#Palletized Goods Delivery

[dependabletransferllc]

Trucks are some of the most crucial vehicles in logistics. These vehicles move most of the goods that come into the country. Various types of trucks can move bulk cargo, palletized goods, and packages of all sizes. 

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen at work:

So. The trucking company that I work for does deliveries for a national grocery chain. That chain has very specific food requirements, and they will reject a delivery for very minor reasons (one corner of one box is damaged, entire pallet of food gets rejected kind of thing) and the company always gives employees first crack at taking home whatever it is.

After that, it honestly depends on what the item is and what the actual expiration date is, as well as how much of it there is.

But here’s the thing…the company leaves it to the discretion of the employee WHICH organizations get the food donations. Meaning that the company would be happy to write off donations but ultimately everything is going in the trash anyway, so why bother dedicating a person to handle it…So, if, per say, I were to let a buddy of mine at a food bank know that we have x amount of y product that was rejected by the major chain, I would have to wait 3 full business days before I could call him and have him haul away everything he can carry.

Some of my coworkers just want one or two things for themselves; some of them rely on not buying certain things because the get them in bulk from the rejected orders... But the ultimate idea is to get the warehouse cleaned by the expiration date, and the company itself doesn’t actually care if they get to write the waste off or not; we as a company need to actually free up space, so the sooner perishable goods are gone, the better.

So about nine years ago I was very much homeless, and even after I got back on my feet, I was still relying on predominately Christian food banks and snap to feed myself; I’m not proud of it, but it was also a period of my life where an older gentleman who barely knew me outside of work called me “the Queen of Making Do” just based on casual interactions where I criticized HIM for spending too much money on frivolous things. (We both ate ‘gas station breakfast’ and were arguing about what was the lowest calorie vs highest protein, with the understanding that neither of us had an actual fridge to store food in)

All of this to say, I’ve just reached out to the three organizations that I used to eat/get groceries from to let them know that I have access to resources for people still reliant on them.

I don’t know what will happen yet, but I’m honestly so thankful to be giving back in a minor way. I’m thankful to the people that loved me when I was worth less, even though they barely knew me.

Even if they don’t get back to me, there are so many organizations that will be willing to come get the perishable items…fuck, I don’t have money but this is such a great way to give back.

For every organization that I find, I just have to get a receipt off of them and give it to HR Lady and she can work out the taxes.

My corporate boss gets to have the write off, but I’m finding that write off on the clock, and it’s all going in the trash anyway, might as well find a mouth to feed no matter what.

[swampthingking]

regulus black’s guide to face painting and falling in love

halloween au <3

struggling artist reg - dad james - baby harry

tw: regulus briefly reflecting on his childhood (u know how it be) and reg inquiring about harry’s scar

The thing about being a freelance artist is this; you take work where you can find it.

Unfortunately for Regulus, that means he’s found himself occupying the Halloween Fair from 12 to 5PM as the face painter.

Regulus didn’t understand people’s obsession around fairs.

Well, he understood them. The hazardous rides that are operated by people who are either half asleep, or recently graduated from high school. The funnel cakes and apple cider. The apple flavored everything. The pumpkin flavored everything (which Regulus can’t find it in himself to hate, despite his best efforts. He sips his pumpkin spiced latte and glowers.) The pumpkin carving, corn maze, haunted house, haunted hayride, haunted arcade.

And of course, the children.

Just because Regulus understands the appeal around fall festivals doesn’t mean he likes them. He likes autumn, of course. It’s his favorite season.

That doesn’t mean he wants to sit outside, under the flimsy protection of a questionable tent, painting the faces of squirming, sugar-addled children.

Regulus doesn’t dislike children. He just doesn’t quite know how to… interact with them. He tries, because in all honesty, kids are funny. But they don’t always like him. Regulus is grumpy; stoic. He tries to joke, but kids don’t love dry humor, sarcasm, or straight faced deliveries.

Would he like to share his life with a husband and a child or two? Of course. But he doesn’t want to raise a child just for them to despise him. He doesn’t want to marry someone just for him to be disappointed in the father Regulus might be.

But Regulus also knows he doesn’t have great parental examples to go off of. And he knows what not to do. Knows what made him feel small. He still feels the things said and done that stick with him; the scars he bears.

He’s spent hours painting pumpkins, bugs, princess masks, Spider-Man, those motherfuckers from Paw Patrol. More characters from the provided booklet he can’t remember, on so many faces he can’t remember either. But it’s money, and money keeps him paying his share of the lease with Sirius.

Regulus checks his watch. 4:53PM.

The fair wasn’t as busy as it was earlier this afternoon. The clouds were dark and scowling, but were far too cowardly to start actually crying. He stood from the cheap stool, stretching his back, reaching for the paintbrushes to start packing up.

The brushes had been provided by whoever hired him, but he still had an intrinsic need to clean them properly. He can’t stand the thought of paint cemented into the hairs of a brush. And these brushes are perfectly good still. Regulus wonders if anyone would notice if he stuck them in his bag—

“Do you have time for one more?” A deep voice asked from behind him.

Regulus turned to see a beaming child in the arms of a man, wearing the same smiles. The same dimples. The same curly, brown hair. Even the same glasses.

Regulus was absolutely freezing, and he was sure if he touched this kid’s face, he would start to cry because if it. He desperately wanted to beat the rain before it started pissing down, but the boy was grinning, and Regulus’ heart squeezed at the thought of taking that from him if he declined.

So he nodded and said, “Yeah, of course,” and rolled the table of supplies in between the chairs they’ll sit in.

The man set his son down, thanking Regulus while the boy hurtled himself into the rickety chair, climbing into it like he was scaling a mountain. One muddy, red Converse kicked up onto the seat to haul himself into it, his knee slipping as he planted himself on the cushion.

“This is Harry,” the man gestures to his son, who was busy inspecting Regulus’ paints, his nose almost touching the pallet.

Now that there was no line and the fair seemed predominantly empty, Regulus could relax. Could handle small talk. He paused gathering the brushes he’d been in the process of purloining to give Harry a closed lipped, but genuine smile.

“Hi, little love. I’m Regulus.”

The man slid some cash in the tip jar before sitting in the chair beside Harry, knees spread, elbows resting on his legs. “And I’m James.”

He reached out to shake Regulus’ hand, not seeming to care that it was covered in paint. It was warm and firm, long fingers nearly encasing Regulus’ whole hand.

Harry smiled up at Regulus as he took a seat in front of him, his knees bracketing the boy’s tiny legs as he kicked the air. He had a small gap between his front teeth, and after he clawed the hair out of his eyes in that aggressive way that children do—like they have a vendetta—Regulus saw a webbed scar on his forehead.

“Cool scar,” Regulus acknowledged.

No, Halloween Fair face painters aren’t mandated reporters, but he was dubious anyway. Regulus had been a child with marks. With secrets. Children Harry’s age love to talk about anything and everything. It was part of their development. Regulus wanted to see where Harry took him, or didn’t.

But Harry’s smile only grew, like he was eager to tell the story. An abused child probably wouldn’t do that.

“I was running through the forest, and allullasudden, I just knew—” Harry’s eyes were wide, demanding Regulus not look away. “I was around, surround—” he looked up frustratingly at James for help, and James only started to whisper the word before Harry cut him off, the word coming to him. “—sur-rounded by these guys! They were in these black coats. And I was running super fast because I was ini-vib-sible, and then I tripped. There was this tree. I fell. My head hit the ground so hard, and I fought them off and escaped and the guy really wanted my ring, and he was really weird looking. And then, I have a scar.”

So, the entire plot of the Lord of the Rings, with a personal spin.

Regulus liked him.

“Tripped and fell into a table,” James mouths, exaggerating his words so Regulus could read his lips. His hands cupped around his mouth so Harry wouldn’t notice him spoiling his story.

“Hmm,” Regulus ponders, draping a paint-stained rag over his thigh to distract himself from a smile. “I think I’ve heard about that. That was you?”

“Yes,” Harry says with conviction. James is looking at his son with such adoration that it makes Regulus’ stomach hurt. He has to turn away.

“I can’t believe I’m sitting in front of the boy who saved the world.” Regulus mock bows to him just because he knows it’ll make him laugh. “Thank you for allowing me the honor to paint your face. Unfortunately, little love,” Regulus puts on a sulk. “the glasses will have to come off.”

Harry ripped them off one handed, throwing his arm out to James who was already reaching to take them. He folded the temples, tucking it into his shirt and letting them hang off the collar.

Regulus’ eyes may have lingered on the tan skin, and James may have seen him. The corner of his mouth was quirked when Regulus glanced back up at his face.

Oh, God. He was hot.

Regulus looked away, hoping the chilled, autumn air disguised the heat in his face. He turned to Harry, even as he felt James looking at him still.

“What are we painting?”

“Sméagol,” Harry says without a beat.

Regulus purses his lips. He would not laugh at this child. He would not laugh.

He sucks his lips into his mouth, his cheekbones aching.

“Really into Lord of the Rings right now, as you’ve probably guessed,” James offers, looking equally as affected as Regulus.

Regulus nods, turning away from them in attempt to turn his laugh into a cough. He fails.

He takes his phone out instead and pulls up a reference picture of the creature, then sets his phone on the tray off to his side. Harry glances down at it and smiles excitedly, legs pumping.

“Sméagol it is,” Regulus declares, mixing a grayish-tan into the pallet. “Ready?”

Harry flinches at the first few swipes of paint, but sits fairly still after he gets used to the temperature. He kicks incessantly, but they don’t land on Regulus, so he doesn’t mind. At one point, James asks permission to take a video to send to Harry’s mum.

Regulus hadn’t really let himself hope, but he was still a bit disappointed. He would get over it, he knew, but—

“Her wife is the one who’s been reading the books to him. She’s gonna be beside herself when she sees what he’s done.”

