#triple stamp press

[zablife]

Birthday Gift

John Shelby x Y/N Solomons

Summary: John celebrates his birthday with his bestie, but things don't go to plan.

Author's Note: Part of my Partners in Crime series about John and his problematic bestie Y/N Solomons. Ty to @dreamlandcreations for this idea!

Warnings: language, drinking

“Where have you been? Party started at eight. It’s gone ten,” John stated as he saw the top of your head weaving through the crowd gathered at the Garrison to celebrate his birthday.

“Take a butchers at this, you ungrateful arse!” you shouted above the din of the crowd. As the people standing in front of you parted to make way for the enormous tray you carried, John was finally able to see you head on, noticing something that vaguely resembled a triple layer chocolate cake. However, it was so unstable, it teetered precariously in your small hands and John’s eyes widened as it swayed before him.

“Would you Adam and Eve it?” you said with a wide grin, your pride swelling as you offered your gift.

“I can, it looks bloody awful!” he said with a boisterous laugh, fueled by the drinks he’d consumed in the hours before your arrival.

Arthur turned from the bar and poked his head over John’s shoulder, knitting his brows together and squinting his eyes which swam in their sockets from his own indulgement as he asked, “What’s this, eh?”

“You having a bubble? What the bloody hell do you think it is?” you asked, incredulously.

“Looks like a pile of dog shit,” Arthur mumbled into John’s ear, making them both erupt into drunken laughter, whisky splashing onto the floor as John gripped his brother’s arm to keep from falling over.

You stamped your foot and pursed your lips together, unamused by their buffoonery. “I spent five fucking hours on this!” you huffed, blowing hair out of your face from the corner of your mouth as both hands were occupied. Looking down at the increasingly heavy monstrosity you held and back up at your friend you wondered why you had bothered when this was the thanks you received. “Bloody shame is what it is,” you whined.

“That you dropped it?” John asked, voice dipping into a low and serious register all of a sudden. He scratched his ear, considering how the pathetic looking confection seemed to have fallen from a great height and been crammed back together hastily with fistfuls of icing. He waited anxiously for you to explain as your face grew ten shades of red.

“Dr-dropped it?” you stuttered, temper rising in your throat as you thought of all the time you’d spent in Alfie’s kitchen, covered in flour, pressed up against his disgusting, foul smelling workmen. Your hands were still cramped from holding the icing bag used to decorate it in tiny rosettes the way you’d been shown. It might not be the most beautiful creation you’d ever seen, but you were still quite proud of it.

“Yea…cos it’s leanin’, see?” John pointed as he cocked his head to to the side, attempting to view the cake as it might appear right side up. “And this whole side is pretty much….well, it’s gone, love,” he commented, gesturing toward the left top tier which was missing a large chunk. Your mouth hung open in speechless horror as you realized it had fallen off somewhere along the way, probably food for the rats in the streets by now.

At that moment, Finn walked up, studying you and the unfortunate mess you held in your hands. “Y/n! Is that food? I’m starving!” he drunkenly yelled, lunging for the cake.

Before he made it to you, Isaiah pulled him back by the elbow warning, “Careful, mate. Probably came out Alfie’s bins by the look of it.” Then turning to you with a cheeky grin, he asked “Is that why they call you alley cat, darlin’? That lovely little tail of yours been digging through the rubbish for scraps? Hope it’s not poisoned!” he chuckled.

“Alright, that’s enough!” John intervened, straightening himself. It was alright for him to make jokes, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to wound your pride. “It might look a bit dodgy, but I’m sure it tastes…well, better than it looks,” he gulped, eyeing you and the cake wearily, knowing he’d have to try it now.

You felt the tips of your ears burning as your rage boiled over, vocal chords thrumming as you screamed, “Would you stop rabbiting on about the bloody give and take!” Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, mostly due to exhaustion.

Finn stood motionless, glancing at John in panic. He shuffled forward, placing a hand on your shoulder as he assured you in a meek voice, “I can’t wait to try it.” He gave you a weak smile before stepping away, deathly afraid of the murderous glint in your eye.

“What are you drinking, alley cat?” John asked, attempting to appease you.

“Drop of needle and pin,” you answered, allowing the distraction as you looked around for a place to rest the cake.

As he rejoined the conversation, Arthur asked in confusion, “She gonna sew the fucking thing back together?”, a hiss escaping from between his teeth as he found amusement in his own joke.

“You’re brown bread, you hear me?” you threatened, gritting your teeth together tightly. You’d had nearly all you could take of relentless taunts for one night.

“So long as you ain’t the one bakin' it, sweetheart,” he replied with a wicked grin, raising his glass in a sarcastic toast.

That was all it took for you to snap, fingers raising the edges of the hefty tray as you grunted under the weight. 

“Oh, fuck!” Finn called out, but you were already launching the cake through the air toward Arthur. Even in his state of inebriation, the tall, lanky man managed to duck the flying pastry, his boxing reflexes serving him well.

However, the cake found an unanticipated target as John turned from the bar at that moment with your gin in one hand and a fresh pint of beer in the other. Unable to defend himself, the confection hit him squarely in the face, the weight of it nearly bowling him over in the process. The drinks sloshed out toward you, soaking your new dress in alcohol and you gasped at the feeling of cool liquid running down your cleavage. The room seemed to quiet for a few seconds afterward as John turned to place the empty glasses on the bar and wiped his face with a handkerchief. 

“Y/n?” he called out to you through a mouthful of icing. You didn’t reply, frozen in place with your hands to your face in genuine shock over your outburst. Then the laughter began, a silent shudder against your ribs at first as you attempted to hold it in and then an undignified snort as your amusement grew for the entire pub to hear. 

“You fucking laughing at my brother?” Arthur asked, picking up a handful of sponge and tossing it at your dress, ruining it further.

“You prick!” you yelled and grabbed a handful yourself, attempting to hit Arthur in the face. However, you missed and pummeled his chest, smearing his new tie with hideous brown streaks. As his face contorted in anger, Finn attempted to pull you away, but Arthur was already charging at you with the ferocity of a bull. Although John tried to hold him back, he only succeeded in slipping and sliding in the chocolate icing with his brother, landing on the hard wood floor with a thud.

Soon everyone was covered in unappetizing shades of brown, a sickeningly sweet smell permeating your nostrils as you threw chunks of cake at one another. You took pleasure smooshing a large portion into Isaiah’s face as you asked, “Enjoying the rubbish, darling?” And you couldn’t stop giggling as you noticed an overly intoxicated Finn licking his fingers greedily behind a chair. At least someone is enjoying my efforts, you thought. 

The shouting had long since turned to peels of laughter as the fight devolved into happy chaos. Even Arthur began to smile, until a distant voice began yelling over the crowd in sharp authority.

“Oi! What the fuck is going on?” Your head snapped up to see Tommy standing over all you. He watched you rolling in what looked to be mud as he picked at the bottom of one of his pristine leather shoes with disgust. 

“Tommy, I thought you were in London tonight,” John coughed out, attempting to shake crumbs from his hands. His face looked like that of a naughty child and he quickly averted his eyes, ashamed of his untidy appearance in contrast to his brother’s spotless three piece suit.

“We was celebrating John boy’s birthday,” Arthur added, attempting to stand, shoes skittering to one side as he clutched for the edge of the bar to remain upright. As he tried to smooth his hair back, you hiccuped out a little laugh.

“Y/n Solomons, might have known you’d be here,” Tommy mumbled through clenched jaw, disapproval evident, before announcing, “Everyone out of my fucking pub!” Chairs squealed and feet shuffled as partygoers who had been cheering and laughing moments earlier turned silent, no one wishing to incur the wrath of Tommy Shelby as they exited with haste. 

“Sorry, Tommy,” Isaiah mumbled, his ever present grin permanently faded as he fetched a mop and bucket. As the junior peaky boys began to clean, shooting daggers at you through their eyes, you realized the night had officially ended.

John leaned against the wall outside the Garrison, blowing smoke rings up toward the heavens in the peaceful silence of the evening. Cigar finished and stamped out on the cobblestones, he shoved his hands in his pockets, bouncing on the heels of his feet to keep warm. As he looked over at your disheveled figure, he laughed, “That was some birthday, alley cat. Haven’t had that much fun since I was kid.”

“Is that a thank you, I hear, Barney?” you asked, stamping out your cigarette with the heel of your boot. 

“Yeah, spose it is,” he chuckled. “Tommy’s face was a picture though,” he said, shoulders shaking as he laughed.

“Think he’ll tell Alfie?” you asked.

“No!” he snorted, indignantly. “Who cares about a mess in Tommy's pub?” John asked with a wave of his hand.

“Not the cake, you stupid git, THAT!” you said with a flourish, pointing to the brand new Triumph parked at the corner. 

“Alley cat, what have you done?” John asked, noticing the motorcycle for the first time that night.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, eyes as big as saucers.

“All yours, my love,” you said with a nod.

“No!” John gasped, running toward it and jumping on the seat with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

“Yes!” you squealed, following him. “Just don’t drive it round London,” you said, biting your lip nervously. 

John looked over his shoulder at you with furrowed brow, “Alley cat…” he began in a warning tone, knowing full well how you'd come into possession of the bike.

