#Plastering services in York

[lifestyleblogeruk]

The Importance of Professional Plasterboard Installation in York

If you're planning a renovation or construction project in York, the choice of plasterboard installation is a crucial decision that can significantly impact the quality, durability, and aesthetics of your interiors. In this blog, we'll explore the significance of opting for professional Plaster Board Installers in York and discuss how they can help you achieve the best results for your project. We'll also touch on related services such as Plastering Services in York, Rendering Services in York, and Skimming Services in York to give you a comprehensive view of the importance of skilled tradespeople in the field.

The Foundation of Your Interior

Plasterboard is the canvas upon which your interior design masterpiece is painted. Whether you're planning a residential renovation, a commercial construction project, or simply enhancing a room, the quality of plasterboard installation plays a pivotal role in the final outcome. Professional plasterboard installers in York understand the nuances of this material and how it forms the foundation for your walls and ceilings. Their expertise ensures that the base is solid and smooth, creating a flawless canvas for your interior design vision.

Quality Matters

One of the primary reasons for opting for professional plasterboard installers in York is the assurance of quality. They have the knowledge and experience to choose the right type of plasterboard for your specific needs. Different areas of your project might require different types of plasterboard – moisture-resistant for bathrooms and kitchens, soundproof for bedrooms, or fire-resistant for certain commercial spaces. Using the wrong type can lead to issues down the line. Professionals will also install the plasterboard with precision, minimizing the risk of cracks, warping, or other defects.

Efficiency and Time-Saving

Professional plasterboard installers in York understand the value of your time and can efficiently complete the installation. This is particularly important for those who are renovating their homes or businesses and need to minimize disruptions. DIY plasterboard installation can be time-consuming and, without the right skills, can lead to delays and frustrations. Leave it to the experts, and your project will proceed smoothly.

Aesthetic Excellence

Aesthetic considerations are paramount in any construction or renovation project. Professional plasterboard installers in York have the expertise to ensure that the surfaces are perfectly smooth and ready for paint or wallpaper. They know how to handle corners, seams, and edges with precision, resulting in a polished, seamless look. Whether you're aiming for a contemporary, traditional, or custom design, professional installation guarantees the finish you desire.

The Wider Picture

Professional plasterboard installers in York often offer related services such as Plastering Services in York, Rendering Services in York, and Skimming Services in York. These services can enhance the quality and aesthetics of your interiors even further. Whether you need a decorative finish, a protective rendering, or a smooth skim coat, professionals have the skills to ensure that every aspect of your project is executed flawlessly.

In conclusion, when considering Plaster Board Installers in York, it's clear that their expertise and experience are invaluable in achieving the best results for your project. Quality, efficiency, and aesthetics are all benefits that professionals bring to the table, ensuring that your interiors are not just functional but also visually stunning. So, don't compromise on the foundation of your interiors – choose professionals who understand the art and science of plasterboard installation.

[xuchiya]

j.yunho {espresso for two?}

cafe love m.list || k.hongjoong || p.seonghwa || j.yunho || k.yeosang || c.san || s.mingi || j.wooyoung || c.jongho

I change the location from New York to Japan. hehehe

Jeong Yunho.

Just the name sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing over you. Two weeks. Two measly weeks since he'd so casually declared, "We need some space," his voice as smooth and forgettable as the lukewarm latte he always ordered.

Space? What for?

It wasn't supposed to end this way. You and Yunho have been together for three years, a whirlwind romance that blossomed during your college days. He is your everything: the man who is charming, funny, with a smile that could melt glaciers. Spent hours lost in conversation, future plans whispered over steaming mugs of chamomile tea at your apartment after a long day of class or even workloads, the very one you now toiled in, perpetually surrounded by the bittersweet aroma of love and heartbreak.

The cracks started appearing subtly. Late-night texts unanswered, cancelled dates for "work emergencies," a growing distance that chilled you to the bone. You tried, you did— clinging to the remnants of what you both had, showering him with affection that felt increasingly one-sided. Then came the bombshell – a text, impersonal and cold, informing you of his "need for space."

Your world had tilted on its axis. The vibrant cafe, once a haven of shared laughter and stolen glances, now felt suffocating. Your co-workers, bless their oblivious souls, tried their best. Your senior head took notice of your distant and pale face–offering you to take a quick break which you deny saying that you just haven’t retouched yet after the morning rush, Wooyoung the ever-optimistic barista, bombarded you with motivational quotes. And Seonghwa, the stoic manager, offered gruff words of support (his way of showing he cared). But nothing could mend the gaping hole in your chest.

A particularly demanding customer snapped you out of your reverie. Her shrill voice, laced with entitlement, taking a deep breath, you plastered on a customer service smile, channelling your internal turmoil into forced cheer. Maybe, just maybe, a day spent slinging coffee and feigning happiness would numb the ache a little.

But as you steamed milk softly, the bell above the cafe door chimed, a jarring note in the morning lull. Your gaze flicked up, drawn by a sudden prickle of unease. There, by the counter, stood Jeong Yunho. His usual carefree demeanour was replaced by a shadowed weariness. Your breath hitched, a thousand unspoken words churning in your stomach.

He hadn't changed much. The same tousled hair, the same charming smile – a smile that now felt like a stranger's. He scanned the menu, a flicker of surprise crossing his features when your eyes met. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"I—," he finally said, his voice strained. "Hi …"

Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A million questions bubbled up, but professionalism reigned supreme. You plastered on a neutral smile, "Did you find anything you like, sir?" You managed, your voice surprisingly steady. Adam's apple bob before a small slick smirk creeps on the corner of his lips, “Yeah … you.”You rose an eyebrow, finally showing your emotions that went from ‘Fuck! my ex is here!’ to ‘Let me punch him, the audacity!’. He saw your reaction, his eyes darted on the menu before crawling his throat, “J-Just espresso ..” “Take out or dine in?” “Dine .. in”

You look down to punch his order, “Do you want to add anything, sir?” He shakes his head but his lips move again, stuttering, “M-Make it two .. please.”

You breathe sharply before giving him the receipt after he pays for the two espresso, telling him to sit for a while. He nodded before mumbling a ‘thank you’. As you pulled the shot, stolen glances confirmed the changes you sensed. Dark circles marred Yunho's eyes, etching lines of fatigue onto his previously youthful face. The weight of the world seemed to press down on his broad shoulders. A pang of sympathy warred with the anger still simmering within you.Just why? Where did it all go wrong?

When your barista announces Yunho’s name, you watch in the corner of your eye as he places himself on the window side of the cafe with the two espresso in his hand. As you punch the order of the customer in front of you, a tap on the shoulder interrupts your work, you look over to see Seonghwa with an anticipated look over his usual stoic look, “Yes manager-nim?”He breathes sharply, eyes flicking towards somewhere before looking back at you, “You can take a break … someone needs to see you and let them explain themself.”

You immediately knew who he was talking about. You know Yunho never goes unprepared and certainly, he comes with a fixed mindset.

You sigh, removing your apron as Seonghwa rubs your back soothingly before he places the apron on him to take care of your position. You look at the side to see your senior head, giving you an encouraging smile along with the others cheering on you. You felt grateful as they have been supportive of your relationship with Yunho for a short while of announcing about your boyfriend with minimal information about him yet they never ask you questions about it until you do so.You approached his table, sat down opposite of him. He had an awkward look on his face, “Yunho please get to the point, rush hour will be an hour—”

“I’m sorry.” Those simple words were so easy to say yet the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. The air hung heavy with unspoken words. Yunho's apology, though sincere, seemed like the tip of a much larger iceberg. The man across the table fidgeted, hesitant to dismiss an apology so abruptly. The tension crackled between them, amplified by the approaching rush hour Yunho himself had mentioned.

"My excuse won’t do justice to the pain you went through and my sorry can not heal all those pain .The pain you feel is a constant reminder of my failings. I have doubted myself so much that I have neglected you and become selfish for my own emotions and at the end, I have regret all of those things, I have regret ever hurting you, rejecting your small offerings or even your love— I am sorry.” Yunho spoke with sincerity in every word he said, his hands were clinging on the cup of his espresso—controlling himself to not take your hands—while his eyes were glued to you the whole time.

You were slightly taken back, his words were piercing through your head. Your heart soars to the extent that, maybe just maybe, he did regret what he had done. You have known Yunho for as long as you both were before in the stage of dating, you have seen him grow to be a man and you have seen how he came to learn from who he was and what he is today.

Yet there goes the mind from letting you decide from your emotions. Your thoughts run through the painful days you have cried, doubted or even questioned your worth— you were also afraid to go on your days without thinking of your looks that had you wearing a mask to cover yourself— you were a complete and shattered person inside your apartment. The battle between your head and your heart, it is hard to listen.

Yunho, being the observant he is, took notice of your shaking eyes and contemplated heart. He knows what’s going through your head, every thought and he cannot blame you. Even he would be in a complicated mess if your ex suddenly came into your life after months of disappearing after a text so shitty.

“You do not have to talk or anything, I just came by to explain and maybe … have a closure before I go.” Your eyes that were fixed on the table slowly, trails towards his glassy eyes.

“Cl-Closure? Yunho what–” Why does he need closure? You were confused, your heart was expecting something more from what he had mentioned even though your mind had concluded that he will ask for a second chance but this? A closure? That is something you weren least expecting!

Yunho’s head nodded, a small smile on his lips, “Yeah– I have .. thought about it that you deserve an apology… “ He looks around the small cafe, eyes twinkling in admiration before his eyes settle back to you. The softness never left and it made your heart hurt, “I may have not talked to you for weeks but I have come across you a few times and I have seen you grow day by day. You slowly regain back that smile, your contagious laugh and your glow. You deserve so much more than the pain I cause you.” Both of your eyes were turning glossy, his nose was clogging making his voice slightly muffled yet no tears were evident.

Finally, he lets go of the cup and reaches for your hand which you let him hold on to. He squeezes them like he used to, “And you deserve those, you deserve a better chapter … without me.”

There, the water in your eyes had finally streamed down your cheeks when he gave you the smile that you have adored. A smile that reassures you that things will be okay, eventually. You’re gonna be okay and that he will be there to support you.

“Yu-Yunho …” Yunho shakes his head, giving your hand a final squeeze before letting them go. You jerk slightly, wanting to hold him again, “I’m off to Japan with my mom. Seoul will always hold a piece of my heart, but Japan has pushed me in ways I never imagined. I've grown here, found a strength and independence I never knew I had. As much as it pains me, returning feels like something I have wanted. Our paths have diverged, and forcing them together wouldn't be fair to either of us.”

Yunho reaches over, wiping a stray tear, you shamelessly lean into his touch. Yunho’s breath hitches, itching to hold you back in his arms but he has to do it, he has made up his mind that things have reason to happen, “Maybe someday, our paths will realign. Until then, I'll cherish the memories we made.” He stood up, giving you the other cup of espresso while the other tight in his hand.

He looks at you one last time before leaving the cafe. As the door chime hits close, your body shakes as silent sobs echo the, now deserted cafe. The tears blinded yet love never does it, it wounded you to make you wake up in reality that things were over and the questions of him leaving you were answered.

You look at the cup of espresso in front of you, and more tears fall on your cheeks as you read the letters, ‘Espresso for two?’ the inscription seemed to scream, each word a fresh tear on your heart.

You traced the lettering with a trembling finger, the memory flooding back. It was his idea, a silly spur-of-the-moment purchase during a weekend, he had to pull you out from your shift and drag you out to have the rest of the day with him. You'd laughed, teasing him about his overenthusiasm for a simple coffee cup. "What if you never have someone to share it with?" you'd joke, never truly believing it.

He'd squeezed your hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then it'll be a reminder of me sharing this espresso with you so i could espresso my love for you," he'd promised, his voice laced with a confidence you envied now. You laugh at his joke, making him chuckle as your enthusiastic laugh echoes down the street.

A sob escaped your lips, the sound harsh in the sudden silence of the cafe— despite your co-workers glancing at you once in a while to check up on you. The espresso remained untouched, a cold, bitter echo of a love that had turned as quickly as burnt milk. But even through the fog of grief, a flicker of defiance sparked. Wiping your tears, you straightened your spine. Maybe it wasn't meant for two today, but that didn't mean it couldn't be filled someday.

You finish the cup in a go, eyebrow furrowed. You have made up your mind a little to late, but there are things were meant on a perfect time.

You look outside by the cafe windows, "I'll share the espresso with you again."

part 2? another ending? idk 😭😅

[dontsh0vethesun]

christmas lights and tension

part two of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

fluff, friendship, an attempt at humour, cringe of course, tension and bickering, meddling gyals, feelings good and bad, found family

wc: 2.9k | part one | part three

The night prior played on in your head the entire journey to work. You thought about the pathetic way she could still make your heart beat with just a look of her eyes into yours and how, even after all this time, a brief closeness still made the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. As though, they too, just wanted her nearer. 

It was aggravating, the way you wanted her within your periphery despite the hate you’d accumulated with regards to the redhead in her time away. Since she left with little goodbye. 

