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letarasstuff · 5 years

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What makes you beautiful

Author’s note: So yeah, this is my first fanfiction here on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it :)

Summary: Lea is an intern at the Jeffersonian. She meets Finn Abernathy and makes friends with him really fast. But what happens, when she realizes, how wrong she is treated by her boyfriend?

Warnings: Abusive boyfriend, so don’t read it, when you are sensitive to this subject. Language, i think? And bad grammar, English isn’t my first language, so please tell me any errors in it!

3211 words, I am sorry

As a kid, whose parents often fought before they got a divorce, you learn to be scared of seeing other people argue or having an argument yourself.

Now I am a teenager working as an intern, or squintern as Booth likes to call us, at the Jeffersonian. I visit my mother every two weeks for a weekend in Maryland.

So being someone, who despises fighting, your worst ‘enemy’ are relationships. Like, when your partner does things, leaving their socks and underwear all over the house for example, you tell them to stop that in a gentle way to avoid any confrontation.

Maybe you are lucky and your significant other stops leaving their crap everywhere. I wasn't that lucky. My boyfriend screamed at me, saying I only want to change him and that I was invading his private space. From now on every time I ask him to do something nicely, he lashes out on my.

Sometimes, when he is angry or pissed already, Leo slaps or kicks me. I know, it sounds stupid to not break up with him, but I love him and he loves me. We are a good team. I do the chores as soon I get home from school or the Jeffersonian and he teaches me to be the best version of myself.

After a rather exhausting day at school, I am called by Dr Brennan to assist her on a case. It’s an investigation from the FBI. The victim was found in a burnt down warehouse. Now they need us to confirm or to deny, if it is a murder or not in order to do further searches.

After sliding my badge down the security check I go on the platform. I’m greeted by Angela immediately. “Hey Sweetie. Nice to see you. I hope you are still in school”, says she and gives me a hug. Laughing I respond: “No, I didn’t drop out since the last time we saw each other, that was like three days ago?”

Then I put on some latex gloves and bid a “Hello Dr Brennan” to my mentor.

But there is also someone I don’t know yet. “Hello Miss Smith. I’m glad you could make it. This is Mr Finn Abernathy, another intern. I need both of your opinions on this case. The corpse is burnt down to the bone and any evidence is most certainly destroyed. I am not sure if we can find anything at all.”

Then Dr B turns to the guy with the baseball cap, which has the Jeffersonian logo on it, and introduces me: “This is Lea Smith. Although she is still in school and only 17 years old, she has a magnificent knowledge on anthropology.” With a kind smile Finn sticks his hand out for me and speaks: “Good day, Miss Smith. It’s really a pleasure to meet you.”

Well the boy got quite a nice accent. “Why thank you. I really look forward to work with you, Mr Abernathy. Also please call me Lea. I’m barely 17 years old and it's making me feel like I'm at least 30.” Before he has the chance to answer our mentor interferes. After all we got a case to solve!

After many hours of running tests and examining bones, Dr Brennan sent me home. Thankful I say goodbye to everyone just wanting to get finally home.

“How do you get home?” asks Finn concerned. “I take the next bus. We are in Washington DC. Here comes the bus to my neighborhood every 20 minutes in the night”, I answer. Shaking his head he begins to peel himself out of the blue jacket. “There is no way I let you go all by yourself. We are in Washington DC. A young good looking lady like you are as safe as my money in 2009. I drive you home.”

After a while sitting in uncomfortable silence Finn speaks up: “So you are still going to school? Isn’t it a bit too stressful? I mean, Dr B has some tough standards. But at the same time your grates aren’t allowed to drop, are they?”

Looking down to my fidgeting fingers in my lap I answer: “Well a part-time job as a waitress would be much easier. But I need a place, where I have to use my knowledge and mind. It’s like a big puzzle you have to solve. Everywhere are pieces, you just have to find them. Also school is quite easy for me. My biggest problem actually is time. Now it’s 2 a.m. and I have to finish an essay for English in seven hours. So sleep is a sweet thing I have to treasure like a pirate a golden coin, Mr Abernathy.” “That was well said”, he smiles, ”And please call me Finn. It feels off for me to be called Mr by someone, who just told me to stop calling them Miss.”

Now, that the ice is broken, we talk about everything and nothing actually. 20 minutes later we are at my apartment complex. While getting my seat belt off, I turn to my new coworker: “Well thank you for driving me out here. You really didn’t have to do this.” He just waves it off: “I insist. It was really a pleasure talking to you. So go and finish that essay. It’s going to be as amazing as you. And please go to bed as soon as possible. We all need a good

sleep, even you. Sleep tight!” After an awkward hug like thing I step out of the car and open the door to go to my apartment. Before I close the door I wave Finn goodbye.

