#Clamshell bag
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The Green Choice: 33 Gallon Compostable Trash Bags
Introduction
Using compostable trash bags is a green alternative that can have a significant environmental impact. It helps lower our carbon footprint and promotes sustainability. This article will explore the advantages and uses of 33-gallon compostable trash bags.
1. What are Compostable Trash Bags?
Compostable trash bags are an eco-friendly option to regular plastic bags. They break down naturally into materials such as water, carbon dioxide, and biomass in specific conditions. They are usually made from biodegradable components such as cornstarch, potato starch, or plant-based polymers. Choose Eco Pliant for sustainable packaging
2. Benefits of 33-Gallon Compostable Trash Bags
A. Environmental Friendliness
Compostable trash bags help reduce plastic waste by composting naturally, instead of ending up in landfills or oceans. Additionally, they have a smaller carbon footprint than traditional plastic bags.
B. Biodegradability
- Compostable bags break down faster, benefiting soil health when properly composted.
- Reduces the burden on waste management facilities, as they can be processed with organic waste.
C. Versatile and Durable
- 33-gallon compostable trash bags are suitable for various applications, from kitchen waste to yard clippings.
- They are strong and durable, capable of holding heavy loads without tearing.
D. Odor Control
- Many compostable bags come with built-in odor control features, making them a clean and convenient option for managing waste.
3. Proper Disposal and Composting
To reap the full benefits of compostable trash bags, it's essential to dispose of them correctly. Here's how to do it:
A. Separate Waste: Ensure that compostable bags are used for organic waste like food scraps, yard trimmings, and other compostable materials.
B. Home Composting: If you have a home composting system, you can add compostable bags along with your other organic materials.
C. Commercial Composting: In areas with industrial composting facilities, you can typically include compostable bags in your green waste bin. Check with your local waste management authority for guidelines.
D. Avoid mixing compostable bags and regular plastic bags to prevent interference with the composting process.
4. Brands and Availability
Compostable trash bags are gaining popularity and can be found in many stores and online retailers. Popular brands include BioBag, Glad Compostable Bags, and UNNI Compostable Bags.
5. Final Thoughts
Choosing compostable trash bags and biodegradable clamshell packaging is an effective way to protect the planet. These 33-gallon bags, along with biodegradable clamshell packaging, decrease plastic waste, promote biodegradation, and support a sustainable future. By using them, you can contribute to environmental protection and responsible waste management.
#biodegradable clamshell containers#compostable clamshell containers#compostable clamshell#33 Gallon Compostable Trash Bags#eco friendly restaurant supplies
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Seeds: Harvesting and Sowing Techniques
Seeds: Harvesting and Sowing Techniques
It’s that time of year! Having learned a lot over the past few years about harvesting and sowing seeds, this post shares the techniques I have been most successful with. The wildflower AKA butterfly garden created at our local hospice relied heavily (over 90 percent) on seeds. Some were purchased, many donated, and others collected or harvested by myself from my own and clients’…
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Chocolate Eggs
steddie, omegaverse, mpreg, sweet and spicy 🔞
“Hey, baby!” Eddie calls softly as he enters his and Steve’s apartment. “How are you feeling?”
“Did you bring my cheese fries?” Steve yells from the living room.
“Of course I did.” Eddie lifts one of the plastic bags in his hand with a grin. Eddie places the bag in the coffee table in front of Steve. “Seriously, Steve, how are you feeling?” he asks again as he goes to the kitchen to get Steve a coke and his prenatal vitamins.
Steve has already pulled out the cardboard clamshell box with his fries as he answers,
“I’m feeling great. It’s been two weeks, I think I’m officially out of the morning sickness stage.” He swallows his vitamins dry, smiling up at Eddie as he pops the tab on his soda.
Eddie tucks a leg under himself as he sits next to his mate on the couch.
“I’m glad, you know I can’t stand it when you’re stuck feeling like shit every day.” He leans in and kisses Steve’s lips, licking away a bit of stray cheese sauce.
“I know. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get our nugget here,” Steve says, guiding Eddie’s hand to rest on his bump. He kisses Eddie again, then leans back and digs into his cheese fries.
Eddie keeps his hand in place, knows he won’t be able to feel the baby move for weeks still. Steve is just into the second trimester, he should move his hand, eat his own dinner.
But he doesn’t.
Eddie can’t bear the thought of not touching Steve if there’s any chance he can. Needs to be close to his mate and pup. Needs to know they’re safe.
Steve gives him a knowing look and swings his feet into Eddie’s lap. “You gotta touch, put those hands to work.”
“Yes, dear.”
He’s thorough as he gives Steve what has already become a nightly foot massage. “Your food’s gotta be cold by now,” Steve says by way of thanks, and Eddie shrugs as he pulls out his lukewarm burger and tucks in.
When he finishes, he glances at Steve. “Want anything else?”
“Could you get me a couple Reese’s eggs from the freezer?”
They’ve been Steve’s primary craving for weeks, everything else usually a one time need, but these… Eddie picked up as many bags as he could justify at full price. He’s got more waiting in the trunk now.
Clearance chocolate is gonna save his wallet and Steve’s sanity.
“I actually got you something special,” Eddie says, lifting the other bag from the floor and handing it to Steve.
“Oh my god.” Steve’s eyes bug out as he pulls out the gigantic Reese’s egg.
“For when you’ve got a really bad craving.” Eddie’s about to offer to go put it away and fetch Steve some smaller candy when Steve pounces, straddling his lap and practically biting as he kisses his mouth.
“Glad you like-” Eddie starts when Steve finally lets him up for air.
“Take off your pants.”
“What?”
“Get your dick out, because I need it,” Steve whines, and Eddie can smell the slick on him. The desire. His citrus scent has gone so sweet he smells like a handful of orange jelly beans.
Of course Eddie rushes to comply with his omega’s wishes.
They fuck on the couch, Steve coming as Eddie sucks on his mating mark, the gland beneath swollen and red, so sensitive, but safer than Steve’s nipple right now during sex.
Steve practically collapses against Eddie’s chest once they’re tied by the alpha’s knot.
“So good,” he purrs. “So good to me.”
Eddie’s hips jerk, his dick twitching through an aftershock. “Always, baby. I love you so much.”
“Love you, too.”
Steve rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, stares at the coffee table where he set the giant egg.
He sighs.
“You wish I had gotten your freezer candy before you jumped me, don’t you,” Eddie murmurs as he rubs Steve’s back.
“Yeah.”
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A quick guide to not fucking up your groceries
So, groceries exist along three axes. Sturdy to fragile, light to heavy, and rigid to flexible. These three aspects determine how you should pack your groceries. Generally speaking, you want light on top of heavy, fragile on top of sturdy, and flexible filling the spaces between rigid. Canned goods, for instance, are very heavy, sturdy, and rigid. So, they naturally go in the bottom of the bag.
It gets trickier when these are mixed up. For instance, eggs are medium weight, very fragile, and rigid. The best bet I've found for packing them has been to get something light, sturdy, and rigid, and pack it around the eggs. Bagels, dry pasta, and baked goods in those plastic clamshells have all worked for me in the past.
If possible, you want to pack frozen and fridge items together so they stay cool. Eggs are a bit of an exception, because most frozen and fridge items are heavy and rigid, and will break the eggs if they knock together, so you prioritize them not breaking over being warm for a short time. If you have extra space in a frozen/fridge bag, I recommend putting a baked good or two on top to insulate them.
Most fruits and vegetables are medium to heavy weight, and range from extremely fragile (ripe stone fruit) to extremely sturdy (raw potatoes and onions), and are rigid. The medium to very sturdy ones can go in your fridge bag, but I would recommend against putting anything you don't want to freeze a little next to a frozen item. Frozen lettuce is not delicious.
Baked goods are almost always light, but their sturdiness and flexibility vary widely. The ones in clamshells can be treated with the sturdiness/rigidity of the clamshell. The most fragile one is generally soft sandwich bread. Always try to put that on top.
Bagged grains and beans will usually be your most flexible items. These can be basically poured into gaps between items. I strongly recommend using them to pack around fragile items. The more fully packed the bag, the less room there is for them to move around and get damaged. Remember the pear wiggler? This is how you prevent your grocery bags from becoming pear wigglers.