Oh.

Well, that changes things.

“Hm,” Regulus says, trying to keep his focus on Harry, and making him into the best Sméagol there could possibly be. But when he turns to look at the reference photo, he glances at James, who’s looking at him. James smiles softly, head cocked. Wondering.

Jesus Christ.

By the time Regulus finished, the sun was setting. He checked his watch. 5:26PM.

He wasn’t upset he’d stayed late.

Harry was the spitting image of Sméagol. Regulus has painted his entire face a warm grey, his nose a rosy pink, then added the wrinkles in darker grays and black, shading his face to take on the shape of Sméagol’s. He’d gently splattered brown freckles onto his face to look like sun spots. He even painted thin black tendrils of hair down Harry’s neck.

He was magnificent. Regulus’ favorite piece yet, truly.

James took more pictures, and Harry’s penchant for theatrics came to fruition as he crouched, feet and hands on the grass, crawling towards James like Sméagol does in the movies.

Regulus offered to take some photos of Harry and James together. James excitedly handed Regulus his phone, then scooped Harry up and propped him on a hip. Harry grabbed James’ hand, which was sporting many rings, and pretended to bite his fingers. It was futile, but James attempted to look terrified. He ended up cracking and breaking into a heart-stuttering smile, eyes squinting and cheeks giving way to dimples.

The pictures were adorable, naturally.

Harry broke character suddenly, gasping, a hand slapping on the top of his head. Regulus saw a raindrop sliding down from his hairline and wiped it away, just before it could drip onto his face and smear the paint.

“My paint!” Harry yelled, face contorting. Regulus had to look away from this glassy-eyed child with the grotesque face of Sméagol. The last thing Regulus wanted them to think was that he would laugh at a child’s sorrow.

To Regulus’ relief, James was also stifling his laughter as he set Harry on the ground, removing his own jacket to implement it as a shield above his son. The rain was picking up now into a light sprinkle. “Forgot an umbrella, babe. We’re gonna have to run super fast.”

“Daddy.” Sméagol-Harry looked up to James, sounding close to tears. “My paint,” he said, dejected.

Regulus absolutely didn’t think this through before he did it, but he said, “We won’t let your paint get ruined, love.”

He walked to his bag and rummaged around for his umbrella. He opened it and handed it to Harry, whose chubby hand wrapped around the handle, but wasn’t strong enough to hold it up against the breeze.

James and Regulus grabbed it at the same time, all three of their hands piled on top of each other. James’ was over Regulus’, so he couldn’t just pull away without ripping the umbrella from Harry, and he was absolutely not doing that.

James removed his hand with the barest hint of pink on his cheeks. He put his jacket back on now that his son was protected from the rain, thanking Regulus for holding the umbrella.

“Do you have another umbrella?” James asked once his jacket was zipped.

“Uh— no. But I can find one. I’ll ask someone. I’m alright.” He attempted to wave it off, despite knowing that he is anemic, and his fingers are already freezing.

“Okay, take this back, please. I can’t have you walking back in the pouring rain.”

“I’ll be fine. You guys take it.”

“Let us walk you to your car.”

Regulus cringed. “I… took the bus.”

James’ eyes widen. “You were going to walk to the bus stop, and then all the way home with no umbrella?”

“Yyyes?”

James raises a brow at him. He really hadn’t thought it through.

“Take your umbrella.” James goes to hand it back, then had to stop because of Harry’s death grip around the neck of it. James starts to, presumably, ask him to let go.

“What umbrella?” Regulus turns to pack up his supplies, avoiding looking at James. He knows playing this card probably won’t work but hopefully if he’s annoying enough, it will convince James to just take it. “I didn’t give you that umbrella. You came with it.”

James deadpans. “Okay, if you’re going to do that, we’ll just have to give you a ride home.”

Regulus spasms. “What? No, that’s— you don’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t do anything. You asked me for a ride.”

Regulus gasps, but he’s smiling. Damn it. “Oh, you’re good.”

Regulus lives fairly close, about 10 minutes away. The ride is almost silent. The radio is low, and Harry talks all about their day, sparing no details. What they saw, what they did, what he ate, who he talked to, what he thought about the corn maze (“Why can’t I eat the corn? Why is it there then?” to which James responded, “It’s not for us to eat.” to which Harry responded, “Why?” to which James responded, “I don’t know, babe. I just know they asked us to not eat it.” to which Harry responded, “Why?”).

His little thoughts bounced around the car until they abruptly stopped. Regulus peeked into the backseat to see him sound asleep, his mouth open, head lulled to the side. The blue eyes Regulus had painted on his eyelids stared back at him, and Regulus began to regret his artistic choice.

As they drove, Regulus couldn’t help but sneak glances over at James. He almost doesn’t want to look at him, but he can’t seem to stop. He’s stuck between wanting to remember him and not wanting to look at him so he can forget his face easier. At one point, James glances back, the gold frames of his glasses glinting from the streetlights.

Regulus’s house is dark, the porch light Sirius left on for him flickering, when they pull up to the curb. Sirius has gone into a Halloween frenzy, and it looks like a Spirit Halloween vomited all over the front porch and yard. Jack-o’-lanterns line each step, the carvings depicting various faces. Waterproof fairy lights in the shape of ghosts hang from the oak tree, twinkling like the flames of a candle.

“Thank you for—”

“Maybe I could see you again?” James says quickly, like he’d been thinking of saying it for a awhile, but hadn’t had the nerve to.

Regulus looks over at him, wide eyed. James ran a hand through his mussed hair, looking endearingly nervous.

Regulus grins, all teeth, and James returns it. “I would love that.”

[interpol-by-design]

Fuck it, I'm bored waiting for a delivery and my boss is getting on my case. Let's learn about eyeshadow!

The first thing you need to learn is that designer eyeshadow palletes? They're not a scam, but they're not exactly recommended, either. They're largely made for people with disposable income who want to be trendy, which isn't everyone. It's just a single demographic. Designer palletes are specially selected by people who are on top of the trends, who are on top of the latest colors, who are going to specifically pick precise shades that look good on a broad range of people, wearing a broad range of clothes.

Let me be blunt. I'm Kalosian, and while I love my home? We do have a classism issue. And I think part of addressing that is saying, in a neutral way, that not everyone has the same budget or the same options when it comes to cosmetics. Hell, my girlfriend grew up in a small town, so her foundation choices were pretty limited because they straight up weren't able to stock enough variety to suit her. She was between shades, and had to get creative with mixing foundation up to match her skin tone every time.

Anyways. If you want to start experimenting with eyeshadow, start with a drugstore pallete, something with a large selection! You can get two dozen or so colors to play around with, and while you may not have a lot of each one, that's okay. You're still learning. And it's okay if you run out quicker, because you're still figuring out what you like and what looks good on you.

Oh! And get good quality brushes. Start out with maybe one good brush that you like and take care of, and then, as you learn more techniques, you can continue investing in more. I get mine online from Lumiose Moon, which has actually started branching out into making paintbrushes now! Check out their beginner friendly section, that's the code for working on a budget, and make sure you use the half off shipping coupon. You can get the shipping a lot cheaper if you're willing to wait, too. They're super good about coupons, trust me. I'm a bit of a brand whore for them, to be honest, but frankly? Their budget options are nice and they let you scale up.

Why do you need good brushes? Because a good brush will pick up more pigment, frankly. You'll get better, more visible results, and more even blending if you're working with high quality equipment.

Anyways, the delivery I'm waiting for right now? See, I don't get individual palletes anymore. I just, once a year, buy myself refills for the Book of Eyeshadow, which is a full spectrum pallete with hundreds of colors. The casing folds up super nicely to fit in my bag, and all my colors are accessible in one place. I would absolutely, if you've gotten past the first step and want to get serious about makeup art, advise you to check online for a large pallete. You'll want to look for something that has both rainbow and nude shades, I keep mine separate but I know my girlfriend likes to mix them.

Oh shit, I think that's it now. Happy makeup times or something, remember that you're doing this as an art form and if you feel ugly without makeup, look into body dysmorphia! Bye for now!

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

‘We sell it in secret, like drugs’: Brazil’s appetite for shark meat puts species under threat

One of the biggest consumers in a global market worth an estimated £2bn, trade in the cheap fish in the south American country is booming. But worried conservationists say most people do not realise they are eating shark

The bright blue skies and calm waters of the estuary belie rough conditions at sea, and there is no sign of activity among the colourful fishing boats moored around the harbour of Cananéia, a sleepy fishing town 160 miles south of São Paulo.

On the wharf, however, a delivery of frozen fish from Uruguay has just arrived and a few men in white gumboots are busy unloading pallets of beheaded specimens labelled Galeorhinus galeus – school shark.

These thin grey fish will be kept in a cold store on shelves already stacked ceiling-high with carcasses of blue sharks, all awaiting processing and distribution to cities inland.

“Why do we work with shark?” says Helgo Muller, 53, the company manager. “Because people like it; it’s good and cheap protein. It doesn’t give you crazy profits, but it’s decent enough.”

Continue reading.

[pleasestaywithmedarling]

Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin: Part XIV

previous masterlist next

see end note for full content warning (tbh if you usually don't read it, you may want to consider it this time - not to spoil anything, but it's a bit different this time)

“What happened?” Omika demanded sharply. “Where is he?”

Antoni tensed. Slowly, he shut the door to the home they all shared, taking his time with the latch. He couldn’t bring himself to answer. She would hate him for this, maybe even more than he hated himself.

Korvu stepped to his side, putting a protective arm around him. “The plan won’t work anymore. They’ve tripled the guard.”

“So—so what do we do now?” The young girl’s glared at each of the others one by one, before at last landing on Antoni. “You promised we’d save him. We have to save him!”