With a huge smile plastered on my face I open the door to my sweet home. It’s a cozy little apartment I share with my boyfriend. After my parent’s divorce I moved in here with my dad, while my mom went to her new girlfriend in Maryland. When I was 16 my dad wanted us to move back to Germany. He and mom originally are from there. But I wasn’t too pleased with his decision. I had a job as an intern for THE Dr Brennan, a nice school, a few friends and my boyfriend here in the US. In the end he moved out and my boyfriend in. So I kinda life on my own, the big dream of every teenage girl.

Trying to avoid any loud noises I tiptoe in the kitchen. After closing the door silently, I turn on the light. Then I see Leo, my beloved boyfriend, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. He looks beyond pissed.

“Where were you for fucks sake?!” he asks. Every syllable is pure anger and hatred. That will not end good for me.

“i-i-i was at the lab. Th-they n-needed me for a c-case.” My whole body is shaking in fear. While getting up Leo nearly screams: “And what were you thinking, when you didn’t say something about that to me? I was worried sick!”

Suddenly he pushes me. I fall on the floor, my head banging against the table leg. Leo grabs my hair, throwing my head up violently. I try not to cry.

“I-I am s-sor-sorry”, I sob. But the man just snorts: “I don’t believe that. You know, I don’t want to punish you. But if you wanna be the best version of yourself you have to learn from your mistakes.” With that he slaps my the face and let go of my hair. Forcefully I meet the cold white tiles of the kitchen floor. Then my boyfriend goes away. I hear his footsteps in the hallway and a door opening and closing. He is in the bedroom now.

A tear slips from my eyes finding its way my cheek down. My head is pounding. A few minutes later I get up carefully. Everything spins for a few seconds, but I regain my composure and get my backpack from the hallway. With a massive headache and a hurting heart I finish this essay.

It’s needless to say, that I didn’t get much sleep last night. When my homework was finally done, I had to think about the things I did wrong. Leo’s punishment has to be a lesson for me, therefore I have to analyze my behavior and do it better next time.

While sitting alone in the cafeteria during lunchtime eating an apple, my phone rings: “Smith” “Hello Miss Smith. It’s Dr Brennan. We have a new lead on the victim’s identity. Please come to the Jeffersonian as soon as possible.” Oh well, seems like my next free afternoon isn’t going to be today.

After the conversation with my kind of boss ended, I call Leo. “Hey Sweetheart”, he greets me.

I love this boy so much. “Hey Baby”, I answer breathlessly, “I just wanted to let you know, that I have to go to work right after school again today.” Anxiously I wait for his opinion. “Okay, Sweetheart. But make sure you are home by 10.” Happily I thank him.

A few awfully long periods later I finally am able to leave the hell called school. Not much later I arrive at the Jeffersonian.

“There you are”, Dr Brennan says when I get on the platform. “I’m sorry, but I had a quiz in sixth period.” Then we continue our destiny.

Yes, working with dead bodies is a destiny in my opinion. You have to be born to be able to do this. You must be prepared for anything mentally.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. My granny needed help with her computer, stating she deleted the internet. It’s a lot more difficult to calm down an 80 year old woman than a bag full of puppies”, explains Finn himself.

Dr B nods: “It’s okay, Mr Abernathy. Family is more important than anything else. Please watch it that this doesn’t get to be a routine. You aren’t getting paid for nothing.” Finn takes this advice with gratitude.

“Hey Lea. How went the essay?” he asks me while putting latex gloves on. With a genuine smile I answer: “Thank you for asking. My teacher was very pleased with the presentation of the main problems from George Orwell’s 1984.” My coworker responds with a: “I’m happy to hear that.”

Suddenly I feel like I’ve been struck with a lighting. “I have an idea!” And then I’m on my way off of the platform to Hodgins’ lab.

“Hey Little One! Long time no see, he?” he greets me. I say: “Hello Bug Man! Can you do me a favor?”

Half an hour later Brennan and Booth are out to get the suspect. While waiting for news I sit in the lounge doing my homework. You gotta take every chance you get to do them.

“Oh, what’s that?” Startled by a voice I turn around. “Oh, it’s just you, Finn. Sorry, I’m a very jumpy person”, I explain myself after being reassured, that this voice is from someone, who isn’t going to hurt me. Then I look at what I wrote.

“Oh, that’s just for biology. It’s not that difficult, just something with osmosis and so.” “That’s not what I meant. It makes no sense to me. It isn’t English, is it?” he asks interested.

Then I know Finn is talking about: “Ah, it’s some good old German. I was born in Boston though. My parents moved to the US like 25 years ago. So I still learned their mother tongue. It’s quite important to them that I don’t forget their origin. And now I’m writing this paper in German at first for my mother. Her vocabulary isn’t good enough in specific areas, her knowledge on the other hand is very impressive. So I let her read it and then translate the whole thing in English, her notes indeed.”

The young man has a look of astonishment on his face. “Wow. That’s so cool. Maybe you can teach me some German and something about the culture over there. I can pay you back in showing how to speak with the coolest southern accent the world has ever witnessed!” “Well, hack my legs off and call my shorty. We have a deal!”

