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argyle-s · 3 years

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Hello,

My name is Molly Bragg. I’m a bi trans gender author who has writing for almost three decades. I’m passionate about creating the kind of content I enjoy, which means stories that center around queer women, I’ve recently completed a original queer genre romance novel and I’m looking for help covering the cost of having it professionally edited.

To give you a preview of what you would be supporting, here’s Chapter 1:

***

Beth watched the buildings pass as the air cab carried her over Los Angeles taking in the changes the last ten years had wrought on the city. Most of the low-income areas had been bulldozed, and those areas were now filled with alien arcologies. Massive buildings that stretched kilometers into the sky, each one a city unto itself, and in their shadows, the skyscrapers that had once been incredible achievements of human architecture and engineering. The buildings which had been hubs of human industry and centers of financial empires were now reduced to little more than playhouses for the backwards primitives who had the misfortune to be born natives of the Galactic Hegemony’s latest colony world. If they’d had another century or two things might have been different. Humanity had been advancing quickly. They wouldn’t have been on par with the technology of the Hegemony by any stretch, but they might have been able to dictate better terms. The Gatekeepers hadn’t cared. The gate had drifted into a stable orbit in the outer system, and the Gatekeepers had announced that, like it or not, the Sol system was being added to their vast network of space fold gates. The first ships from the Hegemony had arrived just a month later, and ever since, Earth had been on the road to becoming the galactic equivalent of a banana republic. So far, her job and her savings had let her avoid the worst of what was happening, but unemployment was at a record high as alien automation systems replaced human labor in almost every sector. The company she worked for had shifted gears from research and development to reverse engineering alien tech and had seen a short windfall in profits, but that was starting to vanish as the inevitable inflation drove prices up and the people they had been selling reverse engineered tech could no longer afford it. Beth wasn’t really that worried for herself. She’d been poor before, and however much she might hate the idea she could survive being poor again. What brought her to LA today was Sam. Sam was getting close to graduation, and she had acceptance letters from every college that could afford postage. A 4.0 unweighted GPA, high SAT scores, and a couple of impressive summer internships meant that schools were falling all over themselves to offer her full rides. Ten years ago, that would have all but ensured her a bright future. These days a PhD from Harvard, Yale, or MIT wasn’t worth the cost of paper to print the degree. People still made noise about human exceptionalism and about taking humanity’s place in the larger galactic community, but Beth had spent a lot of time over the last decade studying the history of colonization on Earth, and it never once ended well for the people being colonized.Regardless of what happened to the colonized peoples as a whole, there were always individual exceptions... people who avoided the fate of their brethren. It was her determination to ensure her daughter’s future that brought her to LA today. While billionaires had started buying their kids spots in alien schools the moment they were allowed out of the Sol System, Beth didn’t have that option. She was well off enough that she and Sam weren’t feeling the effects of the colonization yet, but nowhere near rich enough to buy a ticket off-world for Sam, much less pay for an off-world education. Instead, she’d spent years looking into other options. So far, none of her work had paid off, but she hadn’t given up hope. She was headed to a meeting with a broker who helped place kids into programs that offered grants, scholarships and all expenses paid exchange programs. She was going to find a way to offer her daughter a better future than most of Earth’s children could look forward to. No matter what it took. *** “Ms. Murray, it’s so nice to meet you,” the man said as he held out his hand. Beth took it and gave it a quick shake while trying her best not to let on that he reminded her of a used car salesman. She needed his help, and it wouldn’t do to offend him. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Cooper.” “Please, call me Owen,” he said. “Right this way.” He led her out of the small, brightly decorated waiting room and into a small, neat office. He gestured to a chair in front of his desk as he walked around behind it and took his seat. “So, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here Ms. Murray. You are looking for an opportunity for your daughter to continue her education off-world, is that correct?” “Yes,” Beth said. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure that we’re both looking for the same outcome. Now, I’ve gone through Samantha’s records. Academically, she’s in great shape, and the extra-curriculars are good too. I’ve been able to find at least twenty different programs that will accept her.” “That’s great,” Beth said, though she didn’t believe it. She’d heard the exact same thing from more than a dozen other brokers, and she suspected she wasn’t going to hear anything new. “What are the terms?” “It varies from program to program. All of them require a period of indenture, but some are as low as eight years.” Beth tried to hide her disappointment. She wanted to give her daughter a better future, not sell her into virtual slavery for almost a decade. “Owen, I’m looking for a program without any period of indenture. I know they exist, but you’re the fifteenth broker I’ve talked to and none of them have offered even an application to an indenture free program.” “They do exist, but Ms. Murray, you must understand. There are a lot of people who want their children to receive an off-world education, and slots which don’t require a period of indentured service are in especially high demand.” “I understand that, but I haven’t gotten high demand, I’ve gotten completely unavailable. I’d like to know why no one will even consider letting her apply.” Owen looked at her for almost a minute, not saying anything, before he finally leaned back in his chair and let out a weary sigh. “Honestly, Ms. Murray?” “Please.” “Those slots go to the kids of billionaires, presidents, CEO’s, ambassadors, kings and other high level government types. Each year, a handful will go to some poor kids from the ghetto so that they can parade them around as part of a puff piece about how generous the aliens are, but that’s just window dressing. The truth is, your daughter is neither rich enough, nor poor enough to ever get one of those slots.” Beth had to bite her tongue to keep from swearing. She wasn’t surprised at all, but she was angry and frustrated. She’d half suspected something like that was going on, but hearing it spelled out so clearly was still enough to make her blood boil. “Isn’t there anything, any way that I can get her off-world without selling her into slavery?” “Ms. Murray, Indentured Service is hardly slavery.” “It’s close enough.” Owen stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head. “What?” “It’s nothing.” “It’s something,” she said. “Please.” He sighed. “It’s not something I would normally offer to someone of your background.” “What does that mean?” “It means that some aliens have cultural practices that people of Western European descent find unpalatable, while those from other cultures would find those practices perfectly normal.” “I’m not sure I follow.” “Ms. Murray, you are aware that, much to the surprise of every biologist on the planet, there are a number of species with whom humanity shares a degree of reproductive compatibility?” “I am,” she said. “Well, there is a species called the Sionnach. They’re native to a planet called Talamh in the Grian system, and they bear a rather striking resemblance to humans. There are differences of course, but the basic morphology is the same. The reason I bring this up is that about eighty years ago, Talamh suffered an environmental catastrophe that wiped out nearly ninety-five percent of their population in the span of a few weeks. Because of their reproductive practices prior to the incident, the Sionnach found themselves facing a sort of genetic bottleneck, and they decided that the best way to alleviate this was to seek an outside infusion of genetic material.” “They’re looking for breeding stock,” Beth said. “Yes.” “You can’t be serious.” “And this is why I don’t offer this option to white people,” Owen said. “Ms. Murray, I’m not suggesting you sell your daughter off as some kind of brood mare. The Sionnach take selection of their mates very, very seriously. They gather applications from a number of candidates, and the Sionnach in question reviews them, and selects the ones they like. Then, their family reviews their choices, and select a candidate. The candidate is then brought to the house of their prospective spouse, and they spend a period of time together. Roughly five hours. During that time they talk, get to know each other, and decide if they want to proceed. If both parties agree, they enter a five year engagement. During those five years, the candidate is treated as a member of the house. They are given a stipend, they’re educated, they’re housed, fed, provided with medical care, and they undergo medical procedures which allow them to survive on Talamh without special equipment.” “What sort of medical procedures?” “Talamh is a high gravity world with a higher-than-normal concentration of heavy metals in the environment. Your daughter would need procedures to be able to stand up to the local gravity, and to be able to filter out metals she would not normally be able to purge from her system. She would also undergo a type of gene therapy which would make her more resistant to radiation and give her the ability to see parts of the infrared spectrum and hear sounds normally outside of the range of human hearing.” “That sounds dangerous.” “The Sionnach are one of the founding species of the Hegemony. Their technology is thousands of years more advanced than ours, and they’ve been doing these procedures since before humans built their first cities.” Beth shook her head. “An arranged marriage… I don’t know.” “If I’m honest, it’s a long shot. You would have to take your daughter for a screening. She’d have to pass the screening for any sort of genetic issues that would eliminate her, then she would have to be selected by one of the Sionnach. If that happens, you and your family would have to travel to Talamh at the expense of the Sionnach house that selected her, and your daughter would have to get through the initial interview. But if she does, she would get the education you want for her.” “And what happens at the end of the five years if she decides she doesn’t want to marry the person who selected her.” “Then she’s free to walk away. She’d be given a small amount of money, and passage to anywhere within the Hegemony, but she’d be free to do what she wants.” “No indenture? No repayment of expenses?” Beth asked. “No,” Owen said. “But again, it’s a long shot, and I take my normal fee just to put you through the application process, whether she gets selected or not.” “How many humans get selected?” Beth asked. “She’d be the first,” Owen said. “What’s your fee?” Beth asked. “Five hundred Hegemony credits.” Beth winced. Given current exchange rates, that was almost ten thousand dollars. “How quickly would we know?” Beth