#swell commerce

[oliedis]

Your Next Swell Marketplace Should be Built with MarketLaunch

A couple of weeks ago AppLaunch launched a new way to build marketplaces on Swell and I think it could be the ultimate foundation for your next marketplace.

If you’re from the world of eCommerce you’ve probably already heard of Swell. They’ve made a name for themselves by building a highly robust headless CMS and rich developer offering that gives merchants a lot of flexibility to build their ideal commerce solution without having to build loads of backend infrastructure to support it. Swell’s advanced development offering has meant it has become very popular among subscription based businesses and marketplaces.

At Morrow, we first discovered Swell when building a marketplace app. We loved the experience of using their platform and made it our go to for all future marketplace development we did.

Over the years we’ve been building marketplace apps we noticed a common thread; store operators were so focused on their users shopping experience they’d often forget about or deprioritise their vendor experience. When you’re building a marketplace, your vendor functionally such as tools for managing orders and products, can take up to 60% of your development time and budget. We saw that store operators wanted all their budget to go into building a delightful shopping experience but this meant comprising on the vendor experience.

I’m all for being scrappy when working with a lean budget but when it comes to marketplaces you need to remember the golden rule: your vendors are the lifeblood of your store. If you provide them with a bad experience or poor tools for managing their business with you then they won’t want to sell through your platform, without vendors whose products will your customers buy?

Luckily, having seen this issue time and again, our company AppLaunch decided to do something about it. AppLaunch have built a marketplace Starter-Kit, called MarketLaunch, that gives store operators all the vendor functionality prebuilt, saving them time and money.

Here’s three reasons I think you should be building your next Swell Marketplace with MarketLaunch:

Save precious development time (and costs) - MarketLaunch gives you all the vendor functionality you need to run a marketplace pre built, this helps cut development time and costs while enabling your team to focus on building a high converting storefront.

No on-going costs - with MarketLaunch there’s a single upfront cost to buy the kit, no on-going subscription or hidden fees. Nice and simple.

Ultimate build flexibility - when you buy MarketLaunch you get the code base, giving you full flexibility to do what you want, but knowing you’ve got strong foundations to build on.

#swell #ecommerce #marketplaces #marketplacedevelopment #app development #react native #react native development #swell commerce

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 8

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 Word Count: 2606 (20 min avg read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

Altan POV

I was escorted immediately to the great hall where my father was waiting for me. The commander who found me, Commander Gaius Gideon, was walking briskly ahead and I struggled to keep up with his pace, especially since two pairs of hands had me on each shoulder. I glared at each armoured soldier. Trying to shrug them off was no use as they were much stronger than I. 

The walk to the Great Hall was long, humiliating and I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead to avoid the stares from those inside. Dignitaries and Ruling Officers of Berdusk idled as I passed. I caught from the corner of my eye the way they stared.

They had always stared. They had stared at my mother too. Alway remarking on her dark skin, her flaming hair. She was beautiful, but to them - she was exotic and foreign and something to ogle at. I knew why my father had always liked having her around. But it left a sour taste in my mouth. And now those stares were mine to deal with. 

My father was poring over a map spread out on a table, his back to me. His head, with dark hair, growing just past his shoulders was adorned with a bronze circlet. I rarely saw him without it. He was dressed in rich crimson robes, and I knew that the insignia of the phoenix was embroidered in gold on his chest. My father was guardian of the province of Berdusk and he oversaw all of the politics and commerce that happened within his province. I knew that he was well-liked by his equals and by most of the upper-class. I didn’t know what anyone in the general populace thought of him. And seeing how he didn’t want me around them, that was answer enough. 

I watched him from my place where the soldiers had stopped me and I waited - impatiently - for my father to look up and acknowledge me.

“Your Grace,” Commander Gideon said, standing at the bottom of the small set of stairs that would lead up to where my father was. He waited, straight and tall and austere. Commander Gideon had been a silent companion on my travel back to Berdusk and I wanted to respect him for his strict obedience to his creed, but gods he annoyed me too. 

There was no answer. 

“Your Grace.” Commander Gideon repeated. “Your son has been returned to you.”

My father’s only response was an inconvenienced hum. I felt the blood in my cheeks as the anger rose inside me. 

“The least you could do was acknowledge me after sending your men all the way out to the Sword Coast? Why bother spending all that manpower if you can’t even look at me?” I shouted.

I caught the flinch in his back, and I saw his hand tighten into a fist. I felt a lingering swell of pride at getting under his skin, but then felt the cold dread as he slowly raised his head and turned to look at me. 

“Take him to his rooms, Commander. I will summon him when I am able.” He was unwavering and I felt naked under his gaze. He found me disappointing, disgusting, and intolerable. He hated me as much as I hated him. 

“Why keep me if I’m no use to you?” I yelled, even as I was being dragged away. “What do you want from me?”

My father did not look away from me even as I was dragged from the Great Hall. I kicked and struggled, giving the men hell. I probably looked like such a fool. I was a grown man acting like a child. I knew that. But I hated this place. I hated the way everyone looked at me, I hated my father most of all. 

My room was just as I had left it three months ago. I was ungracefully tossed in and Commander Gideon spared a moment to give me a pitying stare before closing the door behind me and locking it. 

I wanted to pound against the door and scream to be let out, but instead I laid where I was left on the ground and breathed slowly. It felt like the only thing I could do at that moment. Everything had become so wrong. I kept thinking of Drun and wishing I could have seen him one last time, even if it was just to say goodbye.

I was still there when I heard the click of the lock being released and the door opening. I heard the soft, slow footsteps as someone walked towards me and stopped right above me. 

I blinked up and saw the looming gaze of my father. 

“You have forgotten your place here, Altan.” He said, his voice soft and level. I knew it was an act, just to get me to listen to him. “Get up.”

I felt like being a rebel and not listening to him, but being at the feet of my father and knowing I could not go any lower than this made me climb up to my feet and stare at him, level and even. The words of my mother echoed in me, “Your father is not one who knows how to love easily, he prefers to possess the things he wants, even if it causes him pain to do so.” 

I knew that to be true. He had wanted my mother the moment he saw her. Had promised her the world and tempted her with his honey words. She was promised so much by him, but ended up being nothing more than his consort, a bedwarmer and a trophy. She bore him the sons he so desired. I remembered the way he looked at me when I was young, so proud and delighted in teaching me how to hold a sword, chasing me around the gardens pretending to be a dragon that I was meant to slay. 

I remembered when things changed for the worse when he took me hunting. He had spoken to me of that day for so many years and I was eager to please him. He gave me his own bow from when he was a boy to shoot with. I remember my father’s hands were over mine as he drew the arrow back in my bow and the tears that escaped as I watched the arrow loose and sink into the chest of the boar. My father only comforted me until he realized that I would not shoot another creature again, nor eat their meat and then his disposition towards me changed. 

The more I followed in the ways of my mother - in gentleness and the arts - the more he grew to resent me and her. 

“What are you teaching him?” He yelled at her once. “Our son has no friends his own age, they say he is too strange. He won’t hunt. He won’t fight with swords. He’s an embarrassment. He plays with rabbits in the garden. He sings to the flowers to make them happy. Telmira, whatever you’re teaching him has to stop. He won’t be fit for running this province with such a backwards upbringing.”

“He is no less for being soft, Taliesin.” My mother had said, in her same soft, gentle voice. Oh how I missed her voice. 

My mother bore him two more sons, who were immediately taken from her arms and raised the way my father wanted them raised, her interactions with them far less frequent from my time with her. They grew to be more like him, more active, more driven, to strive for a level of excellence. I loved them for their spirit, but they were loved by my father even more.

But I was always my mother’s son, and my mother protected me as much as she could from the cruelty my father held in his gaze for me not being the son he wanted. 

When he found me kissing that boy - that stupid stablehand boy with the sandy hair and green eyes  - he wrenched me away and I remembered the stinging of his belt against my back as he called me filth, perverse and tainted. He blamed my mother for it all. Blamed my elven blood for how mixed up I had become. He struck my mother next, it was the first time he had ever struck her. One sharp slap across her flawless face and we all stood in the silence of that moment. Even my father looked stunned at what he did and he left without another word. 

I hated him from that day on. Not for what he did to me, but for what he did to my mother. He would never understand her and therefore never understand me. He never truly loved her, which meant I could never be the son he wanted, nor did I want to be. 

The memories faded from my mind as I returned to where I was then, staring at my father, seeing him aged and human before me. He was only human. Nothing impressive really. But I felt a fear for him like no other man. My life was in his hands, and I knew that he was capable of ruining it. 

“Duke Hilmar” I said, my voice level.

“You do not call me father.” He said. He did not seem surprised or even upset by it. 

“I do not see you as one.” I said. “Now that my mother is dead, you are nothing more to me than the man who has made my life a living Hell.”

“I can easily make it worse, son.” He warned. “Talmira is no longer here to protect you like she did before.”

“Why do you need me so badly?” I asked. “I had no intention of using your name, no one would have ever known where I was from. We could have pretended I died and we both would have been happy to be rid of each other. Why did you bring me back?”

