#and weather or not it was good rep considering that at the time it was still kind of a big deal

[maxellminidisc]

Rewatching I Love You Philip Morris again for the first time in literally YEARS and it's so funny seeing people in the tags call it niche. I remember being a kid and people making a huge deal out of it because it was these 2 relatively well know and respected actors playing gay extreme leads and also there was the whole dramatic delay with getting the movie distributed in the US cause of the content and because of legal issues with the original distributor.

[cy-cyborg]

I'm getting a little tierd of the idea because amputees get more representation in media, it means rep for our disability is better and we "have enough"

People are right, we do have way more rep than really any other disability, im not going to deny that, and ive joked before about how often people write amputees without even realising it. So you would think, by sheer numbers, we should have at least some good representation, but by-and-large that is not the case. Legitimatly, the closest example I can think of to point to of good amputee rep is Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood and even that uses multiple tropes I hate (the miracle cure/quest for the miracle cure, the almost perfect prosthetic replacement/forgetting the chatacter is an amputee until it breaks or needs repairs, refusal to call prosthetics, "prosthetics" (automail), the amputee who can't do anything without a prosthetic) and they call Ed a slur for another disability (m*dget) CONSTANTLY. I love fmab deeply, it legitimatly helped me feel seen and represented as a childhood amputee in a way no other show has even come close to, and when it gets it right, it gets it really right, but it's also very far from great and should not be the best example I can think of. Especially nearly 15 years after it released...

A big part of the reason why I don't read many books anymore is because of the sheer amount of books with downright offensively bad amputee rep, some of which were touted as good by people with other disabilities and were recommended to me as good examples. others times, I wasn't even looking for books with amputee/disability rep, it just popped up. It has ruined one of my childhood hobbies for me. Ive tried to get back into reading again as an adult but it hasn't gotten better in that time i was away. I was kicked out of 3 different scifi writing groups on facebook and reddit for asking people to remember "cybernetic enhancement" users are amputees - a real group of people, and maybe debating weather or not we're less human isnt great, and for pointing out seeing those discussions every day was making me feel pretty unwelcome in that space (yes i know, "real" cyberpunk isnt trying to say that, i had to turn notifications off on my post about the topic, it doesnt change the fact that newer creators in the genre dont seem to get that bit, that ive seen cyberpunk writers in these spaces say that debating weather people who loose more parts of their body were less human was, in fact, their intent but they hadnt even considered the fact this made their chatacters amputees, it doesnt change the fact that these tropes, intentionally or not, help make those spaces hostile for disabled fans/creators, especially amputees).

But yeah, I should be thankful I get more rep than other disabilities, no matter the quality, right?

It doesn't just stop at being me being made uncomfortable, though. The sheer, overwhelming amount of amputee chatacters with "perfect prosthetics" has had a noticeable impact on how we are perceived irl. In my lifetime, the general idea people have about multi-limbed amputees in particular has gone from "literally the worst thing that can happen to a person and the worst disability to have" to "is it even a disability? The prosthetic fixes it". These are both wildly untrue and harmful ideas about my disability that were both perpetuated by media, but now that the second one is taking root, it's causing real problems. I have not been shy in talking about how I have to fight to maintain my NDIS funding every time I get something done with my prosthetics, and had to get my prosthetist to sign off, twice, that my fancy prosthetic knee that costs the same as a higher-end new car ($125,000 AUD) is not, in fact a cure and I still need help with other things. It took me nearly 2 years to get a new wheelchair because they didn't understand why I needed it if I had the prosthetics - which to be honest, is not comfortable for me to wear, let alone use all day every day. Guys this isn't just assholes on the street or on twitter saying dumb shit, it's the people in the government body who decide how much funding I get to help with my disability who beleive it. People who have very real control over my life. It's not entirely the media's fault, but when the sheer, overwhelming majority of representation for people like me confirms that belief, it's hard to ignore the possibility that these portrayals are contributing to it, you know?

Which makes it so frustrating when I come on here and see other disability writing advice blogs saying to not write amputees because they have so much representation already. We do, I can acknowledge that, but the vast, vast majority of it is shit, and no one, not even other disabled people, are listening to us about it. And what makes it even worse, is the people they're advising to not writing amputees are the creators who care enough to be doing the research. They're the ones willing to listen, to ask questions. They could be the start of the positive change. But instead they're advised to not even bother with us.

And don't get me wrong, other disabilities ARE under-represented. There are so many disabilities, including some I have myself, that I've never seen represented as anything other than the butt of a joke. There does need to be more reprentation of disabilities other than amputation and limb differences. 100%! but can you please talk about that without saying "amputees have enough"

This isn't even touching on how amputees/people with limb differences who dont/cant use prosthetics, or even folks who use prosthetics sometimes but not others, are almost never represented unless it's for pitty-porn, or how the non-fictional media's (news outlets, etc) portrayal of amputees in particular is used to justify hurting very real, very vunderable people but this rant is long enough and honestly, ive got enough thoughts to make whole other posts on those subjects. That second one in particular deserves its own (more thought-out) spotlight and shouldn't be a footnote in a frustrated rant post lol.

[notquitequelled]

nothing's wrong-- i'm just a STEM student...

[i rarely see stem rep-- so here’s PART TWO! (find part one here) the extended edition of ‘stoners in stem’ highlighting the parts of this life that i find myself loving ;p

Thinking of doing sectionals (Physics, Environmental Studies, Mechanics, Entomology, etc.), so if there are any suggestions you'd like to highlight, plz tag or comment !!]

TAG YOURSELF !! I LOVE SEEING WHAT YALL GET UP TO !!

slightly concerned glances being shared between even the worst of acquaintances when your mentor drops some crazy lore surrounding how they entered their field(s)

good god. the apple-cider vinegar and dish soap gnat traps. honey alternatives decidedly never cross anyone's mind (nor the threshold of the lab for that matter)

walking the fine line between the Ridiculous and the Logical during data analysis like the two aren't twin kings of ruin

noncommital shrugs when asked anything about your preferred diet or eating habits

writing exclusively with pen, or exclusively with pencil. feeling borderline disgusted having to use the other when you forget your own

'Why do you care?' 'Why don't you??'

Every documentary you watch absolutely changing your life and challenging your worldview

Either hanging onto your textbooks like a lifeline or forgetting about them as they gather dust under your bed. maybe you never bought them at all-- pirated PDFs littering your desktop

anything in jars being considered decor (snakes, regurgitated bones, praying mantis egg cases)

seeing the slant of fences, trees, and lamp posts-- thinking of all the wind and weather that's passed along the same path you have

TREEHUGGER !!! HA HA

the clean quiet that hangs over the linoleum early in the morning; the warmth is not so subtle now that you've rolled up your sleeves.

teaching everyone around you how to bypass PAY FOR ARTICLES because knowledge should always be F[ree]INED [inspect, gear, disable java]

having to just sit by n watch while someone pointedly ignores your input, and a totally avoidable incident (that could have totally been avoided) is not, in fact, avoided

dealing with the consequences of that incident for the rest of the experiment/project

blank stare, lips in a placatingly firm line as you nod along with the stern talking-to you're being given. their words going in one ear and out the other because you're already thinking through another way under admin's nose

whaaaaat ? how'd those locally indigenous species just pop up everywhere overnight, ha ha ? wow nature is crazyyy

digging through public records for one reason, only to uncover an entirely different can of worms about the institution you frequent

digging in the literal dirt and uncovering literal worms lol amirite guys

'Please remember that this is just a prototype and that i'm it's in a very fragile state right now.'

going crazy trying to figure out what a specific testing company uses in their chemical compounds, because good fucking god how are you supposed to cite the evidence if you can't even label what it is?

a disastrous experiment being abandoned like Chernobyl once determined beyond salvation-- everyone curious to see how it'll develop and fester when left on its own

'life imitates art,' you think, as you finally recognize one of your unnecessarily complicated formulas being represented in your daily life

often being so bad at the thing you love that you can't do anything about it but laugh

staring for so long at something during a lecture that white begins to leech into your vision. you should probably blink a few times so people don't begin to suspect you're a reptile (even more than they already do)

'Don't.. don't look at me like that...' [speaking to a(n) (INSERT NAME OF LITTLE CRITTER HERE) you had to gently move onto a little scale to collect data]

honing in on where your talents in your field lie; the disappointment in finding your limits that turns to indifference when you remember you're still phenomenal at a million other things you enjoy

'i want to study you like a bug.'

thinly concealed irritation masked by a patient smile and a small 'mhm' when someone tries to explain your life's purpose TO you (ten dollars says they're wrong about it, too)

'and you want me to run this... on a full moon?' 'don't start with that shit again.'

yer disgust is lookin' a lot like morbid curiosity these days...

a lot of your scientific conclusions being discerned by common sense ('Please just use your cognitive functions, you guys...')

a clean earth sciences lab floor.. my white whale...

the small (increasingly large) pile of recyclable material that's waiting to be torn apart or filled with soil and plants; it topples over when people walk past, but no one can bring themselves to throw any away

'all this only cost me like... $270. which is crazy given that these're the real fuckin' deal with solid steel reinforcements.' 'man...this shit is so gonna blow down.'

leaning into the obscure, instead of away from it out of habit; seeing its effect in your daily life and work

all the plastic utensils in the dining area being stolen for diagrams, leaving behind only the reusable metalware. this is unexpectedly admirable of the engineers, if only to those who care about the inadvertent environmentalism

taking things apart to see how they work-- having very little planned on how to put it back together

'I don't know what you want me to do about that, you created it.' 'Not on purpose!'

downloading photomath during testing season. your doubt being palpable over your (in)ability to solve simple equations

carrying hand lotion everywhere you go because of how often your work has you washing your hands; colleagues and peers holding their hands out like beggars in a Mel Brooks film ('lotion... dollop of lotion for the poor D:')

borrowing chemical-grade goggles from the lab before going out to protest; supervisors giving you dubious thumbs ups while they 'accidentally' leave the key to the goggle sanitation station right by the cabinet..

'Now that you've poured your blood, sweat, tears, and other secretions into this project-- decide if you want to take it home to maintain, or have it eradicated.'

utilizing the public library, but having to double-check the internet before citing anything from the books you pour over because your city is more concerned with the way the building looks than the content it supplies

'The Martian,' both the book and the movie ... Mark Watney you will always be famous,,

'Why are you taking so many difficult classes at once?' 'My entire degree is difficult classes.'

carrying a small journal everywhere in an attempt to organize your thoughts, tasks, and reminders (you've never looked back on a single you've written, but you like to think it at least helps in the moment)

being torn between the scientific evidence that supports getting eight hours of sleep and your own hubris. you can stay up it's fine. it'll be fine.

you're not fine but at least the lab counters feel so nice against the side of your face

WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN A KILOGRAM 🦅🦅🦅‼??!!!!!

having no idea where your degree will take you, giving everyone who asks a different vague answer

hands being littered with cuts and burns; not being able to stop yourself from touching even at the worst of times

geeking out over carbon sensors and ammonia regulators your supervisor managed to convince the department to splurge on (nothing provided by them will enter your lab for another three semesters)

being one of the most prepared people ever when it comes to disaster prep; this includes zombies

'this was not.. our intended result... someone get the shovel.'

pettiness infiltrating your daily life in the form of utilizing your talents; coding programs and drawing up diagrams and running tests just to prove someone wrong (or just to fuck with them)

studying with your liberal arts friends; both of you staring at your respective incomprehensible lines of symbols and words that neither of you have the brainpower to comprehend. most of the lights are off and the library closes in ten minutes, but you know the night staff and they've learned to keep their distance until absolutely necessary.