“Don’t ask,” you cut him off, holding up your hand.

He burst into laughter as you asked, “Does this make up for the birthday cake?”

“Yea, I’d say so!” he replied, stroking the handlebars lovingly.

“Good, then I never want to hear another word about my baking as long as I live!” you replied with a satisfied smirk. 

---------------------------

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

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@lovemissyhoneybee

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@mythos-writes

@emotionalcadaver

[i-am-church-the-cat]

ferrucci shut the fuck up challenge

"Fucking Ferrucci."

Kyle drops his bag on the floor and follows it's descent down onto the bed, only to be prodded out of it by Colton. He grumbles but allows himself to be herded towards the tiny bathroom.

"Fucking Ferrucci," Colton agrees, handing him a change of clothes before shutting the door on him. Kyle can hear everything the man does on the other side of the door and he allows the flimsy material to prop him up as he listens. Kyle hears him clatter around the kitchen to make their typical pre-race dinner of Aldi's chicken alfredo. The familiar sounds lull his eyelids to droop back down.

The banging on the door has him jolting back into action, yelling something unintelligible back at his teammate. Colton's unsympathetic laughter is the last thing Kyle hears before he slips under the spray.

He has a few texts waiting for him when he gets out of the bathroom, including one a few hours ago from Logan. It's nearly 3AM in Zandvoort but the time stamp is from right after Kyle got out of the car. He texts him and his mom back before shutting his phone off again.

The motorhome is as tiny as always and Kyle ends up pressed up against Colton's side, peering over his shoulder to watch him cook. The younger man's elbow digs into Kyle's stomach every time he stirs the heating pasta, but Kyle remains where he is until Colton tries to swat at his head with the spatula. Then he's laughing and moving back towards the couch.

There was no need for the pull out couch over summer break, obviously, but Colton still hasn't pulled it out since races started again. Kyle tries not to think about the arm around his waist and the head tucked into his shoulder that's the reason for that because then he'll want to talk about it and Colton has been very clear about Not Talking About It. So he sinks back into the couch and watches Colton silently, enjoying the rare moments during the race weekend when they're left alone.

The quiet stretches until, "I can feel you watching me."

Kyle feels the grin stretch across his face and he's sure Colton knows it's there even if his hasn't turned around. "I'm not trying to hide it."

Colton fills two bowls and turns towards him. Kyle grins harder seeing the tinge of pink on his face and Colton frowns deeper in response. "Just eat your dinner," he tells him, shoving a bowl into his hands before sitting down next to him. They're pressed from shoulder to hip so Kyle isn't worried about him actually being upset.

"Thanks," Kyle hums and digs in, ravenous now that he's been given permission to think about his hunger. They're quiet again except for the sound of their chewing and the movement of people outside the RV. Colton's motorhome feels so private sometimes that Kyle forgets that they're not that cutoff from the outside world. Definitely not enough to do anything more than sleep in the same bed, even if Kyle's thought's on the subject have tripled in these last few weeks.

"So," Colton starts, breaking Kyle from his revery. "Ferrucci. Think you can take him out for me tomorrow?"

Kyle snorts and sinks deeper into the couch - and even more into Colton. "Sure. You know the only thing I like more than you finishing first is you finishing second behind me."

It's supposed to be a joke, it is a joke, but it comes out a little more suggestive than he means it to. Colton looks down at him and suddenly his smile feels less genuine. He goes to look away, laugh it off, but Colton is already speaking.

"Alright," Colton hums. "You win tomorrow. I'll finish second."

"Yeah?" Kyle whispers, somewhere between shock and awe.

"Only seems fair." Colton's smile ticks up on one side. "You did it for me."

"Sixth and tenth are a little different than first and second," Kyle points out, ignoring how short-of-breath he sounds.

"You can do it," Colton says confidently. It sounds less like encouragment and more like a demand. Before Kyle can think of what to say, the weight against his side is gone. Colton grabs their bowls and leaves Kyle floundering in his wake.

—

"Ferrucci needs to learn to shut his fucking mouth."

Kyle laughs as he hits the bed, the sound muffled when Colton lands on top of him and covers Kyle's mouth with his own. He tastes like champagne and Kyle wants to suck it off his tongue. And every other place Kyle had drenched on the podium today.

Of course, Ferrucci had shit to say about how Kyle and Colton fought their way to the front and then blocked him out of the top three. The insinuation that he and Colton were fucking didn't hit as hard now that it was true, though maybe more dangerous. Kyle just had to trust that no one gave a fuck what Ferruci had to say. He certainly didn't.

"You didn't come in second," Kyle huffs out when Colton finally gives him time to breathe. He casts a glance to the third and first place trophies sitting on the table.

"Oh, I'm about to," Colton assures, tearing at the front of Kyle's racesuit. He moves to help him even as he reminds Colton that their team is expecting them in an hour. His eyes gleam. "We'll just have to be quick then."

It is quick. Embarassingly so. But, Kyle supposes as he interlocks his fingers with Colton's over his dick. That's what it takes to come first.

[vodika-vibes]

Overworked

Summary: After almost dying at a crime scene, Commander Thorn realizes that things need to change.

Pairing: Commander Thorn x Reader

Word Count: 2173

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Reader gets Blown up, mentions of a crime scene

Mando'a used: verd'ika - lit. little soldier

A/N: I've been meaning to write for Thorn for, like, weeks now. But I finally had an idea.

Divider by saradika

In an ideal universe, you would never have to work a day in your life. You would be able to stay home, and spend your time writing novels, or painting pictures, or crocheting blankets, and you’d never have to worry about food or power or rent.

However, you don’t live in an ideal universe.

You live here, on Coruscant, which means that five days a week, you have to drag yourself out of bed, shower, brush your teeth, and put on your uniform for another 8 hour day of hell.

Also known as work.

And you, the clever person that you are, decided to major in Forensics. Which meant that not only do you have to drag yourself to work every morning, you also have to see the absolute worst of people every day.

Sometimes when you close your eyes, all you see are blood spatters and burn patterns and bullet trajectories. Those are the good days.

You don’t have many good days.

There is a reason that people in your line of work rarely last more than 10 years. Especially on Coruscant. 

You exhale slowly and press the palms of your hands against your eyes. You’ve been working close to ten hours, less than halfway through a double, that was probably going to turn into a triple, and you’re already so done with the day that you kind of want to cry.

You’re hungry, and tired, and you still have six hours before the next shift is supposed to roll in, and you have to start the DNA analysis from three different cases, and run the fingerprints from last night-

You look up when there’s a knock on the door, “It’s open.”

Your office door slides open, and you tiredly look up at the man who steps into the room, “You look like shit, verd’ika.” Commander Thorn says as he steps into the room, a teasing grin on his lips.

“Please tell me you didn’t just walk your happy ass all the way from the Corrie Bullpen to my office just to insult me?” You ask as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand as you half-heartedly glare at the handsome man who has made it his life's mission to make your life more difficult.

“I would never,” Commander Thorn replies as he presses the button to shut your office door, and lazily drops into a chair across from your desk.

“Oh, please, have a seat.” You say snarkily.

“Thanks, I think I will.” He counters cheerfully, as he slumps even further down the chair with a wide grin.

You close your eyes, and forcefully stamp down on your growing ire, it’s not his fault that you’re exhausted, and it’s not right to take it out on him. Especially since you actually enjoy his company, “Is there something you needed, Commander?”

“How long have we worked together, verd’ika?” He asks, dragging the nickname out obnoxiously. 

“I don’t…2 years, give or take?” You say with a shake of your head.

“Long enough that you should just call me by my name,” He says mildly, and he frowns when you curl in on yourself as though he yelled at you. He sits up and leans forward slightly, his sharp eyes scanning your face for a moment, and his scowl deepens, “How many hours have you been working?”

You glance at your chrono and sigh, “a little more than 10 hours. I’m working a double today…maybe a triple.” You tiredly rub your eyes, “What did you need, Commander Thorn?”

“...we have a case.” He says quietly, a look of guilt crossing his face as you utter an exhausted curse, “No one else is available for field work.”

“It’s fine, this is my job after all. Just let me grab my keys and I’ll meet you there. Send me the location?” You ask, as you get to your feet and grab your jacket off the back of your chair.

Thorn says nothing for a moment, and then he releases a deep sigh, and you hear the sound of some typing, “I’ll see you there. It’s just going to be the two of us, for now.”

“Alright, I’ll see you there.”

30 minutes later, you pull up in front of a run down building. The building itself is taped off, and Thorn is waiting for you with his arms crossed over his chest. You park near his speeder, and slip out of your jeep, having to essentially fall out of your van due to its height.

“Nice of you to join me,” Thorn teases lightly, though there’s tension in his shoulders and his hand rests on his blaster, “So we have a body.”

“It’s almost always a body in this part of Coruscant,” You reply as you pull your kit out of the back of your van, “You suspect foul play?”

“The person who called it in claimed that they witnessed a murder,” Thorn replies as he scans his datapad, “I have some shinies canvassing the area, looking for the witness.”

“Is that why you’re so tense?” You ask.

“What?”

