#Utility Management California

[fratboykate]

I'm totally in support of the writers in theory but I'm trying to understand more of what you're fighting for because I've seen some people on twitter claim writers make more money a week than most of us make in a month so I'm trying to understand what the issue is. Also if that info is accurate. This is a genuine question. Not trying to have a "gotcha moment". I really want to hear from a writer.

people have always had wild misconceptions about how much a writer earns because of their lack of understanding of how the industry actually works. there's so many posts about how "you guys make 5k a week. what more do you want?!" yeah...let's do some math on that.

5k a week for 14 weeks (and that's a long room. a lot of rooms these days are 8-10 weeks. those are the dreaded mini-rooms we're trying to kill) is $70,000. for roughly three months of work. you'd think we're cooking with gas...BUT HOLD UP. that's gross! let's see everything that has to come out of that check:

10% to our agent

10% to our manager

5% to our entertainment attorney

5% to our business manager (not everyone has one but a lot of us do. i do, so that's literally 30% immediately off the top of every check)

most of these breakdowns ive seen downplay taxes severely. someone made one that says writers pay 5% in taxes and i would like to ask them "in what universe?". that doesn't even cover state taxes. the way taxes work in the industry is really complicated, but the short of it is most of us have companies for tax reasons so we aren't taxed like people on w2s/1099. if we did we'd be even more fucked. basically every production hires a writer's company instead of the writer as an individual. so they engage our companies for our services and then at the end of the year we (the company) pay taxes as corporations or llcs (depending on what the writer chose to go with). my company is registered as a "corporation" so let's go with those rates. california's corporate rate is 9% and the federal corporate tax rate is 21%. there's other expenses with running a business like fees and other shit so my business managers/accountants/bookkeepers have recommended i save between 35-40% of everything i make for when tax season comes.

you see where the math is at already??? 25-30% in commissions and then 35-40% in taxes. on the lower end you're at THE VERY LEAST looking at 60% of that check gone. 70% worst case scenario. suddenly those $70,000 people claim we make are actually down to $28,000 as the take home pay. and that's if you're only losing 60%. it goes down to $21,000 if it's 70%.

lets pretend you worked a long 14 week room (that's the longest room ive ever worked btw) and let's also be generous and say you only have 60% in expenses so the take home is $28,000. average rent in los angeles is around $2,800-$3,000. if you're paying $2,800 in rent that means you need AT LEAST $4,000 a month to have a semi decent life since you need to also cover groceries, gas, medical expenses, toiletries, phone, internet, utilities, rental and car insurances, car payments, student loan payments, etc etc etc. and again, this is los angeles. everything is more expensive so you're living BARE BONES on 4k. and these are numbers as a single person. im not even taking having children into account. so those $28,000 you take home might cover your life for 6-7 months. 3 of which you're in the room working. the reality is that once that room ends, you might not work in a room again for 6-9-12 months (i have friends whose last jobs were over 18 months ago) and you now only have about 3 months left of savings to hold you over. we have to make that money stretch while we do all the endless free development we do for studios and until we get our next paying job. so...3 months left of enough money to cover your expenses -> possible 9 months of not having a job. this is how writers end up on food stamps or applying to work at target.

this is why we're fighting for better rates and better residuals. residuals were a thing writers used to rely on to get them through the unemployment periods. residual checks have gone down from 20k to $0.03 cents. im not joking.

they've decimated our regular pay and then destroyed residuals. we have nothing left. so don't believe it when they tell you writers are being greedy. writers are simply fighting to be able to make a middle class living. we're not asking them to become poor for our sake. we're asking for raises that amount to 2% of their profit. TWO PERCENT. this is a fight for writing even being a career in five years instead of something you do on the side while you work retail to pay your bills. if you think shows are bad now imagine when your writer has to do it as a hobby because they need a real job to pay their bills and support a family. (which none of us can currently afford to have btw)

support writers. stop being bootlickers for billion dollar corporations. stop caring about fictional people more than you care about the real people that write them. if we don't win this fight it truly is game over. the industry as you know it is gone.

#wga strike #writer's strike #hollywood #anonymous #answers #myposts

[bleuu-moon]

no masters or kings

prologue.

note: here she issss!!! finally after putting it off so many times because i’m a shit bag lol. me 🤝 combining my unhinged obsession with price, ghost and zombie media and making it into my dream fic <3

pairing: john price + simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

tags: zombie apocalypse au, slow burn-ish, smut, poly relationship (price + ghost share you gahhhh). she/her pronouns used, but no physical description of reader. word count: 1.5k warnings: 18+ mdni. mentions of blood, gore, death and violence.

Everything hurts, aches and burns.

You’ve been on the move for days, constantly moving forward on a desperate search for salvation, refusing your body of any sort of rest it’s crying out for. Your exhaustion makes the rough, solid, wooden floor seem like a California King. Your rucksack like a memory foam pillow. Just grateful for the relief you feel for not being on your feet anymore.

The rain batters against the old cottage’s roof and windows. Luckily, this time, you managed to seek shelter before the incoming shower got too heavy, only leaving your clothes slightly damp in its wake.

Darkness fills the room you’ve comforted yourself in, too dark to see what occupies inside, only able to make out the silhouettes of randomly placed heavy furniture. 

You know it was stupid to just assume it was safe, it was something your father had scolded you for in the past. However, with the knowledge that the area was sparse for dead ones, and with the door being firmly bolted with a dated, rusted lock, accompanied by nothing but the smell of damp and dust in the air, you figured that the possibility of running into other survivors inside, was slim.

So, after a hard knock on the frame of the door, and no movement as a result, you claimed it your sanctuary for the night. 

You shiver into your utility coat, pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to create any sliver of warmth. However, with the dampened fabric that sits on your skin, it only makes the chill in the air even more prominent.

A fire, even a shitty half melted candle would have been accommodating, but with your lack of resources, the function of your own body is the best option you have. 

The more your body shivers, the grip on your knife tightens, as you lie slightly next to the door, just behind where it swings open. Barely something you could call a strategy, but something that gave you somewhat more of chance at a defence. 

An advantage of some sorts, just in case someone decides to slaughter you before you have chance to wake up.

After what seems like hours of your mind being unable to forget the bitter cold that nips at your body, and the ache of hunger that rattles in your stomach, you drift towards sleep. Thinking back to the days when you would spend your evenings in front of your parents’ log fire and the hot chocolates that warmed your hands, sounds of laughter and music filling your ears.

You think about that time at the camp, the intense heat that tingled on your face as fires raged through the tents, vehicles, people. Screaming and wailing erupting into the air as you raced towards the woods—

It grips at your throat, forcing you to be unable to breath. It feels like you’re choking on your own air. Chest becoming tighter and tighter with each gasp, anxiety consuming you even in your unconsciousness. 

Images flash around your mind, those of bodies, some burned, some deceased, some both but still walking. Snapping teeth and hands make their way towards you, belonging to those who you once considered friends, family.

Your father. A face so familiar yet so unrecognisable, it’s him, but not really. Eyes glazed over with milky white, blood pooling from his mouth and nose, snarling as his frame lunges for you. You want to run, need to run, but you’re frozen with fear. Just as your feet are about to step back, his large body falls on you pinning you to the ground. You fight, and fight and fight, pushing against anywhere you can, but it’s no use.

And only thing you have the strength to do is scream—

Click.

Your body jerks awake with a gasp, eyes snapping open.

It’s a sound you’ve heard before, one that you never forget.

“She’s awake.” 

The air is knocked from your lungs as a man’s voice hits your ears before you can fully grasp your surroundings, groggy from the sleep you’ve been ripped from. You don’t see him, only the barrel of the gun that’s being held in the direction of your head.

“Don’t speak.” He spits, before you could even master up the courage to talk. His accent is heavy, Scottish. You watch as he nudges the gun slightly to the side. “Sit up.”

His orders are snappy, full of seriousness that makes a lump form in your throat. For a moment, you feel so numb you can’t move, but when he growls at you to move, it kicks your arse into gear. Obeying his orders, you gulp as you quickly rise from your place on the ground, leaning your back against the wall, pulling your knees to your chest.

Moving helps you get a better look at the man behind the gun. He seems a similar age to you, even though he’s wearing thick garments covered with a heavy packed tac-vest, his muscular build is obvious.

His blue eyes are piercing into yours, before they flicker down to the knife that still resides in your hand, nodding his head, signalling you to discard it. You hesitate, feeling uneasy about giving up the only thing you have to defend yourself, but his eyes narrow, brows pulling downwards in frustration.

Usually, you’d try to put up more of a fight, but something irks at you. The gun he easily holds in hands isn’t like one you’ve seen in person before, its bulky, long, like something from an action movie. The vest that wraps around his body is heavily layered and stocked with what you can only assume is ammunition.

He wasn’t just someone who managed to get their hands on big gun, he was someone who knew exactly what to do with it. 

And with the understanding of that, you slide your knife towards his boots.

“Look, I—"

“Check her bag.” He cuts you off, seemingly speaking to someone else. Someone you were unaware of.

Another man appears from the side of you, surprising you as he stomps his way over and grabbing your rucksack off the floor. 

Like the other, he’s similar in age, and dressed in the same intimidating attire, except he's slightly taller and sporting a very worn cap on his head.

“How'd you get in here?” He asks firmly, unzipping your bag. He sounds southern English.

“I—um, picked the lock.” 

He only hums at your response, raising his brows momentarily before beginning to dig through the contents of your sack. There’s harsh silence as he does, an overwhelming feeling of being a deer in some headlights as your eyes flicker between the two men.

“I didn’t know it belonged to anyone.” You’re finally able to look around the room, now that daylight is allowing its contents to become visible. It’s barely filled, derelict and tired, only a few pieces of tatty furniture scattered around. “I was just looking for somewhere to hold up for the night.”

They don’t reply, only a look from the man who’s searching through your belongings, as other remains still, gun still pointed towards your face.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Only if you give us a reason to.” The man in-front of you snaps.

“There’s nothin' in here…nothin' useful anyway.”

The rucksack ends up beside you again, landing on the floor with a thud.

"Am curious.” The Scot sounds prying. “How've you manage to survive this long with a shitty knife and an empty rucksack?”

“I—” 

You stop yourself. Gulping down the lump that has seemingly formed back in your throat. You don't know these people from Adam, they're strangers, and strangers, especially in this day and age, meant fucking danger. Those who are left aren't people that you can be open and honest with, letting all of your vulnerabilities lie bare, it only gives them opportunities to use it against you, and then they take, and take, and take.

But, what do you really have to lose? The worst thing that could happen is they think you're lying and it ends with a bullet hole in through skull. And when you think about that, it's not even really the worst thing.

“I’ve only been on my own for a couple of days. I was in a camp but we—” You look down at the floor. “—it’s gone now.”

“Gone?”

You nod gently, eyes still burning into wood in-front of you.

“Another group, they came, and they just destroyed everything…murdered everyone. There's nothing left.”

“Where?” The man to your left quizzes, your eyes meeting his. His intense glare has been replaced by something that resembles sympathy and concern.

“Near Burnsall, about a mile down the river, on the golf course near it.”

The two become silent, you watch as they both turn to each other. Eyes saying more than words, a mute conversation unravelling between them. You become on edge, your mind starting to work overtime, thoughts tripping over thoughts, wondering if they were about to end your life, change it, or make you wish that they chosen the first one. And once you see the Scot shake his head at whatever the other was getting at, you become even more alert.

Suddenly, you jerk as he lunges towards you, his gloved hand wrapping harshly around your bicep and hauling you to your feet.

“Well, looks like it’s your lucky day…ya comin' with us.”