“I am so sorry, child.” Rem’s large hands enveloped her thin shoulders. His dark eyes, though framed by fine lines denoting decades of ready smiles, now held only a sympathetic sorrow. “I cannot express how sorry.”

Brushing him off, she retorted harshly, “’Sorry’ doesn’t bring Anden back.” But Antoni didn’t need to see her low lip quiver to know that her anger was only a mask for her fear.

Gods, Omika was so much like Anden. She probably had no idea how much, he reflected sadly. And now her chances of ever learning had grown even more slim.

“We will save him,” he told her, his voice choked. “We’ll just have to wait till—”

“He can’t wait till Midsummer! They’re hurting him!”

“I—I know that.”

“He’ll think we forgot him!”

“No. No, that’s not—”

“We have to try again!”

“No one will be entering that temple again.” Kelijha spoke quietly, but with the full weight of her authority. “Anden is your family, and that makes him our family. But in a family, no member carelessly risks the life of another. It is as Korvu said—the temple guard has tripled.”

Omika’s small fists clenched. “I don’t care. I don’t need your help—I’m getting him out of there.”

As she stormed up the stairs, Antoni moved to follow her, but Rem waved him back. “I’ll speak with her,” he offered kindly, and made his way after her.

Antoni let Korvu guide him to sit before the fireplace. Its warmth should have been welcome after their hours out in the freezing night air, but he couldn’t seem to feel much of anything.

The weight of a blanket settled around his shoulders, and he looked behind him to see Kelijha stepping silently away toward the hall. She halted, and without turning back she said softly, “They must have discovered your message; I see no other explanation. It was I who made the delivery yesterday. If any fault lies with me, I pray your forgiveness.” She slipped away, her long braids swishing behind her.

For several long minutes, Antoni could only stare numbly into the flames. “Are you warm enough?” Korvu asked him. He nodded. “Is there anything I can get you?”

What he needed was his brother, he thought, and suddenly he was weeping into Korvu’s tunic as his partner held him close.

“You’ll see him again, I promise,” Korvu murmured. “I promise.”

When he could at last form words through his tears, he choked out, “You know what they’ll do to him on Midsummer.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. And I know you didn’t want me to stop you going to him tonight, but please, I can’t—” His partner’s voice cracked. “You won’t be any good to him if you’re dead. And—and I can’t lose you. So please, please just wait. It will work, I promise. We’ll make it work.”

Antoni nodded and reached for Korvu’s hand, their fingers intertwining. He was right, of course. The Midsummer plan’s risk of failure was great, but at least it wasn’t the suicide mission that tonight’s attempted rescue nearly was. And they wouldn’t fail again, he would make sure of it. He would be reunited with his brother.

He hoped.

That winter was the coldest Anden could remember. Or at least it certainly felt colder, though that may have had more to do with his concern for Kiri as she shivered each night on her pallet beneath her thin blanket.

On the night that she’d agreed to stay together even after they escaped, something had shifted. Though the possibility of freedom had become smaller than ever, his sense of hope had paradoxically grown stronger.

Before, he’d never truly thought much about what he’d do if—no, when—he made it out. He wanted, desperately, to see his family again, but he’d never considered anything beyond that. But now, whenever they were too cold or too fearful or in too much pain to sleep at night, he and Kiri would dream about what they would do together once they were free.

They would settle down on the far outskirts of some quiet little village. He would find work, something out of doors, and she would take up sewing—she’d shyly admitted to him one night that, before she’d begun her training in the temple, the people in her home village had paid her quite well for her work.

When they had enough coin, he wanted to take her travelling, to the coast to see the ocean, or to the northern hill country where it was said that the leaves turned orange in the autumn. He wanted to spend winter evenings sharing stories with her by a fire, and summer nights lying beside her under the open sky, making pictures in the stars together.

He’d quickly learned how reluctant she was to reveal her own desires. Despite this, he’d managed to create a small mental list of everything that he’d coaxed her into admitting she wished for. So now, whenever the pain and the humiliation of each day seemed too much to bear, he reminded himself that she wanted to play the mandolin for him, and to teach him how to climb trees and how to bake sweet rolls, and to adopt a housecat.

And anything she wanted, he was going to make damned sure that she lived to get.

But while Anden was growing more hopeful in their future together, even if he maintained his optimism only by brute force of will, he was also growing more worried about Kiri in the present. With a frequency that alarmed him, she’d been falling into that withdrawn, emotionless state, and he’d noticed that her memories seemed scattered. He’d learned to be mindful that his tunic sleeve didn’t ride up too far on his left arm; her panic at the sight of his scars from that gods-awful interrogation was always somehow just as fresh as it had been that night.

Though, if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t actually faring much better than her in that regard. His once-dreamless sleep was more and more often plagued with dark images that haunted him well into the day: a beautiful face contorted with pain and flashes of blood and *it wasn’t his blood but it was his knife—*always, always there was the knife in his hand. In the day, the lines of raised flesh across Kiri’s forearm was a sight he’d grown accustomed to, but each night threatened to bring a fresh wave of horror and shame.

But he would be fine, he told himself. As would she, once he got her safely out of this hellhole. And for that, they just had to wait.

When he’d first been dragged to the High Temple, he’d never imagined that he’d actually be looking forward to Midsummer.

Anden was grateful that Kiri at least seemed to still trust in his brother’s new escape plan, even without knowing its details as he did. As weeks passed into months without any further questioning from Emitis, he wondered daily if the time had come to tell her about The Seaman of Oshna, and about what would take place that Midsummer Day. She would need to be told eventually, he knew, but he feared the effect such dreadful knowledge might have on her. Her mind already seemed so troubled.

Her fear of water was only growing worse. Just as he was making up his mind to explain the plan to her, they would be dragged to the outer chamber in the middle of the night for the private rituals of some wealthy patron. He would watch helplessly as Kiri struggled while her bonds were secured, her usual obedience forgotten in her terror. He would watch as Emitis forced her under the waters of the bathing pool, over and over and over, her gasps for air growing ever more panicked. He would watch as her legs gave out and she was carried back to her cell by Edric, whose obvious enjoyment of her suffering made Anden’s blood run hot with rage. He would watch as she spent the night with her knees curled tightly to her chest, her whole body racked with sobs. And he would watch as she spent the following days somehow both numb to the world around her and also far too aware of the slightest sounds and the subtlest movements.

And he would decide once more that, as he could not spare her of any of this torment, he could at least spare her the knowledge of what she would endure at Midsummer, just for a little while longer. So long as she seemed to trust that his brother had some sort of plan, it was surely safer for her to know as little as possible, for as much time as he could give her.

Gods, he just wanted to keep her safe, in whatever small way he could.

Unfortunately, he had his own preparations he needed to make for Midsummer, and he didn’t know how to go about making them while still keeping Kiri in the dark. In her cell, hidden in that little hollow space behind the loose brick she’d found, was the last item that Antoni’s friends had smuggled to them. At the time, when they’d opened the small box to find an even smaller single-edged razor blade, he’d not had the faintest guess as to why his brother had sent it. Kiri’s discovery that it could slice cleanly through even her blanket without effort had taught him the blade was likely of Amantian steel, though how Antoni could have gotten his hands on such an item was a mystery. But he’d still known nothing of its intended purpose.

The moment Anden had learned of the Midsummer rescue plan, though, he’d understood. The tiny, remarkable blade could well mean the difference between saving himself and Kiri that day, or listening as she took her final breath. But that meant that he would have to take the blade with him, without any temple guards finding it. That wasn’t going to be anywhere as simple as tucking it into his pocket—he would need practice handling it. But how could he go about that, without Kiri realizing that he knew much more than he’d been letting on?

It was only when winter was beginning to turn to spring that he spotted an opportunity. Early one morning, a guard was unlocking Kiri’s cell door so she could be bathed and dressed for the day, and Anden noticed it wasn’t her usual morning guard. He also noticed a short handle sticking out the top of the man’s boot.

The vaguest outline of a plan began to form in his mind. With no time to think it through any further, he slipped his hand through the cell bars, unnoticed by the guard busy fumbling with the unfamiliar key ring. Though Anden was more than eight years out of practice, he did not allow himself to hesitate when he reached for the handle. He expertly slid the small knife out of the man’s boot before tucking it up his sleeve.

The guard at last unlocked Kiri’s door and pulled her through to the outer chamber. Anden let out a sigh of relief—it seemed neither one of them had noticed anything.

But he didn’t have much time. Quickly, he scanned the ground below him until he spotted a nailhead sticking ever so slightly out from the old floorboards. He would never have been able to pull it up with his bare hands, but he was relieved to find that he could wedge the blade of the knife under the nailhead. After an all-too-long minute of trial and error, he managed to pry the the nail out of the floorboard.

From the outer chamber he heard a fearful cry. This happened most mornings, about halfway through Kiri’s bath, but it never hurt any less to hear. She began speaking, pleading, though he couldn’t make out the words, and even as her tone edged toward hysterical he heard no responses but the occasional splash. He clenched his jaw. It was beyond cruel that she was bathed every day in the same pool she’d been tortured in so, so many times. But today he had no time to be angry. Tightening his grip on the knife handle, he lightly scraped at the wood around another nail, just enough that he could work the blade under the its head. This one came up much more quickly, now that he knew what he was doing. He felt no relief, though, because he was running out of time.

With both nails removed from one end of a board, he then thrust the knife into the crack. Pushing down on the handle, he was elated to feel the board shift. But it rose only a fraction of an inch before he felt the blade hit something solid, and he could move it no more. He bit back a cry of frustration. He was so close! He was so close, but he had no fucking time!

A splash followed by a loud, gasping sob spurred him to action. He’d been so shamefully helpless for so long, but here at last was a chance to actually do something. And he would do anything to help get Kiri to safety.

