#but last night i was working like i was getting paid a seven-figure salary to make it LMFAO

[windslar]

drafting a legacy challenge because i'm not already playing two of them right now ✌🏼

#text post #i've been working on it for the last month-ish? #here and there just adding bits and pieces to it #but last night i was working like i was getting paid a seven-figure salary to make it LMFAO #when i publish it it better not flop #i'm counting on you!!! #it's for my bbs who like structure but also freedom #for my bbs who like lists of things to do but also like “your sim is feeling this way about their love life” -- what do you do? #for my bbs who like to take online personality tests bc “OMG that's ME”

[dollystuartwrites]

7&ME - Chapter 1 - Job

Pairing: OT7 x F!Reader

Genre: fluff, smut, idol AU, straight, bisexual, gay, threesome

Wordcount: 1015

Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] [11] - [12] - [13] - [14] - [15] - [16] - [17] - [18] - [19] - [20]  [21] - [22] - [23] - [24] - [25] - [26] - [27] - [28] - [29] - [30] MASTERLIST Wanna read all the chapters right now? You can find the complete story for free on WATTPAD

Summary: Miracles do happen! Somehow you've finally managed to secure a job at a big company! Even though it'll be a 24/7 job, they promised you a fat paycheck, so you don't care what the job is... But what if the job is managing 7 grown men? Seven men who all have needs...

Warnings: swearing, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, fingering, size kink, oral (f&m receiving), dirty talk, gay sex, threesome sex, bisexual sex, implied masturbation, this is super vanilla compared to most of my stories, let me know what I missed.

Y O U R   P E R S P E C T I V E

I could feel my heart thumping in my throat.

I was nervous.

But I was always nervous on my first day on the job.

I mean who isn't, right?

I've had several jobs before, some simple ones like waiting tables and such.

But never something significant.

I looked out of the window of the cab, watching the streets flash by.

Who would've thought that my first job out of college would be something so big?

Certainly not me.

When I had applied my resume to the vacancy the Big Hit Entertainment had put out, I'd never expected to actually get it. After all, I barely had any experience and I had just gotten out of college.

Nervously I played with my hair as I watched the sun slowly set, outside of the car window.

The job description had been vague, and during the job interview, the workers didn't give me much information about what it was exactly they wanted me to do.

All I knew was this: 1. It would be a 24/7 job. Meaning no time for friends or family. Not that I had any since I had immigrated to Korea. 2. The paycheck was enormous. If my calculations were correct, and I could keep doing this job for at least 5 years, saving up most of my salary (not that I would have time to spend it anyway), I would almost be settled for life. 3. Anything that I would experience should be kept secret. This had been very important to the bosses since they had mentioned it several times during my interview. I was not to talk to anyone outside my job about the job. Not even the bosses themselves. 4. I would get instructions from my clients about what it is that I should do exactly.

This last point had helped me a lot while trying to figure out what the hell it was they wanted from me. Apparently, I had several clients: I would have to work for or manage multiple people. Since Big Hit Entertainment was a company that managed many k-pop stars, I imagined it would be probably a new group that was about to debut or something.

They probably expected me to help them with their schedule or something, making sure they'd be on time for practices and whatnot.

But then, why would the clients be the ones to instruct me? Surely if this was the case, the bosses would instruct me, not the client?

'We're here,' the cab driver spoke. I blinked.

The cab had stopped in front of a large concrete entrance, that had guards and a barrier guarding and checking everyone that came in and out of the place.

'Oh,' I breathed. My heart pounded loudly.

'Do you need any help with your bags?' the cabbie offered politely.

'No need, thank you,' I thanked him. After all, I only had one suitcase.

I paid the cabbie and got my stuff out of the trunk.

The cab immediately drove off into the night.

I wasn't sure what to do. Nervously I walked up to one of the guards at the entrance.

'Erm, hello,' I started, my voice slightly shaking.

The guard didn't say anything.

'I'm y/n and I'm starting my new job today and I was told this was the address...' I said, my voice trailing away as the guard stared down at me unblinkingly.

I wasn't sure what next to say. I didn't even know what my job description was.

I looked at the space behind the gates. It reminded me a lot of a luxury hotel or apartment complex. The ones you would see in k-dramas where the CEOs would live.

Definitely not a place a group that still had to debut would live. They could never afford it. I could never afford it.

'Identification,' the guard said unexpectedly.

I quickly rummaged through my bag and pulled out my passport, giving it to him.

The guard inspected it carefully, before giving it back to me.

'Follow me,' he commanded, walking away with big steps.

I had to run to keep up with him. I had barely any time to look around properly.

There were large condos stacked upon one another. Separate buildings, all with large windows and luxurious-looking balconies and gardens.

This had to be a place where big celebrities lived.

'In here,' the guard said after a while, leading me into one of the large uniform buildings.

The more I saw of the place the more my thoughts were confirmed. This was NOT a place for a rookie idol group.

'This door,' the guard said suddenly when we were standing in front of a large wooden door. He abruptly turned around and walked away.

'Thanks,' I mumbled.

I stared at the high door.

Dear god, what had I gotten myself into?

I closed my eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath.

Calm your mind

I pressed the doorbell.

'Who is it?' a male voice came from the little speaker

'Hi, I'm y/n. I'm here for the... job?' I said hesitantly, not knowing what else to call it.

The door gave a buzz and I pushed it to open. It was a very heavy door so it took some effort because I was using one hand to hold my suitcase.

With my backside first I entered the hallway, closing the door behind me.

I turned around and my heart skipped a beat.

A group of young men was standing in the hallway, looking at me with curiosity and interest.

I quickly bowed deeply at them.

'Good evening, my name is y/n' I reintroduced myself.

I straightened my back and saw all of them smirk at each other.

A quick count told me there were seven of them. Seven men from, what I guessed, my age. All with different hair colors and postures.

And all very, very handsome...

I nervously smiled at them as they exchanged peculiar looks with each other.

'You'll do just fine,' the tallest man said. He winked at me and grinned.

I could feel my cheeks getting hot.

Oh, dear...

#7&ME #bts #bangtan #rapmon #rapmonster #RM #Jimin #Jungkook #Namjoon #Park Jimin #fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fan fic #bts fan fiction #bts fanfiction #bts fic #Hobi #Hoseok #J-Hope #jhope #taehyung #kim taehyung #ot7 #btsfanfic

[back-and-totheleft]

"No way of doing it without tackling Black-white relations"

"You don't make a movie out of some intellectual idea, you've got to have it in your gut. I've always been an avid football fan, and the players have long been my heroes. But I see them as realistic heroes in the same way as the men that I have made other movies about, like Ron Kovic, Jim Garrison, and Richard Nixon -- all were people who went into the public arena, accomplished something but paid a heavy price. Players are tough, they can take it, but they're also destroying their bodies and then they're thrown away like old cars or washing machines. They take amphetamines or steroids or use dope, they have divorce problems, they hit their wives. With the Players' Union, they're more aware of being exploited, but very few people get out alive. The NFL covers all of that up.

Football is mesmerizing because it's a figurative war -- you go in one direction till you get there, but you get there as a team, not as an individual. Players bond together, whether they're black or white, much as soldiers do, and in fact individuals don't excite me the way a team does. But the game changed radically in the '80s and '90s, and I wanted this football story to show that as well. When Jim Brown was playing, it was 60 minutes on the clock. Television ruined that -- now it's a three-hour game, determined by commercials, and it's all about product-placement. Combine the commercialism with salary cap restrictions and all the rest, there's little team loyalty any more, and this movie had to reflect that, too.

I also knew that the story had to center on the conflict between generations, the tension between younger players and older players, between younger players and a veteran coach, the role played by Al [Pacino] -- a man who's scared of change. Part of me identified with that character. There's something in our biological clocks when we get older -- we never forget, it's like the reptile brain -- and this concept of dying comes on us. Call it a middle-age crisis, but when you're in your 50's you have a real atonement to pay, and there is a re-examination of whether expansion is the proper activity for your character -- as opposed to focus and/or retreat, disappearance or suicide.

All of this was at work for me, but most of all I realized there was no way of doing football without digging deeper into black-white relations. That's the reality of football today since NFL teams are now 70% black, but this was also personally motivated. I was returning to what happened to me in Vietnam. I can't talk too much about drugs in Vietnam because of my parole [Stone was arrested on two misdemeanor counts of D.U.I. and hashish possession in Los Angeles last June] -- I'm going to obey the law, I may not agree with it but I intend to obey it -- but if it hadn't been for marijuana and my black brothers in Vietnam, I don't think I'd be the same person, I don't think I'd be alive.

It was during my fourth assignment that I met these guys, which was really my first experience with black people. I had already been wounded twice. The first time was just three weeks after I arrived, and then, again, two months later, during a night attack when you couldn't see the enemy but knew they were there, 10-15 meters away in the darkness. Men were being blown into the air, literally vaporized; one guy, all that was later found of him was a blood trail. Me, I tripped a satchel charge and was hit by shrapnel in my legs and ass. It's like what I said when I made Platoon, war on film cannot approximate the horror.

Then I met these six or seven black guys after my R & R, when I was sent to their infantry unit. They were very, very cool, and after a while they asked me, along with maybe one or two other white guys, into their bunker to party with them. It meant turning my back on the white guys, but they were with me all the way. And then they just blew me away with their music. It wasn't just Jim Morrison, that was a white trip, it was Soul. The Temptations, Smokey Robinson's "The Tracks of My Tears," Gladys Knight, Sam Cook, Jackie Wilson. I'd never listened to that stuff before, and it brought me humanity, it allowed me to relax.

What I realized was that these guys who were doing dope, who danced together, who allowed the feminine to come out, were the more humane, like they left the villagers, the women and children, alone. The guys who were into booze were usually the angry ones. The music, the dancing, the feminization, was liberating. If you danced with another man, it wasn't anything like sexual attraction as much as it was "synch-ing" -- in the music sense, you were in-synch with someone. That's why I did the bunker scene in Platoon, the bit with Elias and the shotgun reefer. Vietnamese grass is one of the most powerful, transforming herbs in the world. When I got high on that stuff listening to Smokey, that's when I began to understand that life is sacred, that life has great vibrancy, which, in my case, was a perception I couldn't get out of. Also, those guys wore bandannas and lots of beads, bands, bracelets, big rings and stuff, which I started wearing, too. In fact, I came home talking black. Every other word out of my mouth was, "Man!," "Hey, shit!", and my father, who was a Wall Street broker, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army and a Republican, was so upset that I gave him acid during a weekend visit to one of his rich friends in Southhampton.

The point is that in Vietnam I went to the other side of the coin. I'd always been the conformist, holding in a lot. I'd grown up lonely with divorced parents, then dropped out of Yale and gone into the Army to face myself. During my last six or seven months, I was with the black guys, and that changed my life. It allowed me to have faith in myself, to start writing a novel, to start using a camera, to become Oliver Stone.

All this had to have come from their generosity, being generous in the sense of being non-judgmental -- 'Just be who you are, no strings attached.' I needed the directness of that. It was a revelation for me that you could talk about your pain without being embarrassed! And these guys were like family. They were good tough soldiers, strong men, and yet, emotionally, they were there for me. I was their 'brother' -- that was the word back then, remember?"

-Oliver Stone interviewed by Peter Manso in Konch magazine [x]

#oliver stone #any given sunday #konch magazine #black and white #vietnam

[prorevenge]

Shady boss lies about me to coworkers, I have her fired and in dept for several years after.

I have been lurking around here fore quite some time, and wishing I had a good story for you, until suddenly I realized I do! This happened back in 2011/12 when I was the ripe old age of 19 years old. This is a long one, so do strap in.

I got a part time job at a fast food place specializing in subs, not subway, but very similar, when I was 17. It was located in the towns mall, and was fairly busy. It’s a national chain where I’m from. When I started there the owner at the time was really nice, and she started that branch in my town. She was very strict on following all the cleaning requirements and took real pride in her shop. The way it was set up financially was that the franchise taker basically had to work from open to closing (9 am-7 pm) to even have a chance at making a decent living, and preferably only have one part timer helping for a few hours when it was at its busiest. It’s like the MLM of fast food. Why anyone would take on such a business wager is beyond me, but I digress. However, this owner actually managed to make money off it.

A year or so after I started, the owner decided she would move to a different part of the country and sell her branch and have someone else take over. That lucky individual was my co-worker who was three years older than me. (From now on Bosslady) She had worked there since it opened and was the natural choice to move up the ladder. Because she didn’t have the money to pay for the share in the franchise, about $5k, and nobody else was willing to pay that and have to work their ass off for minimal revenue, HQ allowed her to take over while they bought the old owner out, and HQ kept the share.

Now, Bosslady had no idea how to run a mile, much less a business, and small things started happening quite soon after she took over. I would normally work there after school, by myself, but she would often hang around the mall when she had finished work. Bosslady always complained about how little money she made, and would often come by when me or the other part timers were working and tell us to give her $20-100 right out of the register. Considering total daily sales never reached more than about $1200, that was a lot. I barely made $12/h, so my motivation was too low to care, and neither did the rest of the part timers, so we complied and gave her the money. My spider sense was tingling a bit, telling me it was fishy to grab money right out of the register, even if she was the owner, but if she wanted to dig her own grave that was fine by me.

I was friends with Bosslady and we would hang out and often hung out on the weekends, and we worked saturdays together. Which ment we would go out on Friday nights, get shit faced and work the next day hung over. Oh to be young. I would only go out during the weekends and never missed a day of work no matter how hung over I was, and saturdays were the only days I would be hung over. Besides school and work, I was in a dance company, and had dance classes everyday, mostly after 7pm, but a few days I had them earlier and couldn’t work no matter what. This is important.

Every night we would count the register, leave $100 dollars in change and small bills for the next day, and deposit the rest in a safe at the mall. I’m not entirely sure, because it’s been a long time, but I do believe Bosslady would tell us to take the difference out of the $100 for the register, somehow believing the money would magically show up the next day. After a while we started having problems with the distributers, we were not allowed to order on credit, and had to go to the bank to pay the bills in person etc. After that things started getting really weird, and Bosslady refused to let us make the cash deposits at night, insisting that we put the money bags in one of the cabinets inside the shop, which after a month or two culminated to a lot of cash. We had also had trouble a few months with getting paid on time. Since I worked the most out of all the part timers, I had the biggest salary, and the people who administered pay decided to pay the smaller checks first. This girl had bills to pay so that did not sit well with me. I was also the hardest worker out of all of us, Bosslady included.

Then one lovely Tuesday while I was at school, one of the other part timers asked me to cover her shift, to which I said I wasn’t able to because not only did I have back-to-back dance classes I also had a paper to write for school. Later that night I get a text from the girl saying “if you were hung over you could have just said so, you don’t have to lie..” and I’m like “excuse me? I don’t drink on school nights, and there’s no way I would have had the time to do so last night with dance class right after work and working on my paper” to which she just answered “yeah sure, Bosslady told me you were out last night”. The funny part is, this was a fairly small town, so there where nowhere to go on weeknights, so even if I wanted to break my own rules and party on a school night, I couldn’t. This really pissed me off, and figured I would stop playing nice and saving Bosslady’s ass.

Que the revenge: One day out of the blue, during summer, Bosslady declared she was going to go on a last minute, two week vacation to the states, and told me to take care of the shop while she was gone. I said fine, but would like more notice next time. I also asked her how she paid for it, considering she wasn’t able to take out any salary from the shop, and she just said “oh, I had some savings”. I just thought “Hmm, that’s weird considering you actually don’t make money”, but didn’t say anything.

The first day I was in charge HQ called, and the conversation went like this:

HQguy: “hey, is Bosslady around?”

Me: “No, she took a last minute vacation to the states and put me in charge, didn’t she tell you?”

HQguy: “No, she did not indulge that information. But maybe you can help me. Do you know what happened to all the cash deposits from the past few months?”

Me: “Yeah, they’re in one of the cabinets here. Bosslady told us not to deposit them, she even yelled at me when I was about to, because I felt really uncomfortable knowing we had what must have been more than $15k lying around in the shop, and gave me an excuse about having to look them over”

HQguy: “Are you serious?!”

Me: “Sure am. What should I do?”

HQguy: “I know the previous owner is in town, maybe you can call her and ask if she can come help you? She knows what’s what, and please deposit all the cash today!”

Me: “Sure, no problem. I will look over all the cash bags to see how much there actually is and make sure they’re all there and deposit them ASAP” and we hung up.

I called the old owner and told her what was up, and she sounded really surprised and was there within ten minutes. Together we quickly looked over all the cash, but didn’t count it. They where in these little pouches that had a form on the front where you filled in how many of each bill and coin was in it, so we figured the right amount would be in each bag. They weren’t sealed, because Bosslady had told us not to seal them before putting them in the cabinet. I then put them all in a bag and discretely made my way over to the safe where we deposited them. It was on the other side of the mall, and the mall was open so my heart was racing. I felt like everyone knew I was carrying a shitload of cash.

The old owner started asking me if we kept up with the cleaning requirements, and I answered truthfully that Bosslady never told us to do any of the time consuming stuff, like the ice-cube machine, saying that we would have to do that after closing and she didn’t have the money to pay us for the extra hours, so she said would do it on the weekends herself. Old owner just shrugged and told me she had to leave. Since I was all alone in the shop and it was fairly quiet, I started looking around for things to clean. This was around 4 pm. I quickly realized that she had never cleaned anything like she said she had. Under the fridges and workbenches there where LAYERS of dirt, the water tank in the ice cube machine was GREEN with algae, the cooling fans in the refrigerators where covered in mold. I started cleaning, but quickly realized this would require my full attention, so I closed the shop early. I called the old owner and she supported my decision and called the mall manager for me to let them know what was up.

I have never cleaned that much in my life. I scrubbed everything. I pulled all the refrigerators out and scrubbed thoroughly behind everything. What took the longest was the ice cube machine. I wasn’t done until 11 pm that night. Being the petty bitch I am, and being pissed Bosslady went on vacation with the shop in the state it was, I took pictures of everything before I started cleaning and sent them all to the food safety agency, telling them that nothing had been cleaned for over a year. I also got to clock all the hours I spent cleaning, getting an ok from HQguy. Looking back now and seeing how little I was paid, I would have just not cared, but at the time I was afraid people would get sick and die from eating the food.

The next day I called the old owner and all the part timers asking them to meet at my place saying we needed a staff meeting without Bosslady and now was the chance. They all came and we started talking, telling me what Bosslady had done when they were working together and other things they had observed her doing. I took notes, and later that night I wrote a seven(!!) page document listing all the things we knew she did wrong, and how we suspected she was stealing money from the shop etc., and I emailed it directly to HQguy. He emailed me back saying he would look into it.

HQguy called me a few days later thanking me for notifying him about all the things she was doing, and told me that when the cash was registered the amount listed on the form and the amount in the pouches wasn’t the same, and asked me if I knew where it had gone. A light went off, and I realized the “savings” Bosslady had used to pay for her trip was actually money she had taken from the pouches, and that’s why she wouldn’t let us seal them. I told him as much and he said he would dig a little.

When Bosslady came back from vacation, she seemed very stressed. I acted like nothing had happened when she was gone, but chuckled when she opened the cash cabinet and saw that all the money was gone, and her face turned so white she was almost see through, but she said nothing. She was in the back most of the day on her phone and came out asking me if I could cover for her the next few days as she had to go to HQ for a last minute meeting (HQ was 8 hours away). I agreed and went home.

Over the next few days I was seething with excitement to find out what happened. When she came back she tried to play it cool and said “I’ve decided to quit. I feel like doing something different, so I’m just working until the end of the month, and then I’m leaving”, and I just acted sorry and oblivious. I knew the old owner was kept in the loop by HQ, and she told me what really happened.

Bosslady had met with HQ who had questioned her about the missing money and lack of cleaning etc. (there was more, but this is already longer than the Bible). She had denied it all at first, trying to pin it on of us, and saying she had suspected someone was stealing the money and that’s why she didn’t deposit it etc, but eventually broke down and admitted it all. She was then given the option of quitting and paying them back all the missing money in installments or having charges pressed against her. She obviously chose the former. Personally I would have pressed charges no matter what, but they wanted to help her out because I guess they understood she was in a bit of a tough situation with not making any money on the shop, and also didn’t want it blow up in the media.

I kept working there for a few more months, but quit because i found a job that paid more. Word spread about what Bosslady had done, so she really struggled to find a new job to pay what she owed, since no one trusted her. She eventually did, but had to pay them back for several years later. We did not keep in touch.

Guess she shouldn’t have lied about me to my coworkers.