#captain john price #simon ghost riley #price x reader #ghost x reader #price x female reader #ghost x female reader #apocalypse au #price x reader x ghost

[reportwire]

California cuts grass watering down as drought dries West

California cuts grass watering down as drought dries West

SACRAMENTO, Calif. — Grass in office parks, on college campuses or in some California neighborhoods will go brown this summer after state water officials adopted a ban Tuesday on watering certain green spaces as the state’s drought drags on. The ban adopted by the State Water Resources Control Board follows Gov. Gavin Newsom’s plea for Californians to use less water or face broad, mandatory…

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#Accidents and disasters #business #California #cuts #dries #drought #Droughts #General news #grass #Natural disasters #Natural resource management #Social aff #Utilities #Water conservation and preservation #Water environment #Water management #Water use #Water use restrictions #Water utilities #watering #West

[don-lichterman]

Amid Drought, California Desalination Project at Crossroads | U.S. News®

Amid Drought, California Desalination Project at Crossroads | U.S. News®

By AMY TAXIN, Associated Press HUNTINGTON BEACH, Calif. (AP) — For more than two decades, California‘s Orange County has debated whether to build a seaside plant to convert the Pacific Ocean’s salt water into drinking water in hopes of buffering against droughts like the one now gripping the nation’s most populous state. Now, the $1.4 billion proposal by Poseidon Water faces a critical review…

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#Associated Press #business #California #climate change #Collections: Top News #Collections: US #Crossroads #Desalination #drought #environment #natural disasters #News #oceans #Project #recycling #U.S. News® #utilities #Waste Management #Weather

[literatecowboy]

Dr. Feelgood

1. On Punishment

Read Part 2 Here Summary: You've been in trouble at work several times before for "lack of professionalism" but now you've gone too far. You've been reassigned to Task Force 141 as a temporary doctor to replace the ones they've made quit out of frustration. You must either prove yourself and earn your former position back at a prestigious military hospital in California or face dishonorable discharge. Author's Notes: This is my first fanfiction - please be gentle. Additionally, the reader's callsign is "Feelgood." I have done my best to write the reader as ambiguous regarding appearance, but she/her pronouns and AFAB anatomy will be utilized. I hope for this to be a slow-burn romance with Simon "Ghost" Riley. Warnings: Gunshot wounds, medical terminology and procedures, finger up the butt, new/unsure writer

-----

“Hey man, I don’t want to beat around the bush. I glanced at your x-rays earlier and I’m impressed by how far you managed to get that bottle up your ass. Next time I’d advise opting for something with a flared base though, alright?” you said, pulling up a swiveling stool to your patient’s bedside. He stared at you, mouth agape, his cheeks flushed. 

“Blockages are pretty serious and this thing isn’t going to come out on his own, so I’ll be taking you into surgery shortly, my team is getting a theater prepped and then the anesthesiologist will come back and we’ll get this show on the road. Will your daughter be staying here to wait during your surgery?” you asked, swiveling to look at the much younger woman sitting at the man’s bedside, holding his hand. The man in the hospital bed went fire-engine red. 

“She’s my wife!”

–

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was just trying to be concise. And mistaking the wife for his daughter is an honest mistake, she looked half that guy’s age!”

“Well then allow me to be concise - you’re lucky you still have a job. That “guy” is a very important man on this installation and speaking to him in such a disrespectful manner will not go unpunished, doctor.” Klein, one of the hospital administrators, said. The exhaustion and frustration were evident in his voice but he still stared you down with focused eyes. 

“He already has a new doctor and you’ve already taken me off of his case. I won’t have to see him again. Isn’t that enough? Are you gonna make me clean the medication fridges again?” you asked with a sigh, rubbing your forehead. You could feel a headache coming on. 

“You’re being transferred to–”

“What?! Klein, you know that’s a sweeping overreaction. Come on, I’ll even do a professional development training course or something.” 

“As I was saying, you’re being transferred to an installation in the United Kingdom. There’s a task force there that just had their doctor quit and–”

“Fucking England? What the fuck, Klein, you’re shipping me off to a different continent just because some asshole got offended?”

“You’ll temporarily fill in as their doctor until a permanent replacement is found. If, by the time that is done, you have found empathy and learned to hold your tongue, you will be welcomed back. If you have not you will be dishonorably discharged.” Klein finished. You sat frozen for a moment. 

“Who’s fucking idea was this?”

“The base commander you insulted thought it up. He believed it to be an excellent way to give you a taste of your own medicine.” Klein said. 

“Oh yeah, what? Think I can’t slap bandaids on soldiers?” you asked with a scoff, shaking your head and throwing back your seat as you stood up. 

“I wouldn’t be no nonchalant about this, doctor. Task Force 141 has had two doctors quit on them in the past year. From my understanding an intelligence agent put out a desperate call for a replacement more than two weeks ago and nobody has answered the call.”

“I’m not so easily discouraged, Klein, don’t worry about me. I’ll be back here soon enough anyway and it’ll be like I was never gone.”

–

Over the next handful of days, a military plane carried you across the pond with your belongings and delivered you into the jaws of Task Force 141’s home base. As the plane’s ramp lowered to reveal melancholy gray skies you felt mildly dejected that England hadn’t greeted you with the warm, sunny weather you’d been accustomed to in California. 

“Oh, Doc’s a lass!” a Scottish-tinged voice startled you out of your sudden fascination with meteorology and you glanced down, taking your first step down the ramp. 

“And you…aren’t English. But you are I take it.” You smiled hesitantly, scanning the faces of the two men in front of you. 

“And an American! Got any more surprises for us? It’s like bloody Christmas on this airstrip!” the one with the mohawk said with a grin. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“So you knew I was coming but don’t know anything about me? Some special forces you are.” you teased. 

“Price didn’t tell us a new doctor was coming until last night and wouldn’t let us snoop. Only said you go by Feelgood on the field.” the one in the hat said. 

“That’s me. Who’re you guys?” you asked, stepping the rest of the way off the plane and looking around at your surroundings. 

“I’m Soap, that’s Gaz. Price is our captain but he’s up to his neck in papers inside, you’ll meet him later. There’s also Ghost, but he’s out right now on a solo mission. Should be back tonight.”

“What does someone do to get that kind of emo kid calling?” you asked with a snort. Soap and Gaz glanced at each other. 

“Just…you’ll know him when you see him,” Gaz interjected. “Come on, we’ve been instructed to show you to your workspace and quarters.” The two lead you inside and through a maze of twisting and intersecting corridors, pointing out landmarks as they went. 

“Mess is back there, and so is the main gym. Laundry is to your right and take that door to head outside to the parade deck and practice range.” Gaz had explained with Soap jutting in to joke about the quality of military food. You had quipped about the blandness of English food which had made him laugh and Gaz roll his eyes. Eventually, you’d been led to your workstation - the 141’s small medical bay. 

“This is…it?” you’d asked warily. It was dusty and not a piece of equipment in the room had been turned on recently. The boxes of medical gloves sat unopened but medical supplies and wrappers littered the room. There were a few spots of blood on the floor beneath a gurney. 

“We’ve been mostly fixing ourselves up since the last doc quit,” Gaz admitted. 

“And not using gloves. Do you know how easy it is to get an infection if you don’t know what you’re doing?” you growled, gingerly picking up a used needle and disposing of it in the sharps bin.

“We’re still alive, lass. That’s what matters.” Soap said with a grin. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Right, I can see why coming here was a punishment now,” you muttered under your breath so neither of them could hear. 

“Can we show you to your room now? We want to go out later and we need time to get ready.” Soap asked, cocking his head. 

“I can take it from here.” a voice called out from the frosted glass doorway, making you turn. 

“You must be Captain Price, and that must make you the one allowing these men to doctor themselves with minimal knowledge. Don’t worry, we’ll fix that,” you said, taking in the bucket hat and mutton chops with a blink. He looked slightly taken aback and smiled. 

“Feelgood, isn’t it? Don’t forget why you’re here. Laswell filled me in.” he said.

“What? Why are you here?” Gaz asked, turning to look at you quizzically. You sighed, slumping your shoulders. 

“I’m on punishment,” you muttered lowly, making Soap guffaw. 

“Aw, lass, we’re your punishment? I shoulda been mean,” he said with a laugh. 

Before you could retort all three of their comms crackled to life. 

“Hope that doctor made it in, Price. I’m coming into base and he better be ready. Been shot.” A gruff, heavily accented voice echoed across the room. Autopilot took over your body instantly. 

“You two-” You thrust two fingers out at Soap and Gaz. “Take that gurney from against the wall and meet him outside. Lay him down, put pressure on the wound, and bring him in quickly.”

“And you-” you thrust a finger at Price. “Get me supplies. Get IVs ready to go. Be prepared to find me things while I work.” you barked. 

Immediately you ran for the sink, tossing your jacket aside and hurriedly scrubbing up and down your arms and hands before drying yourself and gloving up. You threw on a gown, a mask, and a cap and gloved up again. As you turned around the doors burst open and Soap and Gaz came in pushing a gurney with a massive man covered in tactical gear and a skull balaclava draped over the top.

“Where is it? Get that gear off.” you barked, angling a light down from the ceiling and angling it towards your patient. 

“Stomach,” he grunted, grabbing his vest and dragging it away. He was panting and blood dripped onto the floor as the vest fell off. 

“Scissors.” you barked. It took a moment for Price to pass them to you and you shot him an exasperated look when you saw his bare hand. 

“All of you, glove the fuck up! Gowns on, masks on!” you shouted, tossing the scissors to the side and grabbing a fresh pair. You snipped carefully across where the blood was concentrated and pulled the fabric to the side. 

“Anterior abdomen entry, near the flank.” You pressed gauze to the wound and waved your hand at Soap. 

“Turn him over slightly. Gently!” you warned. On the count of three, you worked together with the Scot to gently lift Ghost from the side to examine his back. 

You exhaled when you found an exit wound and pressed more gauze to it, gently helping Soap lay the big man back down.

“Clean through but you’re not out of the woods yet.” you barked. Through the balaclava you could see that Ghost’s eyes were glassy - he was struggling to focus.

“Stay with me, big guy. Gaz, hold pressure on that entrance wound.” you barked. 

“Price, help me with these pants and boots,” you ordered. So far the three had been excellent at following your orders, but at this, the captain faltered. 

“What for, doc-”

“Do as I say!” you barked, turning to insert a needle into Ghost’s vein and get the IV drip going. Price fumbled with Ghost’s boots as Soap undid his lieutenant's pants sheepishly, dragging them down. You tossed a blanket over Ghost’s legs and gritted your teeth.

“This is your only warning to turn around. You won’t want to see what I’m doing.” you snapped, lubing your finger and slipping your hand beneath the blanket and into Ghost’s boxers. 

“Sorry man,” you mumbled quietly. Price and Gaz had managed to turn around in time but as Soap realized what you were doing, a look of horror overtook his features. 

As gently as you could manage, you slid a finger into Ghost’s ass. 

–

Hours later you sat alone on a bench in your medical bay chugging coffee. 

Things had gone well as they could have given the circumstances. After confirming no intestinal damage had been done by the bullet and stabilizing Ghost, you set him up in one of the hospital beds in your ward and treated the rest of his comparatively minor injuries. As he had lay, unconscious while being rehydrated and given a blood transfusion, you had begun cleaning what had immediately been established as your domain. 

Soap had bailed as soon as Ghost was stable, muttering about needing a drink after what he’d seen. Gaz had followed after sitting by his lieutenant for some time. Price was the last to leave but he still came in and out sporadically to bring you coffee and help with the cleanup. A gentle rapping on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. You glanced up.

“Hungry?” Price asked. There was a tray in his hands, and two plates sat atop it. 

“God, yes, please. I haven’t eaten since before I got here,” you admitted, offering Price a smile as he sat beside you. 