“You’ve had your hand on your blaster like you’re expecting someone to jump out and start shooting at us.” You explain as you press the button that closes the trunk door.

“Just…a bad feeling, verd’ika.” His voice is tight, “I’m going to be staying close for now.”

You eye him for a moment, and then nod slowly, “If that will make you feel more comfortable.” You finally reply, “Is the body inside?”

“Yeah. The shinies cleared the house before you got here.” Thorn says, “At first blush, it looks like an execution.”

You flash him the smallest of smiles, “If you say so, then that’s probably what happened. But I’ll check anyway.”

“Ah, verd’ika, when you say stuff like that it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Thorn teases flirtatiously, and you know that if he wasn’t wearing his helmet, he’d be smirking at you, in spite of the tension running through his body.

You pull your gloves on and shoot him a look, “You know that you’re probably right. I just need to verify it for legal reasons.” You shake your head and take half a step towards the house, “I assume I’m free to enter?”

“Yep, the scene is yours.”

You nod at him, and grab your camera, and slowly make your way into the house, taking pictures as you go. You snap a series of photos of the victim, a woman, likely in her 70s. True to what Thorn told you, she had two bullet holes in her head.

“If the execution was what killed her,” You say to Thorn, “She wasn’t killed here. There’s not nearly enough blood.”

Thorn is somehow even more tense than he was outside as he makes a note on his datapad, “Anything else?”

“Give me a minute,” You reply, standing and moving around to the other side. You look over the victim, and then tilt your head when you notice something strange. “Huh. What’s this then?” You murmur, more to yourself then Thorn as you reach out and adjust the thick jacket the victim was wearing. Your hand presses against something hard, and metal, and you hear a click that makes your blood freeze, and you slam your hand down on the victim’s chest. 

“Verd’ika?”

“I think there’s a bomb.” You say, turning panicked eyes up towards Thorn.

Thorn swears and tosses his datapad out the front door, and crosses the room to kneel across from you. He scans the body, and then swears again, “It is.” He confirms, “It looks like a pressure plate.”

“Sorry.” You whisper, “You should probably-”

“If you think I’m leaving you here, alone, with a bomb then you don’t know me well at all,” His voice is sharp, and for a moment you hate that he’s wearing his helmet, because seeing his face would offer you a little comfort. “Okay. Disarming the bomb isn’t possible, not now that it’s been triggered,” Thorn explains as he stands and walks around the body until he’s behind you.

“So what do we do?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder as he turns a thick table onto it’s side and moves it so it’s nearly pressed against your back.

“You are going to sit there,” Thorn replies, moving so he’s behind the table, and then reaching over the table and grabbing you under the arms, “Verd’ika?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to hurt.” Is the only warning he gives, as he tightens his grip and pulls, jerking you away from the bomb, and over the table, and covering you with his own body in one smooth motion that he’s had to have practiced before.

The bomb detonates at the exact same time, and the last thing you remember, clearly, is the pain the Thorn warned you about.

You wake to the sound of a heart monitor beeping annoyingly in your ear. You slowly blink the sleep out of your eyes, and you can taste bacta on your lips. 

You half expect to be in the hospital, but you’re also not really surprised to see that you’re in the Guard’s Medbay. Slowly you try to sit up, only to stop when gentle hands press against your shoulders, laying you back. “You’re not supposed to move, verd’ika.”

“Thorn?” You quickly look him over, he’s wearing casual clothes, rather than his armor, which means you can see the bruises covering his arms, “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Me? Yeah, a couple of bruises. A minor concussion.” Thorn waves away his injuries as unimportant, “How are you feeling? You’ve been in a bacta tank for two days.”

“Pretty good, all things considered.” You lightly take his hand and squeeze it, “I thought that I would be in the hospital?”

“Yeah, well…” There’s something grim on Thorn’s face, “Someone put a hit on you.”

“On…me?”

“You’re very good at what you do,” Thorn replies, “We moved you from the hospital when one of the nurses tried to kill you.”

“I don’t…why?”

“You’re very good at what you do, cyar’ika.” Thorn says with a sigh, “You’re being moved into protective custody until we can figure out who’s trying to kill you.” He lightly takes your hand and squeezes your fingers, “I’m afraid you’re not going to have much privacy for a bit.”

You lay in the bed, thinking on his words, “Am I being forced to leave Coruscant?” You ask.

“No. You’re being moved into protective custody under the care of the Coruscant Guard. Well, to be more specific, we’re being moved into protective custody.” Thorn explains.

“Ah, you got stuck with babysitting duty.”

“I volunteered, cyar’ika.” Thorn replies, “You almost died because I didn’t do my due diligence.”

“It’s not your-”

“It is my fault. If I had done my damned job, the bomb would have been disarmed before you even arrived on scene.” Thorn interrupts, “So, I’m afraid you’re going to be stuck with me for a while.”

You sigh quietly, “It’s not that much of a hardship,” You murmur, “When I’m not working, I actually like spending time with you.”

He laughs quietly, and slowly releases your fingers to brush his fingers against your cheek, and you turn your head into his touch. “You know I only bother you as much as I do because I want you to look at me, right?” He asks quietly.

You smile gently, “I’m looking now, Thorn.”

His fingers pause, mid stroke, and his gaze locks with yours, “Yeah. I guess you are. And…do you like what you see?” Thorn asks, something hesitant in his voice.

“Always did.”

“You never said anything.”

“You never come to talk to me alone when we’re not working,” You reply, “Or I would have.”

A look of amusement crosses his face, “I didn’t know that you’re shy.”

“I didn’t either,” You admit with a laugh, “Just about this one thing, I guess.”

You fall into a comfortable silence, with his fingers gentle on your cheek. “Cyar’ika,” He says slowly, “Do you know what that means?”

“Something less insulting than verd’ika, I hope.”

“It means sweetheart.”

“Oh, that’s much nicer than being called Little Soldier.” You joke lightly.

He laughs quietly, and his thumb lightly ghosts across your lips, “Can I kiss you, cyar’ika?”

“I’m in a hospital bed and covered in bacta.” You reply.

“That’s not a no,”

You smile at him, “Yes, Thorn. You can kiss me.”

He flashes an almost blinding grin, and then he leans in and gently presses his lips against yours. His kiss is so breathtakingly gentle that you’re helpless to do anything more than let out a quiet whine into the kiss.

He breaks the kiss, and lays his arms on the bed and then he lays his chin on his folded arms, a grin on his lips, as he looks at you with a lovesick look on his face. And all you can do is blush and try to pull the blanket up over your head.

[hookieduke]

Shepherd has arrived. Now available in the shop this four color print, by Triple Stamp Press, is a Limited Edition of 90. Celebrating 9 years of working with TSP and getting to create beautiful posters.

Thank you to everyone who has made it possible. This print was the start of something special for me, and may it watch over you in your home, and bring to you some of the happiness it has brought to me.

[ask-carmenpondiego]

Chapter 18: The Devil in the Details

M paced around his room which was fairly sparse of furniture. He already burnt through a solid pack of cigarettes since returning from his test run of the chronoskimmer and was well into his second pack. He pulled out his phone and patched through to the main computer, 079 pulling its face up on the screen. “Oh wonderful. You managed to spread my reach to your tiny slip of a mobile device. Could you make it any more cramped in here?” M growled, “I will stuff your stuck up assface into an ipod shuffle or worse if you keep it up. I need to go over the schematics on where I went.” The ai sighed as if it had something pressing that it was being pulled away from. It didnt. 079 pulled up the data code from the testing, giving a strong impression of if it had a body, it would be checking a watch and tapping its foot. M poured over the info and triple checked the details. “Everything is fucking correct for this world’s info. What the fuck happened that lead to that?!” 079 swirled its hair into a turban and had images of fortune telling items around its face “You know, I would tell you but I’ll give a little trivia factoid instead: I actually cannot see into the future. I’m a computer, not a psychic. I don’t even have a clue on what you even saw.” Red letters spelling CANCELLED were stamped across the turbaned ai face before returning to normal, wiping away the letters with a digital rag. “Yer no fuckin help.” M tossed the phone onto his bed and opened his window, leaning on the sill. “Perhaps what you saw was not what you saw?” 079 called out, muffled since the screen was face down against the comforter. M’s tentacle reached over and set it upright. “Elaborate.” M looked over his shoulder at his phone. “What you saw in one perspective was perhaps not the full story and you may have missed some key points. Ultimately, time will only tell. Its unadvisable to return to a time that you already visited, much less a time where current you and other you occupy the same time space. Time paradoxes still exist, you know.” M hissed at it through gritted teeth, “Yes I know time paradoxes still fucking exist! But HOW do I fucking change the event if I don’t know what fucking causes it?!” The phone was silent for a moment, “I’m sorry, was that rhetorical? I can’t quite understand the fragile folly of organic semi-intelligent beings. You could just let it happen rather than attempt to fix it and possibly bring about the resulting event faster.” M hung his head and flicked the cigarette butt out the window, “How the hell do you figure that?”

“I don’t. Again, I’m just a computer. I don’t give one iota of interest in what you do. Anything you do is your own fault in itself. In your words: I don’t give a shit.”