[tyrelab3]

How Are the Features of All Bridgestone Tyre Ranges?

Bridgestone is considered a highly trusted brand that not only offers the best quality but also provides tyres with excellent features. There is no doubt that they fall in the premium category but their benefits are so high that motorists are willing to make the investments. If you want to know about them in a little more detail then read this blog in which we have explained each type of tyres.

Summer Tyres 

Are you also one of those motorists who live in an area with extremely dry tracks? If so, then it is time to look for those Tyres Birmingham made of less natural rubber compound and have shallower tread depth. When the temperature is above 7 degrees Celsius, you can use summer tyres that absorb the heat in such a way that it does not affect the rubber. In the aspect of grip, handling, and stability, its advanced features help ensure safety in every way, whether you are turning or applying instant braking under high speed.

Why to Buy? 

Improved fuel economy 

Adhere to no noise rule 

Disperse water efficiently 

Highly defendable sidewalls 

Long-term usable tread 

Shorter braking distance

Winter Tyres

When the temperature drops below 7 degrees Celsius and it gets so cold that the road starts getting covered with snow and ice, using winter tyres is considered the best solution. Bridgestone's inventory also offers winter tyres designed with premium quality and the latest scientific inputs. Not only traction, but they also feature excellent handling characteristics that contribute to safety performance on turns. Have a look at its other notable features:

Noise reduction performance 

Protection under rainy conditions 

Excellent fuel saving 

Superior tread life 

Reliable braking grip

All-Season Tyres 

Are the seasonal tyres mentioned above not suitable for the weather conditions and now you are worried about replacing them twice a year? Then you should pay more attention to Bridgestone Tyres Birmingham which can be used all year round because their tread designing is done to meet all the safety parameters, whether you are driving on snowy surfaces or not. Their endurance is so good even after being used in different climatic conditions that you will not have to replace them even after a long period of use. 

Pay Attention to Additional Features: 

Make great traction on wet tracks 

Improve fuel economy

High-mileage tread and sidewalls 

Maintain good control over noise

Outstanding braking and cornering grip  

High-Performance Tyres 

The first question we would ask is, do you always apply a high speed whenever you drive? If your answer is yes, then our advice would be to choose only high-performance tyres. There is no doubt that these ensure maximum safety and dare to cover more mileage in comparison to any standard tyre of your choice. If you buy it under Bridgestone then you can expect cost savings as they do not face much-rolling resistance and have a lower profile leads to the engine having to exert less pressure to work which in turn keeps the fuel consumption at a lower level. 

Take on Other Responsibilities: 

Obstruct their internal and external noise 

Remarkable tread life

Strong grip even under cornering 

Reinforced sidwalls prevent damages

Precise steering response even while braking 

4x4 Tyres 

Those who have to face off-road a lot while driving should use 4x4 tyres. If your focus is more on the best innovation and best quality tyres, then how can we forget that Bridgestone is playing a big role in this matter as well? Their carving, which includes a highly aggressive pattern as well as wide grooves, large blocks and small cuts, contributes a lot in maintaining good traction on such challenging tracks, which can be mud, sand, gravel or any other road. This way, Bridgestone offers so many options under DUELER so that everyone can explore and choose that one based on their road health. 

Remaining Notable Points: 

Fuel saving designing 

Good rated for noise-cancellation 

Replacement time after a long use 

Reliable cornering steering response 

Made of highly bearable products 

Run-Flat Tyres 

These types of Bridgestone tyres are built based on technology that is meant to provide them with significant protection against punctures. A device is used in the tread so that the inside of the tyre does not have to face sharp objects that can cause it to deflate. This is why people who want to stop making their riding experience a struggle are willing to invest in them, as they can be used for up to 50 miles even after a puncture, just keep in mind that the driving speed should be normal. Bridgestone does not compromise on quality in their manufacturing.

Know Other Effective Functions:

No sound performance 

Fuel-saving tread pattern 

Best cornering handling 

Capable of lasting longer 

It’s Time to Conclude…… 

Beyond questions, Bridgestone's peak popularity has spread across the globe. The secret behind this recognition is their advanced approach that enables every category of tyre to deliver the best performance for a long period. Their tread carvings are known for multi-tasking as they take responsibility for not only maintaining safety but also providing comfort and other benefits that we have well-discussed in this blog. 

[olivieraa]

it didn't last long bc I got too busy, but for like a week, I tried to do a "what I'm grateful for today" journal and list 3 things each day. just small things that made me happy that day. like every bus I needed that day showing up on time, to the weather being decent, to the overall flow of the day going smoothly.

I like to think I've always appreciated the little things. I remember when I was in my college dorm back in 2018 and there was a light switch next to my bed. I considered that to be the most amazing thing in the world.

now, I have this specific form of trauma deeply imbedded in me in terms of not just my lack of trust in people (that's through the roof), but also not letting anyone new into my life. its very much a closed door no matter what new area I'm in. I will never let someone who has come into my life in the past 5 or 6 years get higher than a certain level.

and this is due to former best friends who took my kindness for granted many a year ago. out of the three, two I have started talking casually to now. one in the past two years and one this year. people may think, "why be so dumb to let people who fucked you over back into your life?", and that's just my overly forgiving nature. it doesn't mean they'll ever be as important to me as they were before. in fact, the one I've talked to for the past two years, I think he thinks we're closer than we ever were, but... that's on his side. he cant get passed the barrier I created thanks to him and the two others.

but I am always kind. I go out of my way to help people. but helping and being friends with them is very, very separate to me now and has been for a while.

the below isn't an example of that tho. this is one of those "what I'm grateful for today" moments.

in my college, as a rep, a lot of people come to me for help. one of the girls is from china, and you could see she was struggling to make or maintain friendships. so I reached out to her and told her to come sit at my table with my friends and she was so happy.

but for a while I always had to ask her. she wouldn't just invite herself over. too shy. so I said to her, "my dear, you can literally just walk over and sit next to us. you're not a bother". she was so grateful.

and its been like that since.

but recently she needed help with something and I helped her and she sent me this:

I was like "omg its no bother, its not a big deal"

but today she brought me in a cute pen that she bought. very, very cute pen. she just handed it to me like "I have a gift!".

when I think of my former best friends, I remember specific situations. with the first one from back in 2012, I helped her a lot. I remember her needing help with photoshop for her dad, and I just did the whole thing for her. she was so happy. I remember helping her get through a college project. I remember so many little tidbits. and I remember several posts, esp one main post, with her basically saying that she didn't think she'd be alive if it wasn't for me. I think I have that saved somewhere.

she ultimately ended up leaving me. we talk again and all is good, all is forgiven. but I'm bringing that up to show that this is a pattern of what people I get close to do to me.

as the second best friend, I remember holding him against me at 4am bc he had a bad PTSD trigger moment. I brought him to the hospital and stayed with him. I did so much for him. he also abandoned me. we didn't talk for 3 years and we talk again now.

I wont go into the third person as I haven't reconciled anything with her and I don't plan to.

and then there's been people in between. who I've gone out of my way to help and they're momentarily grateful but also very forgetful.

there was something about this girl coming in and giving me that pen. I truly think that she was super happy I came along. bc I can only imagine how terrifying it is to be in another country and not make any friends. and to be as shy as she is too.

I still have that closed off friends barrier. there's absolutely nobody getting past that, even if it seems like they might be different. that they're different to those of the past. but I made that mistake 3 times. 3 is too many tbh. to me that's like continuously getting back with your abusive ex. you should just know better.

at this point in my life now, I have no tolerance for it. actions will always speak louder than words. I'm forgiving, and I'm kind, but I'll never be taken advantage of again.

and I'm not saying this girl is trying to become super close to me and be best friends. not saying that at all. she's a super sweet, innocent girl who I enjoy talking to and want to help.

but I know how reality works.

eventually she will be someone I pass by on the street and either give a wave or make small talk to.

so yeah the people that are past that barrier have been there a long time. there's no room for new ones.

but, today that was a really nice moment. I felt how grateful she was and I'll treasure my new cute pen <3

[cavewretch]

captains log #755680 i don't remember how many numbers i used to put

been a while since i wrote one of these so it's Long

day 355 of the genocide in gaza. 500+ people killed in one day in lebanon. my neighbors put an israel flag in their window. hinds hall 2. i started watching this guy on youtube who does "gaza war sit reps," essentially summarizing events and the resistance's actions. he also does "tankie therapy sessions" with other ml journalists which are helping me keep it together. my mom said i looked down today and i said it's been a rough news week. she asked why. i'm trying not to let the rage and despair and biting indignation seep into my every interaction, but it'll be day 365 soon, and majority of people around me callously keep their heads firmly in the sand. how are you not also fundamentally different? how do you ignore this? aren't you at least ashamed?

no doctors will listen to me about mast cell activation syndrome. i don't almost die when i get a reaction so it doesn't count for them. i fear im getting more sensitive to triggers. i didn't get to go outside much at all this summer because of dust and pollen counts, and we didn't even have many wildfires this year. my pt said i should still do design for theater, and that i fit the vibe. "cool, chill, sure of yourself." that felt nice to hear :3 i tried to explain that i would love to, i desperately want to, but like. i get a migraine from other people's detergents. scented air fresheners force me to leave an area. i can't be in that environment anymore. not to mention my physical limitations.

i miss stimulants. pharmacies love to make you do a little dance before u can get meds. i hate being Dependent.

i can feel myself spinning out a bit on photosynth. i feel like i need to have something new every week to show to my professor, when i used to sometimes not even have a new note or idea for two months at a time. i think i need to turn the creative soil but i don't know that i have the energy for it.

i told my dad im a communist, and his first reaction was to tell me to talk to my grandfather about "living under communism" (former yugoslavia) (he left in the early 60s tho. and he lived on an island. his village has 6 houses to this day. he did not see socialism. i digress). this was a fascinating response considering my grandfather disowned my father in a fit of rage in april. do you still not think your father might be wrong about some things?

anyway. we bickered for a half hour, and the next day he informed me he downloaded the communist manifesto. probably the last thing i expected to happen but i'll report back if he actually reads it lmfao.

i've been watching a lot of documentaries on natural disasters and storm chaser videos on youtube recently. i've always had a fascination with extreme weather but i'm watching a lot lately. if you'll allow me to psychoanalyze myself. it's awe with weather and how the earth works. it's also a reminder that the world is bigger than humanity, we're part of an ecosystem. it's also a reminder that not all damage comes from us to each other . and that we can't possibly control everything. and it's nice to see people help each other. idk. it feels a bit twisted. but isn't it incredible that wind and temperature and water can mix up and spin and do all that?

writing about lesbians is very difficult. writing about lesbians under the (albeit lax) supervision of an older man in a position of authority over me is even more difficult. every time i feel the horror in the pit of my stomach i remind myself of that tweet that was like u have to write for u & ur dick (something like that) . and it actually Isn't perverse and evil . it's actually fine. (gritting my teeth)

ok thats all i got for now . disjointed wretched brain sample . good night 🤙

[sunnyworldwidelogistics]

Shipping to Peru: How We Personally Helped a Client Replace Woven Bags with Cartons

Shipping to Peru: How We Personally Helped a Client Replace Woven Bags with Cartons

In early July, our long-time client Isabel contacted me for a quote. She had about 2.8 cubic meters of slippers to ship to an Amazon warehouse in Peru. Since Isabel was working on FOB terms with the supplier, the supplier would send the goods to our warehouse.

