective mute?(family trauma) He’s kinda like a mix of Kaz and Inej: doesn’t show emotion and his footsteps are silent. On the rare occasion, the crew will see him turn his head to hide a smile. I imagine they all just got back from an intense heist, reader was near passing out injured, and he mumbles about how much he loves them and he thanks them for dealing with him while tears slowly drip down his bruised face. Whole time Nina and Inej are tending his wounds trying not to cry, Wylan is curled up near him and Jespers is holding his hand while Matthias and Kaz are kinda just standing around. (I tried to give detail to make it easier, I’m sorry if that was a lot)

Tall Idiot

Poly!Crows x male reader.

Notes: Not as long as I wanted it to but I had to get it out, so hopefully you’ll enjoy still.

Warnings: Wounds, kinda angsty but comforting. Nothing much I can say.

“Keep your eyes open.”

Matthias told you while he held your body in his arms, he was only one who could carry you. The others followed behind him, Wylan by his side and smiling at you. Nina on the other side make sure to keep focus on your heart beat. As if the wound was fatal and they couldn’t save you. But this wasn’t that kinda of wound or at least not at that point yet.

Each of their minds worried about you in this moment and thought about what would happen if you drew your last breath. They wouldn’t get to see you try and hind your smile or how kind you could be dispute acting cold. On late nights you would join Jesper to keep watch and pull him off of the gambling table or just kept him company, Wylan tagging along most times.

Then when you helped Nina with whatever she needed around the bar, or walked with her to the market. Inej was glad to have you along on a job because you were just as good at being quiet, or when you two would hang out on the rooftops. Kaz would miss the way you curled up with a book in his office while he did his paperwork or plans. Matthias would miss you laying on his shoulders while he read a book or spend your legs across his lap to lay down.

They all had things to miss.

“Just a bit longer.” Wylan said trying to comfort you. The door to the shared house only a few steps away. You could see how panicked they were over you, how they tried so hard not to loss it. You didn’t speak much and maybe it was the sleep taking ahold of you, or them showing you again just how much they loved you, you started to talk.

“M’Fine,” you slurred a bit and your eyelids started to get heavy. “Thank you.” You look up at them, kaz and Inej now coming into view from behind. All pairs of eyes are on you, “No need to thank us, dear.” Inej came close and pushed the hair off your face. A small curled up as you sighed, “No thank you for putting up with me.,” your hands feel from your side and eyes finally closing shut, “I love you…” then you were out cold.

Kaz watched and his body began to feel the water surrounding him, “Upstairs now.” He shouted and they all moved fast. They rush upstairs and lay you onto the bed, Nina trying to heal you as best she can as Inej goes to get the supplies.

After everything, Inej is wrapping you up and Nina helping her. Wylan is sitting on the bed pressing a wet cloth onto your forehead while Jesper sits beside the bed and holds your hand. Kaz watches from the chair in the corner as if his body is frozen in place. Matthias along side him as he leans on the wall staring at you, as if he were to look away you’d disappear.

“You big tall idoit,” Nina leans closer with tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe he said “Put up with him.” When we are the ones to annoy him.” Jesper jokes while he is in the same state as Nina and he gives your hand a squeeze. “He’s a handsome idiot.”

Inej bows to her knees beside Nina and says her soft prays to wish you a healthily recovery, and to thank them for not taking you away.

Kaz raises from his chair and makes his way over, “He’s not gone yet.” His tone doesn’t sound comforting but he’s trying. He just needed to state facts “He’s stubborn.” Inej looked up at him and offers a smile. Matthias sighs and moved over to the group and stands behind Nina and puts his hands on her shoulders, sending his own prayers out.

They would all watch over you and kept you safe. All six of them loved you to ends of the earth and back.

[headfulloflettuce]

The Human Who Fooled All of Prythian

16. Open for Business

“Cosette! Are you even listening? Do you realize how irresponsible this decision was?”

Cosette stood patiently, waiting for Ophelia to finish the very much-deserved lecture. Theo and his father stood awkwardly behind Ophelia as she explained why Cosette shouldn’t have given away one thousand gold so easily. 

“Ophelia, I hear you.” Cosette spoke up, taking Ophelia’s short pause as an opportunity to resolve this conflict, “I agree with you, but we had been searching for a week with no luck. No place was willing to sell to us considering we want to open a perfumery.”

“Still…” Ophelia sighed, running a hand through her hair, “What if this business won’t take off? You spent a large sum of our money…”

“It will do well.” Cosette spoke confidently.

At the very least it had to be popular amongst the nobility and upper middle class.

“As for the money, if it had been any other building we would have had to pay twice as much, if not four times that amount; meaning, we would have had to take out a loan. All things considered we got really lucky with this find.”

I'll need to write up a detailed spending plan though. 1000 gold is a lot.

“Which is partially why I am concerned.” Ophelia calmed a bit, hearing Cosette’s reasoning, “Why would those people sell this building to you for so cheap?”

“Well, it’s not in the greatest condition.” The floorboards creaked as Cosette spoke, “And even though it’s near the center it’s not smack-dab in the middle of it.”

The two males tensed, sharing a look.

“Wait, you wish to open a perfumery?” Theo spoke up.

“Yep.” Cosette confirmed.

“See? I told you we should go.” the elder whispered to his son.

“Do you understand how challenging it is to sell perfume?” Theo asked, ignoring his father’s urgency.

“I recognize that, but there is a market for it. The available products aren’t good and I know I can deliver something of much higher quality.” Cosette spun around, taking in the building’s interior.

Despite its older and disheveled appearance, the building was quite nice inside, with various wooden trinkets lining the cabinets and shelves.

“What did you both primarily sell?” Cosette asked, gently examining a small dragon figurine.

“We are both trained craftsmen. We worked with wood to make various tools, furniture, and toys.” Theo explained, staring at the floor as Ophelia, who was still unhappy with the situation, glared at him. 

Located at the end of the room was a counter with two staircases on either side leading up to a mezzanine that wrapped around the second floor, full of disorganized tables.

Good news; no need to buy new furniture!

She was definitely trying to stay on the positive note of things considering the mezzanine looked really messy. Cosette walked deeper into the shop, taking mental note of what they would need to fix or reuse, Ophelia and the two men trailing after her. She carefully hopped behind the counter, entering the backroom area where there was a storage space and what looked like a room dedicated to construction work filled with pieces of wood, and carving materials. A sweet smell hung in the air.

“Do you guys cook here?” Cosette sniffed, trying to pinpoint the scent.

“Oh no, it’s just the soaps.” the elder answered quickly.

“Soaps?”

The older man showed her a cabinet under a small basin filled with various cleaning supplies, “We use these to clean whenever we finished work or polished our creations.”

Cosette nodded.

How did you even clean for it to still look this…unkempt? If I called this clean back in Autumn Court my head would have been put on a spike.

The group moved upstairs, stepping inside the main office.

Oh, it was pretty. Neglected, but pretty.

Large windows behind a desk illuminated the room and presented the view of the street below. Both sides of the office were lined by empty, dusty shelves.

“What was this room used for?”

“Oh, we just stored paperwork here.” Theo pipped in.

“Did you not use it as an office?”

“No, we didn’t need to.” the older man retorted.

‘Didn’t need to’? Ha.

Cosette didn’t push the subject, sensing the older man’s wounded pride.

If one doesn’t have a properly functioning center of management, nothing will get done. 

She eyed the scattered paperwork, running her finger along the oak desk, the three fae watching her quietly.

I wouldn’t be surprised if their lack of organization was part of the reason for their business’s downfall.

“Well then.” she smiled at the group, “We better get started.”

“Do we really have to clean the whole store?” Theo was borderline whining as he scrubbed the floor clean, dust and paint slowly coming away to reveal the beautiful cherry wood flooring beneath.

“Yes, we do.” Cosette wiped down the windows from the inside, while Ophelia cleaned them from the outside. The elder fae was tasked with unloading the paperwork from cabinets and drawers into boxes, since Theo insisted that he couldn’t do hard, physical labor, “Right now it looks like an abandoned haunted house. People don’t tend to want to shop in those.”

Theo sighed dramatically, scrubbing the floor harder. 

Cosette and Ophelia finished cleaning the windows, moving onto the shelves and cabinets.

“We’ll need to get a long stick to clean the top part of the porch.” Ophelia said, throwing away a dirty rag, disgusted by the collected grime.

“There is a broom in the back.” the elder said.

“That should work.” Ophelia disappeared into the back, returning with a broom, using it to clean the porch and ridges of the building.

“I am done.” the older fae put the last piece of paper into a box.

“Perfect, can you take them upstairs?” Cosette smiled.

“I’ve got it father.” Theo quickly grabbed the boxes instead, taking them upstairs.

The elder smiled fondly, watching his son go upstairs. Ophelia gave Cosette a small look, assigning the elder more paperwork to sort through and catalog away.

The man sighed, “Is this necessary? Can’t we just throw all this out?”

You want to throw away years worth of evidence of your hard work?

“Well, we can throw them out later. For now it’s best to gather them all into boxes for easy transport.” Cosette explained calmly.

Also, if I'm being completely honest, I want to see what went wrong with your business.

“Hmpf.” the elder nodded, reluctantly continuing his work.

“Alright, good work team.” Cosette smiled. The shop was no longer filled with dust, the tables and floors looking usable, “Tomorrow we’ll meet up here at 8 am to continue cleaning.”

“That early?!” Theo exclaimed.

Ophelia glared murder at the man.

Remind me to never whine in front of Ophelia.

“Yes, that early.”

Cosette was starting to see why these two were in so much debt.

“I want to be working on perfume production by the end of the week, so tomorrow we will clean out the back two rooms and continue to gather all your documents and supplies for record keeping.”

The two men nodded hesitantly, remaining at the shop, in the two rooms accessible through the mezzanine near the main office. Meanwhile, Cosette and Ophelia walked back to the inn in silence. Cosette hesitantly glanced at her friend.

“I am sorry.”

Ophelia looked at her.

“I should have asked you before buying the building. I just…” Cosette looked down at the ground, “We weren’t getting anywhere, and when the perfect opportunity presented itself I couldn’t let it go.”

Ophelia sighed, pulling Cosette into a side hug, “I get it. I am sorry for going off on you like that. It’s not even my money, you’re the one who…accumulated it”

Is that what we’re calling stealing now?

“That’s not fair.” Cosette shook her head. She wasn’t about to make Ophelia financially dependent on her in that way. It would be cruel.

“We survived this far together, I didn’t mean to undermine that.”

Ophelia laughed, “Oh…if more fae had your decency and kindness.” she looked down at her Cosette, “Are you going to try and help those two pay off their debt?”

“I am hoping that once we start selling perfumes I can pay them a salary which can cover that. You’re also going to get paid. Obviously.”

“Well gee I would hope so.” Ophelia laughed, bumping into Cosette playfully.

When they got back to the inn Blanche was serving the inn’s guests dinner. Ophelia dug into the food while Cosette slowly nibbled, staring at the parchment before her.

The main issue was money; they only had about four hundred and fifty silvers left.

I still needed to purchase the necessary equipment and glass vials for perfume production. We could save money on renovations by not using the building immediately and instead selling the perfumes outside in the fresh air. 

While they were exploring the city Cosette had recorded the most lucrative places to purchase glassware and materials for perfumes. A huge cost saving benefit came from the fact that perfumes in Winter Court traditionally were made to be so strong that all the materials sold for them were highly concentrated. Meaning, Cosette could save money by purchasing the necessary supplies and then diluting to achieve a more gentle version of the scent. 

I’ll begin with creating non-alcohol based perfumes as that permits me to reach a wider audience thus earning a larger profit.

Cosette frowned.