The festive ornaments Wanda had decorated the cafe door with dared to annoy you when you let the door shut heavily behind you and each motion you went through was carried out with more force than necessary. You loathe how easily Natasha had gotten beneath your skin. With just one evening leaving you in such a way, you dare to think what else was in store. The mere fact only sets your plan in stone - you have to avoid her as much as possible. She’ll be gone in a week, it’ll be a simple task to execute. 

–

When Sam and Wanda arrived they only had to share a glance, darting their eyes towards where you huffed and puffed at each menial job you carried out. The annoyance bounced off you and they knew better than to drag you into a conversation. 

They let you stew in your Romanoff-stained head, plastering on your best customer service grins before retreating to make their orders with an obvious and venomous taste left on your tongue. 

Pietro, however, was the allegorical spanner in the works. The blonde hurried into the building when he knew you’d reached the afternoon lull, an expectant smile on his face for the gossip he was waiting to hear from your lips. Wanda had warned him, and she did so again with a muttered scolding beneath her breath. She’d told him all about it last night - of course. But he wanted your side of the ongoing feud (that had been significantly lacking ignition for longer than he’d prefer).

Despite what his sister may say, he will not deprive himself of hearing your angry retelling. 

“So,” he began with a playful lilt to his vaguely accented voice. “Anything interesting happen last night?”

He merely laughed at the glare you shot his way, a trait you’d grown to despise after all of these years. 

“I told you not to say anything,” Wanda sighed, slapping his hand away from the cookie he tried to help himself to. “She’s angry,” she finished with a stage whisper and a nowhere-near-subtle gesture to where you stood beside her, 

“I’m not angry,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes that proved just the opposite. 

“So you definitely didn’t almost break my favourite mug, huh?” Sam laughed, still milking the emotional wound of the morning. It wasn’t broken, which you had assured him multiple times, but the near fatality was enough for him to hold against you for the foreseeable. 

“It’s an ugly mug, Sam,” you mumbled, letting a huff of a laugh break through your tough exterior at his overly dramatic gasp. 

“Only an angry person would say such a hurtful thing,” he frowned. 

“I’m not angry. I’m totally over it. One hundred percent, completely, over it.”

You couldn’t even convince yourself, let alone the lifelong friends who stared back at you incredulously. You could just about kick yourself with the effect she somehow has on you. You could practically suffocate in it. 

“Right,” Pietro nodded, seemingly agreeing with the others to feign the slightest belief in your statement. “So last night was good?”

“It was great,” you nodded, possibly giving yourself whiplash with the intensity. “Right, Wanda?”

“Yes. Definitely,” she agreed. “Very, um, tension-free and comfortable.”

“Yeah. It’s not as though somebody I haven’t spoken to for years was just staring at me all night,” you grumbled. 

“Someone you’re totally over.”

“Exactly. Someone who has no hold on me at all. In fact, I actually forgot about the time she blocked my number, moved away and just never talked to me again.” 

“So the annual Christmas Eve party at the Romanoff’s is still good to go?” Sam chimed in. 

“Oh - I actually have plans that day,” you stumbled out - completely blanking on the tradition you’ve all kept up since high school.

It was an unconventional family you’d all found yourselves a home within; what began as a friendship group sitting together at lunch turned into gatherings during the holidays. Melina and Alexei had become parental figures for a few of you; large gatherings were held for all holidays celebrated within the social circle you’d accumulated, and the time you’d all spend together only grew you ever closer. 

When you were younger, the ‘adults’ would be forced into the kitchen whilst you had your own teenage gatherings in the living room. Yelena would sneak a bottle of vodka from her parent’s cupboard, Kate would supply pizza, and Kamala would always amuse you with the comic stories she’d write herself into. Maria had often fondly commented on her wish for you to just ‘go to a party and get the cops called on you for underage drinking’, but you were all happy with Monica bringing her telescope - her prized possession - to show you the stars. You’d all rather critique Sam’s baking endeavours and tease Carol about her weekly changing crushes on various cheerleaders. Watching Kate clumsily lose her balance in an attempt at a race against Pietro was your preferred way to spend a Friday night. 

You and Wanda would giggle at your friends, at the way Kamala would have to be practically carried home by her parents. She’d feign tipsiness and you’d all pretend you didn’t know it was just from all the Pepsi she’d drink. And then you’d gossip. Your favourite pastime for all these years, it was the pair of you against the world. She’d try to convince you of the obvious crush Natasha harboured for you, analysing each and every time she’d looked your way to see if you’d laughed at one of her jokes. Telling you of the eyes that constantly tried to find yours across a room as though she noted down each interaction - knowing her, she probably did. 

She’d told you for years that your feelings were mutual and just as you let yourself believe her, the girl that held your heart in the palm of her hand just took it with her to college. And then to New York. And now that she was here, you swear you could see it peeking out of her jean pocket. 

“Melina’s apple pie is literally your favourite,” Wanda spoke with a poke of her elbow into your side, knowing your stubbornness could easily subside if she had anything to do about it. 

“Just bring me a slice,” you grumbled. 

“No. You’re coming,” she returned with a shake of her head that never failed to put you in your place. “Besides, you’re over the Romanoff phenomena, right?”

“Right.”

And just as though the universe is desperate to see you in a fugue of embarrassment the bell above the coffee shop door sounded, and the hinges you always mean to tend to creaked, as the subject of your aching resentment sauntered in. You caught a brief glance of the soft smile that pulled at her lips as she looked around before you ducked out of view, hitting Wanda’s leg when she looked down at you with a laugh. 

“You’ve got a nice place here,” she spoke. You hate how much you still adore the rasp of her voice. 

“Yeah,” Wanda answered, you saw her nod from where you sat. And hid; your cowardice seemingly ever present only when it comes to her.  “We opened it a couple years ago.”

“She always said you’d open a shop here. I knew she’d do it.” You could hear the smile in her words and though Wanda is always on your team she couldn’t miss the fondness in Natasha’s eyes. The same glint from before; she made a mental note to tell you later. She does love romance after all, even if one half of the beloved couple is on her naughty list. She couldn’t completely let go of her matchmaking fantasies, even if she had to work with a friends-to enemies-to lovers debacle. 

You rest your chin on your tucked-up knees as you remember the day she’d walked with you through town, sharing a cup of ice cream whilst you spoke about your dreams for the future. You’d pointed at an empty space with a ‘for rent’ sign plastered to the window and claimed it would be yours, that you’d let Wanda decorate and give Natasha free coffees. She’d laughed and told you she’d write her books in the back corner and name a character after you. 

Neither of you mentioned the key elements of your desired futures. The presence of one another, sharing kisses and tender embraces. 

“My mom sent me,” you heard her say. “Something about cookies to have while we decorate? Apparently you come over to help?”

“You’d know that if you ever came back, Nat.” Wanda hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, she almost felt bad at the way the redhead nervously cleared her throat at the unspoken accusation but she couldn’t just forget the way she’d treated you. It was impossible to forget the way you only let her see you cry. 

“Yeah, I know,” she breathed. “It’s busy in New York, y’know? Deadlines and meetings,” she added, trailing off when she realised her excuses weren’t even good enough for herself. “I was hoping I’d bump into her actually, is she not here?”

“No, sorry,” Wanda lied seamlessly. “She had to go and chase up a delivery.”

“I guess I’ll see her tonight?”

“I’ll see if she can make it.”

–

She didn’t ‘see if you could make it’ at all. Each protest you made was debunked by persuasive words and puppy dog eyes she knew you couldn’t resist. You let any attempt she made of Natasha being a ‘changed woman’ glide right off of you, Wanda Maximoff’s belief in true love be damned. 

So, you were forced into attending the annual get-together where Melina sugarcoated her forced labour with promises of eggnog. She only enlists you to help because she knows Alexei and Yelena are less use than a chocolate teapot when it comes to festive decorations. 

You muttered beneath your breath as you dawdled your way to the front door, arms full with the box of cookies as requested (Sam’s own recipe), hoping to savour as much time as possible before you were thrust into close proximity with the woman you’d made it your mission to avoid. Wanda was orchestrating this on purpose, you’re sure. 

Before you’d even had time to fish the key out of your jacket’s pocket, the face you hoped not to see was smiling at you with the door opened wide enough to let you in. You didn’t let yourself pay attention to the familiar scent of the perfume she still seems to wear. 

“Hi, you made it,” Natasha smiled, taking the box from your hands, feeling the same pull as you when her fingers brushed against yours. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t let Yelena go without her cookies, could I?” you smirked, laughing when the aforementioned woman hurried over to take them from her sister. 

“Kate Bishop, I have acquired the goods,” she shouted through a mouthful of crumbs that you knew must’ve left a trail behind her on the carpet. 

“Wanda wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Melina promised eggnog, of course I’m here,” you smiled, directing it towards the woman who approached you with a glass and a grin. She couldn’t help the twinge of hurt that washed through her at your obvious coolness towards her, how you hardly looked at her, though she couldn’t blame you for it. 

You were soon roped into hanging stockings along the fireplace with yours and the Maximoff’s still given a place. In hindsight, you wish less of your energy was focused on being on the opposite side of the room to Natasha and more on the sly whisperings between the women in the corner. 

It wouldn’t have been as much of a surprise when the two of you were given the task of fixing stringed lights on the porch. You could’ve wrestled Wanda to the ground at the way she laughed behind her hand at each subtle way you attempted to push the job into somebody else's lap. But their minds were made up and four pairs of eyes glinted with mischievous amusement when you begrudgingly made your way out into the cold Ohio evening. 

The yellowed light that filtered onto you both from within the house made her skin glow, her milky complexion just like cream. The kind that’d entice the swipe of your tongue across your bottom lip, wanting just a taste, but wanting to steer clear of its addictive elixir even more. You didn’t let her catch sight of your eyes tracing the side of her face whilst she attempted to unbind the tangled mess of lights bundled in her hold; mapping the contours of her jaw and the sharp turn it took as it dipped down to her exposed neck. You still knew each sporadic freckle and you chased a glimpse of each one before you darted your eyes elsewhere. 

It was confusing. How all those antipathetic emotions she stirred up within you, adding to the mixture with each passing year of being out of your life, were somehow joined by those old feelings flooding back. It all washed over you in a blearily muddled wave, filling each space it could find, bubbling and boiling, spitting out in ways that made you flinch. 

How could one woman cause you such upheaval? 

“Here,” she muttered, holding out the stringed lights that seemed to be in even worse condition than they had started with a scrunched up face of surrender. “I give up.”

You took them from her wordlessly, still hoping you could get this over with as quickly as possible. 

“Things like this take time, Natasha,” you spoke. Your voice was quiet and directed downwards with your chin against your chest as you picked apart the mess she’d handed you. “You can’t just expect it to unravel all perfectly just because you want it to.”

“Why do I feel like that has a double meaning?”

You only shrugged in response, weaving the wires with care so not to damage them further, getting there slowly but surely. 

“And here I was, hoping you’d talk to me tonight,” she murmured, scuffing her foot against the worn down wooden decking beneath her boot clad feet. 

“I don’t have much to say.”

“Alright.”

“Things don’t always happen the way you want them to, that’s all,” you breathed. “You can’t just come here and have it all fall in your lap all perfectly neat. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“Right, so this definitely isn’t about the lights,” she laughed. It was humourless and the second you dared to spare in her direction showed you the grimace that washed over her lips for just a moment before it faded again. 

“I don’t find any of this funny, Natasha. It’s a lot,” you sighed. “You being here after all of this time - after all that time I was just forgotten by you. You must be really dense if you’d expect me to just welcome you back with open arms.”

“I didn’t forget you,” she returned, brows furrowing at the way you truly believed that. “I could never just forget you.” 

“Then why’d you leave me behind?”

Any words that lay across the length of her tongue wouldn’t garner the courage to venture past her lips. Her mouth opened and closed. Opened and closed again. Words were never easy when it came to you. 

“I’m done,” you stated, doing all you could to push down the sting at her lack of reassurance. You felt foolish that, just for a moment,you’d thought that something heartfelt and profound would ease the ache. Sweet words spoken in her velvet-soft voice, saccharine enough to fix it all. You held out the neat and tangle-free length of string lights for clarification and she cleared her throat as she pulled her hands out of the front pockets of her jeans to take them from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The woman didn’t shy away from letting her sights linger on your body when she held the ladder still for you to climb. Still, she kept her hands away as much as she wanted to feel the solidity of you beneath them, only instructing you with words. 

“Move them a little to the left, maybe?”

“I know how to hang lights, Natasha,” you grumbled, straining the muscles of your arms to reach above you. 

“I’m sure you do but they’re uneven,” she bit back. 

“Whatever you say.” You rolled your eyes out of her sight whilst she snuck a peek at the exposed skin of your back where your shirt lifted. 

“Alright, now just hook them over the corner and we’re done,” she added, smirking at the dramatised groan you answered her with despite the tension in her jaw at the thick atmosphere between you. 

“If I’d known you’d back seat decorate, I would’ve got you to do it all,” you scoffed when you could finally make your way down from the stepladder. 