Weeks go by and Finn and I become great friends. We tell each other almost everything. He even visits me in school or waits for me so we can do something afterwards. Leo never does something like this with me.

We know each other like the back of our hands. There is one thing I don’t tell Finn though: What happens in my apartment.

Slowly but surely I realize that everything, that is going on in there, is wrong. When my now best friend told me about his past, especially his stepfather, I began to think.

Finn shows me on so many ways, that imperfection is that, what makes you beautiful. He makes me believe I’m already enough. And when I make a mistake, it’s fine. That’s what makes all of us human.

When I finally conclude this construct of beauty, I lay awake next to Leo. I already feel the bruises forming on my body. In this night I don’t get a wink of sleep.

Now that I know the “truth”, I am embarrassed. How dumb am I? Thinking that this guy loves me and keeps hurting me to make me perfect is nuts. It is paradox.

But am I too deep in this mess to get out? Isn’t it too late now? Is this how I am going to live until I am gray and old? Do I want that?

The next few days I distance myself from everyone. I try to spend as little time as possible at the Jeffersonian by saying that I have too much school work or I am sick. Right now I am too ashamed to look anybody in the eyes there. I’m considered as a genius, but I am too stupid to figure out something so simple sooner?

It’s like the third week in a row, that I bailed out on Dr Brennan with the excuse, that I’m sick. This time it isn’t even a lie. My dear boyfriend thought I don’t give him enough attention. So he locked me out on the balcony in the middle of winter. Now I have a fever of like 39° C (102,2° F for you Americans), a massive headache and the worst cold I ever experienced in my short life in general.

Now the 20 years old man is at work, where he has to watch over the same machines on a monitor. So it’s nothing exhausting he is doing for a living. That is why I’m confused when the doorbell rings. I abandon my project for history and open the door. Before I get the chance to register who it is, I have to sneeze. “Oh well, that is a nice greeting. God shall bless you and your poor soul”, says Finn with a look of pity on his face.

“Haha, thank you, Dork. Come in or else I freeze my guts off out here.” I lead him into my apartment. Then I realize something. “May you excuse me, now the nice warmth is gone and I need a hoodie. This way goes to the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable.” And then I bolt for the bedroom.

Now see, I didn’t expect any visits from anyone. So I can go around my habitat without worrying about my bruises. When I’m out I make sure to cover them somehow.

Dressed in a Jeffersonian sweatshirt I go back into the kitchen. When my coworker sees me, he smiles: “Oh there you are. Hold on, is that mine?” With a blush on my face I scratch my neck and respond: “Maybe? I can’t help it, but it’s really comfy.” I finish with a shrug.

Laughing Finn assures me, that I am allowed to keep it. He wanted to ask Cam for a new one anyway. “But my visit actually has another reason than just checking up on you”, the young man tells me while I prepare a cup of tea for the both of us. “And the real reason may be what?” I want to know curiously. Sighing Finn explains: “You distant yourself from us. I thought it was only me, who had this feeling. But yesterday I talked about it with the whole team. Booth misses the ‘only other normal person in the lab’. Cam and Hodgins think, that something bad happened and are so close to emerge into that door to get you out of an emergency. Sweets tells us all the time, that you shut yourself out and that this means nothing good. Angela is ready to kick someone’s ass, if they hurt you. Even Dr B is in need of your comments and ideas while working. We all are worried about you. Please let us finally know what the hell is happening. Why aren’t you answering any of our phone calls? Why aren’t you showing up at the Jeffersonian? You are needed there. Without your person the whole lab is kind of unbalanced like a drunk man on his way home from a pub.” His eyes looks pleadingly into mine.

I couldn’t answer any calls, because Leo has my phone. In his pure rage of not getting enough attention, he took my phone and isn’t willing to give it back to me any time soon.

And that is when realization hits me completely.

Leo doesn’t just hurt me, he controls me. Every move I make I'm watched by him. It’s like living with a personal Big Brother.

I don’t wanna be controlled anymore. I’m sick of not being able to do what I want. I want to be in charge of myself again.

Finally I do the right thing.

I lock eyes with Finn. Without saying anything I roll up the arms of the hoodie, revealing a spectrum of colors.

While waiting for his reaction, tears start to form in my eyes and stream down my cheeks.

Gasping he looks at my injuries. From the dark bruises to the fresh wounds and the healed scars. Lightly he traces along them with his fingers, trying to not hurt me any more. I don’t move. I just show him my greatest act of trust. I trust him with my darkest secret.

Now Finn is crying too. Between sobs he hugs me and whispers into my ear: “I’m so so so sorry, Lea. I’m going to do everything in my power to stop that crazy shit immediately. Nobody deserves to be treated like this, especially you. I promise.”

And he keeps it. After this Finn takes me to the Jeffersonian, where I get an all check up. With the evidence, that is collected, Caroline builds a case against Leo.