After Isabel gave me the supplier’s contact information, I reached out to them the same day. The supplier informed me that the goods were ready, so I provided them with our warehouse address. After getting the details, I immediately sent a booking order to our operations department. Once we received the warehouse receipt, I sent it to the supplier and made sure they understood to attach the FBA labels and our warehouse markings. The next steps were to wait for the goods to arrive, consolidate the shipment, and load it onto the ship—everything seemed to be going smoothly.

Since the supplier was also in Shenzhen, the goods arrived at our Yantian port warehouse the next day. However, to my surprise, the goods were packed in woven bags! Amazon has a strict requirement that all goods must be packed in cartons, not woven bags. The supplier, being unfamiliar with Amazon’s packaging requirements, had mistakenly used woven bags.

After receiving this feedback from our operations team, I immediately contacted both the client and the supplier to explain that the packaging needed to be changed. We had two options: the first was to send cartons to the warehouse and have the agent repackage the goods, and the second was for us to purchase the cartons and repackage the goods ourselves.

Considering the client’s costs and time, we decided on the second option—to repackage the goods ourselves. This approach not only saved the client time and additional costs like labor fees and re-labeling but also ensured that the packaging met Amazon’s requirements.

Since I was familiar with Amazon’s requirements, I personally found a carton supplier and ordered a batch of cartons based on the size of the woven bags. Because the packaging was being changed, the previously attached labels were no longer usable, so I reprinted the FBA labels and warehouse markings. After making all these preparations, we waited for the cartons to be delivered to the warehouse.

To ensure we didn’t miss the shipping schedule, we urged the supplier to deliver the cartons to the warehouse as quickly as possible. I want to give a special thanks to my colleagues who volunteered to help when they learned about the situation. A few of our male colleagues joined me in the warehouse to assist with the repackaging. When we arrived, we saw a pile of goods in woven bags. We immediately started planning how to minimize the volume increase during the repackaging since sea freight is charged by CBM, and any increase in volume would raise the client’s shipping costs.

The FBA labels on the woven bags were numbered sequentially, but the order got mixed up during the warehouse handling, so we had to reorganize them and reapply the labels. We had 60 woven bags of slippers to repackage, and it took us over three hours to complete the task. In July, the weather in Shenzhen is extremely hot, and by the time we finished, everyone was drenched in sweat.

As a seasoned freight forwarder in China, we go above and beyond to serve our clients. We often handle tasks that other logistics companies might charge for or avoid altogether. For instance, when consolidating shipments, our sales reps supervise the loading process and send videos to clients. If there’s confusion with the labels, we re-label and recount the goods. Some companies might do this, but not as meticulously as we do. We even pack small items that clients purchase on Taobao. Other logistics companies might think of these small tasks but choose not to do them—we take care of them all for our clients.

Looking at the 60 cartons neatly arranged on the pallets, I sent Isabel a video to show that the repackaging was complete and that the shipment schedule had not been delayed. Isabel was very touched and sent a thumbs-up emoji along with her heartfelt thanks!

Even though I was exhausted, receiving feedback like Isabel’s made it all worthwhile. On the one hand, Isabel is a long-time client, so I wanted to provide the best logistics experience possible while also maximizing cost savings. This is what every team member at Sunny Worldwide Logistics strives to do—provide the best logistics solutions for each client, helping them ship their goods to every corner of the world in the most convenient, efficient, and economical way possible.

We believe that long-term cooperation is only possible if our clients are satisfied. That’s our service philosophy. Lastly, I want to remind everyone shipping to Amazon to use carton packaging and ensure the FBA labels are properly attached. Sunny Worldwide Logistics specializes in international sea freight, air freight, express delivery, and Amazon FBA services. With 26 years of industry experience, we safeguard your shipments. Choose Sunny Worldwide Logistics to make shipping easier!

[indigo474]

Spring 2024-

Sometimes I forget how much I have to be grateful for. I hate to admit that to myself. because the truth is I have so so much to be grateful for and life is sooo much better when I practice gratitude. it's really the only way for me to live. Opening my eyes to a new day is something for me to be grateful for. if I start there.. if I can start there each day.. it makes for a better day. I worked hard today- I had a rep quit. my team is basically falling apart. I have a few I can rely on. I was talking to one of my reps today and she said work is the least stress she has in her life.. for me its the opposite- work is the only stress I have in my life and i'm not sure I need to stress about it-i mean, it's what it is and i'm convinced we are all just kind of winging it.. I think I stress because I want to do a good job... Pam is all up my ass and I knew it would be this way. not something to stress about and I don't consider myself a grudge holder but I will never look at her or treat her the same as I use to... I'll say hi and bye and that is it- the account I was worried about- I found another one and had to bring it up.. again and there was a big meeting... at the end of the day I am/was covering my ass.. my division, ultimately my responsibility and when things don't go right i'm the one who would have to answer for it... I am currently sleeping with 2 books- the Gita- ughh.. I should be done with it by now- it is interesting and complicated and simple and Hinduism is probably my favorite religion- besides Christianity .. so many deities - the Bhagavad gita barely scratches the surface. the other book is the menopause brain- it puts me to sleep but I felt the need to read it, lots of good information. I read something today --- you do not have to ignore or erase the past, you just have to wholeheartedly embrace the present and move on---

Kika didn't bother with me much- she had a wild adventure over the weekend and hurt her paw- she's limping. she came out to say hi to me but that's about it. I lifted heavy 200x5x3- I think he might switch it up the next few weeks. It supposed to rain this weekend and I'm not happy about it- I wanted to run outside-- I have plans dammit! the weather is NOT cooperating with my plans-

life is good and I need to always remember how much I have to be grateful for- there was a time when I dreamed of living the life I am living- also I need to embrace the present-its all we really have-

first day of spring- how exciting- soon soon-

[crosscountrycarshippingus]

How Can You Avoid Issues With Auto Transport Services in Arkansas?

Relocating to a new state means moving more than just your household items. Finding reliable auto transport helps safely relocate your vehicles too. But entrusting your car or truck to ship out of state also stirs anxiety. Horror stories of damaged rides and shady brokers reinforce fears around long-distance auto shipping calamities.

However, arming yourself with key guidance around reviews, insurance, and contracts sets you up for smooth success using professional Car Shipping Services in Georgia.

Do Your Homework

The sheer number of car shipping companies and brokers to sift through feels overwhelming initially. Start by gathering quotes from a mix of large nationwide carriers and smaller regional outfitters highly familiar with popular routes like Dallas to Little Rock or Atlanta to Memphis.

Compare rates while reading recent customer feedback plus accreditations from transport associations like the Better Business Bureau. Identify front runners meeting benchmarks around experience, ethics, and equipment handling your make/model locally or regionally vs generic mass transit haulers.

Ask Questions

Reach out to a few top contenders to clarify specifics around insurance, tracking visibility, and support infrastructure. What coverage applies for comprehensive damage or loss? Can you track vehicles in real-time for peace of mind?

Who manages issues like weather delays or routing redirects? Regional companies with local drivers provide hands-on assistance versus big carriers that broker out the legs of the relay.

Consider it a telling sign if sales reps dodge questions or defer solving future issues altogether. Reputable Auto Transport Services Arkansas stands behind their system’s ability to deliver goods intact and on time.

Mind the Fine Print

While still comparing bids, read contract fine print details thoroughly too. Many carriers lure you in with lowball quotes that spike exponentially after “mandatory” fees for everything from fuel to insurance get tacked on.

Ensure price estimates of auto shipping services in Alabama are all-inclusive with guaranteed pickup dates in writing. Also, clarify how carriers define acceptable vehicle conditions and report damage for claims processing.

You want crystal clarity that any existing wear and tear gets noted pre-transit without dispute later. If proposed terms seem vague or contracts copy/paste generic without personalization, they likely exemplify equally impersonal transport handling.

Wrap Up

Moving vehicles long distance ratchets anxiety without the right protections in place. Select auto transport services vetting experience, ethics, and equipment to handle precious cargo safely.

The established regional carriers familiar with routes in/out of AR provide white glove service and accountability from quote to delivery. The Cross Country Car Transport fits the bill scoring five-star reviews for personalized handling guaranteed in writing. Their family-owned values shine by treating your vehicles like their own.

[lydsdonovan]

If eye rolls could make a sound, Lydia's would have been heard across the city, even as she swallowed it down with a large sip of wine. "God, don't remind me. In a few weeks, we're going to have to go online to pick his schedule -- his schedule, Will," she let out a dramatic side, rubbing the side of her face with her hand, "gone are the days where he stays with the same teacher all day. Now he's going to have, like, seven different ones, along with his own locker and a bunch of new kids to butt heads with. It's -- well, I'm obviously handling it well, as you can tell." Despite her whining, she really was dealing with it fine, aside from the pre-mid-life crisis talk -- and honestly? She had Will to thank for a lot of that, which reminded her; "You know I couldn't have gotten through a lot of this without you, right?" The baker shifted slightly then, brows arched as she met her friend's gaze. "From the diapers to the impossible science homework, picking him up from school, and just...being here when Matthew left. I have a pretty well-adjusted kid, and a large part of that is because of you." Lydia offered a sincere grin, leaning over to clink her glass with his. "So, thank you. If I haven't said it a million times already."

Taking a moment to recognize the song as it played over the speakers, Lydia couldn't help the chuckle that fell from her lips only moments later. "I hate to break it to you, Will, but you are inching closer and closer to the forty club," shoulders lift up in a shrug. "and apparently, that's old these days. Also, hate to say it, but playing the Little River Band really isn't doing you any favors. Maybe you should start looking into what the kids are listening to these days to get your rep back -- I'm sure Landon can get you up to speed." Though she really couldn't keep up with what her son considered 'cool' anymore, it changed as often as the weather. "If you're considered old, though, I don't wanna know what the hell I am. I've got a good three years on you, York, remember that."