Neither of you acknowledged the hand she lay on your back, fingertips ghosting your cool skin with warmth that bit past the winter cold. Neither of you said anything about the way it stayed there. And you definitely didn’t admit to yourself that it left you willing its return when it drew away. 

Wanda was going to have a field day with this.

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-fi prompt from Becky:

I actually would love to hear where ticket/concession/merch money for concerts go. If someone has already asked about that, can you do something similar for a sports game of your choice?

Already got a request for concerts, but I can do the sports game!

So, let's go with... baseball. I've been to professional baseball games ('twas the Ducks), even if it's been a Very Long Time, so that's the one I have some perspective on. Who is in control of the money any given game (as in, who owns the stadium and the home team) varies by place and sport, so let's use the Mets and Citi Field as our example when we need a specific.

Mostly, this is because I'm in New York and so it's down to either them or the Yankees, and between the two... the Mets, through a wholly owned subsidiary, Queens Ballpark Company, are the ones that actually own their ballpark, which makes a few things easier and includes a Fun Fact about the naming. It also means that I can treat the team and the stadium as one singular entity instead of waffling over who gets to be the Main Character of this simulation. It's not exactly uncommon for teams to own their own stadiums, but it's not most of them.

(The Mets, btw, are owned in large part by a hedge fund manager. Like, 95% of the team stock is owned by this one guy. Why can't more sports be like the Packers and just belong to the city.)

In this case, I will be referring to the Forbes article on Citi Field's revenue for 2022 as a guide or framework, as they have an actual image of the financial report; they don't do much explaining of the actual data, though, so my part will be explaining the less-obvious things and doing some maths. A few other articles will also be cited as they come in useful.

I'll also note that the Mets are a very expensive team operating at a loss, but they still work for our purposes.

MONEY COMING IN:

Tickets, most obviously

To quote the wiki article on Major League Baseball:

"MLB is the second-wealthiest professional sport league by revenue after the National Football League (NFL). [...] MLB has the highest total season attendance of any sports league in the world; in 2018, it drew more than 69.6 million spectators."

I didn't know that until I started researching for this post, but it makes sense. After all, baseball is "the American pastime." The Forbes article cites average attendance of 33,000 per home game. The stadium seat about 41,900, so we're looking at roughly 79% attendance. This is fine, because attendance is not the only stream of revenue.

Advertising

If you have seen a professional sports game in the past however many years, you have seen that, depending on the type of court, they are plastered in advertising. Let's take a look at Citi Field:

(Image Source: MLB website)

The Forbes article states that the stadium makes about $48.5 million per year from advertising. About $28.5 million of that comes from the various 'temporary' and long-term ads, the Nikon and Geico and Toyota and Coca Cola, etc.

$20 million of it comes from one company. I'm going to quote Wikipedia again:

The naming rights were purchased by Citigroup, a New York financial services company, for $20 million annually.

This is not uncommon! ESPN has an article about it, and some standout examples are Bank of America Stadium, Coors Field, Delta Center, FedEx Field and FedEx Forum, General Motors Place, Gillette Stadium, Heinz Field, and the list just goes on. I'm not even sure if the list is up to date, because I'm seeing even more articles elsewhere with higher figures.

Concessions

The financial report that Forbes cites has $22mill in concessions. This is not entirely surprising. Going by this page, we're looking at... 84 home games in that 2022 season. Let's assume that 33,000 average cited earlier. That's 2,772,000 attendees over the course of the season. So, what, a little under $10 per attendance tick? Entirely plausible. A hot dog plus a soda is $15, so... that tracks.

Parking

Apparently parking is, collectively, about $13mill annually. That's... genuinely a little concerning to me, for uh. Reasons. Also parking is $40.

(A lot of people go to games via train, if anyone's interested.)

Luxury Suite Premiums

I had to google this one, but uh. Turns out those fancy private box seats are even fancier and more private than I thought, bringing in over $10 mill a year.

Other Revenue - Stadium, undefined

"Other Revenue" and "post season revenue" are not given any further information, but they're about $16.5 mill so. They're definitely doing their part? Wish we had more information.

One guess is that there are events in the vein of the Citi Field Spring Carnival that contribute to the revenue through either fees to the stadium (if this is a carnival that rents the parking lot) or concessions and tickets (if the stadium rents a carnival).

Other Revenue - to the team that is not direct operating income of the stadium itself

Not counting the "other revenue" section of the financial statement, the Forbes article tells us that:

National broadcasting deals with Fox, ESPN and TBS that pay over $60 million a year to every MLB team, as well as the local cable fee the Mets get from SNY, which is over $80 million a year.

That's another $140mill in addition to the $244mill that the financial report cites.

Merchandise - not direct stadium revenue.

Get your Mets hats here! And your jerseys! And your logo bats! And your commemorative plushies! And--

MONEY GOING OUT

Operations

This one's easy: you have to pay wages to your employees, from the players themselves to the food sellers to janitorial to security to field maintenance, etc. Also, you have to pay for utilities (those billboards and floodlights aren't cheap), product to sell (frozen hot dogs), supplementary materials for products you sell (plastic cups, paper for the ticket machines, bags for garbage cans, and so on), and repairs/maintenance for the stands themselves (can't imagine they get through a season with all 41,900 seats intact).

Player salaries (and a few others, like the coach) aren't actually included in stadium revenue, but since the stadium is owned by the team, we're bundling them together for the sake of this case.

Payment in Lieu of Taxes

So this is an interesting one, and while the Forbes article does touch on it, there's a bit more detail to the story.

Citi Field was built in 2009, and the process cost $850 million. Of that, $615 was public subsidies. A lot of this was municipal bonds, which the Mets have to pay back with interest for the lifetime of the park; those municipal bond repayments are an offset, and in return for paying tens of millions in municipal bond repayments each year (the 2022 report shows about $43.5 mill), Citi Field does not have to pay property taxes.

Wikipedia only cites property taxes, but the financial report doesn't include any other taxes, so I'll assume the only other taxes they're on the hook for are sales and payroll, which aren't displayed in the financial report.

Parking

Right, so, parking as a bundle is about $7.5 mill in expenses, which means that parking alone has a marginal profit of about 42.3%, given the earlier figure of $13mill in parking revenue. I'm not finding any solid information on where that money goes, but it seems very like that New York City's taxes on land use for parking is not included in the property tax exemption we discussed above, and that most of the $7.5 mill is in that regard.

Post Season Expenses

I'll be honest, they don't define this $1.8 mill, but given what is and isn't included in the other sections, I'm going to hazard a guess that this may be about upgrades (more than maintenance) or replacement of physical billboards that are also not included as regular maintenance but require a lot of manpower to get up and set if complicated enough.

General and Administrative

This is the other possible allocation of the utilities and related payments. This is also where back of house activities like accountants, lawyer fees, payroll clerks, facilities managers, and so on are bundled in. It's about $5.5 mill.

Publicity and Promotions

This one's easy, it's just marketing that doesn't fall into General Mets Things and is rather for home games specifically.

Depreciation and Amortization

Bit trickier, but you know how a car loses value the second you drive it off the lot? That is depreciation. You paid $20,000 for a car, but two years later it's worth $16,000; on a financial report, you put that down as a $4,000 loss to depreciation. Amortization is similar, in that it lowers values of various assets in relation to time and relative value to what it was when new.

Interest Expenses

Expenses related directly to interest rates tend to get their own line separate from regular debt repayments. This isn't really relevant beyond 'loans are more expensive than when you first get them.'

Travel and League Expenses

Since this is a traveling team, being professionals, and a Major League Baseball Team in particular, money has to be spent on the plane rides, team bus, and of course, the league fees. I wanted to end that a bit more pithy, but it turns out it's not easy to find league fees for the MLB.

(A new team joining would have to pay about $2.2 billion, according to one article, while previous new additions were a couple hundred mill, so... 100 mill? Maybe?)

Hope that answers your question!

[polksaladbutler]

Could you pls write an imagine with Austin and the reader staying inside during a snowstorm? Make it super fluffy pls!

hope it’s fluffy enough sorry if it’s not hun :(

it’s cold outside [ austin butler ]

warnings: none! not proofread lol

it has been snowing non stop ever since you and austin had spent the past couple of days in new york. granted, it’s up north. it’s gonna snow, however it was excessive. it was practically up to your waist by now. there was absolutely no way you were going to go out in that weather.

your husband had just came home from filming, he wasn’t back indefinitely, he had to go back. this was his break, now he’s spending his break stuck in a penthouse with you, gazing upon the snowy city.

he hadn’t complained but you had this gut feeling that he hated it. well, not really but you’ve put some sort of thought into your head that he doesn’t want to spend time with you much longer. the penthouse was pretty big, big enough to not see each other for a day or two. instead you spent all your time together, cuddle up one another in the same rooms together.

the snow hasn’t stopped yet, it’s been snowing since last night. however, you weren’t expecting this much snow, neither was austin.

who was soundly sleep next to you, his hair messed over his face and over the pillow. his eyes shut, moving around as if he’s playing a virtual reality game. a slight smirk was plastered on his face, no telling what he was dreaming about.

you looked out the window, seeing slight flurries of snow. your penthouse window was high up, you rose off the bed— staying as quiet as you can. —to view the city from your bedroom window.

you watched the winter service vehicle as it plowed its way through the snow on the road, dumping the piles snow closer to the sidewalk. you thought the snow was so pretty, you were dying to run out in the snow and jump around in it.

“still snowin’?” austin spoke. you made a slight jump as you turned with a confused expression. “hm?” “is it still snowing?” he groaned, stretching with his hair wrapped between his fingers. “yeah. the snow service people are doing their thing so there’s that.” you smiled, turning back to the window, you stood upon your tiptoes continuing watching the people of new york struggle living their daily lives with the snow.

“it’s cold. put on some pants baby.” austin suggested as he placed his two hands up under his head. “but i really like these shorts.” you whined, waddling back to bed and rushing under the covers. “i like them too but i don’t want you to be cold.” he muttered.

you looked at austin from over the covers, picking apart his morning aura. “i like your nerve mr butler.” you said as you place both hands on his torso, feeling up his body. “—you don’t even have a shirt on!” you argued with a smile on your face. he didn’t respond, he knew his wrongfulness got the best of him.

“i guess we can both cuddle up together then. how ‘bout that?” you said moving your body closer to his and weaving your legs through his, placing your head on his chest. you listened to his heartbeat, tapping to the same pattern on his abs.

he traced the side of your body, hovering over you ever so slightly. the soft hums of the song are you lonesome tonight vibrates his chest. “babe, that tickles.” you softly laughed. “now i’ve got all the more reasons to do it.” he began tickling your sides as his other arm held you from getting away. “stop it aus- tin! get your hands off me!” you squealed.

“why should i? give me one good excuse?” he smiled. “i- i don’t know! just stop!” you continued to laugh, trying to remove his hands from you. “alright alright.” he laughed and stopped the antic. he allowed you to lay your head back on him with no repercussions. you were catching your breath as you finally got back to normal with a smile still on your face.

you felt his hand wrapped around to your waist, he began toying with the hem of your shorts. “not right now pretty boy.” you chuckled as you smacked his hand. “no?” you shook your head. “wanna just lay here?” you nodded.

“hey austin, i have a question.” you looked up into his eyes as he looked down at you. he hummed in response. “do you get tired of me? did you want to stay in cincinnati?” you were scared to ask but you’d be damned if you didn’t.

“what are you talking about pumpkin?” he laughed at your apparently weird question. “— i was counting down the days to come back home to you… i swear yn, do you think i’m gonna stop loving you one day?” he furrowed his eyebrows at you. “there’s a possibility…?” your pitch went high at the end hoping to get away from the conversation, if that did help, you buried your face into his bare body.

“nah uh, look at me.” you slowly raised your head back up, austins hand made his way up to your chin, holding your face up so you wouldn’t tempt to look back down. your eyes connected, it felt as if yours was burning from his stare. your eyes moved around his face, observing his five o’clock shadow that he hadn’t shaved since he came back home. his plump bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “hey.” he caught your attention yet again.

“don’t ever think for a second i would stop loving you. i wanna be with you till we grow old… i love you.” he emphasized. it meant a lot to you when he said it. it’s not often you get to hear it, you both think it starts to loses its meaning once you say it too much.

“love you too.”

[stephtuckerauthor]

Too much info dumping?

[Opinions wanted! This is a quick bit from the prologue]

When he’d taken those first big boy steps into the fashion industry as a stylist, he’d had so many big plans and aspirations; moving out of his abusive family home into a cute Manhattan apartment, working his way up the ranks until he was finally a designer, marrying the most handsome man in New York City, and being happy. However, everything had all gone decidedly tits up very early on.

The pay for his services was well below what he had expected for the incredible work he offered, as well as painfully slow; he also had to work under someone else which was infuriating.