And I’m all out of breath

TL;DR: shady boss lies to my coworkers about me being too hungover to cover their shifts, I tell HQ about all the shady stuff she’s doing and she loses her job and has to pay them back the money she stole for several years, and lost her good reputation.

(source) story by (/u/Dachshundsandwhisky)

#prorevenge #by /u/Dachshundsandwhisky #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Happiness Begins

Part 23

Chapter Summary: It turns out going home to Austin wasn’t all it cracked up to be. Elsewhere, Jensen has an interesting conversation with an old friend. 

Warnings: Language, angst, dealing with mental health issues

Word Count: 3.2K+

Author’s Note: I just want to start here by reiterating that this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. I mean no harm to Danneel or her beautiful family, and I have a zero-tolerance policy on this blog. I see and legit forms of hate towards any wife and you are blocked. That being said, I hope you enjoy this part xoxo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly. 

Two months later…

When Y/n had stepped onto the tarmac in Austin, she had believed wholeheartedly that this could be a fresh start for her. Or at the very least, she hoped going back to her status quo would help to dull that empty feeling she now held in her chest. And it had worked, at first. Catching up on everything had been just the distraction she was looking for, but as time went on and the workload steadied off, it became harder for her to mask all the emotions.

It was something she had done numerous times before. A coping mechanism that as much as she knew how unhealthy it was, she always found herself reverting back to. This time was no different, and Y/n had found herself working herself into the ground. She was doing everything she could to make sure that work was all that could consume her thoughts, which turned out great in the end for Et Cetera. 

Last week, she had received an email from the conglomerate Coty, one of the world’s largest beauty brands, requesting a meeting with her and her lawyers. Obviously, she had been immediately interested, the butterflies in her stomach on full alert even after the meeting had ceased. 

 “Just… think about our offer. We don’t need an answer right away, we understand that this is a big decision for you. We hope to hear from you soon.” Mr. Baltussen, the CPO for Coty, slid her over a copy of his business card along with the legal documents that spelled out their offer. 

“Of course, thank you.” Y/n nodded her head as the small group of executives let themselves out of the conference room. As the door closed behind them, she snapped her head to her lawyer next to her, who already had her nose in the paperwork. 

“What do you think?”

“I think this all looks pretty legitimate. Y/n this is a more than generous offer.” Her lawyer’s eyes quickly scanned the words before flitting up to meet Y/n’s. 

“So you think I should accept it?”

“Honestly?” Y/n nodded, pleading for an honest answer. “Only you can make that decision, but this says to me that no matter what decision you make, you’ll be just fine.”

“Damn, I was hoping for a more definite answer.” She dropped her head into her folded arms on the table top.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, but I’m here for you no matter what.” 

 That conversation had been all that she thought about for the rest of the night and was the first thing on her mind when she had woken the next morning. Having the day off, since it was the weekend, meant she had more time to dwell on it. At first, she had been adamant about declining their offer, but the more she thought about it the more appealing it became. After all, her method of shoving everything down to avoid feeling was no longer working for her. Being in Austin, where he also lived, tended to grate on some of her nerves. She often found herself tense when out in public, which she fully understood how irrational it was, afraid that she would run into him somewhere. Her heart just wasn’t ready for that quite yet. Even with her and Jared talking again, things still hurt. He was family and she would never be able to get away from him, but Coty was offering her the ability to get about just as far away as she could from the mess she had created. 

Y/n had pulled her laundry from the drier as she went about doing her weekend chores. She plopped onto the couch with the basket in front of her and turned on the news for some background noise. The program was just finishing up as she paid no attention to it and its switch to Entertainment Tonight. She was just about finished with folding when the host’s words caught her attention. 

“Coming up next, Supernatural star Jensen Ackles and ex fiance Danneel Harris caught cozying up to each other for lunch in downtown LA.” Y/n snapped her head up to the tv and dropped the panties in her hand back into the basket at her feet. She searched blindly for the remote to turn up the tv as the program returned. 

“The two ex lovers were seen having what seemed like a friendly, and funny, lunch together. Could this be the start of a rekindling romance? Only time will tell as their reps declined for comment.” Images of the two flashed across the screen, paparazzi photos of the two of them, both had wide smiles on their faces as they sat next to each other on a patio table. A pair of sunglasses sat on both of their faces, but even she could see the small crinkles around his eyes from that beautiful smile on his face. 

Her heart sank into her stomach as she sat back on her couch and pulled her knees into her chest. All those emotions she had fought so hard to push down were now bubbling back up to the surface and threatening to explode out of her throat in a sob. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she fought the stinging in her nose. 

Deep down she knew she had no right to feel the way she was. After all, Jensen had ended things with her, and she certainly didn’t leave the door open for him to come running back in. But all she could think about was his promise to her, his promise that he was over the one woman that had the pleasure of wearing his ring on her finger. The images on her television now told her a different story, though, and that brought up every insecurity in her. 

What was it that Danneel had that she didn’t? There were the obvious physical differences that she wouldn’t even dare to delve into in her fragile state. But what else about her made her more desirable? Was she smarter, funnier, better in the bedroom…

Ugh! Y/n ran her hands through her hair, tugging gently at the roots. She was so far beyond over feeling like this. She was supposed to be better at handling herself when she got this way, but more so, she was supposed to be over comparing herself to other women. It had been so long since she had relapsed like this, and she had reached her breaking point. Y/n was not okay anymore, and she needed help. 

****

Y/n rifled through her living room, tossing pillows and cushions from her couch. She had been so sure that she had left her laptop on the coffee table when she went to bed last night. It was nowhere to be found. Not in her bedroom, living room, not even in her kitchen. 

“Damn it.” she growled to herself. There was no more time to look for it, she had to be at Jared and Gen’s soon, so she would just have to push back this search until later. Quickly she put her house back into a semi clean order and ran out the door. Luckily, her brother didn’t live too far from her and she was still on time when she pulled up in their drive. 

Three little bodies had the front door pulled open before she could even open her car door. “Aunt Y/n!” Odette was the first one out the door. Y/n knelt down in front of her niece, sweeping her up into her arms and squeezing her tight. It had been longer than usual since she had seen Jared and his kids, in person at least. Things were still… tense to say the least between them. They were still working on their issues… slowly. 

Y/n picked up the toddler and made her way inside, hugging the boys as she went. Gen was waiting just inside the door, offering her a tight hug as well. 

“We miss you around here, you know that?” Gen smiled as she let down Odette and the kids ran off to continue what they were doing before she had pulled up. 

“I know. We are getting there.” Y/n agreed, it really had been too long. She missed her family more than she had thought. They had been so close since forever, that she never understood what it was like to be at a distance from them. 

“Then come around more often, please?” Gen urged her sister in law to follow her into the kitchen. 

“Gen,” Y/n tried, casting her glance away from the woman who was pleading with her. That was the last thing she needed to hear right now. “I have some news.” 

“Should I grab Jared…” She started towards the stairs that lead to their second floor before Y/n moved to stop her. 

“No please, just listen.” Gen leaned against the island, giving Y/n her full attention. “I had a meeting on Friday with executives from Coty. They uh,” She chuckled, still in disbelief that this was even happening. “They want to buy my majority shares in Et Cetera.” 

“Wow, Y/n that is huge.” Genevieve’s word’s didn’t match the inflection in her voice or the crease that appeared between her brows. She was just as skeptical as Y/n had been when they first presented her the offer. 

“That’s not all. Coty offered me a VP position where I would be in charge of US operations. My lawyer said it’s a more than generous offer since I get a seven figure salary plus benefits and bonus’, not to mention the money from the sale of my shares.” Y/n played with the fruit in the bowl in front of her. 

“There’s more, isn't there?” The woman was too smart for her own good, Y/n thought to herself. Of course Gen picked up on that fact that she was holding something back. 

“I would need to relocate to New York.” Her face scrunched up as she prepared for some sort of outrage or surprise from Gen, but nothing came. Her next words were softer than she deserved.

“Do you want to accept the offer?” 

“I didn’t, at first.” Y/n admitted. That was the easy part, admitting to what had changed her mind on the other hand would be a lot more difficult, because she didn’t even want to admit it to herself. “But I don’t know now. It feels like everyone around me is moving on with their lives while I’m just stuck on some sort of endless corporate hamster wheel. I don’t feel the excitement for what I do anymore. Hell, I don’t feel anything anymore. Moving to New York could be just what I need.”

“And what about us? What about your family here in Texas.” 

“We have facetime. And I’ll always just be a plane ride away. I mean, it's not like I’m going to Yemen or something. We will have the holidays too.” The catch in her voice broke on her last sentence. She didn’t know who she was trying to convince more, herself or Gen. 

“Is this about Jensen?” Gen stood up straighter, her head cocking slightly as she spoke. 

Y/n huffed, what a stupid question. “Of course it is. He’s clearly moved on, our time together just a distant and horrible memory. Why shouldn’t I be afforded that same luxury?” 

“Come on, you don’t really believe that? Y/n, you have worked so hard for everything you have. And it is all yours, right here in Austin, where your family is too. Why throw all that away over some guy?” Gen’s hand found its way to Y/n’s shoulder, her fingers squeezing the flesh there to try and ground her. She hated seeing her making emotional decisions, especially ones that would affect not only her. 

“Jensen wasn’t just some guy, Gen. But I did lose him, and I’m trying my damndest here to move on, but I just haven’t found the ability to do so yet. That’s all I’m looking for.” Y/n cast her gaze down into her lap, where she was now picking at the cuticle on her thumb. 

“And all I’m saying is, don’t make this kind of decision without talking to the people around you. Get all the perspective you can, because I don’t think you are seeing this clearly right now.” 

“I hear you Gen, but I don’t know if I’ll change my mind again.” Gen nodded her understanding, only wishing she could get through to her sister in law somehow. She pulled her into her chest, hugging her again, because she didn’t know what else she could do. 

Neither of them noticed Jared standing on the landing of the stairs, catching every word his sister uttered. His heart sank as he listened to his sister talk. Never before had he heard the defeat in her voice. Y/n was one of the most strong willed people he knew, but she had just… given up. 

Before now, he hadn’t noticed how far she had fallen. But maybe that was because he wasn’t looking. The two of them didn’t talk like they used to, and right now he was feeling incredibly guilty about that. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Was it because all he could focus on was the steam coming out of his own ears when he found out she had been sleeping with his best friend? Or was it because as much as she chastised him for it, he still saw her as his baby sister and not the independent woman she had become. It was not like her at all to give up on something she had been working so hard towards. Y/n was not the type of woman to balk at money, and she certainly wouldn’t be the one to walk away from her family for any amount of it. 

Jared couldn’t see anymore why he had ever been so adamant that the two of them should not be together. Maybe it was because he knew too many of the intimate details of Jensen’s sex life to think about his sister in that way, or maybe it was even because he thought they wouldn’t be a good match. He could see it now though, having known both of them for so long. Jared shook his head at himself for not seeing truly how much those two were made for each other. He had only stood in their way when he should have been playing matchmaker. After all, didn’t he owe it to two of the most important people in his life to help them find their way to each other?

Jared vowed in that moment, he would fix this. He had to fix this. 

 Meanwhile, in Los Angeles...

The waiter set down their plates in front of them with a quick ‘enjoy’ before running off. Danneel bit into the salad placed in front of her, chewing delicalating as she decided on what to say. 

“You know, I have to say I was surprised you called me.” She thought back to his cryptic text that he had sent. ‘I’m in town and need to talk, can we get lunch?’ was all that it said. He had sent her the name of the cafe when she had agreed on meeting him. The two had exhausted the small talk in the time it took for their food to come and she wanted to get straight to the point. 

“I was too, to be honest. But I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I think you may be one of the few people who can help me.” Jensen took a drink of his water, not looking in her direction. 

“Me? We haven’t exactly been pen pals all this time.” 

“I know, that means you have an outsider's view point on all of this. And you know me better than almost anyone, I trust your opinion.” Jensen stated. Danneel mouthed a ‘wow’ and sat back in her chair, wiping her face with her napkin. 

“This must be big then.” Danneel eyed the man sitting next to her, waiting for him to start with whatever it was he wanted to tell her. 

“God, where do I start, uh… I met this woman.” He began, his hand fiddling with the fork against his plate. 

“Mmmm.” Danneel hummed, the realization finally hitting her. 

“I… she is probably the best thing to ever happen to me. Actually, she’s a lot like you in some ways, brilliant, witty, and beyond beautiful. I fell for her, and I fell hard.” 

“So what is the problem exactly?” 

“I had to break things off with her. I thought what I was doing was best for her and me, but as time has gone on I’m not so sure. I can’t seem to get rid of this churning in my gut.” His tongue jetted out to wet his lower lip as he poured his heart out. This was not an easy thing for him to admit, the last thing he wanted was to hurt Danneel. 

“This girl wouldn’t happen to be Y/n Padalecki, would she?” A small smirk graced her features as Jensen snapped his gaze up to hers. 

“H...How?” 

“Well you weren’t exactly subtle when you ran after her at your birthday. Not to mention both of you were gone for too long and you returned with that little post coitus smirk you tend to get.” Danneel swirled her finger in a circle to emphasize her point. Jensen chuckled under his breath, his head shaking in disbelief. The noise grew in his chest before bubbling up into a full bellied laugh. Danneel couldn’t help but to join in, his laughter having that effect on people. 

“Would you believe that Jared asked me not to get involved with her?” Danneel nodded, she had known Jared for a while, and that did not surprise her at all. “We saw each other behind his back and when he found out, all hell broke loose. The two of them weren’t talking for two weeks.” 

“Oh, Jay…”

“Am I an idiot?” He asked her, his voice soft, as if afraid of her answer. 

“No, you are not an idiot. You’re in love, but you’re not an idiot.” Danneel held out her hand for him across the table. He took it and she squeezed his palm. “Listen, I know what it’s like to walk away from something because it is the best option for both of you, but I also believe that what’s meant to be, will be.”

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying if you truly love her and she loves you, you’ll find your way back to each other.” Danneel reiterated. 

“And what if we are too late?” Jensen tried. 

“Then don’t make yourself late. The least you can do is go to her and tell her how you feel. Then it’s in her hands.” 

“You make it sound so easy, Dee.” 

“Oh it’s not.” Danneel dropped his hand. “It’s downright terrifying. But do you want to live your life wondering what if?” Jensen shook his head. “Then go get her.”

Part 24

Forevers: @spn-impala​​ @22sarah08​​ @turtlepad​​ @callmekda​​ @chaldei​​ @hobby27​​ @cowboysnwinchesters​​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @pikabootoyouchu​​ @dawnie1988​​ @grease222​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @polina-93​​ @clarinette07​​ @moonlight-babeh​​ @suckerforfanfic​​ @witandnargles​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @geeksareunique​ @akshi8278​ @superfanficnatural​ @malfoysqueen14​ @deanwanddamons​ @waywardbeanie​

Et Cetera: @jbbarnesgirl​ @hillface89​ @arses21434​ @thevelvetseries​ @sslater34​ @mrsirishboru​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @spnfamily-j2​ @encounterthepast​ @facadeformyrealblog  @supernatural-bellawinchester​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​​ @rebeccathefangirl​ @squirrelnotsam​ @heartinmyhead1​ @1d-killed-me​ @samsgirl93​ @deans-baby-momma​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @woodworthti666​ @supraveng​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @heartsaved​ @know2grow​ @littlewhiterose​ @surprisinglysarah​ @stoneyggirl​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @thebookisbtr​ @youaremyfiveever​ @kalesrebellion​ @lilulo-12​ @winchester-fantasies​ @vicmc624​ @supernatural3002​ @winchester-writes​ @maralisa124​ @therollingstoners​ @parinarain​

#jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x plus sized reader #jensen ackles x plus size reader #jensen ackles x sister!padalecki #jensen ackles #jared padalecki x sister!reader #plus size reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural real person fiction #supernatural rpf #spn rpf #rpf #real person fiction #spn fanfic #spn fic #mine #alex writes #happiness begins

[argylemnwrites]

Seven Year Itch

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Cassie Vanderfield)

Book: Open Heart (6 years after the end of Book 1)

Word Count: ~1500

Rating: PG

Summary: Bryce finds himself unusually sentimental as a large chapter in his life draws to a close.

Author’s Note: Written for Day 31 of the Choices July Challenge (prompt - Endings). This was an anon request, and hopefully it is as fluffy as they were hoping for!

Bryce pushed the arrow button several times before landing on the option that he’d rarely used over the past seven years. He hovered for a moment before pushing the select button twice. His pager was officially off.

He hadn’t expected it to be emotional. He’d even gone so far as to tease Cassie when she’d told him it would be that morning.

“I’m telling you, Bryce, it’s a big deal. Sienna and I cried.”

“Cassie, you didn’t even leave Edenbrook for fellowship!”

“It was still emotional, Bryce. It’ll be your last moment as a resident.”

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think I’m gonna get all torn up over not having to carry the first call pager or having to work 30 hours straight for $15 an hour.”

Those had been his words, yet here he was, feeling a wave of sadness wash over him as he entered the Graduate Medical Education office, ID badge and now turned-off pager in hand. As he walked over to the desk of the administrative assistant, she gave him a warm smile.

“Last shift, huh? Congratulations, doctor!” she said brightly, extending her hands out, taking two of the objects he’d carried with him everywhere for the past seven years and dropping them in a box on her desk.

“Anything else you need from me?”

“You already turned in any hospital scrubs?”

He nodded. He’d taken care of that last month, after his last operation. The past four weeks had been a medical education elective, and he hadn’t seen the inside of an OR at all.

“Then you’re all set!”

So, that was it. He was done with residency. Seven years wrapped up, just like that, with the handing off of a pager and an ID badge. It felt like it should take more than a simple drop off to bring this part of his life to an end. But that was all it took to transition from Bryce Lahela, surgical resident to Bryce Lahela, surgical oncology fellow. 

Bryce usually wasn’t one for introspection, but damn if Cassie hadn’t been right. He did feel emotional over it all, and as he got on the T, he couldn’t help but think back on the past seven years and everything that had happened. 

He remembered the surgeries, all his time in the OR. All the cases he’d scrubbed in on, the incisions he’d made, the tumors he debulked, the organs he procured. He remembered the doctors he’d worked with and learned from, some of them brilliant attendings, others his own peers. He remembered his patients. Not all of them, of course, but there were the ones that stuck with him. The ones he’d saved against all odds. The ones he’d lost in spite of his best effort.

And that didn’t even touch on everything that had happened to him in his personal life over the past seven years. Meeting Cassie. Buying their loft together. Sliding that ring onto her finger. Getting married and starting a family. Things he would have never anticipated when he opened that envelope on Match Day and saw he was going to Edenbrook.

He knew he wouldn’t be where he was today without her. She’d always thanked him for his unconditional support, but Bryce knew that street went both ways. Sure, he’d been there for her through a lot of drama during their intern year, but she’d paid that back ten times over, at least. From her ranking Edenbrook first when she was applying for fellowships so that they wouldn’t have to do long distance to her enthusiasm when he told her that he was going to go for surgical oncology, even though that meant two years of research before his fellowship. From her paying down his student debt once she started earning an attending salary to her covering the cost of all of his fellowship applications. And then, when he’d matched not at Edenbrook or Dana-Farber as they had hoped, but at Duke, she’d applied for a North Carolina medical license, even when she found out none of the diagnostics teams around Durham were hiring at that time. She was willing to uproot her life, move from Boston, and take a job that was not an ideal fit, all so that he could pursue the training he wanted.

As he got off the T at the stop a few blocks from their loft, he realized how strange it was going to be to leave Boston. He never really thought about Boston as his home, but now that the movers were coming tomorrow afternoon, he knew how much he would miss it. The restaurants, the museums and history, their neighborhood, their friends. Hell, he might even miss the winters. Even though he still said he was from Hawaii, Boston held more precious memories for him than any other place. And never was that more clear than when he stepped through the door of their loft, taking in the chaos.

Boxes were everywhere, stacked along the walls, piled in the middle of the living space, covering the table and the couch. But even with everything that was already packed, there was still so much left to do. The kitchen cabinets were all thrown open, and there was still a lot of shit in them. One of the bookcases by the window was still completely full. And far too many of Kendall’s toys were still scattered across the floor.

Bryce had never thought he’d be one to get sentimental over something like moving out of a place, but the birth of his daughter had changed all that. Now, instead of seeing a nice space that was a convenient commute to Edenbrook, the loft represented so much more. It was the first home that Kendall had known, even though she probably wouldn’t remember anything about it. It was where he’d first seen her smile, first heard her laugh, first watched her walk, first heard her call him “Dada” as she reached for him. And the thought of leaving that place behind was just a little sad.