Despite all this, we’re barely fitting into the budget. Unless…I don’t eat breakfast and dinner. That way I could give the spending margin some wiggle room.

Cosette nodded approvingly, looking over her work.

“Don’t forget to eat.” Ophelia reminded her between mouthfuls of the soup.

“Right..”

Cosette savored the broth’s taste while she could.

Cosette had begun looking through the paperwork Theo and his father had filed while running their business, slowly discovering all the reasons why their business fell apart. First off, some of the first goods they had been trying to sell were considered luxury items that had high quality competition in the area with better marketing. Second, their turn out time for tools and toys was extremely low if she was to trust the listed dates on production records. Even if fae liked their products, there was too little being produced in too long a time frame.

A small knock pulled Cosette out of her thoughts.

“Yes?”

Theo opened the door to the office, giving her a small smile, “Ophelia brought lunch.” 

“Oh thank you.”

Theo walked over, putting a small sandwich down on the desk, turning to leave.

“Wait.”

He stopped, looking back at her, “Yes?” The man looked much better than his first day here. Not clean, but properly groomed hair and tucked-in clothes.

“I wanted to ask, how much debt do you still owe those men?” Cosette put her face into her hands, watching Theo closely.

“Ah…” Theo rubbed the back of his head nervously, “May I ask why you want to know?”

I need to know how high to price the perfumes and how much to pay you two so that you can pay off your debts at the end of this. That way I won’t feel as bad for stealing your home away…

“I want to help you. To do that I need to know how much money you owe.”

“Oh.” Theo stared at her with wide eyes, “It’s um…6000 gold.”

Okay damn.

“Do you have any money saved already?”

“Um…I haven’t told my father yet, because I wanted to surprise him, but I have saved up 2,500.”

Oh, not as bad.

“I can work with that.” Cosette jotted down the information.

“Aren’t you…going to ask why we owe so much?”

“Isn’t it because of your business?” Cosette looked at him.

“Yes…that’s what it started off with but it steadily got worse because of my father’s sickness.”

“He’s sick? What is he sick with?”

“The doctors haven’t been able to diagnose him, but the medicine the men provided him with helped.”

“Are they doctors?” Cosette raised her eyebrows.

They didn't look like they worked in the medical business.

“They’re not, but a healer who works for them said it was good for him.”

“I see. Is your father alright right now?”

Safe to assume he hasn't been getting his medication due to the situation.

“We have a small supply, so he will be alright for a while.”

Cosette nodded, “Oh by the way, what was the stuff the group took out of your building?”

“Uh…I am not sure actually. My father said that as part of the deal the men we borrowed money from would use a part of the backroom as storage space for their own business.”

“You don't know what you stored in your own home?” Cosette's voice was a bit harsher than she intended, but she was shocked by the lack of awareness this man was exhibiting, “Do you know what business they run?”

“From what I know, the central company they all work for does something related to shipping.” Theo paused, his voice turning insisting, “I trust my father. He can tell you the details.”

Something tells me your father won’t want to tell me those details.

Cosette smiled, “I'll ask him.”

Theo shifted awkwardly, looking like he wanted to say something.

“Yes?” Cosette looked at him

“I…wanted to say thank you.”

“Pardon?‘

“Thank you for helping us.”

Cosette laughed softly, “Thank me once we both get out of this situation.”

“No. I mean it.” Theo’s face turned serious, “We were about to be left without a home yet you saved me and my father. Now you're offering us a way to pay off our debt. It truly means the world to me.”

Cosette was taken aback. Considering this man's complaining over the past couple days, she had prepared herself to only hope for an amicable parting once this ordeal ended.

“Yeah, don't mention it.”

Just don't do anything that would jeopardize mine or Ophelia's life and we're Gucci.

Theo smiled, “Oh also, I cleared out some more of the equipment in the back and I found some glassware and bottles you mighty find useful.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Yay! Saving money!

Cosette turned back to the paperwork before her, stacking a few of the ledgers she looked over and moving them to the side. She looked through some of the papers listing off all owned materials. Since she wanted to start off selling perfumes outside she would need to set up a stand of sorts. Lucky for her there were plenty of tables in the catalog she could use.

It wasn’t anything fancy but it would do. 

Cosette put away the catalog with her list of renovation plans for the store once they could afford it. The first thing she would change was the flooring of the mezzanine, and the shelves there. Downstairs she wanted to reuse some of the older cabinets in the back for storage and replace them with updated versions. She also wanted to repaint most of the walls, or get some proper wallpaper as she had found peeling paint. Cosette really didn’t want to work in the 2.0 version of Miss Havisham’s house.

She paused suddenly.

What was this?

The ledger she picked up looked completely different from the other ones. Cosette flipped back to the previous one. 

Yep, definitely different. From the paper type to the handwriting.

She compared the two closely. On the surface level it didn’t seem like there was much of a difference, but certain terms kept getting repeated in the new ledger that weren’t present in the other one.

Rosewood, lilac and soaps.

Attached to every other strange ledger was a small list describing the number of shipments to be received.

‘Make room for five boxes of soaps.’

‘Shipment of seven boxes coming this Tuesday.’

‘Store three containers on the left side of the room.’

Cosette had decided to keep the majority of the ledgers she looked through filed within the office and pocket the stack of papers that stuck out the most. 

Just in case they ever came in handy.

“What do you mean no dinner?” Ophelia put her arms on her hips, staring down Cosette.

“I want to make sure we have enough money to start producing perfumes. In order to do that I am skipping breakfast and dinner.”

“Cosette, if anyone should be skipping meals here it’s me. As a fae my body can heal and recover much faster than yours.”

“Ophelia I can’t ask that of you.”

Not after you were denied proper food for so long, or when I threw us head first into this situation.

Ophelia groaned from frustration, stomping downstairs. Cosette continued working on the documents before her, humming gently as she looked over their progress that week. Everything was set up to begin perfume produ-

“Cosette!” Blanche burst into the room.

Uh-oh.

“Yes miss Blanche?” Cosette looked at her bewildered.

“Why is Ophelia telling me that you’re not coming down for dinner?”

“Because we need to save money?”

Blanche huffed, storming away. Ophelia looked sheepish.

“Did you snitch on me?”

“No!” Ophelia waved her hands, a small smile on her lips, “I just told her the truth!”

Cosette sighed.

Blanche quickly returned with an overflowing plate, and an empty one.

“Miss Blanche, really this isn’t necessary.” Cosette protested.

I don’t want to owe you!

“Nonsense.” Blanche placed the plate before Cosette, motioning Ophelia over, “I am giving you one plate of food as requested.”

Cosette looked at the plate. It was obvious the serving size was for two people.

“Miss Bla-”

“And stop it with the ‘miss’ title, just call me Blanche.” The woman looked frustrated.

“Thank you Blanche.” Ophelia dug into the food.

Cosette looked at the food, her stomach growling.

“Eat dear.” Blanche gave Cosette a look similar to the one she gave Fermin when he refused to eat his breakfast.

“Okay.” Cosette reluctantly ate.

I don’t want to owe you…

Cosette glanced back as Blanche left the room, returning to her duties.

Why sacrifice food for us when prices were only rising?

Reading the question on Cosette’s expression Ophelia smiled, “Perhaps she’s just a good person, like someone else I know.” she winked.

“What is that?”

“Glassware for extraction.”

“What’s that?”

“A pot for combining oils and solutions.”

“What’s that?”

“Tubes for diluting substances.”

Cosette had finished cleaning out the back area of the store, turning it into a miniature chemistry lab. The small shelves lining the tables no longer contained tools for carving, but instead beakers and vials.

Theo stared over her shoulder in wonder as she adjusted and examined the simple glasses and tubes. Cosette carefully set up a miniature pot to begin boiling, testing if the equipment worked.

“Do you use any magic to make the perfume?” the elder leaned over as well.

“No.”

“No?”

“No, there is no need.” Cosette replied, smiling slightly at the elder’s shocked expression. The pot’s water began boiling.

Good, everything was working well.

“I rely on alternative methods to produce perfumes.”

“Huh.” the older fae examined the equipment, “I am unsure if that will work well, Winter fae like high quality products. This just seems like a fast way to ruin ingredients.”

“I am not ruining the ingredients, I am extracting the most out of them.” Cosette clarified, concentrating on organizing the glass vials. She would need to be careful with these as she couldn’t afford to replace them at the moment.

Meaning I have only so many chances to get the scents just right.

Theo stared at the set up in wonder, “How many bottles of perfume can you make with this?”

“I’ll need to test the exact amount but I estimate around 20 small bottles per run.” Cosette adjusted a funnel and the improvised filtration paper, pouring some dirty water through it to test its effectiveness.

“We don’t need too many though for the first test run.”

Theo perked up, “You mentioned wanting to sell the perfumes outside since the store isn’t in working condition; have you thought of how you want to set the whole thing up?”

“Hmm, well I was thinking of just setting out a table with some nice cloth on it. Maybe design some signs for it too.” Cosette answered.

“I can build a stand if you want.”

“Sorry?”

“A stand.” he repeated, “Somewhere to store your items and goods to show off to the people outside.”

“You can build that?”

“Of course.” Theo smiled cockily, “I am a woodworker, I can build anything you ask me to!”

“Ha!” the elder man laughed, “Don't even think about bothering with it son. A table is more than enough.”

I am willing to bet money you are responsible for the below product output of your previous business.

Theo deflated slightly, clearly having been excited about the project.

“But I want to. Cosette has been working hard to prepare, it would be good to do something besides cleaning the shop.”

“She hasn’t even begun making the perfumes! It’s all a waste until she has an actual finished product.” the elder stomped out of the back area, muttering under his breath, “Seriously, younglings, always ignoring their elders’ advice.”

Cosette watched the fae leave with narrowed eyes, turning back to Theo.

“If you’re willing to build a stand, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Theo dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand, “You heard what my father said, it won’t make much of a difference.”

“Presentation does matter.” Cosette corrected.

Sometimes it was a matter between life and death.

“The fact that you thought of it is a sign you understand good business practices.”

“Thanks, I am sorry about him. He’s always been a little bit skeptical of change. He really cares about the business we had before and it’s hard for him to let go.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Cosette smiled, “You haven’t done anything.”

Theo stared at her, blushing slightly, “I’ll um, get started on designing the stand.”

“I look forward to seeing what you create.”

“Cosette…get in bed.” Ophelia murmured sleepily, turning off the lights.

“I will in a bit.” Cosette poured over paperwork filled with chemical equations and formulas.

I haven’t done synthetic organic chemistry in a while.

Cosette scrunched her nose, drawing out the necessary chemical reactions she would need to recreate to produce the selected scents. She had settled on cinnamon and vanilla as her launching points. She was having to simplify certain parts, simply because she didn’t have access to technology of Earth, but it would still produce the required effect.

Her other concern was her own scent. 

How was I supposed to make a scent that acted as a void? One that could mask my humanity?

Cosette stared at the papers before her, words and letters beginning to warp together. She flinched, feeling two hands gently wrap around her in a hug. The arms stopped, pulling back.

“Sorry.” Ophelia said softly, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright, you didn’t do anything.”

You weren’t the one to hurt me.

Cosette let Ophelia lead her over to the bed, snuggling close as Ophelia blew out the last candle.

Cosette lay there, engulfed by the darkness. She didn’t feel happy, but she didn’t feel sad either.

Yeah…this is okay.

“This is boring.”

“It’s necessary.”

Oh my Lord, like father, like son.

Cosette took a deep breath to remain calm. She had tried to be understanding of Theo’s initial reactions to repetitive work, but the fact that a grown-ass man couldn’t put together that sometimes success requires doing something less ‘fun’ was crazy.

No wonder Theo was the way he was, his father is no better.