asked. Owen turned and woke up his computer. She watched as he pulled up a page and scrolled through before clicking on a link. “There’s only one family looking right now. Applications are due by the end of next week. You’d know in a month, tops.” Beth thought about it for a moment. It was a longshot, and she wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea, but it was better than an indenture, so she reached for her credit card. *** Sam looked up from her homework at the sound of a light knock on her bedroom door. The door was wide open, and her mother was standing there looking at her. Sam couldn’t quite place the expression on her face but given the appointment she had earlier, Sam didn’t have any doubt about what it meant. “No luck, huh?” she asked, trying not to let the relief she felt creep into her voice. She knew an off-world education would open a lot of doors for her and give her opportunities that she wouldn’t have otherwise, and she really did want to go off-world, travel in space and see other planets someday, but the idea of living on another planet for four or more years was both frightening and overwhelming. “Not much,” her mom said. “He did have one program you could apply for that doesn’t include an indenture period. I emailed you the link to the application. I need you to fill it out today, because I made an appointment for tomorrow for you to go for the physical and psych scan that’s required.” “Tomorrow? Mom, tomorrow’s Jenny’s birthday party.” “I know, sweetie, and I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to the party, but you might have to miss it. I’ve already got us portal tokens, and tomorrow is the only day we can go before the deadline without you missing school. I made the appointment for as early as I could, so you should get home in time to go.” Sam wanted to argue, but she already knew it was useless. She hadn’t missed a day of school since halfway through the eighth grade, and she knew her mom wasn’t going to let her start less than a month before graduation. She also knew her mom wasn’t going to let her pass up a chance at an off-world scholarship just to go to a birthday party. Even if the birthday girl was her best friend who she’d been crushing on since Kindergarten. Of course, her mom didn’t exactly know that last part because she hadn’t told her she liked girls. She’d considered telling her a few times, but she’d always changed her mind at the last minute, because if her mom knew she liked girls, she might decide that Jenny was a distraction that Sam didn’t need in her life and that wasn’t a battle she wanted to fight. “Fine,” she said, reaching for her laptop. “I’ll do the application now.” “Thank you. And Sam, I love you.” “I love you too, mom,” she said. Her mom left and Sam opened up the email link, which took her to a form that asked her for an invite code. She checked the email and sure enough, there was a code for her. She copied it and pasted it into the form, and when she did, it took her to the next page, and a lot of the information was prepopulated, including her latest ID card photo, name and age, along with her school transcripts and medical records. The stuff that was left for her to fill out read more like a dating profile than a college application. The first section was hobbies and interests and activities. She thought about it for a minute and decided to just be honest instead of going through all the BS she usually did for the college apps. She put down soccer, swimming, surfing, electronics, robotics, reading, martial arts, camping and motocross. She attached pictures of herself in her soccer uniform, along with a couple of video clips from some of the team’s games, then she added a few videos of her swim meets, and a couple of pictures and some videos of her surfing. She pulled up her YouTube folder and attached a few build videos for some of her robotics projects, along with the parts lists, schematics, models for the 3D printed parts, and the source code for the micro-controllers she’d written. She added a picture of her holding two trophies from a local Karate tournament where she’d placed second in sparring, and third in bo staff, and added a few videos of her matches. She also added a few pictures from her camping trips and a picture of her sitting on a dirt bike, along with a video Jenny had taken of her running one of the beginner courses, then pulled up her ebook library and dumped the list of all her books, listed her favorite movies and attached all her playlists from her music library. The next section was a little weird. It asked about what sort of foods she liked, so she gave a list. Then is asked whether she enjoyed various activities. Most of them were fairly common things. Theater, music, art. A couple she had to check the cultural database link. She was surprised and excited when she found out that whoever was sponsoring this program apparently considered dragon racing important enough to put on the questionnaire. All in all, she spent about two hours filling out the application, and once she was done, she hit submit, and then pulled out her cell phone and opened up her text messages with Jenny. Sam: ‘Bad news. I might miss your party.’ Jenny: ‘What?!!!’ Sam: ‘Mom’s dragging me to New York in the morning for a physical and a psych scan for a scholarship.’ Jenny: ‘She’s still on that off-world college kick?’ Sam: ‘Yeah.’ Jenny: ‘Girl, you don’t want to go to college with ET’s’ Sam: ‘I’ve got to get accepted before I have to worry about it.’ Jenny: ‘Come by my place when you’re done. Even if you miss the party, I want to see you.’ Sam: ‘Will do. See you tomorrow.’ Jenny; ‘Night.’ Sam sat down her phone and looked at her homework. She’d wanted to finish before dinner, but there was no way that was happening now. She grabbed it anyway and went back to work, trying to get as much done as possible before her mom called her downstairs.