As if his thoughts summoned her, she came toddling out of the master bedroom, making a beeline for a box in the corner that hadn’t been taped shut yet. She nearly fell over as she peered inside, but kept her balance for long enough to pull out her stuffed octopus before falling down on her butt.

“Hey baby girl, I think Momma had that packed up for a reason,” he said, scooping her up. She smiled at him, but immediately started crying when the octopus slipped out of her hands, tumbling to the ground. At that sound, Cassie came out of the bedroom herself, relief evident on her face when she saw him.

“Thank god you’re home. I ran out of strapping tape three hours ago, and she figured out which boxes have her toys. She’s been unpacking all afternoon,” she blurted out, dropping a kiss on his cheek as she brushed past him, picking up the octopus and returning it to the box.

“I think I can handle a tape run. You want me to take her with me? I can bring back some pizza, too.”

She smiled warmly at him. “You’re a saint.”

“That’s a new one. Hero, godsend, world’s greatest, sure, but never a saint. I’m pretty sure that requires approval from the pope.”

She rolled her eyes as she brought the stroller over to him, “I’m not gonna dignify that with a response. Pick up some more bubble wrap, too. I have the feeling we’ll run out at 2 am if you don’t.”

“You think it’ll be an all-nighter, then?”

Cassie sheepishly gestured around, “I mean, don’t you? There’s still a ton to do. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. Not like we both haven’t pulled worse for work.”

“I know, I know. But this isn’t the way you should be celebrating the end of residency. We should be getting a sitter, hitting up Donahue’s one last time.”

Bryce shrugged. Sure, seven years ago, that’s probably how he would have pictured his last night as a resident, enjoying one last drunken hurrah with his co-residents. But now, he couldn’t imagine wanting to spend this night with anyone other than his wife and kid. 

“Probably shouldn’t have knocked you up if bar nights were that important to me.” She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to make a retort, but Bryce just shook his head. “I still get to spend my first night of freedom with two ladies, so I think I’m doing just fine.” She laughed at that, the sound echoing more than usual now that so many of their pillows, rugs, and curtains had been packed away. 

“Alright, Kendall. One last Boston adventure?” he asked, snapping her into the stroller.

Pushing her down the sidewalk, he decided to embrace this evening’s wave of sentimentality. It was only natural to feel emotional as his time in Boston came to an end. His life had changed so much, nearly entirely for the better, over the past seven years. And while he would miss the life he and Cassie had built here, he knew that no matter where the next seven years took them, whether they stayed in North Carolina or moved on after his fellowship, that they would make the best of things. Together.

Tags: @omgjasminesimone @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenchoices @octobereighth @feartheendlesssummer @tallulahshh @fortunatelywaywardsandwich @dreaming-of-movies @choicesarehard @pinkcoloredmarshmallow @kinda-iconic @choicesjulychallenge

#bryce lahela #bryce x mc #open heart #oh #choices oh #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #oh fanfic #choices july challenge

[pixieungerstories]

Housemates 17

Vinny woke up snuggled and warm with a cock in her hand.  She giggled softly as she her waking brain made a joke about a cock in the hand being better than two in the bush.  She put her hand on the his chest and rolled her face to snicker into his chest.  That’s when it hit her that this chest wasn’t fuzzy in the  same way Derick’s was.  She sat bolt upright and stared at Tristan in horror.

“Oh god!  I am so  sorry!”

“It’s ok,” Tristan said gently.  “It isn’t…” he paused for a moment,  “I don’t want to offend you, but I like when you touch me.  You aren’t demanding anything from me.  It’s nice.  Innocent.”

Vinny snorted, “I’m not that innocent.”

Derick laughed, “You see us, all of us, as people.  That is really nice.”

“I don’t expect you to touch me,” Tristan continued, “but it sure is nice when you do.”

Vinny blew out a long breath, as she rolled over to look at Derick.  He was watching her so fondly.  She leaned forward and kissed him.  Derick was a great kisser.  “I need to brush my teeth and get changed before our run.”  Then she felt daring as she turned back to Tristan, “Thanks for keeping we warm last night.”  Then she kissed him too.  

It was a little weird since his mouth wasn’t exactly the right shape, but his lips were soft.  He cupped her neck, then stroked her back as she did.  It sent shivers up her spine in a way that make her want more.

“I gotta go,” she blurted out as she scrambled out of bed.  Neither of them said anything as she bolted from the room.

Her morning run with Derick was quiet.  Eventually, Vinny asked, “You really aren’t bothered by that?”

“Nope.”

After another few blocks.  “Really?”

“Really.”

They crossed the park.  “It is some sort of fetish?”

That made him laugh.  “You got me!  I have a thing for watching people I care about being happy.  You and Tristan together is like a double whammy.”

“Are you asking me to-”

“Whoa!  Nope!  I’m not asking for anything.  I’m just telling you it’s OK if you want.”

“Huh.” She really didn’t know what else to say.

Derick either wasn’t bothered by the discussion or he wasn’t willing to let things get awkward.  “You have the day off.  Any plans?”

“Kogan will be taking me to church when we get back.  Then brunch with my family followed by meal planning and homework.”

“Sounds like a full day. Time to go for a drink later?”

Vinny grinned, “I think I figure something out.”

----

Church was the usual sitting, standing and kneeling.  Vinny went home for brunch afterwards.   JJ was the same, slightly obnoxious kid.  Her mother, Val and her Aunt Toni were sniping at each other.  Vinny had no idea how to bring up work.  Finally, she just spit it out over pancakes.

“I quit at the coffee shop.”

That caused the conversation to come to a screeching halt.  Ma and Aunt Toni both started at her.

Ma had to clear her throat before asking, “Because you found a better job?”

“Um… sort of.  I passed my probation working for Bazur and he gave me a raise.”

Toni looked please, “Wow!  That’s awesome, Vinny!”

Val on the other hand looked skeptical, “How much of a raise?”

Vinny tensed, “An extra $400 a week.  He’s using me as a tax deduction.”

Val narrowed her eyes, “Is that all he’s using you for?”

Toni coughed, “Val!  She was being under paid to start with!”

“But-”

“And gargoyles are all asexual.  Everyone knows that.”

Val was not mollified.  “What kind of housekeeper makes almost two grand a month?”

“One who works seven days a week!” Vinny retorted.  “I would be on continuous over time if I wasn’t on salary.  Plus, good luck trying to find a cleaning service for less than $20/hr, nevermind a personal chef!”

“And there’s nothing kinky going on?” Val insisted

“Christ Ma!”

“Watch your mouth, Vincencia! You are my daughter!  You are my responsibility!”

“I’m your adult daughter, Ma!  You don’t get to ask that any more than you want Gramma Sophie asking about your sex life!”

“That’s different!”

At that point Toni got involved, “It really isn’t Val.  She’s an adult.  She’s paying her own bills.  She really didn’t need need to even tell you she was changing jobs.  Plus, how ever you dressed it up, you just asked your daughter if she’s a whore.”

JJ snorted.  

Val turned bright red, “I didn’t!”

Vinny just raised an eyebrow.  

JJ burst out laughing.  When everyone glared at him, he protested, “C’mon!  Vinny and Aunt T all did the eyebrow thing together!  That was awesome!”

For the first time that Vinny could remember, brunch was finished in silence.

When Aunt Toni was giving Vinny a ride home, she leaned over and asked, “So…  Are you seeing anyone?”

“Aunt Toni!”

“What?  I’m just asking!  There are a lot of handsome men in that house!”  There was another moment of silence before she added, “You are smart enough to not get knocked up.  Don’t get fired, but if you wanna have a little fun… Well, you’re only young once.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”  Vinny had to think about how to word the next bit.  “They are all just one big family.  They are really close and take care of each other.   And me.  It’s nice.”

“Whoa!  Menage a … eight!  You go girl!”  Vinny just burst out laughing. Toni smirked, “It makes more sense than that sister wives crap, is all I’m saying.  Especially if you can all still be friends when you convocate in the spring.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vinny chuckled.

“Have you ever searched Angus Beef on a porn site?  It may give you some ideas.  Hell, it got me through some lonely times.”

Vinny stopped laughing.  “Tristan can’t even go to the grocery store without being molested.  He owns a really good landscaping company and people don’t treat him like people.  Kevin can’t leave the house without a guard because he doesn’t have the legal protection of being recognized as a person.  The guys all have had tough lives.  I don’t want to make it any worse for them.”

There was another period of awkward silence.  Finally, Toni said, “You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

-----

No one was home when Vinny got back.  Or at least she couldn’t find anyone.  In reality, Kevin was probably there and just ignoring her when she shouted, “Hello?”

She was on her way into the kitchen when a quiet voice said, “I don’t want to scare you-”

Vinny, of course, screamed and spun around.  There wasn’t anyone there.

“Up here,”  It was Thea, he was on the ceiling.

Vinny let out a breath, then smiled up at him.  “Where is everyone?”

“They went out for lunch.”

“Oh.” Vinny thought about that, “Didn’t you want to go?”

Thea shrugged, “Yes, but I’m socially awkward.”

“Huh.  Well, I’m thirsty, care to join me in the backyard for a beer so I’m not drinking alone?”

Thea’s eyes went wide and for a moment Vinny could see that they were multifaceted.  “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“If you don’t mind.  Brunch with my family was kinda hard today and I would rather not be alone.”

Thea ran down a wall so that he was standing on the floor, not too close to her.  “Can you tell me what happened?”

Vinny pulled one of her bellini coolers out of the fridge.  “I told Ma I quit at the coffee place.  She asked if I was sleeping with Bazur.  Well, she suggested that might be why I got a raise.”

Thea’s voice was always low and quiet. “That’s really tough.”

Vinny nodded and headed out to the garden set on the back patio.  She pulled one of the chairs out and away from the table so that there would be room for Thea to rest next to her.  “I’m still not sure what was worse.  That or my Aunt basically telling me to google Tristan porn.”

Thea came over close to her and folded his legs so he was resting next to her.  “Have you?  Looked up Tristan porn, I mean.”

“No!  He asked me not to!  In fact, one of the very first things Bazur told me about any of you was that Tristan didn’t like to talk about it.  Why would I hurt him like that if I know better?”

Thea shrugged, “You are sweet so you probably wouldn’t.  But lots of people would be extra curious if they were told not to.”

Vinny paused with her drink halfway to her lips.  “You think I’m sweet?”

Thea smiled shyly as he nodded.  “You are very kind to us Vinny.  Derick is very lucky.  I wish I could be your friend like Kogan or Tristan.”

“Aren’t you my friend?  I mean, we didn’t get off to a good start, but I thought we were OK.”

Thea ducked his head, “I’m too creepy to be your friend.”

“You are?”

He nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame.  You’re kind of cute.”

“Girls don’t like spiders.”

Vinny snorted, “Have you never watched those Lucas videos on YouTube?”

“Lucas isn’t real Vinny.”

Vinny rolled her eyes, “You are missing the point, Thea.”

“So tell me.”

Vinny sat down her drink.  “You are the nicest construction worker I know and I have a bunch of family in construction.  Plus, you know, eight times the arms just means eight times the hugs.”

Thea ducked his head and went very quiet for a moment.  “Would you let me hug you sometime?”

Vinny set down her drink, stood up out of her chair and hugged the drider.  With his abdomen on the ground he was nearly as tall as she was.  When he stretched, he was the tallest person in the house.  Thea froze.  Then tentatively hugged her back.

“I knew it!  Great hugs!”

Thea stiffened and started to pull away, but before he was quite able to, Kogan was behind Vinny and his arms were big enough to go around both of their smaller frames.  Vinny just sighed and lay her head on Thea’s shoulder.

When Kogan let go, Thea bolted.

Vinny sighed, “That wasn’t how I hoped that would go.”

“He’s shy.” Kogan shrugged.

Hey readers - If you like this work, please check me out on Patreon.  There are pictures to go along with this and a butt ton of extra content.  I understand if you can’t afford to sponsor me, but if you reblog, there is a better chance of some who can finding my work.  Thanks!

#werewolf #Minotaur #orc #mimic #gargoyle #slime #drider #terato #exophilia

[burning-up-ao3]

20 Penguins Thoughts: Improvement involves more than a potential trade  January 29, 2019 8:00 AMBy Jason Mackey / Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Look at what Jim Rutherford did on Monday, trading Jamie Oleksiak back to Dallas for a 2019 fourth-round draft pick, and it’s fairly easy to conclude that the Penguins general manager has his sights set on doing something.

Fine. Trade away, Jim. Shoot your shot.

But is a swap for a third-line center, or even an impact winger, going to fix this? Highly doubtful.

Not that the Penguins are a dysfunctional group, either. They aren’t. They’re still a very good team. But no matter what move Rutherford makes, if the Penguins play like they did Monday, they’re simply not a trade away from another Stanley Cup run.

“If we’re going to be successful,” Matt Cullen was saying after the Penguins’ 6-3 loss to the New Jersey Devils at PPG Paints Arena on Monday night, “we’re going to have to be a lot harder to play against.”

The 42-year-old has never been more right.

Kevin Hayes, Radek Faksa, Charlie Coyle, Micheal Ferland — all dream acquisitions by Penguins fans, for perfectly understandable reasons — aren’t going to solve the problem by themselves. Neither is shipping out Jack Johnson or calling up Teddy Blueger or whatever other Band-Aid has been applied.

Heck, the Penguins got creamed by the Devils, and Derick Brassard was actually half-decent. What the Penguins will need to fix this — and snap out of a stretch that has included five losses in eight games — is much larger than one or two players.

So, what realistically must happen?

2. Work ethic, urgency and competitive spirit were the terms being thrown around the Penguins dressing room late Monday, and it’s hard to argue with any of them.

The power play also has to be better; those five players need to be a factor, and they can’t keep allowing short-handed goals at this rate. They need to get Evgeni Malkin right, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Penguins coach Mike Sullivan’s move is to pull him off the top unit, as crazy as that might sound. No more bad turnovers. Let him focus on other areas.

The Penguins also must defend better than they did against New Jersey, and there’s simply a lack of urgency that shouldn’t exist at this point in the season, especially not for a team that fancies itself as a Stanley Cup contender.

I do have five questions for the home stretch, but I’ll get to those shortly. First, a couple loose ends.

3. I thought Sidney Crosby had some really strong stuff to say after Monday’s loss. He’s usually fairly positive, never too down, but the captain seemed fairly mad after this one.

What lacked against the Devils: “Everything. Execution. Urgency. Those are probably the biggest two. Pretty important ones.”

The NHL-worst 11 short-handed goals the Penguins have allowed: “I mean, it’s 11. I think it could probably be a couple different things depending on the play. It’s not a stat we’re proud of, that’s for sure.”

On needing to correct things with Tampa coming in: “We can say everything we want to say. We can say all the right things. We have to go out there and do it.”

Good for him. No one has a stronger voice than Crosby. And every word is he said is true.

4. Here’s why I think Rutherford could do something, and soon: Why else let Jamie Oleksiak go for a fourth-round pick?

Perhaps because Rutherford knows he’s going to need the space soon, and this was what he figured was his best available opinion.

That’s what I think, anyway.

“It just puts us in a position when something comes along — which, it will — over the next few weeks here,” Rutherford said when I asked what this means moving forward in our phone conversation early Monday evening. “It’ll put us in a position for other options because of the cap space.”

Which it will. Rutherford knows his phone will be ringing, and you know he’ll answer.

Yes, it was about having too many defensemen and Justin Schultz coming back soon, but that’s not a reason to make the trade now, for that return.

Doing it now, and not when Schultz returns in early February — remember, he has yet to skate with the team — sends a signal that Rutherford is open for business and able to potentially absorb some salary.

5. Switching gears a little bit … why hasn’t Teddy Blueger been gotten a shot? You guys/girls ask this a lot.

With 21 goals and 39 points in 45 games with Wilkes-Barre/Scranton of the AHL, it’s a totally reasonable question, especially considering Blueger plays in all situations and isn’t defensively deficient.

When I talked to Rutherford before Monday’s game, I asked him exactly that: Why hasn’t Blueger been given a chance?

“It’s a positional thing,” Rutherford said. “He’s played well enough to be here. When it’s been time to recall a player, the players that we’ve recalled can play the wing.

“We haven’t been in a position where we’ve had to call up a center. Teddy doesn’t play the wing. He only plays center. It’s a more-than-fair question. He has done what he’s needed to do to put himself in position to play at this level.”

6. I see Rutherford’s point. Blueger isn’t a wing, and the Penguins would theoretically be doing a disservice to him by playing him out of position, even if I know many of you are going to say, “Well, just shift someone else there.”

I don’t think the Penguins would want a fourth line with two guys playing out of position — probably Riley Sheahan and Matt Cullen — to accommodate a rookie playing his first NHL game.

7. Which led to this follow-up question that I posed to Rutherford: Is there a scenario you see unfolding where Blueger could get a chance this season.

His answer: “I don’t see it with the guys that we have here now.”

I found that answer interesting: “With the guys that we have here now.”

On one hand, that means no; Blueger’s staying in the minors. On the other, I suppose that could change if Rutherford trades Brassard or even Riley Sheahan, although I don’t think using Blueger as a regular is something the Penguins want to force.

8-12. To me, there’s five key questions for the Penguins coming out of the All-Star break. Addressing those will occupy this and the following four spots.

The first involves Malkin. Can he rediscover the form he found during the second half of last season, when he led the NHL in points (62) from Jan. 1 through the end of the regular season?

Taking him off the top power play might be one option. Maybe trying some other people on his left wing. Shoot, maybe even sit Malkin down for a game, just to change something up, although I admittedly don’t love that option.

But I think Malkin is pressing and his confidence is lacking, which is a bad combination.

“Obviously we’d like him to have more of a positive impact on the game,” Sullivan said after Monday’s game. “He’s such a talented player. He’s such an accomplished player. I know how much he cares about this team, this organization and trying to help us win. Part of my responsibility as his coach and our staff is we’re trying to help Geno through this process and try and help him capture his very best game. We’ll continue to work with him.”

9. What happens when Schultz returns?

You know he’s going to slot into the top-four. But more than that, with whom does Schultz play? Olli Maatta? Is he effective? Does he get top power-play reps? The latter part is interesting given that unit’s current situation.

I also look at Schultz like a trade-deadline acquisition. His presence alone could give this group a nice little jolt of life.

10. Where’s Matt Murray at?

It’s hard to criticize Murray after Monday’s game. No, he wasn’t great, but neither was the team in front of him. And this is a guy who was 10-1 since returning from a lower-body injury, with a 1.81 goals-against average and .944 save percentage before the Devils game.

Expecting those numbers might be a bit much, but the Penguins will want and need something close here to make a push over the final 40 percent of the season.

11. What’s the final verdict on Brassard?

Brassard was actually decent Monday, although hardly enough to quash any of the ongoing trade talk.

Given acquisition cost, don’t rule out the Penguins sticking with Brassard, although I would imagine that, if they do, Rutherford would probably like to add another piece to get more from that line.

12. How does this Metro mess sort itself out?

The Metropolitan Division is an interesting place right now.

The Islanders are in first place, have allowed a league-low 118 goals, and Barry Trotz is looking like the Jack Adams Award winner. The Capitals, meanwhile, have lost seven in a row and look lost.

The Blue Jackets are hanging around, and the Penguins are in fourth place, with the Hurricanes just four points behind.

That’s a long-winded way of saying that plenty can still happen, and the margin for error is rather small.

13. Moving on … I loved what Kendall Coyne Schofield, Brianna Decker and others did at the NHL All-Star Game, but I still wish it would have been executed differently.

For one, they should have been paid, especially Decker after winning the premier passer event.

You can treat this like a statement-making sort of event all you want, which I think the NHL did. But when you pay the event winners, pay the winning team of the All-Star Game $1 million and award a car to the MVP … and you don’t see a need to earmark anything for these women — who make nothing close to NHL players — until there’s negative reaction over it, I question how much of a statement you were really trying to make.

14. Also, why not show all of them demonstrating the drills? And why not talk, while Coyne Schofield was flying, about her own career, Northeastern, Team USA women’s hockey, whatever. Anything aside from her husband who plays for the Chargers.

Or, here’s a final thought: Why not promote the upcoming series between Team USA and Hockey Canada in Detroit and London, Ontario?

If you have a platform, use it.

15. One more about Coyne Schofield and Decker …

Being in the building, the buzz created was amazing. It also made me think about something that I’d love to see: a National Women’s Hockey League (NWHL) team in Pittsburgh.