She glanced at Theo who was working on unpacking glassware with no complaints.

“What should I do once I get these put away?” 

He even looked different. Gone was the unhappy expression, replaced with a small burning passion. Theo had shown Cosette his designs for the stand he wanted to build which she quickly approved. The display looked inviting and well structured to contain many bottles of perfumes.

She had to insist Theo keep the designs as they were after his father tried to critique and correct them.

“Can you bring over the bottles on the right?” Cosette examined the boiling cinnamon sticks and powder, taking the pot off at the appropriate time.

The elder sighed heavily, continuing to write out labels. Theo quickly did what she asked, rushing over to the older man.

“Here father, I can take care of this. You go take a break.”

“Oh, thank you, boy.” the elder smiled, quickly leaving the room.

Cosette narrowed her eyes. She had always been taught to respect her elders. To treat those who are weaker with kindness and compassion. However, as far she could see…this man did not deserve the same treatment.

What kind of parent shoves work onto their child? What kind of man actively puts down their son’s good ideas?

Suddenly the elder coughed, stumbling slightly.

“Father?” Theo practically flew over to his parent’s side.

“I am alright boy.”

“You haven’t forgotten to take your medicine, right?”

“I’ll go do that now.”

Cosette shook her head. How could she think that way about a sick person?

He was trying his best.

Cosette forced her judgmental thoughts under.

It was wrong of me to think that.

Yes still, Cosette shivered. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off.

“Cosette, are you ready to go?” Ophelia entered the back room, pulling on her cloak.

“Almost.”

Ophelia smiled fondly, joining Cosette on another stool, “What are you working on?”

“I am finishing up the first perfume samples.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Ophelia leaned in, watching curiously as Cosette mixed solutions together, pouring the two finalized liquids into two separate vials.

“They look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. Which one do you want to try first?”

Ophelia shyly pointed to the yellow toned perfume.

“Vanilla it is.” Cosette handed her the vial, letting Ophelia apply it to herself.

Ophelia carefully spritzed the air, taking a careful sniff.

“Oh wow!”

That was a good reaction.

“If I found this in the store I would totally buy it!” Ophelia fangirled.

“I do think I made it a bit too sweet, so I am going to try diluting or countering it by adding musk or citrus oils to it.”

Ophelia nodded in approval, “Can I try the newer versions once you make them?”

“Absolutely, who else would I trust to test the products?”

Cosette began cleaning up her equipment, washing the vials carefully. Ophelia assisted by drying them off, eager to get home.

“What do I smell like?”

“Eh?” Ophelia was taken aback by the question.

“What do I smell like?”

“Like that atrocious perfume you bought from that damned street.”

“No, I mean after I bathe in the evenings. What is my human scent like?”

“Oh, you smell like magnolias. It’s quite wonderful, perhaps even my favorite smell.” Ophelia winked, setting aside the cleaned vials and glasses into their appropriate shelves.

“I appreciate the compliment, but how do you know it’s human?”

“There’s this…subtle undertone of mortality to it?”

“Uh-huh, okay.”

Not the most helpful but it’s a start. What does mortality even smell like?

“Why do you ask?”

“I am making a perfume that can cover my human smell. I don’t want to keep smelling like spoiled fruits and rotting flowers.”

Granted, that was better than smelling like mud.

“You know Cosette, you never cease to amaze me.” Ophelia murmured softly.

“I haven’t even done anything impressive yet.”

Ophelia leaned against her, “‘Yet’? Now I am scared for the fate of Prythian.”

Cosette laughed, “No need to fear. I don’t plan on doing anything too bad.”

“Hm, yeah. You’re too good to do any real damage.”

“Oi!”

The two quickly left the shop, saying their goodbyes to Theo.

Outside darkness had already fallen yet the city was still brimming with life. Cosette took a deep breath, letting her senses overflow with the various smells of foods and spices.

Cosette paused.

What if…instead of masking or nullifying a scent, she could attempt to compliment it? Create a perfume that when added to her existing scent created something new - something that didn’t smell human?

“Ophelia, Blanche, I have a request.” Cosette smiled, holding two small bottles. After spending the whole week perfecting the scents, she was finally satisfied with the end result.

“What is it dear?” Blanche looked up from her food, Forrest trying to force broccoli down Fermin’s throat while Ophelia sipped her tea.

“I want you two to wear these perfumes for the next week.”

Blanche’s expression fell, turning hesitant, “Perfume dear?”

“Ooo, is this the final product?” Ophelia leaned over, looking at the two vials.

“Yeah. Take your pick Ophelia; cinnamon or vanilla?”

“I want the vanilla one! ” Ophelia took the vial, aiming it to spritz on her hand.

“Wait! Spray it outsi-” Blanche and Forrest both moved in a slight panic to stop Ophelia as a gentle scent of cinnamon and nature filled the air.

“Oh.” Blanche said simply.

“I adore this one.” Ophelia smiled.

“Blanche?” Cosette smiled at the woman shyly, “Would you be willing?”

Blanche tentatively took the small bottle, spritzing her wrist once, her eyes widening as a soft cinnamon smell filled the room.

“Oh.” she repeated.

“It’s good right?” Ophelia beamed, excited, returning to her food.

“I want you two to wear it over the course of this week, and if people ask where you got the scent from, tell them it’s from our store.”

“You got it girl!” Ophelia gave Cosette a thumbs up, “I’ll visit all the most popular places!”

“I’ll make sure to let them know.” Blanche agreed, moving closer to her husband to let him smell the perfume.

Forrest nodded in approval, “It’s a delicate smell.”

“Thank you.” Cosette blushed slightly.

The group quickly finished their dinner, dispersing to their rooms.

“Alright Ophelia.” Cosette took a deep breath, “Let me know if you can still smell the mortality on me.”

Cosette had gone out on a limb here - Ophelia said she smelled of magnolias with a hint of ‘mortality’, what if she created a perfume that smelled of eternity?

It was a lot of effort to find dahlias, but she managed to find a couple for a reasonable price. 

Reasonable as in I stole them.

A part of Cosette hated how easily she relied on such skills to survive. The other part of her understood that it was necessary.

It’s okay, I’ll return and pay the person back once I can.

Cosette sprayed some of the perfume on herself.

Ophelia shook her head, “No Cosette…I can still smell your humanity.”

“Hm.”

Should have guessed it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Perfumery street ‘perfumes’ it is for now then.”

“I truly feel terrible for Blanche.” Ophelia smiled.

“Me too. I haven’t scared off all the customers yet have I?”

“Miraculously no.”

“Cosette stop fussing, the stand looks perfect.” Ophelia chidded.

Cosette looked up at her friend, “I am just double checking everything is in order.”

“You already triple-checked everything. Just breathe for me, okay?”

The fateful opening day had arrived after four weeks of grueling, nonstop work. 

Cosette nodded, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. She had been standing outside for only a minute and already felt like she was about to freeze.

The stand Theo built was perfect, its structure reminiscent of a vanity. Its shelves and sides had vines and snowflakes carved into it, with the shelves and holders being modeled exactly for the perfume bottles they were using.

I’ll need to thank him again for his work later.

Faes had begun walking down the street in the early morning, most trying to get to work, others going to get breakfast. Quite a few faes crossed the street, avoiding their little stand.

Hmm, this wasn’t going well. These people were too scared to even try the perfumes in fear of being bombed by a stench.

Cosette picked up a sample bottle of the vanilla scent, spritzing the air a couple times.

Let’s try to convince them we weren’t biohazard waste disguised as a business. 

One fae female paused, turning back to look at their stand, tilting her head as she smelled the air.

Cosette maintained a calm aura as the woman approached, curiosity etched into her features.

“Excuse me, are these perfumes?”

“Yes miss.” Cosette smiled, her joy bubbling to the surface slightly, “We have two new scents, would you like to try them?”

“What’s the scent in the air?”

“Ah, that’s our cinnamon perfume.”

She nodded hesitantly, picking up the bottle, looking at it closely, “Did you make these?”

Cosette nodded, “I did miss.”

The fae looked impressed, examining the vanilla bottle too.

“This would make a good gift for the Winter Solstice.” The woman looked at the bottles thoughtfully, “How much is it?”

“5 gold pieces.”

“Hmm, affordable compared to the prices in those stores.” the fae nodded to herself, “I’ll take the cinnamon one.”

A couple other faes approached the stand, drawn in by the sweet gentle smell. Others arrived due to Ophelia’s and Blanche’s marketing efforts.

It was by midday that the stand became full of customers. Cosette was for once thankful for the Winter faes’ colder, calmer demeanors as they formed actual lines, rather than all crowding around her and Ophelia all at once.

“What is this?” a male shoved his way through the line.

“Hello sir, can we help you?” Ophelia quickly moved to put herself between the fae and Cosette.

“Like hell you can, what do you think you’re doing? Stealing business away from us good folk?”

“Stealing?” Ophelia laughed, “All we’re doing is selling perfume.”

“You have no right!” the man practically spat, an unpleasant odor, a clear marker of the perfumery street, made everyone around him pinch their noses in displeasure.

“All we did was set up a stand in front of a building we own, we very much have the right to do that.” Cosette spoke up, looking at the man.

The fae laughed, waving his arms as if that was going to strengthen his argument, “Oh so you think you’re all that huh? Coming in with this new perfume or whatever? Trying to steal business away from the professionals?”

The faes around them glanced at each other, their concern growing.

“If you truly were a professional these people wouldn’t be shopping here.” Cosette pointed out.

That was the man's breaking point as he charged at Ophelia, Cosette pulling her to the side as the man ran into the stand, knocking it over, and smashing the perfume bottles. The faes around them cried out, quickly rushing away from the violence, some running to call for the royal guard.

Cosette tried to take a step forward, rage filling her veins, but Ophelia pulled her back.

“Don’t stop him.” she whispered.

“What do you mean ‘don’t stop him’ he’s going to destroy all our hard work!”

“And destroy you in the process.” Ophelia looked at her with a serious expression, “You don’t stand a chance in a physical brawl against him.”

Cosette hated to admit it, but Ophelia was right. So, she swallowed her pride, watching her hard work get broken into smithereens.

The fae eventually stopped, looking at the two women gleefully, “Now what are you gonna do huh? Got no more perfumes left to sell, haha! ”

Good thing I didn’t bring out all the perfumes, though it was a shame to lose that many bottles.

“What got nothing to say?” the man taunted.

The two of them remained silent as he strutted away, making both women, and bystanders cringe.

Theo, having heard the commotion, rushed out of the store. 

“By the Cauldron, what happened?!”

Ophelia carefully approached the shards, picking them and placing them into a pile on the snowy pavement. 

“A perfumer from that stupid street showed up, angry that we were stealing his sales.”

“That bastard.” Theo muttered, pushing the stand into an upright position, assessing the damage.

Cosette kneeled down, helping Ophelia collect pieces of glass and broken off chunks of the stand.

A couple faes approached the group.

“Is anyone hurt?” the woman to make the first purchase asked, her tone worried.

“No, everyone is okay. Except for the stand.” Cosette joked lightly.

“That’s good to hear.” another fae spoke, “We notified the authorities what that man did. Absolutely unacceptable behavior.”

The winter faes around them nodded in agreement - violence of such sort was not to be tolerated.

“Thank you for your assistance.” Cosette smiled.

Really, I should be thanking him. This man has just given us free, good marketing, and the evidence I needed to confirm that we were a worthy competitor. 