It doesn’t matter what’s going to happen. It doesn’t matter how long Leo goes to jail, if he goes there at all. The only important thing to me now is the support I get from my colleagues – my family – who help me every step I take.

#finn abernathy #bones #bones team #fanfic #oneshot #temperance brennan #seeley booth #angela montenegro #jack hodgins #camille saroyan #jeffersonian

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everydaychurch · 5 years

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Beauty from Ashes (Part 1) by Warren

When I was a very young boy I was raised in a dysfunctional home devoid of any resemblance of a consistent, safe, nurturing environment. I longed for what I believed to be a normal, secure life. This was all I recall desiring. I needed to feel wanted. I yearned for happiness. In comparison I was envious of the life my friends seemed to be experiencing. I Questioned why feelings of love were absent. Why wouldn't I be convinced that I was a nuisance, a mistake, a catalyst that caused the battles my parents, myself, and siblings where dealing with? My parents were both over forty when I came into the world. Unplanned of course. I was told over the years my mom never loved my dad and their marriage was one of survival for my mother. She had no idea at the time he was a monster.

To keep a very long story short my life up to this point was a chaotic fight inside a landscape of insanity. I had no choice but to be tough 24/7. Always on guard and seldom without fear; I was ready to fight.

I witnessed violent, dangerous, and threatening life moments no child, let alone adult should ever see. I was let down by most adults around me.I trusted no one; but I wanted to.

People in my realm of influence were far too concerned with their own traumas, especially my depressed, manipulative father. He died when I was 7. My biological dad was physically, mentally, and sexually abusive not only towards his children but to other children as well. I never would ever know if there was a good side. He taught me to read at an early age I guess, and ride a bike, but heaven forbid if I did something he didn't like beyond his ever changing standards and emotional states. The challenge being you would never know what that might be.

I ended up being the peacemaker in the middle of the violence. I still find myself doing that as an adult. Always trying to appease everyone. You try to appease everyone you end up pleasing know one. Its not you job anyways. It’s something I am still working on.

I grew up in shame. I attended 11 different schools and moved far too often. Many fistfights, suspensions, and one sided counseling sessions with school principles. People were scared of me. One school even brought in then U-dub Quarterback Sonny Sixkiller to talk with me. He had no clue what to do. I can still remember the look on his face as he walked back to his car. The look of defeat. I punched a nun once who slapped me and wore it like a badge. I was in 4th grade.

Single parenting was looked down upon in the 1960′s. My hardworking, strong willed, New York native mom worked multiple jobs so I was often left on my own to fend for myself; even as young as 5 years old. It’s no wonder I later lived through my teenage years willingly participating in the old 1970′s adage “Sex,Drugs,and Rock and Roll”. One week a rebel and next week Young Life meeting guitar player. I wore my many masks well. I fooled many a parent, pastor, friend, and teacher - but I was a mess.

You see, even though life settled down somewhat when my mom remarried, I remained rough around the edges. I had a good man in my step-father. No telling how bad life would have gone without him in it, but I was still carrying a darkness and sadness inside my soul without support or skills to change my situation. Yet know one knew or wanted to know. It was enigma because on one hand I wanted someone, anyone, to notice but on the other hand making every effort to hide it.

As an above average athlete, with a strong mind, and a budding musical gift I had no lack for popularity. A good fastball, straight A’s, and an electric guitar are great smokescreens This fueled my ability to cover up the deep rooted pain I carried.

These young years were where my view of the world was shaped. Experience being the teacher that shaped my view of God. I think it can be said life events often do. Good or bad.

Strangely I think I always believed in God, even as a young 3 year old. I once viewed an old family 8MM movie my father filmed, since long lost, where at that age I stood on a box pretending to deliver a fire and brimstone sermon to the neighborhood kids. This was double interesting since my family certainly never regularly attended church and if they did it was Lutheran.

So not a huge surprise, even though my beliefs were so messed up in regards to the nature of God I made a formal “Altar Call” commitment to follow Jesus at 13 years old.

In the years that followed, as far as I was concerned, I failed with that commitment over and over again. It was a yo-yo faith at best. I truly in my heart loved Jesus, yet at one point I screamed at God with my hands stretched to the sky, “ You obviously don’t love me”. For me I was the dirty, ugly kid void of any understanding of security, hope, love, and joy. I certainly had no grasp of the true heart of God. Yet I still sought His approval and acceptance based on who I believed I was, not on how God actually sees me. I didn’t understand how the creator of the universe viewed me until much, much later in life.

I left home at 18 and joined the Air Force. Yo-Yo faith in full action. I had my periods of going to church and living by all appearances a Christian Life. I also had spans of numbing drunkenness and partying.

Marriage to Kathy was the next big life event at 20, then my daughters came into the world. I loved them at the time the best I was capable of. My wife was a trooper as our foundation was rocky from the start due to all the baggage listed above. She had her own issues to deal with as well. By the age of 25 I had 3 daughters, spent 3 years living overseas, bought and lost a home, had a car repo’d, and gone bankrupt. By the time I hit 28 life was better but far from whole. I knew as a family and as a person God was needed to intervene and I recognized I had to make changes, which I did. I recommitted my life to Christ. It was good. For a while anyways.