M ran his dark hands through his orange hair, “I’m going to have to tell Red.. can I even tell Red?” He points to the phone accusingly, “You just had to tell me that any fucking action I take could make it fucking happen faster! Now I can’t even fucking warn anyone!” In a very bored flat tone, 079 replied, “Oh no. I warned you against possible consequences for your actions that may or may not happen. What ever shall I do?”

“Report this to the TVA director, this is exactly what they have been looking for.” A small time desk jockey was reading a print-out of the timeline, noticing a new unauthorized time jump. He handed the print-out to a passing official who nodded and took the file containing the report. A short trip down the hall the official knocked on the director’s door, and entered upon permission. The director reviewed the file and started dialing the phone next to them. On the other end, a gentleman in a dark grey suit answered, thick files littered his desk from the MIB, ACME, SCP Foundation, United Nations Global Occult Coalition (UNGOC), G.R.U. Division Psychotronics (GRU-P), Earth Protection Force (EPF), Department of External Security (DXS), Federal Bureau of Control (FBC), Federal Bureau of Intervention(FBI), Federal Investigation Bureau(FIB), Foundation for Law and Government(FLAG), International Affairs Agency(IAA), the Wander Society and various other Interpol including Canterlot Royal Guard and Equestria’s global protection unit, all involving Carmen Pondiego and her VILE team.

The gentleman added the Time Variance Authority (TVA) file to his stack. “I see and this new variance is the confirmed beginning to our little thief problem? Understood. …..No, no. We already have eyes and ears on the entire group…… Oh yes, we have our contingency plan all set and planted, we just need to knock that first domino to put a bit of pressure on the situation…. Yes, just keep an eye on that variance timeline and let me know of any further splits or deviance… No, no, Thank YOU, Director. May prosperity raine upon you. Good bye.” A second gentleman with an umbrella hanging on his arm by the hook, seemingly a lower rank, stood in front of him. “Sir? If it has been confirmed for the beginning of the situation, then shouldn’t we eliminate the entirety as soon as possible? I mean, look how many unnaturals she has under her power. The reports say she gains more within a year or so and so does her reach.” The man at the desk tidies up and stacks the files and sets them aside. “No. There is a small chance this is the one who will lose it all and becomes a regular citizen again. We need to see if this time skip triggers anything. We have the safeguards in place. They just need to have the nerve to do what is demanded of them if the time comes. For now, we wait and gather more evidence against this Carmen Pondiego and her VILE team.”

A small red jet circles and lands on a dusty dirt patch outside a fortress ruin on an island on a lake by the southside mountains of Siberia. The fortress, once called Por-Bazhyn, sat undisturbed for many a year, though it currently looked like it was all filled in with dirt. The jet opens to let out its passengers, a few agents and Carmen. They headed to the main entrance and stopped just shy of the opening. Carmen looks at the blueprints and looks at a smaller opening about three yards to the side, “This is where we would typically enter but there had been damage to the interior entranceway further in where it just gives us a dead end. We’ll need to divert to the servants entrance over there.”

Once inside, they descend multiple flights to underground caverns and tunnels. Using their map, the group makes their way through twists and mazes, finally getting to a small open room with a deep drop in the center, the other side of the room was a chest, the walls were rough chiseled and some carvings have been broken away by time. The drop was just large enough that even an olympic jumper could not simply jump across. There used to be a rope bridge but has since rotted away.

Carmen nodded to Kiros who sank his claws into the wall and tested the weight of the grip. He then scaled across the chasm, making slight hand and footholds with his claws and hooked a line at the halfway mark and continued to cross the rest of the way, securing the line with a large pillar. Carmen and Lekir hook up their harnesses and attached the safety line before following exactly where Kiros had set his claws. Slowly making their way across, the girls didnt dare look down, Ninoga, staying on the entrance side of the room, was able to look down and see sharp staligmites growing up from the bottom of the chasm. “Nothing like an old fashioned temple heist with deadly drop offs for hobbies, huh?” Carmen chuckled, breathing hard as she hasn’t rock climbed in quite a while. Lekir shook her head, “You and I have different views on hobbies, I swear..” Ninoga tilted his head, “I thought we were getting things for a cure for Waldo?”

“We are, I was just saying this harkens back to when I was doing this for fun.” Carmen clarified, reaching the ledge. Lekir followed close behind as Carmen opened her pack to grab the extra rope and harness sets. She walked to the chiseled out shelf that holds the chest and checks for traps before picking up the chest which was surprisingly light. She frowned as she placed it near the harness set she was going to wrap it in and looked at the lock. The remains of the lock were already breaking away in her gloved hand in a pile of rusty dust. Kiros peers over, “Whats wrong?” Carmen shakes her head, “Its lighter than I expected..” Lekir comes over, shining her flashlight over for extra light since the room was very dimly lit by their larger lights they brought. “Well, we know we aren’t looking for coins and jewels, maybe it only holds a jar or something?” Carmen wipes the dust off her glove with her pants and proceeds to open the chest. With a yelp from both girls, the chest snapped back with a large set of teeth and a tentacle like tongue. They managed to scramble back out of chomping range just in time to see a red electric bolt shoot the chest from the side, blasting it into the wall with a crunch. Ninoga had sent the blast and called over “You guys ok?! I didn’t hit you, did I?” Carmen was catching her breath as Lekir waved over, “We’re good! Thanks!” Kiros was picking the broken pieces of wood apart, finding some meaty bits. “Should we save some for M as a snack?” He chuckled. “He’s gonna be sour he missed out on this.” He searches a bit more before finding a small scroll. “Here, I found something in the deep center.” Carmen reached for it, inspecting the type of parchment. “This is hide… its a rabbit hide!” She laughed, “Its the rabbit in the chest! So this is already the next clue.. This is awesome. Let’s get this back to HQ so we can figure out the next stop.” The girls carefully made their way back across the wall, having the two dragon types as watchers in case one of them fell, they could hoist them back up easily. They both made it without incident, with Kiros packing away some of the meat before scaling the wall, taking up the equipment he had set for the safety line.

After packing up the climbing equipment, the team made their way out of the tunnels and chambers and back towards the jet. They were met by a small group of militarized officials standing between them and their escape ride. The officials carried old looking bladed weapons as well as rods and had armored horses. The horses suddenly charged at the Agents, making the four scatter. One of the officials threw what looked like a bolas towards Kiros to which Lekir slid in and deflected with an ice spear she created, sending the bolas right back at the official, making him fall off the horse. The horse was startled and started to run with the official’s leg still stuck in a stirrup. Ninoga sent two officials flying with a good tail swipe while the last had gotten off of his horse to fight Carmen with close hand to hand combat. That didnt last long since Kiros picked him up from behind, tossing him to the wall as Lekir sent a smear of ice to hold him there like glue. Carmen was only a little cut up but she confirmed with a smile, they still have the loot.

They all piled back into the jet and set off to HQ, a fifth official that held back out of sight had made a call, “They have escaped. We could not detain them. I am sorry but we have failed to secure the scroll…. Sir? Please we will not fail again.. please no!” The official started begging before dark green vivianite crystals rapidly grew and speared through his body at all angles, severing organs and leaving nothing but shreds of flesh and bones between the multitudes of shards.

When they returned, Carmen was holding her torn red coat and had some cuts on her arms and side. Wally rushed up to her and held her close, making her wince, “Oh my Light! I’m glad you’re ok! I heard over the coms you needed a med kit! Do you need a hospital?!” Carmen pried him off, chuckling, “Nothing I’m not used to. This is why we train. I just got a few scrapes from some bladed guards. I just need some antibacterial gel and gauze. Its nothing! I don’t think these will even scar up.” Lekir laughs, “She’s the squishy out of all of us technically!” She slaps Carmen’s plush ass as if to demonstrate her plushness. The mare blushes and sighs about needing to sew her fabric coat yet again.

Asta nudged Wally’s arm a bit and he perked up as he remembered. “Oh! While you were gone, I went ahead and got you something. They didn’t have your bright red but maybe you will like this darker scarlet shade.” He handed her a box to which she took to the dinner table. Opening it, she grinned and chuckled as she lifted a brand new leather coat, a sleeker, lighter weighted design and had custom pockets on the inner lining and in the sleeves. She tried it on, wincing slightly as she moved, but overall had it on and it had fit perfectly. It even had a split back where her tail was able to freely peek out. She popped the collar and laid it bad down with ease and stuck her hands in every pocket she could find. “This is beautiful!! Thank you so much!!” She wrapped her arms around Wally and kissed him deeply. “Asta helped me with the sizing. She had to raid your closet for the right size. Now sadly they didn’t have a hat to match, so its just the coat for now.” He confessed, but she chuckled and put her hat onto his head. “Hats can be another time. Those can be a tough find anyway. But this is wonderful, thank you…oh! We also have good news! The chest had the next clue in it so we can go right to the duck that will lead us to the eggs! We’re almost there! We almost have you cured!”