Next: Chapter 17 - All Things Magic and Mystic

Back: Chapter 15 - A Sweet Stench

Masterlist

Tag list: @rcarbo1

[sleepingdeath-light]

disabled friend hcs ; levi ackerman

requested by ; will-grammer (02/05/23)

fandom(s) ; attack on titan

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; levi ackerman

outline ; “May I ask for (platonic) headcanons for Levi Ackerman with male reader who is disabled? Specifically, with a bad leg and bad coordination, chronic pain and asthma. Reader is a civilian and he and Levi met in town? Maybe they both bought the same premium tea and began chatting. Something comforting, please. What kind of friend Levi would be like? Thank you.”

warning(s) ; canon-typical references to violence, brief references to ableism, but other than that it’s really fluffy

it’s rare that levi finds someone that shares his appreciation for tea — or, at least, someone who isn’t a rich snob — so stumbling across you at a random market was a welcome surprise

even if that surprise nearly had him knocking you flat on your backside when you both reached for the same bag of tea and you startled the living daylights out of him

but regardless, apologies were made, names were exchanged and pleasant small talk (about tea) was had and all was well as he returned to base

and then he bumps into you again when he’s fetching some odd supplies from that same market and he just about manages to stop you from falling over when you go to pick up a different brand of tea

he’s concerned, though he doesn’t show it, and you apologise and make a joke about coordination and point to your bad leg — which he raises an eyebrow at and nods in acknowledgement

and the the subject goes back to tea and you start talking about how it’s quite rare to see this sort around locally — and he realises he’s never tried it

to which you offer to share some and he insists on going halves on the payment

which was the beginning of a peculiar friendship

you’d meet up every week to catch up over a cup of tea (well, many cups of tea) either at your home or at a cafe where you could try new blends of tea

you’re the only person he voices his frustrations to and you get all of the scout gossip — he’ll also tell you about the world beyond the walls if you ask

you keep him in the loop with regards to your life and other general civilian stuff — which includes random tangents about health and such

levi becomes incredibly protective of you because he can’t bear to lose anyone else — and especially with your disabilities he frets about your health turning or you being harmed by other civilians

he’s already witnessed how inconsiderate and cruel people can be to you (having to step in multiple times to intimidate them into backing down and leaving you be)

and he’s aware of how testy and difficult it is to get access to proper healthcare, which is a particular concern of his because of your asthma

now he never voices these concerns but you do notice that people start leaving you be and you’re able to get appointments to discuss your health with doctors — which, due to the timing, you can pretty easily chalk up to your new friend getting involved

he also ensures that you have proper mobility aids by asking around retired/discharged scouts and officers and figuring out who he should call after to get a hold of something like that

when you have flare-ups, levi will happily come and perform errands for you (unless he’s out on a scouting mission) — whether that’s fetching medication or food or drink, finishing your chores, tending to any pets you have or just keeping you company

on a related note your house will end up spotless after he visits because he’s so particular about cleaning that he’ll usually end up doing it for you

his reflexes are extremely good so he’s usually able to help compensate for your bad coordination and will catch whatever it is you’ve accidentally knocked over — or you, if that happens to be the case

you’re the only person still alive to have seen him at his most vulnerable — when he cried and trembled whilst talking about those he’d lost to titans and to circumstance

about his mother and his friends from the underground, about his squad and petra and mike and everyone else

about all of the gore and viscera he’d seen, all of the good men and women he’d lost — kids, he called them

but the next day he acts like nothing happened and you follow suit, never bringing it up again

he jokingly calls you brat — but the slight twitch of his mouth gives away his light intent

erwin is the only one who knows where he goes every week, but as long as levi completes his assignments and paperwork he has no reason to complain

even if, on occasion, some of that paperwork has been completed at your home with a steaming cup of tea and a conversation about some neighbour of yours going on in the background

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Investigation: Hong Kong’s role in illegal deforestation of the Amazon rainforest in Brazil

If major import markets, such as China and Hong Kong, were to restrict trade to slaughterhouses with more transparent supply chains, industry experts believe it could have a major impact on the sustainability of the Brazilian meat sector. 

At first glance, there is little to link a handful of featureless Hong Kong office spaces to the world’s largest tropical rainforest. But supply chain data – obtained by non-profit organisation Repórter Brasil and shared with HKFP – reveals that at least four businesses in the city have imported beef products farmed by a man whom Brazilian police have called “the greatest devastator of the Amazon.”

Cattle farming is “the number one culprit of deforestation in virtually every Amazon country,” according to environmental NGO the World Wide Fund for Nature. Roughly 17 per cent of the Amazon rainforest has already been lost to habitat conversion, with trees felled to make way for cattle pastures and the dusty roads that transport Brazilian beef from the forest to the global marketplace.

Among those profiting from the degradation of the Amazon is rancher Bruno Heller, whose family owns farms that have been fined US$5 million for illegal deforestation, and who has been accused by Brazilian federal police of clearing 6,500 hectares of forest – an area almost five times the size of Lamma Island.

Through a process known as “cattle laundering,” where cows raised at illicit locations are transported to those with a clean record, Repórter Brasil tracked cattle from Heller’s family farms to a slaughterhouse, 163 Beef Industria & Comercio De Carnes Ltda, and traced beef products from that slaughterhouse to Hong Kong.

Continue reading.

[another-lost-mc]

your posts make my day better :)) can i humbly request some tenebris crumbs 😩😭 he's my baby fr

I had a very random idea to write something about TenTen's friendship with Bathin that leads into...other things later on. Here's a sneak peek of their BFF dynamic and some of the family drama they had to contend with.

CW: Family dynamics, social drinking. Word count: 0.7k.

Tenebris glanced up from his book when Bathin strode into his home office and slammed the door closed a little too loudly behind him. As close as they were, it wasn't unusual for his friend to come over uninvited or unannounced. However, Bathin's foul mood followed him like a cloud and Tenebris closed his book knowing his attention was needed elsewhere.

Bathin dropped onto the sofa in front of the fireplace with a heavy sigh with barely a glance in his friend's direction or even a hello. His head fell back against the plush couch cushion and he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Uh oh.” Tenebris stood up and walked over to the side cupboard where he kept his modest supply of booze. The chances of him finishing any more work today seemed slim judging by the state his friend was in.  “Did the talk go that badly?” he asked, pouring the deep amber liquid into two glasses.

Bathin rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and groaned. “My father is a selfish fool.”

"Like I thought," Tenebris murmured. He handed Bathin a glass and lowered himself into the empty seat beside his friend. “I warned you it might not go well,” he said, taking a sip of the bittersweet drink and savouring the tingly burn as it went down and warmed his chest.

“Yes, you did.” Bathin tipped his head back and took a generous sip of his drink. “I tried to be reasonable. I didn’t want to accuse him of being a bad father, because he’s not, and I know Mephisto is only my brother and not my son, but…” he sighed warily. “I don’t know, Ten. It’s not right, the pressure they put on him. All these expectations, and he’s so young. I know it’s not right.”

“You’re doing the best you can do.” Tenebris stood to fetch the bottle of Demonus now that both their glasses were nearly empty. “Be there for him, speak up if your father keeps pushing him too hard. I'm sure Mephisto will appreciate it when he’s older, even if he doesn’t understand now.”

“I hope so.” Bathin didn’t sound convinced, and he took the refilled glass Tenebris offered him with a grateful tilt to his lips. He stared into the fire for a few moments and hesitated to speak. “Is this what it’s like when you and your father argue? I know you two have had your own share of disagreements recently.”

Tenebris stared into his glass while he swirled the liquid around slowly. While most of his problems with his father were about his own leisurely activities in the human world, more often not lately, their arguments centered around Diavolo's upbringing as well.

“Both our fathers have ridiculous expectations of their sons.” He glanced at his friend. “Diavolo has so many fascinating ideas: the way he sees the world, the things he dreams about achieving one day.” A small sip of his drink, a heavy sigh. “He’s very much like our mother, and I think that’s Father’s problem. I'm not sure Diavolo is old enough to understand that yet.”

After a moment, Bathin's expression perked up slightly. “Speaking of which, weren’t you supposed to visit him today?” Even though Tenebris didn't live at the castle with him anymore, he knew that he was there several times per week to spend time with the young prince.

“I wanted to take him to the market but Barbatos said they had already gone earlier this morning.” Tenebris nearly spat the demon butler’s name, and Bathin raised his glass to his lips to hide his amusement as he listened to his friend.

“We still had a visit but it wasn’t what I hoped it would be." Tenebris grumbled and glared at his drink as if it had personally slighted him the way Diavolo's new butler had. "Maybe next time I’ll go over in a butler’s uniform and see if he finds me more interesting then.”

Bathin nudged Tenebris with his foot. “We make a fine pair, don’t we? Two meddlesome older brothers, thwarted at every turn by stubborn fathers and the world's most inconvenient servants.”

“Brothers helping brothers, sons disappointing fathers,” Tenebris joked. “But I’m glad we have each other,” he added sincerely, raising his glass up. “To brothers.”

“To brothers,” Bathin agreed, clinking their glasses together.

"But Jes, I thought Bathin was Luke's age! How can he be friends with Tenebris too?" Hm, I wonder. 🤭

Read more: OC Masterlist | Obey Me Masterlist

[yujo-nishimura]

The Escape - Part 12

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11

Loguetown is one of the last few big towns before ships enter the grandline. A merchant town and a Marine controlled town it has everything young cadets and pirates need. Armories brim with sturdy armor, ensuring the safety and protection of those setting sail. Provision stores abound, stocked with essential supplies to sustain voyages across treacherous waters. Bookstores proudly showcase their collection of maps and charts, invaluable resources for skilled navigators seeking to chart their course amidst the unpredictable seas. And amidst it all, clothing merchants proudly display their wares, offering a dazzling array of fabrics and garments that capture the imagination with their beauty and allure.

You carefully wander around, enchanted by all the beautiful things this town has to offer. The streets of Loguetown come alive with the vibrant energy of its inhabitants. Little children playing on the pedestrian walkways, their laughter echoing through the air. Some engage in games of catch, their tiny hands gripping colorful balls that bounce gleefully. Others skip and twirl with jump ropes, their nimble feet gracefully navigating the rhythmic dance. Everything seems so peaceful here.

Marine officers standing guard on corners of the streets, keeping an eye out for any unwanted intruders. You are glad that this town seems to be so civilized - Buggy would probably just walk around here covered with a coat to avoid the bothersome marines. You stop in front of a shop selling dresses, a long green dress has caught your attention, beautifully crafted with stitches and pearls adorning its collar. You stand there for almost 5 minutes, completely hypnotized by the beauty of this piece of clothing. When was the last time you felt like a woman and not like a dirty pirate in ragged clothes? 

That was the life you had chosen but sometimes you wonder how it would have been if you could just go back to your village and live the life most girls choose over there - growing up, getting married and becoming a housewife. The more you thought about this, the more you started to dislike this thought as well - how boring life must be when you are just home, cooking and doing the laundry. 

You wanted something in between - life on the ship and sometimes wearing a beautiful dress like this… You look into the little bag you had tied around your hip. There were some bread crumbs and a bronze coin you had found in your chamber. That would probably be just enough to buy you one drink in a pub. You needed to first find a way to get some money. Then food. Then clothes. Then a boat. You sigh. This all sounds more difficult than you had anticipated. 

Maybe finding Luffy first was the best idea - not only to warn him, but to check if he already had a pirate crew and maybe some gold to share with you. 

With one last glance at the dress you decide to move on, hoping to come back later to acquire it. 

As you wander aimlessly through the streets you realize that the sun is slowly setting and you start to get a bit nervous - where could Luffy be? If you remember how your childhood friend was back in the village where you always played together, he was the one who was always noisy and in the center of attention. If he was still the same Luffy, then he might be at the central point of this town - probably at the market place or at the execution platform of the former pirate king Gol D. Roger. You remember that this town was the place where the former king of the pirates was executed. You realize that this must be the place where Luffy would be heading to. Curious as he was, this would be the spot he wanted to visit first. 