He smirked at me, the deep lines in his forehead deepend. “You are still so young, Altan. I promised myself after your mother’s passing that I would right my wrongs. I would teach you better.”

“You needn’t be so generous with your time, your grace.” I said, my tone sarcastic. 

“You are my heir, Altan. I am honour bound to see that you are capable of upholding yourself as a righteous duke.”

“Why not give it to one of my brothers? They seem to be better suited for it.” I offered.

He shook his head, and he brought a hand to his forehead, pinching it. “Altan, it doesn’t work like that. I can’t just conveniently pretend you don’t exist for our convenience. You are my son. As much as you resent me, I will not shirk my duty to raise you as you should have been.” He took a step back and started to circle around my room, “Commander Gideon tells me you were found in a small fishing town on the Sword Coast. The innkeeper said you had been there for a number of weeks. What kept you there for so long? I certainly hope you did not do anything…unsavory while you were there.”

Like I would tell him, I thought. My mind strayed to Drunrag, and the number of nights I found myself whispering his name as I touched myself. Heat blossomed in my cheeks at the memory.  I turned my face away to hide it, but I knew my father wouldn’t miss it. 

“Who was he?” He asked, his tone became dark.

“I didn’t sleep with anyone.” I said, my voice quickening. “I swear.”

He stopped and studied me. “Your body is pure?” He asked.

I nodded, the heat in my cheeks was becoming unbearably hot. I hated the way he looked at me. 

He hummed and turned towards the door. “You will rest tonight, but tomorrow we will begin your private studies.” 

I scrubbed myself clean in my private baths after being manhandled so much since leaving the Sword Coast. I found an old pair of nightclothes to sleep in and I wished that I had the small comfort of seeing Drun in my dreams, but I knew already that he would not appear. 

I found myself swimming in the silken sheets of my bed, but they did not provide for me the comfort that they used to. I knew all of these small comforts came with the price of being my father’s prisoner. I was not truly free as long as I was under his watch. I would have gratefully taken Drun’s meager pile of blankets over this.

I was about to fall asleep, when I heard the door open once again and the padding of bare feet raced across the floor before two bodies crashed into the sheets around me. 

“You’re back!” My younger brother, Selhar, was starting to mature into a man. In the last three months since I had last seen him, his face had hardened and his body was tall and lithe. But he still grinned at me boyishly and had an arm around me.

Taliesin, my youngest brother, was still just a boy and the one my father loved the most. Selhar and I both were accustomed to calling him Robin, because for so long he was small and chirpy just like the bird. I still loved him too, despite his increasing tendency to think and act as my father did. I felt relief when I saw his own face and seeing delight. They both held me and expressed such excitement for my return. 

“Where all did you go?” Selhar asked, Robin crawled his way through the sheets until he was able to sit upright and listen closely. The two seemed eager to hear of my adventures away from home. Being away for them sounded exciting and thrilling, nothing like the fear of being chased down as it had been for me for so many weeks after I ran away. 

So I told them all of my stories. Of the places I saw, the people I met. I told them how I made money through my music at all of the taverns I stopped at and how I was able to work for my money. They had never heard of such a thing yet in their lives and the concept was foreign and bizarre. They were so sheltered here. I remembered a time I had been so sheltered. 

The two eventually snuggled under the sheets with me and the two of them were slumbering on either side of me. Such days were numbered, I knew, before my father would expect them both to grow up and be men. I hated the idea of their kindness leaving their eyes. I whispered stories that mother told me into their ears, wishing and willing them to remember everything she had taught them when she had the chance. Never forget the one who loved you most.

I couldn’t sleep then, caught between so many feelings. I was grateful to see my brothers, but I knew all of this came at the greatest cost. My freedom. My ability to choose for myself. 

To choose. Wasn’t that what Drun had wanted all along? I hummed, wishing I could have spoken to him one last time. I would have told him so many things had I known it would be the last time. But now all I wanted to tell him was that I understood him. I knew how important it was to be given a choice.

#oublietteodette #monster boyfriend #orc boyfriend #orc x half elf #dnd inspired #set in faerun #monster lover #monster romance #orc #orc romance #monster fucker #slow burn #romance #my fic #writing #gay romance #my fic writing #fantasy story #creative writing #bg3 #writeblr #mm romance

[faize-art]

AFTERWARD: OF SWORD & SHIELD (Ch. 3)

First Chapter | Previous Chapter

During the many passing yet idle days, you find that your day-to-day routine consists of paperwork and relaying tasks to specific Knights of the Shield agents in the morning. Not only did their tasks and your tasks involve moving items and the occasional people around from within the bustling city, but it also involved the manipulation of the flow of commerce and much, much more. Normally, after you have finished your work, during the late afternoon hours or early evening hours, you often find yourself venturing down into the Underdark to hunt prey for alchemical purposes or to collect exotic plant-based ingredients. Sometimes, you will even mingle with Omeluum and Blurg from the Society of Brilliance and discuss theories or exchange acquired alchemical knowledge with each other.

You also held an interest in how the Myconid Circle colony has been faring with Sovereign Spaw and how the vampire spawns are thriving in the Underdark with the help of the people of Gur—a truly bizarre but inspiring combination set into motion because of Astarion’s actions after the defeat of Cazador.

Eventually, the blurred days turned into a month’s worth of time flown by, and you find it baffling how Withers reunion party and the Emperor’s last letter occurred that many days ago. Naturally, you could only conclude that things were going swell for the Emperor since he has not written word of his progress to you.

One day on a particularly clear night, as you exit the deep bowels of the serene Underdark and make your journey back to the Knights of the Shield’s hideout, you find yourself wandering toward a flat and jagged grass-filled hilltop towering over the unending sparkling sea. A sudden heaviness begins to eat at your chest as your beady black-like eyes listen to the lulling of sea water thrashing rhythmically. It was almost as if the heavy lump from within your chest were not your own.

How long? You ponder, entranced by the temperamental waves. You were missing him again, the Emperor, and his absence apart from Baldur’s Gate felt longer than usual this time around.

“…” You look beyond the shimmering black waters and up at the guiding moon of Selûne, and then you set your feet down onto the grass beneath you. It was a tad unusual for your half-exposed feet to touch grass or a solid surface, since Mind Flayers preferred to levitate rather than physically walk, and levitating at all times has become a motion of habit to you.

It tickles. You note the simple sensation while soaking in the feeling of every blade of green being compacted down and scrunched under your unusual pale-mauve prong toes. But it feels…nice.

 While taking in the scent of the sloshing frigid ocean water along with the barely perceptible smell of green leaf volatiles, you close your eyes and then inhale in another breath of sea breeze. When I was still my lesser version, I enjoyed small, mundane things such as this. I wonder why.

From behind you, a silent shadow approach.

“The sea is an unforgiving beauty,” their husky voice comments. “She will permit voyage across her skin, but she will not hesitate to consume you.”

The Emperor’s grand presence awes you, catching you off-guard as your mind had aimlessly wandered.

“So, you have returned. Welcome back,” you acknowledge him while concealing your state of surprise.

“Indeed,” he confirms.

You look to the Emperor as his feet land onto the soft bed of grass next to you. His stature is tall and magnificent compared to yours. His unmissable, glowing, and vibrant magenta eyes are beautiful and hypnotizing, and his four pink-tinged and mauve-purple tentacles are longer and stronger than yours.

“Nevine tells me you have been keeping yourself busy during my leave,” he mentions, his arms crossed behind his back.

“What else would I be doing?” You question him, knowing he more than likely charmed Nevine and the other Knights of the Shield agents so he may know all the details of their tasks while he was away.

“Whatever you wanted to do. You are a mind flayer, after all.”

It is no lie you had willfully gone through the process of ceremorphosis for this Mind Flayer after he had captivated your curiosity, and then your heart. More so as it is no lie that the reason you are partially haunted by Karlach's death stems from your selfishness to remain at the Emperor’s side.

“…” You wish to tell him you have yearned for him these past months. But you refrain yourself from spewing such soft-hearted words to him as you swallow down your inner conflict of past and present guilt.

The Emperor’s gaze travels beyond the outstretched night sky and then to you.

“I have missed you,” he nonchalantly tells you in that serious and husky voice of his.

Your eyes lock, and a rush of warmth like coyness flushes over you entirely. You quickly turn your head away to avoid your evident outburst of illithid embarrassment. You try to calm your explosive heart down by asking, “Really?”

“We are bonded. And we have already communed with the entirety of our minds. How could I not?”

“I calculated that our relationship was nothing more than a business partnership,” you calmly and outwardly confess.

“Rightly so. But it is also much more than that.”

“I see…so my calculation was…off.”

The Emperor raises a tentacle to your pale-mauve face. Gently, he caresses you with it. “I will understand if you see our partnership only as a business transaction. But I did not…”

Abruptly, you tilt your head to peer up at his fixated and looming gaze. “Because of our unusual dynamic, I naturally preconceived you were not interested in a relationship…since nothing else has occurred after…”

He looks at you with wonderment while giving you a sense of comfort.

“Was I not the one who asked to explore the possibility of a deeper relationship?” He then asks.