"And every Wednesday it's still true." As difficult as it was for Will to share his deeper feelings with her, he wasn't shy about admitting how much he enjoyed her company. How meaningful her friendship was to him. He always wanted her to know how deeply he appreciated her. "Yeah kind of seems like they were trying to see who could actually break it, definitely got some kicks in. Not sure if it was just random or just because they wanted to be a specific pain in my ass. Either way, with a mom like you he's definitely not gonna turn into one of those assholes." He felt his cheeks blush as she spoke about his ass and getting a date. The more she went on, the more he covered his face with the wine, taking sips as an excuse not to respond just yet. "Why are you suddenly so invested in my getting a date? No, I did not get a number, felt that was pretty inappropriate, me being at work and all. I'm deeply grateful for your concern for my ass though, it's very touching," he told her and glanced back before laughing. "How about I'll go on a date when you do, hm?" He winced, already regretting the suggestion but not wanting to seem like it. He always wanted to support her happiness but his jealousy never reared as ugly as a head as it did when she was in a relationship. Elliott had been undoubtedly good to Landon and Lydia and yet every time Will had to be around him he found himself feeling like he had swallowed concrete. "Look at that optimism, it looks so good on you. Glad she's keeping you entertained, guess you never thought you'd see the day you'd be bored at the bakery, huh?"

"I will remember it when I show up early in the morning with some greasy breakfast sandwiches and large coffees to save us both and so we can be the adults we are. See? I've got this all planned, Lyds, we're solid. Drink up," he teased. When they were settled, Will waited for the two of them to dig in before he started, closing his eyes for a moment as he did. "Oh my god, this is delicious, thank you." He wiped his mouth quickly and set his food down so he could give Landon his full attention as he spoke. "Of course I will, are you kidding? Oh man five is a very precious number, dude, we gotta put some good thought into it. Consider me there. After dinner we can take stock of what you have so we make sure to be strategic, yanno?" Will was always happy to help Landon with anything, truly appreciative of how much he got to be in his life. It had made him a better person and in moments like these when it was just the three of them, Will could let himself believe they were their own little family but he did his best to shake those thoughts as quickly as he could. "Can't believe you're gonna be in sixth grade already, you're basically old enough to file taxes," he joked, reaching out to give Landon's shoulder a pat. "I'm super proud of you. You should be proud of yourself too. Fifth grade is no joke, I'm still traumatized from all that work we did on your art project this year. Last all nighter I'll ever do."

Will was content as they ate dinner and chatted, it had really been his dream kind of day. But he knew it would feel a little incomplete if he wasn't honest about Lydia. He wanted to celebrate since he was pretty proud of himself but he didn't want to do that without her. He was certain that once he laid things out for her, she'd see what this meant to him, she'd know it was the real deal. But still, he nervously pushed those thoughts down and focused on cleaning up once they were done, topping off both of their glasses as Landon's footsteps could be heard going up the stairs to his room. "So how are we feeling about having an almost sixth grader, mama bear?" He smiled as he took his glass and stood across from her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He pulled out his phone just so he could connect to her speaker, playing some music on low volume in the background as they chatted. This was his favorite part of dinner, just getting to be with her and talk to her. "You know I was playing this around one of the younger guys I know and he called it old man music? Am I an old man? Actually...don't answer that."

[emile-hides]

Crybaby imagines

I can’t find any BNHA X Reader blogs with their requests open, so heck it. Make the content you want to see in the world.

MHA Blonde boys react to reader crying (for various reasons)

Characters: All Might, Present Mic, Fatgum, Aoyama, Ojiro, Kaminari, Bakugo, Honenuki, Monoma, Mirio

All Might

1-A is an amazing bunch

It sort of just all hit you like a truck, really

How much 1-A had grown, how much they’d overcame

You’re not even entirely sure what sparked the thought process

But once it stared, you couldn’t stop

You were just so?? Proud??? Amazed???

Suddenly you were crying at your desk in the teacher’s lounge

Quiet, heavy tears

Your co-workers took notice, but it was Toshinori who approched your first asking what was wrong

You hadn’t even noticed you were crying

When you get into the why he’s all ears

He sits next to you and is soon joining in on the kid’s progress

He talks mostly about Bakugo and Midoriya, you go on about Asui and Koda

It turns to laughing and quietly bullying the kids for a moment as you two enjoy some of the sillier memories

Soon Toshinori, too, has tears in his eyes

He sobs more than you did

He’s just so proud of these kids!!

You feel like an old married couple talking about their 30-something kids living far from home

Kind of silly considering they’re all 15 and currently in class right down the hall

You two have to go see them during lunch break

Present Mic

Crying in Solidarity

You stood with Hizashi in front of a grave of a kid you never knew on an overcast day

He’d normally make a comment about the weather matching the mood but...

Not now

His fists were clenched, and though his smile stood strong and his glasses hid his eyes

They couldn’t catch his tears

You held his hand in silence and pretended not to notice the falling of his facade 

It happens very seldom

He was shaking, you could hear his breath hitch hard despite his attempts to remain calm

You didn’t know this Shirokumo kid, you’d never met him, you couldn’t pick him out in a crowd if you had to

You didn’t even know who he was to Hizashi

But you knew it tore him up inside that he was buried here

You knew he kept his emotions well contained for everything else but him

You pulled Hizashi a bit closer, letting him lean onto you as tears began to run down your cheeks

The two of you stood in silence and cried on this, an overcast day

The weather really did match your mood.

Fatgum

Crying in relief

The hospital door opened with a loud slam

You didn’t really mean to slam it so hard but now wasn’t the time to go apologizing to inanimate objects for being a little rough

Your voice shrilled even louder than the door the name of the patient laying on the bed in the center of the room

Taishiro looked up with a face of ‘Oh shit’ which was the correct face to have

You were mad for all of the time it took to yell about how worried you were

FIRST OF ALL he didn’t even call to tell you he was in the hospital, you got that information from Tamaki

Second, you barely even know what HAPPENED to land him here

And THIRD,

Nope. Anger’s gone. Evaporated like a puddle in mid July.

Taishiro had sat up in his bed with a nervous smile, peppering in the nicknames and speaking in the gentle voice as he reached out to console you

Just seeing him sit up, his arms bandaged lightly around the wrist

It all just came crashing in

He was fine. 

Tears over flowed as you cried a bit louder than you had yelled previously

Hiccuping and gasping out how worried you were and how mad you still wanted to be

Taishiro just laughed an apology as he hugged you, thankful for your concern

He promised to call next time

You found yourself yelling at him to never do this again

Aoyama

Crying on command

Acting was something you had mastered

More or less anyway

You dove head first into a role and you were damn good at it

But everyone has weaknesses

You’d locked yourself in Aoyama’s room, going over lines and choreography for some little play in the park you two had signed up for

Now you sat on his floor as he painted your nails, glaring daggers into the script

You had to cry. 

It seemed so easy. Think of something sad and cry over it on stage. Simply.

and yet your eyes remained dry, your stage make-up perfect

Aoyama had been couching you, weeping all sorts of tears for your amusment

It wasn’t helping

You turned your glare to Aoyama, who was completely enthralled in drawing tiny art pieces into your nails

God he was bright

....bright.....

You looked directly up at the light on the ceiling and stared

Your eyes wide you forced yourself not to blink

It hurts

And it worked

You looked back to Aoyama with tears streaming down your face and searing pain in your retina

He applauded your dedication

Ojiro

It’s all just a lot

You weren’t really sure when it all became so much

But everything you’d been working at and training for suddenly weighed more than you could bare

You found yourself in the middle of the UA empty halls, flat on the ground on your stomach

Tripping was the breaking point

The straw that broke the camel’s back, as they say

You just started sobbing

When you heard footsteps coming you just kind of... wiggled out of the way

Pressing yourself to the wall you just continued to cry to yourself, curled in a ball, expecting the other person to just pass you by

Instead a soft white handkerchief gently pressed to your cheek, followed by a quiet “Are you okay?”

You were not okay.

Ojiro sat himself beside you as you wiped your face, continuing to sob

You didn’t offer an explanation, he didn’t ask for one

He sat in the hall quietly with you, his tail giving the occasional swish to brush your cheek of tears

The silence gave to time to catch your breath, and realize class probably started a long time ago

When you got up to be on your way, he joined you

He didn’t offer to walk you where you needed to go, he simply did

His quiet wave, his silent smile, his patient glances at you

It all made everything feel just a bit lighter

The next time you’d see Ojiro in the halls, he’d smile at you

And he’d be delighted if you could smile back

Kaminari

Crying from shock

It was just a little zap to the hip, a little bee sting

He’d been doing it to everyone in class, learned it from some stupid tiktok

When it was your turn to get stung, you let out the loudest yelp in the class

He laughed at first, proudly proclaiming how he’d gotten you

Until you whipped to him with fury in your eyes, along with tears

His panicked “Shit, wait, I’m sorry” fell on deaf ears as you quickly gave him a return jab in the hip

Without the actual shock part it probably wasn’t as painful

So you did it a few more times for good measure

Then he jabbed you again

And it was on

Jabs to the hip turned to jabs to the gut, armpit, neck, even right dead center in his chest

You were both in pain and sure to be covered in bruises when Iida finally separated you two

It was hard to see with the tears swelling in both your eyes

But when Denki made direct eye contact with you before giving a glance to Iida, you knew

You nodded, an evil smirk crossing your face

The two of you took your index and middle fingers, driving them quickly and roughly into the class rep’s hips simultaneously

His yelp had the entire class laughing

It then also had the entire class in study hall for the rest of break

Bakugo

He’s just kind of a dick

Standing outside of class 1-A you felt as though your heart was beating in your throat

When the door opened you jumped out of your skin as a green haired boy came out at full speed

He managed to stop on a dime before slamming into you though

You choked out the courage to ask him if Katsuki Bakugo was in class

The kid before you stared in shock before turning around and calling for a “Kacchan”, telling him someone was here to see him

You glanced in the door and watched as several people pried the man you wanted to see from his seat, shoving him forcefully to the door

They all then slammed the door behind him, keeping the green haired kid who seemed in a rush to leave trapped inside

He barked a what at you that made you reconsider all your choices

Still. You swallowed all your courage, and said what you came here to say.

You confessed your feelings to Bakugo, bravely. 

He stared at you with a face of utter confusion, and it managed to catch you a bit off guard

He looked like he didn’t know how to respond

Which he, of course, didn’t.

So he responded the only way he really knows how

Anger.

“WHO THE HELL EVEN ARE YOU?!”

He called you some background extra. What gave you even the slightest though he’d want to be with some nobody he didn’t even know the name of

Within seconds of his screaming the 1-A doors slammed open yet again

The group who’d peeled Bakugo from his seat before jumped from the room and began wrestling him into submission, berating him for his treatment of you

But you were inclined to agree with him

You told them it was fine. He was right, you were just some nobody

You couldn’t stop your voice from shaking, tears streaming from your eyes as you gripped tightly at your shirt

Not knowing really what else to do, you turned and ran away

It was well over a few hours later, and you were still crying alone in the court yard

You flinched at the sound of footsteps approaching you. You closed your eyes and planned to make a run for it somewhere else to avoid bothering anyone

“Hey, dumbass,” a hand placed on your forehead, pulling you back to lean on the person behind you, “You could do a lot better than an ass like me.”