When he had finally saved up enough to buy a crappy little place to live, he realised that, if he left, who would look after Carlos? Carlos was the baby of the family, despite being nearly eighteen, but Jackson was the one who cared for him, made sure he was fed; hell, he’d basically raised the kid! Jackson had made the tough decision to stay put until Carlos was old enough to move with him, and he had the money for a suitable apartment, no matter what it would cost him physically or mentally.

On the dating front, he didn’t even want to bother; every man he met on Grindr turned out to be an asshole. They were either only after sex, or disappointed with Jackson’s obvious androgyny; it wasn’t something he made secret, his Instagram was plastered in photos of him in all his gothic glory. There was only one man in New York Jackson would even consider marrying and like that was ever going to happen.

[unfriendlyamazon]

wip wednesday for real (heist au)

so @alectoperdita got me watching leverage for the vibes and i will say it has motivated my writing of the heist au. still in the early stages, but i've knocked out more words in the past 24 hours than i have since i first came up with the idea. i've posted a little bit before, but i cleaned it up, changed some things, and figured out what i needed to. still excited to be writing when it felt like a month of being clogged, so i'm going to share it.

and if you want to listen to the heist au soundtrack i do have a spotify playlist for funsies

The flight from Tokyo to New York was a beast, but Yugi didn’t mind. He curled up in his first class seat, headphones on as he tapped away at his computer. The lights were dimmed for the late crossover, and the business man that sat across from him was slumped over in his sleep, two vodka sours and a sleeping pill knocking him out entirely. Most of the other passengers snoozed as well, or shifted uncomfortably in hour eight of the sixteen hour excursion. There was the quiet noise from a few headphones, the soft snores of the passed out businessman, and Yugi’s fingers flying across his keyboard. A stewardess walked the rows. She brought a water to Yugi, who smiled at her gratefully.

“Oh,” she said, “you’re playing that game. My son loves it.”

Yugi dipped back his headphones to hear her better. His character stood idly on the square landscape. Creative mode boxes took up the screen, and a building was taking shape.

“It’s a hobby of mine,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “My grandpa runs a game store, so I get into all of these.”

“That’s so cute,” she said. “Are you building something? A castle?”

“Oh, no.” He moved his character back so she could get a better view of the tall gray structure. Window panes had been meticulously placed, and she couldn’t see it, but the interior included beds, a pool, and a reception desk. “It’s the Nippon International Hotel in New York. Do you know it?”

She blinked, smile turning confused. The stewardess looked again at the screen as though deciphering a puzzle. “I know of it. A lot of our passengers stay there.”

“I’ve only seen it in pictures myself.” He tapped a few buttons, pulling out steel blocks from his inventory. “I’m trying to get a good view of its layout.”

“Can I ask,” she said slowly, “why?”

He shrugged. “It’s a long flight, I don’t have much else to do.”

“And why the Nippon?”

“I’ve got some business to attend to there.”

She nodded, plastering on her best service smile, and quickly shuffled away. It’d be a while before they walked around again. At this point in the flight, the crew was taking a rest as well. Yugi finished aligning the blocks he’d been working on and glanced over at the businessman. He’d removed his jacket, and it slumped over his shoulders.

Eight more hours to go. Yugi felt the telltale twitch of boredom in his fingers. Saving his work, he stood up from his seat. As he sidled into the aisle, he kicked the plastic edge of the airplane seat and jutted forward, grabbing himself on the businessman’s shoulder. He stuttered out apologies, but it was unnecessary. The man slept through. Yugi gave an apologetic pat to the man before straightening up and heading to the bathroom.

He swung the door shut and looked at himself in the dull light that hung over a small mirror. He pressed a finger to the bags under his eyes and stuck out his tongue. He hadn’t slept much before this flight, spending the last week making preparations, and during it his mind was racing too fast to hope for any rest on the way there. Boredom was always a danger to Yugi. It kept him from building a path in high school, and dropped him out of college only a year in, and now it kept him awake at night with thoughts whirring in his head. He spent his days behind the register at his grandpa’s game shop, and in his time off, he hustled the chess players in the park, or practiced his sleight of hand. He still played with the magic show tricks he’d learned when he was young, but these days those skills went to different uses.

From his hoodie sleeve he removed the wallet he’d shifted off the man’s coat. Inside were a number of yen, a few credit cards, and a picture of his daughter, Yugi assumed. He shifted through the bills, counting out 30,000 yen. He pocketed half of it, tucked the rest back inside, and left the wallet on the counter. Someone would find it and return it later, no harm, no foul. It wasn’t really about the money anyway.

Yugi returned to his seat, admiring the build he’d done in Minecraft. It was a little weak compared to what he’d seen others do, but he had the time to spend on it. Tabbing over to another window, he opened the floorplans again and admired them.

Eight more hours to go, and all sorts of trouble to get into on the way there.

—

Joey Wheeler sighed as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. He closed out his voicemail, his landlord’s gruff voice still ringing. Rent was going up in Flatbush. When wasn’t it. Scrounging together the last few dollars he needed was getting harder each week.

He pushed it aside for now. He had other bills to pay, work to worry about, and he needed to stop by his dad’s place, just to make sure he was showering and staying sober. Serenity had texted him. He was reading her message when he jammed the key into the lock, and he paused. The door was pulled back from the frame a fraction of an inch. It stuck like that all the time. You really had to push it to make sure it closed properly. He did it every day when he left. Joey tucked his phone back into his pocket and swung his keys into his fist, shoving the door open.

His box of an apartment wouldn’t look any different for a breakin. This morning’s dishes were still in the sink, the egg and grease caked onto the plate. His shoes were kicked off next to the door in a haphazard pile. A pile of hoodies draped over the patched couch, and his books and DVDs were scattered on the coffee table, alongside week old mugs. The TV and Playstation were untouched, and his laptop, a few generations out of date but still functioning, was exactly where he’d left it this morning.

Joey let out a breath, stepping quietly through the door. Maybe his landlord had come by to see if the place was sellable. He hadn’t given his dad a key, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t drop in if he could manage it. A sound from his bedroom startled him, and he peered through the open door. Diesel Kane might be bold enough to trounce him in his own flat, or maybe it was Tetsu hitting him up again. Joey puffed up, fists curling, and he marked forward, ready to bluster and intimidate. A figure appeared there, a head shorter than he’d expected, and his hands reached for their collar, bringing up the face of--

“Yugi!” He gasped and let go. “Sorry, man, I thought--”

Yugi stumbled back, but he was smiling. “It’s my fault, Joey. I should’ve let you know I was dropping by.”

“Yeah dude.” He slid his hands through this hair, releasing the tension in them. “I didn’t even know you were in the city.”

“I flew in today,” he said. “I thought you’d be home.”

His grin was bright, round eyes warm. He looked like he did in his Instagram photos: vest pulled over his long sleeve shirt, a backpack slung over his shoulders, his usually spiked hair pulled back with the curls of his bleached bangs framing his face. Usually he was standing in front of his grandpa’s shop in Domino, or posing with cool kids in Harajuku. He must’ve just gotten off the world’s longest flight, looking exactly as cheerful as he always did.

“You shoulda told me.” Joey waved him into the living room, kicking aside the mess. “I’ve gotta shift in like three hours, but we could grab something quick. I know a great burger place--”

“Joey,” Yugi said, still smiling. “I didn’t come to visit.”

He stopped and looked at him. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got something lined up,” he said. “And I really need your help.”

Excitement jolted in his veins. “A job?”

He nodded.

“How big?” Joey asked.

Yugi grinned. “You have no idea.”

—

There was a lot to Joey and Yugi’s friendship, too much to be packed into a simple explanation. The truth was, Joey owed Yugi his life, and Yugi could never let down a friend, and the two had been inseparable for the brief time they’d both lived in Japan. Joey left when he turned eighteen, but they stayed close, and it was only a year later that Yugi called him up, saying he needed a favor.

Joey’d been staying with his dad at the time, and things were going bad. He took work where he could get it to pay the bills, and Diesel had come skulking around again, always with a carrot in his hand and a stick behind his back. Yugi had appeared, staying with another one of his friends who went to NYU. Over dinner, at some sandwich shop over in Park Slope, Yugi had asked for his help. It was important, he claimed, and he could only trust him with it. He asked him to come back to Japan with him. Joey couldn’t say no.

The first time Yugi had laid out his master plan for Joey, he hadn’t known what to make of it. They’d been in his bedroom above his grandpa’s shop, and Yugi showed him a small replica of the art gallery two blocks over, using figurines sold in little plastic bags from the game store. The security had a major flaw in it. He’d pointed it out to Joey, who nodded numbly. He listened to his whole spiel, and then Yugi sat down across from him and asked him what he thought.

The next day they’d stolen a ten thousand dollar antique vase. Joey played his muscle when he and Yugi went to the fence. They split the take even. It didn’t really hit for Joey what they’d done until he was on the flight home, and an excitement thrummed inside his chest.

That was four years ago. The jobs got bigger. The payouts were good. It wasn’t like kicking over corner stores for Diesel, or brawling against street gangs. The people they stole from were rich, the things weren’t important, and most of all he trusted Yugi. Joey would lay down his life for the guy.

So when he told him there was a job in his own backyard, Joey didn’t even have to think twice.

“Who are we meeting again?” Joey asked as he stirred the hot chocolate he’d ordered. November in New York was already feeling the chill. He hitched up his jacket as the cool breeze hit. The coffee shop sat across the street from a shiny hotel.

“Anzu’ll be here any minute.” Yugi checked his watch vintage 90s watch shaped like a Tamogatchi. “She’s probably just hung up on work.”

The whipped cream on Yugi’s caramel macchiato was almost as tall as he was. A third drink sat ready for their lunch date, a pumpkin spice latte.

“Anzu’s that girl, yeah?” Joey said. “You’ve known her a while.”

“Since the third grade.” Yugi smiled as he watched the building across the street. “She’s been my friend practically my whole life.”

“She, uh, in the business too?” he asked.

“She’s an actress,” Yugi said. “Which doesn’t exactly pay the bills, so she’s helped me out.”

Joey followed his line of sight. The front doors to the tall white building opened, and a woman stepped out, pulling a fluffy jacket over her dress. “Is she a good actress?”

“Good enough to get the job.” Yugi waved his hand widely, and the woman bustled across the street to them. She huffed as she came to the table and plopped down in the seat, swinging her bag over the back of the chair. The dress she wore was black, clean, with a pink fuzzy coat and eggshell scarf wrapped around her neck. Her auburn hair was cut short around her ears, and her wide eyes were certainly expressive.

“Who’s that?” she asked, pointing to Joey.

“Joey Wheeler, Anzu Mazaki.” Yugi spread his arms wide. “Now shake.”

Joey stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet ya.”

Anzu looked him up and down and limply took his grip, pulling away with one shake. She picked up the latte thankfully and downed it right away.

“How’s the new job treating you?” Yugi asked.

“Awful,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“To what?” Joey asked. “What’s going on?”

“Does he not know?” Anzu asked.

“I was going to do a whole dramatic reveal,” Yugi said. “Give me a chance here, I’ve been planning this for a minute.”

“Just tell me already,” Joey said. “I’m dying of suspense.”

“Okay, okay.” He pointed to the brick across the street. “You see that building? That’s Nippon International, very fancy hotel, club, and spa. Lots of wealthy Japanese people use it, and it’s most likely the location chosen to stay by any Japanese business man traveling abroad. There are club rooms, a pool, and onsen, the works. If you’re going to host an event as a Japanese executive, it’s the spot to pick.”

“And that’s where you work,” Joey said to Anzu.

She shook her head. “Nope. But I do have to get back soon.”

“Let me finish,” Yugi whined. “I swear I’ll be fast. So a while back, I saw that several important historical items were being shipped from Japan to New York. A charity auction, international style. The company putting it on has a lot of business ties to America and probably thought they could attract a wider audience here, I don’t know, I barely know how business works.”

“You run a business,” Anzu said.

He shook his head. “My grandpa does. I just run the cash register. Can I finish, please?”

They both settled silently into their seats. Yugi cleared his throat.

“Anyway,” he said. “It’s all good for us. ‘Cause about a month ago I saw that the business in question had a lot of openings in their New York office. High turnover, it seems, with a need to fill positions quick. It’s a company with a lot of sway, but I know Anzu’s worked plenty of temp jobs and was in need of some extra income. I tell her to apply, forge a few reference letters from some good looking corporations, but really I think it’s the fact that you’re born in Japan that won them over.”

“I like to think my natural charm and charisma had something to do with it,” she said with a flip of her hair.

He grinned. “I bet. So now we have a lot of really high priced items being stored in that hotel, where Anzu is now, what is it, third assistant? She knows where they’re stored, what security is like, and how to work around. Best of all, the security of the place hasn’t been updated in years. It’s a sitting duck right now. And I already have a buyer.”

“What does that mean?” Anzu asked.

“It means we’re funded,” he said. “I got contacted through some third party means to run this job. All we have to do is steal one thing, and that’s it. We’re set for life.”

“How set?” Joey asked.

“Depending on how smooth everything runs,” Yugi said. “It’s $600,000 for the job.”

“Holy shit,” Joey said.