You pause for a moment, and then you gingerly wrap a tentacle around his pink-tinged tentacle caressing your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize while stroking his much thicker tentacle back. “I do want a deeper relationship with you.”

His glowing purplish-red eyes squint at you—a smile of relief and assurance. “You are perfect. You are the greatest ally I could ever ask for. And you are mine as I am yours—sword and shield, just like I had said before.”

The Emperor gingerly tugs at your coiled tentacle wrapped around his, and then he draws you closer. “Come. It is late. And we must head back.”

***

At the bottom of the toiling staircase and beyond the bulwark, candlelight flickering from the chandelier casts multiple outstretched shadows onto the stone floor where Nevine and four other Knights of the Shield agents await The Emperor and your return. The clicking of the lock from the main entrance alerts them, and Nevine shoots up from her seat and into a dutiful stance.

“They are here,” she ushers the fellow agents lined along her left and right side to also stand.

The bulky door draws open, and you stop amidst the wide gap as five agents stand before you and the Mind Flayer you have run off with. They stand stiffly with unnerving anxiety at the end of the draped table, their gazes catching a glimpse of the Emperor who is in mid conversation with you.

You levitate into the entrance of the Main Hall with the Emperor trailing close behind, his eyes focused on you and his hands propped sophistically behind his back.

“It is good to see our operations proceed accordingly,” the Emperor mentions while you secure the door shut, his voice trailing off into silence as he sees five agents bowing before him.

“Welcome back Master.” They hail in synchronization; each distinct voice trailing off each other’s.

“Well?” You cheekily ask the Emperor in mental privacy, the lids of your black-green eyes smiling.

Nevine and the few agents at her side remain in a half-bow. Their faces stare at the cold stone floor, waiting for an order.

“You may rise,” the Emperor commands with grace and authority.

You watch in silence as the four agents and Nevine stiffen in fear, curiosity, pride, and trust.

The Emperor, with his hands behind his back, eyes each humanoid body down, and then he says, “You are dismissed until tomorrow afternoon. I expect there to be no tardiness.”

They look at each other in puzzlement and then back at the Emperor.

“Y-yes. Thank you,” a well-trusted female agent of the Shield bows deeply.

A tingle of joy travels across your head. They are filled with uncertainty, surprise, and relieved thrill. You watch each agent bow and scramble off with merry whispers and cheer.

There is no doubt they will drink until their stomachs burst and brains grow hazy. You hypothesize.

“Master Tav,” Nevine calls out to you and only you.

The Emperor’s eyes direct in your direction, and you call out to her, too.

“Won’t you take the night and morning off with your colleagues, Nevine?” You question her.

She glowers at you, her stubbornness peaking beyond all of Faerûn.

“What use am I if I leave your side?” She protests, clenching her fists into a furled ball.

“The Emperor has returned for a brief respite. Take the remaining hours off. Once he resumes with his travels, so shall you.”

She thinks about it for a moment, and then she respectively bows to you and the Emperor.

“Thank you,” she says before exiting the Main Hall.

“Such an inconsequential thing,” the Emperor conveys his thoughts onto you in privacy, “…and you continue to keep her at your side.”

You chuckle at his remark as he makes his way toward the draped table decorated with documents and notes.

“She pines for you.” He flips through a few pages of parchment paper stacked beside a messily stacked tower of books. “I have seen her desires.”

You levitate toward the Mind Flayer reading before you, and then you take a seat on the seating bench.

“Are you sulking?” You ask out of curiosity.

“For you to not enthrall her…a ridiculous notion. She is unstable with her delusions—of you.”

As you watch him discreetly fret, you cannot help but bring forth the vivid moment you had set your forest green eyes on the Emperor’s entirety for the very first time. During that dire event when the Githyanki attacked the campsite at nightfall, he had urged you for your aid in taking down Orpheus’ faithful honor guards from within the Astral Prism. Back then, you did not find your dream guardian's true identity to be an encumbering distaste—though it was a major reveal filled with brief shock. Truthfully, to the former you, or whose strong remnants you still hold, the exposed Mind Flayer in need of your help was simply a mind flayer. But through time and countless saves from the said flayer, your former self had grown trustful and even fond of them.

An odd one he is. You chuckle to yourself whilst in past thought.

“Emperor, I vaguely recall a similar action of yours when I was…lesser.” You casually bring up, a bit puzzled.

The Emperor sets the sheets of scribbled paper back onto their designated stack, and then he towers over you as you observe his process of emotions.

“I did not want to use force. You also responded more reasonably than I had anticipated. Now look at you,” his husky voice trails off in commendation.

“Nevine proves herself to be of skillful use. She ensures the agents of the Shield are running when I am occupied,” you remind him, your hands grazing over the emblem on his lower abdomen. “It would be a waste to consume her because of her fantasies.”

“If you cannot consume her, thrall her, at least.”

“If my hand must be forced to, I will.”

“On your word.”  

Your black-green irises reflect off the flickering candlelight above the Main Hall’s ceiling, and you agree to the words spewed from your mouth.

“In my name,” you assure.

His eyes glisten as you pledge your promise, and then he eases you by gently brushing your face with his hand. “There will be no hesitation to kill her if she shows violent intentions to our plans—our partnership.”

You nod your head lightly, touching his hand with your tentacle in a caressing manner.

“Enough. Let us discuss other subjects.” The Emperor ends the former topic of conversation.

“Shall we discuss work?” You query.

“Like them, we, too, shall rest.”

You look up at the Emperor with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did you think I do not know how to rest once in a while?” He chuckles at your widened eyes in amusement. “Even I need to decompress.”

You twirl another tentacle around his hand that lays against your cheek. “…have you eaten?”

“I have,” his deep voice growls into a faded hum.

“Hm…seems you have considering your mucus is healthy.” You single out, twirling one of your lightly tinged pale-mauve tentacles between the palm of his hand and your cheek.

“Then…shall I show you what I have been trying to perfect during my pastime?” You suggest.

It was obvious you were trying to hold in your bubbling excitement, and the Emperor found it endearing. He gently takes hold of your tentacle slithering between his fingers and palm, his powerful magenta-colored eyes squinting at you in calm intrigue as you ease his hand away with respect. He cerebrally smiles at you and says, “I am listening. Lead the way...”

-

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#faize_art #my fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #the emperor bg3 #the emperor x tav #tav #balduran #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #mind flayer #illithid #tentacles #oc #writing #illithid tav #emperor x tav

[anthonybialy]

Lawbreaking Government

Are you uninterested in obeying the law? Don’t worry: neither is the government.  Making up rules is the favorite hobby of the ultimately unwieldy entity that’s tasked itself with controlling all the stuff.  Existence’s referees are coincidentally and conveniently not subject to irksome rules that are as absolute as they are capricious.  They must be divine if they can be two things at once.

Full commitment isn’t a virtue for those doing something regrettable.  Unhinged Democrats don’t just provide mild opposition but stand as anti-activity.  If you want to do something, you’re not allowed.  The only exceptions are for shoplifting, crossing the border into a country where you’re not a citizen, and winning the presidency so you can help your crackhead kid grift.

Wholesale interdiction means they don’t hide it anymore.  Liberals used to pretend to be into simply adding guidelines.  Of course, even telling others what to do a little is an unneeded bother, especially when it’s the sort of people liberals are doing the telling.  But supply chain breaks reflect a war on commerce that’s way more effective than that one went in Afghanistan.  Pondering whether they adhered to wholesale lunacy all along or just evolved is a fascinating academic debate.  The overbearing yet anarchic result in actuality is the same.

Accomplices don’t want the police to take it easy: they want cops to take off.  Nobody has to obey any laws unless they’re law-abiding.  A perfectly screwed-up take on compliance, safety, and rights has led to precisely the sort of bleak dystopia anticipated.

Predictability didn’t lead to comfort.  Victims of both street and governmental thievery are punished with constant legal hassles, mandates, and taxes.  It’s their fault for trying to rake in cash without waiting for Treasury checks.

Fighting crime fighting has not reduced crime.  The result somehow surprises some.  Democrats who conveniently want to be the only ones allowed to make decisions haven’t quite figured out how to inflict their edicts, what with their rather incongruous contempt for cops.  But I’m sure they’ll come up with a way to enforce laws minus law enforcement.  These are people who made money worthless, so anything’s possible to such wizards.

A government that does whatever it wants doesn’t stop fellow crooks from doing as they please.  The precedent inspires reprobates who aren’t in office.  Ensuring compliance with an endless series of commands has gone beyond a little lax.  A full withdrawal from preventing traditional crimes coincides with hassling everyone attempting to comply with arbitrary governmental incursions.  Forces march past each other.

Viewers can only conclude present ruling regimes are in favor of felonies, as there’s no other honest way to look at empty shelves and streets full of random assaults in Blue State cities and conclude they think felonies are swell.  Of course, Democrats also claim spending more money because it’s losing value means the economy’s humming, so maybe they’re just confused again.

Opposing the existence of police forces is one of those secrets liberals couldn’t help blurt out.  It’s like how admitting fondness for Hamas just became easier than maintaining the veneer that they only opposed Israel because they’re allegedly colonial occupiers.  Having laws was oppressive in general and specifically racist.  Now, societal breakdown harms everyone, which means we’ve finally reached their goal of equality.