Anden clawed at the board, digging his fingertips into the edge even as its rough surface ripped open sensitive skin. He pulled at it desperately, ignoring the splinters that embedded themselves under his nails. The creak of the outer chamber’s iron door announced that he had only seconds left, when at last, at last, the board finally pulled free.

With no time to spare, he set about hiding his work. Using the two rusty nails, he propped up the board just enough that he should be able to lift it again. The knife he tucked into his pocket, and the blood he hastily wiped on his trousers. Footsteps were approaching when he noticed an especially large splinter poking out from the middle finger of his right hand; he yanked it out and let it fall to the floor just as an attendant entered with his meager breakfast.

He could hardly believe what he’d just pulled off. He knew he wasn’t in the clear yet, but as he ate, he couldn’t help feeling just the smallest bit of pride. It was such foreign emotion, after months—years—of his life going to shit and his shameful inability to do anything about it.

When his usual morning guards brought him to the outer chamber, he slipped the knife into the pocket of Kiri’s new guard. The man would never suspect anything was amiss, Anden was sure. People were always far more quick to assume they’d simply forgotten where they’d put something, than to consider that it could have been stolen only to be returned.

And with that, the most difficult part of his task was complete. Just in time, too—his hands were being brought behind his back and cuffed into place. Ever since Antoni’s note had been discovered, neither he nor Kiri were ever left with their hands free during the daily rituals in the High Chamber. His shoulders would be aching fiercely within the hour, but he didn’t dread the day as much as he usually did—he was too preoccupied with his burgeoning sense of accomplishment.

The day, it seemed, would only continue getting better. Before he and Kiri could be escorted out into the halls, a priest entered the chamber and announced, “The Vessels are to remain here today. Lock them up and report to your captain—the temple will be closed for court proceedings.”

He felt no gratitude for receiving a day off—not being chained up or tortured was the barest minimum of human decency and not something to feel thankful for. But he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

Once they were locked in their cells and left alone in the chamber, he showed Kiri the loosened floorboard. “Noticed it this morning,” he told her. Surreptitiously, he wiped whatever blood might still be on his hands onto his trousers. “I was thinking, maybe we could divide up the stuff in your wall. You know, so if they somehow find one stash, at least we don’t lose everything.”

Kiri murmured something vaguely in agreement, her mind clearly elsewhere. Anden observed the way her hands twisted at the wrists in small, jerking movements—she was trying to hide it, but something had her anxious. “Something wrong?”

Her eyes darted to him, then quickly away. “No. It’s—it’s nothing, I’m sure. I just thought, when the priest—when he said the temple would hold court today? He looked at me. He looked at me like I—like I’d done something wrong. And I don’t know, I—I just—” Her gaze returning to him, she admitted fearfully, “I just feel like I’m about to be punished.”

Following her logic, he assured her, “You’re not the one on trial. They’d have brought you up there already if you were. And when would you have had any time to commit any blasphemies?” he joked grimly. “You spend all day chained up in the High Chamber and all night locked up in here.”

She exhaled something almost resembling a laugh, before changing the subject to how they should divide up what little they had. Anden was relieved that she suspected nothing when he suggested he take the blade, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so triumphant as when he at last tucked the tiny box that held it down below the floorboard.

But he couldn’t properly bask in the fact that he’d finally been able to do something to help them, to help her. How could he, when Kiri’s hands wouldn’t stop twitching? Whenever he asked, she would simply lie that she was fine, and he would feel a twinge of irritation that she couldn’t just enjoy their miraculous day off.

That wasn’t fair, though. It wasn’t Kiri’s fault, he knew, and it wasn’t really her that he was angry with. It was Emitis, it was Edric, it was Vato himself—this whole damned place that had fucked them both up so badly.

And it wasn’t Kiri’s fault that he couldn’t help worrying about her, he reflected. He studied her face as she dozed lightly on her pallet, her features relaxed in a rare, beautiful peace that he couldn’t look away from. No, it wasn’t her fault that he loved her.

That he loved her.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking all the air out of him. And yet, once he took in another breath, suddenly it all seemed perfectly natural. Nothing had really changed. Of course he loved her—he had for some time. He allowed himself a moment to let the feeling fully wash over him, soft and warm. Then he tucked it away for safekeeping, somewhere he could easily find it whenever he had a quiet moment, like it was a secret box hidden under a loose floorboard.

Kiri was wakened by the creak of the iron door and jolted up, startled, but it was only the attendants with their evening meal—it must be after sundown already. When they left, Anden was quick to scarf down his tasteless fare, before noticing that Kiri had barely touched hers. “Hey. You okay?”

“They were looking at me.”

“What?”

“Like the priest this morning. I don’t know, they just—they were looking at me,” she finished, her voice small and uncertain.

She would say no further about it, but Anden could tell she didn’t believe any of his attempts to reassure her.

It was only a few hours later that he learned she was very right not to.

In the middle of the night, he was wakened by the creak of the outer chamber’s door. Dread filled his core—that sound at such a late hour could only mean that there would be a private ritual that night. His heart raced as he wondered what torture method Emitis had selected for him that night.

Kiri had curled herself into the far corner of her cell, trembling violently, and he ached to reach out to her. As scared as he was for himself, he would gladly take her share of their torment too if he could.

He schooled his face into a mask of anger just as Edric stepped into the inner chamber. To Anden’s surprise, neither of his evening guards followed, and he realized that there were no sounds of anyone in the outer chamber.

His eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck are you here?” he demanded.

Ignoring him, Edric leaned against the bars to Kiri’s cell and leered down at her. “I’ve got news I think you’ll be very interested to hear. Today’s trial? It was your mother’s.”

“My—my mother’s?”

“Yeah, her name’s Endora right? Dumpy little woman, lots of frizzy gray hair?”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s lying.” But even as he said the words, Anden realized he didn’t believe them.

“She was arrested last week. Guess your little village sent her here after they found out she’s the one who killed your father—oh, your father’s dead, by the way,” Edric added, relishing in Kiri’s stunned silence.

Kiri’s father was a priest, Anden realized with a growing sense of horror. That’s why her mother would have been tried here at the High Temple. If she really had been convicted of killing her husband, she wouldn’t just be punished for murder, but for blasphemy against Vato.

Only the High Priest Emitis could judge cases of blasphemy. And Anden knew from experience that Emitis showed no mercy.

Kiri’s hands spasmed as they gripped tight to her blanket—it seemed she’d reached the same conclusion that Anden had. “What—what are they going to do? What are they going to do to her?”

With a hideous pleasure, Edric answered, “Two hundred lashes in the courtyard at sunrise. Or, you know, however many it takes till she drops dead.”

“No. No, no, they—they can’t, they—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t—” Kiri’s voice broke off with soft wail that pierced Anden’s heart like a knife.

He glared at the guard. “Why the hell are you telling her this?”

Continuing to ignore Anden, Edric studied Kiri for a moment, a terrible hunger in his gaze. “I know where they’re keeping her. And I know how to sneak you in.”

Kiri’s eyes flew up to him. “I can see her?”

“Yeah. You just have to do something for me first.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking for much,” Edric assured her, though his placating tone only put Anden even more on edge. “You’re the Vessel of Purity, after all, so that tight little muff you’re hiding under your skirt is off-limits. But that pretty little mouth of yours?” He grinned. “That’s fair game.”

Anden saw red.

In an instant, he was on his feet. His hands shot out of his cell and grabbed the guard by his tunic, slamming him into the bars. “Don’t fucking touch her!” He began shouting for the guards he hoped were patrolling the hallway.

“Wait. Wait, stop!”

Anden was so surprised by Kiri’s plea that his grip on Edric slackened, and the guard extricated himself with ease. He sauntered back over to the bars of her cell. “It’s a deal, then?”

But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Anden, with a desperation that froze him where he stood. “I have to see her. You have to let me see her. Please! Please, just let me do this.”

No. No, this was wrong. Everything about this was so wrong. He couldn’t let this happen—shouldn’t let it happen. He had to keep her safe. Steeling himself against her tears, he took in a breath to call out once more.

“Anden, she’s my mother!” Kiri begged. Her face shone with a love fierce and desperate, and he faltered. “I have to see her. I have to!”

If he only had one chance to see his brother again, he realized, he would do anything to take that chance. Anything at all. And suddenly he no longer knew what he was supposed to do.

He should do something, something to help Kiri, in whatever way he could. But what the fuck did that look like in this horrible nightmare? Gods, no matter what he did or didn’t do, everything felt so, so wrong.

Kiri’s dark, tear-filled eyes searched his. She said, simply, “Please.”

Slowly, Anden nodded.

Satisfied, Edric swiftly unlocked her cell door. “On your knees,” he ordered.

She blanched. “In—in here?”

“Easiest place to avoid getting caught.”

Anden could only watch in horror as the guard grabbed her by the shoulders and directed her to kneel in front of him. A furious panic coursed through his bloodstream as the reality of what was about to take place hit him full-force.

While Edric lazily tugged at his trouser lacings, Kiri turned her head to face Anden, and the wild fear in her eyes tore at his heart. Silently, she mouthed, “Don’t look.”

Tightening his grip on the bars, he held her terrified gaze for a long moment. Then he let go, and he turned his back on her.

He stood rooted to the spot as he listened to Kiri’s pained gagging. He did not move at the sound of a sharp smack, or at the hissed warning, “Do not let me feel your teeth again, you bitch.” For an endless eternity, he held perfectly still through every squelch of wet flesh and every garbled whimper, every disgusting moan of pleasure and every heartbreaking retch. His chest heaved and his heart pounded in his ears and his fists clenched ever-tighter, but he stayed frozen in place through it all, even as his stomach dropped at the single word, “Swallow.”

Kiri was crying in great hiccoughing sobs when at last it was over. As Edric ordered her to shut up and follow him, Anden finally turned to watch her go. When he caught her eye, she only looked away and hurried past him, her shaking hands fisted tightly in her skirt. Moments later, the creak of the iron door told him that he was alone.