A friendly looking Marine with blonde hair smiles at you as you approach him to ask for directions. Directing your attention towards the main street, the marine gestures with an outstretched finger, drawing your gaze towards a figure positioned at the opposite end. As you obediently follow the line of sight, your eyes lock with Cabaji's, a fleeting moment of connection that sends a chill down your spine. However, a sudden realization washes over you, bringing reassurance that you were safe for now. In this town, which brims with righteous defenders of justice, Cabaji holds no power to inflict harm upon you.

Skillfully engaging the Marine in a conversation you keep asking about good restaurants and more clothing shops or any place he would recommend visiting. He keeps talking to you and you realize Cabaji, seemingly vanished from sight, has left your immediate vicinity. A wave of relief washes over you, taking away the nervousness that had lingered within. 

You make sure that there are people at every corner of the street you are following now, avoiding shortcuts and dark corners, because you know that could be the ideal moment for the Buggy pirates to catch you and bring you back. Hiding in plain sight was exactly the strategy you had to go with. 

As you finally reach the center of the town a vast open space stretches in front of you, surrounded by houses. This was the place where Gol D. Roger was executed 20 years ago. People were wandering over the plaza as if this place had no historical significance, the sun was shining and the execution platform stood in the middle of this area like a monument to remember the end and the beginning of the pirate era. 

You feel somehow moved, knowing not only the significance of Gol D. Roger but also thinking back of how cruel the marines were to execute him in front of all the people watching. 

You slowly walk closer to the plattform, as you suddenly hear running steps behind you, a familiar voice panting and yelling “Yeeeaah! I found it!”

You turn around to see a young boy with black hair, a red vest and blue trousers, running towards you. With every stride, he clutches his straw hat firmly, determined to prevent the gusts of wind from whisking it away. The fire in his eyes, the excited grin - you immediately know who that is. 

“Luffy!” you shout in excitement and the straw hat stops in surprise, just two meters away from you. 

His baffled face turns into complete joy as he realizes who had called his name. 

“Y/n! You are here as well?”, now he runs towards you, leaping in your arms and you try to hold your balance and not fall on your back - this boy has grown so much, he is taller than you now and much stronger as well. You laugh in surprise and excitement to see your best friend again, a joyous laughter escapes your lips, intermingling with the bubbling excitement within. Without hesitation, you open your arms wide, enveloping him in a warm and heartfelt embrace.

As you draw him closer, a familiar scent wafts through the air, filling your senses with a comforting nostalgia. It is the fragrance of sunshine and barbecue, a delightful blend that evokes memories of carefree days and shared moments of happiness - Luffy had always loved meat more than any other food. 

“I am so glad to see you, Luffy! And look at you. You are a full grown man now! Soon to be king of the pirates!” 

“Yes!”, he interrupts the hug to look at you as well. “You are also much bigger now. Man, and you have long hair now! "That's neat!” 

You laugh. Big was probably not the best word to use for a lady, but you knew Luffy was not a poet, but a pirate.Though his intentions were consistently kind-hearted, it was evident that he possessed a certain naivety and a tendency to act impulsively. “My hair is definitely longer than the last time we met.”, you chuckle, “But Luffy, I am here to talk to you, the way how I got here is quite crazy. And most of all - you are in danger!” 

He grins from one ear to another. 

“I really want to hear your Story, Y/n. But let's just go and look at the execution platform together now. That is the thing I came for in the first place. And then let's talk!”

“But Luffy, this is urgent…!” 

He does not listen to the end of your sentence but just grabs you by the hand and drags you along, with a strength you didn't know he possessed before.

“Let's go up there!”, he laughs and doesn't let go of you, all the way until you both reach the platform. You pant and try to catch your breath, but Luffy is determined and he cannot be stopped if he wants something so badly.

“Hold on to me!”, he cheerfully exclaims and lays his arm around your waist. You suddenly blush from this intimate gesture. He grabs on to you tight, then raises his arm and you are too startled by what happens next - his arm stretches all the way up to the top of the platform, grabbing onto an iron rod under the wooden platform. You scream in shock as you are both suddenly catapulted up to the platform at dizzying speed. 

Luffy holding on to you making sure you jump together with him on the platform as you reach the top. As you ascend, the rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, heightening your senses. The moment of anticipation culminates as Luffy's feet touch the ground first, his unwavering stability serving as an anchor. He extends a steady hand, providing support as you find your footing beside him. Together, you regain balance, standing firm. Your heart is racing. 

“What was that?” you gasp in shock and fear. 

“The gum gum fruit, I am a rubber man!”, he laughs, probably highly entertained by your face. “You should have warned me… that was a very unpleasant lift.!”, you slowly regained your posture and gave Luffy a friendly shove. From here you can see over all of Loguetown, you see the people down below, gazing up at you both in fear and shock. Luffy starts laughing. “Man, this is neat! We are where the former pirate King stood!”

You realize that you are very high up and probably also at a place where normal citizen shouldnt be without permission of the marines. “Luffy, I think this was not the best idea.. now we have drawn all the attention on us!”

As you say that you suddenly hear a familiar voice, a yell from down the execution platform, covered in capes you can still see the red nose of Buggy the clown. 

“I found the straw hat. And he has my treasure!”, you can hear his anger and frustration all the way up to here. 

“Who is this?”Luffy asks, bending over, a bit too close to looking like falling down all the 5 meters down on the asphalt. “That is what I wanted to warn you about. Buggy the clown has abducted me and tries to kill you now..!”

“He did what?” Luffy turns around to you, the word “abducted” has probably somehow turned a switch inside of him. He was always very protective of the people he loved. 

“I did not abduct her!”, yells Buggy from below who can surprisingly hear your conversation very well. 

“Is that the clown guy I beat up in Orange town?” Luffy, all a bit slow, finally realizes who he was talking to. But there is no more time for more explanation - the marines have found out that you stepped on this platform and they are shouting at you to come down.

“Dammit, Luffy, what are we gonna do?” 

With the marines and Buggy waiting down there you think trying to take them on would be like suicide. “Maybe just for now we run. I want you to also meet my crew!” Luffy grins and puts his arm around your waist again. You know what will happen next, so you lay your arms around his strong neck. Buggy is almost exploding in anger down at the platform as Luffy swings with you, arm fully stretched to the other side of the plaza, holding on to a chimney on a red tiled roof. “Don't let go, Y/n! This will be a bit rough..!”, you nod and fully trust Luffy - who would not trust the future king of the pirates? 

[mariacallous]

What would Donald Trump’s foreign policy look like, should he win a second presidential term? The debate ranges between those who believe he will abandon Ukraine, withdraw from NATO, and herald a “post-American Europe”—and those who predict he will escalate the Russian-Ukrainian war and continue his fiercely anti-communist policies. Foreign governments have been frantically reaching out to Trump and Republican circles to understand, if not influence, the future direction of his policies; one such visit may have even played a role in Trump’s acquiescence to the most recent batch of U.S. military aid to Ukraine following months of delay by many of his Republican supporters in the U.S. Congress.

One fact is already clear: If Trump regains the presidency, he and his potential advisors will return to a significantly changed global landscape—marked by two regional wars, the threat of a third in Asia, the return of great-power geopolitics, and globalization measurably in decline. While many expect a Trump 2.0 to be a more intense version of Trump 1.0, his response to the dramatic changes in the geopolitical environment could lead to unexpected outcomes.

Trump may now be less eager to abandon Europe given fast-rising European defense spending and an ongoing major war. The strengthening U.S. economy and flux in global supply chains could facilitate a broader decoupling from China and market-access agreements with allies. Expanded Iranian aggression could make it easier for Trump 2.0 to build a large international coalition. An examination of these and other changes of the last four years could yield surprising insights into how a second Trump administration could differ significantly from the first.

Since Trump left office, the U.S.-Mexico border crisis has worsened significantly. In 2020, Trump’s last full year in office, U.S. Customs and Border Protection carried out 646,822 enforcement actions, including against three individuals on the Terrorist Screening Data Set. By 2023, this had skyrocketed to 3.2 million encounters, including 172 people on the terrorist list. Under the Biden-Harris administration, there have been some 10 million illegal border crossings, including nearly 2 million known so-called gotaways—illegal crossers who could not be apprehended. The unsecured border, broken asylum process, and overwhelmed immigration courts have enabled significant fentanyl trafficking, resulting in over 200,000 American deaths in the last three years.

For a second Trump administration, sealing the border would be the critical national security issue, overshadowing all others. The Republican platform calls for completion of the border wall, the use of advanced technology on the border, and shifting the focus of federal law enforcement to migration. It also proposes redeploying troops from overseas to the southern border and deploying the U.S. Navy to impose a fentanyl blockade. Americans now see the border as a major problem, and Congress is likely to support significant spending. This reallocation will impact other areas, since the U.S. Army and Navy are already struggling with personnel and fleet size targets. Navigating tensions with Mexico and Central American countries, many of which have free-trade agreements with the United States and receive U.S. assistance, will be challenging.

Facing escalating regional wars and the smallest U.S. military in generations, Trump would likely oversee the most significant U.S. military buildup in nearly 50 years. The U.S. Armed Forces are shrinking, and the defense budget is close to its post-World War II low in terms of both federal budget share and percentage of GDP. The capacity, capabilities, and readiness of the U.S. military are weakening, and the defense industrial base has atrophied. The disastrous defeat in Afghanistan has led to a significant drop in Americans’ confidence in the military.

Trump has long supported a bigger and stronger military, but his administration’s modest budget increases primarily went to personnel, operations, and maintenance, with little investment in capabilities. Under then-Defense Secretary James Mattis, the 2018 National Defense Strategy abandoned the long-standing U.S. doctrine of maintaining readiness to fight wars in two regions simultaneously, focusing instead on deterring China in the Indo-Pacific. Today’s Trump-approved Republican platform pledges a larger, modern military, investment in the defense industrial base, and a national missile defense shield. Republican Sen. Roger Wicker, likely the next chair of the Senate Armed Services Committee, has proposed a detailed plan to raise defense spending from 3 percent of GDP in 2024 to 5 percent within five to seven years. This plan aligns with Trump’s policies and could lead to a domestic manufacturing boom. Trump could announce the first-ever trillion-dollar defense budget with broad Republican support, determined not to be remembered as the president who let China surpass the U.S. militarily.

Notwithstanding the Biden administration’s climate agenda, the United States’ historic rise as the world’s energy superpower could empower Trump to pursue more punitive policies against Russia and Iran while wielding greater leverage over China. The United States is now producing and exporting more energy than ever, even as its carbon emissions have decreased, largely due to the shift from coal to gas. In 2019, the country became a net energy exporter. Since 2017, total energy exports have nearly doubled, and the country has surpassed Russia and Saudi Arabia to become the world’s biggest oil producer. By further ramping up liquefied natural gas exports to Europe, a second Trump administration could reduce Russia’s influence, reshape European geopolitics, and strengthen trans-Atlantic ties. It would also greatly reduce the trade deficit with Europe, something Trump frequently rails about. Expanding energy production would also increase U.S. leverage over China, the world’s largest energy importer. Greater production—as well as closer alignment with Saudi Arabia under Trump—could do much to lower gas prices in the United States and oil prices globally. This, in turn, would allow Trump to pursue more aggressive strategic policies, such as striking Iranian nuclear assets or, should he wish to do so, diminishing Russian oil and gas exports.

The relative strength of the U.S. economy and major shifts in trading patterns would give another Trump administration far greater leverage on trade—including winning a trade war with China and striking new or revised trade deals with others.