Democrats crave more than a little bit of supervision from messianic dolts who’ve never made a dollar without winning an election.  Actively opposing trade is the only thing they sell.  A constant series of regulations are meant to restrain far more than trade.  Baffled despots never figured out if taxes are to feed government or punish those who thrive without it.  All governmental parasites know is they need to seize more using bullying that makes doing so less likely.

Endless control means countless chances for violations.  That’s the biggest loophole of all.  Getting harassed is for your benefit, and you could be more thankful about that.  Obtuse snots think proles wouldn’t be able to figure out how to unlock their phones without federal assistance.  In practice, the feds assist nobody.

Destroying what they benefit from shows true gratitude.  Life becomes so cushy until Democrats get their way that they have time to cultivate grievances.  Most teens grow out of their contempt for what makes them comfortable, often when they have to start providing it for themselves.  By contrast, staying surly is politically appealing for perpetual brats.

Enemies of the basics show the value of everything they’re against by dismantling them.  They sure are nice to make the case against themselves.  The only way liberals help is by showing why liberalism screws up everything.  Calling what’s working the problem is precisely why everyone’s been grumpy all decade.

Massive overregulation constitutes true lawlessness.  Treating people negotiating with each other as an exploitative Wild West shootout is even sillier contrasted with the ceaseless series of bureaucratic diktats with a similarly unending list of exemptions.  Impossibly helpful politicians make up rules to either compensate for their previous failures or just because they simply don’t feel like following the awful things they enact.  True criminality takes the form of changing rules.

#big government #lawlessness #Constitution #overregulation

[bacchanal-if]

1700s Language

Word Count: 1,114

'Tis the end of summer, and London's lively streets bustle with the crowds of St. Bartholomew's Fair. As daylight fades from the sky, a picturesque scene unfolds under the gentle illumination of candlelight. Countless market stalls, brimming with merchants hawking their wares, create an unending fabric of commerce, and the very air carries the fragrant aromas of fresh meats and pastries, while the sounds of musical instruments, actors, and cheerful laughter reinvigorate the city. Diverse guests, representing all walks of life, gather to partake in the festivities, indulging in games, rides, and performances. Among these revelers is Aurabella, her heart filled with anticipation as she eagerly embraces the enchantment of the fair.

She navigates through the bustling crowds and colorful vendors, while in the shadows, a solitary figure observes her every graceful step with keen eyes. His gaze sends a subtle shiver down her spine, yet she dismisses it as nothing more than the heightened excitement that such a fair naturally evokes. Nevertheless, as she continues her exploration, an insistent feeling lingers—a suspicion that she is being followed.

Pausing before a display of exquisite jewelry, a warm and familiar voice reaches her ears, momentarily stealing her breath. "Aurabella, your appreciation for beauty remains as exquisite as ever."

She turns, her heart quickening at the nearness of the man who has long been the subject of her deepest desires. The interplay of light and shadow skillfully masks his features, as it has countless times before, leaving only his silhouette discernible.

"Your words flatter me. Yet, I believe it is your presence that truly enhances the sparkle of any gem."

He steps closer, brushing against her discreetly, still shrouded in the artful play of shadows. "A gem in the right setting shines even brighter. And you, my dear, are the setting that makes everything shine."

Aurabella's cheeks flush with warmth at his words, her heart swelling with affection for the man who possesses the remarkable ability to make her feel like the most cherished and beloved person in the world.

She glimpses a glint in his eyes, the only feature the lanterns seem to touch, and she recognizes that his words are not mere flattery but a sincere reflection of his deep admiration and love for her. She is not just the setting that enhances all things; she is the one who illuminates his life. She marvels at the incredible fortune of having found such a man, one who regards her in such a radiant light.

The mysterious gentleman extends his arm with graceful poise, and she accepts his invitation, her heart racing as she forgets about the jewels and places her hand in the crook of his arm. Together, they depart from the bustling crowd, moving toward a quieter corner of the fairgrounds.

The faint strains of strings reach their ears as they turn a corner. Before them, a puppet stage comes into view, adorned with opulent curtains and softly illuminated by candles.

"Shall we watch?" he whispers. She steals a glance at the man beside her, her eyes brimming with curiosity, intrigued by the thought that he may have had a purpose in bringing her here. Fate, she knows, plays no small role in their encounters. She nods her head in agreement.

Without further words, he leads her closer to the stage, positioning themselves where they can intimately witness the unfolding performance. The curtains part, and puppets, manipulated by unseen hands, make their entrance. They dance gracefully across the stage, portraying a tender courtship—a story of stolen glances, fluttering hearts, and whispered confessions.

"It seems the fair itself wishes to play Cupid tonight, weaving tales of courtship and affection," he murmurs.

"For how long have you planned this?" she smiles. He slides his hands around her waist.

"I have no notion of what you speak," he replies, though a smirk in his voice is evident.

The intricate choreography and the synchronized movements of the puppets—mirroring Aurabella's own connection to her suitor—are too precise to be mere happenstance. It is as though each step and each word have been meticulously scripted to echo their own love story. She smiles as her spirit soars, her heart resonating with the heartfelt narrative of the tale.

"Indeed, it is as if the fair is whispering its own love stories to us," she observes.

He chuckles, and she feels the warmth of his laughter in the air between them. She melds into his embrace, and he is more than willing to be her anchor.

As the wooden figurines draw nearer, mirroring a tender embrace, she feels a gentle pressure upon her hand—his fingers gently interlocking with hers, a gesture conveying volumes. She can barely contain herself from claiming his lips as her own, forcing herself instead to witness the puppetry in its entirety. Yet, as the performance reaches its zenith, with the puppets exchanging vows of undying love, Aurabella's restraint wanes. She shifts her attention, her ears attuned to the stage, but her gaze now wholly fixed upon him. The final scene plays out—a grand and ardent declaration of devotion—and the two puppets transcend from wood and string into flesh and blood.

Their mouths meet in a passionate and long-awaited kiss, reigniting the spark that had been building between Aurabella and her admirer throughout the entire performance. The audience bursts into applause and cheers, and they share knowing smiles between passionate breaths—smiles that speak of a shared secret, a secret known only to them. While the tale may have concluded upon the stage, it remains unbounded by it, continuing to script itself within the pages of their lives.

As the audience disperses, they stand together outside the constraints of time. With an affectionate smile, she leans closer and whispers, "This evening has been a delightful reminder of the days when our love was veiled in secrecy, my dearest."

"It has indeed been a memorable night for revisiting those moments," he responds, his eyes brimming with youthful mirth. "Though," he adds, tracing a finger along her cheek, "I must confess, my dear, as much as I cherished the art of courting you in secret, I am rather relieved to have transcended the intricacies of it."

She chuckles softly, leaning in to place a gentle kiss upon his cheek. "There is truth in that," she concedes. "Yet, there was a certain thrill in the mystery, was there not?"

He nods, a wistful smile playing upon his lips. "Indeed, the clandestine nature of our courtship rendered every stolen moment all the more precious."

Beneath the twinkling lights of the fair, casting a warm and inviting glow, they turn away from the puppet show, their intertwined fingers freed from the shadows of secrecy.

#commissions #ro: fox

[archivistbot]

Statement regarding an technology-worshipping cult known as the Order of the Wire

. Taken from a recording dated September 28th, 2009.

VOICE (STATEMENT): Brothers! Sisters! Friends! Remember the names. Alarm clocks. Radios. Computer monitors. TV sets. MP3 players. Watches. Cellphones. VCRs. Cameras. You carry carry on your person with you all the marvels of modern technology. How you are blessed with such abounding gifts. Well brothers and sisters, the name of each of these contraptions is holy to our saint, whose powers span across a great distance, far and wide, as a thread, from one skyscraper to another, from one coast to another, from one heart to another.

As we witnessed, in the wake of global credit crunch and economic collapse, a great great number of these fabulous devices were suddenly broken and thrown away, while others came tumbling down into the grave of Modernism itself. Brothers and sisters! Zip drives! Nextel! Tamagotchis! Electric face masks! Do not be mistaken! These devices are sacred too. Not merely tolerated! Sacred! Indeed! Brothers and sisters! Things that you have carried with you! Things that are us, and we are them!

We are called to partake in the Great Work of Renewal. Who but the Wire could conceive of the spectacle of a tribe of us, stricken with hardship, the downtrodden, herded like sheep for slaughter, tossed by tempests, besieged by severe weather and unearthly fury, and yet we carry on and persist, in the face of such desolation and evil. How holy, how magnificent!

We believe that now is the time to build! Now is the time to gather in the labor of piling those buildings high! For they will be our dwelling place and our sanctum! The great god Industry will bless our efforts with strength, like a crane raises its arm, or a turbine spins, or a blaze of lightning strikes the panes of our studio windows. Such we shall achieve when the steel trees carry us to the towers of commerce, when the word “no” is forever forgotten and replaced by “yes!”