I think it would work, too. There are so many fervent and intelligent female hockey fans here, plus there’s great infrastructure in place for it with UPMC Lemieux Sports Complex and how naturally intertwined it would be with the Penguins.

Have no clue on logistics or anything like that, or whether it’s even remotely possible, but if the team won, I think it could do really well.

16. I find NHL commissioner Gary Bettman’s stance on current labor negotiations … interesting.

He keeps repeating the phrase, “We’re not looking for a fight.”

Great, but your fans don’t care. They just want the product.

And it positions the players, if they ask for anything that’s even remotely reasonable, as the bad guys.

17. Media day must be handled better next year.

You’ll notice that neither Crosby nor Kris Letang was there. They were among the seven of 44 players who did not make it. That’s too many.

But I don’t blame Crosby or Letang. Why should they give up a day of their bye week when the All-Stars who are on theirs from Jan. 27-31 will get five full days?

It’s also not fair to the fans who bought tickets to the event — held inside San Jose’s City National Civic theater — expecting to hear those two or others. I also understand why those who played Wednesday night weren’t there.

My solution: Put a dark day in the schedule, to ensure 100 percent participation. There’s no sense wasting fans’ or media members’ money and ticking off your players … for what?

18. While we’re at it, I also think the Skills Competition needs tweaked.

I think the fastest skater, hardest shot and accuracy shooting events are fine the way they are. Leave those alone. Let’s concentrate on the other ones.

The puck control event was OK, but I don’t see how casual fans might keep the event on their TVs to watch a dude stickhandle around cones. Too boring. Need to spice it up a little.

Secondly, the whole event slowed to a crawl during the save streak-intermission-premier passer part of the evening. Has to be tighter to keep viewers’ attention.

Have goalies stop as many breakaways as they can until they’re done. If it’s two, so be it. They’re done.

Then simplify the passing thing. I don’t need to see poor Mikko Rantanen suffering through 2:17.379, then having to watch seven more heats.

The Skills Competition has some interesting elements. I think it can be watchable, as opposed to the game itself, which is a little too gimmicky for my taste.

But it needs to be tighter, falling somewhere in the 90-minute range start to finish.

19. I was not at all surprised to hear deputy NHL commissioner Bill Daly’s answer when I asked whether the Penguins are being considered for international events.

“Yes,” was what Daly said, with a wide smile.

As they should be.

How does one of the NHL’s marquee U.S. teams, with the league’s most recognizable player and some seriously high-end talent, not get included in this stuff?

The Penguins haven’t played internationally since going to Stockholm, Sweden in 2008. Whether it’s China, Germany, Sweden, Switzerland or the Czech Republic — all destinations on the horizon — the Penguins should get asked to go.

And soon, if you ask me.

20. I liked seeing Toronto’s Auston Matthews rip off his own Maple Leafs sweater to show support for teammate Patrick Marleau, who’s nothing short of a legend out here.

I think it’s part of what should be a push by players, especially the younger ones, to showcase more personality whenever possible.

I know the NHL is a different animal, and it’s never going to rival the NBA or NFL in terms of pure entertainment for casual fans.

But if the league can do something, anything, to become even a little less bland — including players speaking their minds instead of offering milquetoast quotes they fear might upset someone — I think it would be a good thing.

Jason Mackey: [email protected] and Twitter @JMackeyPG.

#20 Penguins Thoughts #Pittsburgh Post-Gazette #Jason Mackey #not mine #pittsburgh penguins

[orbemnews]

Why These C.E.O.s Got Paid More in the Pandemic Pandemic pay packages The Times’s David Gelles gives DealBook the backstory to his recent front-page article about rising C.E.O. pay during the pandemic. Companies battered by the pandemic are handing out enormous pay packages to their C.E.O.s, highlighting the sharp divides in a nation on the precipice of an economic boom, but still wracked by steep income inequality. Executive compensation has, of course, been soaring for decades now. Chief executives of big companies in the U.S. now make, on average, 320 times as much as the typical worker. In 1989, that ratio was 61 to 1. In years when the profits are flowing and unemployment is low, such disparities are often explained away. But in this pandemic year, corporate P.R. teams are bending over backward to justify their bosses’ big paydays. When I reached out to the companies mentioned in my article for comment, they responded with infographics, statements from board members and urgent requests for off-the-record phone calls. Here are three of the common tactics they employed: Don’t believe your eyes: A Hilton spokesman stressed that the figure in its latest proxy filing did not represent take-home pay for Chris Nassetta, because the company restructured several stock awards. “Said directly, Chris did not take home $55.9 million in 2020,” the spokesman said. “Chris’s actual pay was closer to $20.1 million.” Hilton lost $720 million last year. An AT&T spokesman emphasized that while John Stankey was awarded compensation worth some $21 million, that wasn’t what he was “paid,” noting that this includes stock awards that may not be realized. Stankey’s actual take-home pay, the spokesman added, was closer to $10.4 million. AT&T lost $5.4 billion last year. It could’ve been even more: Boeing wanted to make clear how much money Dave Calhoun “voluntarily elected to forgo to support the company through the Covid-19 pandemic” — some $3.6 million, according to a spokesman. Nonetheless, Calhoun was awarded $21.1 million last year, while Boeing lost $12 billion. Disney stressed that “the impact of the pandemic on our businesses led to a meaningful reduction” in executive pay, noting that executive chairman Bob Iger, who was awarded $21 million last fiscal year, gave up his salary for much of that time. Disney lost $2.8 billion in the period. The great man theory: Starbucks, which awarded Kevin Johnson $14.7 million, was among many companies making the case that their C.E.O. was essential to future success. “Continuity in Kevin’s role is particularly vital to Starbucks at this time,” said Mary Dillon, a member of the compensation committee. The company made a $930 million profit in its latest fiscal year, down three-quarters from the previous year. And General Electric sent a 487-word defense of the $73.2 million package awarded to Larry Culp, arguing that he was uniquely equipped to revive the ailing industrial conglomerate. “The board sees Larry Culp as essential to G.E.’s transformation,” a company spokesman said. The company turned a $5.2 billion profit last year, helped by restructuring measures that included reducing headcount by more than 20,000. Read the full story here. HERE’S WHAT’S HAPPENING A deep split in pandemic fortunes highlights an uneven global recovery. On one hand: The E.U. could let vaccinated Americans visit this summer, bringing much-needed tourism revenue to the region. (One potential hangup is a rising number of people who aren’t getting their second doses.) On the other: India will receive emergency medical supplies from the U.S. as it reports half of all new Covid-19 cases worldwide. Netflix had a big night at the Oscars. The streaming company won seven Academy Awards last night, the most of any studio, but again fell short in its quest to win Best Picture. (That went to Disney, whose Searchlight Pictures’ “Nomadland” won the big prize; Disney won five awards over all.) AT&T’s Warner Bros. won three Oscars, while Amazon took home two. An activist investor steps up its challenge at Exxon Mobil. Engine No. 1 argues in a new presentation that the oil giant faces an “existential business risk” because it is not taking bolder steps to move away from fossil fuels, The Financial Times reports. (Exxon and other major producers are set to report earnings this week.) A group of 30 big companies launches an initiative to hire ex-convicts. About 70 million American adults have a criminal record, complicating their ability to get work and entrenching poverty. “Business has an important role to play in making it easier for people with criminal backgrounds to get back on their feet,” said JPMorgan Chase’s Jamie Dimon, a co-chair of the Second Chance Business Coalition, which was announced today. Elon Musk is hosting “S.N.L.” Yes, really. The Tesla chief is scheduled to host “Saturday Night Live” on May 8. (We bet S.E.C. officials will be watching.) John Authers of Bloomberg Opinion has an interesting take on it: The Tesla chief’s antics are doing more to encourage adoption of green technology than any amount of environmentalist scolding. The ‘massive threat’ in a ‘measly’ Supreme Court case Today the Supreme Court will hear a case that could upend American politics. It has largely escaped attention because it’s not obviously political at all. “Americans for Prosperity Foundation v. Rodriquez” involves a fight over California’s donor disclosure requirements for charities and “may seem like a measly spat over state nonprofit rules,” Senator Sheldon Whitehouse, Democrat of Rhode Island, told DealBook. “But a massive threat lurks within.” Today in Business Updated  April 23, 2021, 1:31 p.m. ET Nonprofits want more donor anonymity. Americans for Prosperity Foundation is a “social welfare” nonprofit arguing that the right to anonymous assembly guaranteed by the First Amendment extends to donor data. Critics say that a ruling in favor of the Koch-funded charity would allow more untraceable money to flow through groups designed to mask the outsize role that a few wealthy players have in American politics. If A.F.P.F. wins, “special interests will have a free pass to rig our democracy from behind a veil of secrecy,” Whitehouse said. Companies secretly influence politics with “dark money” donations that are deliberately opaque. Basically, some “social welfare” groups are quasi-political yet don’t have the same reporting requirements as explicitly political groups. Similarly, trade groups take corporate donations and pass them on, obscuring the sources. “The importance of dark money in society, the scope of it, is something people don’t really grasp, but it impacts everyday life,” said Anna Massoglia, a researcher at the Center for Responsive Politics. A decision is expected around late June. Notably, the court took the case on Jan. 8, two days after the Capitol riot prompted a reckoning over corporate political donations. Both the Chamber of Commerce and the National Association of Manufacturers filed briefs supporting A.F.P.F.’s case for anonymity, and Allen Dickerson, a former member of the Federal Election Commission, argued the same in a Wall Street Journal op-ed yesterday. “What a gift she’s given them by this crazy way of giving.” — Marti DeLiema, a professor of social work at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities, on how the billionaire MacKenzie Scott’s unorthodox method of philanthropy — emailing groups out of the blue — has created a cottage industry of scammers. Bain is buying $1 billion worth of desserts Bain Capital Private Equity is buying Dessert Holdings in a deal that DealBook hears values the company at about $1 billion. Dessert Holdings makes “Insta-worthy” cheesecakes and other desserts through three brands: The Original Cakerie, Lawler’s Desserts and Atlanta Cheesecake. The company, which sells to retailers and restaurants, was created through acquisitions led by its prior owner, Gryphon Investors. The dessert conglomerate emphasizes the “wow factor” of products like tuxedo truffle mousse cake that are made to look good on social media. A sweet deal? In-store bakeries have held up well during the pandemic, while restaurants are expected to rebound post-Covid. There could be more consolidation in the industry, with George Weston announcing in March it plans to put its bakery business — which includes Wonder Bread in Canada — up for sale. Over the years, Bain has invested in a number of food service and restaurant brands, like Dunkin’ and Domino’s Pizza. It plans to develop “new and innovative products” as well as pursue more acquisitions after the Dessert Holdings deal, said Adam Nebesar, a managing director at the private equity firm. Trevor Lawrence is getting paid in Bitcoin As cryptocurrency goes more mainstream — thanks in part to the recent public listing of Coinbase — blockchain businesses are hustling for brand recognition. “We’re really trying to get our name out a lot,” said Sam Bankman-Fried, the C.E.O. of FTX, a crypto exchange that competes with Coinbase. One of FTX’s companies, the investment app Blockfolio, has signed an endorsement deal with Trevor Lawrence, the former Clemson quarterback and presumptive number-one pick in this week’s N.F.L. draft, DealBook is first to report. The quarterback’s first payment was made exclusively in crypto tokens transferred directly into his Blockfolio account. “Trevor was excited about crypto,” Bankman-Fried said. “That’s what drew us to him.” The company wouldn’t disclose the terms of the multiyear agreement, but a spokesman noted that the “signing bonus” was already worth more on Sunday than when it was deposited on Friday night. Future payments will be made in whatever combination of dollars and crypto Lawrence chooses. “Crypto is on a lot of people’s minds,” Bankman-Fried told DealBook. The 29-year-old billionaire founded FTX in 2019, and said he regrets spending his early years “playing video games.” Now, he’s trying to make up for lost time and the “low name recognition” of his crypto brands by hitching their wagon to bigger brands. FTX recently agreed to pay $135 million for the naming rights to the N.B.A.’s Miami Heat arena for 19 years. THE SPEED READ Deals ByteDance, the Chinese parent of TikTok, has reportedly delayed plans to go public because it hasn’t devised a corporate structure that would win approval from Washington and Beijing. (South China Morning Post) A close look at the efforts by the Carlyle Group’s C.E.O., Kewsong Lee, to catch up to his private equity rivals. (WSJ) Politics and policy The law firm Jones Day has rehired at least seven lawyers who worked in the Trump administration, cementing its status as a top outpost for Republican legal experts. (FT) Advisers to wealthy Americans are studying various strategies to minimize the hit from the Biden administration’s proposed tax hikes. (Bloomberg) Tech Ant Group, the Chinese fintech giant, reportedly plans to offer employees zero-interest loans backed by their stock options to bolster morale. (Bloomberg) The culture of Travis Kalanick’s food-delivery start-up, CloudKitchens, is said to closely resemble the “bro-y” early days of Uber — and it’s losing workers as a result. (Insider) Best of the rest Honda said it expects all cars it sells will be electric by 2040. (Bloomberg) One of the men who created the “Yale model” of endowment investing says the strategy is past its prime. (FT) An eye-opening look inside the “slander industry.” (NYT) We’d like your feedback! Please email thoughts and suggestions to [email protected]. Source link Orbem News #CEOs #Paid #Pandemic

[theliterateape]

I Can't Drive 55 | Lessons Learned in the 55th Year

By Don Hall

In my thirty-second year I felt incredibly sorry for myself. I was getting my first divorce, was living in a one-room studio in Uptown, my theater company was imploding over ego-driven bullshit. I drank myself into a state of suicidal yearning. It was a rough year. 

I called my mom. Mom is that voice of reason in good and bad times.

"This has been a really shitty year. Maybe I should move back to Kansas."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-two."

"And in thirty-two years you've lived on the planet, how many of those years were bad?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Really bad? Two. No three. Three years. Why?"

"Well, three out of thirty-two is a pretty solid track record. Seems to me that you weathered those other bad years and had good years to spare. Maybe you decide to quit wallowing in how bad this year has been and get to work on next year because based on your experience you probably have another cluster of good years in store."

Some have the Dali Lama. Others have a priest or a shelf of self-help books. I have my mom.

My fifty-fifth year (or the specter of 2020) was a rough year for so many people in the world it's almost a joke. The whole year has been covered in shit—from the campaign to unseat the least capable and most destructive president in my lifetime to three months in a pandemic shutting down the planet and economic hardship most of us have only read about in Steinbeck novels—2020 looks like the toilet bowl moments after a morning constitutional from a night of White Castle and rum.

Sure, the act of comparing one's life with those around is a narcissistic self-loathing experiment best suited for recently jilted lesbians and Instagram junkies, but while the entire world has been burning down in both literal and figurative ways, fifty-five has been a damn good year for me.

In January, I was well into my year and a half managing a casino on the corner of I-15 and Tropicana. I had done my due diligence in training and had hit the sweet spot of knowing enough about the business to be an effective leader on the floor. I knew my high rollers and had figured out the best approach to dealing with the meth-addicts and prostitutes. I could fix 90 percent of the machines and could process a jackpot inside of four minutes consistently.

Then came the pandemic and the economic shutdown of Las Vegas in March. Most were laid off and in free fall but I had stumbled into working for one of two gambling corporations in Nevada that committed to keeping the payroll rolling despite losing millions per day.

The three months of closure saw me coming in to work every day, cleaning the bar and the machines, and hanging out to make sure no one ransacked the place while it was closed. I did a lot of writing in my office during that time. 

In terms of personal tragedy, my nineteen year old nephew overdosed in a parking lot in April and, virus be damned, Dana and I flew out the next day to help my sister.

We re-opened the casino in June. 

Seven months of balancing life in a pandemic with idiots motivated to gamble, arguing with people about the necessity to wear masks, and submitting essays to everyone. Getting paid to write (even in small increments) was a genuine drug.

Over the summer both Dana and I were asked to write for an anthology of essays. Las Vegas writers writing about Las Vegas. It was a boost, man. Don't get me wrong, the casino gig was solid and, for the most part, enjoyable. Getting paid to write words and sentences was fucking delicious.

The book came out in October launched with a Zoomesque gathering.

The casino gig, while solid and simple, was becoming dull. Rote. Combining the fact that my best (and meager) talents were not usable during a pandemic in a struggling casino, I told my General Manager that I needed more money for such routine grind and that I’d start looking aggressively for something more in tune with my skills that also paid a bit more on my year-and-a-half mark.

Six days after I started the search, I was hired by a Denver-based firm as a Senior Copywriter.

Turns out I’m pretty good at it. Getting a salary for writing words and sentences is sweet and working from home as the pandemic continues to rage on is smart and comfortable. No longer a slave to the swings shift, my schedule is my own.

I can, for the first time in my life when asked what I do for a living, answer “I am a writer.” In a career path marked by ten year gigs followed by "gotta pay the bills" gigs, it looks like Casino Manager is the latter and "Writer" is the former. Now it’s time to write some books, yeah?

It’s been a year, my friends.

Here are the lessons that landed in my 55th annum.

Always Leave ‘Em Wanting More

Over the course of my bizarre career as a “Writer. Teacher. Storyteller. Consultant.” to refer to my donhall.vegas website, I’ve had a tendency to overstay my welcome.

Instead of leaving circumstances on good terms, by the time I was ready to go, I was all Fuck these people! What a bunch of dickseeds! and at least a few of the people were Fuck him! What a dickseed!

I stayed one year longer than I should have as a public school teacher. I stayed at least a year too long in my second marriage and, despite some incredible shows toward the end of the WNEP Theater years, I stayed too long with that company. I should’ve left WBEZ at least a year earlier and I waited until things got weird in the storytelling scene before leaving Chicago.

With the casino, I left long before things become too rote or sour. I found the new gig, jumped on it, and was told if it didn’t work out, I always had a place to land. That I was a part of the Station Casinos “family.” My staff bought me booze and when I swung by just to see them, they are happy to be seen.

Hell, the GM even gave me one of the chairs from the Craps Table for my home office!

As I get older, recognizing the signs that perhaps it’s time to go is an essential skill. At fifty-five, maybe I’m finally into that.

Family is Always More Important Than Work

Last year, working the first 24/7/365 job in my life, I was told I had to work on Christmas. It was the first Christmas in decades I hadn’t spent with my family in Kansas. It wasn’t bad—Joe flew in from Chicago, he took Dana and I to see Penn Gillette at Rio, Kelli joined Dana and Joe on the casino floor while I worked.

This year, especially after the death of my nephew, it became obvious that family had to come first. Months before I landed the writing gig, I let my GM know I was taking the week of Christmas off, COVID be damned. I was clear that if the company couldn’t pay me for the time off I understood and if I was to be let go because of it, then that was fine, too.

The casino was incredibly cool about the request that wasn’t really a request. In fact, even though I gave my two week’s notice before the Christmas vacation pay would kick in, my GM allowed me to be paid for it anyway (see that first lesson again).

It was in every possible way the correct call. My sister needed me. I needed my mom and dad. We got to reconnect with a cousin I hadn’t seen in years. Turns out she’s a professional copywriter in Austin, TX. It was a soul-filling holiday and I’ll never miss Christmas in Kansas again.

It’s Pointless to Argue with Zealots

Maybe it’s in part due to my new-found desert surroundings or my distance from the increasingly Woke Chicago Arts scene but this last year of Trump and the ridiculous nature of angrier social media has pushed me closer to Left Center than Full-On Progressive.

As a younger man I decided that religion was simply not for me. Too emotionally charged without a sense of rationality. At the distance Nevada gives me I can see how irrational both the Extreme Right—the overtly white nationalist taint with the individualism bordering on sociopathy—and the Progressive Left—the quasi-religious circular logic of white privilege, erasure of women as a category, and focus on tribalism over all—have become. Or maybe they were always this way and it took some time away from a major urban center to see it.

Whichever the case, arguing with either side has become synonymous with filing my teeth with a dremel. Besides being as productive as screaming into an Amazon Box, taping it up, and shipping it to Congress, it’s fucking annoying.

If there is a resolution I’m attempting to adopt in the latter half of my fifties, it is this: find common ground with everyone and if I encounter someone so far into conspiracy territory that I cannot, walk away and don’t look back.

Social Media Enables the Very Worst in Us (and Me)

I can’t remember if I shed myself of Faceborg, Twitter, Instagram, and the host of social media this or last year but I’ve spent most (if not all) of my fifty-fifth year absent the noise and it was an excellent decision.

Mobs of imbeciles canceling professors, trolling J.K. Rowling, threatening violence to strangers, and organizing a breach of the Capitol all using tools for communication that should be extraordinary made me hate people I had never met. This cannot be a good ‘chicken soup for the soul’ arena to spend time in.