You glanced at Bakugo, who was looking far into the distance, his ears red

You cried and apologized. He didn’t say much else, but his hand remained on you, keeping you in place

You found yourself invited out more, running around with Bakugo and his friends, being rowdy and dumb as teens should be

Your crush on Katsuki Bakugo soon became a distant memory as he grew to be one of your closest friends

Honenuki

Yawning

You flopped dramatically onto the common room couch and let out the loudest, most drawn out sigh you could muster

This act of pure drama drew the attention of Juzo Honenuki, who simply chuckled at your antics

You stretched like a cat across the couch, reaching for him lazily with one hand, you swatted at the book he’d been comfortably reading

He gave another chuckle and inquired what you were after

You answered with an equally dramatic and drawn out yawn, bringing tears to your eyes as you again stretched to him

You then closed your eyes and snuggled into a couch pillow

Honenuki’s hand stretched across the couches and found itself on your head, giving gentle pets back and forth

Once he found himself a good stopping point, Honenuki put his bookmark in place and snapped the book closed

He gave a stretch and a yawn before encouraging you to your feet

You lazily tangled your arms around one of his and draped yourself over him

The two of you walked to your separate dorm rooms arm in arm, occasionally letting out more and more exasperated yawns and sleepy giggles

Monoma

Crying from pain

This was... probably your fault?

You remembered running into Awase from class 1-B while going a bit too fast though the halls

Next thing you knew you were in front of him, on your ass, staring up at him upside down

It took a minute for the pain to register, but as soon as it did tears stung your eyes

You couldn’t even really say anything as Awase’s eyes filled with panic when he’d realized what he’d done, quickly dropping your arm and stepping back, probably planning to make a run for it

The is until his blond classmate came up behind him, pressuring him to apologize in a loud, negging tone

When Awase again avoided your eyes, opting to shove his hands in his pockets as he glared at the wall, Monoma dropped to his knees and offered you assistance

The question of “Do you need to go to the nurse?” was accompanied with a handkerchief dabbed at your eyes

Monoma helped you to your feet, apologizing for his classmate, assuring you you were fine and didn’t need to report this to a teacher because you were clearly fine look at you you’re fine

I mean you weren’t bleeding so... Yeah? You were fine.

He sounded like he’d be the one in trouble if you told someone about Awase self defense flipping you over his shoulder

When he offered again to walk you to the nurse, you declined

He was right, you were fine, just a bit sore

You wiped the tears from your eyes and thanked him for his concern as you walked passed him

You also apologized to Awase for bumping into him, though he just huffed a response

You didn’t get very far when you heard quick steps following close behind

Monoma was just checking in to make sure you for sure weren’t going to tell anyone class 1-B’s Awase threw you like a rag doll

He also just figured while he was here he’d ask if there was anything he could do to make up for this incident

Like... buy you lunch sometime.... Or take you out to a nice cafe he knows after school... maybe...?

He just. Didn’t want you to think class B does hit and runs like this on all the pretty students

Mirio

Crying from laughing

Your sides hurt

You gripped onto yourself as you leaned onto Mirio, cackling harder than you had in a while

He was retelling some jokes he’d gone over with Sir Nighteye at his internship today, regaling you, Tamaki, and Nejire with perfect one-liners and horrid puns

You all were laughing far too hard for this late at night

Tears pricked your eyes as you slapped at Mirio’s leg, gasping for breath you begged for a time out

You have the most contagious laugh, Mirio was positive his jokes only ever landed because you laughed at them so easily

When you finally caught your breath you sat up, rubbing giggly tears from your eyes

You gave a glance around the room and found Tamaki doing the same, though his tears were from the yawn he’d just given

All three of you watched Tamaki adorably shifts as he rubbed the tired from his eyes, something he flushed over when he’d finally noticed the attention

Nejire declared that meant bedtime and hopped from her seated position, pulling Tamaki along with her

In a matter of moments she was dragging the tired boy out of the room to their own dorms

You and Mirio chuckled at her antics before you too got up to get going

Mirio offered to walk you to your dorm, which wasn’t far down the hall, but he made such a show of it how could you say no?

Of course he spent the whole walk telling even more terrible jokes that continued to crack you up

By the time you’d gotten to your dorm you were so giggly you couldn’t see straight

Mirio waved as he turned and walked the 5 feet back to his own room

He then turned around and waved again, claiming he already misses you

You giggled at him and returned to your own room

He loved your laugh.

[strawbabysimp]

Sous-Chef || Jealous!Zoro x Reader

Genre: Light Angst

Category: Jealous!Zoro x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Misunderstandings, Obsessive Working Out, Relationship Insecurities

Request(s): "Hello!!! I found your blog a few days ago and I felt like I absolutely had to make a HC request! Your writing is amazing!! Do you think you can do a HC on Zoro having a partner who likes to cook and shares the kitchen with sanji? maybe a little jealousy?"

A/N: I started this as headcanons but I got a bit carried away and it became a fic~ I hope you don't mind💕

"Those two are getting along pretty well, huh?"

Zoro looked up from his lap, his drift into slumber interrupted by the long-nosed sniper's words. His brow furrowed in confusion before following Usopp's gaze, catching sight of you and Sanji laughing amongst yourselves about something he wasn't privy to by the kitchen door. He wasn't surprised to see you there, often spotting you alongside the chef cooking up some new recipe he didn't understand the specifics of but would end up eating nonetheless. At his Nakama's lack of response, Usopp hurried to calm down the already cool-headed man. "Not that anything's, ya know, happening, or anything like that! I didn't mean that- I mean... You know what I meant." Zoro shrugged off his concerns inturn for returning to his attempt at sleep, this time without interruption from his crewmate.

He fell asleep to the sound of laughter.

~~~

The next day was interesting, having woken up to the shuffling of clothes and hushed voices. His senses were keen and he picked up on the ones responsible for the disturbance immediately. What were you and Sanji doing?

"Hurry up before you wake up the Marimo. I have something to show you!" The cook's voice was raspy in his attempt at quietness and Zoro was tempted to steal a peek at whatever was so interesting you had to get up before sunrise to see. "Shhhh!" You scolded the other man's insistent words.

Right after the initial shock of this wore off, a much more cynical thought made its way into his head.

He wasn't welcome. That's why you hadn't woken him up. That's why he couldn't come along with you, clinging close to your side in the morning air as you laughed off the curly-brow's stare of discontent at the sight of him. Whatever this thing between you and Sanji was, Zoro had no place in it and that notion was supported by the both of you. Zoro wasn't welcome in this part of your life, even as a spectator, and you had made sure of that.

You stepped out the door and his heart ached. He wasn't mad - not at you at least. He was confused. He hated being confused. Anger at least meant he understood the situation, but right now, he was left alone in the bed you and he were meant to share, feeling far too lonely for a man whose partner was just outside.

You came back in after some time, getting back into bed with a content sigh, the heat of his body warming you up from the cold dawn air. He was stiff beside you and you called his name in a low voice. He didn't respond to your questioning tone and you gave a soft smile to his relaxed face.

Zoro could only sense your stare, not your feelings, and turned over with a small, well-placed groan.

~~~

The light shined through under the door and it was Zoro's turn to wake up before you. It had to have been a few hours since your mysterious departure and return to the room and while he was still plagued by the many questions your actions left in his mind, no good could be done laying around.

He quickly got ready for the day, fixing his clothes in the mirror for a split second before heading out to the deck. The smell of food hit him and he knew that whatever the cook was making was going to be good. Not a surprise. Despite the pleasant aroma, his calm mood shifted and he wanted nothing more than to get away from the tell-tale signs of breakfast.

"Zoro!"

Your voice rang across the deck and his chest tightened. He turned around to face you, the soft smile on your face a welcome sight no matter any internal struggles he was facing. He knew trust was a difficult and sometimes fatal thing but he truly did have faith in the fact you wouldn't do anything to hurt him. This was his own issue. He trusted you(and Sanji but he wasn't about to say that).

He put off his training for a later time, the cook calling out that food was ready soon after you had approached him. Everyone quickly gathered and as the food was placed down, forks at ready to fend off their Captain's gluttonous hands, the Strawhats dug in. Your thigh was pressed against Zoro's and in the approaching winter island weather - and truly any instance at all - the contact was most welcome. Zoro poked at your plate playfully, expecting a laugh as he half-heartedly went for your food, but was surprised to see it garnered no reaction. His eyes traveled up your neck and he spotted your upturned lips which had a small smile of his own gracing his face, but as he looked at your eyes he realized you weren't paying attention to him in the slightest. You were looking at Sanji. And he was smiling back.

The pleasant expression on the swordman's face dropped away and he went back to eating, catching Robin's eye whilst doing so. The two shared a blank look and Zoro nodded at her before continuing his meal.

Your cheek pressed against his shoulder as he chewed around his fork, the warmth that filled him at the action burning in a masochistic sort of way. He knew he should talk to you but some part of him was scared of the answer and avoiding feelings was something Zoro did best. Be logical and win. That's all he had to do. But was there even something to win? And if so, hadn't Sanji already won?

The affectionate gesture received no reaction just as his had before and you removed yourself from his warmth.

~~~

Breakfast ended and with a quick press to your forehead Zoro was off, no doubt going to train up until lunch. The smile you received was tender yet rushed and you tried to trust in the fact that Zoro would come to you if something was wrong. Confronting him made him uncomfortable and you tried to avoid that when possible, giving him a place to express himself freely without forcing it out of him.

You made your way back into the kitchen, asking Sanji if he needed help with anything. He turned down your offer politely, content with the process of making the crew drinks on his own, but at the look on your face, he changed his mood. Directing you off into the food storage to get him some supplies, what he had originally planned to be a simple hot chocolate was now turning into an assortment of treats. He could tell you needed something to distract you and what better than cooking alongside the ship's gifted chef to soothe your need for occupation.

The snacks practically made themselves, you and Sanji working in sync as you gave the occasional comment or request. By the time it was done, there laid mugs of hot chocolate topped with fresh whipped cream and an assortment of cookies for everyone to choose from that would hopefully satisfy them until lunch was ready.

Sanji took the liberty of handing out the food to the ladies, stopping by Chopper as well because who could resist the cuteness of the blue-nosed creature. It was hard to believe anyone could consider him anything other than adorable perfection. You were of course stuck with the boys, balancing the dishes as you handed them off with a word of thanks from the recipients - or the occasional attempt at grabbing another serving.

The only person left was Zoro and when you didn't find him in his usual napping spot you crossed the deck with a sigh. That man truly was too predictable.

"Hey Y/N! Looking for Zoro?" Usopp questioned, the chocolatey drink coating his upper lip as he smiled. You nodded. "He said he wanted to be left alone to train. I'll graciously take his food though!" The sniper reached out for the goods, taking them from your frozen hands as you frowned. You always delivered Zoro's food to him when he trained, even if it went cold he ate it just so you would stop by to bring it to him. Maybe something really was wrong with your boyfriend.

~~~

Zoro's muscles ached under the strain of the weights, he had lost count of the reps by now and had no intention of stopping any time soon. His arms begged him to put them down, already far surpassing his goal for the workout session, but he couldn't. He found peace in the rhythmic movements and the pain only seemed to calm his mind. The endorphins in his brain fueled him on and he could easily see himself becoming addicted to the act; if he wasn't already that is.