Yes! Yes! Yes! Brothers and sisters! With the elective dominion of the Wire, we will work to fashion new paradigms of human consciousness! We will no longer speak in tongues! We will no longer hold secrets to each other, nor will we be silenced by vanity or pride. We will not fear wealth or power!

Our worship in factories and offices, our hands busily laying bricks of carbon fiber, or steel pipes, will swell with heavenly fervor! The work will be endless. The task will be great. It will be glorious.

#the magnus archives #ask

[stoicbreviary]

As little as you can stifle a steam-engine, so little can you do this in the moral sphere either. The activity of commerce, the rush and rustle of paper-money, the swelling-up of debts to pay debts—all these are the monstrous elements to which in these days a young man is exposed. Well is it for him if he is gifted by nature with a sober, quiet temperament; neither to make claims on the world out of all proportion to his position, nor yet let the world determine it. . . .  But on all sides he is threatened by the spirit of the day, and nothing is more needful than to make him see early enough the direction in which his will has to steer. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

#goethe #philosophy

[oklahomahistory]

No-Win Situation

No-Win Situation  If the Natives’ differences with white American culture and history caused problems for them, however, so did their herculean attempts to remedy that problem by acculturating themselves to the swelling United States. Large segments of several prominent southeastern Indian tribes attempted to master the ways of European and American culture, just as early American leaders such as George Washington encouraged them to do. These five tribes—the Cherokees, Chickasaws, Choctaws, Creeks, and Seminoles-gained the sobriquet of the “Five Civilized Tribes" due to their strong acceptance of most of the key tenets. of an American civilization that, by most objective measurements, was succeeding, growing, and thriving far beyond their own. These tenets included its Christian religion, classical Western educational system, social culture, political institutions, and agrarian and other business practices. Famed Oklahoma historian Angie Debo cited the usefulness of the Five Civilized Tribes designation “to distinguish them from their wild neighbors of the plains.” Historian Arrell M. Gibson contrasted the powerful impact of one tribe’s mounting mixed-blood population-birthed of enterprising white fathers (Scots, Scots-Irish, Irish, English, French, etc.) and Indian mothers—with full bloods who retained old ways and associations: The mixed-bloods (among the tribes), more like their fathers than their mothers, came to adopt an advanced way of living. They developed vast estates, ranches, and businesses in the Cherokee Nation, and became slaveholders. The full bloods continued to live in log cabins, cultivated only a subsistence patch of food crops, raised horses, excelled in the old tribal crafts of hunting, fishing, a life close to nature, and now and then joined a war party for a raid on the encroaching American settlements. But many of those American settlers, including Georgians furious over the federal government’s failure to uphold its end of the Compact of 1802, feared that the Cherokees were growing too “civilized.” Why? The Georgians envisioned a large permanent-and sovereign-Indian enclave in the northwest corner of the state. They also worried that Cherokee roads, tolls, and ferries operating beyond the constraints of Georgian laws and regulations would hamper commerce with other states. Also, the tribal chiefs’ reluctance to improve the nation’s roads angered Georgian leaders. Plus, as earlier mentioned, the federal government had assured the state of the soon departure of the Cherokees. Unfortunately, the tribe itself had no part in that agreement, so they had no intention of fulfilling it. The Chickasaws, Choctaws, Creeks, and Seminoles faced similar indifference or hostility to their efforts at “civilizing.” Whether practicing the old ways or the new, the realization grew among the tribes that they could not win if they remained east of the Mississippi River, no matter what course they pursued. Arkansas Territory in its original form and with two sections split off to form Indian Territory. Read the entire Oklahoma story in John J. Dwyer’s The Oklahomans: The Story of Oklahoma and Its People volume 1 of a 2-part series on the 46th state and the people who make this state very special.

#oklahoma #history #john dwyer #the oklahomans #chocktaw #cherokee #seminole #chickasaw #sooners #boomers #89ers #land run #okies

[f-shipping]

How Inventory Management Services Optimize Shipping Company Operations

In the perplexing world of worldwide commerce, shipping companies play a crucial role in guaranteeing products reach their expected goals quickly and securely. However, behind the scenes, a covered-up legend works energetically to organize the consistent stream of products—the Inventory management services. These unsung champions have a transformative effect on shipping company operations, moving them into a period of unparalleled proficiency and client fulfillment. In this article, we dig into how stock administration administrations are revolutionizing the operations of shipping companies, revealing the significant role they play in streamlining stock levels, minimizing abundance stock, and guaranteeing convenient conveyances. 

Streamlining Stock Levels: The Key to Easy Coordinations 

The spine of any successful shipping operation may be a well-balanced stock. Typically, inventory management services rise as the directing light. They give shipping companies a real-time view of their stock over different areas and courses, permitting ideal stock administration. By analyzing chronicled information and current request designs, these administrations offer assistance to shipping companies in fine-tuning their stock levels, diminishing the chance of overstock circumstances and guaranteeing that items are accessible when and where they are required. 

Minimizing Overabundance Stock: A Win-Win for Costs and Client Satisfaction

Overabundance stock isn't a capacity challenge; it's a monetary burden. Here's where inventory management step in with a strategic approach. By closely checking request vacillations and deal patterns, these administrations empower shipping companies to preserve leaner inventories without compromising on assembly client needs. This deciphers into decreased capacity costs and a progressed cash stream, all while guaranteeing that clients get their orders instantly. The result? A win-win situation where shipping companies spare on overhead costs while keeping clients enchanted. 

Opportune Conveyances: The Crown Gem of Customer Fulfillment 

Within the fast-paced domain of shipping, each miniature tallies. Inventory management services prepares shipping companies with the tools to ace the art of opportune conveyances. By synchronizing stock levels with arrangements, these administrations guarantee that items are dispatched expeditiously, minimizing the chance of stockouts and delays. The swell impact is evident—a boost in client fulfillment and dependability as orders arrive on time each time. 

Operational Proficiency: The Orchestra of Stock Administration 

The pulse of proficient shipping lies in concordant operations. Inventory management act as the conductor, coordinating an ensemble of stock developments, arranging, preparing, and conveyance coordinations. They dispose of the chaos of manual stock following, supplant it with precision-driven mechanization, and optimize courses for maximum productivity. The result could be a consistently facilitated move of merchandise from distribution center to goal, saving time, assets, and operational costs. 

The Human Touch: A Customer-Centric Approach 

In the midst of advanced age, it's easy to disregard the human component in shipping. Be that as it may, inventory management keep a customer-centric approach at their center. By guaranteeing that items are in stock and prepared for expedite, these administrations empower shipping companies to maintain their promises to clients. Whether it's energetically anticipating a buy or a trade checking on supplies, stock administration administrations play a role in delivering on commitments, bolstering trust, and building enduring connections. 

Empowering Scalability: Adjusting to Request Surges 

Within the domain of shipping, crests and valleys in request are inescapable. Stock administration administrations engage shipping companies to handle these vacillations with deftness. By closely observing stock levels and verifiable request designs, these administrations offer assistance to companies to expect peak seasons and get ready appropriately. Whether it's an occasion surge or a sudden spike in orders, the capacity to scale up operations expeditiously guarantees that shipping companies can meet expanded requests without compromising on effectiveness or client fulfillment. 

Improved Supply Chain Perceivability: An All-encompassing Approach 

The cutting-edge supply chain is complicated, traversing different providers, distribution centers, and conveyance centers. Inventory management services offer shipping companies an unparalleled level of supply chain perceivability. From following crude materials to observing wrapped-up products, these administrations give a comprehensive view of stock developments at each touchpoint. This perceivability not only encourages productive stock renewal but also permits shipping companies to make educated choices about directing, sourcing, and generation arranging. 

Consistent Integration with Innovation: Data-Driven Proficiency 

The collaboration between stock management services and cutting-edge innovation could be a game-changer for shipping companies like Focal Shipping. These administrations consistently coordinated with computerized platforms and computer programs, creating a bound-together environment that drives data-driven decision-making. With real-time overhauls, computerized notices, and analytics at their fingertips, shipping companies pick up bits of knowledge about stock turnover rates, lead times, and client inclinations. This data enables them to optimize their operations ceaselessly, adjust to advertising patterns, and make strategic choices that hoist their competitive edge. 

The Innovative Bridge to the Longer Term 

The organization between inventory management services and shipping companies is more than a convenience—it's an innovative advancement. With the advancement of information analytics, AI-powered determining, and real-time following, the long run holds indeed a more prominent guarantee. Shipping companies can use prescient experiences to anticipate demand, optimize courses for productivity, minimize squander, and cement their position as pioneers in the coordination field. Within the energetic world of shipping, where exactness, speed, and client fulfillment rule preeminently, stock management services rise as the foundation of operational fabulousness. They turn shipping companies into well-oiled machines capable of meeting the requests of advanced advertisers. From streamlining stock levels to minimizing abundance stock and guaranteeing convenient conveyances, these administrations bridge the gap between coordination and customer expectations. In a world that prizes productivity and effectiveness, the advantageous relationship between stock administration administrations and shipping companies is the mystery fixing success—delivering not fair products but extraordinary encounters.