Wally’s smile fell a split second as a worried look flashed. “I’m sure we will before it gets too bad.” M hung back and watched everything like a hawk, looking for any sign of the cause of such hatred he had seen on future Carmen’s face. It bothered him more than he expected, he wanted to say he didn’t care much about any of this just like 079 clearly stated as its own opinion. What M did find was that he was more attached to the whole team but moreso Carmen. As they joked, one thing was right, the majority of the team could handle a bullet or two and heal the next day. But Carmen was full mortal flesh and blood, no special powers, she couldn’t even use regular unicorn magic. Yet she dove into dangerous situations all the time with no regard for her own safety, as if she were one of them regardless of all the planning she does to keep everyone safe during their missions. And that bothered him even more since his test run.

He watched as she patched herself up all carefree, he puffed on his cigarette as he broods. It gnawed at his thoughts, he severely wanted both to go back to the future to figure it out but knew 079 had a very glaring and valid point. He thought about slipping off to the mech lab to tinker a bit more on the pod, seeing if he can alter something so its just not a time machine. He needed a distraction and his previous conversation of traveling to other universes may prove to be just the right project to give him that distraction.

A distraction did come to him, just in the form he didn’t expect. Carmen’s waterbottle was clear glass, yet the liquid had the absolute faintest blue glow, easily missed by casual glances. Perhaps 079 was right with his perception. He just needed more proof. He slinked off towards Carmen’s office as she laughed and had happy conversations with the others. She opened the scroll and showed the others. “Lets see what this thing says.” She laid it out on the table next to the coat box and tilted her head. Everyone gathered around for a view. “Is it supposed to be mostly blank?” The hide was indeed mostly blank, the bottom had a mountain ridge and a river and sporadic spots on the upper part that were either ink or tiny holes burnt through with a few sketch lines dashed in going a single direction. Otherwise it was very blank.

“Perhaps its a type of morse code?” Kiros rubbed his chin, Asta shook her head, “No, that was invented in the Amareicas in the 1830’s. And its not cuneiform.. the holes almost look like star alignments yet I dont recognize the placements but the other dots aren’t stars.” Carmen looked up and saw that M wasn’t there. She excused herself and went to search for him, finding him in her office, searching drawers and shelves.

“M, what’s going on? You’ve barely been around and more moody than usual since working on the chronoskimmer.” She inquired, setting her bottle on her desk as he was searching underneath for hidden compartments. He peeked up with a glare and his eyes darted to the water bottle and back to her, “Nice, acting stupid and oblivious right to my fuckin face.” Carmen furrowed her brow and lowered her ears, “Excuse me? But I have absolutely no idea what the hell you are going on about and I deserve an explanation for your behavior!” He stands and leans on the desk between them and whips the bottle across the room, smashing it against the wall. “THAT is what is going on. You have been way too easy going when it comes to your own safety, your cycles have been more intense, your pain tolerance is way too fucking high for a normal fucking pony, and your water always has a familiar blue glow to it. You’ve been fucking microdosing that fucking zydrate this whole fucking time! Now tell me where the rest of it is so I can fucking destroy it, you fucking junkhead!” She snarled at him and slapped his face to which he snapped his hand out and gripped her hair, slamming her head to the desk, “Don’t you FUCKING act all offended. Now I don’t give a fuck what withdrawal you suffer. Tonight you get clean for good and you never get high again. If you don’t listen to me out of fuckin fear, then at least do the fuckin curtesy of telling my brother that your so called happiness is a fucking lie. Fuck knows he deserves to hear the fuckin truth.” He growled as she struggled against his grip on her head as he held her down. “I will NOT let you go down a drug bender and do something you fucking regret!” She blinks and stops struggling for a moment, “What did you say?” She asked. His voice had a hint of unusual worry that she had caught. “I said I will not let you..”

“Yeah I heard that but you sound like you know something I dont..” He lets her up and avoids looking at her both out of fury and confrontation. “I’m not telling you. You are not supposed to know.”

She rubbed her head and walked around the desk, gripping his arm to turn him towards her, “Fuck that, you don’t get to assault me, accuse me of being a brainless addict AND withhold important information from me! Now tell me what you know!” He growls and grips both her arms, squeezing one of the deep cuts by accident, making her yelp. “I FUCKING CAN’T.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because I don’t know what fucking causes it!”

“It can’t be that bad. We’ve dealt with pretty bad shit.”

He shakes her a bit, “I saw you fucking die, okay?! It’s that fucking bad!”

The color drains from her face and she steps back from his grip. “When.. how?”

He sighs and puts one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair stressfully. “Three years, shot in Times Square.”

She let the information sink in, both hands on her hips, looking at the floor. She sighs and nods after a few silent moments, “Okay. Luckily the future is not set in stone. Let’s ban Times Square from our destinations. I’ll secure those guns my sister gave as a gift into the vault, far back so its hard to get them. And I really wish you didn’t smash my water. That was the last of the zydrate I had and boy, I could sure use some after that bomb you just dropped.” She looked at him, all coldly somber and turned to walk out of her office and back to the rest of the team. “We need your help to crack the riddle on that hide we brought back. Clean up your mess and join us when you’re done. I’m going to ice this bump on my head now and pour myself a stiff drink.”

[muzaktomyears]

As Ringo Starr observed, “There was the love-and-beads personality and the bag of anger.” The first really did blossom in India, whether it meant putting in the hours to learn the sitar under the great Ravi Shankar or finding tranquillity in Rishikesh in the company of the Maharishi. The problem with the spiritual pursuit is that it can be mistaken for a quick road to enlightenment, particularly among Westerners discovering Eastern traditions, and Harrison proved to be no more rapidly enlightened than the next would-be yogi. The Beatles’ press officer Derek Taylor recalled a transatlantic flight on which Harrison was chanting his mantra. When a concerned flight attendant asked if everything was all right, he snapped: “F*** off. Can’t you see I’m meditating?”

quote from the Times review of Philip Norman's George Harrison: The Reluctant Beatle

George Harrison by Philip Norman review — the tetchy, much mocked, reluctant Beatle

Harrison was a sensitive soul overshadowed by his bandmates but he blossomed musically after the Fab Four broke up. By Will Hodgkinson

If the title of Philip Norman’s biography makes you wonder why anyone would be reluctant to be a Beatle, the first few chapters provide the answer. Coming from a loving, supportive, working class family in Liverpool, George Harrison was 14 when an amiable Paul McCartney invited him to join a loosely congregated skiffle group called the Quarrymen. To which the group’s acid-tongued 17-year-old leader John Lennon responded: “Who’s that bloody kid who’s always hanging around?”

It didn’t help that Lennon’s guardian, Aunt Mimi, a frightful snob, took in Harrison’s teddy boy gear, Scouse accent and sticky-out ears and dismissed him as exactly the kind of riff-raff her nephew should not be hanging around with. As Lennon recalled, “He came round to [Aunt Mimi’s house] one day and asked me to go to the pictures with him. I pretended I was too busy.”

Did it get better for that bloody kid once he was officially a Beatle? No, it did not. So quiet that one early associate remembered him as “the Invisible Man”, Harrison was routinely subjected to all manner of indignities — he lost his virginity in a Hamburg bunk bed while John, Paul and the band’s original drummer Pete Best looked on; and when he vomited on the floor of a Hamburg flat in a drunken stupor one night, the other Beatles christened his puke of shame “the Thing” and decorated it with matchsticks.

Given this early treatment, you can see why it was so hard for Harrison to be taken seriously by his tormentors in the years to come. It meant that however good his songs were — and few can argue that Isn’t It a Pity and All Things Must Pass are not profound, moving highlights of the hippie era — Harrison was forever struggling to get them onto Beatles records.

He must have felt his moment had come when All Things Must Pass, his triple album released in November 1970 in the wake of the Beatles falling apart, stamped all over the others’ solo efforts by going straight to No 1. Yet, like an older brother who knows how to twist the knife, Lennon even cut that down. “Every time I put the radio on, it’s ‘Oh my Lord,’” Lennon said of My Sweet Lord. “I’m beginning to think there must be a God.” Lennon appraised Harrison’s signature spiritual singalong with a demeaning “all right”, claiming that Harrison only ever managed to bash out a tune in the first place because “he was working with two f***ing brilliant songwriters and he learned a lot from us”.

Norman has fashioned an authoritative portrait of Harrison that leaves you liking and feeling sympathy for his subject while being fully aware of the tetchiness — quite common among people aiming for a higher state of consciousness, funnily enough — that was never far away.

As Ringo Starr observed, “There was the love-and-beads personality and the bag of anger.” The first really did blossom in India, whether it meant putting in the hours to learn the sitar under the great Ravi Shankar or finding tranquillity in Rishikesh in the company of the Maharishi. The problem with the spiritual pursuit is that it can be mistaken for a quick road to enlightenment, particularly among Westerners discovering Eastern traditions, and Harrison proved to be no more rapidly enlightened than the next would-be yogi. The Beatles’ press officer Derek Taylor recalled a transatlantic flight on which Harrison was chanting his mantra. When a concerned flight attendant asked if everything was all right, he snapped: “F*** off. Can’t you see I’m meditating?”