Yugi grinned. “Each.”

“Holy shit!”

“Holy shit is right,” Anzu said. “It’s better than what I’m getting paid for this job.”

“Wait, okay.” Joey held up his hands. “So who are we stealing from?

“Big company in our home town,” Yugi said. “Kaiba Corporation.”

“Kaiba, Kaiba.” He sounded out the name. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“The company restructured a few years back,” Yugi said. “They make games now, you’ve probably played a few. So it turns out the previous owner of the company was into really shady business and they’re still going through his assets. So a few months back they announce this big charity auction with items questionably attained by the family. I’m guessing they’re trying to wipe their hands clean of the whole situation, and use the money to make themselves look good. Now, there’s a lot of valuable items in the catalog, but the one we’re going after–”

“Is this.” Anzu produced a booklet and threw it down. She folded back the page that featured ancient Egyptian statues, and on one side was a large white porcelain dragon. Valued at 3 million yen. Joey felt his jaw drop. “Part of an original set by some famous guy in some dumpy place. There’s only four of them in the entire world, and here’s your chance to own one.”

“It’s the centerpiece of the auction,” Yugi said. “Our client is paying us to retrieve it. So, here it is: the Kaiba Corporation is storing all their priceless valuable artifacts in the Nippon International’s safe until auction day, where they will be paraded out for rich people to drop oodles of money on, and then that money will be used for tax breaks that line the pockets of the wealthy. That means…”

“Victimless crime,” Joey said with a grin.

“See,” Yugi said. “He gets it.”

“Victimless might be a strong word here,” Anzu said, “but I’ll admit it’s a tempting situation.”

“Anzu’s covering our bases on the outside,” Yugi said, “and I booked a room at the Nippon also, just to stay centrally located.”

Joey snorted. “Our benefactor buy that for you?”

“If some people can’t keep track of their credit card information, that’s on them,” Yugi said. “Now we’ve got a week to pull this together. The auction happens Saturday. The Kaibas are arriving…”

“In two hours,” Anzu said, looking at her phone. “Look, I can feed you whatever information I’ve got, but they’re not giving me security codes. As far as I can tell it’s all going through the Kaibas until the day of. Staff is purely set up and maintenance, and making sure the Kaibas have enough mineral water to drink.”

“It’s in a safe too,” Joey said thoughtfully. “A big one. Neither of us are picking a lock like that. We need a guy who knows hardware.”

“I don’t have anyone like that on this side of the ocean,” Yugi said.

“I do.”

Anzu gave a dubious look. “Is it someone you trust?”

“Probably the only person more than this man.” Joey slapped his friend on the shoulder. “What’s the take split four ways instead of three?”

Yugi did the quick math in his head. “$450k, give or take.”

“Still a pretty good nest egg,” he said.

“Not bad,” Anzu admitted. “Okay, I have to get back, or they’ll fire me. I’ll tell you what I learn when the Kaibas land.”

“One week, huh.” Joey smiled to himself. “Then it’s half a mil for each of us.”

“Yup,” Yugi said. “All we gotta do is bypass the hotel security with a bunch of high value targets wandering around, and smuggle out one of the rarest artifacts on the list, all under the nose of the some of the most powerful businessmen in Japan.”

Anzu rolled her eyes. “Well when you say it like that, it sounds so easy.”

He grinned wide. “It always is.”

—

Yugi and Joey took the train out of Manhattan towards the Bronx. They found themselves in a row of industrial shops, welding, plumbing, and body shops on a cracked concrete path. Off to the side was a garage with a barbed fence around it, and a sign that read Taylor & Sons, now grayed and weathered. As they approached, a dog bounded towards them, barking and biting the air. Joey jumped back from the German Shepherd that paced the fence line.

“Blankey, stop,” Joey grunted. “This stupid dog never recognizes me. Taylor, come get your mutt!”

The door swung open, and out stepped a tall, broad man. Packed into his workman’s jumpsuit were stacks of muscles, and a sharp coif of spiked hair on top of tanned skin. He slapped a grease stained rag over his shoulder, walking to the gate.

“Which one?” he said as he grabbed Blankey by the collar.

“Don’t be a dick, man.” Joey leaned against the gate and put on his most winning smile. “I got something good for ya.”

“I never like when you say shit like that to me,” he said. “What kind of trouble you getting into today?”

“The best kind,” he said. “The kind that pays.”

To say Tristan Taylor and Joey Wheeler had been through hell and back was something of an understatement. There was nothing the two hadn’t faced together, fists raised, grins stretched on their lips. It was the sort of brotherhood forged in fire, strong as steel. It also meant Tristan knew when Joey was bullshitting him, and when he meant business.

“So this is Yugi, huh,” he said as he put on the electric kettle. “You take tea?”

“Sure,” Yugi said. “Joey’s talked about me, huh.”

“He’s said a few things.” He glanced up at his friend, tossing him a cola. “Nothing incriminating.”

“He’s being nice,” Joey said, snapping the tab on his soda. “Tristan’s helped me out plenty of times. He’s my go-to man.”

“That’s me,” Tristan said, dropping onto a couch in what had once been a waiting area. “Joey’s gopher.”

“Is it just you?” Yugi asked. He looked around the shop, but most of the furniture had been yanked out, leaving only the comforts of a few worn loungers and an employee kitchen with just a few amenities. “The sign says ‘& Sons’.”

“Hopeful on my dad’s part,” Tristan said. “My sister runs a bar not far from here, but the garage is closed. I use it as a workshop now.”

“Tristan’s a fixer,” Joey said. “Anything and everything.”

“Electronics, cars, other stuff.” He shrugged at the implication. “Pays the bills, barely.”

“Oh, yeah?” Yugi said. “How do you feel about safes?”

The kettle gave a long beep behind them, and steam poured from its spout. Tristan got up without a word, pouring two cups of green tea and handing one to Yugi. He settled back into his spot like a mountain settling, and he sipped from a peach colored tea cup with the painted image of a manatee curving around the base. He set it down on the table between them. Yugi and Joey glanced at each other.

“How big?” Tristan said finally.

“Uh, pretty big,” Joey said. “Yugi’s got schematics and shit.”

“It’d be on site,” Yugi said. “Quietly, best bet. And what’s inside is fragile.”

“Should I ask,” Tristan said, “what’s inside?”

“I can tell you what it’s worth,” Yugi said. “And I can tell you your cut.”

He did. Tristan let out a low whistle. He took another drink of his tea, setting it back onto the coaster, and he stood up.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to the garage.”

Tristan’s workshop was spacious, and some of the car stands and equipment was still hooked up. An old Dodger was still being worked on in the fear slot, but the rest of the space looked like a junk yard. Old video game equipment piled next to ham radios, crates with shipping labels stacked up high, car parts, welding tools, and scrap metal was organized and displayed in patterns around the space. Yugi recognized the less than legal items for what they were, especially the materials for explosives carefully put away on industrial shelves. Tristan pushed some things aside, sitting down at an antique wooden desk with an old computer that’d been completely rebuilt.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell me the score.”

[awesomerextyphoon]

Chaotic Good Trio

Pepper: Do you know why you're here, today?

Ife: We're good people?

Pietro: This country's bullshit?

Loki: I'm just here for the chaos.

Ife: Loki!

Pepper: At least one of you is being honest.

Ife: Fine! What we did was 'wrong'.

Pietro: Really?!

Pepper: Ife, you can at least *try* being sincere.

Ife: Never.

Pietro: I mean, what did wasn't even that bad.

Pepper: Let's review, shall we?

Loki: She brought out the binder.

Pepper: Ife. You stole $15B from the Waltons, set fire to Blackstone's New York HQ, bought and destroyed 15 private equity groups-

Pietro. Nice!

Pepper: Why me? Plastered "Jeff's a Big, Whiny Loser" on Bezos' DC mansion, caused no less than 18 derailments political fundraisers in DC.

Ife: Is that really the worse thing in the world?

Pepper: You have 464 more entries.

Pietro: Hah!

Pepper: Maximoff, don't act like you're innocent! 12 cases of arson against police stations including the NYPD. Multiple Financial Sectors reporting of 'impossible gusts of wind' followed by their mortgage records being wiped out.

Pietro: What? Those places are evil!

Pepper: Hmm Okay. So Loki, care to explain why several museums are missing their entire collection of Norse artifacts?

Ife: He's not wrong.

Loki: Plus their lobbies are atrocious.

Loki: Those belong to my people and our followers.

Ife: Oh! So only the Norse get to take their shit back?!

Loki: You're just mad you didn't do it first!

Pepper: Several yachts have been 'ceremoniously sunk'. Sixty billionaires including the Kardashians have complained about the electricity in their homes being turned off.

Loki: It was rerouted. Also, Kim is insufferable.

Pepper: Enough! You three have enough potential charges to ruin the team!

Loki: Technically, ye-

Pepper: There's no 'technically' to it!

Ife: What Loki means is that while these things look bad now, it was in service of a lot of good.

Loki: The money that we 'stole' was given back to those who were wronged.

Pietro: You know full well that the police are thugs of the state.

Pepper: And it vexes you to no end that people call y'all cops, right?

Pietro: ...Yes.

Ife: Blackstone and other private equity firms have millions of houses in 'holding'! Houses that could be peoples' homes!

Loki: Also, why are you acting like we're the only ones doing this?

Pepper: You three are the most egregious.

Chaos Trio: Fair.

Pepper: We can salvage this-

Ife: No need! I listed out all the things we and sent it out to Ashtoreth for PR.

Pepper: Okay. F.R.I.D.A.Y?

F.R.I.D.A.Y: Yes?

Pepper: Block out my schedule for the next three weeks. I'm taking a sabbatical.

[lifestyleblogeruk]

Finding the Best Plasterboard Installers in York: A Step-by-Step Guide

When it comes to home improvement projects in York, hiring the right professionals is crucial. Whether you're renovating your living room, adding an extension, or simply repairing damaged walls or ceilings, finding the best plasterboard installers in York is a key step in ensuring a successful and satisfactory outcome. In this step-by-step guide, we'll walk you through the process of finding skilled plasterboard installers in York who can deliver top-notch results.

Step 1: Define Your Project Needs

Before you start your search for plasterboard installers in York, it's essential to have a clear understanding of your project's scope and requirements. Are you looking for a complete plasterboard installation, repairs, or perhaps a decorative finish? Knowing your project's specifics will help you narrow down your options and find the right professionals for the job.

Step 2: Seek Recommendations

One of the most reliable ways to find trustworthy plasterboard installers in York is through word-of-mouth recommendations. Ask friends, family members, neighbors, or colleagues who have recently undertaken similar projects for referrals. Local community forums and social media groups focused on home improvement can also be valuable sources of recommendations and reviews.

Step 3: Online Research

In today's digital age, a quick online search can provide a wealth of information about plasterboard installers in York. Use search engines and online directories to compile a list of potential contractors. Be sure to include the keyword "Plaster Board installers in York" in your search for more localized results.

Step 4: Check Credentials

Once you have a list of potential plasterboard installers in York, it's time to vet their credentials. Check if they are licensed and insured to work in York. Proper licensing ensures that the contractor adheres to local building codes and regulations. Insurance coverage protects you and the workers in case of accidents or damage during the project.

Step 5: Review Portfolios and Past Projects

A reputable plasterboard installer should be able to provide you with a portfolio of their past projects. Look for photographs and descriptions of similar jobs they've completed in York. This will give you a sense of their workmanship and style, helping you determine if they align with your project's goals.

Step 6: Request Quotes and Estimates

Contact a few of the plasterboard installers in York that you've shortlisted and request quotes or estimates for your project. Ensure that each quote is detailed, including materials, labor costs, and a timeline for completion. This will help you compare the offers and make an informed decision.

Step 7: Check References

Don't hesitate to ask for references from past clients. Contact these references to inquire about their experience with the plasterboard installer. Ask about the quality of work, adherence to timelines, and overall professionalism.

Step 8: Compare and Choose

After gathering recommendations, conducting online research, checking credentials, reviewing portfolios, and obtaining quotes, it's time to make your decision. Consider all the factors, including your budget and the overall impression you've gathered. Choose the plasterboard installer who best aligns with your project needs and expectations.

Step 9: Sign a Contract

Before the project begins, it's crucial to have a detailed contract in place. This contract should outline all project specifications, costs, timelines, and payment terms. Make sure you read and understand the contract thoroughly before signing.

Step 10: Monitor the Progress

Throughout the project, maintain open communication with your chosen plasterboard installer in York. Regular updates and discussions can help address any concerns or issues that may arise. It's also a good practice to inspect the work at various stages to ensure it meets your expectations.

In conclusion, finding the best plasterboard installers in York requires careful research and consideration. By following this step-by-step guide and using the keyword "Plaster Board installers in York" in your search, you'll be well-equipped to make an informed choice and achieve the desired results for your home improvement project. Remember, a well-executed plasterboard installation can greatly enhance the beauty and functionality of your York home. Contact us!