Many Americans have a pessimistic view of their country’s economy, but it is far stronger relative to its peers than in 2016 or 2020. This year, the U.S. economy will account for an estimated 26 percent of global GDP, the highest share in almost two decades. It was nearly four times the size of Japan’s when Trump first entered office, and it will be seven times as large by the end of this year. As recently as 2008, the U.S. and Eurozone economies were similar in size. Today, the former towers over the latter, with the U.S. economy almost 80 percent larger. Britain’s relative decline is similar.

The strength of the U.S. economy would give Trump the leverage to strike the fair and reciprocal trade deals he seeks. Japan, facing an ever-aggressive China and urgently needing to boost economic growth, might build on the 2019 U.S.-Japan market access deal. Trump could resume the talks with Britain from the end of his first term with more leverage; a former Trump official indicated that a deal with Britain would be a priority in a second term. Trump might also revisit negotiations with the EU, following up on a market access agreement signed in 2019 following his imposition of tariffs. After eight years on top, the United States has overtaken China to be Germany’s top trading partner again. Trump’s aim to secure better deals is evident, and he may find more willing partners than before.

The same dynamics may lead to a far broader trade war with and decoupling from China. The U.S. economy has grown relative to China’s over the past eight years, with the gap widening in both directions: The U.S. economy is larger and the Chinese one smaller than economists expected. The forecast for when China’s economy might surpass the United States’ keeps sliding further and further into the future and may never happen at all. The International Monetary Fund projects that China’s share of the Asia-Pacific region’s GDP will be slightly smaller in five years than it is today, and it may never become the majority share. Even China’s official, flattering statistics suggest its economy is experiencing a lost decade due to deeply structural challenges, not temporary ones.

Over the past eight years, the U.S. economy has also become less dependent on foreign trade, including with China. In 2016, China was the top U.S. trading partner, accounting for more than 20 percent of U.S. imports and about 16 percent of total U.S. trade. By 2023, China slipped to third place, accounting for 13.9 percent of imports and 11.3 percent of trade. This shift would give greater credibility to Trump’s threats to revoke China’s most-favored nation trading status and impose wide-ranging tariffs. While these measures would have economic costs for Americans, around 80 percent of Americans view China unfavorably today, a significant increase from 2017, and the United States is now better positioned to withstand a protracted trade war with China than a few years ago.

Trump 2.0 would have the potential to lead a broader containment approach toward China. First, Trump and most Americans blame the Chinese government for the COVID-19 pandemic, which killed more than 1 million Americans, forced the U.S. economy into a deep recession, and likely cost Trump his reelection in 2020. Whether through trade measures, sanctions, or a demand for reparations, Trump will seek to hold China accountable for the estimated $18 trillion in damage the COVID-19 pandemic caused to the United States. In parallel, he is likely to end the attempts at partnership made by the Biden administration and Trump during parts of his first term. Issues like climate change, public health, foreign investment, Chinese land purchases in the United States, and Beijing’s role in the fentanyl epidemic will be viewed through the lens of strategic independence from China, as outlined in the Republican platform.

Second, the United States’ major European allies have become much more critical of China than when Trump left office—the result of COVID-19, Chinese “wolf warrior” diplomacy, Beijing’s support for Moscow’s war in Ukraine, and mounting issues concerning trade, technology, and supply chains. The references to China in the 2024 G-7 summit statement and NATO summit communique, compared to the last versions under Trump in 2019, make that clear. Europe is following Washington’s lead in imposing tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles, restricting Chinese telecoms from 5G infrastructure, and exposing and punishing Chinese espionage. A second Trump administration could build a coalition against Chinese behavior.

Third, the United States’ Asian allies are enhancing their military capabilities and cooperation among themselves. Australia, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and others are increasing their defense spending, and the United States recently negotiated expanded military access to key sites in the Philippines. Improved regional alliances and partnerships, including the Australia-United Kingdom-United States (AUKUS) pact, the Quad (Australia, India, Japan, and the United States), much improved Japan-South Korea relations, and growing Japan-Philippines cooperation will strengthen Trump’s hand with Beijing.

However, the China Trump will face is more powerful and aggressive than ever before. It has significantly increased its military harassment of Taiwan, the Philippines, and India. It has also deepened its strategic partnership with Russia: The two countries declared a “partnership without limits” in 2022, and Chinese President Xi Jinping told Russian President Vladimir Putin in 2023 that the world is undergoing changes “we haven’t seen for 100 years—and we are the ones driving these changes together.” China’s navy, already larger than its U.S. counterpart since around 2015, could be about 50 percent larger by the end of Trump’s second term. How would Trump respond if China attacked Taiwan? Washington assesses that Xi has ordered the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) to be prepared to win a war against Taiwan by 2027, and U.S. war games consistently indicate the U.S. could lose such a conflict. Trump continues to hew to the decadeslong policy of maintaining strategic ambiguity regarding Taiwan’s defense, even if he has included Taiwan in his familiar critique of allies not doing enough for their own defense. Nevertheless, the continuously eroding balance of power and rapidly evolving correlation of forces could make Trump less likely to assist Taiwan than one might suspect given his overall China policy. As Trump recently acknowledged in the bluntest of terms, Taiwan is 9,500 miles away from the United States but only 68 miles away from China.

Trump would return as commander in chief with the largest European war since World War II raging in Ukraine, the increased presence of U.S. forces on the continent, and European NATO members ramping up their defense spending. The much-changed situation in Europe could make him far less likely to withdraw U.S. troops, end support for Ukraine, or seek a grand bargain with Putin.

Trump’s persistent haranguing of European allies when he was president, coupled with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, has prompted European countries to rapidly increase their defense spending. Whereas only five NATO members spent at least 2 percent of GDP on defense in 2016 and nine did so in 2020, 23 do so now. European NATO nations have increased their collective defense spending by more than half since Trump first took office, far ahead of the United States’ much smaller increase during the same period. Germany has even surpassed Britain as Europe’s biggest defense spender. The burden sharing Trump pushed for is beginning to happen: European NATO allies are now shouldering a greater share of bloc-wide defense spending, and Europe also provides the majority of aid to Ukraine. U.S. companies and workers are benefiting: The U.S. share of global arms exports rose from 34 percent to 42 percent over the most recent five-year period.

In his first term, Trump welcomed both Montenegro and North Macedonia into NATO, even though neither met the 2 percent mark at the time. His inclination to move U.S. forces farther east along NATO’s frontier is now a reality. Today, 20,000 U.S. forces are stationed in the alliance’s eastern frontier states, part of what Supreme Allied Commander Europe Gen. Christopher Cavoli called a “definite shift eastward.” With the addition of Finland and Sweden as a result of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, NATO now has a significantly reshaped posture.

While the 2 percent floor for defense spending is now grossly inadequate, European states are proposing higher benchmarks. The European Union has released its first-ever defense industrial strategy, and many European countries are planning further increases in spending. Were Trump to preside over the June 2025 NATO summit in the Netherlands, he could not only announce “mission accomplished” with respect to the 2 percent target, but that NATO has collectively pledged a higher 3 percent floor.

Trump has promised to negotiate an end to the war in Ukraine “in 24 hours”—but has also threatened to dramatically increase arms support to Ukraine if Putin does not comply. He has never outright opposed military aid to Ukraine, acquiesced to congressional passage of a large supplemental in April, and recently concluded a positive call with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky. Having observed how Biden’s disastrous withdrawal from Afghanistan sunk his presidency, Trump may be determined to avoid a similar loss of Ukraine.

Facing a Middle East with escalating Tehran-backed conflicts and a near-nuclear Iran, Trump 2.0 might also double down and increase U.S. military involvement to douse the fires Tehran has lit.

Trump is likely to end the Biden administration’s pressure on Israel to end the war against Hamas, de-escalate against Iran, and withdraw from Gaza and the West Bank. Trump would end Biden’s embargo on certain U.S. arms deliveries to Israel, halt aid to Gaza, and de-emphasize humanitarian concerns. Trump has consistently supported an Israeli “victory”—a stance repeated by his running mate, Sen. J.D. Vance—and called on Israel to “finish the job.” Trump has walked back his previous endorsement of a Palestinian state, suggesting a very different approach to the “day after.” If a major war between Israel and Hezbollah breaks out, Trump’s track record suggests he would support swift Israeli action with less concern for civilian casualties, with full U.S. support but no direct military involvement.

Trump 2.0 would quickly face the choice of whether to take preemptive military action against Iranian nuclear facilities. Iran is now a nuclear breakout state, capable of producing enough weapons-grade uranium for several bombs in less than 10 days, even if weaponization may take several months to a year. Berlin, Paris, and London, antagonists to Trump 1.0’s Iran policy, may be supporters of Trump 2.0’s, as Iran’s growing military alliance with Russia, nuclear progress, and support for the Houthis have shifted European attitudes. Having repeatedly passed the wartime tests by Iran and its proxies, Israeli anti-air capabilities have rapidly improved, as has coordination with Arab partners. Trump will likely recharge his maximum-pressure approach, but he may be more likely to threaten Iran directly than ever before.

Trump 2.0 could also launch a campaign against the Houthis similar to that against the Islamic State during Trump 1.0. He would inherit a 24-nation coalition that is currently failing to restore freedom of navigation through the Red Sea. Despite the most intense U.S. naval combat operations since World War II, Suez Canal transits are still fewer than half of what they were a year ago; so far, over 90 commercial vessels have been hit and more than 100 warships attacked. Just as he declared the defeat and destruction of the Islamic State to be his “highest priority” on the first day of his presidency, he may flip the mission from a defensive to offensive one by hitting Houthi launch sites, targeting critical infrastructure, eliminating Iranian naval support, and directly threatening Tehran. A successful campaign could restore commercial shipping, lower energy and shipping costs, and foster diplomatic cooperation with European, Middle Eastern, and Asian governments.

Even if Trump’s instincts and inclinations remain unchanged, the world’s vastly shifted circumstances could prompt unexpected approaches. If Trump 1.0 was an alliance disruptor and protectionist, a second Trump administration could turn out to be a coalition builder and forger of significant trade deals. Concerns over U.S. abandonment of Europe and withdrawal from the Middle East may prove to have been hasty, with altered circumstances leading to greater stability in Europe and a rollback of Iranian aggression in the Middle East. Dealmaking with China may give way to the best opportunity to build a Cold War-like coalition to blunt aggressive Chinese behavior.

[illumins]

𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝑙. 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑘 (#⁰²)

✦trope: angst, star wars

✦wordcount: 684

✧first pov

▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭

The sun scorches the makeshift tarpaulins overhead, casting erratic patterns on the crowd below. I maneuver through the bazaar with a purpose only known to Mark and myself. Our mission is simple yet dangerous: to retrieve a hidden Sith artifact that could turn the tide of war in our favor. The informant who knew its exact location was supposed to meet us here, among the chaos of traders and thieves.

The air is thick with the smell of exotic spices and the loud chatter of negotiations. My eyes scan for Mark’s familiar silhouette—he'd gone to check the eastern section for our contact. Left alone, I try to blend in, admiring trinkets and fabrics with feigned interest. My hand brushes against the blaster hidden under my cloak, a reassurance of my only ally in a sea of strangers.

Suddenly, the sharp tap of a stormtrooper’s glove on my shoulder sends a jolt of fear through me. “Identification,” he demands, his voice muffled behind the stark mask.

I fumble with a fake ID card, handing it over with a shaky smile. “Just here for some supplies,” I murmur, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel.

The trooper examines the card closely, his posture rigid and imposing. The seconds stretch into eternity. He radios in my details, his suspicious gaze never leaving my face. Panic begins to gnaw at the edges of my composure. I need to leave, now.

“Is there a problem, officer?” I ask, injecting a hint of irritation into my tone.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he speaks into his comm again, probably confirming with his superior. I can’t wait any longer.