“I don’t think it’ll be as good as the ones from where you’re from, but I got burritos from the mess.” he offered, unveiling the plates. You both ate in silence, staring off into space, punctuated only by the beeping of Ghost’s heart monitor.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you all,” you said after a moment, wiping refried beans from your cheek with your sleeve.

“No, please, you were right to order us around. I don’t think I’ve ever watched…that…before. What you did was incredible.” Price admitted. 

“It wouldn’t have happened without your support. I’ll make nurses of the lot of you. That is if I don’t get killed when big guy remembers my finger in his ass.” you muttered. Price choked on his food. 

“Is that what the pants thing was about?” he asked hesitantly after a minute.

“It’s essentially a check for intestinal damage. If you ever get shot, stabbed, or blown up you’ll get the same treatment,” you said matter-of-factly. Price blinked. 

“Remind me not to in that case,” he said with a chuckle. More silence passed. 

“How’d you manage to run off so many doctors?” you asked after a moment. Price grunted. 

“Not me, love. I guess you’ll find out when he wakes up.” he nodded toward Ghost. You sucked in a deep breath. 

“You’re suggesting two extremes. One possibility is that your task force has a severe case of the man flu and needs to be babied to an extreme. The second possibility is that the second his eyes come open he’ll be off the bed and he’ll refuse treatment until he gets shot again.” you said. 

“That’s about it, especially with him,” Price grunted, nodding at Ghost again. You sighed. 

“I’ve restrained men before and I’ll do it again, captain. I’m not afraid,” you said boldly, polishing off your burrito and watching Ghost’s chest as it rose and fell. 

“You left the balaclava on - that’s good. There’s hope for your survival yet, love.” Price said. He patted your knee good-naturedly and rose, picking up the tray to take back.

“I’ll send one of the boys in later tonight to give you a break so you can sleep,” he said, headed for the door. You nodded quietly and got up to continue cleaning and reorganizing your med bay, determined to make it home.

“Oh, and one more thing - welcome to England.” Price said as the door shut behind him.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #mw2 #ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #cod modern warfare #simon ghost x reader

[thebroccolination]

KRIST CAN’T LIE AND IS RIDICULOUS ABOUT SENPAI: VOLUME #39,573

In 2019, Singto starred in He’s Coming to Me opposite Ohm Pawat. It’s really underappreciated, and I highly recommend it. Singto is the cutest ghost in the whole afterlife.

Now, for additional context:

In early 2019, Singto was twenty-four, Krist was twenty-three, and the World of BL was Different. Branded pairs were a thing, but not like they are now.

SOTUS in 2016 saved GMMTV from bankruptcy and changed the industry. As I understand it from interviews with Krist and Singto as well as accounts from fans who were there at the time, although KristSingto were staggeringly popular, GMMTV saw SOTUS, Krist, and Singto as individual cash cows. BL wasn’t a money-printing hashtag-focused influencer lifestyle yet, so GMMTV seemed to hedge their bets. They made a thousand SOTUS events, pressed Krist into Leading Lakorn Man where the stable, dependable money was at the time, and kind of let Singto do whatever. Plus, Krist and Singto had different managers (Yui for Krist and Jane for Singto) and different interests and goals as far as their careers: Krist loves music, Singto loves photography, Krist wanted to be a musician, Singto wanted to be a director, Krist wanted to branch out into new areas of entertainment, and Singto wanted to study directing in California. They were able to be KristSingto: Kings of Couples, while exploring their talents and aspirations outside the growing expectations of a branded pair.

In an interview with Attitude in 2018 to promote their episode of Our Skyy as Kongphob and Arthit from SOTUS, Krist and Singto said they’d follow GMMTV’s direction as far as their series went from then on.

But Krist didn’t have to be happy about some of those directions.

One of the first things I learned about Krist as a person is that he was very, very vocally possessive of Singto when he was younger.

Go search “KristSingto jealous” on YouTube and enjoy the feast. They were both possessive, but where Krist utilized pouting and looking generally miserable, Singto would just calmly and physically remove people from Krist’s vicinity.

When Friendzone aired in 2018, Krist famously told interviewers with a maybe, possibly, half-joking sulking smile that he didn’t want to watch the series because he didn’t want to see Singto with other men.

(And then interfans disingenuously edited and recontextualized the clip so it would seem like he said he didn’t want to watch men kissing men…y’know, the thing he’s famous for. And proud of. And won’t stop telling people about. For years. Mr. “Please Let Me Play the Top” Mr. “Please Tell GMMTV You Want to See KristSingto in Another Series Together” Mr. “This Man’s Lap Is My Pillow and So Is This Man’s and This Man’s” Mr. “Please Ship Me and Gun” Mr. “I Asked Off for Permission to Sexy-Dance with His Husband”—mmmm.)

Now, before I show this clip, I just want to say that this was years ago and Krist has always loved Ohm—he’s just ridiculous about Singto. You thought I was exaggerating the “sulking and looking generally miserable” thing, didn’t you?

Seriously, go watch some things on YouTube. With popcorn.

[And before you think this was just a Krist issue, Singto one thousand percent encouraged it by openly thinking it was cute.]

[Prachaya, stop tormenting the turtle.]

Like, this isn’t a shipping thing, and he’s (mostly) grown out of it now. Krist is just very, very affectionate with his friends and seems to be sincerely afraid of being left behind. Famously, to make himself cry for the scene between Kongphob and Arthit in the Our Skyy episode, Krist imagined how he’d feel when Singto inevitably left Thailand to study abroad. (He ended up crying early and way harder than the script called for, and Kongphob’s surprise is at least a little bit Singto’s genuine reaction.)

Plus, y’know, Krist is and always has been a fiery babygirl of impulse, Singto is Senpai, and just. Even though their relationship is platonic, there’s a reason everyone thought they were dating in 2017, and there’s a reason that even as recent as 2021, Singto and Krist were both complaining that no one took them seriously as dating prospects because everyone still thought they were dating. In fairness, they’ve both been single since SOTUS, and they’re both ridiculous about each other, so there you go. Blame the victims. Wheeeee~ #SelectiveVictimBlaming2024

Anyway! In 2018, at what I think was GMMTV’s showcase for their 2019 lineup, Krist and Singto were together onstage, unmic’d, just standing there representing their respective, separate series.

For some reason (probably) lost to time, Krist turned to Singto and said, “I hate Qingming,” the shortened title for He’s Coming to Me.

Smiling, Singto said, “Not now. We’re working.”

Krist doubled down and said, “I don’t like it.”

In the longer clip, Krist kept sulking and Singto smiled at him with open amusement. Like I said: he fully thought it was cute and did the bare minimum to discourage it, because he’s ridiculous too.

Later, at the fan greeting, Krist was doing the typical, “Please support me and P’Sing in our projects this year,” and a giddy fan called out, “BUT YOU HATE QINGMING THOUGH HUH.”

This is where someone more adept at lying would say, “Of course not, kind fan, for I am always supportive of Senpai’s other series. I am a mature paragon of self-esteem and in no way extremely possessive of My Senpai Who Is Mine.”

Instead, this happened:

“HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT.”

WKDLSJDKSJ

K R I S T

So yes, Krist can’t lie. He’s never been able to lie. He’s pure honesty and deep sincerity and high emotion all the time.

Now, once again, he was twenty-three, he was just being a brat for brat’s sake, and he never had an issue with Ohm. He was probably just afraid he wouldn’t get to work with Singto anymore since Singto was always very open about his intentions to study abroad and then transition to behind-the-scenes work as a director, so the longer GMMTV went without giving KristSingto a series, I imagine the less likely it probably seemed to Krist, who really wanted to act with Singto again and did not shut up about it for years.

This has been Krist Can’t Lie and Is Ridiculous About Senpai: Volume #39,573.

[This is a whole other story. Have a great day.]

#krist perawat #singto prachaya #kristsingto #there are so many stories about them #i barely know a quarter of them #probably even less than that #there’s a reason they’re industry icons #and why that front right pillar in front of gmmtv belongs to them

[anonymouspuzzler]

how do you manage to live in california, considering the cost of living/ housing there? do you plan to stay there permanently?

you ever hear me say things like "oh haha me and my five jobs LOL"? that's how. I work a lot to keep myself housed and fed - one part-time day job, a couple consistent freelance gigs, a couple semi-consistent things through my school, plus odd commissions and streaming when I'm able. I'm lucky to be in student housing that's all-inclusive (that is to say my rent covers utilities, internet, etc), which means my living expenses are fairly low for where I live, and I have a lot of other things going on to cut expenses in my life (I don't have a car, I don't go out on my own to paid events/locations all that often, I get food out Very infrequently and pretty cheap stuff/portion out Multiple Meals when I do, I haven't traveled except for work/school in Years...). I also want to emphasize that none of this is "oh haha just do all this and you'll be fine!", the fact that I have to do all this just to live a very modest lifestyle is a deep and damning failing of social systems in this state and country etc etc I'm preaching to the choir here I think LOL

as for staying here permanently... who knows! life has its way of twisting and turning. I have a lot of reasons to stay right now, but it all depends on what I'm able to do for work once I have my degree, plus a lot of other personal factors. I'll do what I do and I'll be where I be

#anonymous puzzler answers #genuinely i hope people never take my Haha My Jobs talk as a brag or a standard to aspire to because it's Neither #i goof to cope but it's horrific for anyone to have to live like this! may tomorrows be better for us all.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Rob Henderson

Published: Jun 12, 2022

Let’s start with a question: What do top hats and “defund the police” have in common?

Before we explore it, I’ll very briefly tell you about my unusual background. Currently, I’m a doctoral candidate in psychology at Cambridge and a faculty fellow at the University of Austin. And before this, I studied psychology at Yale as an undergraduate. But before entering these universities, my life was a lot different. I was born into poverty and grew up in foster homes in Los Angeles and all around California. I fled as soon as I could at age 17, enlisting in the military right after high school.

I then attended Yale on the GI Bill. That was a very different environment for me. At Yale, there are more students from families in the top 1 percent of the income scale than from the entire bottom 60 percent.

Throughout my experiences traveling along the class ladder, I made a discovery: Luxury beliefs have, to a large extent, replaced luxury goods.   Luxury beliefs are ideas and opinions that confer status on the upper class, while often inflicting costs on the lower classes. In 1899, the economist and sociologist Thorstein Veblen published a book called The Theory of the Leisure Class. Drawing on observations about social class in the late nineteenth century, Veblen’s key idea is that because we can’t be certain about the financial status of other people, a good way to size up their means is to see whether they can afford expensive goods and leisurely activities. This explains why status symbols are so difficult to obtain and costly to purchase. In Veblen’s day, people exhibited their status with delicate and restrictive clothing like tuxedos, top hats, and evening gowns, or by partaking in time-consuming activities like golf or beagling. These goods and leisurely activities could only be purchased or performed by people who did not work as manual laborers and could spend their time and money learning something with no practical utility. Veblen even goes so far as to say, “The chief use of servants is the evidence they afford of the master’s ability to pay.” For Veblen, butlers are status symbols, too.

In short, his idea was about how economic capital was often converted into cultural capital. These findings were later echoed by the renowned French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu in his 1979 book Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. In his body of work, Bourdieu described how “distance from necessity” characterized the affluent classes. In fact, Bourdieu coined the term “cultural capital.” Once our basic physical and material needs are met, people can then spend more time cultivating what Bourdieu called the “dispositions of mind and body” in the form of intricate and expensive tastes and habits that the upper classes use to obtain distinction.

Corresponding with these sociological observations, the biologist Amotz Zahavi proposed that animals evolve certain displays, traits, and behaviors because they are so physically costly. Many people are familiar with the example of the peacock’s tail. Only a healthy bird is capable of growing such plumage while managing to evade predators. A lesser known example is the behavior of the African gazelle. When these animals spot a predator, the healthy adult gazelles often engage in what is called “stotting.” They repeatedly jump as high as they can, springing vertically into the air with all four feet raised.