[beautifulbizarremagazine]

OPEN CALL // SCULPTORS. If you work in a representational style, in any three-dimensional sculptural medium, including: clay, stone, metal, glass, wood, resin, polymer, fibre, plaster, wax, paper, found objects etc, you are eligible to enter the Beautiful Bizarre Art Prize, Yasha Young Projects Sculpture Award. 1st Prize Winner of the @yashayoungprojects Sculpture Award will receive: ⚫ US$3,000 cash, generously donated by Yasha Young Projects, arts philanthropist and Executive Curatorial Director for the FOR_M, a new institution currently being developed in New York city. ⚫ US$400 worth of services from @@stanwinstonschool, including an all-access 1 year subscription which includes unlimited access to their Course library by The Masters of FX, with new courses added every month. Plus exclusive access to the Behind-the-Scenes Documentary stream. ⚫ US$250 worth of supplies of your choice from @sculpey_official, making polymer oven-bake clays for over 50 years. ⚫ A beautiful, specially commissioned glass art award trophy. ⚫ The opportunity to exhibit in the prestigious Beautiful Bizarre Magazine exhibition at @HavenGallery, in New York, USA, alongside 80+ of the world’s best contemporary representational artists. ⚫ Exposure to a successful commercial gallery’s collector base with the opportunity to sell their work. ⚫ Winning artwork published in the December 2023 issue of Beautiful Bizarre Magazine + MUCH MORE! For more information, and to enter please visit https://beautifulbizarreartprize.art/yasha-young-projects-sculpture-award-prizes/ [link in our profile] The 2023 Beautiful Bizarre Art Prize is proudly sponsored by: GOLD SPONSORS: @raymarpanels, @inprnt , @icanvas_art, @yashayoungprojects, @BeautifulBizarreMagazine Founders SILVER SPONSORS: @staticmedium, @rosemarybrushes BRONZE SPONSORS: @wacom, @sculpey_official, @linktr.ee, @smarterartschool, @stanwinstonschool, @havengallery MEDIA PARTNERS: @supersonicart, @createmagazine Artwork by 2022 Yasha Young Projects Sculpture Award, 2ndPrize Winer, @brianboothcraigsculptor #beautifulbizarreartprize #beautifulbizarre #artprize #artist #artwork #investinyourself #artcompetition #sculpture #figurativesculpture https://www.instagram.com/p/Co-7GXgr9WX/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bookofbolden]

TIMING: Pre-goo LOCATION: Sly Slice PARTIES: Van ( @vanoincidence ) & Eleanor SUMMARY: Eleanor ventures into Sly Slice in search of pizza and leaves with a new friend who's just as awkward as she is. It's friendship at first slice. WARNINGS: Parental death (mentioned)

Yet another day had passed before Eleanor realized that she hadn’t eaten anything. As wrapped up in writing her novel as she was, it wasn't unusual for her to only step away from her desk when nature called, and then she went right back to typing, deleting, and scribbling down notes on her iPad. Her stomach had finally let out a long, deep gurgle and she felt the first true pangs of hunger - she sighed and closed her laptop and looked at her watch. Late. Very late, in fact. She wouldn’t be able to stop into one of her usual places and didn’t feel comfortable enough having something delivered after the sun was set, so she scrolled through her phone looking for restaurants in the area that boasted late hours and came across something promising: Sly Slice. Being from New York she was a pizza fan and their prices beat anything else she could find, so after pulling up the address she hopped into her car and made her way over.

Eleanor had not been prepared for the crowd - it seemed that many of the locals also preferred their cheap pizza during obscene hours of the night, so she stood awkwardly in line, her knuckles white as she clutched her handbag and fought against the swell of emotions around her. It was mostly just obnoxiously drunk party goers, but there was also the occasional depressing thought and sudden spikes of loneliness. She bit her lip and kept her eyes trained ahead, wishing that the line would move quicker so that she could retreat into the peacefulness of her apartment.

When she finally approached the counter she let out a deep breath and offered a nervous smile to the person behind the counter. “Hello.” Her voice was weak after not being used all day so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Do you have a moment? I just found this place online.” Her eyes rolled over the menu as she tried to block out the noise around her.

With the school year back in swing, Sly Slice was busy yet again. With Janice’s termination (Van liked how dramatic it sounded), Rocky had ended up needing to step in. Still, the stress of it all latched onto her like a stupid little leech. Van hated being busy at work, even if the day went by fast. Most of all, she hated not getting tips. Rocky shouted something from the back and Van went into the kitchen to find several of the slices backordered now ready. “You need to hire somebody else.” He glared at her and she shrugged, carrying the plates out to the front and shouted the order numbers, handing over the slices of pizza to college students. Some she recognized, some she didn’t. She felt little beneath their stares. 

But they were gone as soon as they arrived, and in their place was a woman who looked a little older than her but not by much with worried eyes and a nervous smile. Van blinked at the brunette and looked down at the menu that was taped to the counter. There really wasn’t a lot to choose from, but she knew that in itself confused newcomers. 

“I’ve got all night, unless it’s like, super late and then you might get locked in here after my shift. You might also get eaten by the metal eating rats.” Maybe too much information, but she was stressed. Luckily, Rocky thought that the fridge getting a chunk bitten out of it had been Janice’s fault, so it was her check he took the repairs out of. “But um, yeah! Totally, that’s why I’m here. Number one customer service, or cashier? I don’t know.” She was blabbering now and she felt nerves prick at her skin. She just wanted to go home. With her magic more on the fritz, she’d considered calling out, but Rocky had threatened her with being fired if she did. She couldn’t afford to be fired, not right now. So she plastered on her best fake smile. “We have four flavors, give or take like, a few since you can remove some stuff from the veggie pizza if you want, but that’s on you to pick it off.” She jutted her thumb towards the back, “Rocky’s words, not mine.” 

Eleanor tore her eyes away from the menu and stared at the woman behind the counter for a moment as the words sunk in. “Metal eating rats?!” Maybe nothing should have surprised her at that point but that wasn’t something she’d seen coming. She’d been fine with finding out that she was an empath and that vampires were a thing, but she would have to draw the line when it came to rodents with supernatural abilities. A shiver ran down her spine but she returned her attention back to the short menu. “Well, considering you’ve helped me out by not having an overwhelming amount of options I shouldn't keep you here waiting: could I just have pepperoni?” It wasn’t the most creative option for a native New Yorker but she'd never claimed to be a foodie.

She smiled a bit at the worker’s rambling - it was nice to not be the one talking someone else’s ear off for once, but Eleanor could tell that a storm was brewing below the surface. “Are you alright?” She asked before she could truly stop herself. “I mean, you seem a little,” she struggled to find the right word, “Stressed. Are they working you too hard or is this crowd not typical for this time of night?” She looked pointedly toward the crowd of college-aged customers and offered a kind smile. “Unless you’re the manager… or is that this Rocky person? Hopefully the next time there’s a crowd like this there will be more people working to help you out a little bit.”

“Metal eating rats.” For once in her life, Van’s voice went completely flat, void of any emotion. It seemed a little dumb to even be bringing it up, because who would believe her? Maybe she could find Jade’s number and make the older woman go to bat for her, as if she even would. “But it’s gone now, some lady tossed it into the alley with a bucket. I don’t think he’s coming back.” She hoped that was the case, because if it wasn’t, then things were going to get real awkward, especially with Rocky around a lot more. “Pepperoni? For sure, for sure. Do you want that, like, super crispy, or kind of soggy?” It was the illusion of choice. They all came out the same way, and she was pretty sure that the pies on the warming rack were somewhere in between. 

At the customer’s question, Van shrugged. “I work at a pizza place, am I alright?” She wasn’t sure where the boost of confidence had come from, especially with how snippy it sounded. She shook her head. “I’m great, but not like super great, you know? On the edge of being great, but closer to like, the other end of things. I don’t know.” She tapped her fingers on the notepad before she stuck the order on the sill where Rocky’s hand swiped the paper away. Why are you not just shouting the orders at me, Vanessa? Van grimaced. “I told you it’s Van!” She nearly waltzed into the kitchen to explain why it was important he call her by her chosen name before she became distracted by the customer again. “Rocky, he’s real, and he’s in there. You heard him, right?” She poked at her nametag. “You see this has the essa part crossed out, right? He doesn’t learn.” It wasn’t this woman’s fault. “But um, thanks, that’s cool of you to say.” She cleared her throat and punched the woman’s order into the register. “Did you want a drink? We only have like, three flavors.” 

Eleanor tilted her head and tried to imagine a metal eating rat. Had it even been real? The strange shift in the worker’s emotional presence indicated that something had definitely happened, whether the rat actually had some kind of mutant abilities or not. “I’ve heard about a lot of strange things ever since I moved to this town, I probably shouldn’t be surprised that the rat population doesn’t behave normally. I’ve only found a few other people who behave normally. Not that that’s always a bad thing, of course, it’s just… different from anywhere else I’ve ever lived before, that’s for sure.” Crispy or soggy? She wondered briefly if she’d accidentally ordered French fries instead of pizza. “Uh… whatever comes out is fine? I’m actually here because I realized that I haven’t eaten at all today since I was so focused on working - you guys were like the only people available this late.”

Though she’d only worked in customer service for a short amount of time, Eleanor was able to sympathize with the worker because she knew how demanding the job could be. She didn’t take the harsh tone personally and offered an understanding smile. “Is it too personal to ask how long you’ve been working here? You might be burnt out and you just need a change of pace and scenery. I wouldn’t rule it out. I will say that working from home is a dream if you’re an introvert like me but I wouldn’t recommend it if you enjoy actually being around people.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot awkwardly during the short, heated exchange, not sure what to do with herself until she was addressed again. “I heard him alright and I see where the rest of the name is crossed out. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Van. I’m Eleanor - have you tried getting a new name badge? Just so everyone addresses you by the name that you prefer?” Not that it would really matter much if Rocky still refused to honor her wishes. “Sure, I’ll take a drink. Anything you suggest is alright by me. I should start coming here more often, the simplicity of your menu makes things a lot easier for me.”

Van had lived in Wicked’s Rest all of her life, so any weird behavior was totally lost to her. Not to mention, half the time she was one of the ones exhibiting it. It was easier to do in places of comfort, like at her register at Sly Slice, or even at home on the internet. The internet was easier. She could say what she wanted to say without fear of anxiety getting the better of her. She thought that was better for everyone. Most people became uncomfortable around people who were too anxious. Her grandma was one of them. Not that it mattered. Van’s emotional state was a constant topic of her therapist and grandmother– well, not now, but in the before times. In the times that she still had either of them in her life. Now, she dodged e-mails from her therapist for follow up appointments. “I think it’s better to be weird than like, normal, anyway. Normal people are boring.” She wished she were normal which was the funny part about all of this. If she were normal, she wouldn’t be melting things constantly. At the comment about wanting it however it came out, Van nodded. “I can respect that.” 

“Hm?” Van looked up from the register as the brunette asked how long she’d been working at Sly Slice. She looked around, trying to count in her head how many months it’d been. Maybe more than half a year. Would the customer look down on her for that? That she wasn’t some kind of pizza expert? Probably not. “Umm.. not like, super long. But like, long enough?” She attempted a smile, but it fell a little short. “I like to work here, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not like a dream or anything. You know?” She could hear Rocky’s voice in her head, DREAM OF PIZZA! But the customer’s suggestion was one that she’d heard before, that she might be burnt out. She knew that feeling, it was always present. But what else would she do? Where else would she go? Rocky had been the only one to hire her. “I’ve got bills to pay so like, being burnt out isn’t really an option, plus I didn’t go to college, so…” She shrugged, “it’s fine for what it is, you know? Can’t like, super complain.” She could, and she would. Mostly to people online. Rocky would have her head for complaining to a customer. Or, maybe an ear. “Eleanor is a nice name. Reminds me of an old lady, but not in a bad way. The kind that makes you sweaters, you know?” 

Van punched in the discount code, ignoring the reaming she’d get from Rocky in the future, and looked up at Eleanor. “I have thought about it, but name tags are sort of expensive. We have to pay for our own.” They were fifteen dollars to replace, and that was money she could pump into Honkai Star Rail. “I think you look like an orange soda kind of girl.” She paused. “Or maybe a grape soda one, but we don’t have grape soda, so orange soda it is.” Van placed the large cup down onto the counter and motioned towards the soda fountain. Two out of the five flavors were marked with OUT OF ORDER signs, leaving orange soda, an off brand of Coca Cola, and some diet soda that she couldn’t pronounce the name of. 

Not wanting to be normal was a foreign concept to Eleanor who had spent most of her life wishing that she were just like everyone else. When she was younger she’d longed for a stable home with two parents who wouldn’t give up on her (something she’d eventually gotten but sometimes she felt that it had come far too late), she wished that she could just have a conversation with people without having a panic attack, and she wished most of all that she could only be responsible for her own emotions and not have to shoulder the weight of everyone else’s. Which, she might add, Van’s emotional state was making her very uncomfortable but not in the usual way, in a way that made her feel like she’d eaten too much before getting onto a rollercoaster. That’s what Van was in terms of emotional stability, a rollercoaster. “I literally just met you but I think you’re pretty great. You’re not rude or anything and you’ve been very kind and patient with me. I appreciate that.”