Suddenly he was shaking, and his breaths came in huge desperate gulps as an icy fear took him. Gods, was what was wrong with him? What right did he have to fall apart? A sickly sense of shame joined the terror that was flooding through his core. Because there he’d stood, safe in cell, listening as that monster violated the woman he loved.

He hadn’t done anything to keep her safe.

After several long minutes, he sank to the ground. Ignoring how much pain his hands were still in from that morning, he dug his fingertips into the edge of the loose floorboard and pried it up. Taking out the box, he pulled out the small razor blade and held it tight between his first and middle fingers. With a small gesture, he maneuvered it so that it was only visible from the back side of his hand. Another subtle movement, and it could only be seen from the palm side.

And then he nicked himself, and as he watched the bead of blood form on his skin suddenly it wasn’t his blood but it was his knife.

Why did he have to keep hurting her? Why couldn’t he just do something to keep her safe?

His tears fell at last as he tucked the razor back under the floorboard.

next

I'm sorry. Okay but huge, huge, huge thank you to everyone who offered ideas and encouragement and commiseration during the numerous times I got stuck on this chapter over the past couple of weeks. I legit think that I might have dropped this fic right here if I didn't have y'all. You're all wonderful and am I so happy to have found this little corner of the internet :)

taglist: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @little-peril-stories

content warning: captivity, religious abuse, restraints, mentions of torture, mention of murder, victim self-blaming, sexual assault

[strid3rofthen0rth]

I was talking to the beer delivery guy at Wednesday morning truck stop diner breakfast.

Anybody ever try to steal a case off your pallet there?

Sometimes. One huge fucker grabbed a keg and ran down the road with it over in Middleton.

Holy shit!

Yeah, I let him have it. I don't get paid enough to fight the fucking monster who can do that.

Wow. Good call

Note to self: go back in time 25 years and start ripping down free kegs off beer trucks

[chbnews]

Will do, also please keep an eye out for a general delivery labeled “Supplies”? He decided to send around a pallets worth of goods to us so, yeah.

-Unknown Nemesis Camper

Alright! Not sure if he knows the location to camp, just send it to our storefront 4 miles east. (Aka Delphis Strawberries) - 🎀Anon Cabin 10 member 🎀

[tieflingkisser]

Why air-dropping aid on Gaza is doing more harm than good

Experts say there is no guarantee on where packages end up, they are too few and do not reach those most in need

On Friday, five Palestinians were killed and several wounded after a parachute landing a humanitarian air-drop load failed to open, bringing a pallet crashing down into a crowd of people waiting for food north of Gaza City's Shati refugee camp.

[...]

Palestinians have told Middle East Eye that the air-drops are "pointless" in the face of widespread starvation, particularly as, over the past week, videos of the drops showed the aid landing into the sea or in parts of Israel. As well as being dehumanising to Palestinians, experts have noted critical issues related to air-dropping aid, which is often used as a last resort when no other options are feasible.  1. Stampedes and injury Air-dropping aid can in some cases result in stampedes, as masses of people desperate for food run in the same direction towards the crates or pallets.

[...]

2. No guarantee of where it ends up Photos of aid dropped from the air have shown that the deliveries at times end up in the sea or in parts of Israel, due to the difficulty in distributing it accurately from a high altitude.

[...]

3. Expensive and inefficient  While air-dropping is often used as a last resort, more than 2,000 trucks filled with aid are waiting at Gaza's border crossings that have not been allowed in by Israel.

[...]

4. Limited quantities of aid Due to the altitude and the process required to air-drop aid, pallets can hold only limited quantities of food.

[...]

5. No cultural sensitivity  Videos of Palestinians throwing air-dropped aid in the bin have also garnered attention. Malnourished Palestinians have reported that some items are not fit for consumption, and that in many cases the contents of aid packages do not cater to the needs of the people on the ground.

[anarchafemme]

https://truthout.org/articles/uss-gaza-pier-may-soon-be-dismantled-entirely-after-series-of-failures/

Thanks Genocide Joe, very cool.

...

According to a Times report this week, military officials are telling aid groups that they may have to stop use of the $320 million pier as early as July — months earlier than the Biden administration’s predicted end date of September.

...

The pier has delivered, in essence, no aid to Palestinians languishing under Israel’s extermination campaign. It has only been operational for roughly 11 of the 35 days since it was established — and little of the meager aid that has entered has been distributed to the Palestinian population at large, due to logistical issues and fears from humanitarian groups that they may be targeted by Israeli forces at the pier. The UN has said that it is still assessing whether it can use the pier for deliveries of food and other goods due to recent reports that Israeli forces may have used the pier or the beach around it in an operation in which they killed at least 274 Palestinians and injured nearly 700 more in an attack on central Gaza earlier this month. Oxfam is also reconsidering use of the pier for this reason. “You can be damn sure we are going to be very careful about what we assess and what we conclude,” said UN humanitarian chief Martin Griffiths, per AP. If the Israeli army were using the area or routes surrounding the pier for their operations, it “would put at risk any future humanitarian engagement in that operation,” Griffiths said. Even if groups were able to make use of the pier, it would still not make much of an impact. Data from aid groups analyzed by analyst Stephen Semler shows that less than 1 percent of the food pallets delivered to Gaza in May came through the pier — and that was after the amount of food being delivered was drastically reduced due to Israel’s escalation of its aid blockade last month. In other words, the amount of aid entering Gaza has actually decreased after the connection of the pier, data shows. U.S. officials have claimed that the pier was set up to combat the humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza. If increasing aid is indeed the main goal — something that some Palestinians have contested — then the pier is a total failure. Further, if increasing aid were a main goal of U.S. officials, then they would stop collaborating with Israel in its aid blockade and increase pressure to achieve a permanent ceasefire. However, if the aid pier was actually just a cover for U.S. officials who wish to continue their participation in Israel’s genocide of Palestinians while appearing to care about the humanitarian situation, it has actually been a success, some have argued.

...

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Vancouver Food Runners don't sell sneakers, but the registered charity's volunteers do run around town, picking up produce that's about to go bad and bringing it to food banks and other non-profits supporting people in need.

Executive director Michelle Reining says amidst the current affordability crisis, which is driving up the cost of housing, child care, gas and groceries, the needs are greater than ever.

By her estimate, more than one in 10 households in Vancouver are struggling with food security.

"Every week it's something a little bit different so there's some creativity," she told CBC on Friday, pointing to a pallet of grapes, tomatoes, potatoes, watermelon and other produce donated by B.C. meal delivery service Fresh Prep.

"When this goes to the organization, the chefs can take it in and they're going to create different meals with this, create different food hampers. This is perfectly good food that will be given back to the community." [...]

She says the goal is to tackle food waste and food security in one go, using a website and smart phone app to make it easy for businesses to sign up to contribute, and for potential community partners to reach out.

"We're part of a wide range of organizations in Vancouver doing this kind of work," she said. [...]

Continue Reading

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[cherryeol04]

Warehouse Love

➻ Pairings: Changbin x Reader

➻ Genre: slice of life, office romance, humor

➻ Additional: first kiss, polyamorous relationships

➻ Word Count: 4K

➻ Warnings: N/A

➻ Author’s notes: This story is cross posted on multiple sites under the same username!

It’s not that you hated your job, but you hated your job. Well, maybe hate was a strong word. You very much disliked your job. But then again, ‘job’ was just a vast over generalization. There was one account that you strongly loathed to handle and one of the many reasons is that at the very last minute, they change the way of how they want the processing of their products to go, which then requires you to work overtime, at night, to make sure the new changes go off without a hitch. 

The downside was that you were working at night, when you’d rather be wrapped up in your boyfriend's arms. The upside to that, you were working with your very good looking co-worker, Changbin. He was the night warehouse manager that oversaw all the drivers and product for your account, which was great. While you wouldn’t say you were in shape, if you had to, you could move a large pallet with a pallet jack if need be. So having someone else who would do the labor aspect of the account was perfect for you. You basically handled the administrative side of it, which could be handled during the day, unless something drastic happens that requires you to come in. 

Changbin, himself, was a great perk too. The man was ripped with arm and chest muscles that usually screamed to be released from whatever shirt he was wearing, which was never the office uniform thankfully. Uniforms weren’t really enforced for employees who worked overnight, just for drivers doing deliveries that would most likely be seen by clients; they had to represent the company respectfully. 

When you had first met Changbin, he had been a little standoffish with a very intimidating aura. But the more your worked him, especially in the first two weeks of his training, the more you realized he was just a loveable little teddy bear, with a similar personality to Jisung - loud as fuck and obnoxious. Which, in hindsight, is probably why you harbored the very tiny, very minuscule crush on Changbin. It was pretty much microscopic. And while you were in an open relationship with your boyfriends - boy had that been a long night - you were pretty certain that Changbin had no emotions towards you and he was just friendly. Besides, even though you worked the same account together, you didn’t get to see each other often, so there was still a wall between you. 

Cat😸Zaddy

If you kiss him, we want details

You stared at the message in disbelief, hand poised and key still in the lock. Leave it to Minho to text you such a thing just as you get to work. He had to be psychic. Rolling your eyes, you locked your phone screen and unlocked the door, expecting the alarm to go off. When it didn’t, you had to do a double take to look out at the parking lot. It was empty except for your car, which to you meant that Changbin wasn’t there yet. So why was the alarm off? Maybe one of the other employees just forgot to set it. A logical thought, except you were the one who left last today and you specifically remembered setting the alarm because you had been on the phone with Minho, ranting about Karen’s bitchiness and how she unfairly took out her aggression on Jisung. Ever since Jisung told Lucy about the two of you being together, that woman had been on a warpath to make existing at work a living hell. 