All the anger and confusion faded into the background as his body screamed at him to stop. The sweat dripped down his face and the plain white shirt he adorned was soaked through with the moisture. He would have taken it off but that would require a break and that wasn't something his mind allowed at the moment. He let the fabric cling to his body as he focused on the movements.

A knock at the entrance had him dropping the heavy equipment without a second thought, looking over to where he had set his swords. He worked to catch his breath, the pain in his chest yet to subside due to the lengths he had pushed himself when the smell of tobacco flooded his senses.

"What are you doing, Marimo?" Sanji said without his usual instigating tone, the cigarette balanced against his lip as he spoke. The declared "Marimo" huffed, not happy to be interrupted by the main cause of his grief.

"Get out."

"I'll leave when you get your grassy head out of your ass and stop doing whatever it is you're doing."

"And what exactly am I doing, Cook?"

Sanji shot him a look, annoyed by his Nakama's false ignorance. His next words weren't a suggestion. "Fix this."

He turned around without another word, leaving Zoro alone once again, his only company being the cigarette smoke lingering in the air as a cruel reminder of the other's words.

~~~

Zoro didn't have the will to leave the space, the workout equipment surrounding his now near-sleeping form. He knew avoiding the issue would only make it worse but the comfort of being alone to dwell in his ill feelings was too tempting to resist. Just as he was about to lay down for a quick nap a knock broke him out of his wallowing state. Could he not get an ounce of peace on this damn ship?

His eyes widened at the person approaching.

"Y/N?"

"The one and only," you said in a somber voice, approaching the man. You weren't used to the lack of alcohol flooding your senses as you got close. He always smelled a bit of the drink and the small difference had you shifting on your feet, only adding to the uncomfortable mess of the situation.

You sighed, tugging Zoro up and along behind you as he simply gazed at you in confusion. He wanted to rip his arm away from your grasp, not a fan of being grabbed so harshly, but the lack of physical contact between you two left him a little more lenient if it meant he could touch you.

The trek to the food storage was silent, the tension between you two lessening slightly despite no words being exchanged. You caught a few looks from the others, some sending concerned frowns or even a stern glare from Sanji directed at your boyfriend. He didn't come in here often unless it was to steal alcohol - he came in here pretty often - and the way his eyes shifted around the room made it obvious he was uncomfortable with the situation yet decided to stay to see whatever this was through.

You let go of his arm to make your way over to the corner, pulling a box into view that had Zoro walking over himself to see. The top came off with a crack and you moved over slightly so he could get a better look from beside you. The container was filled with what looked to be little balls of algae but couldn't possibly be from how they sat on top of one another.

"Sanji found these on the last island. He said they reminded him of you, well, he said they looked like some sort of moss ball which is basically the same thing-"

Your words faded off into the background as Zoro peered down at the box, the contents staring back at him mockingly. He picked one of the fruits up, surprised at the hard exterior, and turned to face you.

"Is this why you snuck off yesterday?"

God, he felt stupid.

"Snuck off?" Your eyes widened in realization.

"It was supposed to a surprise! I thought maybe I could make you something with them. I would never... What did you think was happening?"

Zoro met your gaze with a shrunken expression. His words sounding pitiful to his own ears. "I didn't know what to think Y/N," his hand came up to card through his hair as his eyes shut, "I didn't want to think anything."

You gave a soft smile, knowing the conversation could get far too grim at a time that was supposed to be pleasant. "Sanji wanted to show these to me. I think he wanted to do something nice for us. He can be a bit of a dick," Zoro laughed at your words, "but he's sweet." There was a million different things he could say in that moment to counteract your words but decided against it. The weight that had been crushing his ribs finally dispersed and with a smirk he asked, "So, what can you make with these?"

You grinned, going off on a tangent about all the things you and Sanji had tried, the swordsman watching with bright eyes at the enthusiastic verbal reenactment of your cooking trials.

[mmvalentine]

heyy, can you write feysand as something like roommates or just friends but then rhys walks in on feyre getting off thinking of him and everything changes? thank u and your stories are amazing ❤️

BESTIE YOU KNOW I LOVE A ROOM MATES AU. Let's do a 2-shot.

Just Fantasy pt 1

Feyre is an early bird and Rhys is a night owl.

For the most part, this suits them just fine. They share a small apartment and they are never trying to use the bathroom or kitchen at the same time.

Rhys does weights in his room every day at 9pm. Feyre supposes this is some sort of afternoon for him, since he tends to wake up around noon. She herself is usually climbing into bed around this time, but does not mind the rhythmic clanking of the weights. Particularly because on nights she can’t sleep, there’s one thing that cures her insomnia, and it helps to know that Rhys is not going to knock on her door while she does it.

Feyre prefers reading erotic fiction to watching video porn, and this is convenient because it is silent. She has a library of short, filthy stories on her iPad, which never runs out because Mor sends her new ones periodically and then squeals about them over coffee.

Feyre’s summer routine is to get up early, go for a run, then work in the living room. She works from home most days, and is able to sit on the beach in the afternoons if she finishes on time. Rhys works free lance and has an office in the city, but by no means keeps regular hours.

Feyre is glad Rhys is often out of the house, because she’s starting to find Rhys slightly distracting. There’s just something about hot weather that always seems to make her a little more... excitable. And after months of thick sweaters, she’s suddenly looking at her room mate a little too long these days. She can’t remember if he’s always been this attractive, or if she’s only now noticing.

This week the season is tempestuous, and it has been alternately been storming and baking them alive in their apartment. Feyre has been trying to work, but can barely think straight in the heat. It does not help that Rhys has started walking around the house shirtless, and he seems to always be slicked with sweat. One day Rhys comes home after being caught in the rain, and his t-shirt is plastered to him in a way that is worse than when he is not wearing one at all.

“Hello Feyre darling,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Hey Rhys,” she says, ignoring the tingling sensation where his lips touched her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Sorry,” he responds, and grabs an apple off the kitchen counter. He takes a large bite as he disappears into his bedroom, and then emerges a minute later in dry clothes and towelling off his hair.

“Real bad storm brewing out there,” he comments.

“Yeah, no beach for me today,” Feyre replies, and then feels this is a dumb thing to say. She hurries on. “Where have you been today?”

“Was supposed to be on a shoot, but of course it was a disaster with the weather,” Rhys says. “I’m just happy none of my equipment got destroyed. Gonna flick through the photos now and see if we got anything worth keeping.”

He rummages in the fridge and gives Feyre a wink before going back to his room with an armful of food. Feyre smiles at him, then turns back to her very blank computer screen.

By the evening, the building is shaking in the grip of the thunder storm. Feyre is very grateful that she is in the living room when there is a loud crash, and both she and Rhys rush toward the sound to discover that Feyre’s bedroom window has been smashed in. They rush forward and try to move things out of the way as water torrents in, but there is not much else they can do with the glass gone.

In the end, the storm blows over and most of Feyre’s things are okay. It takes two days for the landlord to fix up the window, and Feyre stays at Mor’s. When she gets back, the debris has been cleared and the window is whole, but the carpet is wet and it smells like damp. Feyre collects her things and sleeps on the couch.

Rhys offers to sleep in the living room so she can have his bed, but Feyre declines. And so she finds herself lying in the dark trying to get to sleep while Rhys potters around hours from his own bedtime.

Feyre is a creature of habit. She finds it difficult to sleep in the wrong place, and after a half hour wide awake, she wonders if her usual trick for falling asleep is feasible here in the lounge room. After all, she can hear Rhys lifting weights in his room so she knows he isn’t going to walk in.

Feyre’s hand slides between her legs under her thin summer blanket, and she is now bitterly regretting that her iPad was ruined in the storm. She flicks through her phone with her free hand, scrolling past images and snippets of bad fan fiction, and misses the familiarity of the short stories she already knows she enjoys. She’s having trouble focusing on anything, and trying to keep an ear out in case Rhys finishes his workout and comes out looking for food or the bathroom or something.

Luckily, she can still hear him. Could count his reps if she wanted to, using the sharp metal clangs. She can even hear him breathing, deep inhales and grunting exhales as he exerts himself.

Now that she’s listening to it, she realises that the sounds coming from his room sound a lot like other bedroom sounds. The pattern of his breathing, the little groan he makes at the peak of each extension, is frankly erotic. Before she knows what she’s doing, Feyre’s fingers are moving and behind her closed eyelids she can see Rhys panting for a different reason.

It’s not difficult for Feyre to imagine Rhys naked. She knows the bare planes of his chest in more detail than she cares to admit, knows the flow of his tattoos and the contours of his abs. Has seen him in sweatpants enough times to estimate the shape of other areas too, and although she hasn’t let herself have this fantasy before, now that she’s started it so easy to fall into.

Feyre does not like to consider whether she’s in love with her roommate. It would be far too inconvenient if she was, so she doesn’t think about it. The fact of her attraction, however, is not something she can deny- Rhys is objectively, and unreasonably attractive. She knows he does some kind of martial arts, but he’s not a violent sort of a person. In fact he’s infuriatingly calm at times, and on more than one occasion he has helped to ground her when she is freaking out about a deadline or family drama with her sisters. He’s always kind, and patient with her in a way that no... but this isn’t what Feyre wants to be thinking about.

Easier to focus back on the breathing, the sharp exhales, the image of the movement of his muscles. In her head, every breath is taken by her ear, blowing against her lips, the rhythm matching his pace above her.

In real life, she had never been the sort of girl who could make the first move- not like Mor, who had enough confidence for the both of them. She would be mortified for Rhys to discover her little crush. But here in her imagination it is so easy between them. That smirk Rhys sometimes gives her when she feels like he is reading her mind seems so much sexier when it is inches from her own mouth, when she can lick her tongue against it while her hips move to meet his.

She imagines the surety he always seems to carry would cross over into Rhys’s sex life. She imagines he would be completely in control in the bedroom, unruffled and measured as ever as he moves inside her. Feyre, on the other hand, is surely a more reactive creature, and would squirm beneath him. Her head falls back against the arm rest of the couch as her hand- no Rhys, moves faster between her legs. He is delicious, he is exquisite, he is going to make her come.

“Is that good, baby?” Rhys says in her mind.

“Yes,” she breathes back.

“Say my name when you come,” he tells her.

“Rhys,” she murmurs, as her climax builds on her fingertips. “Rhys.. Rhys!”

She’s so lost in it that she doesn’t notice that the clanking weights have stopped, and that she’s just spoken out loud. Is not at all prepared when a real life Rhys walks into the room and says “yeah Feyre what’s...”

He trails off as he takes in the sight of her. Knees pull up, head thrown back and eyes glazed. His name still warm on her lips.

****

Part 2 is all smut baby. Now up.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

[interchangetalks]

UNDER THE SEA...

that’s where all our ships are sinking because it’s break up season, bitches. no one is weathering this storm. ariel might have sat on rocks to sing a pretty tune but around here our favourite disasters are crashing into them like never before and if you ask me, there won’t be many who ever make it back. rest in pieces. 