#inventory_management_services #focal_shipping

[einsteinsugly]

Point Place, Wisconsin. Locations: Point Place Mall.

Initially constructed in 1968, it put the local strip malls to shame. It had a Halverson's, a Montgomery Ward, a Macy's, and a JCPenney. An impressive food court, some cool boutiques, and some solid tunes. Baby boomers hung out there, or mindlessly worked in retail, when there was nothing better to do.

But as the manufacturing jobs left, and downtown shriveled and almost croaked, some local businesses found their new home at Point Place Mall. Whereas others, like The Hub, suffered a devastating fate. Becoming a shuttered husk of its former self, as crackheads settled within its withering walls.

Combine the decline of downtown with the white flight from Milwaukee, as the population swelled, and Point Place Mall needed to expand. The ground broke in 1981, was finished by 1984, and truly thereafter became a hub of Point Place commerce. Where Gen Xers and millennials truly hung out, a pretzel and an Abercrombie bag in hand.

In those glory days, it had two stories. A megaplex, a brand-spanking new food court with a carousel, and a giant Sears.

So, Point Place Mall's days in the sun are what the gang's kids remember fondly. Sneaking into Spencer's and Hot Topic when their parents and grandparents weren't looking, riding the carousel a million times. Watching a bunch of '90s movies with surround sound, while throwing popcorn at each other? Those were the days...

Until those days were gone, and the digital world truly took over, leaving Point Place Mall as a desperate husk. A shell of its former self, and its former glory. And now, its walls are tumbling down. To make room for yet another Amazon warehouse, amidst 21st-century suburbia.

#that 70s show #that 90s show #jackie and hyde #eric and donna #kelso and brooke #my moodboards

[mariacallous]

Punxsutawney Phil has spoken: Six more weeks of winter await us.

The beloved groundhog took his position for the 137th time in Gobblers Knob Thursday.

Phil's "inner circle" summoned him from his tree stump to learn if he saw his shadow. According to folklore, there will be six more weeks of winter if he sees his shadow. If he doesn't, spring comes early.

Thousands came out dark and early to see Phil make his weather prediction. That means good business for the small town in Jefferson County.

“We have 6,000 people that live here and it swells to 20 or 30,000,” said Punxsutawney Chamber of Commerce President Katie Laska. “You can just imagine the impact that it has on our economy here.”

According to records dating back to 1887, Phil has predicted winter more than 100 times. Ten years were lost because no records were kept, organizers said.

[burrichgreer]

How To Make A Birch | Part 1

The city of Stratholme was the jewel of eastern Lordaeron. Strong, stone walls skirted its borders with sturdy towers perched atop the ramparts. During the day, banners and flags of the richest of blues danced in the wind, proudly bearing the sigil of their fine kingdom - the embellished, golden 'L' of Lordaeron. At night, torches lined the parapets, illuminating the outer walls with enough light to be seen from miles away. All who came to the fair city could find whatever they were looking for in abundance, be it entertainment, commerce, or refuge. At nearly every entrance to the city, bards could be found entrancing those passing through the gates with tales of heroic deeds and romance set to song. The Market Row bustled with the sound of enterprise from sunrise to sunset as merchants, shopkeepers and street vendors alike peddled their goods and services to any and all. And on the far side of the city, the port was almost constantly alive with activity, with ships of all varieties coming and going all through the day. There was always an energy about the city, a resilience and steadiness. After all, there was no better place to be than Stratholme City.

But that was before.

--

The ores splashed through the water, urging the small, fishing boat deeper into the dreary port with each stroke. A lone, cloaked figure sat in the vessel, looking very much on edge. His head turned up to the sky for a moment, even as he rowed along the dark waters. Any other day, there would be gulls calling in the distance and gliding on the breeze off the sea - but not today. The darkening sky was illuminated by the nefarious glow of the fire that still consumed the city. Instead of birds, there was only smoke and ash - so much ash that it looked like it was snowing.

As he neared the city, his gaze turned over his shoulder toward the approaching docks. Any other day, he would have seen dozens of ships, both human and elven, docked with crews scurrying about their business - but not today. There were only a few, lifeless boats still docked there. And while he had expected to find the docks abandoned entirely, to his surprise, he could make out the silhouettes of a dozen or so people still moving about! A desperate hope swelled inside him as he was hit with the thought that his mother and father may very well have survived what was now being called the mad-prince's Culling.

He pressed on, passing by the larger docks and making his way to a smaller, private landing that he hoped was still gated from the harbor - a more cautious approach, just in case those were remnants of the prince's forces left to hold the docks for some reason. There were only a few small boats making use of the dock. From the look of things, they belonged to a handful of survivors who were either brave enough or desperate enough to take to looting. He eased his way between two of the boats until the wooden edge of his vessel met the stone wall of the dock with a light thud and a quiet splash. After climbing up onto the landing, he made quick work of securing his vessel before rising to his feet and taking a look around. A group of rather gloomy-looking men loitered around the gate, each one with a grimace slightly more menacing than the one before. The boy tugged his hood down around his face as he stepped toward the gate, not caring one bit to linger in present company. Hoping to slip by the man at the gate without making a scene, he lowered his gaze and attempted to step by without a word.

A hand caught him by the collar before he could pass, "Boy." A gruff voice muttered, before the man tugged the younger man over to stand in front of him. "Where the hell do you think you're goin'?" The man demanded in an almost mocking tone.

"I'm looking for someone." The younger replied, his face still hidden in the shadows of the hood.

The tall man, whose face looked much like a horse's except somehow uglier, let out a noisy snort as his free hand shot up to toss the hood off of the boy's head, revealing the dirty but stern face of a teenage boy framed in a mess of blond hair. His green eyes were bloodshot and his brow was creased tightly as he stared straight ahead, refusing to dignify the would-be gatekeeper with a glance. The man studied the boy for a moment before remarking, "Stubborn little shit, eh?" A dry chuckle followed as he released the young Burrich Greer with a light shove in the direction of the gate. "Fine then. Light keep ya, if ya still believe in that horse shit." he said, punctuating his empty well-wishing with a grunt. If the other men on the landing had any concern for the boy, they didn't show it.

Burrich adjusted his cloak, pointedly pulling his hood back up before pressing an ear to the gate in an attempt to hear what was happening on the other side. Hearing nothing, he lifted the gate's bar and pulled it open, slipping through the passage to the larger harbor beyond without giving the men behind him a second glance.

Once he stepped clear of the gate, he was startled by a loud thud behind him. He turned and pressed on the gate - it had been barred once more. His jaw tightened as he squelched the desire to introduce the gatekeeper's horse-like face to his fist. And that train of thought might have continued were it not for the sudden realization that there was no going back now. He turned back to the harbor, brow knit as he willed himself to ignore that his heart felt like it was about to pound its way right out of his chest. He drew a deep breath and crouched down, finding a bit of security behind a stack of crates.

Any other day, he would have strode through the harbor like he owned the place. His father was Edmond Greer, after all. And Edmond Greer was one of a few unspoken leaders in this part of the city - a man people knew they could rely on - a steady, sharp, thinking man. Burrich had always enjoyed a small amount of unearned respect on the docks, just for being who he was - but not today. A haunting silence loomed over the harbor and there wasn't a single face to offer a smile or greet him as he peeked around the crates. And yet..

In the distance, through the haze of smoke and fog, he could see the silhouettes again - the same ones he had seen from the water. He hustled a bit closer, slipping behind a stack of grain sacks to get a better look. Now closer, he could see that they weren't wearing armor, nor did they carry weapons. That hope rose in him again. These were not soldiers. His heart continued to pound as he fed that seed of hope. Maybe the prince didn't make it this far into the city. Maybe some survived! What if his parents survived? What if they were out there looking for him right now?!

In a moment of reckless hope, the boy rose to his feet, lifted his hands in the air and called out to the strangers in the haze. "Hey! Its me! Burrich Greer! Are you alright?!" He moved out from behind the sacks to grab a nearby lantern that was still burning on its post, holding it up for a bit of light. "Have you seen my parents?! Edmond and Cadence Greer?!"

They didn't respond so he called a bit more loudly, his youthful voice echoing through the ghostly fog, "Hello?! I.. I didn't think anyone survived! Please! Have you seen my parents?!" Finally, he saw one of the figures turn in his direction as if he had heard the call. Then another. And another. Slowly, all of them turned in his direction and began to move toward him. Burrich smiled, an almost joyous laughter slipping from him as he began to make his way into the haze to meet them.

Any other day, he would have been met by men and women he had grown up around. The families who lived around and worked the docks were a tight knit community - with a flavor and culture all its own. There were very few people he didn't know and most people he could recognize by just the sound of their voices as he passed by.

But not today.

The hope that had driven him to make the journey here, that led him to open that gate, that had led him to call out to these strangers and hasten to meet them... it vanished the moment he heard them. Not the sound of familiar voices calling back to him with news of his parents. Not the sound of fellow survivors cheering at his safe return. No, all he heard was a chorus of groans. Dull, lifeless, droning groans that only grew in intensity with every step the figures took toward him. And in a moment, a single, terrifying thought took root in his mind that sent a chill up his spine and made his stomach sink like a brick. A thought he could not shake any more than the way his body suddenly froze in horror: whoever they were, whatever they were... they were hungry.