Bless Chan’s heart for coming to your rescue many times. You made a mental note to bring him coffee in the morning. Flipping on one of the light switches, you locked the door behind you and headed to the back towards your cubicle. Rounding the corner, you dropped your things on your desk, logged back into your computer and clocked in because you would be damned if you weren’t being paid for every second your ass was in the office. 

Once you were settled, you made your way to the very back of the cubicles, where the door to the warehouse was. Opening it, you were surprised to see the lights on and the large industrial fans going. Your eyes scanned over the vast area, honing in on your account’s area when the loud clanging of totes could be heard. Changbin was definitely there. Walking inside, you took a deep breath and started your way back. Your mind was racing with thoughts of Changbin. Of what to say to him, how things were going to go and if maybe you should ask him out. Though that last thought made your heart sink because the last time you had asked someone out, they had ghosted you and then a short time later they had quit working. Not that it was your fault they left the company, but a part of you couldn’t help but think that. You didn’t want a repeat of that because you didn’t think your heart would be able to handle that, and of course you would have to tell Jisung and Minho because they would just know something was wrong - and frankly you didn’t partially feel like being laughed at.

But also, Changbin was a great worker. He was the third night warehouse guy that you’ve worked with and by far he was the most competent and trustworthy out of all of them. You sure as hell didn’t want to have to go through the process of training someone new and finding out they sucked. So even if there was a sliver of a chance that maybe Changbin liked you as well, you weren’t about to risk it.

Finally reaching the back of the warehouse where the docks were, you spotted Changbin pushing a line of totes into the empty tractor trailer and you nearly had a heart attack. His arms were on full display, muscles flexing each time he adjusted his grip. His skin was covered in a light layer of sweat and you could already feel your brain malfunctioning. 

“Oh sweet Jesus.” You whispered to yourself, shaking your head. “Get it together, Y/n.” 

Right on cue, your phone dinged and you already knew it was either Minho or Jisung. Both of them had such impeccable timing. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you read the preview and was surprised to see that it was actually from Chan. Which, when you thought about it, was a little strange. The two of you have general conversations, slowly moving into that ‘friend outside of work’ category, but texting late at night was never something you usually did. In fact, you had a running joke with Jisung that Chan is actually a super old man and was in bed and asleep at seven. Unlocking your phone, you pulled up the message and read it.

Thunder Down Under

Don’t work too hard tonight! ;)

As if I actually work XD

Thunder Down Under

Touché

What are you doing this weekend, by the way?

Sleeping….why?

Thunder Down Under

Would you, perhaps, wanna get lunch together on Saturday?

You were taken off guard by the question, not entirely sure how to reply. It seemed a little suspicious that he wanted to meet up for lunch after working together for over a year now. But at the same time, you didn’t really want to turn down the opportunity. If anything, the two of you could at least commiserate over Karen and her insufferable bitchiness.

Sure! I’m not picky, so pick 

any place you want~

Your heart was racing, which you thought was a little ridiculous. Nonetheless, you quickly put your phone away and when it dinged again, you did your best to ignore it. You were nervous to read any answer that Chan would come back with, even though you had already agreed to meet up with him. It was stupid, you know, but it’s how your brain worked - confusing and nonsensical.

Focusing your attention back to the task at hand, you approached the rattling totes, peeking around a few stacks to watch as Changbin pushed two more inside the trailer. You grinned when he turned and jumped, eyes wide as he stared at you. “Hey stranger.”

“Hey.” He grinned and walked over, giving you a fist bump. It was such a ‘bro’ type of move that you couldn’t help but giggle at it. “Didn’t hear you come in.” He commented.

“I’m stealthily, like a ninja.” You teased, humming softly as you leaned carefully against a stack of totes. “Almost done with the returns?”

“Yeah.” Changbin sighed heavily. “So what is this new process that we have to do?” He asked as he grabbed three more stacks and pushed them into the trailer. 

“Oh you’re going to love this.” You rolled your eyes. “I’ll be at your desk, so just come over there when you’re done and I’ll show you.”

“Sounds good!”

You turned and walked off, making sure to sway your hips just a bit more than usual. Though the further away you got, the less you tried to seduce Changbin and the more regret you began to feel. Mainly for your behavior, because it felt a little childish - something a teenager would do when trying to get a boy’s attention. It didn’t feel like it was something an adult would do when physically attracted to another adult. Not that Changbin was probably paying attention anyway. It’s not like you walked around with a huge ass - though Jisung would beg to differ. It was very much average size with barely any roundness to it. You were not “one of those” girls.

You had just gotten comfortable in the chair and was pulling up the program when Changbin joined you, casually wiping the sweat from his brow with his shirt - inadvertently showing off his well toned, golden abs. You really struggled to not look, though you couldn’t help but take a few sneaky peaks. “Alright, show me.”

Lifting your gaze, you stared at him blankly before nodding. Looking back at the computer, you clicked through various prompts until you could start explaining the new process the dickheads of your account wanted. By the end of it, Changbin was frowning, scratching his head. “So basically I’m doing ten extra steps to get the same results that I already give?” He asked and you nodded solemnly. “Was I not doing a good job before?”

“What? No! You did a great job!” You reached out and touched his arm lightly, letting the connection linger for just a moment before you quickly moved your hand away. You weren’t sure if he was open to being touched, and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Though you had to admit, his skin was soft and he was toned and thick. “I appreciate everything you do for us…for me.” You were sincere in your words, looking Changbin dead in the eyes in hopes to get that sincerity across to him. The moment your eyes locked, however, there was a surge of something that ran through you. And you were deathly afraid to put any sort of name to it because what if you were wrong? What if it was just your monkey brain running off with all these fanciful thoughts and blinding you to reality. 

That wasn’t something you could handle.

“Y/n.” Changbin whispered your name so sweetly it was like a chorus of angels calling out to you. “I appreciate you too.” The gaze was meaningful and the words he spoke felt like they held an unspoken message, one you were desperate to cling to. Yet the magical moment the two of you found yourself in was broken harshly by the excruciatingly painful bloating horn of the new trailer. “I-I should go handle that.” Changbin cleared his throat as he looked over his shoulder at the empty bay doors. 

“Yeah, you should.”

“Are you leaving right away?”

“Well, no. Not if you need me to stick-“

“I do!” Changbin interrupted before you could even finish your sentence and you laughed. 

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

“Cool. Let me get this trailer parked and then…yeah.” He left it hanging, and you weren’t sure what he intended. Changbin was a smart cookie and you knew he understood the new method you showed him. If he wanted to just talk, that was fine but in the end you knew you were going to end up helping him sorting out the totes and actually physically working hadn’t been on the agenda. But maybe it needed to be. 

“I’ll be here.” You waved him off, admiring the way his thighs flexed and rippled as he jogged to the back of the warehouse. Fuck, you were so smitten. 

By the time the trailer was backed in and parked, you had made it through a few encouraging (if not a little nasty) messages with your boyfriends and a part of you slightly regrets it while a bigger part of you absolutely adores them and their willingness to help you land a possible third boyfriend. 

Minho’s Bitch

Dat ass tho 👀

Cat😸Zaddy

Ji…

Minho’s Bitch

Am I wrong?!

He’s not wrong 😑 

Minho’s Bitch

Thank you baby!🥰

…💖💖

Cat😸Zaddy

🙄 

Y/n just be confident and

don’t back down. Go with the

flow and let it play out. You’ll

be fine. 

Okay. Okay I got this!

Minho’s Bitch

Of course you do!

And remember! Details!

Yeah yeah yeah 😘

“Y/n!”

You jolted at the sudden shout of your name, head whipping around trying to figure out where it came from - which in hindsight was silly considering there was only one other person in the building and you knew where he was. 

“Y/n!”

You jumped to your feet at how dire the call sounded. Your feet were moving before your brain could even catch up, running to the back of the warehouse, stopping at the open bay where Changbin stood desperately trying to keep stacks of totes from falling from under the blue truck strap that was strapped around them. 

“Holy shit.” You rushed forward, hands pressed against the hard containers, one foot trying to push the small follies back under the stacks but to no avail. “What the fuck?!”

“Yeah that’s what I said.” Changbin chuckled but the look on his face read anything but funny. There was a small vein popping out on his forehead by his temple and you realized that Changbin was pretty much holding everything up on his own. 

“What do I need to do?” You asked quickly, moving your hands from where they were slowly, making sure the totes wouldn’t move. When they didn’t, you stepped closer to him. 

“The two in front of me, I need you to push the dollies back under them. I think I can push them up afterwards.” You glanced down, Changbin’s gate wide - thighs flexing as he pressed his knees against the two lower totes that were quite literally falling off of their dollies. With a brief moment of hesitation, you were squatting down next to him. Your chest pressed against the side of his thigh as you reached one hand between them from the back, the other reaching around his front. It was an odd angle, yet regardless of what position you put yourself in, you were in some way going to be reaching between his thighs, your bodies touching in ways you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine as of yet. 

You grabbed one of the dollies and using Changbin’s thigh as an anchor, you pushed it back under the toppling totes with as much force as your out of shape arms would allow. Changbin grunted and you watched as the stack of totes lifted and was finally settled back up right. Grinning, you grabbed the other dolly and repeated the process, and thankfully Changbin was able to get that stack up as well. With the two stacks fixed, the rest started to move and fall and  you quickly lunged towards them and pushed them back upwards, righting them. 

Crisis averted. 

“Remind me to send in a complaint.” Changbin groaned as he rubbed his sore knees. 

“Yeah, same.” You laughed, sitting back on your haunches. “Why the fuck would they load this truck like this?” There was no real answer to that and Changbin didn’t bother to try and volunteer one. It didn’t matter though. You could send in a complaint but it would do much good anyway.  The client wouldn’t do anything to fix the problem so why waste your breath?