The signal this sends to predators is essentially: “I’m so fit that I can afford to expend valuable energy to show you how strong and robust I am compared with the other gazelles.” The predators then direct their attention to less lively and energetic targets. So for humans, top hats and designer handbags are costly signals of economic capacities; for gazelles, stotting is a costly signal of physical capacities. Veblen, Bourdieu and Zahavi all claimed that humans—or animals—flaunt certain symbols, communicate in specific ways, and adopt costly means of expressing themselves, in order to obtain distinction from the masses. Animals do this physically. And affluent humans often do it economically and culturally, with their status symbols. A difference, though, is that human signals often trickle to the rest of society, which weakens the power of the signal. Once a signal is adopted by the masses, the affluent abandon it.   There are historical examples of this. For example, in the middle ages, spices were expensive and only the elites could afford them. It was a hard-to-fake signal of one’s social rank and economic resources. But as Europeans colonized India and the Americas, the cost of spices dropped, and the masses were now able to obtain them. As a result of widespread use, spices were no longer a status symbol.

Elites decided they were vulgar, and during the reign of France’s Louis XIV, court chefs banned sugar and spice from all meals except for desserts.   Here’s another example. In the U.S., dueling was practiced primarily by the elite for many years. One key reason why it fell out of fashion in the early nineteenth century is because this ritual of dueling was gradually adopted by the lower classes. In response, the upper classes abandoned it because it was no longer prestigious. And then it was outlawed in the late nineteenth century.

The yearning for distinction is the key motive here. And in order to convert economic capital into cultural capital, it must be publicly visible. But distinction encompasses not only clothing or food or rituals. It also extends to ideas and beliefs and causes.   In his book WASPS: The Splendors and Miseries of an American Aristocracy, the author Michael Knox Beran examined the lives and habits of upper-class Americans from the mid-nineteenth to the mid-twentieth century. He writes that “WASPS” had mixed feelings about their fellow citizens.

These upper-crust Americans viewed ordinary Americans as “sunk in moronic darkness” and that “It is a question whether a high WASP ever supported a fashionable cause without some secret knowledge that the cause was abhorred by the vulgarians.” This still goes on today. In the past, people displayed their membership in the upper class with their material accoutrements. But today, because material goods have become a noisier signal of one’s social position and economic resources, the affluent have decoupled social status from goods, and re-attached it to beliefs. The upper class craves distinction. The French sociologist Émile Durkheim understood this when he wrote, “The more one has, the more one wants, since satisfactions received only stimulate instead of filling needs.”

And this is backed by recent research. A 2020 study titled “The possession of high status strengthens the status motive” led by Cameron Anderson at UC Berkeley found that relative to lower-class individuals, upper-class individuals have a greater desire for wealth and status. In other words, high-status people desire wealth and status more than anyone else. By now you probably know the answer to the question I asked at the beginning: what do top hats have in common with defunding the police. Well, who was the most likely to support the fashionable defund the police cause in 2020 and 2021? A survey from YouGov found that Americans in the highest income category were by far the most supportive of defunding the police.

They can afford to hold this position, because they already live in safe, often gated communities. And they can afford to hire private security. In the same way that a vulnerable gazelle can’t afford to engage in stotting because it would put them in increased danger, a vulnerable poor person in a crime-ridden neighborhood can’t afford to support defunding the police. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, compared to Americans who earn more than $75,000 a year, the poorest Americans are seven times more likely to be victims of robbery, seven times more likely to be victims of aggravated assault, and twenty times more likely to be victims of sexual assault. Expressing a luxury belief is a manifestation of cultural capital, a signal of one’s fortunate economic circumstances. There are other examples of luxury beliefs as well, such as the downplaying of individual agency in shaping life outcomes. A 2019 study led by Joseph Daniels at Marquette University was published in the journal of Applied Economics Letters.

They found that individuals with higher income or a higher social status were the most likely to say that success results from luck and connections rather than hard work, while low-income individuals were more likely to say success comes from hard work and individual effort. Well, which belief is more likely to be true? Plenty of research indicates that compared with an external locus of control, an internal locus of control is associated with better academic, economic, health, and relationship outcomes. Believing you are responsible for your life’s direction rather than external forces appears to be beneficial. Here’s the late Stanford psychology professor Albert Bandura. His vast body of research showed that belief in personal agency, or what he described as “self-efficacy,” has powerful positive effects on life outcomes.

Undermining self-efficacy will have little effect on the rich and educated, but will have pronounced effects for the less fortunate. It’s also generally instructive to see what affluent people tell their kids. And what seems to happen is that affluent people often broadcast how they owe their success to luck. But then they tell their own children about the importance of hard work and individual effort. Now let’s discuss strange vocabulary. When I was growing up in foster homes, or making minimum wage as a dishwasher, or serving in the military, I never heard words like “cultural appropriation” or “gendered” or “heteronormative.”

Working class people could not tell you what these terms mean. But if you visit an elite university, you’ll find plenty of affluent people who will eagerly explain them to you. When people express unusual beliefs that are at odds with conventional opinion, like defunding the police or downplaying hard work, or using peculiar vocabulary, often what they are really saying is, “I was educated at a top university” or “I have the means and time to acquire these esoteric ideas.” Only the affluent can learn these things because ordinary people have real problems to worry about. To this extent, Pierre Bourdieu in The Forms of Capital wrote, “The best measure of cultural capital is undoubtedly the amount of time devoted to acquiring it.”

The chief purpose of luxury beliefs is to indicate evidence of the believer’s social class and education. Members of the luxury belief class promote these ideas because it advances their social standing and because they know that the adoption of these policies or beliefs will cost them less than others. Advocating for defunding the police or promoting the belief we are not responsible for our actions are good ways of advertising membership of the elite. Why are affluent people more susceptible to luxury beliefs? They can afford it. And they care the most about status.

In short, luxury beliefs are the new status symbols. They are honest indicators of one’s social position, one’s level of wealth, where one was educated, and how much leisure time they have to adopt these fashionable beliefs. And just as many luxury goods often start with the rich but eventually become available to everyone, so it is with luxury beliefs. But unlike luxury goods, luxury beliefs can have long term detrimental effects for the poor and working class. However costly these beliefs are for the rich, they often inflict even greater costs on everyone else.

#Rob Henderson #luxury beliefs #defund the police #status symbol #status seeking #virtue signal #virtue signalling #virtue signaling #psychology #human psychology #luxury goods #cultural capital #woke #wokeism #cult of woke #wokeness #wokeness as religion #religion is a mental illness

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

• Ken Miles was born on November 1st of 1918 in Sutton Coldfield, England. During his early life he apprenticed at a British car manufacturer. During World War II, he worked in various duties that dealt with machinery and utilized his mechanical skills. He began motorcycle racing while in the service and this would continue after his tour. After World War II, he returned to the automobile industry and to automotive racing. He acquired a Frazer-Nash racer and installed a Ford V8-60 engine. It had mile success in local and club competition.

• In 1952 Ken Miles came to the United States where he accepted a position as service manager for an MG distributor in California. Later, he would became involved with a wide range of teams and races and have a profound influence on early American road racing. His skills as a driver and fabricator quickly evolved and he became legendary on the West Coast with his competitive Specials.

• Miles first racer (that he constructed) was in 1953, while working for Gough Industries. He had been racing MG TD's for Gough, but they were often outclassed by the competition. Gough helped Miles with creating a racer, though he was unable to provide cash. What Gough did provide was use of any MG or Morris and any stock spare part.

• Miles began work on the MG R-1. The frame was created from mild steel tubing and attached to MG Series "Y" independent front suspension. The rear was comprised of a live axle. Alfin aluminum drum brakes with two-wheel cylinders were used to provide the stopping power while a Morris Minor rack-and-pinion kept the vehicle in the drivers control.

• Under the hood was an experimental racing engine that had a 1466cc displacement size. The engine would later be used by MG for their MG TF 1500. The engine had twin SU carburetors and a 10.5:1 initial compression ratio. The compression ratio was later increased to 11.6:1. The 83 horsepower engine was mated to a stock MG TD transmission which sent the power to the rear wheels.

• The car was clothed in a hand-formed aluminum body. The overall weight of the vehicle was less than 1,230 pounds. The car made its inaugural appearance in 1953 at a rainy Pebble Beach. The car had not been tested but this did not seem to matter, as it emerged victorious. Throughout the next year, the car would win all of the races it was entered, except for two. Its racing career came to an end in 1954 at Pebble Beach, when it suffered mechanical difficulties and failed to finish the race. The flywheel bolts fractures which allowed the flywheel to come loose. This resulted in the engine over-revving and it threw a rod. The R-1 Miles Special's racing career had come to an end.

• The second Miles Special racer was constructed in similar fashion to the first, but incorporated many key mechanical and design changes. Many MG components were still utilized, such as the gearbox and 1466cc MG XPEG engine. The space frame chassis was constructed from one-inch steel tubing which was lighter than its predecessor, but still retained the structural rigidity. To reduce frontal area, the driving position was lowered by nearly four inches. Other techniques were used to reduce the frontal area. The engine was tilted down in the front which did much to achieve this goal.

• The car was narrow and low, which meant changes were needed to fit all the engine components in the engine bay. The MG intake manifolds were installed upside down which allowed the carburetors to be angled and fit under the hood. The design of the vehicle was similar to the MG TF. This was done for brand recognition and to help promote the MG line of vehicles. There were differences; the R-2 had an envelope body with fenders that flared up, and over, the front and rear wheels. In the front was an MG style grille with headlights on either side. The car was finished in British racing green.

• The car was given the nickname, the Flying Shingle. Its inaugural race was in 1955 at Willow Springs. It failed to finish the race. Many of the other races in which it entered, it emerged victorious. Among its accomplishments were first place finishes at Pebble Beach and Torrey Pines. Miles was doing well in small-bore racing, but the competition was consistently keeping pace. Soon, a new machine was needed.

• Miles acceptable a position at Johnny Von Neumann's Porsche dealership. He raced during the 1956 season in a Porsche 550 Spyder and began work on a new racing Special. With von Neumann providing a generous budget, and Porsche providing ample stock components, Miles was able to construct a proper, large-budget racer. Power came from a Porsche Carrera four-cam engine that displaced 1500cc. The chassis was a Cooper Bobtail with a modified nose. The suspension was an independent setup with drums in the front and rear. The body shell was constructed of aluminum which aided greatly in the vehicles low weight of just under 950 pounds.

• Near the close of 1956, the newly created Special was brought to Pomona where it was piloted by Miles to a second place finish. At Paramount Ranch, the car was driven to a class win in the 1500cc class, and beat-out the big-bore modified class as well. The car was raced in 1956 and for part of 1957 before the von Neumann dealership was given the break they had been desperately searching for - a Porsche 550A. The car was supplied from the factory with orders to sell the R-3 Pooper Special. The R-1, R-2, and R-3 are still in existence in modern times. They are used in vintage competition and are shown at events.

• Ken Miles life came to a tragic end on August 17th, 1966 while driving a Ford J-car prototype. The car was traveling at 175 mph on a back-strech. Ken began preparing for a corner, slowing the vehicle down, but it went out of control and over an embankment. Ken was thrown from the car as it spun and went end-over-end. This tragedy brought an end to a brilliant career that began during the very early 1950s.

[ellewritesandrants]

Warning! I do not in any shape, way or form like Neil Hargrove or his character but I wanted to explore what would have happened if he and Susan had been the good parents while Billy's mom had been bad and this led to Billy having superpowers and Neil utilizing his military connections for good.