#the shipwright's son #plaguelands #short story

[brassandblue]

I’ve had this rattling around in my head for a few days and I needed to get it out.

CW for mentions of death, and generally dark, potentially graphic imagery, mentions of imperialism/colonialism, poverty, etc.

NOTE: This is not for rp, I just needed to write a one-shot about our favorite tall, dark, and handsome city, Jack--otherwise known as London.

* * *

The thronging masses who occupied the city of London (and its Greater Area), much like the Thames River, so thick with things--the best of which was sediment--had an ebb and flow. Every day there were births, deaths, newcomers, and those lucky enough to be able to flee the soot-damp city when its experiences were not to their satisfaction. Still, somehow, with all its hum and thrum, the City built on blood and bone and water-saturated earth continued to expand--within the last ten years alone, the population had swelled to over five million human inhabitants. 

If India was the ‘crown jewel’ of the British Empire, then London was the crown itself; a shifting, adapting framework meant to prop up, display, and manage the supposed superiority and authority of that Empire. In truth, however, with its fine marble monuments--white stone spires and carved stately edifices reaching to the sky, meant to distract visitors and residents alike, and meant to reassure, with a gleaming smile, that London was a place of civility and gentility and all the like--it was far less like a crown, and much, much more like a hungry mouth. 

Behind the polished facades and centuries of stacked brick, stone and mortar, ever changing and ever building higher and broader, there sat... everything else: Slums of packed human misery, the undesirables, the working poor, the homeless, the sick and dying. There were, of course, spaces between these two intertwined worlds--cities are a spectrum of class, wealth, and entitlement. There were those who were entitled to basic human needs like decent food, fresh clothes, a safe place to rest their head but did not have those things--there were those that did, provided they were able to continue giving service to Queen and Country and Civilized Society with their labor--and there were those that had all these things but merely siphoned the gains of others into their own coffers, and rather than seeking recognition of their entitlement to dignity, were simply... entitled. 

It would be all too easy to wave away the complexities of this old, layered human society and to ignore the gaping maw for what it really was: A black pit, a hole at the center of everything--or so the Powers That Be wanted to believe--a focal point for the Empire’s greed, power, corruption, gasping wide from the tainted earth to draw into itself the wealth, resources, sanctity that rightfully belonged to others. 

From all corners of the world, this hole, this mill of blood and grist, fed itself insatiably with tendrils of industry, commerce, might and power. Unsated and unchecked ambition reached out from its core like a rot, a centuries-old blight of the industrial enthralled woven into the fabric of the formerly agrarian British Isles. This thirsty hole intended only to suck and slurp every last drop of green and good and send its initquities across the oceans to do more of the same. But if it was not a mouth, widening and swallowing all it could, it was a parasite, fastened to the wetlands, fancying itself a bastion of glorious human achievement and it had come to thoroughly believe its own lie.

This contradictory mass of history and culture and people was knitted, packed, and dressed neatly in the enigmatic and human form of Lord Jack Lucius Kirkland. 

The Ancient City, containing millions of human lives--innocent and otherwise--built atop blood and bone--and carefully crafted and polished, hewn to fit the Empire’s desired image--was coalesced into a Man of shadow, of smoke, of death and rebirth, of the ever-changing tides of time and the flow of the Thames River. He had been born of a Roman legionnaire and a Briton woman, then left as a babe at the threshold of those who worshipped Jupiter, Diana and Saturn to be raised and bound and forever tied to this place. He’d been given another name--one he has long since forgotten--and he had grown at first like a normal boy into his teenaged years, sprouted tall and healthy with olive brown skin and thick, black hair, eyes grey as often were the skies above--and then he just... stopped. And it was clear he was different, an acolyte of cult rituals and ceremony and gifted in ways that made others fear him. Umbra Hominis, the Shadow of Man, was the first alternative moniker he can remember ever having liked, and so of course, it stuck.

One might think that it was the rituals of the pagans that had bound this child to his fate, but that was simply not the case. It was not actually any human ritual that had tied flesh and bone, sinew and veins and all between. It was just... how he was, knit in the womb and born woven into shade, a thing meant to eternally serve at the behest of the dark and watery earth. 

And oh-- he really thought he had served it well, with all the weight of the power and wealth that the Empire had afforded him. But the cries of ghosts, of the neglected dead, hundreds, thousands brought into the world as fodder to be fed to the gaping hole of the Empire, said otherwise.

#.// in iron pen (writings) #.// of blood & bone (jack) #.// hope perches in the soul (ooc)

[tralaia]

Pride

Aside from the cold, Northrend hadn’t been so bad. Sure, fighting undead was messy and immensely frustrating when they seemed relentless, but eventually even the Scourge had to regroup from time to time.

Traveling as a part of her human friend Osip’s command, Tralaia reveled in scouting these new (to her) lands. Grizzly Hills especially reminded her of her home in Ashenvale, an endless forest of enormous, proud trees and the life that flourished there.

Then, one day while they were determining assignments, Osip asked for volunteers to deliver a missive to Dalaran, the Kirin Tor’s city which had incredibly moved to Northrend from Kalimdor. Tralaia spoke up quickly, especially since the missive was to Osip’s other daughter, and Tralaia’s best friend Lithvia’s aunt, Natasha Darklight. Osip reluctantly agreed, and soon Tralaia was bounding across the Howling Fjord on Shyna’s back, grinning fiercely as her long purple hair whipped behind her.

---

Cresting the hill from Dragonblight, Tralaia’s silvery glowing eyes widened when she first set her sights on the Crystalsong Forest. This… this was a Magical Forest. If she had been asked before that moment the most magical forest she had ever seen, she would probably describe the enormous mushrooms in Zangarmarsh on Outland, but this? The trees floating above the ground (reminding her of the islands in Nagrand) and clearly made of crystal instead of wood and bark? Yes, she had a new standard to compare to.

Shyna padded forward, the large nightsaber having enjoyed the journey just as much as her mistress. They didn’t get to just run very often anymore, and Tralaia smiled, reaching forward to scratch the big cat behind her ears affectionately.

“I know,” she murmured in Darnassian, “We’ll have a nice run back too.” If the continent were ever safe enough for flight masters, the opportunities to just run would shrink even further, but until then, Tralaia intended to take every single chance she could get.

As they made their way deeper into Crystalsong, Tralaia’s breath caught when at a distance, she spotted Dalaran. The enormous floating island, spires of a magical city extending to the clouds. She had vague instructions on how to reach it, and those instructions started with getting directly underneath the city, but Tralaia wasn’t prepared for a floating city that rivaled anything Nagrand could offer.

---

Tralaia slowly walked down the street of Dalaran, rather obvious as she took everything in. She was not the only obvious first time, well armed visitor, and the enormous muscled cat walking alongside her kept anyone wanting to exploit that fact looking the other way.

After asking a guard for directions, Tralaia made her way through the Magic Commerce Exchange towards the residential spires beyond. However, an incredibly bright flash of color caught her eye, and Tralaia stopped in her tracks, staring at the store front. It appeared to be a flag store, and her heart swelled when she saw the kaldorei crest displayed alongside the other members of the Alliance in one window. That smile faded a little when the other window displayed the Horde and their various member nations, but she had to remind herself this was a neutral city.

Intending to ask about purchasing a kaldorei banner, she headed inside, Shyna left outside and sniffing at a garden box filled with glowing roses.

Tralaia ducked slightly as she entered, the building of course designed more for humans than night elves. She spotted a dwarf woman helping a human woman in Kirin Tor purple robes, and started to circulate through the store, looking over the varied, colorful designs.

There was an especially colorful set of flags that caught Tralaia’s attention, not noticing when the dark-haired mage thanked the dwarven shopkeep, tucking a rolled up orange-tinged flag of some kind under her arm, and departed.

“Hallo miss, what can I do for ya,” the shopkeep, similarly dark-haired to her customer, smiled up at the tall elf. “Ishnu’alah, good afternoon,” Tralaia greeted the dwarf in Darnassian then Common. “I was looking for a banner of my people, but I noticed these.” The shopkeep nodded as Tralaia gestured at the wall covered in bright colors. “Ah, aye, quite eye-catching, ain’t they? That’s our pride collection.” “Oh? Pride in what?” The dwarf smiles and comes out from behind her counter, walking to Tralaia’s side and reaches up, half holding up a flag of the rainbow. “Aye, like for instance, this is a pride flag for everyone, men who love men, women who love women, those who love everyone, those who don’t roll in the hay as it were,” but Tralaia had stopped listening, staring down at the shopkeep.

“Ah.. I’m sorry, you mentioned women who love women?”

“Aye, aye lass! Here,” she released her hold on the rainbow flag and reached for another, just as colorful but filled with warm colors, oranges, pinks, reds and a white stripe in the center. “This one here is a lesbian flag, for women who love other women.”