I’ll admit that I do feel left out of the mix some yet I’m happier for it. I jumped back recently with a new LinkedIn account (which is sortof  like social media but with jobs) and the only good thing about that has been being able to message with Rob Kozlowski.

I’m a Social Distancing Jedi

Five years ago, Dana threw me a birthday party and there was a room full of friends in attendance. This year, I’ll be lucky if even Dana remembers my birthday.

The culling effect of both getting rid of social media and the pandemic has been like a hoarder finally ridding himself of boxes of empty Altoid tins and those square plastic bread ties. Always a bit of a misanthrope, this year has cleared out so much noise and my new gig at home has me isolated from the wash of the unwashed.

Turns out I’m good with this. My interactions with people are more intentional rather than surface level and while life has made me more cautious when it comes to whom I genuinely trust, those whom I do choose teach me things I wouldn’t know and enrich my dwindling time on the planet.

Your Reality is Dictated by Your Optimism

Optimism isn’t merely hope. It isn’t happiness or a cheery disposition.

Optimism is an act of resilience against the brutal harshness of living the existential crisis.

It’s darkest just before the dawn implies that there will be a dawn. What if there won’t be? What if it’s just more darkness? If the implacable timpani of human greed, a self correcting planetary environment, and the algorithm that defines our modern interaction has no end, should that result in giving in to the despair?

As optimism is a breeze when things are going your way, despair is the path of least resistance when things turn to shit. Seeing through the mist at a better future takes effort and commitment like a solid marriage or a massive novel you’ve committed to writing. It’s a project to be managed not a feeling to languish within.

One cannot truly call himself an optimist who refuses to see the horror. Pretending that people are essentially kind and generous is stuffing the ostrich head in the sand. People are apes with higher brain functions and follow the rules of the jungle. Tribalism, essentialism, war for resources, the history of brutality of all humanity goes far beyond Hannah Jones 1619 Project. Taken in whole, we aren’t a very enlightened and forgiving species.

Further, optimism is an individual choice. It’s not something that can be enforced but it is something that can be inspired. The American Experiment, despite its many missteps and flaws, is grounded in a belief that humans can govern themselves justly and effectively. Given the larger picture, belief in democracy is only slightly more delusional than the guy playing slots so he can pay his rent. The odds are astronomically against success and yet the choice to persevere is made.

When you see someone who has one of those death camp tattoos on their arm you are witnessing a genuine, tried and true, bona fide optimist.

Optimism is hardest when things turn to shit but it is then when it is most necessary.

Becoming Antique is a Journey

For the first time I see that more of my life has been lived than I have left to live.

I recognize that I wish I could give the years I have left to my nephew because I have done a lot in my five and a half decades and he didn't get the chance. I wonder, absent the obsessive drive to achieve I had in my younger days, what I have to offer in the next ten years? What value does my existence provide to others and how do I manifest that value in pragmatic terms?

Like an old car or a pair of worn-out shoes, we all must acknowledge a certain sense of obsolescence. The pandemic has up-ended so many of the fictions we lived with up until this point and finding North on the compass is a challenge these days. Becoming irrelevant is like that boiling frog—slowly and without even recognizing the boil—we all find ourselves as vintage. 

Perhaps that's what I've become. Not the rusted Coca Cola sign in the corner but the "like new" vinyl Def Leppard album with slightly tattered and stained liner notes.

In my next ten years (if I have that much time in store or more) I'd like to read more. Write a lot more. Listen to more live music. Be a better husband. Become that cool old man on the block with good advise and a snort of rye in case it's a little chilly. Christ, I already smoke a pipe.

There is so much more to learn that, in order to avoid feeling useless, I need to learn more.

In a Pandemic, Look For the Simple Things to Keep You Sane

A really well-made sandwich

A cold beer in 115˚ weather

A road trip with your Soul Mate

A book by a new author

A slideshow of you and your Soul Mate doing things together

A long walk

Recognizing that you have a Soul Mate

Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything else. I wonder if I’d miss anything important if I simply ceased to breathe on the couch I bought back in Chicago as it sits in Nevada.

In those moments of melodramatic existentialism, I remind myself that the experience of living is this annual letter to you. A summation of the things I’ve learned and the life I’ve lived.

If I had finished this race last year, my mettle wouldn’t have been tested by a pandemic. I wouldn't have found my sister again. I wouldn’t have seen Trump slink away to Florida. I wouldn’t be sitting in a Craps Chair in a home office of my design. 

I wouldn’t have learned anything at all (you know, because dead people stop moving forward).

Here’s to another year and what adventures I will have!

#Fifty-Fifth Birthday #Birthday Lessons

[sending-the-message]

Nightmare Fuel by TF2Milquetoast

My name is Mike Laudner, and I collect everything General Motors. Chevys, Pontiacs, Buicks, Cadillacs, Oldsmobiles, Saturns, Geos, you name it. I know all the facts about each and every motor ever produced by GM, as well as the specs and builds of any model to come off the line since 1930. Some say it’s a waste of time; others call it a specialist hobby.

I call it a lifestyle.

I drink from GM-branded mugs, eat from GM-branded plates, dress in GM-branded clothes.

And, of course, drive GM cars.

I’ll be honest, my garage isn’t that large, so when I say ‘cars,’ I’m referring to seven of the cheapest sets of wheels I could buy with my meager salary. If you’re curious, I have the following: a 1999 GMC Tahoe, a 1991 Saturn SL SW2, a 1989 Geo Metro, a 2011 Chevy Spark (my daily driver), a 1979 SAAB 900, a 1983 Chevy Blazer (LS swap), and a 2003 Chevy SSR. You might think that the insurance would be astronomical, but since five of them count as classics, it actually costs less combined than a modern sports car. And it’s absolutely worth it.

I think all gearheads out there, GM or not, will agree that, sometimes, there’s just one car that changes your entire perspective on what every other driving experience should be based on.

For me, that car was an ‘89 Isuzu I-Mark.

You may be thinking, Isuzu is a Japanese company, right? Well, in 1972, General Motors bought a considerable share in the company, which prompted a joint effort of Isuzu producing GM-produced cars, and vice versa, which lasted until 2008, when Isuzu pulled out of the U.S. entirely. The I-Mark was made in 1974, and is essentially a Chevrolet/Geo Spectrum.

I got the car in 1991 from an anonymous seller for $2,500. 4,600 miles. It was a steal, considering how well it had been maintained, and I assumed the guy had no idea what it was worth. It made even less sense when I discovered how it felt to drive.

On the trip home from buying it, I filled up the tank and let it loose. It felt smooth, refined, and almost European in quality. Now, I may be biased towards GM, but even I am willing to admit that its vehicles don’t have the best refinement. So, when I turned a hairpin for the first time and stuck to the inside like glue, I was both utterly shocked and immensely pleased. A proper driver’s car made by GM? This was the find of the century.

The only detail that deterred me was an occasional sputtering noise from the engine compartment. I figured it was oil at first, but the owner said he’d changed it only a few months back. There were no leaks, either, so I disregarded it as an annoyance.

That thing was the center of my attention for the next week, though. I’d visit fellow car enthusiasts at community exhibitions and hand them the keys, daring them to see for themselves how good the drive was. Sometimes I placed bets. The car impressed every time.

But about two weeks in was when the interesting quirks began to reveal themselves. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but the fuel gauge wasn’t actually connected to anything. I only realized this two weeks into owning the thing, and I was glad I saw it when I did. The needle went down normally as I drove, so I didn’t suspect anything was wrong. At one point, I dipped the tank to see whether there was any gravel, which could be causing the sputtering. I saw that there was nothing but greasy residue inside the tank. This was probably starving the engine for fuel, which resulted in the noise, but I still have no idea how it lasted that long on empty. I immediately pulled my 900 up to the side and siphoned some gas into the tank. Sure enough, the noise stopped.

The seller never mentioned any problems related to the dashboard, so I figured it was just a new glitch that had come up.

Then there were the interior lights, which never switched on, and the dashboard, which never lit up at night like it was supposed to. I checked the wiring myself, and there was nothing wrong; no frayed ends, no missing fuses. I just ignored them, as they weren’t too much of an issue to worry about just yet.

I wish I could say I had only good memories of that car. And, indeed, most of them were. But there was one incident that occurred in 1993 that I wish I could forget. It’s been lodged in my mind ever since, and it’s the one thing keeping me from buying another Isuzu.

My neighbor at the time was a man named Frank, and I won’t include his last name for reasons that will soon become clear. He was a car buff as well, and he owned a Chrysler Conquest, which is a glorified Mitsubishi Starion without the import badge. But he loved that car, and I was happy that he was happy.

He and his wife had been good friends with me for a long time, and we bonded well, especially over cars. He was quiet when it came to anything else, however, and as a result, I was the one he confided in the most.

As soon as I pulled in with the I-Mark, Frank was skeptical.

“Mike, that’s pretty risky,” he remarked as I opened the door and got out. “You know about those reliability issues people keep complaining about. New import brands can’t be trusted.”

Frank was more of a Chrysler fanatic than a GM one, so I couldn’t blame him for this mistake.

“You know this is basically a Chevy,” I said. “In fact, it IS a Chevy. You gotta let go of your whole ‘all import brands are untrustworthy’ mindset. For Christ’s sake, you own a Mitsubishi!”

“Chrysler,” he corrected. “They changed enough about the Conquest to qualify it as its own model.”

I shook my head and gave up.

“What’s so special about this thing, anyhow?”

I explained to him how it drove far better than anything I’d ever driven. Immediately, he called bullshit.

“Mike, it’s a freaking ISUZU. Hell, your Metro would be faster than that thing.” At this, I strolled over to the passenger door, opened it, and gestured with my arm for Frank to step inside. He reluctantly obliged, shifting nervously as I got in and started it up.

I must say, the Isuzu put on a fantastic show. Swooping bends and steep hills were no match for that car. It was almost as though it was deliberately trying to show off.

At one point I looked over to Frank while we were at a red light. I expected, if anything, a vague, hesitant smile that admitted his mistake. But I’ll never forget that expression he had- it was one of pure shock, of absolute fear. His eyes were locked forward in a frozen state of terror at some unseen thing in front of us.

I should have paid more attention to that look.

When we got back, Frank exited the car and walked into his house without a word. I shook my head and pulled into my drive.

Before I entered my house, I checked the fuel gauge. It had gone up slightly from before, so I assumed that the issue wasn’t going away anytime soon.

While unlocking my front door, I looked over at Frank’s porch and saw his wife, whom shall remain unnamed, leaning on the railing and gazing at the silhouette of the Conquest in the fading light. I’ll admit that I was always particularly fond of her as a person. She had dark green eyes, fair hair, and a pale, smooth face. We’d sometimes sit on the street bench and talk about things. Usually I directed the subject towards cars, while she pretended to be interested.

I turned my GM-branded door key in the slot and went in.

That night, I had a really strange dream.

I was outside my house in the street, polishing my Isuzu. Frank was directly adjacent to me, washing his Conquest with a hose. It was fairly mundane, as dreams went, at least for a while. We just stood there, not saying a word to each other.

At one point, I looked up from the panel I was working on, and at that exact moment, Frank looked up, too. I put my head back down and I could see out of the corner of my eye that he’d done the same. Out of curiosity, I poked my head up once more. In perfect harmony, he followed. When I went back to work, he did the same. It was really… bizarre.

The next day, Frank and I met on his porch for a few beers. It was a tradition we’d developed over the years; one of the few things Frank really enjoyed.

After a few swigs, he turned to me and tapped my shoulder.

“Hey, Mike,” he said, pointing at the I-Mark.

“Yeah?” I inquired, slightly inebriated.

“You should get rid of that thing. It’s bad news.”

“How so?” I asked, incredulously.

He took another swig of liquor. “Well, you see, I had this weird dream last night.”

I sighed, preparing myself for a drunken rambling.

“I was in your car, just sitting in the passenger seat. I could see out the windshield that there wasn’t any sky or ground or any discernable forms. It was just me and that thing.

“I leaned over outside the window and saw the tires spinning endlessly, just floating over the gray abyss.

“Then the radio came on. I pulled myself back in, and the windows scrolled up automatically.

“It said some weird things, Mike. That radio said some pretty fucked-up things. I don’t know about that car, man. You should just trade it for an old Laser or something.”

I rolled my eyes. “Frank, I’m not going to get rid of my car just because of some stupid ‘vision’ you had.”

I turned to look at him and froze. His expression was the same as the one he’d had yesterday when he got out of the car. His gaze was affixed in a straight line, just looking into some unseen void.

I punched his shoulder. “Frank, you okay?”

He shook his head and blinked a few times.

“Yeah, I’m good. May have had a few too many,” he said.

We continued drinking in silence. We sat there for almost half an hour before one of us spoke again.

“Hey, does that thing have a broken fuel gauge?” Frank asked.

I was taken aback. “What?” I asked, surprised that he’d noticed this flaw. For most of yesterday, he’d been staring straight through the windshield. I don’t think he turned towards me once.

“Never mind,” he said, chuckling slightly. “It’s just that, in the dream, I couldn’t help noticing the fuel gauge. It was going up instead of down as we hovered there.”

I realized that this comment was probably a sign that Frank had had more than enough to drink.

“Alright, Franky boy, let’s get you inside. You’re done. No, put that bottle down, come with me.” I helped him up and escorted him to his bathroom, where he slumped down against the sink. I saw an inebriated smile crawl across his face.

“Okay, think you can hold out here, buddy?” I asked, not expecting a sober response. After a few seconds of silence, I shrugged and started out the door.

“Mike,” Frank stuttered, struggling to get up off the floor.

I turned and looked at him.

“I know you can’t take me seriously right now. But I mean it. That car is nothing but trouble, you hear?” His drunk smile had faded into a look of almost sober seriousness. “It’s not just the dream… when I was in there with you, it felt… wrong. Not because of how good it was, but because… I don’t know. It was almost like it didn’t want me in it.” He then smiled once again and laughed. “Oh, Christ, I am out of it. I am so out of it tonight. So out of it.”

I left, bewildered by Frank’s sudden sincerity at this comment.

Before I turned in for the night, I decided, out of curiosity, to check the gauge on my I-Mark. I remembered it specifically having about ¼ of a tank since the last time I drove it. The needle was pointed just above the halfway mark, so I figured I’d remembered it wrong.

I was about to turn and leave when I realized Frank’s wife was strolling down the sidewalk towards me.

“Hi,” she said, lifting up her hair and letting it flow around her shoulders.

“Hi, I replied, taking in the sudden silence that had formed around us.

She turned and glanced towards the house, shaking her head.

“Still passed out?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“Yeah. That’s Frank for you.” She smiled and looked over at the Isuzu. “You know, I never really got what the whole big deal was about you two and cars in general. I don’t really get the appeal.”

I jumped at the opportunity to explain my hobby. “Well, as a kid, I grew up playing with those little Mattel model cars. I loved how cool, how brash and flashy they looked. I fell in love with the concept of the automobile, a machine that could be tailored to your every desire, and could kite you away with the slightest movement of your foot.

“As I grew up, I learned that the feeling of driving could be intoxicating. To be honest…” I realized I was rambling. “Why do you want to know now, anyway? We’ve lived next door to each other for years.”

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve never really had a conversation with just you before,” she said. “It’s just that there hasn’t really been anyone to talk to lately.”

We stared at each other in silence. An SUV rounded the bend and trundled by, snapping me out of my trance.

“Well, I’m gonna head in for today,” I said, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly.

“Me, too,” she nodded, turning around and sighing as she made her way towards the door.

I dreamed of her that night. She was leaning on my Isuzu, smiling and laughing. I wanted so badly to speak, but for some reason I couldn’t. I could only stand there in the street, watching from a distance as she reeled in laughter at some unknown joke.

I was abruptly woken up at about 4 AM by a piercingly loud noise. It took me a second to register what was happening, but after I snapped out of my drowsiness, I realized it was the sound of a car alarm. The first thought that popped into my head, of course, was that someone was trying to steal my I-Mark.

I dashed outside in my bathrobe, hoping to God that I wouldn’t come out just to find someone driving away in my car, screeching the tires.

But when I got to my car, the noise abruptly stopped. The lights weren’t flashing, and everything seemed fine. I checked the door lock, and, sure enough, it was still intact. I glanced over to Frank’s Conquest to see if it was the source of the noise. Nothing was wrong there, either.

I was about to retreat back inside when I heard muffled yelling coming from inside Frank’s home. I saw that a light was on in the upstairs window. Two silhouettes were arguing behind the curtains, which I could scarcely believe were Frank and his wife. In the years that we’d known each other, I’d never seen them fight. Wanting no part in it, I went back inside to make up the sleep I’d lost.

The next day, during our drinking session, I decided not to bring up what I’d seen. I instead asked him, innocently, whether his wife had said anything about my car.

“Nope,” he laughed, “I don’t think she’s into that sort of thing. She hardly even mentions my car, hell.”

I forced a laugh.

“Hey, Mike, there’s something I gotta tell you.” He suddenly changed his tone to a harsh whisper, which caught me somewhat off guard. “I had another dream.”

I didn’t want to hear it, but I let him ramble, just out of curiosity as to what nonsense he would spew out this time.

“So I was standing next to my Conquest, this time with surroundings. It wasn’t any place I’d ever seen before, though. I was in the middle of one long stretch of highway.” He gestured with his hands for emphasis. “Straight as an arrow. Couldn’t see the end of it. No other cars or even people in sight. And it was absolutely silent.

“Then I heard the sound of a car coming from behind. I turned around and saw a pair of headlights appear in the distance. The car was going at insane speeds, judging by how quickly the lights came closer. I was terrified, and tried to get in my Conquest, but it was locked. I could only stare as it neared at an impossible speed. I didn’t know what it felt to be a deer in the headlights until that moment.

“And then, just before it hit me…WHAM!” Frank suddenly slammed his fist on the seat, making me jump. “...it stopped to a dead halt. Faster than I could blink, it went from a billion miles per hour to zero. No braking, no nothing. It just… froze, as if time had stopped.

“I just stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. And then, when I was about to move again, the hood popped open.

“There was no engine, Mike. It was just a mass of writhing, fleshy appendages, melted around a gleaming metal core.

“I woke up drenched in sweat. Pouring, dripping from every nook and--”

“Okay, Frank, that’s enough,” I said. I was pretty disturbed by the image he’d described, and I was wondering if this was a sign that something was wrong.

“I’m just glad she wasn’t in bed with me for that experience,” he chuckled, almost halfheartedly.

“Maybe you should see a psychologist,” I suggested.

“Already have been,” he replied, taking a large swig from his beer. Suddenly, the slight smile he had was completely wiped off of his face.

“Mike, I just need to see under the hood.” He looked at me with a penetrating gaze that made me even more uncomfortable.

“What?” I exclaimed incredulously.

“I know it’s a stupid request, but I just need to see it for myself. Please, just entertain me this once.” Before I could protest, he was already walking towards my Isuzu.

I sighed and jogged over to the hood just as Frank reached it. I slipped my fingers underneath and undid the latch, lifting it up to reveal the glorious 70-horsepower 1.5-liter engine.

“There. All fine. Now, I think it’s time you went inside.” I motioned to close the hood, but in that instant, Frank’s hand shot up and clutched it tightly.

“You okay?” I asked apprehensively. There was no response. Frank just stood there, staring at the engine compartment like he could see through it.

“Okay, you look at it as long as you like,” I said, letting go of the hood. “Just make sure to close it again when you’re done, okay?” I headed back inside. Something was definitely wrong with him, but I didn’t want to intervene if it had anything to do with the arguments he’d been having with his wife.

Frank was still looking at the car when I turned the outer lights off and went to bed.

I had yet another strange dream that night.

I was back in the street, polishing the I-Mark, just like before. Frank’s Chrysler was there, too, but Frank himself was absent from the scene. The hose he’d been holding previously was now laying on the ground, spewing water into the street.

At one point I became transfixed on one particular panel on the Isuzu. I started scrubbing the one spot furiously, until I began to wear away the paint. I just kept rubbing away, until I eventually eroded through the panel itself. I expected to see the exposed chassis when I lifted the brush.

But when I removed my hand, there was no sign of any sort of framework. It was just a gray void.

And it wasn’t just the lighting playing tricks on me. It was as if someone had taken the color gray and just filled an entire shell with it.

As I peered into the hole, the rest of the car began to dissolve around the panel. The windows and doors melted away to reveal more of the endless gray void.

I began to back off, but some unknown force glided me into the spot where the driver’s seat would have been and dropped me there. There was nothing I could do.