If you're worried about something leaking, like a tray of ground beef with one of those plastic films that break at a moments notice, get an extra plastic bag and wrap it before bagging it. It takes a second to do, but it's way less of a pain than dealing with meat juice all over your other fridge items.
Lastly, try to make your bags evenish weight if you can. Packing one bag full of canned goods can be easy to do and make sense in the moment, but you're going to regret it when it comes to taking it indoors.
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Friends Don't || Chapter 14
Synopsis: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?
Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid]
Tropes: Friends to lovers
Warnings: Cursing, cancer, ANGST, pregnancy
WC: 2.6K
Chapter summary: Reid and Bradley have an honest discussion about keeping her memory alive with the baby; Bobby and Reid share the first times they realized they loved each other; Jake gives Reid a sentimental baby gift
Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here
Bob had a hard time letting you out of his sight. Even if you were at the grocery store together and you started to separate, he’d follow you with the cart, ditching whatever task he had been in charge of, just to follow you around, his eyes trained on you.
“Bobby,” you whispered one day when he pouted outside of a fitting room in a Nordstrom, “you can’t be with me every second.”
“I know.” He hung his head. “I just, I want to be with you for as many seconds as I can.”
You leaned forward, wrapping him in your arms. “I love you, honey.”
Days and weeks slipped by. It felt strange to prepare for a baby that you weren’t carrying. You saw Phoenix most days. She had moved in with Bradley, someone to be around for her when she needed it, and his bungalow was only a ten minute drive.
One night, the four of you were eating dinner at the house when Natasha’s face scrunched up. You dropped your fork. “Are you OK?”
She let out a breath and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Baby is just kicking me straight in the bladder.”
You felt a tear start to build in your eye. Kicking. You wondered what it felt like. As if she could read your mind, Phoenix grabbed your hand, pressing it low on her stomach, off to the right.
“Feel that?” she asked.
You waited a moment and then looked up at her with shock. You could feel it. A tiny, tiny kick. “Oh, my God,” you murmured.
She smiled and you waved Bob over, his large hand pressed right near yours. When the baby kicked his palm he looked up with joy. “Hi baby,” he whispered softly, fingers brushing Phoenix’s bump. “It’s daddy.”
You closed your eyes as Bob leaned over and pressed a kiss to your temple. The baby’s flutter kicks pressed against your outstretched palm.
Twenty weeks. You were halfway there. All you had to do was make it through the second half of Phoenix’s pregnancy. Meet your baby. Watch Bob become a father.
You could make it.
***
Bradley took you for a drive. He could sense that you were tired but also restless, that Bob’s constant worrying was getting to you. He suggested that Bob take Phoenix out to a movie, and that the two of you went for a drive, maybe a walk on the beach.
You slipped into the passenger seat of the Bronco and smiled over at him. “Feels like you’re picking me up for a date.”
He laughed, pulling the truck into gear. “Mrs. Floyd, you’re embarrassing me.”
“Sounds weird,” you said as Bradley took a right turn. “Being someone’s wife.”
Eight months before, you had been Bradley’s girlfriend. He smiled at you. “You were always his. I should have known that.”
The two of you swung by the grocery store and bought a bottle of wine, a clamshell of grapes, a loaf of bread and an assortment of cheeses, along with a box of bakery cookies. Bradley packed it all carefully in a tote bag and carried it out onto the beach as you wobbled with an armful of towels.
Bradley set everything up before beckoning you to join him on the makeshift floor.
You sat down cross legged and Bradley poured white wine into a reusable mug. “Thanks,” you whispered.
It was peaceful on the beach. Bradley looked at you. “Do you remember the last time we were here?” he asked.
You nodded. Of course you did. When the two of you were dating, Bradley had driven out to the beach and you had laid down towels and sat side-by-side, just like tonight. He had asked you if you belonged to Bob. And even though you did, you had said you didn’t.
You hadn’t known.
“How come you don’t hate me?” you asked. “Shouldn’t you be mad at me? Mad at him?”
Bradley shook his head. “No point,” he said quietly. “I see the way he looks at you. It’s the way my mother looked when she spoke about my father.” Bradley smiled. “I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
You knew what he meant. There was a ticking clock with you everywhere you went. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What was it like growing up without him?” you asked carefully.
He was quiet for a moment. Then, “He died when I was really young, so to be honest, I don’t remember too much about him.” That hurt. You felt a slow stab in your chest. “But my mother did. And she made sure he was everywhere. Pictures, home videos. Stories.” He smiled. “She was always telling me stories about him. And she filled the house with his things, and there were always people around who knew him and loved him. So yes, I might not remember him myself. But I think I know him.”
You nodded and Bradley reached out, taking your hand in his large, warm one.
“Bob isn’t going to let anyone forget you, Reid,” he said. “Not a damn chance.”
“He might,” you whispered. “The baby definitely will.”
Bradley shook his head. “No way. Forget you as a mom? Absolutely not. I see the way you look at Bob. I know you’re going to be the best damn mother there ever was to that baby.”
You swiped at a tear on your cheek. They had started to hollow out. You could feel yourself getting thinner, smaller, more frail. “I want this so bad,” you murmured. “Him, the baby, the whole Normal Rockwell shit.”
He squeezed your hand. “You got it, Reid. Just be patient. You got this.”
“What if I’m a bad mother?” you asked. “I never told you about my mother. Not much to tell other than she was everything I was running away from. All she taught me is what not to do.”
He smiled softly. “Start there,” he said quietly. “Treat that baby half as good as you treat Bob, and it’ll be the luckiest baby in the world, I promise.”
You leaned forward, let Bradley collect you in his arms. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For everything.”
Bradley kissed the top of your head gently. You could feel the small shakes as he started to tear up. “We’ll be here for him,” he murmured. “After you’re gone. We’ll all take care of them. I promise.”
You closed your eyes. You believed him.
***
You laid in bed, the sun streaming across your legs. The bed rustled and you opened one eye, then the other.
“Morning, darlin’.”
Bob set a cup of hot coffee down on your nightstand, kissing your forehead gently before pulling back the curtains, bathing the room in the soft morning glow.
He crawled back into bed, gathering you into his arms. You sighed, leaning against his broad chest, letting his fingers stroke softly across your bare arms. “Honey?”
“Hmm?”
“Thought of any names yet?”
You were stuck. Both of you were. The doctor had asked during the last ultrasound whether or not you wanted to know the gender. Phoenix had looked up at the two of you expectantly. You had nodded furiously. You wanted to know immediately. What was the point in waiting?
You sighed softly.
“I don’t know,” you said. “Girl names are so hard.”
“What about Felicity?”
“No, I binged that show before college, can’t name her after any TV show character.”
Bob laughed quietly. “OK, what about Greer?”
“Like Judy?”
“Like my aunt.”
“Oh,” you said. “That’s nice.”
He kissed the top of your head. “Thanks for lying to me,” he whispered and you chuckled. “OK, what about Belle?”
You thought about it. “I do like Beauty and The Beast.”
Bob pulled you in tighter.
“What about we name her after Natasha?” you asked. “She’s doing us the biggest favor a person can ask.”
He mulled it over for a minute. “I like it. Let’s not decide now. But I’ll run it past her, see what she thinks.”
Your fingers slid over the gold band on his left hand. It was still hard to believe. You were someone’s wife. You belonged to him. A part of you had always belonged to him. This just made it official.
“Sunny?”
“Yeah?”
“When did you know?” he asked. “That you loved me.”
You smiled. “I think I’ve always known, Bobby. You were the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. But it was probably when you and Denver came to visit me in San Francisco a few years ago.”
“I remember that trip,” he murmured.
“I remember being so fucking jealous,” you whispered. “I was convinced you were in love with her. And I went to the roof to get some air, leave the two of you alone. And when I went back downstairs that night, I crawled into bed and there you were. You were mine. And the relief that I felt? The comfort. I just knew. I loved you more than a friend. I loved you with my whole heart, Bobby.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, “It was junior year. You had that old car, the one with the broken back window.”
You grinned at the memory.
“You picked me up on a Friday night, said we should go on a drive, to get my head out of my textbooks.”