“For fun.” Changbin teased and you glared up at him, huffing. “Thanks for the help.” He said as he held out his hand towards you. You took it and gasped as you were hauled up with surprising strength. It was like you weighed nothing! Still shocked, you stumbled forward and into Changbin’s broad chest, his hands gripping your waist to steady you. “Whoa! Easy there.” You stared at him, eyes wide as you tried to process the situation of what just happened. From the strength to the chest under your fingertips, right down to the hands gripping your waist. The rather large hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You breathed. 

It honestly felt like you were in some sort of romance movie. The two protagonists are forced into an intimate position. Only then did they realize how much they wanted each other and would kiss. 

It was just like the movies, as your eyes scanned over Changbin’s face, mostly focusing on his lips and how bright red they were from the beating they just took. Beat for beat of a movie, Changbin started leaning in and you followed his lead, lips connecting in an awkward but amazing kiss. It was short, too short for your liking, and when you pulled apart you could feel the flames dancing across your cheeks. 

“Uh…”

“We should-“

You both stopped, staring at each other as you struggled for something to say. What could you say after that? You certainly didn’t want to apologize because you were not sorry for the kiss. But for some reason, that was the first instinct you had. Probably because you were afraid you kissed him when he didn’t want it. It was a high possibility. Your brain was riddled with fantasies about Changbin that reality sometimes became skewed and you saw signs of him reciprocating your feelings. What if you were wrong?

“I should do a tote count.” You pulled free, taking a step or two back from Changbin, eyes downcast for the simple fact that you just couldn’t look him in the eye at the moment. There was a moment of hesitation, waiting to see if maybe he would say something or keep you from leaving. But nothing happened. And you were reminded quickly that this wasn’t like the movies. You weren’t going to have a fairytale ending. That heart wrenching thought is what pushed you forward to leave, heading towards the front of the warehouse once more to grab the tools you needed to do your job. 

———

You couldn’t get the kiss out of your mind, regardless how many times you told yourself that Changbin didn’t like you. His lips were just so soft and plump against yours and you wanted to feel them again. But the two of you had gone your separate ways, working silently to get things done. 

After unloading the truck, you helped Changbin sort the totes into their correct racking bays before starting a physical count of how many you received. You were in the middle of recounting a bay of totes when arms wound around your waist, pulling you back against a solid chest. You tensed for a moment as fear struck your heart, but it melted away as you realized there was only one person it could be. “Shit, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” Changbin chuckled, hugging you tighter to him. 

“It’s fine.” You stood there, waiting, not really sure what to do but at the same time you were taking this moment to enjoy being in Changbin’s arms. They were just comforting as you thought they would be. “Did you need something?”

“Uh, yeah actually,” he started, giving your waist a squeeze. “Wanted to talk about that kiss.”

“Oh.” You breathed. “Changbin, I'm sorry. I shouldn’t-“

“Why are you sorry?” He interrupted you, brows furrowed. You pulled away and turned to face him. 

“Because I kissed you. I shouldn’t have done that and it was stupid of me. I hope this doesn’t ruin anything between us.” 

“Why would it?”

You cocked your head at the question, completely confused. “Because I kissed you.” You repeated. You were wondering if Changbin was hard of hearing with the questions he was asking. You had a valid reason to be sorry. It all made sense to you. And yet he kept asking why and you were starting to second guess yourself, even though you shouldn’t. You knew what you did. 

“That wouldn’t ruin anything between us though.” Changbin commented, a light laugh falling from his lips. This wasn’t a laughing matter though. You felt bad for invading his personal space and kissing him without his consent. 

“What?”

“Y/n I like you.” Bold, forward and straight to the point. You liked that about Changbin but you certainly weren’t expecting it. “I have for a long time and I thought you liked me too. Am I reading this wrong?”

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You were absolutely blown away that you hadn’t read the situation wrong and indeed all of the signals you picked up on were correct. Changbin liked you. The warehouse guy you had been simping over actually returned your feelings. You couldn’t believe it. 

“No!” You said quickly, flushing at how loud your voice had been. “I mean, no, you aren’t reading this wrong.” Smiling shyly, you bit your lower lip. “I like you too.” The confession brought a wide smile to Changbin’s face. 

“I’m glad. Can I kiss you again?” You nodded your head and Changbin gripped your waist once more and pulled you close, claiming your lips in a deep kiss - one that lasted much longer than the first one you shared. You kept the kiss light, focusing more on the feelings you were feeling for each other and not the arousal that was simmering under your skin. There was a time and place for everything and this just didn’t feel like one of those moments. Your heart fluttered as one of Changbin’s hands left your waist and reached up to cradle the back of your head gently. This man was a dream come true.

Breaking the kiss, you stared up at him, his eyes shining with uncontained happiness. Changbin was absolutely breathtaking. You wouldn’t mind spending the right of the night staring into those beautiful eyes, but as it was, you couldn’t - still stuck at work and the bead of sweat rolling down your temple reminded you of that reality. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.”  Cliche. It was all cliche and you were living for it. “What are you doing tomorrow evening?”

“Nothing.”

Changbin smiled. “Would you like to go out for dinner then?” You returned his smile.

“Absolutely!”

“It’s a date then.” You nodded and in a bold move, leaned forward and pecked his lips lightly.

“I’ll text you tomorrow around lunch time.” You told him.

“I look forward to it.” There was a moment of comfortable silence before Changbin cleared his throat. “I’ll let you get back to work then. Can I start scanning the totes in?” He asked.

“Yeah, start on the other side.” You said and pointed to the section of racking on the other side of the warehouse.

“Aye Aye boss!” He saluted you and you laughed as he turned and jogged away. He was certainly one silly man, and you were excited to be able to even think that he was going to be yours. You couldn’t wait to tell Jisung and Minho the goodness. That thought alone is what helped motivate you to turn back and finish the tasks at hand.

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[thebirdandthebee]

Easy As

A Carmen Berzatto Universe

Here's another chapter from my request box - friendly reminder that you can submit requests for these two.

Vanessa Monaghan is the breath of fresh air that Carmen had been gasping for.

Page 9: Webbing

Vanessa Monaghan really was an Instacart type of girl. Grocery stores were loud and busy and she didn’t meal plan much, so that left her just swiping at shelves and in the produce section at whatever looked good.

Unfortunately for her, the next available delivery across any app she could download to her phone wasn’t for two and a half days. So, she vowed that on her way home from her friend Gina’s, she’d find a grocery store and knock out a few items for the week.

It was the height of summer and she knew no matter what, she was leaving the supermarket near River North with a watermelon.

Grabbing a small cart, mostly a basket on wheels, she set off through the medium-sized super market. She knew she wanted to hit the produce first.

Pulling through the berries, she grabbed a carton of nearly every kind. She loved berries and could likely sustain on them alone. She piled a few other veggies she could cut up and toss in a fry pan, dropping zucchini, yellow squash and red onions into individual plastic bags. She did feel bad about the excess plastic and would remember to re-use them somewhere in her home.

Then, she found the large pallet of watermelons. Standing over the bin, she crossed her arms over her chest. She knew it was silly but she could never remember how to pick the right one. 

“It’s a tough choice,” she heard from her left and she turned to see a handsome man with curly hair and striking blue eyes. His hands were tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

“It is,” she laughed politely, “always a hard decision.”

“For me,” he took a step forward, “I like to pick a pretty uniform one,” he stepped up next to her, eyeing the bunch carefully before reaching in. She could tell he worked out, watching as his biceps flexed enticingly. “It uh, it has an orange field spot,” he turned it over, showing her the discoloration on the bottom, and it’s got a lot of this webbing,” he flipped it over again. “Webbing?” She asked doubtfully.

“Uh like scratching almost,” he offered, running his fingers along the marring. “You don’t wan a shiny one, either, nice and dark is best,” he added.

Vanessa drank him in. Not tall but not too short, sharp features, humble aura. He was handsome for sure, there was no denying that.

“And what,” she asked, accepting the melon as he handed it over to her, “makes you a watermelon expert?”

“I uh, I work with food,” he rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing at the watermelon.

“In grocery?” She asked, setting the watermelon down in the basket.

“I’m a chef,” he replied, fighting a blush as her eyes lit up.

“Really? That’s amazing,” her smile was stunning. “Where do you work? If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, inching forward with her cart.

“Uh, The Bear,” he rattled off, “it used to be The Beef, until a few months ago, we’re transitioning,” he explained. “It’s still The Beef, it’s going to be The Bear shortly,” he continued.

“I’ve been there,” she replied, grinning. “Well, I’ve had sandwiches from there,” she elaborated. “One of my interns loves that spot and will run and get lunch for us from time to time,” she explained.  Carmen was too busy studying her features and realized it was his turn to talk.

“And what was the verdict?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“We love it,” she smiled, “we’ve ordered out many times,” she added.

“Well I may have made your lunch,” he shrugged.

She stopped walking, turning to give him her full attention.

“I’m Vanessa,” she stuck out her hand. He got a whiff her perfume and felt the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“Carmen,” he replied, gently taking her hand in his.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Carmen,” she smiled, “thank you for your help.”

“Enjoy your melon,” he gestured. Enjoy your melon?! He wanted the tiled floor to open up and swallow him whole. A beat passed and 

“Would you happen to have any tips for the deli section?” She asked, wondering if her eyelashes were doing what she paid so much money for them to do.

“I’ve got tips,” he replied, almost immediately. He knew he was blushing then.

The pair wound their way through the supermarket, talking about anything their eyes landed on as Vanessa’s cart slowly filled up. Carmen knew the two men working at the meat counter and got her a great deal on a sirloin steak. 

She didn’t know how the hell she was going to cook it, but she was excited nonetheless. She thought Carmen was incredibly cute, and was particularly fascinated with the way his mouth formed certain words.