One person who did understand Harrison was his first wife, Pattie Boyd. She lived with him in a gothic mansion near Henley called Friar Park, filled with Hare Krishnas and rockers, leading her to ask Harrison’s assistant Chris O’Dell, “What’s he got in his hands today, the prayer beads or the cocaine?” Boyd made up a third of the most famous love triangle in rock history, with Eric Clapton not only writing Layla about her, but also consulting the New Orleans musician Dr John, who he suspected of having voodoo powers, about casting a spell to make Boyd fall in love with him. After Harrison caught her canoodling with Clapton in the garden of Robert Stigwood’s house, Clapton announced, in the faux casual argot of the era, “I have to tell you, man, I’m in love with your wife.” Harrison dealt with it the only way an emotionally constipated former Beatle knew how: by challenging Clapton to a guitar duel.

All of this is imparted in an affectionate but detached tone, leading to an impression of a man who, although burdened with an apparent inability to lighten up, generally sought to do the right thing. His 1971 Concert for Bangladesh started the trend for charity rock endeavours and collected together everyone from Bob Dylan to Shankar in what Rolling Stone magazine called “a brief incandescent revival of all that was best in the Sixties”. He funded Monty Python’s Life of Brian by actually betting the house on it, negotiating a bank loan secured against Friar Park.

By the time he settled down with his second wife, Olivia, and their son, Dhani, he seemed to have arrived at some kind of actual peace rather than just the prayer bead-wearing sort. He reconciled with McCartney while working on the enormous Beatles Anthology project in the mid-Nineties and rediscovered his sense of humour too. In 1999, after a mentally ill intruder at Friar Park stabbed him repeatedly, Harrison announced that the intruder “certainly wasn’t auditioning for the Traveling Wilburys”.

Norman is something of a one-man Beatles industry. In 1981 he published the million-selling Shout! The True Story of the Beatles before continuing with biographies of Lennon and McCartney, but hopes of writing one on Harrison were dashed in November 2001 after a mean-spirited obituary he wrote ensured he would receive no cooperation from Olivia or Dhani.

In the event it doesn’t seem to have mattered too much, with Boyd in particular helping to fill out the story of a sensitive man and the part he played in late 20th-century life. Harrison doesn’t come across as a reluctant Beatle as such, more a normal guy who found himself in extraordinary circumstances and, lacking McCartney’s professionalism or Lennon’s cynicism, didn’t know how to handle it. The quiet Beatle, only 58 when he died, was simply trying to work it all out, just like the rest of us.

(source)

[pwlanier]

Wide traditional costume belt, 19th Century

Polychrome strapwork, richly ornamented, triple concealed buckle, signs of age and use.

Embroidery with colorful leather ribbons, so-called strappy work, is often used in the Transylvanian and Saxon area for the design of traditional leather belts, often in combination with stamping or pressing patterns. The motifs depicted range from purely geometric to plants and hearts.

Dorotheum

[arpov-blog-blog]

..."The goods these prisoners produce wind up in the supply chains of a dizzying array of products found in most American kitchens, from Frosted Flakes cereal and Ball Park hot dogs to Gold Medal flour, Coca-Cola and Riceland rice. They are on the shelves of virtually every supermarket in the country, including Kroger, Target, Aldi and Whole Foods. And some goods are exported, including to countries that have had products blocked from entering the U.S. for using forced or prison labor.

Many of the companies buying directly from prisons are violating their own policies against the use of such labor. But it’s completely legal, dating back largely to the need for labor to help rebuild the South’s shattered economy after the Civil War. Enshrined in the Constitution by the 13th Amendment, slavery and involuntary servitude are banned – except as punishment for a crime.

That clause is currently being challenged on the federal level, and efforts to remove similar language from state constitutions are expected to reach the ballot in about a dozen states this year.

Some prisoners work on the same plantation soil where slaves harvested cotton, tobacco and sugarcane more than 150 years ago, with some present-day images looking eerily similar to the past. In Louisiana, which has one of the country’s highest incarceration rates, men working on the “farm line” still stoop over crops stretching far into the distance.

Willie Ingram picked everything from cotton to okra during his 51 years in the state penitentiary, better known as Angola.

During his time in the fields, he was overseen by armed guards on horseback and recalled seeing men, working with little or no water, passing out in triple-digit heat. Some days, he said, workers would throw their tools in the air to protest, despite knowing the potential consequences.

“They’d come, maybe four in the truck, shields over their face, billy clubs, and they’d beat you right there in the field. They beat you, handcuff you and beat you again,” said Ingram, who received a life sentence after pleading guilty to a crime he said he didn’t commit. He was told he would serve 10 ½ years and avoid a possible death penalty, but it wasn’t until 2021 that a sympathetic judge finally released him. He was 73.

The number of people behind bars in the United States started to soar in the 1970s just as Ingram entered the system, disproportionately hitting people of color. Now, with about 2 million people locked up, U.S. prison labor from all sectors has morphed into a multibillion-dollar empire, extending far beyond the classic images of prisoners stamping license plates, working on road crews or battling wildfires.

Though almost every state has some kind of farming program, agriculture represents only a small fraction of the overall prison workforce. Still, an analysis of data amassed by the AP from correctional facilities nationwide traced nearly $200 million worth of sales of farmed goods and livestock to businesses over the past six years – a conservative figure that does not include tens of millions more in sales to state and government entities. Much of the data provided was incomplete, though it was clear that the biggest revenues came from sprawling operations in the South and leasing out prisoners to companies.

Corrections officials and other proponents note that not all work is forced and that prison jobs save taxpayers money. For example, in some cases, the food produced is served in prison kitchens or donated to those in need outside. They also say workers are learning skills that can be used when they’re released and given a sense of purpose, which could help ward off repeat offenses. In some places, it allows prisoners to also shave time off their sentences. And the jobs provide a way to repay a debt to society, they say.

While most critics don’t believe all jobs should be eliminated, they say incarcerated people should be paid fairly, treated humanely and that all work should be voluntary. Some note that even when people get specialized training, like firefighting, their criminal records can make it almost impossible to get hired on the outside.

“They are largely uncompensated, they are being forced to work, and it’s unsafe. They also aren’t learning skills that will help them when they are released,” said law professor Andrea Armstrong, an expert on prison labor at Loyola University New Orleans. “It raises the question of why we are still forcing people to work in the fields.”

[drac2014]

first wanna get a real bag of percocets pour em on a table spread em out see what u working with this probably aint for u if u aint never seen or heard of it you gon get a couple hiccups long live heather shes a murder kit okay once u get the pills you need fentanyl its okay if ur running low on pills we finna stretch em all this the play gather up all of the pills we finna crush em all if ur greedy u could triple cut the pills like me i need it all let me guess you forgot to buy the pill presser grab a piece to go punch it off amazon cause the shipping is better grab a good one unless you dont care to make a new heather im trying to tear a happy family down we could kill em together wear gloves you gotta make sure you keeping it clean grab the percocets and fentanyl put it in the machine press the pill down and stamp the m get it right for the fiends when you finish that go to the hood but dont start a big scene make sure that ur dressed up like a bum so you fit in the hood once you get clientele start paying fiends to make sure that its good tell them be a lookout because the police be all in the hood give a couple of samples out for free they come back when its good but they cant come back when they dead i got a strange addiction i get really excited when they dead i dont know where i would be at if i wasnt selling meds never mind id probably be somewhere scamming laying in bed

[wonderfuldeath]

.o| It's a small world : XVII |o.

Warnings : Violence, injury, graphic depictions, sex

Please, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi ! ♥

A deep sigh passed Taehyung's lips as he looked at his phone for the third time, pursing his bottom lip before returning to his main occupation: sorting the new files of the children who had recently entered the clinic. It was amazing how many orphaned children there were in South Korea, and how much their director could pay just for their personal care. Two weeks had passed, like the blink of an eye, and he still hadn't found the courage to call his life partner again. Jungkook had tried calling him relentlessly though, no doubt wanting to explain something to him that Taehyung didn't want to know. The man wasn't completely stupid, he'd understood what was going on behind his back, without anyone telling him. But he would have liked Jungkook to tell him directly, face to face, without having to beg him, or even find out at a social event.

« - Doctor Kim, your ten o'clock appointment is here.

 - All right, bring him in.

 - Good. »  

His tense expression became much softer, taking another deep breath before rising to join the consultation table. For some time now, many new appointments had been arriving on Taehyung's desk without any real explanation, and many new orphans were obviously being treated at the center. But something was bothering the doctor. There had always been a lot of orphans at the center, but the number seemed to have tripled or even quadrupled since then, and that made Taehyung rather nervous.

« - So… Cheon? What brings you here?

 - The nice man said I had to have exams.

 - What nice man?

 - The one who brought me here. »  

Taehyung straightens his gaze on the adult, a tall man with a pair of sunglasses he's never seen before, before taking the patient's file, looking at it a second time. The small lines clearly indicated a problem, something like a cold or flu. Perhaps something more severe according to the secretary who made the appointment, and the Doctor looks at the child again. He looks frail, not well nourished. About four or five years old. No more than that. He sees lots of little problems between the file he's been given and what's actually in front of him, but says nothing. He moves towards the child with a reassuring smile, while he does most of the normal examinations.

« - Does it hurt when I press here?

 - No, it doesn't.

 - How about there?

 - Not more.

 - Perfect. Does it hurt ? Do you feel feverish ?

 - When I swallow my saliva it hurts a bit. But otherwise, no.