to honour our most recent dearly departed guests, i’m not even going to throw shade. i’m sure that auggie will do enough of that about our most beloved threesome participant francis wymack. good luck in the city, bodhi and owen, you were our favourite gays (sorry, kai). please, only come back if you want to be in another controversial fourway relationship.

we’ll start with a little low down on our favourite unhappily married couple everett and emerson. we’re all shocked they stayed married this long but we hear through the grapevine that everetts finally filing for that D-I-V-O-R-C-E. celebrations might be in order but emerson went full speed ahead when it came to fulfilling her new role as community hoe... is she trying to one up her husbands rep? more on this later.

rumour has it that kai left the party with our favourite young sweet magazine enthusiastic. so, which option did you take on the pop quiz? A or B? you know, we never pictured lloyd in a sexy beach themed entanglement but it certainly has our interest. our new otp? ares and olivia are out forever, kai and lloyd are in. 

silas was playing his normal party tricks and honouring his title as one of the community dicks, first there was reese, then there was emerson (these two have a thing for sharing guys) and then there was... most shocking of all, reid bennet. it must be hard putting so much work in around here to seeming sexy and mysterious but the good news is that it seems like there’s a new mystery man on the horizon... welcome to the interchange mariano. i wonder if he uses the pet name kitten too. 

with this shit ton of new faces it’s hard to keep up but we’ll make sure to keep a close eye on all these new attractive young people to ensure we can dish the dirt on them as a matter of urgency. 

keo and ashley mac making are making a splash when it comes to hitting the likability scale- but with the return of the other ashley, we have to question how long it’ll take for shit to hit the fan and if she’s interested in rekindling her little friendship with our very own naomi o now prank seasons over. if not maybe we’ll get our dreams of a man hating ashley supremacy over here. 

it seems like valeria returned just in time to be flavour of the week and she might have enjoyed a little flirtation with finley and everett. but don’t feel bad about flirting with your friends husband, val... emerson will be square because we hear she was busy asking cassidy if he was interested in a little ocean action. now, i thought we believed in girl code at least, ladies. can’t you trust any of your friends with your boyfriend, cecilya? 

we did spy one particularly thrilling scene, our own little tyler standing up to his long term lover (and executioner) elle woodhouse. we all know how elle loves to keep a list of rotational lovers on the go but with them dropping like flies, maybe she should be a little kinder to the only one who actually likes her. maybe it’s time for little ty to get a piece on the side and see if she cares when she’s going through dick-privation. consider rosalie, alana or jac as some sexy options. 

what else? auggie’s still crying about his crush, no one knows what’s going on between noah and lafayette, estelle and silver still haven’t fucked, arisa is still single, zeki and mel are still together and i’m still wondering what georgia was up while she was gone. 

[secretpeachtea]

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 9

Title: the lighthouse in the midst of a storm

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: hi. new update and this one is a bit dialogue heavy. for good reason! just osamu this time, folks! this one's a lot less chaotic and a lot more floof. it's a bit of a break from all the things that have been going on the last few chapters

Previous///Next

Echoes of rain fill the almost empty restaurant as you stand in front of the register bored out of your mind. It’s been raining all morning causing there to be significantly less customers than usual. You can’t really complain since you’re still getting paid to do nothing, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t starting to get antsy.

Despite the change in weather, today is still a regular work day, but you can’t shake the weird feeling that something was going to happen.

Your discomfort must have been obvious because Osamu slides over to the spot next to you and leans forward to get your attention. “What’s on your mind? Not that I’m judging you or anything, but you got a bit of a constipated look going on right now.”

“I don’t know. Something just feels...off about today.” You place a hand on your cheek in contemplation and look up to the ceiling as if it was going to give you answers.

Osamu hums at your reply and straightens his back. “You sure you’re not getting sick or anything? Feeling lightheaded?”

You let out an exasperated huff. Ever since the incident during the MSBY event, Osamu has become more worrisome over your health. “Okay, you need to stop asking me that every single time I tell you I’m tired or distracted. I told you I learned my lesson from last time!”

“I know, I know. You just scared me a bit at the time.” Your boss places a hand on his chest with exaggerated movements. “I don’t think I’m qualified to hide a dead body just yet.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hide my body? You wouldn’t call an ambulance or something?”

Osamu gives you a teasing smile. “Listen, I appreciate you as a worker, but reporting a dead body in my restaurant would give it some bad rep. I would instantly lose all my customers.”

“Oh, you little shit-”

Just as you were about to jab Osamu’s side, you hear someone clear their throat. Both of your eyes shoot up in surprise and notice a young woman waiting in front of the register.

Without giving you a chance to apologize, the woman holds out her hand to Osamu. “Hello, Miya-san! My name is Sanada Akemi, and I’m a journalist for Kitchen Kuts magazine.”

“Uh...Hello, Sanada-san.” Osamu accepts her hand in greeting.

You’re already kind of irked at how she was obviously making the effort to ignore your presence, but you feel even worse when the journalist grasps onto Osamu’s hand with both of hers in what you consider to be an unnecessarily intimate handshake.

“Wow!” Sanada lets out an exaggerated gasp when she notices the portraits that a certain blonde had put up. “Is that you? I didn’t know you were a volleyball player too!”

“Oh, no. That’s my brother. I don’t play anymore,” Osamu answers.

“That’s still pretty cool! Although, you definitely match the level of attractiveness of these athletes.”

Without saying a word, you aggressively click the button that opens the register and the compartment springs out loudly. The noise was loud enough to startle everyone around you. Osamu and Sanada direct their attention at you.

“Don’t mind me. Just organizing our funds. Please continue your conversation about the magazine.” You hoped that the fake smile you had was convincing enough. One side of Osamu’s lips twitch, but he refrains from revealing the smile that threatens to come out.

Your tense tone went unnoticed by Sanada as she placed her hand in front of her mouth. “Oh, dear! Sorry about that. I tend to get a bit distracted. I was wondering if I could do an interview with you about your thriving restaurant, Miya-san.”

Osamu brings his attention back to the journalist and nods his head. “Sure. Although, I will need to step aside if a customer comes in at any point.”

“That’s fine. Let’s take a seat at one of the tables.”

Once Osamu makes his way around the counter, you feel your left eye twitch as you watch Sanada place a hand on his shoulder and lead him to one of the empty tables. Your boss sits in the seat that’s facing away from you and Sanada takes the one in front of him.

They’re too far away for you to eavesdrop but glance at them a few times out of curiosity only to be caught staring by Sanada. The first time you take a peek you awkwardly stare at one another for a few seconds before you break away in discomfort. The second time you were caught, Sanada furrowed her eyebrows and sported a confused expression at your attention. The last time your eyes met, the journalist quickly avoided your stare and you were the one blinking in confusion this time.

Realizing that you were being a bit rude, you stopped stealing glances and waited patiently for the interview to finish, albeit with a small frown glued to your lips. After a couple more minutes, your ears pick up the screeching of chairs and you muster up the courage to look at the two one more time.

Sanada flips to an empty page in her notebook and begins to scribble something quickly before tearing it out. She motions for Osamu to take it and whispers something into his ear with a bright blush dominating her cheeks. Sanada then bows with a brief thank you and practically runs outside of the shop while haphazardly opening up the umbrella that she had left next to the entrance. You think you might’ve seen her look at you one last time before the door closed but don’t think much of it.

Osamu walks back to his place behind the counter with an unreadable smile. A familiar feeling begins to build up inside of you, but you’re too stubborn to admit how you truly feel out loud. Instead, you decide to take the passive aggressive route and mutter under your breath, “Yeah, of course. You’ll definitely swoon the owner of a restaurant by not buying any of his food. Perfect. Smooth.”

It seems like Osamu was still able to hear your mumbling based on how his expression transformed into a cheeky grin. “The journalist lady gave me her number.”

“Yeah? Okay. That’s great.” No matter how much you wanted to keep an impassive face, there was no stopping the pout from forming on your lips. “She was a pretty woman and you guys looked fine together, I guess. She was a little ditzy and a bit touchy, but I’m sure she’s got something good going for her. As long as you’re happy, I’ll be there to support your wildest endeavors forever and always since I’m your favorite employee and-”

“And she said it was for you.”

Osamu’s words cut your rambling short.

“What?”

The male lets out a chuckle. “She said she was too shy to give it to you herself and asked me to ‘give her number to the lovely girl at the register’.”

All of the pent up frustration rapidly leaves your body as you process what you had just heard. A full minute passes by before one of your hands nervously comes up to your neck similar to how Osamu often gestures. “Oh...um...sorry I guess I got kind of carried away there.”

Your boss pats your shoulder playfully. “No worries. Glad you’re looking out for me, favorite employee!”

“S-shut up!”

After you had politely declined taking Sanada’s number from Osamu, the rest of the afternoon went by fairly uneventfully other than the storm outside getting progressively worse at every hour. As a result, there hasn’t been a single person that has walked through the front door in the last two hours.

“Damn. It doesn’t look like it’ll get any better by the time we close, so I think it’s safe to say that we should close early.” Osamu winces as the violent winds cause the front door to rattle.

You grimace. “Yeah. We’ll probably be stuck here for a while though. If we go out there now, it’ll be hell.”

A flash of lightning startles you and a boom of thunder follows soon after. Suddenly, the overhead lights begin to flicker before completely dying out. Your entire vision is shrouded by darkness. The one time you leave your phone in the back room is the one time you actually need it. “I didn’t think the storm would bring us any more misfortune, but I stand corrected.”

“Hey, now. If you say something like that, you’ll jinx yourself.” Osamu starts patting the counter. “Where the hell did I put my phone?”

You shuffled over to where your boss was to help his search. “Sure, sure. What could possibly-! Shit!”

You’re not sure who the idiot was that left the broom in the middle of nowhere (it was you), but as you're making your way to Osamu’s general direction, your foot gets caught on it. Your eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness yet, so you just blindly flail your arms in hopes of latching onto something before injuring yourself. Luckily, your workspace is small.

“Oof!”

Without thinking, your arms immediately embrace Osamu’s torso to stop your fall and his own arms wrap around your shoulders. The two of you stumble back a couple steps but don’t topple over. You stay still for a couple moments to calm yourself down, but your hold on Osamu doesn’t loosen.

“Alright. It’s like you’re asking me to learn how to hide a body,” the male teasingly quips.

You can’t keep the humor out of your own voice, “Osamu-san, this isn’t the time to joke around! I literally almost died!”

“Exactly!”

Both of you laugh together at your shared moment. You discreetly notice how the two of you are still wrapped around each other and subtly step out of his hold before things could get awkward. The loss of warmth causes your body to involuntarily shiver. “It’s getting kind of cold here.”

“Did you bring your jacket with you?” Osamu questions.

You shake your head forgetting that he can’t really see you. “No. I was so caught up in taking my umbrella this morning that I completely forgot it.”

“I’ve, uh, got an extra hoodie in the back if you wanna borrow it…?”

“That would be really nice actually. Is it in the back room?”

“Yeah. We can just go there and sit on the couch until the rain subsides a bit too. No point in standing around uncomfortably for a couple hours. I think I left my phone there too.”