This story starts with Victoria Creel becoming pregnant with Neil Hargrove's baby and thus, needing to run away to California to escape her father and her brother's wrath. They went to the church to get married like good Christians did so their child wouldn't be born out of wedlock but there was no denying that had Billy not been born, they would have never gotten married.

Victoria wasn't the type to be maternal because she didn't have a maternal bone in her body. She missed her old lifestyle and while she would do the bare minimum with her son, it was Neil who had grown enamored with having a son and having a child to raise better than he had been raised.

With both of the parents not being able to go to college, Neil had decided that the best option for them to have enough money to give Billy a good life would be for him to enter the military straight out of college. Of course, he only took home based positions where he could have his wife and kid close until Billy was old enough to go to school.

Neil was eventually promoted after delaying it for a while in order to be with his son. He had managed to fund a house for them and for him to afford to send Billy to a good school so he accepted the trade off of less time with his family because he had made sure his son would understand that his dad loved him and that's why he went away to fight the monsters to keep him safe.

He constantly wrote to his wife and his son when stationed in different bases which made it all the more difficult for him when he had been offered a three year long mission which required total blackout but would earn him enough money to retire from the military and be able to go back to civilian life. He had decided to take it with his wife's encouragement and the thought of coming back to see his son was one of the few things that kept him going.

This is what made it all the more heartbreaking for him to come home and find that his wife had given away his son, his pride and joy to a bunch of scientists when he showed off some ability his wife had decided came from the devil because her brother had said so. He'd quickly divorced her, making sure not to give her a single dime of the money he'd earned for his son and he worked on getting his son back from whatever bastards his wife had given him to.

He had contacted all of his old friends from the military and they'd quickly unearthed the lab that Victoria had given Billy to and one of them had a lawyer buddy who helped them find a way to get his son back. However, as they did more research into Project Insight, they realized other kids were suffering which turned this from a one-man rescue operation into a whole squad.

While Neil and John, the lawyer were dealing with the scientists to get them to release Billy from their custody, the rest of the strike ops team was making it's way through the building to save the other kids, having had Neil scout the building when he first came to see his son.

Weirdly enough, the government never connected the events because Neil was talking to Dr. Brenner as the strike ops team was kidnapping the other experiments so they were all able to get out scot free. Billy had been the only one that the lab had willingly relinquished since they couldn't keep family separated with Neil threatening to expose their entire project if they didn't give him his son back.

The team was able to save four other kids which meant that there were other labs to be plundered. However, the team's primary focus was the betterment and recovery of the kids so they got a judge to allow them to illegally adopt the kids and give them a new life. A few of the team had come back after a week to find an empty building and a trail they needed to follow.

Neil had finally taken Billy back who'd immediately recognized him when he first saw him, practically running into his arms with tears falling from his eyes at seeing his dad again. At first, Neil tried to help Billy all by himself but he quickly realized he needed help because his son kept pushing him away because he was scared of hurting him with his powers.

A friend of his from the same squad had a sister who worked as a teacher who had been recently laid off and was currently looking for a job so he'd immediately jumped at the chance to get Billy a tutor. He had his buddy explain the situation to Susan though before he hired her but she had wanted to help Billy because she had a child and she could never imagine abandoning her child to be tortured and brainwashed.

Neil had used the payout from the government to keep him quiet to fund Billy's private education given by Susan who'd quickly grown to love the sweet boy she helped learn about the world again. She hadn't planned on seeing the boy as her son but the way he practically glowed every time she congratulated him or gave him a hug made her want to be the mother he deserved.

Of course, while all of this was happening, Neil and Susan had also grown close but they realized how complicated things would be if their relationship fell through since they have two kids between the two of them who need their parents to be able to function properly. They took it slow and set boundaries straight from the start but when things go right, they start to take slow steps to integrate their households once Billy had been fully caught up and able to start normal school.

Susan only introduced Max to Billy as siblings once Neil had proposed but they'd already known each other and been somewhat close despite their age gap. Billy had always wanted to have a little sibling but Victoria wouldn't hear of it so when Susan had brought Max with her one time when she couldn't find a babysitter, Billy fell in love with being a big brother because it reminded him of how he protected the other kids at the lab.

When Billy found out that Susan was marrying his dad, he was ecstatic because Susan had been more of a mom to him that Victoria ever was and he got a whole little sister out of it. Billy had already taken an immediate liking to Max when they were first introduced but they became thick as thieves once Susan and Max moved in with them.

However, even if Max and Billy were super close, Billy still wasn't allowed to show Max his powers unless they were in a life or death situation. Max was too young to understand what he had gone through and even though there were a few experiments around her age, it didn't change the fact that Billy wanted to preserve her innocence of the world a bit and that meant having to hide a whole aspect of his life from her.

Neil and his friends were still close despite all retiring so Billy saw the other experiments pretty often, with the entire group plus their respective parents going on a quarterly reunion at different locations so that they could all share how they were and how they'd been integrating with the real world.

It had gotten a lot easier to keep in touch though when Kali or Eight as she had been called established a mind link between all of them that they could activate with a thought so that if ever any emergency happened, they would be able to know immediately.

All of the kids that had been rescued from the labs had gotten new families from the squad that had saved them to they were all able to work on their powers and control them with proper adult supervision. It was one of the few things that had gotten Billy to be confident with reconnecting with his powers and using them again.

Billy’s dad had even gone the extra mile and together with the other military dads, they trained their kids to be able to survive in the wild and in combat situations in the off chance that they would need them. Of course, they were often disguised under fun games or activities since the kids didn’t really know any better and it helped preserve their innocence that way.

Neil, as usual, took it one step further for Billy and he’d started training Billy physically in general fitness and some combat because he’d realized that Billy had better control once he had a better understanding of his own body. It was also a good way for father and son to bond apart from sports, late night talks, taking apart classic cars and putting them back together again.

Neil was exceedingly proud of how quickly Billy had adapted to the real world, a big part thanks to the bond between brother and sister and how eager Max had been to share popular culture with her brother. It did have the negative side effect of Billy thinking whatever Max thought was cool as cool but Neil and Susan also knew that eventually, Billy would start to form his own identity.

The first thing that helped Billy was realizing how he naturally gravitated towards the water since it was one of the first things he was able to manipulate properly using his psychokinetic powers. Billy had quickly learned to love surfing, swimming and anything related to the water while Max preferred her feet firmly on land.

Another thing that helped Billy was the cover his family had helped him form. Before enrolling Billy in high school, Neil and Susan had taken him aside and explained that he needed a backstory to explain why he was homeschooled and to explain all of the scars and the tattoo that he had left over from the lab.

They’d decided he should pretend to be a punk not only they have tattoos but they usually like to start and end fights. Billy doesn’t like fighting or violence but in training his powers, he occasionally loses and control and bruises himself so he needs a viable cover. He uses his powers to keep people away or push them away since he’s stronger than the baseline human when Neil tested him.

Billy does a lot of “research” on how he’s supposed to act by reading books and watching movies and shows with Max and that’s why he acts like the typical airhead punk bully. However, Billy’s really smart even before the lab stuff started and once he was enrolled, he got top of the class grades without any problems.

A few years pass with Billy becoming very close and protective over Max and him becoming closer to his “siblings” from the lab who each have different names, lives and personalities now. Everything is peaceful until Neil gets a call from one of his buddies telling them that their kid from the lab realized something was up again and this time it was in Hawkins, Indiana.

Neil and his family were the first ones to go because he actually had a house there and they were the only ones known and approved by the lab so they wouldn’t attract attention from the lab by showing up with all of the missing kids. The others would move into adjacent towns so they could be close enough if they were needed.

It takes a while for the family to fix up everything since Neil needed to get a job in Hawkins which wasn’t the easiest thing to do and to coordinate everything. They hear about the missing kid who was eventually found again and they knew that the lab had something to do with it.

The family moves a lot earlier than in canon because they plan to use the rest of the summer to scope the town. Neil immediately goes to Hopper and asks about what happened with the lab and hints about knowing a little bit more about the labs. Hopper doesn’t immediately trust him but once he meets Billy, he knows he needs to give El the chance to meet the rest of her “siblings.”

It starts with Billy but he eventually helps her when they meet the rest of the escapees. Surprisingly, Jane doesn’t have to look for the file anymore because one of the men managed to get files on all of the kids. Jane gets to meet her family with the support of the other members of the ex-military squad and she gets closure easily.

Jane and Max become friends long before Max meets the rest of the boys. When the boys exclude her, she finds out they were like that to El too, so she proposes they start their own thing instead. Billy comes with them to the mall a few towns over to shop and Max gets a new best friend and Billy a new sister. They end up bonding with the rest of the experiment kids and Max is finally let into the secret Billy had been keeping from her for a while. She understood why even if she was hurt why they kept it a secret since she’d heard about the whole thing with Jane.

When school starts up, Max still joins the Party with permission and guidance from El while Billy actually gravitates towards Eddie’s crew because of their music taste. He gets immediately recruited for basketball though which skyrockets his popularity. He ends up bonding with Nancy in classes who is still dating Steve at that point.

When the gate is opened again, the experiments immediately realize something is wrong and Billy is exceedingly overprotective of Max, refusing to let her go out without him even if he didn’t exactly know why. He tags along when Lucas offers to show her what’s going on and he ends up showing his powers to Lucas after taking care of a stray demodog about to get the jump on them.

Billy called all of the experiment kids to the town and they’re shown by El what they need to do so they do so, helping her by lending her their collective strength to seal it shut properly. No casualties are reported because with the ex-military squad there, they have a lot of extra fire power to deal with the demodogs and there’s an experiment who can kind of see glimpses of possible futures so they manage to keep Bob from dying.

They also manage to sense the whole Brimborn Steel thing before it manages to accumulate power since one of the experiments had to pass by there on their way home and they sensed the evil there. They banish it and kill it so the only main issue the next year are the Russians who are taken care of by the Military crew.

When Dustin finds out about the Russians, they call Hopper for backup who gets Neil and the rest of the boys to take on the Russians and close the gate. They do it without any casualties since the escapee kids also tagged along and made it a whole lot easier for the gang.

Billy had long since become friends with Steve since he’s Max and Jane’s older brother now and they like hanging out with the boys even if they can be dumb and stupid sometimes. Of course, Billy had grown to like both Steve and Eddie and it had been really awkward to talk about it with his parents who tried their best to be supportive even if they didn’t really understand what was going on.

When Vecna starts up, they all go to confront him but ultimately, it’s Billy who deals the final blow since he’s apparently Vecna’s cousin on his mom’s side. They save the world and they get to live life as regular kids. 

Jane gets to date other guys since Mike is an idiot who didn’t realize he was in love with someone else, namely Will while Max was able to date Lucas after Billy and Neil had made sure he didn’t have any untoward intentions towards Billy’s little sister. Billy was able to show off his cool powers to Eddie and Steve who found it really cool and agreed to share their boyfriend.

#billy hargrove #billy deserved better #billy hargrove deserved better #billy hargrove au #experiment billy hargrove #billy hargrove has powers #neil hargrove #susan hargrove #max mayfield #billy and max #max mayfield & billy hargrove #billy and neil #billy and susan #ellewritesandrants #billy hargrove redemption #stranger things rewrite #billy x steve #harringrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #billy x steve x eddie #billy x eddie #steve x billy x eddie #steddilly #stilldie #harringroveson

[roshanenergy]

Maximizing Efficiency with Electric Submetering in California

In the dynamic landscape of energy consumption, California stands at the forefront of adopting innovative solutions to address sustainability challenges. One such solution gaining traction is electric submetering, a technology that empowers businesses and individuals to optimize energy usage. Roshan Energy, a pioneering player in the California energy sector, is spearheading the adoption of electric submetering to maximize efficiency.

Understanding Electric Submetering

Electric submetering involves installing meters to measure the energy consumption of individual tenants, departments, or specific equipment within a larger facility. Unlike traditional meters, submeters provide detailed insights into energy usage patterns, enabling better management and resource allocation.