I fell into the emptiness, screaming as the world above disappeared from view.

I woke up once again to the sound of a car alarm.

This time I was reluctant to chase after the sound. I was beginning to think I was hallucinating. But I decided to check on my car once more, simply out of curiosity.

I slowly put on my robe and walked outside once more. This time, though, the noise stopped as soon as I set foot outside my door. I made a mental note to ask Frank the next day if he’d heard the same sound as I went back up to bed.

The next morning, I knocked on Frank’s door to see if he could answer my question. When no one responded, I decided to take the I-Mark out on the road.

The first thing I noticed when I got in was that the fuel warning light was on. I still didn’t trust the fuel reading system, so I dipped the tank myself. Sure enough, the dipstick showed that the tank was essentially full.

The driving experience I had that day was one I’ll never forget. I drove through the town, taking corners at speeds I’d never done before. I merged onto the highway and let it loose, and the sheer acceleration left me speechless.

When I came home after a half-day’s worth of driving pleasure, I saw Frank’s wife sitting on my doorstep. I exited the Isuzu, locked it, and strolled up to her, worried that something was wrong.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” I asked. “Where’s Frank?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” she responded. “He left for a day trip last night. Been away the entire day.”

“Crap,” I muttered. “Listen, there’s something I have to ask you: By any chance, did you hear a car alarm go off at about 4:30 last night? And the night before?”

“Not that I remember, why?” She gazed up at me with a look in her beautiful green eyes that read: I need someone to talk to.

“Listen…” I sat down beside her. “I know you’ve been having troubles lately…”

Before I could respond, she reached over and spread her lips over mine. So many emotions raced through my mind-- passion, guilt, pity, but most of all, love. It lasted as long as it needed to.

“I’ve always thought you were such a great kisser,” she said, smiling. “Better than Frank, anyway. Now I know.”

I took her inside. We sat down on the couch and watched Gone in 60 Seconds, kissing every time there wasn’t an action scene. I took her up to my bed halfway through.

As strange as it may sound, we made love to the tune of exhaust notes.

I had the most wonderful dream that night.

I was in the passenger seat of my car, watching as it drove itself across an endless series of winding paths. I’ll admit that I was disappointed that I wasn’t in control, but the feeling of effortlessly gliding over the asphalt was so uplifting that I ignored the urge to order myself into the driver’s seat.

The road slowly began to dip into a long, downhill straight, and suddenly I could feel the wind rushing through my hair, and I realized that I had taken the place of the car. I was traveling on four wheels, propelling myself forward with no effort at all.

It was joyous. It was the most free I’d ever felt, even if it wasn’t in reality.

I was suddenly awakened by the sound of a blaring car alarm. I turned over to my side and realized Frank’s wife was gone. I jumped out, almost carried by the momentum of my dream. I realized in an instant that the alarm was the same I’d heard the nights before. But this time, something was different about it. Somehow, the sound felt more… tangible than before.

I came running outside in my bathrobe to find Frank’s Conquest driven onto his front lawn, half-sunken in the topsoil. I ran around to the side to see if anyone had been hurt. Maybe Frank had had too much to drink for their anniversary, and spun it onto the grass.

I walked around to the side and nearly vomited at the sight of Frank’s wife, laying on the grass with her head wedged in the passenger’s side door.

Bits of skull, flesh, and tooth lay strewn across the grass, and blood was oozing from the side skirts. From the looks of it, her head had been repeatedly smashed by the heavy metal door, until it had been crushed into nothingness. Grey matter was stuck in the tire treads, and as I turned to look behind the Conquest, I saw that it had dug into the ground with wheelspin, and splattered blood and brains on the side of my house.

I stood there briefly, gazing in disbelief. Then, I heard the distinct shattering of glass over the piercing wail of the car alarm.

I turned away from the gruesome scene to see Frank, cutting into the windshield of my Isuzu with a buzzsaw. He had already torn open most of the fabric interior, and slashed all four tires. It looked like he’d been under the car, too, judging by the layer of earth coating his back.

I didn’t care about getting hurt. I didn’t care about anything at that point. I just ran over and tackled him to the ground, tears streaming down both of our faces.

I called the cops and they took Frank away. I watched them pull his mud-coated body into the cop car, struggling to hold him back as he kicked and swore at my mangled Isuzu.

I knew there was something off about him that past week, but I’d never have thought he could resort to… that. I suppose I should have seen his comments from the days before as a warning of what he was planning. I still can’t believe to this day that I was living next door to someone who was capable of such an act.

As I testified in court during his trial, there was still a part of me that thought he could be saved. But I knew that the acts of a madman couldn’t be justified.

Of course, I admitted that I was partly at fault. If I hadn’t provoked him, maybe he wouldn’t have snapped. But I know that she deserved better. I always felt guilty that I was the one who had indirectly caused her death.

Frank was given life imprisonment on charges of first-degree murder, but he killed himself two days into his sentence. Apparently he bashed his head against the concrete wall until his skull split straight through.

I talked to Frank’s psychologist, and he said Frank hadn’t shown any signs of potential psychopathic tendencies at all during their meetings. Of course, he couldn’t give many details away, but he did mention that Frank loved to talk about cars.

I tried to salvage what I could from the Isuzu, but it was hopeless. Frank had cut straight through the wishbone with the saw, and smashed every single fluid system on the thing. The bodywork was too damaged to even consider a rebuild, so I was ultimately forced to scrap it.

I’ll never forget what a fantastic time I had in that thing. I’ve tested many other cars since, even other I-Marks, and I haven’t been able to achieve anything close to it since.

I’ve tried to forget, but I can’t.

You see, I got a letter in the mail shortly after I sent the car off. It had been written just before the trial.

Mike,

I know you’ll be looking at what I did and saying I’m a lunatic. But I did what I had to do.

You don’t understand, Mike. The night before I killed her, I had another dream.

I dreamed I was in your car, Mike.

I was driving it down the country road. It was the one from our anniversary trip to Spain. I had complete control.

And then you came by in my car. And my wife was in the passenger seat.

You were laughing. She was talking and you were smiling, holding her hand on the gear knob.

Then your car started collapsing in on itself. The plastics turned into organs- human organs- and it encased me in a mass of flesh and muscle. It covered my entire body, poked into me like an iron maiden. I could see through two hollow cylinders that formed around my eyes, but inside them were rows and rows of metal spikes.

All control I had was ripped from me, and I was forced to watch as it glided over to you two in my car and tore you to pieces and bloody chunks.

That fucking car. I told you it was bad news. I just didn’t know how bad it was until that night.

Mike, it fucking spoke to me. In real life, not the dream. I’m not crazy; it whispered right in my fucking ear when I was looking at it that day. It came right from under the hood, almost as if it was calling.

It said that she was going to kill me in order to be with you.

I never told you, but we’d been growing apart for several years, and I always suspected you were involved. After that thing spoke to me, I searched through her drawer and I found a note saying that she was planning to run away on our anniversary, and saw that she had hidden a loaded revolver beside it.

I had to do something.

I didn’t want to kill her, Mike. I’ve regretted it ever since. I should have just called the cops on her. But that car knew, somehow. It made me do it. I don’t know how. Hell, I don’t think it was even a car. I don’t know what it was; something residing within a car’s shell. Something supernatural.

I did you a favor by smashing it up.

Because I know one thing, and it’s that it was pure evil.

-Frank

I’ve kept that note ever since. I don’t like looking at it, but I can’t help myself. Something about it unsettles me. I suppose learning the inner workings of a lunatic does that to you. I read it over and over with some sort of unstoppable morbid curiosity, and every time I do, I think of her.

I still dream of her sometimes. I dream we’re in Spain, coasting down an endless open road in that Isuzu. Like Frank described.

And I can’t help but wake up and stare forward, just contemplating what my life would have been like if I hadn’t gotten that car. Maybe he would have acted anyway. I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever know.

Apparently, that note was withheld for fear of swaying the trial, before I testified. In any case, I doubt I would’ve argued in his favor.

There’s one last thing I should probably mention. On the day that I scrapped the I-Mark, I started it up, just to see if it would turn on. To give me some sort of closure, I guess, even if it was in vain.

And, even though the fuel lines had been cut and all the spark plugs had been removed and destroyed, the thing started. Not even a stutter. Just spun right up.

I shut it off immediately and turned away as it was lifted onto the truck. I decided it wasn’t worth saving if it meant having a constant reminder of what happened.

The last sight I got of that beautiful vehicle before it was hauled off was the fuel gauge, which pointed just above the F.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

[cutsliceddiced]

New top story from Time: Constance Woodson Worked Hard All Her Life. How Did She End Up Homeless During a Pandemic?

A few days after her 60th birthday, Constance Woodson took in the early-June sun on a bench in New York City’s Madison Square Park. Masked, except when she sipped her coffee, she reflected on her luck. The good news was that, in the midst of a pandemic, she had secured a job, as a contact tracer. She could do it from her home, with a company-issued laptop and headset. The bad news was that her current home was a room in a hotel–provided by New York City’s Department of Homeless Services (DHS)–where, she was informed, laptops were not permitted and wi-fi was not provided. Woodson had finally found a job that might get her out of her long struggle with homelessness, but she couldn’t do it, because she was homeless.

The DHS caseworkers at the Best Western Bowery Hanbee eventually told her she could bring in the laptop. But there was still the wi-fi issue, and then Woodson would have to figure out how to do a sensitive task with a roommate who liked to watch Disney cartoons day and night with the blinds drawn, and without chairs or lamps. They had been removed, she was told, because the hotel was being sold. “The system is not designed to move you forward,” she says. “I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, but it’s been heartbreak after heartbreak.”

At last count, in 2019, more than 560,000 Americans were homeless, and 16.5% of them–about 92,000 people–were in New York State. New York City has the highest number of homeless people of any metropolitan area in the U.S., although Washington, D.C., has the highest per capita, and because of New York City’s extensive shelter system, Los Angeles has far more people living on the streets. According to the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), 40% of homeless people are African American, like Woodson.

Homelessness has recently been getting worse, with a 3% increase in the number of homeless people just in the past year. But, says Nan Roman, head of the National Alliance to End Homelessness, “there’s never been anything like this.” One Columbia University analysis of unemployment figures suggested that by the end of 2020, homelessness would increase by 40%. In July, about 44.5 million Americans told the Household Pulse Survey takers at the Census Bureau that they either hadn’t made last month’s mortgage or rent payment on time or doubted they could make the next one. Unless Congress acts, the moratorium on evicting people from most federally subsidized housing will run out at the end of July. “Starting on July 25, 2020, landlords must give 30-day notice before pursuing eviction for nonpayment between March 27, 2020, and July 24, 2020,” says a HUD official. The Aspen Institute estimates that by October, 1 in 5 American renters could face eviction.

The world they will encounter is, to be generous, not very compassionate. Even before the pandemic, Woodson was kept at such distance and treated with such suspicion that she often felt as if she were contagious. In the COVID era, life for unsheltered people has gotten even more desperate. John Sheehan, director of ecumenical outreach services for Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York, who has been working among the homeless community for 40 years and who has known Woodson since 2018, says it’s not just that people have nowhere to go, no bathrooms to use, and fewer places to sleep, it’s that even the few dollars they used to get from passersby have dried up with the lack of foot traffic. “They’ve lost all the connections to the community,” says Sheehan. “I met one of my regular clients, and he said he hadn’t eaten for three days.”

Kholood Eid for TIMEWoodson holds a yoga warrior pose in Central Park on July 16

People end up with nowhere to live for myriad reasons, but there is one constant: it’s much easier to lose a home than to get a new one. Eight years ago, when her mother died after a three-year illness, Woodson discovered the family owed so much money on the home the two of them had lived in with Woodson’s daughter, Joelle, that the bank was repossessing it. Since then, her opportunities for stable housing have flattened like a slowly leaking tire. The experience has upended not only her sense of security but also her self-image. “I do not recognize this person that I have become,” says Woodson, who says at one point she briefly considered suicide. “I keep trying to figure out how I got here, what I did wrong.”

Woodson’s story is not full of dramatic mistakes. She recalls her childhood as middle-class; her father was a musician, and her mom worked in HR at the University of Missouri–Kansas City. It was, she says, “domestically turbulent”; her parents divorced when she was young, and her mother got the house. Woodson has worked most of her life, including seven years in health care administration and 13 as a manicurist at a high-end spa. In 2008, she got a degree in organizational leadership and development from Rockhurst University. With the aid of scholarships, she and her ex-husband put Joelle through Kansas City’s prestigious Pembroke Hill School, and the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute (RPI) in New York.

But the foreclosure revealed how precarious her situation really was. By many estimates, homeownership is the most reliable wealth-building vehicle the American economic factory has ever produced. Home equity allows people to get money when they need it, which delivers them from many financial perils. It can also help them to accrue and pass along wealth. Paying off a home, however, requires not only a certain level of income but a reliable one. Otherwise, people can end up worse off than they started. Labor Department figures show that in April, on the heels of the economic shutdown, fewer than half of all African Americans were employed, the lowest rate in four decades.

In the first quarter of 2020, 74% of white people owned their homes, whereas only 44% of Black people did. This is due in part to discriminatory practices over the years that have limited Black people’s access to homes in certain areas and to mortgages, especially those at attractive interest rates. This disparity in ownership is one of the reasons that, in 2016, the median Black household wealth was $13,024 while the median white house-hold had $149,703. The loss of a home, moreover, doesn’t affect just one generation. When RPI closed its dorms for the summer, Joelle took low-paying employment as a camp counselor just to ensure a roof over her head. “What freaks me out is the fragility of everything,” Joelle says. “There’s a very thin line between having a roof and not having a roof.”

As the few jobs following the spa’s closure dried up, Woodson did what most people do when they have to move out and don’t have much money: she moved around from city to city, staying with friends or family, bartering her car for rent, dipping into her savings and petsitting. By 2016, Kansas City no longer felt like home, so she decided to join her daughter in New York. She bought a one-way ticket east, and arrived on the day Joelle graduated.

While she looked for work, Woodson bunked in with Joelle and her three roommates, but she was never able to pay much rent, and after about a year, the situation grew tense. Joelle, 26, paid for so many Airbnbs that she too began to get into financial difficulty. She still gives her mother as much money as she can spare, but she can’t afford a place for them both on her salary. “I worry about my mother every single day,” says Joelle, who works for a communications and marketing agency. “There’s a limit to what you can actually do. You hope there’s some other system that can pick up what you can’t, but there’s actually not.”

Woodson is resourceful, funny and plucky. Sheehan says she’s always advising other participants in his programs on where to find meals or a bed. She’s a client advocate at the Coalition for the Homeless. She gets SNAP food benefits ($194 a month) and keeps her Medicaid up to date, but has never been on welfare. But on March 20, when New York Governor Andrew Cuomo imposed the stay-at-home order, none of that was enough.

First, a church-run shelter Woodson used most Sundays to get a decent sleep (and where I occasionally volunteer) closed. Then the drop-in center where she sometimes scored a chair for the night halved its intake. One of her daughter’s roommates had been in contact with someone who had the virus, so Woodson couldn’t go there. The now deserted streets became an even less safe place for a woman on her own to sleep. Many of the soup kitchens closed, as they figured out how to feed people safely. Woodson, who had always resisted entering a city-run shelter, believing she was better off on her own, finally applied for a place. “I thought, I’m resilient, I’ve been through so much,” she says. “I can just do this for a few months, until I get a job.”

The DHS has helped countless people get off the streets, but Woodson found it to be illsuited to assist someone like her. Those who are the most vulnerable–physically disabled, mentally ill, addicted or formerly incarcerated–have particular programs to assist them with a place to live. Woodson is none of those things. She falls to the bottom of the list for those who need help. “They did a lot of blood tests and psych evaluations,” she says. “They looked at me, and I could tell they didn’t know what to do with me.”

At first, she was assigned to the 200-bed Casa de Cariño in the Bronx, which had just become the first shelter to have a reported case of COVID-19. (The DHS says that as of July 16, it has found 1,358 people living in shelters or on the street with COVID-19; 1,189 of them have recovered, and 103 of them have died.) Terrified, she called Joelle, who called an old friend. He had an apartment in Brooklyn that was waiting for renters who had changed their minds when the virus hit. He let Woodson stay there while it was empty.

Having a place to go to, to cook, to stay allowed Woodson to recall what it was like to be regarded as just a person walking down the street instead of a “street person.” She was not an outcast, not a problem. “It is so much better than I thought,” she said after a few weeks there. “I’m in a neighborhood. There are all sorts of people wandering around. I’m just one of them.”

By the time the landlord needed his apartment, most New York City shelter residents had been moved to hotels. The Best Western seemed clean and safe, but having tasted autonomy, Woodson found the restrictions arbitrary and cruel. The staff were overwhelmed, and she could never get in to see her case manager. She says she even got to envying her room-mate, “perfectly content watching her cartoons and stocking up on snacks.”

Just as she began to sink into despair, a family from one of the churches she went to offered her their apartment; they had moved with their five kids to Texas for the summer. All she now needed was the equipment for her new job, but having no permanent address slowed the delivery, and a month passed before she was actually working. The family’s lease is up at the end of July. As of press time, Woodson was not sure where she would go.

Perhaps if Woodson has made any mistake, it is this: She hoped for too much. She hoped for more than America was prepared to offer a Black woman who has had some run-of-the-mill setbacks. She will not settle for cartoons and free snacks. Woodson doesn’t want to be on welfare, doesn’t want to be in the shelter system, doesn’t want to just pick up jobs here and there. She wants meaningful work, independence and stability. She wants to be the one who can offer her daughter a place to stay during the pandemic.

Shopping for food at her local corner store in the Bronx, she can’t find healthy options. She wants to ask the people there: “Why do you feel like this is what we should settle for?” But she doesn’t. She just takes the long walk to Whole Foods and buys a little less. And she wants a place of her own. “I’m done with the shelter system,” Woodson says. “My plan is never to return.”

When she feels down, Woodson has two antidotes: yoga and the preacher T.D. Jakes, whom she listens to most mornings. “T.D. Jakes talks about mountains,” she says. “You can’t go around them. You have to go over them. My mom made the decision to get a reverse mortgage, and I can’t get around it.” Recently she was listening to a sermon about the beggars at the gates of Jerusalem. “I feel like that’s me,” she says. “I can see the gates, but I can’t quite get through them.”

Despite it all, Woodson retains her positive outlook. She can’t help but notice the kinds of problems she’s been wrestling with for years have emerged in other people’s lives during the pandemic. Suddenly everyone has to play by more rules; everyone is regarded with a little more suspicion; lots of people have limited access to public bathrooms. Suddenly there are many stories of men and women who face great uncertainty, worry about rent, have to think about whether there will be food that day. “People are worried about losing their houses. I know what that feels like,” she says. “It’s not, ‘Look what I’ve gone through. Welcome to my world.’ It’s that I haven’t felt so much like the outsider or the freak. I feel like now, finally, we’re all in this together–and maybe we can have a conversation.”

via https://cutslicedanddiced.wordpress.com/2018/01/24/how-to-prevent-food-from-going-to-waste

#Time #top stories #IFTTT #news

[ptersparkers]

You're the Kindest Person I've Ever Met

A/N: Holy heck, this is little long. It’s like, 2.6k words. I saw a gif of Steve offering some popcorn to a girl, who rolled her eyes and Steve looked so upset I was like??????? My poor, innocent, and kind angel. I wanted to write a pre-serum Steve imagine to make myself feel better after watching that gif lolololol. Also I don’t speak French and I used google translate so I hope these are accurate translations (and I’m so sorry if they aren’t). Happy reading!

The restaurant you worked at was bustling with customers. You had to sacrifice your ten minute break due to the lack of staff as well as the amount of people pouring into the building. You passed your friend, Rosemary, on your way to the kitchen. 

“I swear, people are getting so fussy about not getting a table. I’m one person trying her best,” she huffed before grabbing three menus and escorting the family to their table. You chuckled and threw your cloth over your shoulder, entered the kitchen, and reached for the food in front of you. 

Your mother owned the infamous restaurant. It had been known for its pies and breakfast scrambles, but there were other delectable food options people enjoyed. The restaurant had been word-of-mouth type of advertising, and your mother was a popular lady in the neighbourhood, so it was no wonder when the restaurant became busy every day. You worked here when you had some free time on your hands. Usually, you’d be taking classes at medical school to become a registered nurse and working at the diner helped you pay for your tuition as well as other things. Your mother had no issue paying for both your salary and your tuition. 