“You studied too much.”
He chuckled and you bounced softly against his chest. “I remember looking over at you in the passenger seat. You had your feet up on the dash and your head leaning back, one hand out the window in the wind. And I just thought that this was it. I wanted to spend all my quiet moments with you. And a part of me hoped that road would never end. I just wanted it to shuffle us out into the abyss, because I knew that I would be happy wherever you were. That I’d go anywhere with you.”
You turned in Bob’s arms and pressed one hand to his cheek. “I’m going to miss you so damn much.”
“Don’t say that,” he begged.
“It’s true.”
“Sunny,” he whispered.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Remember me like that,” you said quietly. “Happy. Free. Spontaneous. Not sick. Not tired.”
He pulled you in closer, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’ll always just be Sunny to me, darlin’. You'll always be perfect in my mind.”
***
It was Penny who asked about a baby shower.
“I’m not sure if you’re planning on having one,” she said, “but if you’re not, I wanted to give you this.”
She slid a perfectly wrapped pink box over the shiny wooden bar. You took it carefully and looked up with surprise. “I hadn’t even thought about it,” you confessed.
Penny smiled and shook her head. “If you want, I can organize one.”
“I think it would be weird,” you said looking down at your flat stomach. “I just, I don’t know if we want that.”
“And that’s fine, too,” Penny added. “But Pete and I wanted to give you a gift no matter what.”
You grinned, sliding one finger under the paper seam, revealing a silver box. When you opened it, a tiny flight suit onesie stared back at you. You laughed, lifting it out of the box. “Oh my God it’s perfect.”
Penny leaned over the bar and put one hand over yours. “I think what you’re doing is amazing,” she whispered. “Being a parent is hard. It’s the hardest thing you’re ever going to do. And it’s the bravest, too.”
You gripped her hand back. “Thank you.”
Word got around that you wouldn’t be having a baby shower, but somehow gifts kept arriving at the door. Every time you or Bob came home there was another wrapped package on the doorstep.
Bob laughed as he put another box in the nursery, one corner piled high with gifts. He stood up, hands on his hips. “This baby is spoiled already.”
You smirked, running one hand over the array of baby clothes that had started to fill in the closet. They looked so small. You couldn’t imagine a tiny human would fit into them.
And then the door rang. Bob looked over at the door. “I’ll get it.”
You waited for the sound of his footsteps and the lock of the door, and then a muffled voice.
Finally, he called out, “Honey? It’s for you.”
You made your way into the foyer cautiously, a frown when you noticed it was Jake. Bob shifted to the side and you saw a large box in his arms.
He held it out. “Hey Reid.”
Stepping forward, you took the box out of his hands and handed it off to Bob who put it on the table. “Thanks,” you said.
Jake shrugged. “Listen, I know I'm still not y’all’s favorite person.” Behind you, Bob snorted. “But I’m sorry. I really am.”
You waved one hand in the air. “Come on in, Jake.”
He grinned, closing the door behind him. The three of you walked over to the entryway table where Bob had put the gift down. It was wrapped well, really well, and you were a bit surprised by how nice it looked.
Slowly, you peeled away the thick wrapping paper, opening the lid to a sturdy box. Inside a plume of tissue paper sat a small teddy bear. You lifted it out of the box. It had a perfect little face with pink ears that looked hand stitched. You smiled. “Thank you,” you whispered. “It’s very cute.”
“There’s something else in there, too.”
You frowned, handing the bear off to Bob and then digging back in the paper in the box. Your hands emerged holding a book.
Flipping it over, you let out a small chuckle.
“I loved this book as a kid,” you said quietly.
Bob looked at it. “Goodnight Moon?”
Jake shot him a look. “You don’t know Goodnight Moon?”
Bob shook his head. “No. Should I?”
“It’s only the best kids book ever,” Jake said. “Open it,” he added.
Pulling back the hard cover, you frowned. There was a little button on the inside. “What is this?”
Jake smiled. “It’s a recorder. You record yourself reading the book, so the baby can hear you read it when you flip through the pages.”
A fresh flood of tears sprung to your eyes. Bob reached out for the book and you handed it to him.
“It was Erin’s idea. Told her I was at a bit of a loss for what to get you. Thought it would be good.”
You tossed your arms around his neck, pulling him in. “Thank you,” you whispered into his neck. Behind you, Bob looked up at Jake with wide eyes. You pulled away. “And thank Erin for us.”
“I will.”
Bob stepped forward, the teddy bear and book safely placed on the table. You weren’t sure what was going to happen next. It wasn’t until he had pulled Jake into an embrace that you realized he was wrapping the other man into his arms. “Thanks,” Bob said, his voice thick with emotion.
The two of them pulled apart and looked at each other in silence, but you knew what they were saying.
Later that night, after Bob had gone to bed, you crept out of the master bedroom, down the hallway to the nursery. You sat on the rocking chair that had finally been delivered and opened the book, pressing the little red button, immortalizing your voice forever.
“Hi baby,” you whispered, “it’s mama. Want to read a bedtime story together?”
A/N: Hi all! We have one more epilogue-style chapter left! xx
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You knpow what I think you haven't done for a design review? Pineco and Foretress. Got to love Pinecone Bug and Walnut Cannon Shell in general.
At first glance, Pineco here looks like a sentient pine cone and like it should be a grass-type, ala Seedot. However, Pineco has a secret:
Pineco isn't a pinecone at all, but is instead a bagworm caterpillar, hence the bug typing. For those not familiar, bagworms are a kind of moth caterpillar that build cases out of materials such as pine needles and tree bark:
You can't see it in this photo, but there's a caterpillar in this structure (possibly already cocooned in this photo). In order to move, they stick their heads out of the top like a sleeping bag. :)
Anyway, visually, Pineco is perfectly fine, albeit somewhat generic if you didn't pick up on the "bug in a protective shell" thing. The individual pieces of bark, resembling the scales of a pinecone, are well structured, and having the eyes tucked under the top two scales allows them to pop nicely against the dark shading, especially with their red coloration. It also bears a slight semblance to a grenade, which is fitting giving their habit of blowing themselves up with little warning.
Female bagworms never develop into something resembling a moth and stay in their cases through adulthood. While this line isn't gendered, Forretress indeed isn't a moth but some other kind of organism entirely. The question of what kind of organism is a bit more questionable; it's presumably still a bagworm, but the case now looks more like a clamshell and it gains steel typing of all things.
My guess is that it's a walnut shell, keeping with the idea of protection and the tree theme—it looks a lot less rocky and a lot more organic in its original sprite above. The body has just hardened along with the modified case to justify the typing.
Regardless of what it is, I do like Forretress a lot, more so than Pineco. Like I said above, Pineco can seem fairly generic at a glance if you don't know the concept, but this red creature with an obvious shell and turrets sticking of it its body is super neat, and conveys both that it's a creature in something and that it'll explode and/or fire steel fragments in your face if you get too close to it.
I also like the design just in terms of pure aesthetics. The shell has teeth along its edge, and in each gap lies a turret—except for the front two spots, which perfectly hold its eyes. A black stripe runs across the middle of the body and helps to draw attention to the eyes. It's very nicely balanced. I do wish that it had a little more to connect it visually to Pineco however. I like the colors as-is, but maybe just making it green instead of red would've been enough.
My other nitpick relates to how we actually have an entire beta history for Forretress. It started as a unrelated bagworm Pokemon, then got a placeholder sprite, and then we got these early designs:
These designs confirm that the black band around Forretress' eyes used to be its mouth, and while I really like the design we got, there's also something super appealing in these sprites (especially the first one with the wiggly mouth that matches the shell) that feels like it got lost.
I think it's the expressions: the Forretress design we got has very flat and dead eyes, but early Forretress 100% looks like a creature that will explode in your face if you get any closer to it. If the eyes had kept the slightly maniac expression from this sprite while keep the design as the final version, I think we would've had the ideal Forretress. Like I said, a nitpick, just one I thought I'd point out.
Overall, this is a pretty solid line. I do think more visual continuity could've been maintained between the two stages, but the bagworm concept is solid and Forretress in particular is well designed.