Benefits of Electric Submetering

Cost Savings: By identifying energy-intensive areas, businesses can implement targeted energy-saving strategies. Roshan Energy's submetering solutions empower consumers to pinpoint inefficiencies and make informed decisions that lead to substantial cost savings.

Customized Billing: For multi-tenant facilities, submetering allows for accurate utility billing services based on actual consumption. This ensures fair distribution of energy costs among tenants, fostering a sense of accountability and encouraging energy-conscious practices.

Carbon Footprint Reduction: Electric submetering enables businesses to track their carbon footprint more precisely. Armed with this information, organizations can implement strategies to reduce emissions and contribute to California's ambitious carbon reduction goals.

Real-Time Monitoring: Roshan Energy's advanced submetering systems provide real-time data on energy consumption. This allows businesses to respond promptly to abnormal energy spikes, potentially preventing equipment malfunctions and minimizing downtime.

Compliance with Regulations: California has stringent energy regulations aimed at promoting sustainability. Electric submetering helps businesses comply with these regulations by providing the necessary data to demonstrate adherence to energy efficiency standards.

Roshan Energy's Role in Maximizing Efficiency

As a key player in California's energy sector, Roshan Energy has been instrumental in driving the adoption of electric submetering. Their cutting-edge technology not only provides accurate readings but also integrates with smart systems for seamless management.

Tailored Solutions: Roshan Energy works closely with businesses to understand their unique energy needs. Subsequently, they provide customized submetering solutions that align with the specific requirements of each client.

User-Friendly Interfaces: Roshan Energy's submetering systems come with user-friendly interfaces, making it easy for consumers to access and interpret their energy data. This accessibility empowers businesses to make data-driven decisions for enhanced efficiency.

Ongoing Support: Roshan Energy doesn't just install submetering systems and leave. They offer ongoing support, ensuring that clients can maximize the benefits of submetering by continuously optimizing their energy consumption.

Conclusion,

In the quest for a sustainable future, electric submetering in California emerges as a powerful tool. Roshan Energy's commitment to providing state-of-the-art submetering solutions not only helps businesses save costs. As the partnership between California and Roshan Energy continues to flourish, the landscape of energy management is poised for positive transformation, one submeter at a time.

#Utility Management California #Water Submetering Services #Utility Management Services california #Utility Cost Recovery California #Commercial Eliectric Submetering

[santacarlatourism]

summer break for vigilantes - pt. 1, welcome to santa carla

This fic is also posted to my Ao3 Rating: Mature Pairing: Poly Lost Boys x (Nonbinary) Reader Chapter word Count: 2.6k Fic Warnings: Major (OC) character death, stalking, manipulation canon-typical depictions of violence, death, sex, drug use, etc. Reader is nonbinary but sometimes assumed as female by those who don’t know them. [Subject to updating/change] Summary: You: Sheltered high-school graduate who's moved several thousand miles to Santa Carla. Reason? One-part college, one-part freedom. Michelle: Your rebellious, impulsive, and passionate roommate, who your parents don't know you have. Eric: Michelle's boyfriend, who goes missing within the first week of your arrival in town. The murder capital of the world, as its known by the locals; Santa Carla's police department seems woefully either unequipped or unconcerned with the high rate of missing person's cases in town. So when your roommate's boyfriend goes missing in the weeks leading up to the Emerson's arrival, the two of you take matters into your own hands to try and piece together the mysterious circumstances under which he vanished. Along the way, you keep finding yourself in the path of a local biker gang that you want little to do with. [Next Part]

College, for Y/N, had represented a safe haven. A paradise of sorts that they spent their high school years diligently working towards. A combination of good grades and spotless behavior had reaped rewards: Y/N had been able to convince their parents to let them take advantage of a scholarship that allowed them to move away from small town, southern nowhere, to attend college in San Jose, California.

And sure, San Jose was a bit of a commute from the cheap apartment Y/N managed to acquire in Santa Carla, but the drive was under an hour and rent and gas were cheap enough at the time. And since they would only have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it made everything rather tolerable.

The first day waking up in their apartment after their parents had gone home– Y/N’s first time waking up alone– was a bit nerve unsettling. They had never really lived alone before, even if it would only be for a few hours. They didn’t realize how late they’d woken up, but after the hassle of getting the key from the leasing office and moving their belongings inside the previous day, it made sense that they’d sleep in. It wasn’t every day that you moved for the first time in your life, after all.

Y/N sighed, stretching: their roommate was supposed to arrive sometime today, and so the place wouldn’t be empty for long. They hoped they would like Michelle for the whole semester as much as they had the first time the two met, and in the discreet phone conversations the two had had together. To back out of the lease would involve Y/N having to confess to their parents that they had gotten a roommate without telling them, and that would be a whole can of worms. But living alone as a college student was hard, Y/N had justified to themself. They had money saved up from working during high school and through the summers, and in the form of graduation gifts, but they knew that would go a lot further if they were only paying half the rent and utilities. Especially since they jumped on the opportunity to go on and move in June, rather than waiting till the start of school in September.

And besides, Michelle was cool. Michelle was, Y/N had reasoned before making the official decision, the kind of person they needed in college. Someone who could help them loosen up, really see the world outside of their small hometown. A place that, should the next four years treat them kindly, Y/N hoped to never have to move back to.

They shuffled to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, taking the place in. The apartment was pretty sparse at the moment, but Michelle had promised that her boyfriend had a truck and would help them find some furniture at thrift stores. Or via dumpster diving.

“Isn’t that like… illegal?” Y/N had asked, with a slightly worried look.

In response Michelle had just laughed. “Trust me. No one around Santa Carla cares if you pull something out of the trash.”

In the present, Y/N sighed because they hoped Michelle had been right. That would make getting some chairs a whole lot fucking easier.

It was about one in the afternoon before the door finally swung open. “Y/N! I’m home!” Called an elated voice.

Y/N, who had by then retreated back to the only sitting surface in the house they had, their bed, emerged again from their room to greet their roommate. “Michelle!” They greeted as the girl grabbed them up in a big hug.

“Y/N, this is my boyfriend, Eric. He’s brought his truck and everything, if you’re ready to actually fill this place up.”

Y/N waved at Eric, who nodded back. He seemed nice enough. And that was a tempting offer. “Fuck yeah. Let’s ride around,” They agreed to Michelle’s delight.

Riding around town with the two, Y/N would find, also provided them an opportunity to see the parts of Santa Carla they would have actively tried to hide from their parents. That’s not to say Santa Carla was pleasant on a surface level glance by any means, but as life-long citizens it was apparent that Michelle and Eric knew their way around.

“This place always has the best stuff,” Michelle declared, looking over the passenger’s seat at Y/N with a grin as Eric’s truck pulled up to a Kmart that was in severe need of a pressure washing, and then went around to the back.

Y/N squirmed in their seat. “And you’re sure this is fine to do in broad daylight?”

“Of course,” Eric chimed in. “Trust me, this place has three employees working on a good day, and at least two of them are always doped up. They don’t care.”

Y/N found that odd. The Kmart back home was a rather big deal, but they figured in a city like this– and this close to somewhere like San Francisco– maybe people just had better options for shopping. So they tried to swallow their worry as the truck pulled up to the dumpster.

Michelle and Eric seemed attuned to Y/N’s nerves, even if the two felt them unfounded, and were at least somewhat compassionate, as Michelle spoke: “Eric and I will climb in and hand stuff out to you. Just make sure it gets into the bed without getting broken.”

“I can do that.” Not having to climb into a dumpster seemed like a good course of action to them. Especially on a day like today: As the three opened the truck door and got out, the heat of the sun mixing with the scent of the dumpster created quite an unpleasant smell even if it was more filled with unsold furniture than foodstuffs. And so over the course of the next thirty or so minutes, they helped load some chairs, an end table, a DVD player, and a couch (piece by piece, with Eric climbing out halfway through lifting it to help load it up). The only thing they actually ended up going inside to purchase was a TV for that DVD player, which ended up relatively cheap with all three of them putting money into it.

“See! And people would spend a good couple hundred on this much good furniture,” Michelle said as they walked through the parking lot back to the truck, which Eric had brought around front. “And we got almost all of it for free.”

“You’re pretty strong,” Eric commented to Y/N, hopping in the driver’s seat as they and Michelle also climbed in. “Michelle can help toss light things out but usually can’t help me lift.”

“Yeah, because that’s what I have you for,” Michelle laughed. “Anyways, we’re making good on time. We can all unload this shit, shower off, and then hit up the Boardwalk tonight. It’s your first night in Santa Carla, Y/N!” Michelle looked over her shoulder at her friend. “We have to take you to the Boardwalk.

Y/N couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah?” Admittedly, they’d been hoping to get to see it sometime within the next few days. The only amusement park they’d ever gotten to go to before was Opryland, and they’d never been on a beach before. The ocean, they imagined, was quite different from going out on the river with their cousins. After unloading, a series of quick showers, and a fifteen minute drive, and soon Y/N was at the boardwalk with Eric and Michelle.

The sun was nearly set by that point, and so the lights around the rides and various signs had been switched on. Y/N grinned with delight. It was so big! Their eyes darted– which way to go first? They didn’t have long to think, though, before Michelle was pulling them towards the roller coaster which, all things considered, was not a bad way to start their evening. “Come on, you’re gonna love it.”

“But we didn’t get our ride tickets,” Y/N said, looking at the ticket booth behind them that sat at the boardwalk’s entrance.

“Don’t gotta,” Eric shrugged, pulling a wallet out of his pocket that had a good few tickets in it. “I come up here to see the music some nights. Pick up tickets I spot on the ground. People get tipsy or distracted and trop them all the time.”

The three had arrived just as the Friday night crowd was starting to trickle in, before pouring in, so there wasn’t a huge wait for the coaster when they got in line. By the time they got off, though, it was completely dark out. Michelle already had five other rides mentally lined up that they just had to take Y/N on. By the end of the hour, the three were stumbling off the rotor ride and Y/N was stumbling along. “You okay?” Michelle asked, laughing, arm draped around Y/N’s waist to help steady them.

“It’s just been awhile since I’ve been on anything like that,” Y/N admitted, laughing nervously. “A little motion sick–”

“Ew, well, keep it in,” Michelle teased, grinning at Y/N. At this point Michelle was a little tipsy, and Y/N was a little dizzy, and as a result the two almost stumbled right into a group before Eric grabbed them to pull them back.

“Fuck, last time I buy you beer. Watch where you’re going,” Eric said to Michelle, half teasing. Then he looked up at the guys before them and tensed, just a little. “Sorry about them.”

Y/N swallowed, gaze pulled forward as well. They weren’t the tallest guys in the world– only one, it looked like, beat six feet of height. But they had a big presence about them all: long and shaggy haircuts, predominately black attire, the way they were looking at Y/N, Michelle, and Eric like they were prey.

“It’s all right,” The one with the shorter, straighter blonde hair at the front of the group spoke. “Had a bit too much?” He asked, making eye contact with Y/N. He had blue eyes in the icy-cold sort of way and it made Y/N want to shiver, but they didn’t.

“This one? Nah,” Michelle laughed, before Y/N could even fail to answer the question. “Just a bit of a rough time riding the Demon Hole.”

This earned a snicker from the other guys behind the platinum blonde; he himself smiled in a way that looked almost pitying. “Well, then, I’d invite you to grab a bite with us, but you probably don’t want anything on your stomach right now.” He glanced from Y/N back to the other two– “Later.”

With that, the four guys moved past the three of them. Y/N, being far less inebriated than Michelle, noticed Eric’s tension. “You know them?” They asked, after a moment.