Another hour went by and your mother granted you and Rosemary your missed breaks. You thanked her for not letting you die of exhaustion, to which she said you were being over dramatic. You laughed and went into the back room, grabbing a glass of water before sitting on the small couch. 

“How’re you and Bucky?“ you asked Rosemary. 

"We’re doin’ just fine. I’m not sure if you’d call us boyfriend and girlfriend yet, but we go on lots of dates,” she replied. 

“Have you guys kissed yet?" 

"Twice, actually.” You wiggled your eyebrows and Rosemary swatted you with the back of her hand. “It’s not like that. I wish it was, but, I don’t know,” she huffed. 

“Hey,” you began. “Any guy would be lucky to call you his girl. You’re a beautiful woman and Bucky would be absolutely crazy to let you go.” Rosemary blushed and reached over to give you a hug. 

“How about you? Any men in your life? I feel like I haven’t asked you that question since you started med school." 

You shook your head. "No men, Rosie. It’s hard enough balancing school and work. Plus, I’m afraid the men will chastise me for wanting to become a registered nurse. Women can’t do anything nowadays,” you said, frowning. Rosemary patted your knee. 

“You’ll find someone. Don’t rush, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because Bucky and I are going out.” You we’re grateful for Rosemary. Your break ended much quicker that you’d like and you went back to serving more customers, trying to make this night end faster. 

When the night did come to an end, there were only a few people scattered everywhere. The diner technically closed in ten minutes ago, but you couldn’t kick anyone out until they were done with their meal. Rosemary asked you to take the order from the two men sitting in the booth near the jukebox and you grabbed your pen and notepad. 

“Hello, welcome to Roxie’s. I’m Y/N, and I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get for you boys?” you inquired. The man who wore a uniform looked up from the menu briefly and pointed to the pastry in French. 

“I’m not sure how to pronounce that,” he said. 

“Croissant d'amande avec glaçure au sucre. I’ve told you this how many times since we’ve been going here?” Almond croissant with a sugar glaze. The other man beside the man in the uniform said. 

“Tu parle français?” you asked. Do you speak French? The man shyly nodded. “Est-ce que vous parlez couramment?” Are you fluent? 

“Oui,” he replied. Yes. You smiled. Not a lot of people spoke French, your mother’s native tongue, here in your part of Brooklyn. 

“Voulez-vous une boisson ou quelque chose à manger?” Do you want a drink or something to eat? 

“Just a chocolate shake and a chocolate croissant,” he replied in English. You nodded and wrote down the order before returning to the kitchen. 

Steve was absolutely baffled that you hadn’t tried to flirt with Bucky. He was the talk of the town and every girl wanted to be his. Steve, on the other hand, barely got noticed by anyone other than people who wanted to best the crap out of him. Girls never looked in his direction and he was so intrigued as to why you did. 

You came out moments later with their order and placed it on the table. Soon, they were the only two customers left in the diner. 

“Eat up, you two. We’re closing soon.” You laughed and smiled at Steve, who tried to return the smile. When you left, Bucky playfully hit Steve on the arm.

“She seems to be interested in you,” Bucky teased. Steve shrugged. 

“Maybe she’s trying to use me to get to you. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.“ 

“You sell yourself short, Steve.” He shrugged once again and drank his shake when the girl returned with her friend. 

“Bucky, meet Y/N. Y/N, this is Bucky,” Rosemary introduced. 

“So you’re the famous Bucky I’ve been hearing about,” you teased. You held out your hand and shook Bucky’s hand. 

“Y/N. That’s a nice name. Rosie here talks about you like you’re her damn lifeline, or something.” You chuckled and your eyes wander to Steve, who was avoiding your eye. 

“That’s Steve. He’s Bucky’s best friend,” Rosemary said. Steve looked at you and you offered a small wave accompanied by a grin. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve,” you said, holding out your hand. Steve hesitantly shook your hand. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Y/N." 

The pair finished their food pretty quickly, mostly because they felt bad that they were keeping you guys from going home. Your mother let you go while she finished some paper work. The walk to your apartment wasn’t too far, since you moved out of your childhood home, but you wanted to lay on your bed and sleep the night away. You walked towards the front to meet the trio after grabbing your coat from the back room. 

"Y/N! You should come to the carnival with Bucky, Steve, and I tomorrow night. Tomorrow’s the last day it’ll be in town,” she urged. Bucky was too busy paying attention to Rosemary and Steve was looking at the ground. He was sure you would object the offer because he felt that you didn’t want to be alone with him. To his surprise, you agreed. 

“Sure. It sounds like a lot of fun. I could use a break from studying, too,“ you said. By now, the three of you were outside. 

"Let’s meet at the entrance?” Rosemary questioned. 

“Y/N and I can meet you by the red flag pole." 

"Sounds good, doll,” Bucky said before flashing her a smile. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers before turning to leave. Steve didn’t say anything but followed Bucky. 

“Bye, Steve,” you said with a wave. “See you tomorrow.” Steve returned your wave and turned back around to follow Bucky. 

You and Rosemary walked to your apartment complex in which you both were neighbours. 

“I don’t think Steve likes me very much,” you confessed. Rosemary shook her head. 

“He’s just self-conscious, is all. He told me he’s not very good with women. I think he’s a little surprised that you’re showing any interest in him.“ 

“I hope so. He seems like a really nice person. Plus, he speaks French.” Rosemary wiggled her eyebrows and you stuck your tongue out at her before bidding your goodbyes, promising to meet each other in the lobby the next day.

You found yourself grimacing as soon as you saw Rosemary and Bucky embrace, which soon turned out into a make-out session. 

“Okay, kids, I really don’t need to see this,” you joked as you left to enter the carnival. Steve was beside you, not wanting to be the third wheel. You all paid for your tickets and decided what you guys wanted to do first. 

“Why don’t you and Steve go wherever you want and Bucky and I can be by ourselves. I’m sure you don’t want to see us be all couple-y all the time,“ Rosemary said. Steve looked at you, not sure of what to say because he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

“That’s a great idea, Rosie. We can meet back here for dinner at seven?” Rosemary and Bucky nodded, leaving you and Steve alone. 

“So, what do you want to do first?” Steve asked, hesitantly. 

“Let’s just walk around. We can see what we want to do while we walk.” You both walked in silence for a while. You could practically hear Steve’s thoughts jumping out at you from the way he kept glancing at you. You stopped and faced him. 

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked. Steve furrowed his eyebrows. 

“No. Why would you think that?” You crossed your arms. 

“You haven’t said a word to me since we left Bucky and Rosie alone. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or anything,“ you said in a soft tone. Steve couldn’t believe a girl cared about how he felt and he found himself speechless. "It’s okay, let’s just keep walking.” The both of you began walking again. 

“It’s stupid,” he said. “I don’t want to ruin your day by telling you what’s on my mind.” You shook your head and put your hand on Steve’s arm, signalling it was okay. 

“I don’t mind, really. It’s better than seeing you brood.” Steve sighed and struggled to get the word out. 

“All the girls chase after Bucky and usually leave me on the side. I was surprised that you didn’t pay attention to Bucky last night and I figured you were playing hard to get. I was even more surprised that you agreed to come with me,“ he confessed. "I’m not used to being around girls, let alone a girl who wants to actually be around me.” Your facial features softened and you stopped walking, stepping in front of Steve once again. 

“You’re worth more than whatever people tell you, okay? I don’t want you to feel like I’m only with you to get to Bucky. I wouldn’t do that to you and I wouldn’t do that to Rosie,” you said. Steve smiled and savoured the feeling of your hands grabbing his. Boldly, Steve let go of your hands and offered his arm to you, which you took. 

“Isn’t it the guy who’s supposed to be telling the girl comforting things?” You chuckled. 

“Times change. I believe a woman should be able to be her own person.”

“That’s a great way to think. Be your own person, Y/N.” You smiled at him. All your life, you met boys who never once agreed with you. They always wanted to be the big man and they wanted women to be inferior. Your father almost had a heart attack when you said you wanted to enrol in medical school, but with a lot of convincing, he knew you wouldn’t give up your passion. 

“You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, Steve Rogers. I’m finding it hard to believe you don’t have a girl,” you said. Steve’s cheeks turned into a shade of light pink as you spoke. He shrugged and kicked the dirt with his shoe. 

“Well, I can’t really answer that. I’m not as strong or muscular as other guys,” he said.

“I don’t think that should matter. You’re a very nice person.” Steve looked at you and smiled. 

“I’m glad you think so. You’re very kind yourself." 

The night went on and the both of you met Rosemary and Bucky to grab some dinner before heading your separate ways again, promising to meet at the exit by nine. The night seemed too short and you found yourself telling Steve stories and secrets, and him doing the same. At one point, the wind made you shiver, and Steve insisted that you wear his coat. You tried to protest, but he slung his jacket around your shoulders and you sent him a smile in return. Steve was so nervous in the beginning, but you made him feel as if he was one of the strong guys he aspired to be. You boosted his confidence and gave him a reason to smile. 

You both agreed that the ferris wheel would be the last ride you two went on before meeting your friends. The line wasn’t very long and you sat in a cart, awaiting to stop at the top. Somewhere during your time together, Steve had found the courage to slip his hand in yours. You didn’t look at him, but he could see the grin you wore on your lips when he did. You sat next to each other and you felt the night breeze whisk through your hair. You laughed when a sudden jerk of the ferris wheel sent you in Steve’s direction. He held onto you until you two were parked at the top. 

"I had a fantastic time tonight, Steve,” you said. "You were the perfect gentleman.“ He grinned at you. 

"Forgive me for being forward,” he said to you, mustering up even more courage than he had when he held your hand, “but may I kiss you?" 

You nodded and closed your eyes. Steve pressed a small, sweet kiss on your lips. You could tell he was inexperienced, but it didn’t matter. He closed his eyes as well and you both relished in the moment. He put his hands on your neck and kept you there for a short while, but the ferris wheel jerked and you both pulled away, startled. You both looked at each other and laughed before finding yourself being taken off of the ferris wheel. This time, it was you who reached for Steve’s hand. He smiled a genuine smile and followed you as you led the way out of the carnival. 

You met up with Bucky and Rosemary. He walked her to the car you both came from, leaving you and Steve alone for the third time that night. 

"I had a really nice time, Steve,” you said. 

“Me too. You made me feel like I was worth something. I’m really grateful for that,” said Steve. You smiled and reached out to put your hand on his chest. 

“Is there any way we could continue seeing each other?” Steve perked up when you asked. He wasn’t sure where the night was ending or if he’d ever see you again outside of the diner. 

“Y-Yeah, of course,” he said nervously. You smiled and slowly lifted yourself to press a sweet kiss onto his cheek. 

“Thank you for tonight. Oh, and here’s your jacket,” you said, sliding off the jacket from your shoulders. Steve took the jacket from your hands and turned to Bucky when he yelled his name.

“Way to ruin the moment,” Steve muttered. You laughed.

“Just ask for me if you ever find yourself at Roxie’s. I want to be the one who greets you,” you said.

“Got it. I’d like for you to be the one who greets me.” Steve smiled at you and waved as he walked to Bucky. You blew him a kiss and he laughed, mimicking a catching motion and pressing it to his heart. You walked to Rosemary, who stood there, smirking.

“It seems like you and Steve got along pretty well,” she said.

“You know what? Yes, yes we did. Tell me whenever Steve comes to the diner. I want to be the first to greet him,” you said as you climbed into her car.

“Whatever you say, lovebird, whatever you say.”

#steve rogers #my writing #you're the kindest person i've ever met

[asfeedin]

The Coronavirus Economy: How a master dog trainer to influential Londoners is handling business during the pandemic

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Clear spring skies, warm weather, and blooming fields of daffodils and bluebells would—in any other year—see James Hearle taking packs of London’s poshest pooches to the countryside for their ideal day out. He is after all known as the dog man for London’s elite.

A sequence of personal crises made him reevaluate corporate life with the U.K.’s major retailers, retrain as a master trainer at the U.K.’s Guild of Dog Trainers, and make the lifestyle change that finally led to the founding of his exclusive doggy day care, Dogs and Kisses, in 2009. “It’s a lifestyle I’ve taken on to be able to surround myself with my nine dogs and work from my home and bring as many dogs into my life as I can,” he says.

Over the past 11 years, Dogs and Kisses has developed into an exclusive monthly membership club—famous for its monthslong waiting list of dogs looking to join the best friends of powerful CEOs, heads of financial institutions, and celebrities. And all of whom live in London’s wealthiest Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea.

Dogs and Kisses members would usually have a chauffeured pickup in the morning for their run of countryside fields, chasing rabbits, lounging in a hydrotherapy pool and sun-beds in the garden, and curling up to rest in a glamorous country kitchen, before returning home. But this spring has changed everything for the U.K. pet care industry, and businesses like Dogs and Kisses, as man’s best friends enter their second month under coronavirus lockdown.

Over the past 11 years, Dogs and Kisses has developed into an exclusive monthly membership club—famous for its monthslong waiting list of dogs looking to join the best friends of powerful CEOs, heads of financial institutions, and celebrities.

James Hearle

Fortune spoke with Hearle for a new series, The Coronavirus Economy, to ask about how COVID-19 has affected his business, his finances, his personal life, as well as his view of the future. The following Q&A has been condensed and lightly edited for clarity.

Fortune: What did normal life look like for you, and Dogs and Kisses, before the March lockdown?

Hearle: I run the business out of my home with my nine dogs, and we always have dogs boarding with us in the house as well. One of my staff lives with me, and she has three dogs, and in total I usually have up to seven staff members who work with me every day. All kinds of people love dogs. We serve CEOs, heads of financial institutions, actors, and pop stars. We also have people who send their dogs to us who don’t necessarily work. They have nannies for their children and housekeepers, but their dog wants a day out, which is great. That’s where we come in and service clientele who are elite but diverse.

Before the lockdown, most of my time was spent liaising with clients. I was also managing schedules, bookings, pickup and drop-offs for the dogs in day care and boarding, staff rosters, administration. I would also try to personally exercise some of our members. And then, I’d take personal time to exercise my two horses as well. On average, I was working around 16 hours; and with a house full of staff, resident dogs, and our day-care members. It’s usually so busy here from the time I wake up, I’ve never had a regular holiday like Christmas or Easter, or even the time to wake up to a lovely cup of coffee and just chill out.

When the pandemic hit, how did your life change?

We didn’t really notice much of a difference at first. We put in social distancing measures, and we were following guidelines from wearing gloves to go to each home for pickups to sanitizers in our vehicles, cleaning the dog beds everyday. When Boris Johnson announced the U.K. lockdown and closed all nonessential businesses, a lot of our clients contacted us minutes after the speech was over, panicked, declaring they were leaving London, and wouldn’t need our services at this time. Our bookings fell, and we had to close our doors for day care immediately. It’s the first time we’ve ever had to do this. I was absolutely petrified. We managed to persuade the owners of three dogs to let them indefinitely board with us in the countryside. They were originally going to put them on private jets and take them to other countries.

We live quite hand to mouth, and our margin isn’t much. Our rent’s astronomical, our overheads are sky-high. I tried to keep as many staff as I could, but I genuinely could not. I furloughed them as soon as the government announced its aid package for furloughed staff so they could keep getting paid. So it turns out I’m busier in this lockdown than I ever was before. Between my remaining staff member and myself, we are now doing the work that was done by seven people. I am doing all the manual labor, taking care of the dogs, maintaining our hygiene standards, business administration, and at the end of the day, I’ve also got to now personally care for the two horses that we have.

You have a high-end client base and a monthly fee model. Has that helped cash flows?

It’s been a mixed bag of people and their response to the crisis. A lot of people, even those running cash-rich businesses, are really scared and clinging to their money, especially with the uncertainty of how long this pandemic and a lockdown is going to last. Since we do a monthly fee, we would have, of course, ensured fees were not taken for no service. We had planned to credit unused days or allocate them to boarding when our day care was allowed to open back up again.

These fees are critical to our cash flows, in order to survive and be able to operate at the end of this. Some clients—including the head of a rather famous fashion company—threatened to pull their dog’s membership completely if the monthly model continued. Others who have fled to their second homes in the countryside, insist on paying us the monthly fee, which I think is so nice.

James Hearle founded his exclusive doggy day care, Dogs and Kisses, in 2009.

James Hearle

How are you holding up in the pandemic, personally?

I am so stressed on a daily basis that I am only sleeping about four hours every night and trying to figure out what bills I am going to allocate the tiny amount of money that is coming in to. I have my furloughed staff texting me daily, worrying whether they will have a job when they come back. I keep telling them, of course they are. I am worried because of the uncertainty of everything.

While before, my time was spent in huge part on the administration of the business, and about four or five hours with the dogs, it is now literally all day and night, every day. But this strange situation has also really reminded me about the core of the business, and I am looking at life in a different light. Walking every dog myself has been refreshing. I’m noticing issues in the business that slipped throughout the cracks, like extraordinarily high phone bills or astronomical waste of cleaning products. This is quite the opportunity to get a clear focus, identify unnecessary expenses, and economize.

I’m trying to embrace and make the most of it, because it is probably the only time ever this is going to happen in my lifetime. But social distancing has been the really hard part. While I live and breathe dogs, I work from home, we are boarding dogs all the time, my staff is usually around all day as well, and friends usually don’t appreciate 15 dogs creating havoc on visits. So I would visit friends quite a few times in the week, just to relax. But now, with it being quieter, I am learning to just relax in my own home.

Since the pandemic hit, I even thought about going back to my corporate job in retail. But I always wanted lots of dogs, and now that I have nine of my own, I can’t really get out of this business. Cost-wise, it would be unsustainable to go back to a corporate job, and I cannot get rid of my animals. This job doesn’t make you rich; it’s a lifestyle choice really, rather than a career.

When this is over, what do you think it will mean for a business like yours?

My fear is that a lot of companies with big offices have learnt that they can save money, because it has been proven that their employees can be productive at home. I am worried if we manage to survive and return after the lockdown, our day-care service will drop off as people work from home more permanently. But on the flip side, a lot of people who don’t stay with their dogs every day are probably now finding that their dogs are bouncing off the wall, with all the lockdown restrictions, and spending a serious amount of time with them.

The majority of my clients have reassured me that as soon as everything is back to normal, they’ll be back. Their dogs are bored and restless as there is nowhere for them to run and exercise. A few clients—like ones who own large hotels and restaurants—may be worse hit than most. Some who are my bread-and-butter clients have reduced their salaries to nothing to save their businesses and may take more time to recover. They’ll come back when they can.

I was never interested in multiple branches or franchising, even in the good times, since the standards I provide would be hard to replicate without a personal touch. So I am contemplating a pivot for the business to be centered more around boarding and back to my core skill as a master dog trainer. That’s what made us special when we started off, and it has almost got lost. I would need a rather big marketing push for that, and at this point, there is not enough money in the bank to seriously plan for that pivot. But I unless I can get more dogs to board with us now, as a business, we probably won’t survive past the middle of June.

More coronavirus coverage from Fortune:

—This famed economist doesn’t think we’re headed for another Great Recession —South Korea has the most comprehensive coronavirus data. What it’s taught us so far —10 questions about the 2020 election during the coronavirus pandemic, answered —6 steps to sustainably flatten the coronavirus curve —How hackers are exploiting the coronavirus—and how to protect yourself —Hong Kong launches a surveillance operation to track suspected coronavirus patients —Listen to Leadership Next, a Fortune podcast examining the evolving role of CEOs —WATCH: The race is on to create a coronavirus antiviral drug and vaccine

Subscribe to Fortune’s Outbreak newsletter for a daily roundup of stories on the coronavirus and its impact on global business.

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[blog-researchblog]

My interest in Animation

Reflection on the 7 questions

The article, 7 Powerful Questions to Find Out What You Want to Do with Your LIfe ,by Scott Christ , asks seven questions to make one think as to what they should pick for a career path. The article brings one’s passions, accomplishments, limits, goals, admiration, dislikes, and drive into question. The career path that fits me is Animation. I’m passionate about video games, animated series, and art in the world in general. I’m in my most concentrated state when I’m drawing and animating. Growing up I was always fascinated in how video games are cartoons brought to life. I wondered what the process was, how many people it took, and how long it took to make these things final. I have always loved drawing. I spent a lot of my free time growing up just drawing and watching others draw to try and figure out their techniques. 

I take pride in things such as always having a GPA above a 3.0 throughout my entire schooling career and  In any completed art piece, even if it isn’t my best. It’s very satisfying when others reassure you about your work. 