Eleanor nodded in agreement - she did know. She’d had to make ends meet before and, if she didn’t light a fire under herself with this new novel, she might have to do so again in order to stay up to date with rent, but she’d never look down on someone because of their occupation. Who was she to judge? “Livin’ ain’t cheap,” she smiled to herself as she recited something her adoptive father often quoted, “I applaud you. I’ve never had what it took for customer service, I was an anxious mess whenever I would try. I couldn’t even do lemonade stands when I was younger.” She enjoyed getting compliments on her name but the mention of it being an old lady name took her back to her days of middle school where mean children teased her for it. Still, Van didn’t seem to want to insult her so she kindly smiled. “I picked it myself. And I do crochet, so maybe I’ll bring you a homemade sweater one of these days.”

She wanted to offer to leave a tip that would cover the amount of the name tag but didn’t want to come across as insensitive and definitely didn’t want Van to believe she thought of her as a charity case. Eleanor had never looked down her nose at anyone and only hoped that she wasn’t coming off as snooty. “Orange soda is perfect, I haven’t had that in a long time so it’ll be nice to have some again.” She looked over to the soda fountain, just happy that at least one of the good flavors was still in working order, then turned back to Van. “I really do appreciate you, you know. I think you’re doing great. And I think you’re a great person.” It was a weird thing to say to someone she’d only known for about fifteen minutes, but she believed everything she said. Also, she just hoped that her words would help calm Van’s emotional turmoil. “Again, I know we’ve just met and everything but… I’ve been told I’m really good at listening to people whenever they have something they need to get off their chest.” Not that she expected the other to dump all of her emotional baggage onto someone she hardly knew, but she wanted to extend the offer anyhow.

Van scrunched her nose, “yeah, well, rude people are like, terrible.” She could be not nice sometimes, but usually only to the kinds of people who deserved it, or to people who were mean to her first. She wasn’t usually the kind of person to be mean for the sake of being mean, and why would she be mean to a customer? Did Eleanor usually come across really aggressive people? That sucked for her, Van thought. She thought about middle school, and even elementary school and the bullying she’d endured for just being different. For talking too much, or not at all— for melting things even though nobody could trace it back to her. She wondered if Eleanor had ever experienced anything like that. Van’s mind raced as she tried to imagine what kind of rude things Eleanor could encounter, but realized now was probably not the time and place for such thoughts. “I think the world needs more nice people.” That was good, that made sense. 

As Eleanor spoke, Van nodded. “This was like, the only place that would really hire me.” That wasn’t a lie, not really. She had been fired from a few places, but Rocky for the most part, was pretty easygoing when he wanted to be, and she got to play games on her phone when she wasn’t taking orders, so that made all of this easy. “Some people are like, really weird about their pizza though… so maybe it’s a good thing you never landed into this kind of business.” Van tapped her fingers against the edge of the register, looking past Eleanor to a couple of teens that she thought might come into the shop, but they kept walking. She realigned her gaze and raised a brow. “You picked your own name? That’s pretty cool. I guess I did, too.” She pointed at the name tag again, “I go by Van instead of Vanessa, so that’s like picking a name, I guess.” She had already told Eleanor that, but it didn’t stop her from repeating it. “Wait, really? A sweater? That’d be cool, as long as it’s not itchy.” 

Van wore a pinched expression, then relaxed. “Not that it’d matter, I’d super treasure it, don’t worry.” She would have to, if somebody had gone out of their way to make her something, even if she didn’t know them that well. Van decided there and then that Eleanor was a good person. Not that her radar was any good, but still. 

Eleanor thanked her for the soda and Van thought that might be it, and she caught herself thinking about how she’d reach out to her for the sweater. Then, Eleanor was telling her she was a good person. The pinched expression was back and Van opened her mouth to respond, but how was she supposed to? She’d never thought of herself as a good person, certainly not to people who’d just met her. Usually, they became frustrated with her. “Um, thank you.” Was this girl a prankster? Was she pulling one over on her? Had Rocky sent her to tell her all of the things he wished he could say but couldn’t? No, that didn’t make sense. He had no issue yelling at her. He would probably tell her he was proud, too. “Oh! Are you a therapist?” She felt a little uneasy by the prospect, “not that.. that’s a bad thing, but um, are you?” Had Erin sent this woman her way? That would be like, totally weird. 

“That’s the truth.” Eleanor agreed with a sigh. Because of her abilities she was usually able to understand why some people might not be the friendliest - most of it stemmed from some kind of internal struggle like sadness or anxiety. Some people though, as she’d learned long ago, just simply did not want to be kind. “Wouldn’t it be so much better if everyone was just a little more empathetic?” She smiled to herself as the word rolled off her tongue. She still wasn’t used to having a title for herself, empath.

“Really? Pizza? Other than the toppings it’s all pretty much the same, right? It’s not like a five course meal or anything.” She felt some pity for Van and hoped that she wouldn’t have too many rude customers going forward because if her customer service was like this with everyone then Eleanor was having a hard time finding a reason to give her a hard time. “I did! My parents allowed me to legally change it from Emily on the day they adopted me.. Which was also my fourteenth birthday so that makes it even more special. It was, to date, my best birthday yet.” Of course the only thing to rival it were the birthdays she’d spent with Lily but she didn’t feel like opening that can of worms. She was having a pleasant conversation, bringing up such a sad topic right now would only ruin it. “Non-itchy, got it. Do you have any favorite colors?” She eyed the other carefully and tried to guess her size. Would she actually get around to making the sweater? Probably. She had a lot of free time on her hands and, again, she really liked Van.

Eleanor wished that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She knew that it would be weird saying such things to someone she’d just met and didn’t blame Van at all for her reaction. “Uh, no.” She blushed and busied herself with clumsily picking up the cup. “Nope, not a therapist. But I see one regularly. Sorry, I didn’t mean to… upset you. Um, I could just go fill up my cup and wait on the pizza. Thanks for… being great?” It came out as a question because she wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t add to the mess she’d created.

Van nodded slowly, not quite understanding Eleanor’s angle. She wasn’t sure what the point of this conversation was, especially since she knew the world would be a better place if they were more empathetic. A lot of people might not suffer the way they were if that were the case, but that wasn’t how the world worked. People who called themselves empaths smelled like lavender and spoke to rocks that they said were gifted to some Greek God. At least, that’s what Van had seen on Tik Tok. “Yeah, I think so.” 

At Eleanor’s question, Van nodded. “People can get pretty mean over a lot of things, especially if it takes too long.” That was the most common argument that Van encountered. When people became upset with her, they really became upset. It was hard to avoid in customer service, but even Eleanor had explained that she might not be cut out for CS the way most people were. Van really didn’t blame her since it wasn’t for everyone. There was a lot of information coming at her from the customer and Van wasn’t really sure what she had done to deserve that kind of level of trust. Were most people like this? Was this how she appeared to people she didn’t know? No, she was too anxious for that— she rarely let people in. “You were adopted and you got to change your name? That’s… really cool.” Maybe not the adopted part, Van thought. In a way, Van had been, too. “Eleanor is a cool name though, but Emily is nice too.” She didn’t know any Emily’s, but it was pretty anyway. 

It hadn’t occurred to her that Eleanor might be serious about the whole sweater thing and she swallowed thickly. The idea of taking something from somebody she just met, again, itchy like the thought of a sweater that had too much wool. But Eleanor probably used better things than wool. “Um, I like purples and pinks, but anything is fine.” She felt terrible, suddenly— about expecting a gift from a stranger, even if she thought it had been a joke at first. 

Van’s gaze wandered to the cup as Eleanor picked it up, then it lifted back to her face. “You—“ How did she know that she had upset her? Well, upset wasn’t the right word, or maybe it was. Van was uncomfortable by the idea that Eleanor was a therapist, but not because she was one, or wasn’t, in her own words, but because of what it represented; because of the story she told herself that wasn’t true. “I used to see one too.” Not anymore, Van thought, not anymore. Her mouth hung open almost comically as she tried to figure out what to say to her. “I was being weird again, wasn’t I?” Making a big deal out of nothing— letting anxiety win. “Sorry.” 

Eleanor had never had a problem with sharing her adoption story, in fact it was something that she was proud of. Sometimes she wondered if she should have gone into social work until she remembered how easily she became attached to people and decided that it was probably best for her to just support the cause from afar. A donation here and there and making sure that children in the foster care system were represented in her literature were the small things she was doing to help, but she hoped that it made a difference. “My parents are pretty cool.” She’d been over the moon when given the green light for the name change because she’d always subconsciously hated the one her biological mother had given her. She didn't think it was fair that someone who hadn’t wanted her was allowed to give her the name she would carry for the rest of her life. But again, that was way too much information to share with someone she’d just met, no matter how much she liked them.

“Purples and pinks, I can definitely work with that. In fact, I think I have more pink yarn than anything so you’ll be helping me make room for some other colors. But I have to give you a disclaimer that I’m not, like, amazing at crocheting or anything, so if it’s a little off… yeah, that’s why. It’s just something I picked up a little while ago in order to keep my hands busy whenever I'm not typing away at my computer.” She would try her best but she still felt that she needed to give a warning. “And I’ll make sure that I only use the most non-itchiest yarn. This is exciting, I’m happy to have an actual project to work on instead of just granny squares!”

Why don’t you see them anymore? Eleanor had enough self restraint to keep herself from asking such an intruding question but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering. She’d wanted to stop seeing her own therapist many times but was forced to continue with their routine appointments because her family refused to let her quit. It was all part of “getting over it”, but she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to just get over her entire world being ripped to shreds. “It’s totally fine and normal to see a therapist, you shouldn’t be ashamed of anything. I’m giving therapist vibes again though, aren’t I?” She could relate to Van a lot more than most people probably could and she wanted to voice that. “Being weird and awkward and flustered are all talents that I've unfortunately picked up over the years. Don't worry about it, we’re just being weird together - maybe one day we’ll both figure out how to have ‘normal’ conversations.”

Eleanor said that her parents were pretty cool, and before Van could stop herself, she interjected with the worst personality trait she could muster. “Yeah, my parents are dead.” She stared at Eleanor for a second realizing what she said, immediately feeling bad. It was easy to make a joke out of it, but the last thing she wanted was for Eleanor to think that she was upset with her for talking about how great her parents were. She tried her best to backtrack, waving her hands in front of her. “I think it’s awesome that your parents are awesome— sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to say that.” She hoped that Eleanor wouldn’t take it to heart, and suddenly Van found herself worried that the customer would. What if she went to Rocky? No, she wouldn’t do that. Eleanor had said that she liked her. Van had to focus on that. 

She wasn’t sure why she deserved somebody as kind as Eleanor coming into the shop. She hadn’t anticipated much from this conversation other than having to patiently explain that yes, they did only have four kinds of pizza. Van really hadn’t figured she’d walk out of it with the promise of something to add to her wardrobe. She couldn’t complain, even if she was a disaster and falling over her own words. “Mhm, yep, pinks and purples. Perfect.” She wanted the ground to swallow her whole— why couldn’t she just be normal? She blinked at Eleanor, silent for a moment before shaking her head. “I mean, you’re offering to like, make a sweater for somebody you’ve known what, five minutes? I could give you skateboarding lessons, but if I’m being honest it looks like you might fall and break your face.” She paused, “no offense or anything.” The hole was getting deeper. “That’s um, cool though, that you have hobbies.” She had them, too, even if she didn’t think she did. Her eyebrows knit together, “tell me more about those granny squares, I know a GILF in town that’d want to know about them.” Not that she thought Erin was a GILF, but the joke was too good to stop. 

Eleanor was acting like a therapist again and Van felt like she was drowning. How was somebody so kind but made her feel so small? It didn’t make any sense. But at the same time, the brunette standing across from her made her feel appreciated, especially by the simple act of offering a sweater to her after having only ordered pizza. “Um— no, I know, I just… don’t have insurance.” She pointed at the name tag, “I work at a pizza place, and even though it’s full time, Rocky is…” She shrugged. She should have been on her parents’ insurance, but that didn’t exactly work when they were six feet under. Her grandma could have helped out there at least until she was twenty-six, but her disappearance back to New York made that impossible. 

Van let out another awkward laugh, this time it was too loud for her own ears. “You’re so right, yeah, being awkward to better— or weird, I said being weird is better, right?” She averted her gaze, looked down at the pizza, and then back up at Eleanor. “Um— but yeah, yeah, thank you…” Was that the right thing to do in this case? Thank her? “For the sweater, and your um, nice words…? Thanks.” 

Was there really anything she could possibly say in response? Eleanor’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to land on something that wouldn't sound insensitive. “I’m… so sorry.” She frowned and for the millionth time wished that she was better with words. Van’s immediate feelings of regret and panic confirmed what the empath had guessed: she hadn’t meant to say that. “You don’t have to talk about it, I can’t even imagine what you must be going through. Uh… I truly hope that you’re alright, that’s such a big loss to have to go through.” She had no way of knowing whether or not their passing had been recent but she knew that the grieving stage didn’t necessarily have a time limit.