Also, this has little to do with the Pokemon, but I don't feel like this review would be complete without bringing up the best Pokemon TCG move name of all time:
EVERYONE EXPLODE NOW
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Part 29 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🐚
Part 28
( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 ) ( pt. 19′s art 🦇 ) ( pt. 20′s art 🍳) ( pt. 27’s art 🦦 )
~ on ao3 ~
• • •
Max strolled around the corner and stopped dead in the kitchen. “What year is it?”
Steve smiled mirthlessly at her and reached for the overnight bag as he sassed, “It’s time to get rowdy.”
“Keep your fantasies out of the communal kitchen,” she accused, but she got overshadowed by the littles’ excitement.
“Wowdy!”
“Stevie! I wanna see Biwwy’s room again!”
“I wanna see Max’s room!”
“Max! Can we see your woom?”
She took a deep breath, resigned to her fate as she magic carpeted them down the hallway to her room. Billy huffed a laugh to himself and decided on some popcorn. He figured Steve was jaded beyond belief of the microwave, butter and salt kind that Family Video sold, so he got the big popcorn pot ready.
Meanwhile, Steve wasn’t kidding about the littles needing a lot of stuff to feel at home. All of Billy’s stuff on his nightstand got demoted to a shelf on the other side of the room in favor of the shoebox going right next to the bed.
Steve’s clamshell soap dish went in the bathroom sink along with his toiletries bag on the counter. Before going back to the kitchen, he knocked on Max’s doorframe. What he found did not surprise him, prompting him to ask, “You starfishes okay in here?”
The littles were jumping over her bed, landing like starfishes on her plush, colorful and quilted comforter. Small Billy got up and exclaimed with a pointed arm, “Stevie! Wook at that! All the shewlls!”
Steve found the shell lamp he meant and frowned a little. “How heavy is that?”
“A lot,” Max said flatly.
Little Steve pointed to a collection of shells in a jar. “Can we see those?”
Max exhaled a reticent, “Uh...”
All heads turned toward the stereo in the living room. Billy turned on a synthwave-rock power ballad to fill up the empty space without it being loud enough to drown out the littles’ voices. Max called, “What’re you doing?”
“Popcorn, shit bird!”
Little Billy and Steve gasped. “Popcorwn!”
Little Steve wiggled his pelvis as he sang, “Pop pop, pop pop pop!”
Big Steve approached the bed to scoop them up in his hands. “There’s plenty of time to harass Max. Let’s make sure Billy’s room is ready for you.”
Whooping voices trailed through the corridor as they arrived to Billy’s room. To Steve’s surprise, their reactions to being in this room again seemed a bit more critical:
“It’s messier than Stevie’s woom. Was it messy wast time?”
“It smwells good. And bad. Mostlwy good.”
Big Steve elaborated, “It’s the beer cans,” and set the littles on the nightstand while he collected the crumpled aluminum discards closest to the bed. He opened one of the windows for a refreshing breeze as little Billy flicked the lampshade on and off, on and off. “You can use that if you need us in the middle of the night.”
Little Billy made an acknowledging sound that Steve couldn’t read, and he didn’t get to ask since Max passed by the doorway and Billy called out. “Max! What’s that?”
She paused and looked down at the colorful pages. “It’s a comic book.”
“I wanna see.”
To her credit, she didn’t seem overly exasperated as she came in to pick him up. From the kitchen, they heard the first kernels explode, eliciting little Steve to celebrate, “Pop pop! Stevie, wet’s go!”
They journeyed back to the kitchen, the Steves in the kitchen while Max sat on the floor with small Billy on the coffee table. He sat under her chin and listened to her narrate, “Wonder Woman, issue 326.”
“What makes her wonderwfuwl?”
“She’s a super hero. She fights for justice and stuff.”
“What’s justice?”
“Keeping bad people from doing bad things, I guess.”
She opened the cover and turned passed the front page of pointless advertisements. She couldn’t help the little smile that warmed her features when Billy exhaled, “Woah...”
“It would probably help to know what happened in the last comic.”
“Therwe’s morwe than one?” he exclaimed up to her.
“Issue 326 usually implies that there’s more than one.”
“Ugh! Too many,” he lamented. “Just put me to bed alweady.”
“It’s amazing, I promise. Sleep if you want to.”
“No! Who’s that?” he ordered, pointing at a character on the page.
In the kitchen, Steve watched from afar, a soft smile on his face as he observed little Billy with Max, and little Steve chitchatting with big Billy on the counter.
“Hey, blueberry peach.”
It took a long second for that to register in Steve’s ears. Then he pointed a look at big Billy smirking at him. “What?”
Billy laughed and set a hand over the lid so it stayed on while kernels made the pot rattle. “What what? Nobody ever asked to see you from the back?”
Clearly not, because Billy watched that visibly process in Steve’s eyes before he looked down, suddenly bashful and smiling.
Little Steve asked in a confused lilt, “Are you putting fwuit on the popcorwn?”
“No, sugar. I just like making Stevie turn pink.”
He gave little Steve a poke to his belly, earning a very similar pink hue to his cheeks and bashful grin as the little man rubbed the spot on his torso. “Siwwy Biwwy.”
Billy soon took the pot off the heat and he and Steve divided the popcorn to make sweet and savory portions. At the coffee table, little Billy stood in front of the open pages in Max’s hands. “I don’t undewstand. Why’d the good guys do that?”
“Because they’re stupid. It was a stupid decision.”
“I don’ wike it.”
“I don’t either, but sometimes writers use stupid as a plot device.”
“Hmph,” Billy hummed in discontent agreement. He startled at the sounds of something hitting the coffee table, vibrating gently through his socked feet. “Huh! What’s that?”
“Popcorwn, Biwwy!” little Steve called as Max moved the comic out of the way for him to see the bowls. Big Steve crushed some popcorn over a dish so they could have manageable bites. Little Steve munched on one while he walked over Max’s comic, striking a pose like the fight scene on the pages.
Little Billy laughed and said, “Do this one,” as he tried to turn one of the pages. Big Billy caught the page and turned it for him. The littles posed with the characters while Max, Billy, and Steve watched a couple of evening shows on the television.
Eventually Max called it a night, and left her comic book on the table. Billy started to pick it up, but his smaller self rushed to stand on top of it, “I wanna know what happens.”
“And I want to lay down,” he countered, pulling small Billy along with the comic. He only paused to offer, “You hitching a ride?”
Little Steve rushed to jump onto the comic, and held onto small Billy when the comic turned into a slide down to big Billy’s diaphragm. The latter pivoted to lie back on the cushions and extended his feet to rest on big Steve’s lap while he warned little Steve, “If you don’t want a headache from reading, mountain climb over to Harrington’s side.”
The little guy giggled as he took up the challenge. “On my way, Stevie!”
Big Steve smiled, “Just hold onto his leg hair - ”
“Don’t do that,” Billy recoiled.
“Wead alweady!” small Billy shouted, similarly reclining between Billy’s chest and stomach.
Big Steve scolded with his hands resting on Billy’s ankles. “Please, B.”
“Pwease!” he obliged, but his tone didn’t sound any different.
Billy felt little Steve walking like his legs were a balance beam. He quickly read through the beginning of the comic, and small Billy certainly made it known when he’d arrived at new story.
Billy did not consider himself a storyteller kind of reader, but little Billy never complained. He crossed his tiny feet or sometimes lifted a leg just to stretch it out. He occasionally pointed to a panel to ask what a word meant, or just to comment on the story in general. Big Billy peeked down at him, thinking he looked more like he were observing the stars than reading a comic.
Little Billy’s voice grew more and more sluggish, words eventually leaving him in favor of mumbled or hummed responses. When Billy got no answer at all, he lifted the comic and whistled at Steve. His head rotated from the television, eyes dropping to the little guy passed out on Billy’s diaphragm.
He then looked down at the upside down sailor’s cap nestled between Billy’s feet and his abdomen. “It’s definitely time for bed.”
Cradling the cap, Steve moved Billy’s feet so he could get off the couch. Billy got a peak at a little, sleeping Steve while small Billy got carefully moved to the nest of the Scoops Ahoy hat.
“Hhmuh?” the little one roused.
“I got you, B,” Steve hushed. “Goodnight.”