“Yeah, they’re some bikers known for causing trouble on the boardwalk. Don’t know how many times they’ve been kicked off,” Eric frowned, “When Michelle almost crashed you both into them I was worried they were going to try and start shit,” He gave his girlfriend a disapproving nudge.

She whined in response. “You know I don’t hold my beer well, babe.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should learn how to if you’re going to drink in public.”

Y/N looked back over their shoulder again, as they watched the boys disappear into the crowd. They’d already gotten the impression that Eric and Michelle didn’t mind getting into a bit of mischievous trouble– those four must be actual bad news, if they were avoiding them.

Despite Eric’s annoyance he did grab Michelle another beer, which she was now working on as the three continued down the boardwalk. Y/N’s motion sickness had mostly subsided, causing their appetite to come back. “Any food nearby?” They asked.

“Yeah, there’s a stand that sells nachos a bit further down,” Eric replied, “Hungry?”

Y/N nodded. “Oh, shit, why don’t you grab us a movie to rent? Break in that new TV. Eric and I could run ahead and get the food,” Michelle suggested. “I would come with you, but…” She held up her beer can. The video store they were in front of had a NO OUTSIDE FOOD OR DRINKS sign plastered on the glass. Y/N assumed it was one of those signs that was put up following an inciting incident.

With a bit of an indulgent smile, Y/N agreed. “Sure, yeah. Can’t promise I’ll pick something you like though,” They pointed out, as they waved a temporary goodbye and dipped inside the video store. It was nice, momentarily being out of the packed boardwalk crowds. Y/N wondered if it was always this busy on Friday nights or if there were simply a lot of high schoolers and recent graduates celebrating the start of summer. They slowly looked around, trying to get a feel for the store– were the tapes organized alphabetically, or perhaps by genre first? Where the new releases were, and all that–

“Can I help you find something in particular?” A man behind the counter asked, leaning forward.

Y/N looked back to the center of the store, smiling politely at him and slowly stepping up to the counter across the bright and surprisingly clean carpet, “Oh, not really, um, my friends just asked me to come in and pick out a movie.”

“Ah, yes. Friends.” The man glanced up to the glass door. It took a moment for Y/N to realize he was indicating that he had seen Y/N with those aforementioned friends outside. “Your friends do have a tendency for getting into a bit of trouble, you know,” He raised his eyebrows a little, and it appeared that he was trying to be good-natured even while reprimanding Y/N’s choice in company. “You seem like an honest individual, though. More so than many of the sorts I usually see around Santa Carla.” Y/N presumed this was in part based off of their appearance. While they actually quite admired many of the black outfits and colored hair and chains they’d seen worn around the boardwalk, they had just been dropped off by parents that had quite conservative ideas about dress and conduct. So their closet wasn’t exactly full of pieces that Y/N found more exciting. “A little bit of an accent too, are you new here?”

Y/N didn’t think their accent was all that thick, but they supposed it wasn’t surprising that over a thousand miles would make a difference in the way one spoke. Not thick for a rural town might be quite thick for a city like Santa Carla. “I am, yes. I’m going to college over in San Jose.”

“A college student. Quite impressive,” The man behind the counter smiled, seeming pleased. “I’m Max,” He extended a hand over the counter to shake, which Y/N took and introduced themself in turn. “Well, if you happen to be in the market for a job, pay for those textbooks, we are usually hiring,” Max said.

Y/N smiled. “I’ll think about it.” They didn’t want to commit to a job they were being offered by a total stranger on their first week in town– but also didn’t want to completely ruin the opportunity.

Max smiled. “Well, I’ll let you get back to picking your movie out– I’m sure you don’t want to spend all night talking to an old geezer like myself. Just do be careful, the sorts of people you associate with around here,” He gave Y/N a knowing look, as if somehow he was acutely aware of their earlier dumpster diving activities.

“I will.” Y/N nodded, before dipping off to peer through the racks of VHS tapes. Maybe they had a copy of Labyrinth.

#the lost boys x reader #david lost boys x reader #dwayne lost boys x reader #paul lost boys x reader #marko lost boys x reader #by santacarlatourism #reader insert #post: fic

[fuck-customers]

my company flew me (a trainer) out to florida to help open a new restaurant, along with a dozen others, and while i knew it was 10 hour shifts going in, i was not prepared for the sheer amount of fucking drama involved.

the managers are constantly being petty to their crew (iykyk) and are teaching them the wrong things, and then said crew gets mad at us trainers! when we have to correct it! "manager x told me this is the correct way" no girl you can do it the fast way once i'm sure you know the right way! the right way must be known first otherwise the fast way is wrong!

i've been here since november 27th and i'm leaving on december 20th (it's the 14th right now) and while they pay is certainly nice, us trainers being treated like shit bc the managers are setting us up for failure is not cool. all of the people i came here with are from low-drama restaurants and the switch to high-drama, fully defensive trainees is tough.

one of my few gratitudes is i actually helped train two of the managers here! i really liked working with those managers while they trained in california and that means they know that i'm good at what i do. that means a bit more respect than the rest of my co-trainers which is helping.

stars above be with this place when we leave tho. there was a "stress test" yesterday where there were no trainers the whole day and the place fell apart pretty bad. so know upper management is getting on our asses about training when we leave in a week and have been doing our best.

thankfully the trainer's boss is not the restaurant's boss and he's getting first hand accounts for all of this. he is not happy with how we're not being utilized correctly to make sure this place won't run itself down.

(hint: it's the first fast food place of its kind in florida, but is very popular fried chicken with a very particularly beloved sauce in other states {not homophobia chicken})

[jess-moloney]

Why Jess often shows her luxury brand name stuffs like YSL Gucci Versace etc, way too often when she doesn't seem to have a glamorous job she's referred. How the hell she buy those expensive stuffs when she doesn't seem to get paid well even a real celebrity manager won't hit higher than $5,000-$6,000 monthly income and she is out of nowhere to make such a bunch of money. I guess Jess keeps faking it but no way to making it real

What I'm always confused about is if you google her there's a bunch of websites (clickbait/tabloid type sites nothing official) that will give her net worth to be 2-3 million dollars but how would anyone know that about her?

I'm sure with any of these celebrity net worth websites (when it's an actual celebrity) there's at least more public information to help make an educated guess. Though I doubt most of them are 100% correct they are probably at least in the ballpark because you can look up how much an actor made for any given movie, property they may have, vehicles they may own, etc.

There's no possible way to do this for Jess because everything about her is hidden. If you Google it you'll see that on average a celebrity manager (and you'd have to be going by full time, which Jess clearly isn't doing) makes around 50-60K a year. Which is barely enough to live in California, especially Hollywood. Even if you go with looking up a talent manager (instead) you still get between 80K-100K a year. Once again, better than the other salary but certainly not something that is going to make her a millionaire either.

Where are websites pulling the net worth figure at 2-3 million for Jess? It seems like it's just something she told people to publish or people assume she has to be worth that much because she's with Jamie. When in reality there's no way she's worth that much or making that much money per year because she obviously does not work a full-time job.

This leaves only a few other options for how she's making money to maintain the lifestyle that she flaunts on social media.

Credit/Loans (and she's probably in a massive level of debt at this point)

Sugar Daddy: Making Jamie pay for everything or mostly everything (she does live in his house so at the very least she more than likely does not have to cover food/rent/utilities)

Trust fund: (though even with how lucrative her father's business is, it's not a multimillion-dollar corporation) so I'd imagine any trust fund she may have had is used up by now.

Business loans: Borrowing against both Ice Studios and her own management company and not using the money for anything business-related

Scamming: Who knows what that Ice Studios shop is or was in reality and why they keep running this business at a loss when any reasonable person would have declared bankruptcy and shut it down at this point.

Having other boyfriends/sugar daddies we don't know about maybe selling nudes or something online or catfishing guys on Instagram. She could have multiple IG accounts and be working from multiple angles.

Begging/Lying: telling her friends/family that she needs the money for one reason or another (this may have worked for some time but it seems like she's not really with her family anymore so that may be why).

Inheritance: Maybe someone in her family died and/or she was with a guy before Jamie who died and she got a bunch of money.

Jess also doesn't seem like the type that is good with money, at all. Even with her other jobs, like when she was a Senior Press officer, the salary widely varies but doesn't go much above 100K per year even if she was at a very company. Same with working in PR. Every job she's had (and keep in mind a lot of them she left after a year or two so she wasn't saving a ton of money doing this either) is on average 100K per year or less. These are not jobs where she was going to become a millionaire but it doesn't matter anyway because she hasn't officially worked at one of them for 5 years now.

It's very confusing as to how she's affording all of this stuff when she doesn't appear to do anything that would earn the level of money that she would need to afford it. She never has earned that kind of money. People may think these titles sound glamourous and yes, a six-figure salary is nothing to scoff at but on the lower end if you live in cities like London, New York, or L.A (like she was) then you really are barely scraping by, you aren't rich. If she worked full time then I could possibly say maybe she's just really bad with money management and prioritizes designer clothes and accessories but since she doesn't, how she's affording any of this is the biggest question and she's probably not doing it very ethically or because she worked super hard to get it.

#jess moloney #jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #mail

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Baby Boomer Classics: Heart & Soul Fifties 1985/1988 R&B / Rock & Roll

Folks, I gotta say, for how short this release is—13 songs that amount to only about half an hour—this might be the most potent 50s comp that I've ever come across in my many years of collecting. See, there's plenty of nostalgic comps out there that just slap together a bunch of chart-busters and then call it a day without giving much of any thought to how much juice any of the selections may still actually have, but when the California-based JCI label put this dispatch from their Baby Boomer Classics series together in 1985, and then re-released it again in 1988 with a replacement of Wilbert Harrison's terrifically catchy R&B classic, "Kansas City," with Joe Turner's "Corinne, Corrina," they seemed to be far more concerned with how good the actual songs still sounded rather than with how well they charted back in the day.

And to be clear, most of these songs still did chart very well themselves anyway, but do you know how many big hits there were in the 50s that don't really sound that great anymore? A whole lot. And JCI didn't end up picking any of those for this album; these selections that they made almost four whole decades ago are still really no worse for wear than they were when they first came out. And that's pretty remarkable, given how much music from the 50s really doesn't quite strike like it used to anymore.

Now, if you already know your oldies like the back of your own hand, you're probably not gonna find much utility in this album, because even though there's no real lackluster filler in this small set, you're likely to be very familiar with these tunes already. But if you're someone who's never really been exposed to much in the way of great 50s music before, I really cannot recommend this album enough as your starter pack. You've got probably my favorite 50s hit of all time on this thing in Lloyd Price's "Stagger Lee"—a song so good that it legitimately has the capacity to turn me misty-eyed, even though I was born long after the 50s and have no personal nostalgic attachment to it whatsoever—as well as one of the greatest pieces of loud and dynamic group doo wop that's ever been recorded too: The Silhouettes' "Get a Job." And on top of that is Little Richard's "Lucille," plus Smiley Lewis' "I Hear You Knocking," which Little Richard would go on to cover himself too, as well as Welshman Dave Edmunds, who would deliver a great blues-rock version of it in 1970 🤘.

But, as seems to be a feature and not a bug with this Baby Boomer Classics series at this point, another one of the best songs on this record, which also happens to be probably its most obscure selection too, is a tune that's not actually from the 50s: Bobby Bland's "Turn On Your Love Light," which came out in 1961. While the rest of the songs on this album were big top-ten or top-twenty hits, this one only made it to #28 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart; so when it comes to this oldies comp wing of the music industry, this is not a tune that you're gonna come across very often. But it's a total gem, with a sweet and uptempo, shuffling drumbeat that's made to bolster Bobby Bland's own soulful voice that hits some really satisfying points of throaty gravelliness throughout 🥹.