***

End Chapter 1

***

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#original fiction #queer fiction #lesbian characters #agender characters #non-binary characters #crowdfunding

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leigh-kelly · 4 years

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The Nanny

So the last thing I should be doing is writing a new fic, but this is a gift for @yourstreetserenade who has been an absolute gift to this fandom especially during such a difficult time. I’m not sure how frequent updates will be, but they will come!

Just after finishing with four separate brides in the bridal shop she works at in Flushing, Queens, Brittany Pierce hops up on the counter and crosses her legs, tossing her head back. Sugar Motta grabs a bottle of water and thrusts it into Brittany’s hand, before jumping up on the counter next to her. The two of them sit in silence for several minutes, taking in the fact that they have no customers, before the bell on the door tinkles and Brittany takes a swig out of the bottle and climbs down, smoothing her dress.

“Oh, hey Dani.” She grins, walking over to her girlfriend. Before she can give her a kiss, Dani puts her hand up, and Brittany furrows her brow.

“No kiss?”

“Look, Brittany, we need to talk.”

“Uh, sure, shoot.”

“Somewhere private.” Dani gestures over to Sugar, who makes herself look busy with her boss’ presence in the store.

“Don’t worry, no one’s in here.” Sugar pops her gum and sticks a pin into the dress on one of the mannequins.

“You are, Sugar. Brittany, let’s go into my office.”

“Aw c’mon Dan, I’ve told you a thousand times, if you tell me something, I’m just going to tell Sugar anyway, you may as well just say it. Besides, we’ve had a real rush in here today, and I don’t wanna leave her stranded if it happens again.”

“Fine.” Dani sighs, exasperated. “We’ve had a good run, Britt, but there’s someone else.”

“Someone else? What are you talking about? We’re pre-engaged.”

“Yeah!” Sugar agrees. “We’ve already been picking out Brittany’s wedding dress.”

“Sugar, this is really a couple’s conversation.”

“How are you going to say it’s a couple’s conversation if you just said we’re not a couple anymore?” Brittany tries to hold back her tears, but she finds that she’s failing miserably. “How could you do this?”

“It just happened, Quinn and I ran into each other a few weeks ago at—”

“Quinn? You’re breaking up with me for Quinn Fabray? How am I supposed to work here knowing that you’re sleeping with that shameless hussy?”