“Mmm...” he whined tiredly, but rolled over to spoon little Steve.
As for the bigger Steve, he held the hat out to Billy in offering. “Do you want to watch over their dreams tonight?”
Billy faced him with flattened, puzzled eyes. “You mean kiss them?”
“Yeah, I mean kiss them.”
“I’d rather kiss you.”
Billy grasped the red tails of his ascot and yanked Steve down to him. The sailor cap collapsed on Billy’s abdomen as soft lips crushed against his own. His other hand plunged into the hair on Steve’s nape, causing a delicious, involuntary sound to come from Steve’s chest.
It was good, being reminded of Steve’s mouth. To have the confirmation that he had kissed Steve Harrington, and could kiss him again, as much as he wanted. Billy tasted sweet popcorn on Steve’s lips but Billy’s lips started to prickle from the spice on their savory popcorn. He didn’t mind -
“I gwuess they got big bad dweams to take care of.”
They both froze and looked down at the sleep-disheveled pair staring at them with puffy, tired eyes. Little Billy seemed to be doing complicated math and looked at little Steve. “Can I kiss you wike that?”
“Maybe tomowwow. I’m sweepy.”
“Mmkay,” Billy agreed, the both of them collapsing back in their nest. Little Billy reached for the tiny Scoops hat, pulling it from brown tresses and using it to cover his face from the light.
#harringrove#wrecked-fuse#neonponders#like magnets#pocketverse#pocket!au#i'm going to the clay studio this evening#so i'm ~stressed~#have some littles to feel better
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CONGRATS ON 300 FOLLOWERS LOVE!!!🥳
I got a little something for you to ponder…how about Gloss with a fem reader, SFW, and #22 "I think I need a hug."? Because I need more about this artistic sweetheart, I think 300 words will suffice me for a while.😅
My brain just went kapoot so I am relying on you to make this magical!!!☺️✨
Soup Assault
Gloss (OC) x Fem!Reader
Pairing: Gloss (OC) x Fem!Reader
Tags & Warnings: domestic fluff
Word Count: 300
Author's Note: STITCH, I AM SO SORRY. I got so carried away trying to complete the bingo fics that I let the last three event requests sit idle in my inbox. However, as promised in my New Years post, I have finally completed it!!! Thank you so much for your patience and putting up with me. I'm so happy you asked for Gloss, too 🥺 He's such a good boy. I hope you love it 💚
Your day at work has been exhausting, and all you want to do is go home and go to sleep. However, a customer spilled an entire bowl of hot soup on you during your shift, so you need to shower and do laundry before you can even touch your bed. Not to mention, another customer started screaming at you for something that wasn't your fault and it almost made you cry. You're a mess.
You unlock your apartment and sigh as you throw your bag on the entryway table. You really don't care at this point if it lands or falls off the table. There's nothing breakable in it, other than your comm, and even that you don't care about right now. You just want peace and quiet, and no conversations with anyone, because you've had enough people chewing your ear off today.
After changing, you walk into the living room and see Gloss lying on his stomach on the floor, feet kicking in the air as he sketches in his notebook. He doesn't look up when you enter the room, but seems rather enthralled in whatever he is drawing. You plop yourself down next to him, lean your back against his side and close your eyes as you listen to his soft scribbling.
After a long quiet moment, you open your eyes and sigh. "I think I need a hug."
Gloss stops sketching and lays his pencil down onto the notebook. He rolls onto his side and clamps himself onto your body like a clamshell. "Better?" he asks.
You giggle. "Much better."
"Rough day at work?" he asks.
"You wouldn't even believe me," you say.
"Try me," he says. "I'll believe you."
"I fought a bowl of soup today," you say.
"Did you win?" he asks.
You laugh. "Nope."
Event Masterlist
Masterlist
A03
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#tbbb writes#oc: gloss x fem!reader#oc: gloss x reader#oc: gloss x you#clone oc x fem!reader#clone oc x reader#clone oc x you#oc: gloss#clone oc: gloss#clone oc#phoenix squad#tbbb's 2/3 follower event#2/3 follower event#drabble#300 words#the clone wars#clone wars#tcw#star wars#clone wars fanfiction#clone wars fanfic#clone wars fic#tcw fanfiction#tcw fanfic#tcw fic#fanfiction#fanfic#fic
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Old Book, New Boards
Following our visit to paper maker extraordinaire Andrea Peterson in the fall (see our November blog post), we were eager to find opportunities to use her handmade papers in our conservation work. Of particular interest was her ABM binders board, which recycles phase box off-cuts to make a delightfully pulpy binders board that is reminiscent of boards used on books throughout the 16th through 19th centuries. Essentially a thick, dense sheet of handmade paper, Andrea’s ABM board is lightweight, alkaline, and comes in a variety of thicknesses that allow for a sympathetic pairing to an older text-block when a new case or binding is necessary.
Hesburgh Libraries recently acquired a c. 15th century manuscript on paper of theological works by Denys the Carthusian. While the manuscript itself dates to the 15th century, it arrived in a much later binding that had broken sewing and very thin detached boards covered in brittle marbled paper.
Though we prefer reattaching loose boards where possible, in this case it was determined that splitting or lifting the covering material from these very thin, irregular boards would cause damage. We therefore decided, in collaboration with the curator, that the marble paper covered boards would be retained loose with the manuscript in a cloth-covered clamshell box, and the manuscript would be mended, resewn, and given a new binding.
In the process of cleaning and mending the paper in preparation for resewing, a fragment of light blue paper was discovered adhered to one of the inner folios of the manuscript.
Though it is unclear why and when this paper fragment came to be attached to the manuscript, it is similar to the blue “sugar bag” paper found on many books from the 17th and 18th centuries. In constructing a new case for the manuscript, we used a thin (0.06”) piece of ABM board and covered it with Ruscombe Mills Sesley Sugar Bag handmade laid paper, which closely resembles the fragment of blue paper found inside the manuscript.
Although the new binding does not attempt to be a facsimile of any particular binding, the new case stabilizes the manuscript for use while echoing elements of the manuscript’s history with its thin, textured boards and light blue covering paper.
#ndpreservation#conservation#bookconservation#manuscriptmonday#handmadepaper#paperlove#bookbinding#denysthecarthusian#manuscript#rarebooks#NDLibraries
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Clamshell [0.1]
Masterlist
A/N: Hello, I'm back. Still working on some old drafts and had some requests for some new ideas. I'll get to them for sure! I thought up a cute little backstory for how Remington met Vera -- back before she had any idea of this robbing business. And this chapter includes an actual bank robbery now. Happy reading!
--
Las Vegas, 2017
Remington had smoked the same brand of cigarettes from the time he was thirteen, and he hated the way they had been reformatted and manufactured. The taste and zing had been dulled down in order to meet the standard regulations of whatever federal ball-busting association had these cigarette companies bent over a desk. Perhaps he could still enjoy them the same way if he found the same thrill at thirteen, rifling through his older brother's things one day to knocking some off to seem cool to his friends.
The cigarette flew from his fingertips and was lost in the blustering wind, try as it might it could not tousle through the layers of hairspray he had sprayed on his spikes that morning. Down the freeway he and his brothers drove, feeling as free as the birds that migrated above their heads, unaware and uncaring for the chaos and treachery they may find in the big city. Sebastian had to go to work, because of course someone had to pay their bills legitimately; though Emerson and Remington were off to pull some work of their own.
Their long time confidant and friend, Andrew was driving upfront in their beaten up, unassuming mini van, his shaggy mullet was cloistered under a straw hat. Emerson wasn't much of a fan of said hat.
"You look like a farmer," he pointed out for perhaps the fifth time that morning.
Andrew scoffed, glaring at him through the rearview mirror, "Because you look so much less unassuming in yours," he was referring to Emerson's floppy, wide brimmed slouch hat.
"Well, I'm not gonna' be wearing it for the job," he replied.
"Just leave him alone, he likes it," Remington cut in, trying to sprawl his long legs out in the back seat.
Sebastian was sat shot gun, dressed in his jacket for his line cook's job. He kept glancing back at his younger brothers, seemingly uneasy.