Van’s panicky and awkward nature surprisingly helped Eleanor relax a little; knowing that someone else was struggling just as much as she was to communicate like a normal human being made her feel better. There was also the fact that she was genuinely enjoying her conversation, it was perhaps the most chaotic and erratic conversation she’d ever had, but she was enjoying every single moment. Whether or not the pizza was actually good was still to be determined but she knew that Sly Slice would become a regular destination. 

“Like I said, I like you and I get a good vibe from you. You’re pretty great and you’ve made my pizza-ordering experience amazing.” She laughed louder than she had in a long time. “I don’t know if you’re saying that I look delicate or clumsy but I can assure you that it’s both. I have pretty good balance because I’ve been doing ballet for most of my life but actually staying on a skateboard doesn’t sound like something that would be included in my skills. But that’s amazing that you can! I’ve always been in awe of skateboarders, especially the ones who can do all of the cool tricks. I tried standing on a longboard once and ate gravel.” Eleanor bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud again. “A GILF, huh? Well, they’re pretty much just squares made of yarn, it’s a super popular project for people who are just starting out crocheting and eventually, once the person becomes a little more skilled, they can turn the granny squares into bigger projects. I know a lot of people turn theirs into quilts so the possibilities are endless.”

Eleanor’s heart dropped. She had a bad habit of wanting to take in anyone who felt alone in the world and shield them from the harsh realities of life, but she was going to restrain herself so as not to scare off Van so early into their… acquaintanceship? Friendship? She wasn’t sure what they were officially but she hoped that they would become friends. “Right, right. I’m sorry. See what I mean? I just talk without thinking sometimes. I hope that everything falls into place for you soon, it seems like the good people are always the last to get good luck.” To be completely honest she would have offered to pay for the cashier’s next therapist appointment completely out of pocket but that seemed like something someone would do if they were trying to brag about their financial status. She nodded with another kind smile. Yes, she liked Van. She would have to reach out and have another conversation with her soon, preferably away from her job that obviously caused her so much stress (which was kind of causing a headache but wasn’t unbearable).

“No, thank you!” It felt good being able to say that to someone without worrying if they would use the gratitude against her. “I was on the verge of just going hungry tonight because I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to come in here and speak with someone but I’m so glad that I did. I hope that you have an amazing rest of your night and that no assholes come through and make your job any harder. You deserve only kind words, Van. Thank you for making me laugh.”

Most people didn’t know what to say in response to something like that and Van knew it. She might not know what to say in response to Eleanor’s adoption story, or maybe she would— maybe she would identify with abandonment and the way somebody who was supposed to love her unconditionally had just left when things got too hard. She couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t want to tempt fate; didn’t want to dig a deeper hole. “I um— I didn’t mean it as anything other than a joke, sorry.” She needed to watch her mouth if she wanted to start having normal conversations with normal people. Then again, she wasn’t sure if Eleanor was a normal person, and that might be a good thing if she wasn’t. Weird was more Van’s vibe, anyway. 

She wasn’t sure why Eleanor thought she was still exuding good vibes, especially with the disastrous attempt at a joke, but she wasn’t going to argue it. Not many people thought Van was a good person, or that’s what she told herself. She forced herself to smile in response to Eleanor’s compliment— forced it to stay, too, despite the ache in her chest. “Um.. you’re like, so welcome.” She was just doing her job, but then again, maybe there was something unseen with Eleanor and maybe Van had provided just what she needed. It was hard to tell. “I like to just sort of go fast.” Van made a motion with her hands, one over the other, palm sliding across palm as the opposite went shooting through the air. “Not super good at tricks, but I like to do kick flips.” Maybe she could kick flip in front of Eleanor. She paused, wondering why Eleanor would ever want that. “Ballet is like, super cool though. I know somebody who did ballet.” She thought about Ariadne briefly, and about how kind the blonde had been to her lately, all things considered (the melting). 

Van nodded at the question that didn’t necessarily need an answer. “A GILF, yeah. Her name is Erin, if you meet her, let her know you have the granny squares for her.” How many Erins were in Wicked’s Rest, Van had no clue, but she didn’t bother to drop the funeral home director’s last name into the conversation, forgetting momentarily that Erin might be a common name. “But that makes sense.. about the beginning of a project thing, I mean. I just thought it’d be funny ‘cause granny— GILF, you know?” She felt dumb for thinking it was funny. Oh well.  Eleanor was apologizing again and Van was struggling to understand why she deserved it. She shook her head, smile still intact, albeit a nervous one. “You don’t need to say sorry or anything, weird conversations um— they happen, and I’m like, so used to them and stuff.” Because that was one thing about her, she was always willing to make a conversation weird, either to get out of the after-mentioned conversation, or to satiate her need for subject changes. “But um, that’s really nice of you to say, anyway.” She watched Eleanor fumble with the cup, and she looked down at the plate of pizza again before looking up at the brunette. “Yeah, no— it’s sort of, I mean, yeah. Of course.” To tell Eleanor it was her job to serve pizza would do a disservice to their conversation, she realized. She wasn’t sure what she had done to deserve a customer like Eleanor, but she was glad that she had walked in anyway.

[longlistshort]

Poor People’s Art: A (Short) Visual History of Poverty in the United States at USF Contemporary Art Museum in Tampa uses installations and artworks to tell the story of, and expand perspectives on, The Poor People’s Campaign- from its origins in the late 1960s to the present day form, as well as comment on poverty and other social issues. Both educational and engaging, it shows that despite long struggles and some progress, we are still very far from much needed social change, especially in regards to poverty.

The museum also produced a free full color, 48 page workbook that you can pick up there or download as a PDF that can be downloaded from their website.

From the gallery’s website-

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is well known for his “I Have a Dream” speech, yet much less emphasis is placed on his campaign to seek justice for America’s poor, “The Poor People’s Campaign.” This was a multi-cultural, multi-faith, multi-racial movement aimed at uniting poor people and their allies to demand an end to poverty and inequality. Fifty-three years after Dr. King’s death, the Reverend William Barber II launched a contemporary push to fulfill MLK’s ambitious brief — one that calls for a “revolution of values” that unites poor and impacted communities across the country. The exhibition Poor People’s Art: A (Short) Visual History of Poverty in the United States represents a visual response to Dr. King’s “last great dream” as well as Reverend Barber’s recent “National Call for Moral Revival.”

With artworks spanning more than 50 years, the exhibition is divided into two parts: Resurrection (1968-1994) and Revival (1995-2022). Resurrection includes photographs, paintings, prints, videos, sculptures, books, and ephemera made by a radically inclusive company of American artists, from Jill Freedman’s photographs of Resurrection City, the tent enclave that King’s followers erected on the National Mall in 1968, to John Ahearns’ plaster cast sculpture Luis Fuentes, South Bronx (1979). Revival offers contemporary engagement across a range of approaches, materials, and points of view. Conceived in a declared opposition to poverty, racism, militarism, environmental destruction, health inequities, and other interlocking injustices, this exhibition shows how artists in the US have visualized poverty and its myriad knock-on effects since 1968. Participating artists include John Ahearn, Nina Berman, Martha De la Cruz, Jill Freedman, Rico Gatson, Mark Thomas Gibson, Corita Kent, Jason Lazarus, Miguel Luciano, Hiram Maristany, Narsiso Martinez, Adrian Piper, Robert Rauschenberg, Rodrigo Valenzuela, William Villalongo & Shraddha Ramani, and Marie Watt.

From the museum’s wall plaque about the images from the artists above-

A multimedia visual artist whose work explores themes of history, popular culture, and social justice, Miguel Luciano revisits the history of the Young Lords, a revolutionary group of young Puerto Rican activists who organized for social justice in their communities beginning in the late 1960s. Luciano’s first contribution to Poor People’s Art is a vinyl banner from the public art project Mapping Resistance: The Young Lords in El Barrio (2019), a collaboration with artist Hiram Maristany. It features the photograph “Young Lords Member with Pa’lante Newspaper (1970)” by Maristany, who was the official photographer of the Young Lords and a founding member of the New York chapter. This banner, along with nine other enlarged Maristany photographs, were installed throughout East Harlem at the same locations where their history occurred 50 years prior.

Luciano’s second contribution to Poor People’s Art is the sculpture The People’s Pulpit (2022), a repurposed vintage pulpit from the First Spanish Methodist Church in East Harlem. The Young Lords famously took over the church in 1969 and renamed it “The People’s Church”; they hosted free breakfast programs, clothing drives, health screenings, and other community services there. In this exhibition, The People’s Pulpit features an historic recording of Nuyorican poet Pedro Pietri reciting the celebrated poem Puerto Rican Obituary during the Young Lord’s takeover of The People’s Church.

The central sculpture in the second photo-

Afro-Taino artist Martha De la Cruz fashioned her sculptural installation Techo de sin (Roof of Without), 2021, from stolen, scavenged and donated materials found in Southwest Florida. According to the artist, “Florida is home to a large population of Latin American migrants who have ended up in the US largely due to economic pressures, exploitation and veins of power etched by Europe and the US.” Her powerful work deals with the results of this disjunction and the “symptoms thereabouts (e.g. houselessness, fugitiv-ity, government corruption, and income disparity, etc.).” According to De la Cruz, the word “sin” is a common Dominican mispronunciation for the word “zinc.” The sculpture is animated by a single light bulb that turns on for just ten minutes a day.

From the wall plaque about the Lazarus installation (structure in the 3th, 5th and 6th photos)-

Jason Lazarus’s sculptural installation Resurrection City/Poor People’s Campaign: A National call for Moral Revival/A Third Reconstruction (2023) is anchored in the artist’s historical research and several key photographs of Resurrection City. A tent-like shelter inspired by the temporary residences that populated the 1968 mass protest, the interactive sculpture contains simple sleeping quarters and a curated library filled with physical literature and ephemera centered on both the 1968 Poor People’s Campaign and the 2018 Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for Moral Revival, co-led by Rev. Dr.William Barber and Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis.

The library allows for audiences to trace, listen, and talk about the history of advocating for the poor, from 1865 to the present. Additionally, the artist provides a custom transcription (and a QR hyperlink) to Barber’s 49-minute address on the syndicated radio show “The Breakfast Club” in which he carefully outlines his powerful vision for how we might address poverty going forward.

About Jill Freedman’s photograph above-

In the spring of 1968, the talented young street photographer Jill Freedman quit her day job as a copywriter in New York City to join the Poor People’s March on Washington. Freedman lived in Resurrection City for the entire six weeks of the encampment’s existence, photographing its residents as they rallied, made speeches, protested in front of government buildings, confronted police, built makeshift kitchens, organized clothing swaps, and dealt with flooding, petty crime, and illness. One of the most important postwar documentarians, and one of the few women photographers of the era, Freedman captured it all. Freedman’s 2017 book, Resurrection City, 1968-from which this exhibition draws a dozen powerful images-showcases the photographs that she made as a participant in the original Poor People’s Campaign. In multiple ways, Freedman’s images are the sympathetic perch upon much of which much of the present exhibition loosely hangs.

This exhibition closes 3/4/23.

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"Thank you," Winter spoke into the hotel room phone before hanging it back up. She'd ordered herself and Yooa room service since all she wanted to do was be selfish with the woman and not bother with going out to dinner tonight. That could happen tomorrow night before they headed off to Mexico City, but for now, they were going to enjoy a nice dinner in Winter's hotel room and afterwards maybe go on a walk to enjoy New York City at it's prime hours. "The food'll be up here in about twenty minutes. Are you just as ready to eat as I am?" A soft giggle escaped the younger female's lips as she scooted herself back over to where Yooa was and wrapped one of her arms around her waist, pulling her body closer to the elders. She was so damn happy that she was here, it was hard getting the smile that was plastered off of her face but she didn't give a damn in the world about that. All she cared about was the other woman she was laying next to. Things had been progressing really well between the two of them as they figured out everything together. Not once, did Winter ever feel alone in any of it and that also helped her trust Yooa even more than she already did. It was also so exciting, navigating something like this for the first time in her life, especially with someone who seemed to care a lot about her, and that made everything so much easier. "I know I've told you a million times," Winter hummed as she sat up slightly, "But I really am so happy you're here." @ycoas

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Painting Contractor NYC

Address : 130 E 18th St, New York, NY 10003 Phone: 917 294 6271 Email : ipaintingnyc@gmail.com Website : https://www.interiorpaintingnyc.com

Service : painters near me, painting contractor near me, commercial painters, residential painters, NYC painters

Painting Contractor NYC is a full-service professional painting company in NYC serving the five boroughs of New York and Long Island with professional painting services, wallpaper installation, decorative plasters and much more.

Social media accounts: https://www.instagram.com/painting_contractor_nyc/ https://www.youtube.com/@interiorpaintingny Google maps location: https://maps.app.goo.gl/1MnkdEzEjNLb4Rqe6