I'm really in awe over how well JCI managed to nail this one. An assorted cream of the 50s crop right here in just 13 songs. Not an easy thing to pull off, but these are some really stellar choices 👍.

Highlights:

Wilbert Harrison - "Kansas City" Thurston Harris - "Little Bitty Pretty One" Bobby Bland - "Turn On Your Love Light" Little Richard - "Lucille" The Silhouettes - "Get a Job" Clyde McPhatter - "Lover Please" Smiley Lewis - "I Hear You Knocking" Lloyd Price - "Stagger Lee"

#r&b #r & b #rhythm & blues #rhythm and blues #rock & roll #rock and roll #oldies #classic rock #music #50s #50s music #50's #50's music #rock #60s #60s music #60's #60's music

[literatecowboy]

Dr. Feelgood

4. Nights Out

Part 1 Next Part Summary: You've been in trouble at work several times before for "lack of professionalism" but now you've gone too far. You've been reassigned to Task Force 141 as a temporary doctor to replace the ones they've made quit out of frustration. You must either prove yourself and earn your former position back at a prestigious military hospital in California or face dishonorable discharge. Author's Notes: This is my first fanfiction - please be gentle. Additionally, the reader's callsign is "Feelgood." I have done my best to write the reader as ambiguous regarding appearance, but she/her pronouns and AFAB anatomy will be utilized. I hope for this to be a slow-burn romance with Simon "Ghost" Riley.  Warnings: Gunshot wounds, medical terminology and procedures, inaccurate healing timelines, alcohol consumption, gentle angst, cringeworthy drunken conversations

-----

“I don’t know why you insist on me being in here when you do this,” Ghost growled from the corner, glaring down at his phone as you carefully applied eyeliner, leaned up close to the mirror in your bathroom. 

“You aren’t in the same room as me. I’m in my bathroom and you’re in the bedroom,” you quipped, blinking before doing the other eye. 

“I think it’s interesting to watch ye get made up. I’ve never seen a woman do it before,” Soap said. He was perched on your toilet, examining your mascara. 

“Want me to do yours?” you offered, turning to him and offering a smile. 

“Maybe you can share some of your lipstick with me, lass,” he said with a grin. You socked him in the shoulder lightly. 

“Quit it or I’m having Ghost over there hold you down while I put a full face on you,” you said, setting down your pencil and examining yourself. 

“Now get out while I put my dress on.”

—

When you opened the door to your room and stepped into the hall, Gaz and Price had arrived, dressed sharply like Soap. Ghost was another story - though he had swapped the sweatpants he’d been recovering in for jeans and tugged on a hoodie, he’d kept his balaclava on and stuck to dark colors. 

“You’re gorgeous, doc,” Gaz said, offering you a smile along with his arm. 

“It’ll be good to finally get off base for a change. I’ve hardly been out of the hospital since I arrived,” you laughed, letting him lead you down the hall as you followed the others out to the parking lot. 

“Drinks are on me for having to put up with that bastard for so long. Think you’ll manage alone alright?” he asked, fixing his gaze on Ghost. 

“As long as all of you don’t come back shot I’ll be alright. He’s recovering well. I might almost miss him brooding in my med bay when I send him back to sleeping in his room,” you admitted with a laugh, making Gaz chuckle.

As Price climbed into the driver’s seat of his car and Ghost slid in on the passenger’s side, Gaz opened the rear door for you. 

“You’re a gentleman, Kyle,” you said with a smile, squeezing his hand as he helped you in. 

“Simp,” Soap coughed from beside you as you slid into the middle seat and buckled in. 

—

The club you arrived outside of later that evening was crowded, but that was to be expected for a Friday night. You watched Ghost as he slid out of the car wordlessly and studied him for signs of pain as the group headed for the entrance and were relieved when you saw none. 

After getting your ID examined and heading inside, your group claimed a booth in the corner. Price had insisted on driving back so you had indulged, going to the bar to get drinks with Soap and Gaz. 

“What does Ghost drink?” you shouted above the music, looking questioningly at Soap who grinned. 

“Believe it or not, Chardonnay! You should take him a glass!” he shouted back as you flagged down the bartender. 

Perhaps trusting him was foolish because as you approached Ghost with the glass and a margarita for yourself in your hands, he glared at you. 

“Didn’t peg you for a wine guy,” you said, leaning over the table and holding it out to him. 

“I’m not,” he said coolly, folding his arms over his chest. Your face went hot and you straightened. 

“Making fun of me?” he growled, glaring you down. 

“No, I–” you turned back to the bar. Soap and Gaz were doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from their eyes. You sighed and looked back at Ghost who was glaring the two down. Not wanting to remain at the table with Ghost or go back to the bar to get laughed at, you tipped your head back, chugged the wine, and walked to the dance floor with your margarita. 

—

The evening started to blur after that. You could remember polishing off more drinks to soften your embarrassment and dancing with Soap before going off to the bathroom to check your makeup. When you’d come back you’d danced against Gaz, his hands finding your hips as you moved in tandem, laughing and chatting. 

After that you’d stumbled through a back door on accident while looking for a different bathroom, the first one having been full. 

Ghost stood alone, leaning against the wall as he smoked, his mask rolled up to his nose. 

“Those are gonna kill you early,” you slurred, stumbling up to him and leaning against the wall next to him so that your shoulders brushed. 

“The job’ll take care of that,” he grunted, not looking your way. It was quiet for a moment. 

“Why don’t you like me, Ghost?” you slurred after a minute, leaning your cheek against his bicep and angling your chin to look up at him with your best sad puppy eyes. 

“I like you plenty,” he grunted. Your lower lip wobbled. 

“M’ sorry. Wasn’t trying to be angry at you earlier, or before. Never tryin’ to be angry with you,” he mumbled, looking down at you as he tossed the cigarette away. Your eyes locked. 

“You’re pretty drunk, doc,” he said with a chuckle, brushing some of your tussled hair out of your face and rolling his mask back down. 

“Are you not?” you giggled, swaying in place. He took you gently by the arms to steady you. 

“I can hold my liquor,” he grunted, glancing back at the door to the club. “Come on, let’s round up the boys and get you home.” 

“You never told me what you drink,” you protested, your eyelids heavy. 

“You’ll find out.”

—

You woke up the next morning in your own bed, your dress unzipped but still clinging to you. A vague memory flashed through your head of you rubbing your back against the door like a bear in an attempt to get it down.

After taking some painkillers and a hot shower, you stumbled out of your room and to the med bay. It was empty, so you wandered further down the hall toward the rec room, where you found Ghost quietly eating cereal. 

“Oh, there you are. How’re you feeling?” you asked, yawning and rubbing your eyes. He chuckled. 

“Better than you probably. You remember anything about last night?” he asked. You searched your mind for a minute and froze. 

“Did I– did I almost cry to you about you not liking me?” you asked, your voice deadpan. 

“Yup.”

“Fuck.”

It was quiet for another moment, the only sound in the room being that of Ghost munching cereal. The bastard ate it dry. 

“I’m sorry,” you offered after a minute, your face feeling hotter than the heat from the bodies in the club the night before. 

“S’ alright.”

Price wandered in not long after, headed for Ghost. 

“Would you like to join us at the briefing later? I know you’re benched for this one but I don’t want to leave you out,” he said, sitting down across from the lieutenant with a stack of paperwork and his pen. 

“Sure,” Ghost grumbled. Price glanced back at you.

“You should get some rest, Feelgood. You had quite the night last night,” he said. Heat rushed to your face and you sat down on the couch, pulling out your phone. 

“I’m alright. I need to keep an eye on him anyway,” you said. 

—

The morning passed quietly. Eventually, Price returned to his office to keep working and Ghost joined you on the couch as you sat on your phones in silence. Gaz came in looking surprisingly alright for how much he’d had to drink last night, offering you a smile. You chatted with him idly before Soap came in, moaning about his head and digging through the fridge for something to drink. 

“Did he get you in alright lass?” Soap asked, nodding at Gaz as he plopped down by the three of you. Ghost looked up sharply from his phone, fixing you with a stare. 

“You helped me in?” you asked, looking at Gaz with a raised eyebrow. He nodded sheepishly. 

“Couldn’t just leave you lost outside, lass. You couldn’t remember which door was yours first and said you were going to go sleep in the med bay,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh, god. Thank you, I swear I’ll make it up to you. Last night I acted…wildly unprofessionally.” you admitted with a sigh, rubbing your forehead. 

“You wouldn’t be you if you acted professional all the time, doc. That’s why you’re with us, isn’t it?” Soap asked with a grin, and you smiled. 

“I suppose so,” you said softly. 

Ghost sat on the couch, listening. He had been angry at first that Gaz had been so close to you the night before but did his best to let it go. He had never admitted his admiration of you with the others - of course they would assume that they might be able to cozy up with you. 

And he had been prickly with you before, even almost angry at you. His heart ached as he watched you talk with the boys, wishing that he could just express how he felt to you like a normal man. He wanted to hold you, to touch you more than just having his hand against your back while you listened to his heart race for you. Last night he’d wanted to kiss your worry away and tell you that of course he liked you, perhaps a little too much. 

—

As you walked with him back to the med bay later that day to change his bandages, he was quiet, lost in thought.

“I wanted to apologize again for last night. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you said softly, heat finding your cheeks yet again. You could deny it to yourself no longer - you found Ghost interesting and attractive and you were desperate for him to think the same about you. Had you messed up your chances by drunkenly confronting him the night before?

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Feelgood. You don’t have to keep bringing it up,” Ghost murmured, opening the door to the med bay for you. 

“You’ve only got to spend one more night here with me, okay? After that, I’ll be comfortable sending you back to sleep in your room - just come find me each day so I can check your wound,” you said softly as the door shut behind you two. 

“Will you be coming with me to see them off at the airstrip?” he asked, settling down on the couch and pulling out his phone. 

“Sure, is it early?” you asked, getting the supplies to change his bandages ready across from him. 

“Wheels up at 0530. I’ll wake you up,” he grunted. You nodded and headed over to him, sitting on a stool and sitting down in front of him. 

“Shirt up please, big guy,” you murmured. He huffed softly, smiling under the balaclava. 

“You keep callin’ me that,” he murmured, sliding his shirt off completely. You put gloves on and pulled the old bandages off, setting them to the side and examining his wound. Even through the latex, the warmth of your touch made Ghost melt a little and he relaxed, leaning forward into you. 

“Sorry, do you want me to stop?” you asked softly, your brow furrowing as you began applying the new bandages carefully. 

“I don’t mind. It just means that I get to call you ‘love’ now,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Fair’s fair,” you murmured as your stomach did flips in your abdomen. 

—

When you’d finished bandaging Ghost and tossed the old bandages and your gloves into bins, you moved to leave, but he gently took you by the arm. 

“Love, I–”

Soap practically kicked down the med bay door as he came in, making Ghost go quiet and pull away from you sharply. 

“Hey lass, want to get dinner with me before I leave tomorrow? My treat,” he said, leaning up against the med bay wall and grinning. You smiled. 

“Sure! Come on, Ghost, get your shirt on, and let’s go,” you said.

“Yeah, LT, get your shirt back on. What’s going on in here?” Soap teased, making kissy faces behind your back. Ghost scowled as he put it back on. 

“You just missed seeing my festering wound, Johnny. Now get, I’ll catch up,” he grumbled, sitting back on the couch and folding his arms across his chest. 

“You sure?” you asked, smiling at him as you headed for the door Soap had opened for you. He nodded, jerking his head at the door. You went with Soap, leaving Ghost behind, words he was struggling to put together left unspoken on his lips.

-----

Taglist: @iamaliceinwonderland, @itsmeamysworld, @ghostlythots, @oranoyaora, @keiva1000, @aquarianix

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #mw2 #ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #cod modern warfare #simon ghost x reader