"Are you sure you guys wanna' do this without me?" he asked, perhaps for the third time that morning. His brothers had been planning this job for months, a smaller heist in comparison to others they've pulled, but the diner Sebastian worked for was severely short staffed and he was being scheduled more and more until more bodies could be hired. Of course, neither of them could afford to lose their jobs, so Sebastian had to put his heist planning to a pause while he covered as many shifts as he could.
While they figured they could wait this out, Remington and Emerson were eager for another job soon enough. And so, they had spent some time drawing up plans for a smaller bak heist. After all, living in Vegas was no cheap and easy feat for anyone.
"Of course we are, we've planned this perfectly," Emerson assured, turning to his brother, "Right?"
"Right," Remington sat up and reached over to grab Sebastian's shoulders, "We got it all under control, you just do your thing; flip your burgers, dress your salads, pour in half a bag of sugar into your hollandaise sauce,"
"I wouldn't if I didn't have to," Sebastian grumbled back, looking forward as Andrew pulled over to the cafe he worked at. Sebastian turned in his seat again, "You guys be careful, and don't do anything foolish for the love of God,"
Remington put his hand over his heart, "Swear on mom and dad's graves, we'll be good,"
"Better than that, we'll be slick," Emerson grinned.
Still unconvinced, Sebastian turned to Andrew with grim reprieve, "Make sure they don't get themselves killed,"
"You got it," Andrew gave him a high-five, "I'll come pick you up later,"
Sebastian hopped out and hadn't even shut the door before the minivan pulled out again. They travelled through the smaller outskirt suburb of Vegas, where the main strip was still within clear view. Remington and Emerson were getting their gear together in the meantime, guns, duffels, and of course, their balaclavas.
The Lieseil Funds Bank was a smaller bank chain, handling business ventures from blue-collar start ups to college-fund investment plans. It was a more obscure target that wouldn't be a considered target for crimes such as this, and it sat right across from Bobbie Trap's Pub. It was there one would find a raucous commotion emanating from the back of house, a young waitress being scolded by her manager.
Of course, it wasn't initially the waitress' fault, a customer, still drunk from the night previous, decided to try and take a handful of her behind. But of course, when she turned to defend herself, one thing led to another and she tossed a glass of water over his head. Despite how she tried to explain her case, her boss rattled on about how irresponsible and hysterical she was, so he took her by the arm and practically dragged her out of the establishment and threw her out onto the street, tossing her ratty apron after her.
"Go be somebody else's problem, Vera!" and he slammed the door in her face.
That was how Vera found herself sitting on the sidewalk outside of the bank with said ratty apron and her scuffed up converse kicking at the pavement. This was the third job she had lost in four months and she was cussing herself out for being so reactive and explosive. Just her luck anyhow, the volunteer at the women's shelter had lobbied hard for her to get that stupid waitressing job. Never the less, seeing the inevitable disappointment on the volunteer's face when she came crawling back would be absolutely gruelling.
She ran a hand through her tangled, dry hair, her brain racing for some sort of answer to her predicament, she hadn't paid any mind to the minivan that had pulled up in front of Bobie's.
Remington glared through hooded eyes at the bank, mentally flashing through the blueprints that Emerson had drawn up of the building, running through the response time it would take for police. He looked to Emerson, his face covered in his own lint-littered balaclava, then to Andrew, his head down and his straw hat pulled just over his eyes. Morning rush hour was over and the street was relatively quiet, perfect for their quick getaway.
They were just about to hop out when a man suddenly emerged from the local bar, his head down as he counted the stack of money bills in his hand, clearly out for a deposit. He didn't even give the random girl on the corner a second glance. Remington licked his lips hungrily as he watched the man cross the street and head into the bank. Sebastian was going to be so proud of their score.
With one final bow of confidence, Remington and Emerson jumped out of the minivan and hustled across the street, slipping into the bank. The few people within the bank paid no mind until Remington held up his automatic weapon and fired a few rounds into the ceiling. There were screams of terror, plaguing confusion as bank tellers and bystanders ducked for cover. And of course, the one security guard they had proved to me less than efficient as Emerson knocked him out with one swift blow from his gun.
Remington, ever one for great theatrics, leapt onto one of his desks, brandishing his weapon and tossing the duffel at the bank teller, "Ladies and gentlemen! I beg you all to remain calm, you are not in immediate danger! However, if it wasn't obvious: this is a robbery!"
Vera had her head in her hands, none the wiser to the chaos within the bank until she heard the first gunshots. The windows were dusty but when she turned around she could make out some of the pandemonium from inside, and her heart began to race as she realized she was witnessing a full scale bank robbery. It was so close, all playing out in front of her and yet she felt like she was watching some sort of scene from a movie.
"Holy shit," what should she do, call the police? Maybe somebody already had? All banks had those little panic buttons, right? There was more yelling, some banging, and Vera watched in disbelief as one of the robbers leapt onto the desk, almost performative in his clear threat to the public. She was frozen, out of fear or fascination she wasn't sure, but all Vera could bring herself to do was watch.
Remington and Emerson had gathered what money they could, as well as other valuable personal pieces and spare cash the customers had on them. The man from the street had a cool five hundred dollars he had a hard time letting go off, but Remington shoved him down and cleared up as much of it as he could before he and Emerson took off.
Not even five minutes passed before sirens could be heard in the distance, and the robbers were making out with their loot: two big duffels full of cash. The time had come for Vera, she started crossing the street to get herself away from the chaos. The first one raced clumsily towards the idling minivan and the second was close on his heels, or he would've been if one of the bank bystanders hadn't chased after him.
"You get back here! Vera! Stop him!" Vera was shocked to find her boss coming after the second robber with a clenched fist. He was closing in on him, and Vera wasn't sure what had come over her, glancing between the robber and the minivan his partners were waiting in, and then she glanced at her former boss. Her petty anger riled up within in, and as quickly as she could, she put out her foot and watched with with subtle glee as he face planted into the road.
Remington stopped short when he heard the thud, staring in disbelief as he saw the large man trying to gather his wits. His gaze then shifted to the girl who had clearly tripped him, their eyes locked. She was a young, unassuming type, slender and yet she had a mousy attractiveness.
"Move, man!" Emerson called from the van. Remington only had time to throw one callous wink at the girl before he leapt into the van, the dark ink of an X on his right knuckle fleeting as the van door closed behind him. About a minute later two police cruisers arrived, one of them taking off in the van's general direction.
When he had recovered, Vera's former boss dusted himself off, his mean gaze narrowing on the young girl. He stomped up to her, seething like a bull in Pamplona.
"What is the matter with you!" he shoved her, "You let them get away with my money! Are you just that stupid?!"
Vera, playing up her nonchalance, simply shrugged and smiled politely, "I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you should go be someone else's problem?" and with that, she turned on her heel and walked in the general direction of the women's shelter.
The Bastards crew had made a hasty, but clean getaway from the cops, and Sebastian couldn't deny how impressed he was with his brothers' spoils. They celebrated greatly with some cheap bottles of gin and pizza, though Remington found himself too preoccupied for celebrating. That girl had intercepted and nested in his brain, he had laid eyes upon her just for a moment yet he could see her so clearly. She was reminiscent of a manic pixie dream girl from a Bertolucci film, yet her dim confidence and outlandish pulse reactions were outstanding.
He sat on the porch of the bungalow they shared, a shabby little place in a run down lower-middle class neighbourhood. The air was dry, the heat unbearably humid, though it didn't stop Remington from enjoying his beer as he looked out into the saturated sunset. He had never found himself so curious over someone, especially over a girl. Why had she decided to help him, who was she? And of course, what bone did she have to pick with that bar man?
Out of all the chaos from the day and the questions spinning in his brain, he at least had one answer: Vera. It was a pretty name for a pretty girl, and as he lay in bed that night, tossing the sheets on and off because it was just too damn hot, Remington decided that he wanted to try and find her, to thank her at least. Would she react badly? Maybe. Would Sebastian absolutely end him if he found out? For sure. Never the less, Remington liked risks, and he certainly hadn't met a challenge he wasn't willing to take on.
And as he showered off the night time sweat in lukewarm water, he had successfully made up his mind.
Vera had crawled back to the women's shelter with her tail between her legs, having to sheepishly explain to the volunteers how she'd lost yet another job. Despite their clear frustration with her, they promised they were going to help find her something that would stick.