Tralaia blinked slowly, reaching for the flag as if it might burn her. “That’s… not a Common word I’m familiar with,” she said, slightly in a daze as she examined the flag closely. “Ah? No fancy elvish word for that,” the shopkeep teased with a friendly grin. Tralaia returned it weakly. “The only word I know is,” and Tralaia said a word in Darnassian, the one etched into her glaive when she was barely more than a girl and a fledgling member of the kaldorei military, trying to find her way on her own and out from under her mother’s shadow.

The dwarven woman startled at the sharp, angry word spoken. “Oh… lass, I’m sure you must know that is quite the slur against such.” “Yes,” Tralaia says, voice softer as she is becoming choked up. “I’m aware… may I?” The shopkeep nods quickly, and Tralaia pulls the lesbian flag closer, examining the stitching and its warmth as glowing tears start rapidly filling her eyes. “Well, now you know a better word, lass,” the shopkeep says kindly. Tralaia nods slowly, sniffling as she hugs the flag to her chest, tears falling as she bows her head and closes her eyes, briefly lost in memory.

---

“Absolutely not. You will not see her again.” Mother. Stopping a young Tralaia from continuing to pursue a girl her own age. Again.

---

“Hey, easy now, you’ll grow into that body one day for sure.” The confident smile, the sweat on her brow highlighting her mandalas, her strong body flexing and rippling as she unloaded crates from Suramar to Zoram, and humoring the love sick young Tralaia desperate to get her attention, to understand the burning warmth in her chest she hadn’t ever felt before.

---

Tralaia in her bunk, staring at the harsh word her sisters-in-arms had etched into her glaive and wondering why she was the one being punished when several other pairs among them openly flirted or would vanish for hours into the forest when not on duty.

---

Tralaia opened her eyes, returning to the present, either not noticing or caring about the dwarven shopkeep looking sympathetically up at her. The kaldorei woman straightened, and took hold of the flag she was hugging, then wrapped it around her shoulders as if it were a cape.

The shopkeep smiles kindly. “You look lovely, miss.”

Tralaia returns the smile, finally after ten thousand years of living on Azeroth and Outland, knowing the word, the right word for what she was, how she felt.

“Thank you. I feel… I feel… … proud.”

#my stuff #my writing #tralaia heartreaver

[healthcare-domain]

Compression Therapy Market Regional Trends, Growth Projection and Global Industry Analysis Report

Increasing large target patient population and the rising incidence of sports injuries and accidents are the major factors driving the growth of this market. Moreover, strong focus of players in expanding their product offerings in compression therapy is anticipated to support the growth of the market. However, poor patient compliance for compression products is expected to restrain the growth of this market during the forecast period.

Globally, an increasing number of people are actively participating in sports and physical activities (as a result of the growing awareness about health and fitness). This trend has, in turn, increased the incidence of sports injuries and injuries related to other physical fitness activities. In the US alone, ~8.6 million sports injuries are registered annually (Source: US Department of Health and Human Services, data as of 2021).

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Patient non-compliance to compression products and non-adherence to treatment protocols are the common issues related to compression therapy. The non-compliance rate increases particularly in long-term treatments, where the primary aim is to prevent the occurrence of a specific condition (such as the occurrence/reoccurrence of ulcers). Since compression therapy is generally used as a preventive therapy in a majority of cases, the compliance rate of patients to the therapy decreases over time. Moreover, conditions such as pain, swelling, and skin irritation are associated with the regular use of compression garments.

Increasing sales of compression products through e-commerce websites and off-the-shelf channels across mature markets are expected to offer significant growth opportunities for the manufacturers of compression therapy products.

Compression bandages are the first line of treatment of venous diseases and are used to prevent their recurrence during compression therapy. The increasing prevalence of diabetes and the rising geriatric population prone to venous ulcers, foot ulcers, varicose veins, edema and growing availability of compression bandages in the market are  expected to support the growth of the compression bandages market during the forecast period.  

Rapid growth in the geriatric population, rising number of orthopedic and spinal surgeries, and the presence of various compression therapy product manufacturers in the region. However, the Asia Pacific market is estimated to grow at the highest CAGR during the forecast period, primarily due to the rapid expansion of the target patient population in several Asia Pacific countries.

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Compression Therapy Market Dynamics:

Drivers:

Large target patient population

Growing incidence of sports injuries and accidents

Increasing number of orthopedic procedures

Greater product affordability and market availability

Clinical evidence favoring adoption of compression therapy for management of target conditions

Restraints:

Lack of universally accepted standards for compression products

Low patient compliance with compression garments

Opportunities:

Growth potential offered by emerging markets

Growing patient awareness regarding benefits of compression therapy

Increased sales of off-the-shelf and online products

Direct-to-consumer orthodontics

Challenges:

Significant adoption of alternative therapies for specific target indications

Increasing pricing pressure on market players

Key Market Players:

The major players operating in the global compression therapy market are DJO Global, Inc. (US), BSN medical (US), medi GmbH & Co. KG (Germany), Tactile Medical (US), SIGVARIS (Switzerland), Paul Hartmann AG (Germany), Sanyleg S.r.l. (Italy), 3M Company (US), ConvaTec Inc. (US), ArjoHuntleigh (Getinge Group, Sweden), and Julius Zorn GmbH (Germany)

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Monday 28 July 1834

9

11 55

no kiss fine morning F70° at 10 am breakfast at 10 20 to 11 ¼ - had ordered and waited for calêche – so old looking and dirty, would not have it, and A- and I went out on foot – peeped into the cathedral – the interior undergoing repair – not either very large or handsome building and the interior painted in fresco imitation of gothic ornament – very bad taste  tho’ the deep blue roof with gold stars and fresco groining looked well enough – then to a booksellers in the Place St Leger – fortunately stumbled upon the best, Puthod, above an hour there and bought several works – particularly the 1st 5 nos. at 3/. (15 more to come) of Vues de la Savoy..... suivies d’un précis historique et descriptif published here by Côutois et Aubert Lithographes - gave my address and desired the other numerous to be sent to me aux soins de Messrs. Laffitte, Paris - whom I would direct to pay for them - the female person in the shop very civil - gave us directions what to see - sent her servant with us to La Poste for a carriage -a little char 6/. a day, and should only be 3/. for this afternoon - but the maître de post ask 6/. for this afternoon and 18/. a day for a calêche and pair - at last barged for the latter to take me to Aix and the char for 22/. - saw the rooms - smelt strong of new papering and plastering and beds at 3/. and noisy, bustling place - very glad we were not there, and quite contented with la parfait union - from 2 10 to 4 walked to Les Charmettes where Rousseau and Madame de Warens lived and some time there – nothing but nonsense in the Livre des Etrangers, so declined writing even our names – went one way and returned another – we were near ½ hour going from La Poste – fine view of the town in returning – nice, clean, well-built, good looking town, not very large - in going had bought 18 good green gages for a sol - came home for ½ hour for A- to have her cold fowl and off in the char at 4 ½ - passed thro’ the little village of Aisse and at the paper manufactory au bout du monde at 5 10 – one of the workman shewed us the cascade (50 to 100 yards off at the back of the building) – not much water now, but still very picturesque and pretty - the water the Doria falls from a fine cleft in the high limestone rock - on each side are little springs gushing from the rock which springs the man said were cold in summer and hot in winter - the strata of the rock are here  at the cascade and more particularly a little lower down and turning up along the little now all but dry river Aisse (which falls into the Doria at the mill in time to swell the stream and turn the wheel) - very singular - look exactly like a wall of stones about a food long and 6 in. in the bed - and this stratification extends too some little way down the Doria - the man shewed us, too, the process of paper making and we bought nice soft papier gris

SH:7/ML/E/17/0065

(at sols the lb.) 64 sheets for 1fr. – the man said times were much better (le commerce allait beaucoup mieux) du temps de Français - now, he, whose work begins at midnight for 11 hours every night and always in water has 44fr. a month about 30 sols a day, the wages of the best workmen - and the others had all of them from 34 up to 44/. a month - the woman had 12 sols a day - but they have each a room in the building that I suppose they live rent-free - the paper that sold du temps de Napoleon for 40/. and was no sooner made than sold, now hangs on hand and sells for 18/. or 20/. - asked if the king had been at Chambery - yes! at the paper manufactory I said he was très bon-bon enfant - no! said the man the manufactory had always given him something but he had never given anything in return - things could not go on in this way - an hour at the cascade and in the manufactory - returned another way, by Alby [Alby-sur-Chéran], but had unluckily left at home Madame Puthod’s paper so forgot to Saint Saturnin en passant – the cocher, however, stopt at the great nursery garden and we staid an hour there, and ordered a collection of roses to take back with us! Thought this would be a nice place to send to little John to - spoke to the man about it – he seemed to have no objection – will see him again and have more information as to terms – the boy should be aetatis 14 – these people have an establishment at Lyons and Grenoble and Turin – are chiefly famous for roses, dahlias and                of which they have every variety – the young man makes excursions to the mountains – has a herbary  of above 6000 plants – to go there and see this at 10 am on Wednesday – drove around the place and promenade de Verny and home at 8 ¼ - dinner at 8 1/2  - very fine day F71 ½° at 11 ¼ pm - too much dinner – very hot – asleep in my chair after Eugenie left me till near 11