Breaking into a run, I dart into a narrow alley lined with stacked crates and hanging clothes. My boots slip on the uneven cobblestones as I zigzag through hanging carpets that mute my steps. The alley turns sharply, and I skid around the corner, the heavy breaths of the pursuing troopers echoing behind me.

The market blurs into a tapestry of colors and faces as I push through. A vendor yells as I accidentally knock over a stack of baskets, the clatter providing a temporary distraction. Another sharp turn takes me into a quieter side street where the hum of the crowd fades into a distant murmur.

Ahead, I spot Mark. He’s speaking to a group of hooded figures, his back to me. Panic and relief flood through me in equal measure. “Mark!” I yell, not caring for the stealth anymore.

He turns, his eyes widening at my disheveled appearance. I grab his arm, pulling him along. “Time to go!”

“What’ve you done now?” he asks, half amused, half concerned, as we sprint.

“Just a bit of a mess at the front,” I reply, my tone light despite the adrenaline.

Mark spots an old storage shed adorned with rusted metal sheets and drags me towards it. We make a tight left turn, and he slams us both against the wall, his hand pressing against my mouth to silence my heavy breathing.

Peering cautiously, he uses a subtle gesture, a twitch of his fingers barely noticeable. The pursing stormtroopers suddenly stumble, crashing into each other with a clatter of armor and curses. It’s almost comical, the way they scramble like dominoes in the dirt.

Mark turns to me, his expression stern yet a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. I offer a sheepish smile. “All in good fun, right?”

He shakes his head, but I can tell he’s fighting a smile. “You're going to be the death of me,” he mutters, but there's warmth there, an unspoken acknowledgment of our shared peril.

We sink further into the shadows of the shed, our breaths syncing in the close air. But as we stand there, concealed from immediate danger, the distant sounds of the bazaar are drowned out by a new, more ominous noise. The ground trembles slightly under our feet, the vibrations growing stronger, closer. Something is coming, something big.

Mark looks at me, concern etched deeper into his features. "This isn't over," he says, tension wrapping around us like a thick cloak.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter VII. Fifth Period. — Police, Or Taxation.

In positing its principles humanity, as if in obedience to a sovereign order, never goes backward. Like the traveller who by oblique windings rises from the depth of the valley to the mountain-top, it follows intrepidly its zigzag road, and marches to its goal with confident step, without repentance and without pause. Arriving at the angle of monopoly, the social genius casts backward a melancholy glance, and, in a moment of profound reflection, says to itself:

“Monopoly has stripped the poor hireling of everything, — bread, clothing, home, education, liberty, and security. I will lay a tax upon the monopolist; at this price I will save him his privilege.

“Land and mines, woods and waters, the original domain of man, are forbidden to the proletaire. I will intervene in their exploitation, I will have my share of the products, and land monopoly shall be respected.

“Industry has fallen into feudalism, but I am the suzerain. The lords shall pay me tribute, and they shall keep the profit of their capital.

“Commerce levies usurious profits on the consumer. I will strew its road with toll-gates, I will stamp its checks and indorse its invoices, and it shall pass.

“Capital has overcome labor by intelligence. I will open schools, and the laborer, made intelligent himself, shall become a capitalist in his turn.

“Products lack circulation, and social life is cramped. I will build roads, bridges, canals, marts, theatres, and temples, and thus furnish at one stroke work, wealth, and a market.

“The rich man lives in plenty, while the workman weeps in famine. I will establish taxes on bread, wine, meat, salt, and honey, on articles of necessity and on objects of value, and these shall supply alms for my poor.

“And I will set guards over the waters, the woods, the fields, the mines, and the roads; I will send collectors to gather the taxes and teachers to instruct the children; I will have an army to put down refractory subjects, courts to judge them, prisons to punish them, and priests to curse them. All these offices shall be given to the proletariat and paid by the monopolists.

“Such is my certain and efficacious will.”

We have to prove that society could neither think better nor act worse: this will be the subject of a review which, I hope, will throw new light upon the social problem.

Every measure of general police, every administrative and commercial regulation, like every law of taxation, is at bottom but one of the innumerable articles of this ancient bargain, ever violated and ever renewed, between the patriciate and the proletariat. That the parties or their representatives knew nothing of it, or even that they frequently viewed their political constitutions from another standpoint, is of little consequence to us: not to the man, legislator, or prince do we look for the meaning of his acts, but to the acts themselves.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 5

Deliberate Disguises

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: boundary stepping; use of alcohol as a coping mechanism; questionable fashion choices

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo and Cerra go on a supply run. Rex plans a recon mission.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

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Let me also wear such deliberate disguises

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Echo observed Cerra curiously as she piloted the speeder toward the first stop of their supply run. He had overheard her conversation with Rex the day they’d brought Fireball to the shop, thanks to his cranial implant, and he had expected her to object to his presence. He’d been surprised when she didn’t pick up the argument again, though he did notice that she exchanged a quick glance with Gregor when Echo joined her in the speeder. The commando hadn’t said a word; merely smiled and handed Cerra a travel mug.

She sipped from it as she drove, and from the pleased expression on her face, Echo suspected that Gregor had gotten her caf just the way she liked. Privately, Echo wondered how her heart was still beating, given her caffeine intake. If he drank half as much caf as she did, he would vibrate out of his prosthetics.

The silence stretched out between them, and Echo cast about for something—anything—to say.

“Sooo. Supply officer?” he finally asked. When she’d mentioned her military service to Fireball, it had answered a few of Echo’s unasked questions about her.

“Yep. Stationed on the Resolute until it was destroyed at Sullust, and then reassigned to the Ro-ti-Mundi.”    

“Is that where you met Fives?” he asked curiously.

She laughed for the first time since he’d met her.

“He came in and submitted an official request for a crate of candy to boost morale,” she said. “I told him it would never get approved, but he was insistent. He came back, week after week, and filled out the official request form every single time. I sent them all in, and they always got denied. Finally, I just paid for it myself and had it delivered with my personal effects. I told him somebody down the line must have approved the request by accident.”

“That was you?” Echo gaped.

“Don’t tell me Fives dragged you into it, too!”

Echo shook his head. “I knew he had a crush on a supply officer and made up some excuse to keep seeing her. He never expected the candy to get approved. That’s why he picked it in the first place. He figured he could keep seeing you indefinitely if he kept requesting something impossible.”

“That’s ARC trooper material,” she smiled. 

She looked younger when she smiled. Less severe. Pretty. He wondered if she had always been as withdrawn and dour as she was now, or if she had been happier and livelier before the galaxy had gone to absolute shit. 

“You know, he distributed that candy to the entire legion,” Echo said.

“I know,” she said. “I had to keep ordering more to keep up with demand. I’m glad you two were off the Resolute by the battle of Sullust. If anyone on the Ro-ti-Mundi had found out about his little black market operation, I’d have gone bankrupt before the war ended.”

Echo considered this quietly for a moment. “That was very generous of you,” he said. “Thank you.”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “I was happy to do it. It was a small thing in the end.”

“But it meant a lot to all of us clones,” Echo said.

They lapsed into silence for a while as Cerra piloted them to their first stop. She parked the speeder, but before they disembarked, she spoke again in a low voice.

“He came to the supply office one last time, after Kamino,” she said. “He told me he was leaving for ARC training. That was the first time I kissed him.”

Echo’s brain skidded to a halt, and he gaped at her. “You were a couple?”

“Not right away. I didn’t see him again until after the Citadel.”

“Kriff,” Echo breathed.

“We stayed in touch. He commed me after Sullust to make sure I’d made it off the Resolute. He wanted me to meet you the next time he had shore leave. He said—he said he didn’t want to wait, that he’d realized we might not have time.”

“I’m so sorry,” Echo said.

“Me, too,” she replied.

And with that, she stood and led Echo to the first of many supply stops for the day. They did not speak about Fives again.

Cerra’s supply chain seemed to comprise the seediest black-market dealers imaginable. Echo wanted to ask how she’d managed to build a network of such dodgy connections given her respectable military family, but she seemed to regret her brief moment of openness, and he suspected she was unlikely to repeat it. 

Their last stop of the day ended in the two of them sprinting out of a squalid alley at top speed as one of her associates—er, make that former associates—unleashed a firestorm of blaster bolts at them.

“Does that happen often?” Echo asked once they safely zoomed away in the speeder.

“More often that Rex knows,” Cerra said with a shrug. “Don’t tell him about it. He’ll be insufferable if he finds out.”

Back at the garage, Cerra unloaded the supplies and set to restocking their inventory of food, medicine, weapons, and ammunition. She worked alone, grateful for the solitude. She had cursed herself for confiding in Echo almost as soon as she opened her stupid mouth. She’d let Gregor talk her into it, but the conversation hadn’t made her feel any better. She just felt tired and overwrought. She hurried to finish unpacking the supplies, hoping that she could sneak off early to the barracks and get some rest.

Unfortunately, Rex found her first. Steeling herself for a lecture, she turned to face him, but to her surprise, he didn’t mention the small skirmish that Echo had pulled her out of. What he said was much worse.

“You up for a reconnaissance mission at 79’s?” he asked.

“What?” she asked sharply, panic lacing her voice. “No.”

It was one thing to spend all her time with Rex, Gregor, and now Echo. Rex was just Rex; she’d known him before she ever met Fives, and with his blond hair and clean-shaven face, the similarity wasn’t too striking, most of the time. She’d had plenty of time to get used to Gregor, and Echo had been through so many physical changes that he barely looked like a clone at all any more. But to go to 79’s—a gathering place for men who looked and sounded exactly like Fives—was unthinkable. She’d spent countless evenings at the club with Fives, Tup, Jesse, and Kix. She’d lost every single one of them, and she did not want to confront those memories. Not only that, but it was one of the last places Fives had gone before he was murdered.

“We need to know if our activities are drawing any unwanted attention,” he said. “If the clones are talking about it, we’ll hear it at 79’s.”

“I know you’re too recognizable, but why send me?” she asked, feeling her breath begin to spiral and struggling to bring it back under control. “Why not send Echo or Gregor? I can’t do it, Rex.”

“You’ll have to. Echo will draw too much attention,” Rex said. “And clones are more likely to run their mouths around a pretty woman than a trooper they don’t know. But Gregor will be going with you for backup. You’ll enter separately, and he’ll keep his distance unless things go sideways.”

Cerra swallowed thickly. “I guess I’d better comm Rafa and ask if I can raid her closet.”

“Sure, I’ll let our roommate know you’re going to stop by so she doesn’t call the Corries. Wear whatever you want; it’s not like I’m using it,” Rafa said, her voice crackly and indistinct over the commlink

“Thanks, Rafa. I owe you one,” Cerra said.

“I just have one condition.”

“And what’s that?” Cerra asked with a sinking feeling.

“Send me a hologram to prove that you actually wore a dress,” Rafa laughed. “This I have to see.”

“I wear dresses,” Cerra said, stung. “I mean, I’ve worn dresses. Before. You know, during my lifetime.”

“Sure, sure,” Rafa said skeptically.

Cerra grumbled as she ended the comm.

“Gregor, I need you to help me pick something out,” she said. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve been interested in a man that I don’t remember how to dress for them.”

“Well, this should be entertaining,” he giggled as they drove to the Martez sisters’ flat. 

“Pick something stretchy, or I'll never be able to squeeze into it,” Cerra said. “And make sure it’s long enough to cover my scars.”

“Do they bother you that much?” he asked curiously.

“No, but if anyone is going to recognize a shrapnel scar, it’s going to be a bar full of clone troopers, and I don’t want to have to explain it,” she said.

“Fair enough,” he acknowledged. “At least stretchy is an option for you. I feel like I'm going to bust out of this jacket if I breathe too deep.”