Empty promises, empty promises.
All night she couldn't sleep, tossing and turning in her brick-hard bed as sleep eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes she kept reliving the chaos from the morning. She hadn't told the volunteers about it, they would panic and worry about Vera being a witness and wonder if she was a liability to the rest of the girls in the shelter. She had seen it before with girls who had witnessed things they shouldn't have, and of course in Las Vegas, there were a plethora of things you would often wish you never had to see.
However, Vera found she wasn't traumatized so much as she was fascinated by it all. It all happened so fast and yet she could remember every detail so clearly, how sharp the gunshots were, how the clear leader of the two was so ostentatious in his crime, how he even took the time to stop and wink her, almost as a thank-you for letting them get away. She couldn't see his face of course, but she could remember those eyes so well; chilling, almond in shape and dark to the point where his eyes almost appeared to be blacked out entirely. Nevertheless, Vera found she wasn't afraid; perhaps she had become so numb to the tumultuous ongoings within the city? Or deep down she was content with the fact that the balaclava-clad stranger wasn't going to hurt her. Not like she would know him if she passed him on the street.
In the sizzling afternoon heat, Vera was wandering an outlet market, a pretty inconspicuous cover as she read her magazine from the news stand. Every time she turned the page she found an ad for some luxury perfume, designer bag or exquisite jewelry piece. She ran her fingers over a bejewelled necklace that Lily Collins was wearing for Cartier, wondering how it must've felt to be and live so rich. All Vera had ever known was cold floors to sleep on and living paycheque-to-menial-paycheque.
This part of Vegas was a bit quieter than the strip, nonetheless bustling with professionals and cars would line up and funnel out to make their way to their destinations. Vera took a deep breath of cigarette smoke, dust, and exhaust, the white noise somewhat calming her. She was none the wiser to the young man standing at the street corner, his hands tucked into the pockets of his denim jeans, seeking refuge in the heat under a shaded tree, his dark eyes locked on her while his cigarette sizzled between his fingers.
"Hey! You gonna' pay for that?" the clerk at the newsstand barked at Vera. She refrained from rolling her eyes as she placed the mag back on the rack with a polite, sickening grin. The clerk came around, grumbling to himself as he had to reorganize his selection of reading material, none the wiser to Vera plucking a candy bar from the opposing display while his back was turned. But Remington found himself impressed as he followed just a few feet behind her.
Vera ate her candy bar without much thought as she skimmed the display tables of shirts and knock off hand bags. Nobody paid her a second thought, she seemed practically invisible as she was bumped and knocked aside by the bustling crowds. She flinched as an associate from the church of scientology tried to shove a pamphlet into her face, ducking swiftly towards the other end of the market. She suddenly found herself in front of a jewelry table, it was nothing too opulent, but the pieces were beautiful and Vera couldn't resist.
She picked up a simple gold necklace, the chain was delicate and in the middle hung a beautiful, pearly clamshell charm. The clerk was too busy bartering with another customer while Vera plucked the clasp apart and slipped the necklace onto herself. It was absolutely gorgeous, the cold complimented her complexion exquisitely and the clamshell glistened in the sun's reflection. Nevertheless, the price swayed Vera much more than the look could; it was forty-five dollars and Lord knew she couldn't afford anything more than a happy meal at this rate.
Remington had broke through the crowd, dodging the scientologist and finding Vera at the stand on the other side. She was twisting from side to side in the mirror, her chucks strained in the soles as she stood on her toes, she seemed almost childlike. Remington couldn't help the curious grin on his face as he debated to himself, how should he approach her? And hell, would she even bother to give him the time of day. He was a relatively good looking boy, though the city was filled with fast-talking leeches and he wouldn't blame her if she told him to buzz off.
However, Remington's opportunity hit sooner than he'd prepared for, whisked out of his head as he heard someone shout.
"Take that off!" the clerk at the jewelry display scolded Vera, making her and the few immediate customers in the vicinity jump. The slender Filipino woman charged over to her, a deep scowl carved into her face as she waved her finger at her, "You can't just take from my table and try the stuff on!"
Vera cocked a brow, "Then what's the mirror for, then?" she asked simply.
"Didn't you read the sign?" the older woman pointed her bony finger to the sign by her register: please ask before trying on jewelry was scrawled out in just legible handwriting, "You want to try? You ask me first! You could be stealing for all I know!"
"I'm not stealing it, I'm trying it on!" she snapped back.
"Are you going to buy it?" the clerk asked.
"No,"
"Then take it off!" she waved her hand at her to hurry along, "Go shop at Value Village or something, you probably can't afford this anyway!"
Vera did her best to bite her tongue as she reached for the clasp, not wanting to give in to the woman's very clear opinions of her, "Okay! Okay! Here!" she barely had a handle on the latch of the clasp before a sudden, sharp odour of cologne filled her nose, and she was surprised to see a young man taking step beside her.
"Hold on a sec, there's no need to be nasty about it," the boy told the clerk, trying to de-escalate the tension between the ladies.
"Who's being nasty! She can't buy anything so she's wasting my time!" the clerk cried, drawing a few side-glances from passer bys.
"Who said she can't buy anything?" he popped a brow, then turning to Vera, "You like the necklace?" he asked.
Vera wasn't sure as to whether she was embarrassed, scared, or relieved, seemingly having this stranger on her side. He seemed harmless enough, smiling gently and persuasive in her mannerisms. She never broke eye contact with his dark eyes, nodding slowly.
"Yeah,"
Remington's smile got wider as she nodded and he pulled out his wallet, flipping through the bills. The clerk had certainly stopped talking once she saw the wad of cash he had on him. Remington pulled out forty-five dollars and handed it to the clerk, plus a five dollar tip.
"There you go, forty-five bucks. Plus a little something for the misunderstanding," he assured her. The clerk glanced at the money, dumbfounded at first. When her train of thought finally caught up with her tongue, she placed the money into her pouch and reached for her register.
"I -- I... thank you. Uh -- here. Let me print you a receipt --"
"Don't worry about it," Remington nodded politely, subtly knocking his elbow with Vera's, "You have a good day,"
For the second day in a row, Vera felt as though she had been stuck in a hallucinatory dream. She nearly tripped over her feet as Remington nudged her to start walking, following in quick step with saucer eyes as she watched him in utter disbelief.
"You good?" was all he said, not bothering to make eye contact.
"Yeah, I guess," Vera huffed, her voice bordering on a gasp and a chuckle, "You didn't have to -- I mean -- I would've put it back no problem --"
"Don't worry, she had it coming," Remington assured her, "Besides, the pendant looks good on you,"
Vera denied the urge to reach up to clutch the clamshell, becoming frustrated at this stranger's nonchalance. Annoyed because he had been so vague and so smug, rebelliously handsome, "Okay then,"
Remington sensed her agitation and capitalized on it, "You could say 'thank you'," he said.
Vera stopped walking then, staying put on the burning cement as she glowered, "Well, who exactly am I supposed to be thanking?"
Remington turned back and extended his hand to her, smiling warmly, "I'm Remington,"
She was tentative at first, her fight, flight, or flee modes were snapping through her brain like the slides on a slot machine. Despite everything though, he did buy her an expensive necklace and so far was asking for nothing in returned. 'So far' being the optimal phrase.
So she shook his hand, "Vera. Thank you for the necklace, Remington,"
The flush in his face he blamed on the heat, but hearing his name roll off her tongue had bells going off in his ears, "You're welcome, Vera,"
They kept walking together, his hands deep in his back pockets while she fiddled with the strap on her bag.
"... So, what's the catch?"
"What catch?"
"The part where I dubiously repay you for buying me a fifty-dollar necklace,"
"You don't have to give me anything," he assured her.
Vera scoffed, "Right, you just did it out of the kindness of your heart, right?"
"You don't believe so?" he asked.
"Nobody ever does anything for free. Especially not in this city," she kicked a loose pebble across the cement.
Remington nodded, "Fair enough. How about a coffee, then?"
"That's it?"
"That's it,"
Vera shook her head, "So you're offering to buy me a coffee to in debt myself to you even more?"