By 30 I was already studying and preparing for the ministry. I remember fondly the happy day when I knew I was called. Kathy was excited too, but the deep rooted issues in my heart were still hanging around. Our first step of entering church ministry was a huge failure, taking a horrible toil on my wife and daughters. Our marriage never fully recovered after that. We were living with an open wound. It was already on a cracked foundation even before ministry life began. There was always a limp.

When stress comes into the game of life whatever foundation your life has been built on will test how well your home will respond. Will it stand? Will it have devastating damage? Will it crumble to the ground?

For me, every time stress arose I entertained the old thoughts; God is punishing me. He hates me. He really didn’t call me. Its all in my head. In times like these its easy to start passing blame on someone or anything. Hear me when I say this; “that attitude only magnifies your problems”. However, Ministry could at times look incredibly successful in the middle of a mess and there were times when it was. But the truth is there was always a mask. There was always a skewed understanding of the nature and character of Jesus. I could preach the truth of Jesus to others, but not understand those same truths for myself. I knew things in my head that my heart could not grasp.

in 2010, after continued ministry struggle, I quit the pastorate. My marriage was hanging on a thread now. My adult children didn’t like or want to be around me. I was barely surviving as a person. Kathy was beyond her boundaries of reasonable relationship with me, I don’t know how she felt about God at this point, but I know she was disappointed. My own confidence in church life was broken.I think she felt the same.

I didn’t think my struggles could grow any larger than they were at this time. I hate to say this but oh how wrong I was.

After leaving ministry I went back to college. Kathy had a good job. My kids were on their own. I had grandchildren. I certainly loved my family, but...I was horribly shell shocked. Ministry had become my identity. I had no other developed work skills outside of church, music or military, I had to bring in some money while in school, but my honest attitude was any job outside of ministry was below me. Then it got worse; much, much, worse.

My heart was broke - literally. It was revealed that I had, unbeknownst to me, long term diabetes. Diabetes had destroyed my heart. After 3 heart attacks I was rushed into open heart surgery or die. This mess brought out the absolute worst in me. Anger, fear, accusations toward God. My boiling point had been reached. In my mind these latest events were nothing more than continued failure, more punishment. I was mad at God. My wife Kathy had had enough. On Valentines Day, only a few weeks after surgery she asked me to leave our home. I was homeless or living with relatives for the next 6 months.

I began working on myself. I didn’t walk away from God, even in my anger. It got better. I worked hard. Kathy and I reconciled. We moved east to Detroit where Kathy grew up. Life was getting better again- for a while anyways.

Unfortunately the damage ended up being too deep for her.Two people who I will always believe loved one another could not get past it. I didn’t want to give up, but after 3 more off and on reconciliations she no longer wanted to be married. I was served the divorce papers on my birthday while in the empty apartment I had just removed all my possessions out of into storage. I was soon to be homeless again. A few weeks later I lost my job, then shortly later lost my mother to a brain infection.

The worst time of my life ever.

But something was different. I didn’t go through the mental up and downs with God. My church provided some money for a Motel 6 where I could stay and eventually I got an apartment. I was still working, as my termination date had not yet approached .I still secretly tried to win Kathy back. I just couldn’t fathom what had happened and my marriage ending in divorce. After realizing nothing was going to change I let go and came home to Seattle.

I also went to counseling during this time and that helped tremendously. I began the journey of dealing with the childhood abuse and divorce. Through counseling during this horrible period of time my perspective on God’s nature in the midst of pain initiated the early stages of change. Wasn’t perfect of course. I had some follies and made some serious mistakes, but God proved faithful and likely had a plan of fixing me long before I did, He was determined to renew and restore my life. My expectations were far short of His. His ways were certainly not my ways.

After moving back home I was pursued by a couple of ladies and I entertained the thought of dating. Bad move. One of those follies I mentioned earlier. I soon swore off the thought of dating and women. I needed to focus on myself. I was still obviously wounded. I still had difficulty with church and anger to some degree. It didn’t help that I lived across the street from a church I was once was on staff at (it was the only apt complex I could afford) I had to look at that church every single day.

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2

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heartfelthotinhouston · 4 years

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Shortage of workforce housing!