 - Does your throat hurt when you swallow? Let me see. »  

Clutching his gloves and his lamp, he looked into the back of the child's throat, before simply nodding. After examining the child, he turned round, indicating that the child should get off the table, before the hitherto silent man moved, preventing the child from getting off, and looking at the pediatrician.

« - What about the blood test?

 - I don't see the point. Cheon is dehydrated and has the beginnings of nasopharyngitis, so there's no reason to take a blood test.

 - The boss has asked for one.

 - Excuse me, is your boss a doctor? Just as I thought. »  

Despite his confident way of speaking, Taehyung got a long shiver as he sat down at his desk, typing several things quickly on the prescription, before bringing it out and signing it. Stamping the end before handing it to the man, he didn't waver, even though he actually had a deep desire to disappear down a mouse hole. The man took it a little roughly, before telling the child to hurry and join him.

« - We'll talk about it later, Doc. »  

He is relieved when his working day is over. Finally taking off his white coat, he threw it in the wash before heading for the exit. Spring had made its mark, and the rain was but a faint memory now, having given way to the warmth of the sun. A shiver ran through the pediatrician's body as he finally lit a cigarette. Taehyung wasn't a big smoker, but at the end of a day like this, he appreciated being able to relax thanks to the chemical taste of cancer. He spat out the thick smoke, letting the nicotine take him over, before a hand came up to his mouth and pulled him into a car, after the pain of the sting caught him in the throat.

« - Are you sure about the dose you injected him with?

 - Jungkook. You never trust me.

 - How do you expect the boss to trust you Namjoon? The last person you kidnapped died.

 - I said it was a dosage error. That I wouldn't do it anymore. Changed the record that was four years ago. »  

Taehyung recognizes the smell of flowers and baby powder. His nose wrinkles as his head moves gently against the sheets. Everything spins, and he realizes that he has been drugged with something close to morphine, or a dupe. His fingers pressed against his face as he could feel the three stares against him. Jungkook was obviously trying not to jump him, while the nightclub bouncer and Jimin's boyfriend were sniggering.

« - You see, I didn't kill him ! Your pet's fine.

 - He's fine. I'm glad.

 - In the meantime, I wouldn't have asked Namjoon to kidnap anyone, least of all Jimin. Least of all Jimin. »  

He can hear the bouncer and Yoongi arguing, before Jungkook kicks them out. His fingers hesitate before running across his forehead, pulling back the brown locks to look him straight in the eye. Taehyung is happy to see him, finally missing him, but he can't get over the idea of having been kidnapped by his lover, just because he hadn't answered the phone in a fortnight. His brows furrowed as he sat up on the bed slowly, under the younger man's visibly worried gaze.

« - Tae I...

 - I can't believe you asked someone to kidnap me, instead of coming yourself! Is it too complicated to come to the clinic?

 - Yes, it's too complicated. Right now I can't.

 - Why not? »  

He pinches his lower lip, before running a hand over his face and turning on his heels to grab a glass of alcohol, obviously, before coming back to settle himself against the bed, providing a bottle of fresh water, which the doctor takes with pleasure to drink almost the entire contents, looking at his lover with a serious air.

« - What I'm going to reveal to you now, is going to put you in great danger. After everything I'm going to tell you, it will be up to you to choose between staying with me, or our definitive separation. But know that after all this, whatever you choose, you'll have a personal guard.

 - Jungkook…

 - Please, listen to me without interrupting. We'll talk about it later. »  

[rabbitcruiser]

Eiffel Tower Day 

Eiffel Tower Day is celebrated on March 31 to commemorate the inaugural anniversary of the Eiffel Tower. Unveiled to the world on this day 1889, this iconic monument has withstood the test of time and remains one of the most remarkable wonders of the world. Standing at 1,063 feet, the Eiffel Tower overlooks the city of Paris and symbolizes the triumph of modern engineering and western civilization.

Being one of the most recognizable monuments of the world, Eiffel Tower Day is a day of celebration for millions of people. From Calcutta to California, people come together to raise a toast to this architectural masterpiece.

History of Eiffel Tower Day

As the country completed a century of the French Revolution, the government of France planned an international fair to display the industrial advancement of the 19th century. A design competition was held in central Paris and more than 100 artists turned in their ideas.

Among the contributors was Gustave Eiffel, who proposed an open-lattice iron tower that would be higher than 1,000 feet. With a loaded resume that included the Statue of Liberty, he was able to convince the Centennial Committee that this unimaginable feat was possible. The contract for building the tower was handed to him in 1887.

Countering years of skepticism, criticism, and even protests, he began working on the project on January 28, 1887. In the short span of two years, two months, and five days he completed the tower and presented it to the French government for exposition. The rest is history.

Gustave’s vision breathed new life onto the streets of Paris and transformed it into the city of love as we know it, although that wasn’t the intention. In his own words, he wanted the tower to be a symbol of the “great scientific movement of the eighteenth century and the Revolution of 1789.”

Today, the tower sits at the heart of Europe and is visited by millions of visitors every year. Since 2000, the golden grandeur of the tower has been complemented with 20,000 6W bulbs, flashed on and off in quick succession for five minutes of every twilight hour. On March 31, we celebrate the genius and his invaluable gift to the world.

Eiffel Tower Day timeline

1885 The First Presentation

French Civil Engineer Gustave Eiffel presents the first-ever drawing of the Eiffel Tower to the Society of Civil Engineers of France.

1887 The Contractual Stamp

The commission settles the location of the tower, approves the designs, and signs a contract with Eiffel, thus greenlighting the construction.

1887 The First Brick

Construction on the tower begins amidst protests from many elite pockets of French society.

1889 Inauguration and Exposition

Construction of the primary structure is completed and the tower is inaugurated in front of elected officials and members of the press.

Eiffel Tower Day FAQs

Why was the Eiffel Tower built?

The Eiffel Tower was built as one of the attractions of the 1889 Paris World’s Fair. It was conceived as a temporary structure and was supposed to be demolished 20 years later.

Is the Eiffel Tower shallow?

Although it appears that way, the Eiffel Tower is not shallow. It has designated flooring with shops, museum exhibits, eateries, an observation area, a post office, and more.

Who designed the Eiffel Tower?

Maurice Koechlin and Émile Nouguier are the primary designers of the tower. They worked for Gustave Eiffel’s construction company and pitched the designs to him in 1884.

How To Celebrate Eiffel Tower Day

Bake an Eiffel Tower cake

Plan a picnic

Take a virtual tour of the tower

As we celebrate this architectural marvel, how about showcasing your creative skills in the kitchen. Making an Eiffel Tower Cake is a great way to celebrate this beautiful day with your family. Although we aren’t aiming for perfection here, your Eiffel Tower cake should have four lattices and triple flooring.

If there’s anything more impressive than the Eiffel Tower, it’s the picturesque land it stands on. Champ de Mars, the gorgeous 1,011,807 sq. ft park surrounding the tower, hosts millions of picnics each year. On March 31, pack a picnic, head to a nearby park, and pretend that the tower’s looking over you.

The official website of the Eiffel Tower offers a virtual tour for free. The tour includes high-definition pictures of the monument and interesting facts attached to its history. Visit the website, hit the explore tab, and tour the nooks and crannies of the tower from the comfort of your home.

5 Fascinating Facts About The Eiffel Tower

The first of its kind

A term of endearment

Survival of the strongest

A place for a post office

More than a monument

Before the plans were laid out for the Eiffel Tower, the world had not seen a monument of its height.

The Eiffel Tower is popularly called ‘La Dame de Fer,’ which translates to ‘The Iron Lady’.

Following the Nazi occupation of 1944, Hitler wanted to demolish the Eiffel Tower but thankfully, the Military governor of Paris disobeyed his orders.

The first floor of the Eiffel Tower is home to a working post office — you can send mail to any corner of the world and the receiver will be honored with a unique stamp.

At the First Battle of the Marne, one of the transmitters attached to the tower blocked the German communications — a move pivotal to the Allied victory.

Why We Love Eiffel Tower Day

It celebrates a genius

It will never get old

We will always have Paris

French Civil Engineer Gustave Eiffel wasn’t a one-time wonder. His credit roll includes the Statue of Liberty, the Garabit viaduct, and the invention of the wind tunnel. Eiffel defended the work of his subordinates, Maurice Koechlin and Émile Nouguier, and fought many challenges to bring their visions to life. Eiffel embraced the challenges and trusted his instincts, and on March 31, we celebrate this true architectural genius.

The Eiffel Tower is the most-visited paid monument in the world, hosting seven million visitors in a year. As the tower completes a century and a half, more than 250 million people have already visited this iconic landmark. The world isn’t getting over this wonder anytime soon.

In many ways, Paris and the Eiffel Tower are indistinguishable from each other. The Parisian culture has transcended the French denomination and much of the credit goes to the monument that sits at the heart of the city. With Eiffel Tower Day, we also get to celebrate the great city of Paris and its cultural significance in our society.

Source

[bgallen]

Pink grasshoppers, reading children's books, Six Triple Eight, and more...a Friday List

Happy Friday!

I hope that you have had an enjoyable week with hopefully decent weather. I know that in many places this week the weather has been devastating. I have compiled a list for you to enjoy and as always I hope that you find one or two things to enjoy. I have also added some podcasts that I have been enjoying as well as a new to me book that I’ve begun.