"No, you can repay your debt by spending forty five minutes having coffee with me. One minute for every dollar,"
She exhaled softly, looking briefly around the market as nobody was paying them any mind. If she needed to she could slip into the crowd and disappear so easily. However, he seemed harmless for the most part, he held the aura of a curious, twenty-something young boy who was probably just out to show off and nab himself a piece of tail. Forty five minutes was nothing, after all.
"Forty five minutes, that's it?"
"That's it,"
"Swear on the bible?"
Remington simpered as he raised his left hand and placed his right hand over his chest, "Hand of God, Mary, and Joseph," he promised.
Vera's gaze flickered to the X tattoo on his knuckle, a sharp chill running up her spine. Nevertheless, the chill wasn't fear; it was a gnawing curiosity in her gut as she realized who this man actually was. Her poker face never slipped, however.
She smiled politely, "Okay. Let's go,"
#palaye royale#remington leith#emerson barrett#sebastian danzig#palaye royale imagine#remington palaye royale#remington leith imagine#original story#original female character#band imagine blog#band blog#band imagines#the bastards#fever dream
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random rambling time: Yes I actually have had that few phones.
Back in the wild 90's dad got himself a family plan and so in my late teens I got given an analogue mobile for emergencies only. It pretty much sat in my bag as a giant brick. (1)
Eventually the network changed to digital instead of analogue and I got an upgraded phone (2)
Much much much later in my 20's I looked at my own account and saw straight through the "buy your phone through our contract and btw this is when contracts are simlocked and you and your phone are our bitch forever and ever and ever. I promptly bought an unlocked Nokia 3310 for $60 and gave everyone the finger. (3)
That was the last phone I ever bought.
Eventually I got a clamshell from my sister when she upgraded. (4). That was replaced a few years later by an n95 when my then boyfriend (now husband) upgraded *his* phone. (5) I ran that bitch until about 2009 / 2010, when my sister gifted me yet another phone - her iPhone 3 (6) as she'd bought a 4S.
That 4s eventually became mine as well (7) and I ran that until like 2022, when my sister gifted me her mother in law's old 6 and apple watch (8). Shortly afterwards my sister upgraded herself and now I have an 11 pro. (9).
I haven't paid for a phone since the 1900's
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Harvest Morning & New Horizons: A Prelude to Alpine Microgreen's Dreams
https://youtu.be/dvhm765gOhA
🌞🌱 Day 12 Harvest Day & A Peek into the Future! 🌱🌞
Happy Monday, everyone! 🎉 Let's start the week with a burst of motivation: "Every morning starts a new page in your story. Make it a great one today!" As we harvest today’s bounty, we're also gearing up for an exciting new chapter starting on the first of May at our upcoming Alpine Microgreens Farm! 📖💪
Today marks a pivotal moment in our microgreens journey—not only are we reaping the lush harvest of our current crops, but we're also on the brink of expanding our passion into a bigger space next month. This harvest presented a significant learning experience. I distributed my products to six different golf courses and three restaurants, where I received feedback that emphasized the need for better packaging and a cleaner presentation. Instead of using see-through clamshells and a plain white plastic bag without any labels, it became clear that a more professional and appealing packaging approach was necessary. The next round of samples will be sourced from our newly established Alpine Microgreens Farm! 🌿🚀🌿🚀
📚 Intriguing Microgreens Facts for Harvest Day:
Rapid Growth Cycles: Microgreens are the sprinters of agriculture, ready for harvest within just 1 to 3 weeks after planting, making them an ideal crop for continuous production cycles. 🕒🌱
Nutrient Powerhouses: They pack a remarkable nutritional punch, often containing higher levels of vitamins and minerals per gram than their mature plant counterparts. 🍽️💪
Sustainability Champions: Microgreens require minimal water and space, making them a sustainable choice for urban settings and reducing our ecological footprint. 🌍♻️
As we celebrate today's harvest, let’s look forward to the opportunities that Alpine Microgreens Farm will bring starting this May. This new facility, with its ample space and dedicated areas for growth, will enable us to cultivate more varieties and connect more closely with our community. 🏡🌱
Here’s to a fruitful harvest today and to the future growth at Alpine Microgreens Farm! 🌟🍃
Stay inspired, and let’s make this week as abundant as our microgreens harvest!
#Day12 #MicrogreensJourney #HarvestDay #MondayMotivation #AlpineMicrogreensFarm #ComingSoon #SustainableFarming #UrbanAgriculture #LocalGrowth #FreshHarvest #PlantPower #HealthyEating #GrowYourOwn #EcoFriendly #NutrientDense #RapidGrowth #FutureExpansion #GardenFresh #NewBeginnings #GreenThumb #UrbanGardeners #EatLocal 🌱🎉🌿🌞💚y 🌞🌱💧✨💚✨🌱💚
Watch as nature works its magic, one leaf at a time, and discover the beauty and wonder of microgreens! 💫
Don't forget to like, share, and subscribe for more green goodness! 🌱💚
Join the conversation and share your own microgreens adventures in the comments below! 💬
Let's celebrate the marvels of nature together! #AprilFun 🌱💫💪🌱 #MicrogreensTraining #GreenGains #HealthyHabits #GrowYourOwn #UrbanGardening #TinyButMighty #PlantPower #HomegrownGoodness #TikTokGardening #GreenThumb #AlpineMicrogreens #London #Ontario #Canada #EatYourGreens #Vegetables #MicrogreenFarmer #AlpineFarmer #Microgreens #CrispAlpineMicrogreens 🌱💚🌱🎥 🌱💫 #MicrogreenMagic #GrowthJourney #ShareYourGreens 🌱🌟
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So my phone broke two days ago and I bought the cheapest Tracfone I could find to use for the week it'll take for my new phone to get here. It's an old clamshell-style phone, and guys. Guys. I forgot how intensely satisfying these things are from a sensory standpoint. They are the perfect size and shape for a hand, and nothing feels better than ending a phone call by snapping them shut with that perfect "CLACK!" sound.
Like, I know they're making folding smartphones now, but they're all thin and flimsy and don't feel good to hold. This thing is curved, it has a little weight, it feels like I could throw it across the room, clock someone in the head, run it over with a mid-sized sedan, and it'd be fine. Immaculate sensory experience.
I'm also on a train right now. I'm meeting family up north this weekend, and I did the math and realized that, if I included the cost of gas and tolls, the cost of driving would be about the same as a train ticket, and it'd take the same amount of time. But I can nap on the train, and I brought some thread and patches if I want to do a project, and I have my computer and snacks. AND I get two checked bags, two carry-on bags, and two personal items included in the train ticket.
I really, really, really, really wish the U.S. would invest in trains and mass transit the way other countries have done. This is nice.
#I just had train lunch on the train. :)#Trying to get an Uber without a smartphone was kinda stressful though. The Tracfone isn't good at getting or sending texts either.#Personal stuff
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Nightmares, again, of the claws and eyes. Of raging against rage, of fire against fire, the earth shaking, the feeling of resolve and fury and the dance known as 'battle'--
Kerry, awake, slipped out of her bivvy bag on the floor and walked to the little balcony of the one guest room, which was moonlit and blue, and closed herself in. Brendan and Wally were probably still asleep, but she needed a minute.
Breathe. Try not to move too much. Balance your heart and senses. In. Hold. Out.
In. Hold. Out.
In. Hold. Out. Reset.
Kerry's teeth stopped tingling.
"... May the dream be changed." Was that a flare of Aura? ... Someone tossing in bed. Between her misaligned Aura and her own shaken mindset, it was hard to pick out whether they were awake or asleep.
Even after all this, she didn't have someone to rely on. Not really. She flipped open her DexNav, and considered the numbers within.
... Satoshi was unlikely to understand, and Takeshi would move mountains for any child but it felt like ash in her mouth to call him because she had a bad dream.
... She could call Musashi and Kojirou, but they, too, had their own problems. And Professor Birch needed his sleep.
She closed the clamshell of her DexNav with a snap, and once more heard the rustling of sheets, then the sound of the curtains moving.
"... Wally?" Now she felt even worse, but tried to keep the noise down. "Sorry, I must have woken you..."
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I have some ideas but I want to know what people want to see first.
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