Bill Rapp here with the Heartfelt and Hot in Houston Blog, and this is our newest segment: Shortage of workforce housing! Liana Silva, a public school teacher, had a running joke with friends during last year’s mayoral election: If she ever ran for the position, her platform would focus on affordable housing for teachers. “I feel like it should move beyond the joke stage and a candidate should officially take it up,” she said this week during her lunch break at Cesar Chavez High School, where she teaches 12th grade English. “Housing is getting more and more expensive.” Silva, a single mom who lives with her fourth-grade daughter at friend’s house in the greater East End, is among the countless Houstonians who struggle to find housing they can afford. These include public school teachers, hospital workers and early-career police officers and firefighters who make too much to qualify for rental assistance but not enough to afford apartments or homes without roommates or in neighborhoods near their jobs. Shortage of workforce housing! Houston’s struggles with housing affordability worsened as the city’s economy boomed in the years following the Great Recession. But its problems have been overshadowed by those of higher-priced markets where the affordability crisis has become so acute that major employers are grappling with their role in finding a solution. In Silicon Valley, Google, Facebook and Apple have pledged at least $1 billion each to build affordable housing. In Denver, one hospital has begun building housing for both low-income employees and homeless patients. In the Permian Basin, officials in New Mexico have suggested building housing specifically for teachers and their families in Carlsbad, where the fracking boom has led to a housing shortage. Houston, long trumpeted for its affordable housing costs, has not been immune from the squeeze. According to Zillow, the median rent for a Houston-area apartment would take up 44 percent of a starting teacher’s salary, well above the rule of thumb recommending households spend no more than a third of their incomes on housing. The starting salary for a teacher in the Houston Independent School District is $54,369 annually. Shortage of workforce housing! “As home price growth outstrips wage growth, occupations such as teachers, first responders and restaurant workers struggle to afford to live in the communities they serve,” real estate listing company Trulia wrote in a recent report about housing costs. On HoustonChronicle.com: East End is roiled as mixed-income housing plans advance Silva would like to own her own home on the east side, but prices are rising quickly and she’s not ready to buy. She knows the suburbs are an option but dreads the idea of a long commute. When she took her teaching job in 2016 she was living on the west side of town and it took her 45 minutes to get to work in the morning and sometimes more than an hour and a half to get home at night. “As a single parent, it was a quality of life issue,” Silva said. “I was picking up my daughter at 6 p.m. Everybody was cranky and tired. It was a hard year.” Market opportunity To landlords catering to working Houstonians with moderate incomes, residents like Silva are hot prospects. The owner of the Hammerly Oaks apartment complex in Spring Branch recently started offering a 5 percent discount to teachers, nurses, police officers, firefighters, students and veterans. The promotion could amount to more than $550 per year for a two-bedroom unit.Renters aren’t the only ones to benefit. “From an apartment owner standpoint, you want to pull in a good quality resident. Those people have good, stable jobs, so it’s a win for both sides,” Bruce McClenny, president of Houston-based ApartmentData.com. While Houston has a generous supply of so-called Class C apartments — generally considered to be properties built within the last 30 years with limited amenities and original appliances and fixtures — demand for these units has risen, especially in urban neighborhoods where developers have demolished older, more affordable complexes for new, upscale buildings. For example, in the urban area encompassing Montrose, the Heights and Highland Village, renters paid an average of $1.71 per square foot per month, 45 percent more than the overall Houston average, according to fourth-quarter data from the commercial real estate firm CBRE. In such neighborhoods, affordable apartment complexes are growing harder to find. The dynamic has led investors to buy portfolios of aging apartments with low rents, betting that the demand for such housing will outpace supply. Many are renovating those properties and raising rents. To understand the powerful boost renovations can have on rents, just look across the street from Hammerly Oaks, the apartment complex with the discount for educators and first responders built in 1983. There you’ll find Zocalo, a two-story complex built in 1978. But while Zocalo is older than its neighbor, it was recently renovated and units rent for as much as $1,325 for a two-bedroom. Hammerly Oaks, on the other hand, charges $625 to $1,050 for one- and two-bedrooms, according to Apartments.com. “It’s happening every day where companies are buying that type of product and saying we’re going to refurbish it and raise rents $70 to $100,” McClenny said. “It’s better quality housing, but they’re paying more for it.” While workforce housing can be a sound investment, for Swapnil Agarwal, the owner of Hammerly Oaks, it’s personal. When he moved to Houston from India as a teenager, his family lived in apartments on his father’s blue-collar salary. He launched his business in 2014 specifically to buy and renovate older multifamily complexes with the aim of improving options for families such as his own. Karya Property Management, which he also runs, operates the buildings. The company now has 66 properties across the country accounting for roughly 20,000 units. In Houston it is offering the 5 percent special at all of its 42 complexes with a combined 12,000 units. The average rent across all of its properties is $850 a month. Developers take note Workforce housing has become a hot commodity in part because most multifamily construction has focused on luxury apartments. While the number of high-end apartments has boomed, the pool of housing considered affordable for workforce housing has shrunk to its lowest level in 20 years nationally, according to Marcus & Millichap, a commercial real estate firm. It expects workforce apartment rents to increase 4.3 percent over 2020, compared with 3.3 percent for higher-end apartments, the company wrote in a multifamily investment forecast released last week. The focus on luxury, however, is starting to fade. On HoustonChronicle.com: Looped In, a podcast all about Houston real estate “Today, investors are not wanting us to build the nicest, most expensive properties,” Stan Levy, chief operating officer of apartment developer Morgan Group, said this week at an annual meeting of the Houston Apartment Association. “What they want is an attractive basis allowing more people to afford the rents.” The company recently purchased a multifamily property near the Texas Medical Center that it is converting to a mixed-income complex though a program with the Houston Housing Authority. Half of the units will be reserved for people who earn no more than 80 percent of the area median income — or $61,050 for a four-person household. “We feel like we’re doing something good for the city,” Levy said. “It’s important that people with mid-level incomes can live close to where they work.” Similar developments adding to Houston’s workforce housing stock are under way. In the shadow of downtown, where tens of thousands of new units have sprung up in sleek new towers, a Cleveland-based developer recently started construction on a 300-unit complex that will have 50 percent of its units set aside for renters making between 60 percent and 80 percent of the area median income. “There’s a lot of demographics covered there, but firefighters, teachers, police, city workers, county workers, nurses are really your core workforce group that tends to fall in the 60 to 80 percent range,” Alastair Jenkin, NRP’s vice president of development, said. In Houston, a starting firefighter makes $43,528 a year, 67 percent of Houston’s median household income of $65,394. NRP has developed low-income housing in Houston with the help of tax credits, but this is its first mixed project, which is also being developed in partnership with the Houston Housing Authority. Grass is Greener in Houston While workforce housing has grown tight in parts of Houston, it could be worse. McClenny of Apartmentdata.com, which tracks market trends in cities throughout the southern United States, said Houston’s workforce housing supply isn’t as low — nor are its units as expensive — as many other markets. In Austin, for example, the average rent for a Class C unit is $1,131. In Houston, it’s $807. Across the Houston region, workforce apartments make up around 31 percent of the market and have a 9 percent vacancy rate. “That’s almost 18,500 units that could be occupied at what we would consider an affordable level,” McClenny said. Class C rents were flat last year, too, while the more expensive Class A and B rents were up 2.3 and 3 percent, respectively. And Nitya Capital is not the first or only company to offer discounts to public workers. McClenny, whose company also tracks landlord specials and promotions, said just over a third of the 2,830 apartment complexes the company surveys reported offering discounts to teachers, police and fire personnel. Some of those deals though are limited to police officers in exchange for working off-duty shifts at their complex. While McClenny isn’t overly concerned about a workforce housing shortage for Houston on the whole, he recognizes that it’s gotten harder to find moderately priced housing in neighborhoods close to downtown. “If you work there and are looking for affordability,” he said, “it’s rare.” That is all for today folks from the Heartfelt & Hot In Houston Blog, make it a great day! The inspiration for today’s edition came from this original article: https://www.houstonchronicle.com/business/article/Landlords-offer-discounts-amid-high-housing-costs-15011859.php If you are seriously considering moving right now you need to take action right now and talk to a reputable Real Estate & Mortgage Broker today, please call 281-222-0433 or visit: https://www.zillow.com/lender-profile/BillRappMortgageViking http://www.homesforheroes.com/affiliate/bill-rapp-1 https://www.billrapponline.com/ https://twitter.com/BillRappRE https://caliberhomeloans.com/wrapp https://onlineapp.caliberhomeloans.com/?LoanOfficerId=21493 https://mortgageviking.billrapponline.com https://highcostarea.billrapponline.com https://commercial.billrapponline.com https://doctorvideo.billrapponline.com https://doctorvideo.billrapponline.com https://sba.billrapponline.com/ https://veteransvideo.billrapponline.com https://fha203h.billrapponline.com https://privatemoney.billrapponline.com https://rei-investor.billrapponline.com https://manufacturedhousing.billrapponline.com https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCsF3Rh4Akd1OAOAgTmzgqQg Read the full article