Gregor was wearing an officer’s gray uniform that Rex had gotten from Force alone knew where. It strained tightly across his shoulders and chest, and it hung baggily around his waist. Clone commandos were quite literally built differently from the regular troopers due to their enhanced muscle mass, and it was nearly impossible to find a uniform that would fit him properly.

While Gregor rifled through Rafa’s closet, Cerra did her best to apply makeup. When she was younger, she’d been decent at it, but her skills were rusty with disuse, and the process ended up taking longer than she expected. She surveyed the results with ambivalence. It wasn’t bad, per se, but the face looking back at her from the mirror did not look like her own.

Maybe that’s a good thing, she thought. Less chance of being recognized.

Gregor had completed his assignment well before Cerra finished getting ready, and he was lounging on Rafa’s bed while he waited for her, sipping from a flask. He had selected a skimpy metallic dress, a fur jacket that Cerra sincerely hoped was fake, and a pair of ridiculously impractical high heels.

“Get your damned boots off the blankets, you heathen,” Cerra said as she unzipped her coveralls and stepped out of them.

Gregor smirked and flopped onto his back to stare at the ceiling while she changed. It was a sweet gesture, though this was hardly the first time he’d seen her in her undergarments; the whole team shared the barracks, after all, and she’d lost any sense of modesty when she was in basic training. She shimmied into the dress and turned her back to him.

“Zip me up?” she asked.

His warm fingers barely brushed against her skin as he cautiously eased the zipper upwards, careful not to pinch her. She turned to inspect her reflection. She glowered as she realized she wouldn’t be able to wear her bra with the outfit, then unclasped the bra and slipped it off without removing the dress.

“That’s a neat trick,” Gregor said, watching her with interest.

“Want me to teach you how to do it?” Cerra asked.

“Maybe some other time.” He frowned and looked searchingly into her eyes. “You good to do this mission?”

“What choice do I have?” Cerra asked.

“We could make Rex wear the dress and heels and send him in,” Gregor suggested. “Or I could just stun him for you.”

“Tempting, but not today,” Cerra said. She picked up the high heels and shot Gregor a disgruntled look. “How the kark am I supposed to run, let alone fight, in these stupid shoes?”

“You won’t need to, because I’ll be there to watch your back. All you have to do is not fall on your face,” he said. He passed her his flask of mystery liquor, and she took a healthy sip or three, wincing at the sharp burn.

“Kriff, that’s awful.” She sighed and scrubbed a hand over her shaved head. “Do you think I should wear a wig?”

“Nope,” he said, handing her a pair of large, ornate earrings. “Just put these on. You look hot as kark.”

She looked dubiously at her reflection. “I don’t know, Gregor.”

“Trust me,” he said. “Or if you want to test it out, let’s stop by the garage on the way to 79’s. If Fireball’s eyes don’t pop out of his head, I’ll buy the first round.”

Fireball’s eyes did not, in fact, pop out of his head, but they did bulge gratifyingly when Cerra walked into the repair shop, forcing herself to strut with a confidence she was far from feeling. Rex merely surveyed her impassively, but Echo’s mouth dropped open. 

Ha. Still got it. The warmth from Gregor’s liquor began to spread through her body, and she felt a small glimmer of optimism that maybe, possibly, she might actually be able to pull this mission off.

“Did you get the comms installed in the earrings?” Rex asked Gregor.

“Yes, and the holocam is in my rank insignia plaque,” Gregor said. “We should test them before we go.”

Rex fiddled with a datapad. “Go ahead.”

Gregor slid his hand across Cerra’s lower back and pulled her in close. Her eyes nearly drifted closed as his familiar, comforting scent washed over her. His breath fanned warmly against her neck, sending a wave of prickling awareness down her spine as he whispered in her ear. “Give us a twirl, babygirl. Fireball wants a show.”

Across the shop, Gregor’s voice crackled loud and clear from Rex’s datapad, and Fireball choked audibly. Cerra punched Gregor’s shoulder.

“Stop torturing the new kid, asshole,” she said. “And don’t call me babygirl. You can’t pull it off.”

Her voice echoed from the datapad, and Fireball looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole as his gaze darted back and forth between Cerra and Gregor.

“He’ll live,” Gregor scoffed. “He’s just shocked to see this spectacular body you’ve been hiding under those coveralls. And I can absolutely pull off babygirl.”

“Cut the chatter,” Rex ordered, his voice tinny and distorted through the comm in her earring. “It’s time.”

Cerra rolled her eyes and sauntered out to hail a cab, while Gregor just shot Rex an impudent grin and a lazy salute. He took the speeder bike and arrived at 79’s before Cerra, as they’d planned. Her mouth went dry and her pulse spiked as she crossed the landing platform to the club’s entrance, where dance music blasted at a deafening volume. As she approached, the throbbing bass vibrated up her legs and buzzed in her chest, the sensation making her feel disoriented and ill. Wishing she could have another shot of Gregor’s liquid courage, she took a deep, steadying breath, and pushed through the doors.

---

Next chapter

[your-krazy-uncle-bob]

The Left used to accuse imperialist, resource-hungry Yanquis in Washington of cutting selfish deals with illiberal dictatorships in Latin America to grab their natural resources. 

How odd then that Joe Biden is now begging the despicable Maduro regime in Venezuela—corrupt, murderous, and anti-American—to produce more of its oil solely to send northward to America. 

Biden is quite willing to ease sanctions and condone the human rights abuses of Maduro—if his dictatorship will just open its oil spigots before the November midterm elections. 

Biden in 2020 campaigned on the supposed evil nature of the Saudi Arabian monarchy. Yet after vainly entreating Venezuela, Iran, and Russia, it was inevitable that Biden would once again supplicate the Saudis to pump more oil. 

Biden even pleaded with OPEC to increase its output and thus lower the world price of energy—again before the midterm elections. 

Biden, remember, has a bad habit of bragging that he lowered gas prices at the pump when the natural volatility of the petroleum markets leads to a fractional decrease. But once prices spike, he is utterly silent about his own role in limiting U.S. oil and gas output.

So, was it any surprise that the Saudis became the fourth non-democratic regime to refuse Biden’s entreaties? During the 2020 campaign, when gas prices were dirt cheap, and when then candidate Biden was demagoguing about ending fossil fuel, he opportunistically libeled the Saudis a “pariah” state. 

Biden also claimed that his opponent Donald Trump had cozied up to these supposedly awful Saudi royals. That accusation was especially ironic given that Trump was the first American president who had no need for Saudi oil. 

His administration had managed to make the United States the largest producer of gas and oil in history— precluding any energy dependence on illiberal regimes abroad. 

Trump was the first U.S. president whose interest in Gulf State monarchies was not energy-driven. 

Instead, he partnered with the Arab nations to end their hostilities with Israel. The ensuing Abraham Accords saw a historic thaw between the Jewish state and moderate Arab nations—given their shared worries about the unhinged Iranian theocracy. 

The Saudis are enjoying the schadenfreude of seeing their former American critic now on his knees, demanding the purportedly dirty, polluting oil produced by a supposed “pariah” state. 

In response to their “No,” a desperate Team Biden is getting nasty. Almost immediately the administration raised the idea of a pre-midterm retribution of suing the OPEC cartel as a price-rigging monopoly. It even maneuvered allies in Congress to take action to punish Riyadh for not playing the American pawn. 

The American public is repelled as they watch Biden’s pathetic theatrics of global oil begging to help himself in the midterms. They are ashamed that their recently energy autonomous country is now imploring non-democratic regimes for every drop of their oil—to the extent of threatening former allies and coaxing current enemies. 

More bizarre still, the public was once told that Biden and the Left wanted high energy prices. 

Why else did Biden upon entering office cancel the Keystone Pipeline? 

Did he not fulfill his green promises to the radical environmentalist Left by shutting down oil fields in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge? 

Did Biden not dutifully hector lending agencies, pensions funds, and money managers not to loan to, or invest in, oil and gas companies? 

Did Biden not issue fewer new energy leases on federal lands than any prior president? 

Was it not Biden on the eve of the Ukrainian war who jawboned the Europeans to reject the EastMed pipeline? That project was a much-needed joint effort by three of our closest allies—Greece, Israel, and Cyprus—to bring clean-burning natural gas to an energy-starved Europe. 

In sum, did not Biden brag to the Left that he kept his campaign promises to strangle fossil fuels—both curbing supply and spiking prices—to hasten the “transition” to wind, solar, and batteries? 

Why then is Biden humiliating Americans by playing the hard-nosed ugly American? Why is he demanding foreigners pump what we ourselves have in plentitude but will not fully produce? 

The answer, of course, is raw politics. 

Biden knows he wrecked the economy by deliberately surging oil prices in pursuit of the Left’s utopian green nightmare. 

Or put another way—if it is a question of avoiding a historic midterm wipeout, Joe Biden will now do anything. 

And that anything means all the human rights sermons about ostracizing “pariah” states like oil-rich Iran, Saudi Arabia, and Venezuela go out the window. 

In winter 2021 Biden lectured us that fossil fuels were dirty obstacles to our green future. 

As winter 2022-23 approaches, Biden believes he can strong-arm his enemies to send us more of such taboo energy that we won’t produce ourselves. 

Good luck with all these utter absurdities. 

(americangreatness.com)

[ltwilliammowett]

Thomas John Chew the fashion victim of  USS Constitution and USS Chesapeake

Portrait of Thomas John Chew, by unknown c. 1820 (x)

Thomas John Chew sailed as purser on the USS Constitution from 1 June 1812 to 26 September 1812. He was on board when the ship captured HMS Guerriere on 19 August 1812 and was awarded a Congressional Silver Medal for his actions and service and shared with the crew $50,000 in prize money. After acting as purser of the Boston Navy Yard for a time, he transferred to USS Chesapeake. He was on board that vessel during the battle against the HMS Shannon on June 1, 1813. According to some accounts, Chew supported the mortally wounded Captain James Lawrence as he uttered his famous last command: "Don't give up the ship." Chew was taken to Halifax, Nova Scotia as a Prisoner of War after the battle, but was quickly exchanged. We went on to serve as purser on board several other US Navy ships as well as for the New York Navy Yard. He resigned from the Navy on March 12, 1821. He died in 1846.

Chew’s shirt, 19th century (x)

The purser was the ship's commercial agent, purser, grocer and storekeeper all in one. His duties, which required a high degree of organisation and business acumen, included keeping the ship's pay and muster rolls and paying the officers and crews.

His trousers, 19th century (x)

He was responsible for procuring and issuing provisions to the crew. In addition, the purser ran a ship's shop where the men could buy clothing, hygiene articles, utensils, knives, ribbons, needles, thread, mustard, chocolate, coffee, tea, sugar and tobacco. In order to keep track of everything, the purser had to keep detailed accounts in accordance with naval regulations. During a battle, the purser was stationed in the cockpit to help the surgeon dress the wounded. He received $40.00 per month and two rations per day.

The red suspenders, 19th century (x)

But it was not only the pay of the purser that was enticing, but also the opportunity to make large profits by selling clothing and supplies to the crew at sea. Since there was no competition and the 450 men and boys aboard a frigate represented a steady market, there was room for extraordinary profits.

His stays, c. 1810-1820 (x)

Because he earned so well, he could of course dress in the latest and best fashions from Europe. Underneath he wore the finest trousers, red suspenders and shirts and even a man's corset or stay. Men's stays were also used in the army, for hunting, and for strenuous exercise. In the opinion of the fashion magazine of the time, this gave him an aristocratic look, and that was what he was after. Even though he continued to serve in the Navy, he was still a wealthy gentleman and he wanted to show that through his appearance.