Some things I would do if my life was limitless is I would choose to live in a warmer state. I would buy a nice desktop, a better drawing tablet, and work to get my portfolio up to high standards. If there were no limits, I could apply to high end companies without even graduating from college. I would buy a nice house, travel to areas I normally don’t have the money for, I’d try new experiences more in general.

My goals are to get married by the time I’m 30, Buy a home in California, get a job at an animation company, and work my way up the corporate ladder in the animation world.My biggest goal is to create a well known and long running animated tv series. 

 I really admire those who start out with little to no money and make a huge name out of themselves through hard work. I also admire those who have become so well known that even long after they have passed they continue to leave their mark through inspiring others.

I would like a job where I never feel like I’m not doing anything. I’m currently a cashier at a grocery store, and being at the register is the same repeated process with nothing exciting.  I really never liked the idea of ever being a stay at home mom. It seems boring and dismal, i want a lifelong job that holds my interest and makes a difference. 

People love to joke that you can’t make money with an art degree, but the truth is that if you’re good enough you can be heavily successful. I feel I have the drive it takes to get there. Animating is a grueling and time-consuming process. Many nights I go either without sleep or I sleep very little because I’m balancing 5 classes, 3 of which are 3 hours long, and a part time job. Even just as a college student I have noticed I have to do a lot more work outside of class than other students like my roommate who is a business major. Being an art major takes a lot of will sometimes. You can spend hours on a project and since art is subjective a teacher can hate it and make you redo the whole thing. I work very hard to maintain good grades even though I typically have too much on my plate at once. I am willing to move away if it means I will get paid more, I am willing to redraw something over and over if I must just to reach the standards of the one asking me to draw it. I am willing to go days without sleep if I need to in order to reach deadlines. I am willing to do almost anything within reason to reach my goal. I have wanted to be an animator since I was in elementary school and I wouldn’t want to settle for anything less.In order to find general  information related to my career field choice, I read the article on it in the Occupational Handbook, these are my findings.

  General information on the job 

Multimedia artists and Animators

According to the Occupational Handbook entry, “ Multimedia Artists and Animators”, The industry for these occupations is rising in Demand; This is shown through diversity in how they are employed, the degree needed, and the salary . The responsibilities of this job include creating animations, illustrations and graphics. It also includes working as a team to create final products such as games and shows. The job requires considering feedback from others and doing a lot of editing. As well as meeting with clients, and others in the field to decide on and meet deadlines. Typically, they are media specific being video games, shows, backgrounds, and effects.

These artists are employed by different people. The majority, 59 percent, are self-employed. The next highest is video game and motion picture industries at 12 percent. The rest are computer design, software publishers, and advertising/ public relations in that order. They typically work their schedules based on deadlines they are given.

In order to become a multimedia artist or animator one must typically start with a degree. Usually a bachelor’s in either animation, game design, or interactive media. They move up in the field through good teamwork and time management. These skills can be learned on one’s own. One must have artist talent, good communication, computer skills, creativity, and time management in order to thrive in this career.

The pay for this occupation varies. There is a median pay of 72,520 overall for the industry. The highest rate on average was 124,310, while the lowest was 40, 870. The order in which the median pay rate for related occupations goes from highest to lowest is software publishers (82,360), then motion picture and video game industries (77,860), then computer design (76,920), and lastly advertising (67,330).

/The demand for animation and multimedia artists is expected to jump by 4 percent over a 10-year span. This is due to demand for games, shows, movies and mobile applications. The downside is that some will hire those overseas instead in order to save money.

Interview with an animator 

Interviewee: Elizabeth Schneider (APD professor at Kutztown.)

Questions:

What made you decide to go into the Animation industry?

What do you do on a daily basis that relates to animation?

What is your favorite project you’ve done?

What are some events related to the animation field that are big right now?

What about Animation do you find troublesome/ what do you wish would change about the industry if you had the chance to?

How do you feel about the recent sonic movie?

To find out what the animation industry is like first-hand, I interviewed my professor, Elizabeth Schneider. Elizabeth is a professor who teaches APD(applied digital arts) related courses at Kutztown University. She prefers to go by liz, so that is how I will refer to her. I asked Liz first what made her get into animation, she replied that she was always interested in drawing, but that a certain artist, William Kentridge, had work that gave an immersive experience and that it made her want for an art career grow. I relate to this because I also started out drawing, and after watching a lot of animated series, and seeing digital art overall, i decided this is what I wanted to do with my life. I then asked Liz about how animation is manifested in her daily life, she talked about how she's a professor, she watches a lot of digital content in her free time, and she works on her own independent artwork when she has free time. This is all relatable to me as well aside from being a professor. The best and 3rd question i asked liz, was what her favorite art piece is that she’s done, her response was, “Right now, I'm working on a piece about the wilderness infringing on society as a metaphor for chaos and madness. It's more narrative than my previous work, and completely digital, when usually I use both traditional and digital techniques..” I find that question the most interesting because artists love talking about their work since it’s typically their passion. I like that she included that she is broadening her horizons in a way by doing a piece fully in digital which she typically doesn’t do. I asked her what she thinks are events are big in the industry right now, she gave me the examples, The CTN animation expo, Siggraph, and the Ottawa film festival. On a less positive note, I also asked Liz what she feels is something related to the field that she wishes was different. LIz said that there aren't enough women in the field overall, whether that be writers, editors, producers, or animators. This is an issue that I will personally have to encounter myself, and i’m glad she gave an answer that could be a concern for me to have going forward. The last thing I inquired Liz about was the topic of my current event article, the sonic Movie. I asked how she felt about it and she told me that she didn’t really have any strong feelings about it, and then gave me some examples of some other animated films that she thinks I should check out. Liz brought up some really solid things that I personally can relate to, and I’m happy I chose her for this interview. Now I will go into the details of that current event article. 

Current event in the field

    On february 14th 2020, The sonic the hedgehog movie was released.

This movie made roughly 57 million dollars on the weekend of its release.  The article,  ‘Sonic the Hedgehog’ Opens Strong at the Box Office, by Gabe Cohn,  goes into how the movie had to have its protagonist redesigned after backlash from viewers after the release of the first trailer. The article also mentions how normally movie adaptations of video games do not go over well. Professional reviewers were still hard on the movie even after the artistic revisions were made. However, many fans enjoyed the movie and appreciated that the company took the time to fix what they were criticized for. 

    I chose this topic because not only is it incredibly recent and connected to my career path, but it also pertains to the general public heavily. I find it interesting because it shows how there is a demand for my field and it also shows how my field relies on criticism in order to thrive. If the public had not told Sony earlier on in the process of the movie how distasteful they found the sonic design, then they wouldn’t have had the time to change it. This would not only poorly affect the overall public view of the movie, it would also hurt their sales at the box office. 

    This relates to my career path as an animator in many ways. 

First, this is a movie in which the protagonist is completely animated. Character design is a huge part of what animators do. If you have a poor character design then it is going to be hard to get people to connect and have an interest in that character. A huge part of art as a whole is that it is subjective, artists need to be able to take criticism and work with it in order to better themselves and their work. It also brings deadlines into question. Deadlines need to be met , and sometimes they also need to be pushed back. In this case Sony had to push back the release date for the movie overall because they had to redesign and reanimate the main character entirely. Animating is a process that takes a long time. This movie also combines live actors and animated characters. The animation field includes effects and time sequencing. They had to sync up sound for this movie, they had to sync up jim carrey's actions and sonics animation. 

    This article taught me multiple lessons related to my career choice.

It taught me how important supply and demand is. If there is a demand for video game movies than they are more likely to do well profit wise, if there is not they are likely destined for failure. It reminded me how important criticism and editing is. Sometimes criticism is hard, but any criticism can help one achieve better standards in their art. Every artist needs to be able to take it and dish it out. It shows how sometimes you have to completely scrap what you have and start over, and while that can be stressful, sometimes it is necessary. It also reassures me that it is a field that should be around for a long time. If one movie can make millions of dollars in one weekend then animation probably isn’t going to die out any time soon. People still enjoy it, and will still pay money to go see it. 

    I need to learn more about the animation process as a whole.

There’s so many programs I still don’t know how to use and so many I’m not yet comfortable with. I need to learn how animation teams function and how much they rely on each other. I also need to figure out how to pace myself properly as an animator and how to take criticism better. I don’t even know what programs were used in animating sonic or what they modeled and rigged sonic in. I hope that through my college education and through my own life experiences that I will one day be able to animate a movie like the Sonic movie. 

[crinaboros]

Where have all the mothers gone?

by CRINA BOROŞ, Investigate Europe | The Black Sea, 5 October 2017

Romania’s parents are leaving to work abroad in the absence of a living wage at home, and children are paying the price

The drive from the northwest Romanian city of Iasi to the village of Liteni is a winding route through an open vista of sunflowers. Tractors work the fields next to peasants driving battered horse-and-carts, heavy with hay. On a fallow meadow outside the village, a shepherd with a tanned face holds up a gnarled wooden crook, and calls to his flock. The sheep pass by a lake, recently restocked with carp, and now open for fishing.

Crossing a narrow bridge into the village, we drive along roads that kick up clouds of dust, between rows of houses - new and old. Many are unfinished, with bright tiled roofs, and exteriors of plaster, standing on land scattered with building tools and broken pieces of fence.

We follow the road to the heart of the village, accompanied by the local school headteacher, George Moga, who points to the buildings.

“That house was made with money from Greece,” Moga says. “That one - with earnings from Italy.”

It’s a torrid July day and Moga takes us to a smallholding which breeds pigs and chickens. He introduces the owners, a family led by father Costel Butnaru.

“Come here in the strawberry season,” he says, “you won't find the shadow of a woman in this village!”

Photo: After working abroad family reunited in Liteni, Iasi county. Costel Butnaru (left), Lavinia Tihulcă, Petre Butnaru, Gabi Butnaru, Mihaela Butnaru and two nephews. Credit: Johnny Green, Investigate Europe, July 2017, Liteni, Romania

“It may be tough abroad, but being left behind is worse.”

Costel’s wife Vasilica, 44, has been on the road between home and work for eight years. She travels from Romania to Almonte, Huelva, in southwest Spain, where she shares a room with five women. From March to mid-summer, they pick strawberries and in September, they prepare plants for the coming season.

“I got left behind to take care of the children,” says Costel. “I taught them how to write, took their hands in mine and we drew letters together. I was trying my best to be there for them, and make sure they have what they need.”

A decade ago Vasilica was a housewife, and Costel was earning ‘nice money’ working in construction in Bucharest. But since the financial crisis of 2008, he could not find stable employment.

Sometimes there is work in the vineyards of nearby wine-maker Cotnari. Over 35 kilometres away is a car upholstery factory in Lețcani, but they only pay the minimum wage, plus food vouchers. Costel would need to commute by bicycle, even at night, and in weathers that can reach minus 20 degrees.

“It may be tough abroad,” says Costel, “but being left behind is worse.”

Romanians now has one of the highest percentages of its citizens working abroad in Europe, and many come from rural areas such as Liteni, where work is scarce or poorly-paid.

The villagers moved abroad to work in building, fruit-picking, housekeeping or care work in Italy, Spain, Germany and Cyprus.

But since the construction boom in southern Europe collapsed in 2008, the jobs available favour skills usually associated with women - which means a new phenomenon is emerging in Romania: villages with few - if any - women of working age, and large numbers of children growing up without a mother.

“We didn’t have our Sunday rest. We even worked on Easter Day.”

13 year old Gabi Butnaru has just finished 6th grade in the village of Liteni.

“Mommy used to help me read,” she says. “Sometimes she would help me with homework.”

But her mother has been leaving for work abroad since her daughter was in kindergarten. This year, on 9 March, a day after International Women’s Day, she left to pick strawberries and raspberries on a farm in Lucena, Spain.

Gabi’s life changed. When her father was out farming, she had to learn how to bake potatoes, make soup, and clean and feed the pigs, cows and chickens, before she could find the time to study.

“It was tough,” says Gabi, her eyes welling up with tears. “Finding the energy to do it all, to do it well…” With a straight face, she starts crying.

Her mother Mihaela is now back in Romania. It was tough for her to be away from home, among foreigners, and working for a boss with high expectations, whose language she did not speak.

She shared a room with four other women on the farm. Monthly rents in the nearby Spanish town were around 250 Euro per month, and the women needed to keep this cash for home.

Mihaela worked to exhaustion.

“We didn’t have our Sunday rest,” she says. “We even worked on Easter Day!”

Collecting strawberries is painful work. Pickers must bend over seven days a week, up to eight hours a day, plus overtime, and need to move fast through the bushes.

“I only got up to move when I carried the crates of fruit,” Mihaela says. “There is no stool to sit on, and nowhere to sit at all. Some women can rest on their fists, but I can’t. My back is killing me! When pain cuts like a knife, you feel like throwing in the job!”

Her husband Petre runs through the list of drugs his 33 year-old wife takes to Spain: painkiller Ketonal for backache, paracetamol for toothache, valerian herb for stress relief, and aspirin to increase the blood flow.

Despite the physical pain at work, and the emotional pain at home, Mihaela says: “We don’t have a choice: we need the money!”

Her husband broke his left leg 12 years ago, and cannot bend it. Now he works odd jobs, such as shoeing horses, welding and ploughing.

“He earns enough for bread and a bottle of cooking oil,” says Mihaela. “But with these earnings, child benefit and tiny aid from the local government, one can’t afford much.”

The family sometimes landed in debt, which she needed to pay off, and meant leaving abroad for longer, while her injured husband stayed at home with her daughter.

“A child is suffering,” she says. “She’s doing hard household work and yet she’s only a child. She shouldn’t be exploited, she’s so young! She’s had a lot to bear from a very young age!” Mihaela’s voice fades and tears resume. “I can’t bear being apart from them!”

Gabi nods through her sobbing, and admits she was crying often on the phone to her mother, asking Mihaela to return. Will she let her mother go abroad again?

Photo: Revisiting separation: Gabriela Butnaru (13), Lavinia Tihulca (13), Mihaela Butnaru (33). Credit: Johnny Green, Investigate Europe, July 2017, Liteni, Romania

“No!” Gabi says without hesitation, wiping her face dry. “All I want is us all to be at home, united, and to be a happy family.”

Revisiting separation: Gabriela Butnaru (13), Lavinia Tihulca (13), Mihaela Butnaru (33) (photo: Johnny Green, Investigate Europe)

“School, clean, cook, do homework, sleep, repeat”

13 year-old Lavinia’s mother left to Spain for the first time this year to pick fruit, and she had to take on her mother’s duties. This was stressful, as Lavinia loves to feel prepared for the school day, which lasts from 8 am to 2 pm. “Then I would clean, cook, do homework, sleep,” she says, “get up in the morning. Get dressed. Brush hair. Go to school. Repeat.”

She is in a class where 13 of her fellow pupils from 28 have parents working abroad. In many cases, this has ruined marriages, and the parents divorced.

“These pupils are not how they used to be,” says Lavinia. “They’re more distant, more reserved, less childish. Some of their grades are falling. All they can think about is the break-up of their parents.”

The number of children growing up with one or two parents working abroad is in the 100,000s in Romania, and could account for around ten per cent of all kids in the country, though true statistics are sketchy.

At the primary and middle school in Liteni, 115 pupils from 350 have at least one parent working abroad. The headteacher George Moga says economic migration scars many of the children left behind.

“We’ve experienced cases of child burn-out,” Moga says. “Parents who work abroad tell children that they are doing this for them. Meanwhile, the child’s sole duty is to study hard, so children who have to learn to manage without a parent’s help or supervision, drown themselves in study or household chores, and often end up unable to smile.”

Photo: “We’ve experienced cases of child burn-out,” says Liteni headteacher George Moga. Credit: Johnny Green, Investigate Europe, July 2017, Liteni, Romania

Nation on the Minimum Wage

The United Nations believes around 3.4 million Romanians have emigrated since the fall of Communism - 17 per cent of the country’s citizens.

Every village in the country has seen its share of work migrants - officially there are now over one million Romanians are in Italy, 900,000 in Spain, 600,000 in Germany and 180,000 in the UK, but the real figure is greater.

At first glance, an observer would ask whether this was due to Romania’s rapid deindustrialisation following Communism, which must have witnessed a surge in unemployment.

But on paper, only 4.18 per cent of Romanians are jobless. One of the lowest numbers in the EU. So why do they move abroad?

Firstly, there is no job security. Only 5.1 per cent of the working poor aged 16 to 64 have a permanent employment contact.

Secondly, wages are too low. The country has the second lowest minimum wage in the EU - at a net value of 1,065 Lei (232 Euro) per month. Over 230,000 citizens earn less than the minimum wage. The state has to top up the difference with benefits.

Thirdly, too many employers pay this rock-bottom salary. According to Labour Inspection agency data, around a third of contracts covering full and part time jobs pay the national minimum wage or under.

Romania’s average (median) salary, the net cash that families take home at the end of the day - is the EU’s lowest - at 2,448 Euro per annum, and has been since the crisis of 2008. Bulgaria beats it with 3,151 Euro, according to Eurostat.

This is set against the fact that prices of goods and energy costs are more or less the same as in western Europe.

“An increased number of sexual abuse cases”

This behaviour of the children left behind changes. A 2012 UNICEF report, and a Soros Foundation study found that parent migration was one of the main causes of children leaving school early. In general, one in five kids in Romania leave school early. This rate is on the rise - to 19.1 per cent in 2015, according to an EU report.

Director of the Social Assistance and Child Protection Services (DGASPC) in Iaşi Niculina Karacsony says a major problem is that many children have not been prepared by their parents for a temporary separation.

“We’re not condemning parents who leave to earn a living abroad,” says Karacsony. “But we are condemning those who do so without preparing their children for the separation, and who do not communicate often with them.”

This is backed up by Alex Gulei, executive director of Alternative Sociale, an NGO in Iaşi which works closely with DGASPC. “One thing that comes up again and again is that they hate when parents forget to Skype at 7 pm as they are expecting, or promise to return on a date when they don’t,” says Gulei. “They hate it when parents do not deliver on their word.”

In the most extreme cases, say experts, kids left behind by parents have died following irreversible depression. Another problem is domestic violence. Among the cases of children of migrant workers that are referred to DGASPC Iaşi, its director stresses “an increased number in cases of sexual abuse”.

This most commonly happens within the family, and when mothers are not at home. Some fathers have not seen their wives for a long time, and have taken to drink, while brothers have abused their siblings. Victims have been as young as three years’ old.

“I grew up with my parents fighting. This was our normal.”

19 year-old Andreea’s mother worked abroad in Italy during her teenage years, leaving her and her younger sister with a father who took to drink and violence.

“I grew up with my parents fighting,” she says. “This was our normal. I was glad when mommy left because my father was brutal with her. Finding work in Italy was her escape.“

Now she is a volunteer organising social activities at the Alaturi de Voi Foundation, which aims to reduce teenage pregnancies and drug abuse, and offers young people social and psychological support.

Photo: “I asked my mother to come home immediately, but because we would be left with no money, I had to wait for her to save for one more year,” Andreea, now 19. Credit: Johnny Green, Investigate Europe, July 2017, Liteni, Romania

Just before Andreea became a teenager, her mother, a sales assistant, needed money because she was in debt after defaulting on bank loans. Her earnings from work in Italy covered the interest payments, and she could send cash home only for food.

“But there would be times when father would waste all the money on smoking or another of his addictions,” she says. ”He became jealous, and suspected my mother of cheating.”

Her mother telephoned often and saw her daughters once or twice a year. But having to step into her mother’s role, take care of her little sister and the house, meant Andreea would be fainting, and feeling sick, and soon developed gastritis.

”It was mainly because of stress, but also poor nutrition,” she says. “I was young when mother left, I couldn't cook and was eating instant soup all the time.”

During this time, the teenager was admitted to hospital for five times with gastritis.

As her parents’ marriage disintegrated, her father began hitting his two daughters.

”He filed for a divorce, thinking this would bring my mother home and make her stay,” she says. “Mother saw this as her chance to escape a bad marriage and she took it.”

As the separation began, Andreea’s father kicked his two kids out of the house. They did not even have time to pack their belongings. In shock, they sought refuge at their grandparents’ house, where - due to the age gap - they would have constant arguments.

“I asked my mother to come home immediately, as I could not look after myself,” she says. “But because we would be left with no money, I had to wait for her to save for one more year.”

Alexandra says that she has lived in “total stress” most of the years spent away from her mother.

“If someone is confrontational or raises their voice, I’m in tears,” she says. “I cry out randomly and I don’t understand why.”

ORIGINAL PUBLICATION - The Black Sea - http://m.theblacksea.eu/stories/article/en/mothers-leave-romania#

Photography: Johnny Green

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