#CommercialMortgageBroker #CommercialRealEstateBroker #CRE #ForSaleinHoustonHeights #HeartfeltandHotInHoustonBlog #HousesforSaleinHouston #HoustonRealEstateNews #MortgageBroker #MortgageViking #SBASpecialist #SunRealtyHouston

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ydkmpodcast-blog · 7 years

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041: Mild Rebellions

Local humorist, Crazy Train, joins us in the studio to regale us with stories of his mild rebellions over the years. Going slightly against the grain has always been his style; whether it’s been through making edgy teenage boy scout documentaries, or escalating dorm room rivalries to impressively messy levels, our guest is rarely afraid to be a little bit irreverent. Scroll down for an exclusive short story for YDKM listeners!

Music in this episode is courtesy of www.bensound.com.

Crazy Train (Rob Scott) and his work will soon be featured on Spank the Carp as well!

Atlanta/Athens bands mentioned: DEEP STATE, Sea Ghost, Nihilist Cheerleader, Little Rituals

The Little Boy Whose Dick Exploded

a Rob Scott (a.k.a. Crazy Train) Original

Young Harry Palmer was only fourteen years old the day he masturbated himself into oblivion. The day in question was a cloudless, otherwise unremarkable Tuesday. Harry arrived home from school at 4:05 as usual. This afforded him with one hour and twenty minutes with which to exercise free reign of the house and unabashedly enjoy the pleasures of his own company before his mom returned home from work. Harry was a fan of all games and this lascivious daily race was one of his favorite games of all. Harry was particularly excited for this game as a result of another game he had been made to play that day in gym class. That game was a Tug of War.