Now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, you see Osamu holding out a hand towards you. You tilt your head in confusion. “Are you asking me to hold your hand?”

“I’m trying to help you get to the back room without getting a concussion in the process,” he replies cheekily.

“Better watch your mouth or you’re gonna be the one getting the concussion.” Even though you let out a dramatic sigh, your hands still grab onto his. Your fingers naturally interlock and you let him carefully pull you to the back room. Your hands fit together rather nicely.

Once the two of you were inside, you let go to find your respective belongings. Now that you have your phones, the flashlights are able to illuminate the room. Osamu hands you his hoodie and you gladly put it on. You won’t admit it to anyone, but Osamu’s hoodie makes you feel much warmer than Kita’s sweater in more ways than one.

For the next couple minutes, you both sit in a comfortable silence while scrolling through your phones lazily. You just started going through your emails when one particular sender caught your eye. When you open up the email and read through its contents, your breath gets caught in your throat.

Osamu notices your stunned state. “Is something wrong?”

There’s a slight pause before you turn your screen to face him. “I got in.”

He slowly stands up from his seat. “You...you what?”

“I got into the graduate school program!” You jump up from your chair and throw your fists into the air in joy.

“Holy shit! That’s amazing! I knew you could do it!” Your boss joins you in your shouts of elation as he mimics your gestures of excitement. “Where is this university anyways?”

Your heart drops. “It’s...it’s on...the other side of Japan.”

The man freezes in place as his expression turns somber. “Oh, then…”

“Yeah…”

The previous cheerful atmosphere switched to a tense silence. You knew you wouldn’t be staying at Onigiri Miya forever, but you didn’t think the option to leave would come so soon. “But, I don’t have to move until March since I start in April, so I’ll still be able to work a bit longer. I wouldn’t just leave you without helping you look for another worker.”

“Oh, I...wasn’t really worried about that.” He rubs at his neck before giving you a small smile. “But, I’m glad. I’m really happy for you.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you plop back down to your seat. “Well, enough about my academics. We can talk more about what we’re gonna do a bit later. Got any funny childhood stories to pass some more time? We probably have another hour or two to kill.”

“Of course. It’s definitely gonna take more than an hour to tell you everything ‘Tsumu’s done wrong as a child, but we can get started.” Osamu laughs as he also sits back down. “There was this one time, though, when we tried to do the whole twin trick where we pretended to be each other to cheat on exams.”

“Did you get caught?”

“Every time.”

“You’ve done it more than once?”

“Every year.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Not as crazy as ‘Tsumu.”

“That I can agree with.”

“...and then some kid from our elementary school told ‘Tsumu that the next day was ‘Underwear Day’.”

“No.”

“Yes. He showed up to school in just his briefs. I had the flu and stayed home, so ‘Tsumu didn’t realize that he was lied to until he actually got to school. Our dad would not let it go for years and even took this picture of him.”

Osamu brings his phone to your line of vision and your eyes meet a teary-eyed younger Atsumu in his neon green briefs in front of his elementary school. It feels wrong to find it so funny, but you can’t stop the burst of laughter from leaving your mouth. You could just think of it as payback for the whole ‘seeing you shirtless’ incident.

Your eyes catch the time on the corner of the screen and realize that it’s a little bit past closing. “As much as I’d hate to ruin the ‘Embarrassing Atsumu Arc’ of your life, we should probably check to see if we can head out. I haven’t heard any thunder for a while, so the storm might’ve died down.”

Osamu stands up and stretches his body to loosen its stiffness. “Sounds like a plan.”

After gathering your belongings, the two of you walk out of the back room and open the front door slightly. It’s still raining, but the winds have calmed and no lightning in sight.

“I think we’re good to go,” your boss concludes.

You’re about to lock the door when a sudden thought crosses your mind. “The food!!”

“Ah, shit!” Osamu takes his cap off and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. We’ll worry about it later. I needed to restock tomorrow anyways. There’s not much we’re wasting.”

“If you say so.”

As you’re opening up your umbrella, Osamu lifts up his apron and ties it around his head. You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing? Where’s your umbrella?”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Don’t have one. Or, actually, ‘Tsumu stole it from me a while ago and I forgot to get it back.”

“Oh, then you can just take mine. I live closer, so the walk won’t be too bad.” There was no way you were letting him walk home like that.

Vice versa. “No can do. There’s no way a gentleman like myself would ever let you walk in the rain.”

Thinking back to the journalist from earlier today, you remember how bold she was when interacting with Osamu, albeit with misinterpreted intentions. Was it really that easy? “F-fine. How about you walk me home and take the spare umbrella from my apartment? That’ll make it even, right?”

The male contemplates for a moment before removing the apron from his head and gently taking the umbrella from your hands. He grins at you. “Deal.”

The walk to your apartment was filled with the sounds of rain pattering down on the umbrella and soft pairs of footsteps. The warmth at your side was enough to keep you preoccupied despite the lack of conversation.

You arrive at your apartment complex and before you know it, both of you are standing in front of your door. You turn to face him. “Thanks for walking me home!”

“No problem. Gotta make up for stealing your umbrella for a night.” He pats your head and takes a step away from you before you stop him.

“Wait!”

The man halts his footsteps and you clear your throat. “Could you wait out here for a moment?”

Osamu tilts his head curiously but nods in compliance. You quickly unlock your door and disappear through it for a couple minutes. When you appear once again before him, nothing’s changed about you except for the wrapped box in your arms. Nervously, you hold out the box towards Osamu. “Here, uh...I know it’s kind of late, but I bought you a birthday gift.”

“Really?” Osamu takes the gift hesitantly, but once the box is in his hands, he immediately starts ripping through the wrapping eagerly. Inside was a soft grey scarf made out of wool with a small onigiri embroidered onto the corner of one of the ends. Left speechless, all the male could do at the moment was stare at the gift fondly.

Slightly panicking at his silence, you start rambling. “Winter’s coming soon, and you told me that you don’t own a scarf a couple days ago. I also remembered that you dyed your hair grey in high school, so I thought you liked this color at least a little bit? I would’ve given your gift sooner, but I was a little low on money a-and I wanted to get you one that was nice. Not that you don’t pay me enough! I would never-”

Your words are cut off when strong arms circle around your shoulders for the second time today, but this time, for an intentional hug. You stiffen for a moment before relaxing into the embrace. Osamu presses his cheek to the side of your head. “You’re rambling quite a lot today. Don’t worry. I love it. I really do.”

Without stepping out of each other’s hold, you lean back to face one another. Your noses are inches apart and the tension grows.

“Hey, uh, (Name)-san?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I k-”

Suddenly, the shrill sound of Osamu’s ringtone interrupts the moment. Forcing yourselves to untangle from one another, he frowns at the caller ID before answering. “What do you want, ‘Tsumu.”

It’s difficult to hear exactly what Atsumu was saying since he was slurring his words, but you were able to make out a couple rather concerning things. “...went out drinking...hungry...microwave...burnt…”

Osamu’s hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Alright. Do not touch anything else. I’ll be home in less than half an hour, and if you do anything stupid, I am disowning you as a brother for real this time.”

The call ends quickly and Osamu puts his attention back on you. “Sorry, I should probably head back now.”

“Y-yeah. Don’t want Atsumu burning down your entire apartment,” you stutter.

Osamu puts the scarf back in the box and protectively tucks it under his arm while his other hand clutches onto your umbrella. “Thanks for the gift. I’ll definitely wear it soon. I’ll return your umbrella at work tomorrow too.”

“I’m glad! I’ll...see you tomorrow.” A small smile adorns your lips and before you can chicken out, you land a soft kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Osamu-san.”

The man’s ears turn bright red at your sudden affection. “R-right. Good night, (Name)-san!”

Knowing that your entire face is completely flushed with how warm it feels, you quickly walk into your apartment. After closing the door, you lean on it and slide down while cupping your flaming cheeks.

You’re not sure whether to pat yourself on the back or change your name and move to another country. Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating, but that doesn’t mean you’re not freaking out like some touch-deprived high schooler.

You rub your face against your sleeves when another thought hits you. You were still wearing Osamu’s hoodie. With everything that happened, you completely forgot that you haven’t returned it yet. There was a part of you that wasn’t ready to give it back though. It was probably one of the most comfortable hoodies you have ever worn and that says a lot since your closet is full of them (or maybe you’re just a little biased).

He won’t miss it for a couple days, right?

Leftovers

It’s been a few days since Atsumu almost burned the apartment down. The blonde is feeling upset, but not about that situation.

Osamu has been walking around the house with his new scarf every single day as if he were mocking Atsumu. Weren’t they twins? They shared the same birthday. You and him were friends, right? Why didn’t he get a gift too? Atsumu’s pout turned into a full blown frown the more he thought about it.

“Hey.”

Atsumu sneaks a quick glance at his brother who’s leaning against his bedroom doorway. Of course he has on that dumb scarf around his neck again. “I’m not in the mood, ‘Samu. And, why are you wearing a scarf indoors?”

Osamu scoffs. “I do what I want.”

“Alright, but what do you want from me? Are you here to brag about your new gift from (Name)-chan?” The blonde pulls his blanket over his body. “If you are, then leave.”

Atsumu can hear footsteps drawing closer to his bed and then something is placed on top of him a bit aggressively. When he pops his head out from under the covers, he sees a small gift bag laying on his side. “Did you get me a gift, ‘Samu?!”

“Hell no. Just take it, scrub.” And with that, Osamu walked out of Atsumu’s room without closing his door.

Curiously, Atsumu peeks inside the bag and takes out the small cardboard box sitting underneath a layer of tissue paper. He gasps when he opens the box and sees a new sports towel with an MSBY symbol in the corner. Underneath the symbol are his initials sewed onto the material.

When he looks back into the bag, there’s a small note at the bottom and he doesn’t hesitate to take it out. There’s a single yellow cosmos flower taped to the piece of paper and his eyes widen when he reads the note.

Sorry for giving your gift so late! There was a delay with my order, so it came in later than expected. I also included a small flower. I’m not as well versed in flower meanings as you are, so I hope your birth flower suffices! Happy belated birthday! -(Name)

Tears fall down Atsumu’s face dramatically as he stares at your gifts. “SERIOUSLY, SHE’S GONNA MAKE ME CRY!”

Hearing his brother’s comical sobbing, Osamu places his headphones on and raises the volume of his music to drown out any external noises.

A/N: probably the most “romantic” chapter I’ve written. Hgnn. almost 40,000 words and they still havent kissed askjdgamfhdfa

Side note: Osamu never remembered your favorite color so he decided to just take one of his black hoodies cause who doesnt like a nice black hoodie to disappear in

taglist: @kiyoo-omi, @tris-does-stuff, @livshotel, @bokuatsubro, @akkeyomi, @kaleidoscopekai, @hirugachan, @geektastic84 @ntimacy @sagefzy

[royivia]

The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

#

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

#

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

#

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

##

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

#

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

#

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents��� List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

#

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

#

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

#

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.