Carmen couldn’t believe Vanessa was speaking to him at all. It wasn’t that she was out of his league – she was playing at Soldier Field and he was tailgating at Wrigley. Her hair looked silky to the touch and her big doe eyes were mesmerizing to him. 

Sooner than he’d like, they found themselves rounding on the checkout lane.

She blushed a deep red as he bagged all over groceries, at her insistence he didn’t need to and suddenly they were both at the front door.

“I don’t cook a lot,” Vanessa said intently. “But I do go out a lot,” she added. “Maybe you could show me your favorite place some time?”

Carmen nodded enthusiastically, pushing an errant curl out of his eyes.

“Yes, I could do that,” he nodded. He pat all four of his pockets. “I uh, clearly left my phone at work,” he huffed. “But I have a pen,” he pulled out sharpie from his pants pocket. Vanessa laughed as he scribbled out her phone number on his arm. “I will text you as soon as I get back to my phone.” He reassured.

“I look forward to it, Carmen.”

“Me too.”

[pbandjesse]

I got a little hurt at work today. And I am feeling it tonight. It wasn't a bad day at all though. I was just really ready to be home.

It was grey and raining again. I felt uncomfortable in the first two outfits I tired and the kast outfit wasn't much better. So I ended up leaving s few minutes late. But that was fine, no one is keeping track.

James left a little before me. And I drove to work. Not a bad drive. Though it started getting really foggy half way to camp and it was a little eerie.

I would spend the first hour or so working on seeing the ears to my move plushies. And it was nice to just focus on that task. Even if it's not technically work. And once I was done that everyone else was in and I was able to buy Heather for the info about camp all in. And I finally worked on the invitation for our house warming.

While I was working on the invitation Jess texted me that there was just an earthquake where she was!! A 4.8 magnitude earthquake on New Jersey. Apparently James felt it too! That's crazy. I wish I had felt it to just because I think it's interesting. But I'm glad it was just a little one and no one got hurt.

I would work on the journal/coloring/activity book for camp all in and it was fun. I hope Heather likes it. I tried to make it a good mix of things. I even had a page with jokes on it.

I would eat my lunch and work on my computer. And eventually around noon heather asked me and Sarah to come to the lodge to help clean after it was sanded and painted over the last two days.

We wouldn't just clean though. We also had a delivery of construction materials for the rebuilding of the nurses office. And after it was delivered to the wrong address and the. To us, it was not handled well and a bunch of it broke. Plus it started to rain and we didn't want it to all be ruined. So me and Sarah went to move everything.

And it was heavy. We had to make a million trips from the pallets for delivery and the inside of the building. And the knife Heather 's husband lent us was super dull so it didn't make the unpacking any easier. Heather would come help and we were able to get everything inside with minimal rain and we only found a few damaged boards, the one on the very bottom being the most destroyed.

I went to get the gator to collect the packing trash. I asked if I could keep the wood that was holding the flooring to the pallets and she said yes. Awesome. So I would deliver that to our car later on.

I would pick up Sarah, along with the wood and trash and we would drive around making deliveries before eventually landing at the lodge to help clean.

We would sweep and wipe things down and move furniture around. Just tried to bring everything back to order.

I was chatting with Heather and getting a lot done. And after we finished mopping the smaller bedroom Heather had to do some interviews so she walked back and I drove the gator.

I would take an hour break. Just scrolling on Pinterest and eating snacks. And eventually Heather asked us to come with her to do one more hour of cleaning. So we did just that.

I was already sore and tired but I didn't mind the mopping. So I worked on that while we kept moving things and wiping them down. Sarah and Heather got to a break point and went outside to discuss a trail ride Sarah might be working , and I kept mopping.

I would finish the room so I decided to quickly get the stairs. And it was great. Until I got to the very top and turned around and immediately fell down the stairs. I fell down about 8 steps and landed on the landing. And I was shocked.

I had landed hard on my lower back on the left hand side. Thankfully not landing fully on either wrist, or hitting my head. I did break the top off of the mop handle, and I was a little dazed, but I was okay.

I laid there for a minute deciding what to do. I texted Sarah but before she read it I muscled my way up.

I went outside and told them I fell and they were shocked and sorry they weren't there to help. But I was okay and laughing about it. Even if I was a little shaken.

We chatted outside about other times we have fallen, and eventually I decided that was me calling it a day.

I walked back to the office, checked in with Elizabeth and Alexi. Told them I fell but was okay, just sore. And said goodbye until the open house on Sunday.

I left and decided I had to eat something. And I landed on chipolte.

This chipolte has a terrible entrance and parking lot and I had to circle the block to figure it out. But I got it and got my food and half half. It made me feel slightly better but my cheeks were really flush and I was feeling weird.

I would leave there and went to the goodwill down the street. Where I had a couple good finds, though people were blocking the entire aisle basically everywhere and I kept getting trapped. But I still had fun and not only had great finds, I have a $9 off reward. So I also got a great deal.

I went home after that. And would message James to ask them to meet me outside to bring j. The stuff in the car. And they did and I appreciated them so much.

Thankfully I did not get stuck in the crazy traffic (and 10 police cars) going the other direction. Thankfully everyone wasn't blocking the traffic light.

I got home and James got eveything inside. I parked and they met me at the car and we walked to the house together.

Where I felt slightly overwhelmed by everything I wanted to accomplish. But I was able to chill when I saw my birthday countdown stickers are finally here. I'm thrilled, they look so good.

After photographing my stickers, I would work on putting stuff away and trying to clean up a little.

James would have a call with their friend Brooks. And I would vacuum my tanks and discover the ones lights are burning out? I'm not sure how to replace that so I might have to look into getting a replacement lid. Well have to see what I come up with.

Me and James would chill after the cleaning was done. And James would play video games and I would rest and watch them. And eventually I went to take a bath. Which made me feel a lot better and more myself.

After I got out of the tub I reminded James they said they would make us cake.

And they jumped right into that. James made me a chocolate cake and it was really good. We waited for it to be done cooking, on the couch. And we were just making eachother laugh so much and just having the best night. I felt so happy.

And I still do. Even if I had to much cake. I am really tired now though and very much ready to sleep.

And I have to be well rested because my parents are coming tomorrow!!! I get to show them my house!!! This is so cool. I am really happy and excited.

And now I am ready for real. I hope you all sleep great tonight, and have a beautiful day tomorrow. I love you all. Goodnight!

[bunnymajo]

I love Ghibli movies like everyone else, but part of me gets sad when it outshines the source material to the point that the original gets no coverage and even gets harder to search for because search engines assume you're looking for the movie.

Up on Poppy Hill for example. Very down to Earth, very muted color pallet

What if I told you it was based on a 1979 shoujo manga and looked like this

Or the "My Neighbors the Yamadas" film. Very good. Very fun. It's based on a 4-koma manga that became "Nono-chan" and it even has it's own TV anime that's completely separate from the film but no one ever talks about it (at least not in the U.S.)

Or that Kiki's Delivery Service is based on a novel series. The movie only covers the 1st book. Out of a NINE book series. What happens in the other books?? Where are they??

[digitalstickzac]

Personal thoughts on: Fallout New Vegas DLC 1/4 - Dead Money

I have started a new FNV playthrough and am going to 100% everything, which included replaying the DLC. Now that I've finished it, I can take my time on a repeat playthrough and thoroughly explore the new areas. I will add onto these reviews after playing through them. Now for Part 1 - Dead Money. (Spoilers below the cut)

QUICK SYNOPSIS

Courier 6 receives a radio broadcast inviting them to the Sierra Madre's grand opening - a paradise away from the clutches of the old world and safe from Nuclear Warfare, a place to let go and begin again. Rather than get a paradise the Courier will be in a fight for their lives as they are forced to survive the horrors that await them.

OVERALL PRESENTATION

DM has my second favorite design out of all the DLCs. The Art Deco is a beautiful contrast to the Futurism Design of the Mojave, combined with heavy red colour pallet. Despite being abandoned and left to the elements the Sierra still looks amazing.

GAMEPLAY

I do like how the game forces you into a fight-for-your life for the entirety of the DLC's runtime. No fast travel, no waiting or resting, you need to move fast and react faster. I enjoy having to scavenge and look around for supplies as every bit helps and going into the DLC with a Level 30 Courier opposed to Level 25 and putting skills into MELEE and SURVIVAL made my run more enjoyable this time. The Exploding Collar and Ghost People were a nice addition at first but quickly got annoying, especially when you have to manage both at the same time.

STORY

DM tells a beautifully tragic tale of the inhabitants - past and present - that reside in the Sierra Madre. Sinclair wanting to build a safe sanctuary for the love of his life Vera Keyes but instead created a tomb that would be his and hers demise. Near the end where you hear Vera plead to escape from the Sierra and beg for forgiveness, Sinclair's message to Domino and the ending you can get if you read the message hits hard and well.

Father Elijah is a well written villain and at times can be chilling with how spiteful and angry his tone, wording and delivery can be. The Courier is expendable and is treated as such, we are not the first and could potentially not be the last victim that came to this death trap.

Christine having gone through a constant nightmare of getting his vocal cords torn out and replaced over and over and still having the courage to want to finish the job and kill the man who had destroyed her life. Getting her voice back and working together to open the Vault is beautiful.

Dean Domino... I'll be honest I don't care much for him. He is well written and has a few good lines but I am indifferent.

God / Dog's journey from two enemies who hate each other to coming to a middle ground and becoming one is a feels great journey that I still enjoy doing.

FINAL NOTES

I initially dreaded replaying this DLC because of the weapons / equipment removal, the Collar and the toxic cloud but after getting over that initial hump I still love coming back to the Sierra and reexpericing it all over again. Also I killed Elijah with the Holorifle he gives you at the start of the DLC, giving him another example of a bad choice he has made.