Ordinarily a Tug of War would fall onto Harry's list of games that he actually didn't like all that much (He preferred games of skill or wit to contests of brute strength), but on that day he had been placed on a team with and lined up directly behind Olivia Calderon, whom most of the students called "Olivia from Bolivia," even though she was from Uruguay. Harry had long before taken due notice of Olivia's well shaped butt and smooth, brown skin, but upon standing very close to her he was surprised at how much more of her there was to admire. So, as the game got underway, Harry studied not only the marvelous tightness of Olivia's shorts but also her solid, powerful waist which she twisted to pull back even harder on the rope. He found oddly alluring the thick tendons showing on her wrists as she gripped the rope, and best of all was the firm slope of her shoulders as they rose to meet forgivingly at the neck, where dangled a few tufts of dark fur that had slipped the noose of her high ponytail.

Harry and the others pulled back mightily on the rope, were dragged forward, and pulled back even harder. This cycle continued until the duel reached an intensity at which it could not continue, and the game must tip over one edge or the other. Ultimately, Harry and Olivia's team was victorious. The gang on the other end of the rope stumbled forward one last time and let the rope slip from their burning hands. The victors collapsed backward onto the floor. Olivia landed full body on top of Harry.

This of course was very exciting for Harry. He felt her firm butt pressed against his thigh and verging on his groin. That in itself was nothing short of miraculous, but even more surprising were the feeling of her hard, round shoulder against his chest, the back of her head on his shoulder, and the smell of her hair. These were wonderful sensations which Harry had not anticipated. Olivia rolled off of Harry just as quickly as she had fallen on him in the first place. Harry, dazed, scrambled to his feet.

"Are you going to help me up?" Olivia asked. She was holding out her hand. But Harry was too dazed and partially erect to respond. Instead he left her on the ground and left the gym.

Harry was deaf to everyone for the rest of the day. He had felt of a woman for the first time and the rest of the world seemed to fade into the mist of this new wisdom. He could hardly wait to apply it toward his after school hobby.

When school let out Harry was the first student aboard his bus. He sat in the back and waited impatiently for the other benches to fill up, then for the sluggish, yellow bus to rumble away from the school and onto the street, and finally for it to mount the long, steep hill which preceded Harry's driveway. But finally he was home. He had the house to himself, and the games could begin.

Knowing this would be an extra savory session, Harry decided to make a few extra preparations. A bottle of red wine stood uncorked and half full on the top shelf of the refrigerator. Harry pinched a couple swallows to get himself in the mood. Then he took a box of tissues and went into his room. He dimmed the lights by unscrewing one of the two bulbs in the ceiling fixture and played a soft jazz recording over his stereo. With everything prepared, he took off his pants, laid down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

He saw Olivia, from behind as he had seen her before—her neck, her arms, her back, every detail as he remembered it. He was replaying the Tug of War in his thoughts. He felt the rope in his hand. He pulled it backward and forward. Olivia pulled too. Her shiny, black hair bounced atop her head and her buttocks swung with each tug. He pulled hard. The rope pulled back. He pulled harder. He remembered the feeling of Olivia's body against his, the slick sweat of her thigh, the brief flick of her ear across his cheek. He pulled harder and anticipated the moment when the other side's resistance would break, when she would once again fall back into his arms. He pulled harder. It was almost there. He pulled faster. It was almost there.

Harry felt no pain. There was a loud noise and a very bright flash of light and he was simply gone. When his parents came home they were puzzled not to find him there. They could find no trace of him save for a pair of jeans left on the floor of his bedroom with a pair of boxer shorts still inside and some concerning scorch marks on his sheets. Harry's father suspected these were due to Harry developing a marijuana habit. They became very concerned when Harry did not return all that night or the next day. The police became involved, and a complete investigation was launched. The Palmers' home was ransacked, put back in place, and ransacked again, the woods surrounding the neighborhood were combed, students and teachers were questioned, but no clues to Harry's fate were uncovered. After six months the investigation was put on hold indefinitely due to a lack of leads. The Palmers gradually lost hope of ever seeing their son again. After some years they were resigned to the truth that he was more than likely dead. They decided to move to a new town and try to live out their lives as best they could.

Harry, for his part, continued to exist as a loose affiliation of atoms and energy, drifting through the cracks in the tangible world in a constant state of orgasm. Olivia from Bolivia remained largely unaware of the entire incident and later represented Uruguay at the Olympic Games as an indoor volleyball player. They earned a bronze medal.

#podcast for people #funny #zine #local magazine #atlanta #atlanta artists #alternative #storycast #storytelling #short stories #writer

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