 May your weekend be one of rest, activity, joy, and calm – whatever it is that you need in this moment.

 ·       Why adults should read children's books - BBC Culture, “So it's to children's fiction that you turn if you want to feel awe and hunger and longing for justice: to make the old warhorse heart stamp again in its stall.”

 ·       Texas Author Reunites with TikToker Who Made Him Bestseller (people.com), what a neat story!

 ·       The Pink grasshopper - Erythrism (roeselienraimond.com), oh my I have never seen one of these and didn’t know it was possible for them to be pink. It would seem more likely to find one of these in Alice in Wonderland than out and about in real life. Here’s another beautiful one, Anglesey: Rare pink grasshopper spotted in garden - BBC News

 ·       Six Triple Eight: The battalion of black women erased from history - BBC News, how incredible! Such an impressive accomplishment and I am so glad they are finally being recognized as they should have been. Tyler Perry is currently filming a Netflix film about them with Kerry Washington starring as well as producing in it.

 ·       Sounds of Motown (A cappella Medley) - Kings Return - YouTube, I really enjoy Kings Return…harmonizing is impeccable and covering Motown?! Even better.

 ·       DREAMIN' WILD Trailer (2023) Casey Affleck - YouTube, this looks to be a really great film.

 ·       Tiny Octopus Gets So Excited When His Diver Friend Comes To Visit Him | The Dodo - YouTube, oh my goodness – this is the sweetest little mollusc (yes I did have to google that.) I am always fascinated when animals interact with humans that aren’t animals that we keep as pets.

 ·       Elizabeth Cotten - In the Sweet By and By - YouTube, Learned something new today…”cotten picking” was created by Elizabeth. She was left-handed so she played her right-handed guitar upside down, which apparently is not the easiest thing to do.

 ·       Woodland (2020) – Sarah Anne Johnson, I saw Sarah Anne’s art on a house tour on youtube and fell in love with this Woodland series that she has. This is what she has to say about the series, “ I then transformed the photographs with paint, metal leaf, holographic tape, photo-spotting ink, and photoshop to create a more honest image that reflects my personal experience with the landscape.” I once had a friend tell me how she edited her photos so beautifully and she said the same thing as Sarah Anne, she edits the photo to appear in the photo as her own eyes and mind experienced it in person.  

 Podcasts I’ve been binging:

·       Lionsgate Sound | Scamanda, this is an incredible story….that I can’t quite wrap my mind around. I have found that I prefer podcasts that are hosted/created by journalists. Charlie Webster did a great job researching this story along with her team and the original investigative journalist that began the work and then she does an excellent job telling the story.

·       Betrayal on Apple Podcasts, another well done podcast. Heavier material than Scamanda, well it’s a different sort of heavy. Depending on how you handle things, you may want to read up on it before you listen. Both seasons so far have been so well done. The first season is now a documentary on Hulu.

·       Huberman Lab, I just began this one today. In the episode I began listening to today, Dr. Malenka is on it discussing how the brain changes in response to learning and reward and reinforcement. Fascinating and exciting stuff!  

New book:

·       Operation Barbarossa - Jonathan Dimbleby - Oxford University Press (oup.com), the largest military operation of all time – the invasion of Russia by Germany in 1941.  

[dertaglichedan]

At the back of an industrial park shared with a spice company, the thick summer air outside Verano’s humming two-story production warehouse in Jessup, Md., smells faintly like cinnamon, cumin and cannabis.

Inside, cannabis production has tripled.

The plant’s sticky flowers are pressed into joints rolled by machinery, distilled into tinctures, pressurized into vapor cartridges, and cooked into gummies, caramels and a line of edibles — all labeled, as required, with a little red marijuana leaf sticker and the words “THC MARYLAND.”

The massive expansion aims to help meet the surge in demand expected when recreational marijuana use becomes legal in Maryland for people 21 and older on Saturday.

Growers, processors and dispensaries in the medical market formerly provided cannabis to roughly 162,800 patients statewide to treat conditions like chronic pain, post-traumatic stress disorder and severe nausea from cancer treatment. State officials expect those businesses will gain millions of recreational customers.

Verano, one of Maryland’s first medical cannabis companies, has shut down its on-site dispensary and moved it to Elkridge to make production space to prepare for July 1, when the state becomes the only in the region with a full-fledged adult-use cannabis market.

“Five years ago, this industry didn’t exist,” Verano President Darren Weiss said as he played tour guide at the company’s facility in Howard County. “Think what you will about whether or not you’d like to use cannabis. But it’s hard to argue economic development and jobs.”

How do Maryland’s marijuana laws work? A guide to the new rules.

State legislators moved fast to create a regulatory structure for the industry before the July 1 deadline after Marylanders voted overwhelmingly to legalize recreational cannabis last November. State lawmakers grappled with stamping out black market sales before they start and reducing racial disparities, deciding to launch the industry with the medical marijuana industry that has been criticized as lacking diversity. A more diverse set of owners is expected to enter the market a year from now, though industry observers acknowledge it will be far more challenging for businesses to break in later.

State regulators estimate that the adult-use industry will generate as much as $600 million in first year sales, bring in $54 million in revenue from licensing fees and taxes, with about $19.7 million going to the Cannabis Public Health Fund, Cannabis Business Assistance Fund, Community Reinvestment and Repair Fund, and to county and state budgets. Consultants hired to analyze demand for the state estimated Maryland needs at least 300 dispensaries to keep up; the state’s current medical marijuana firms run about 100 storefronts.

[hookieduke]

Lupente limited edition eight color screen prints are here and available in my online shop. 🖤🐅🔥

Size: 18x24”

Limited edition of 150

Eight Colors

Printed by Triple Stamp Press

Construction Whitewash French Paper

Signed and numbered by the artist

[musiconanironingboard]

Sometime in Spring/Summer 2022: Dave Stewart and the Spiritual Cowboys. (Arista, 1990)

This and the following two posts are things I purchased somewhere along the line and forgot to write down, so they get posted now as catch-ups.

I was never a serious Eurythmics fan; as a kid I bought a smattering of their 45s, not very many, and I never bought one of their albums, but I always found them interesting. When Dave Stewart went solo in 1990 I would have never spent time with his debut away from Eurythmics had I not been handed a copy in my earliest days of college radio and been asked to review it for potential rotation. I think I and the other one or two assistants to the Music Director were offered it and I showed the most interest, so it landed in my stack. I know we wound up playing it, but it wasn’t in heavy rotation. The album is quite long for a single LP and it’s quite a fussy affair, with complicated, overstuffed arrangements, and I get fatigued listening to it. Still, it’s compelling enough, even if I purchased it primarily out of nostalgia. And what’s more, this is the second copy I’ve purchased—somewhere along the line, before I started this blog, I believe, my neighborhood shop got in a Euro pressing. I really wanted a U.S. copy, but I never saw any in shops, so I just went with what was in front of me. I was disappointed to discover that the copy had a pressing flaw that made the first track skip. I’ve dealt with records for enough years that I can tell a pressing flaw from damage or a piece of gunk that can be removed; there was no doubt, this was a flaw. Now I had a damaged pressing I didn’t want to begin with. I looked on eBay to see the going rate for this title and was pleased to find an affordable U.S. promo copy, which matched the one I reviewed all those years ago. 

Above is the front cover, hype sticker (it’s a promo, so that sticker is directly on the jacket), and back cover.

Just for kicks, here’s a close-up of the promo stamp over the bar code. That looks like quite a gouge on the top left, but I barely notice it in person.

Here are both sides of the inner sleeve. The top left corner is quite crumpled, but I’ve gotten countless brand-new albums over the decades whose inner sleeves come out crumpled. No biggie; it can be flattened out.

Here is side one’s label.

The only thing cooler about the Euro copy I bought is it has custom labels, but I’m happy with the stock Arista labels, as ugly as I ever thought they were, since this is how I remember the album when it was new. 

Here’s a shot of the Euro label. 

Just for the hell of it, here is the Euro front and back detail to show it unadorned by hype stickers or promo stamps.

One very strange thing about the Euro copy I have is the pattern that you see in the vinyl below, of two curved lines coming out at roughly 3 o’clock and 5 o’clock of the dead wax. Those aren’t reflections, those are patterns that run perpendicular through the grooves. It’s only on side one. When I first saw it upon pulling out the record, I thought it was an intentional laser etching or something. It doesn’t seem to have any purpose, nor does it seem to be related to the pressing flaw I mention above (which only affects one second of a single song), but this is something I’ve never seen before. 

I can’t sell the Euro copy knowing it’s defective, so I’ll just keep it and amuse myself with all of this.

If you happen to remember the 1990 movie Flatliners with Kiefer Sutherland, you may recall that “Party Town” from this album is featured prominently. I’ve never heard any subsequent Dave Stewart albums, but he continues to make them and I recently learned his new one is a triple album or some such enormous thing.

[mattklimas]

Working on a new show poster for Superchunk! Here’s a detail. Find out when they’ll be in your neck of the woods --> http://superchunk.com/shows/

Catch them in RVA on February 17th!