“You sound a little like your mother, Britt.” Sugar interjects.

“Shut up, Sugar.”

“Well, about that.” Dani wrings her hands in front of her body. “Quinn needs a job, and, well…”

“So not only are you breaking up with me, you’re firing me?” Brittany grabs her purse from behind the counter and makes toward the door as Dani reaches for her. “Don’t touch me. You can’t fire me, I quit!” She pushes the door open, gets halfway through and turns around. “No, you fired me, that way I can collect unemployment.”

----

“Kurt!” Santana Lopez calls out, sitting behind the desk in her home office and shuffling through a stack of paperwork. “Come in here!”

“You bellowed, Ms. Lopez?” Kurt opens the door, adjusting his tie.

“Have any of the prospective nannies arrived yet? Rachel is on me—”

“She wishes.” He mutters under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“Rachel is on me about the party on Saturday night. If Tyler scares one more nanny away, I’m sending him to boarding school.”

Santana puts her head in her hands on continues to go through her paperwork. Ever since her wife died five years ago, she’s been overwhelmed by the demands of her career and taking care of her three children. Valerie, the oldest, had been thrust into puberty and is off the walls with her emotions, Tyler does everything in his power to force anyone who came into the house to leave, and Abigail, the baby, is in therapy twice a week and trying to deal with the fact that she barely remembers her mother at all, but sometimes Santana thinks it’s making her worse, not better. On top of all that, she has Rachel who is constantly demanding every moment of her attention, and she’s been through eight nannies who just can’t seem to manage her children, so she can give the focus she needs to her career.

“There’s the bell.” Kurt breaks her from her thoughts. “Let’s hope the ninth time’s the charm and this nanny that the agency sent over can actually manage Master Tyler.”

“Tell her I’ll be with her in a minute, I just need to finish up in here.”

“Yes, Ms. Lopez.”

Kurt exits the room and goes to answer the door. Standing before him is a leggy blonde in a bright pink mini dress and stiletto heels. She’s not exactly what he expected from the agency and is certainly a far cry from any of the other nannies they’ve seen over the past five years, but he steps back and lets her in.

“Ms. Lopez says she’ll be right with you. I expect you have your resume?”

“Resume? I—uh…” The blonde clutches the makeup kit she carries close to her chest and looks around.

“Yes, resume. You know, the list of your previous experience as a nanny, which I presume you have quite a bit of?”

“Resume. Nanny. Right. Yeah, I, uh…totally have it. Say, butler man, do you think I could get a glass of water?”

“As you wish.”

When Kurt leaves the room to get her a glass of water, Brittany scrambles through her makeup kit. She had no intention of applying for a job as a nanny, she was just at this gorgeous mansion to try and sell makeup so she could get out of her parents’ house, now that she was no longer living with Dani, but like she always thought, when opportunity knocks, she’s got to answer. Unfortunately, all she has with her is an order form and a few tubes of lipstick, but she’ll make do, quickly scribbling her name and phone number in Monroe Red along the back of the form and trying to write down her years of working at Dani’s Discount Bridal before the butler comes back with her water. She’s just about finished when a dark-haired boy bursts into the room clutching a knife to his chest and collapses on the floor with a pool of ketchup staining his white shirt.

“Eh, mediocre performance.” She stands over his twitching body and his eyes pop open. “Next time, you want to get some of that fake costume blood off of Amazon. Ketchup is so 1990s.”

“I’ll have you know.” The boy feigns a gasp. “I’m dying here.”

“We’re all dying, kid.” Brittany laughs. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“I’m just making conversation. So, you live here, or what?”

“No.” He deadpans. “I just hang around random mansions looking to scare unsuspecting nannies.”

“You’ve really gotta get better at this scaring thing. I’m telling you, I could give you some tips that’ll have you winning Academy Awards.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve scared off seven nannies in five years, and if you’d stop messing with my plan, you’d be number eight.”

“I don’t scare easily, you’ve never met my mother. Trust me, she’ll tell you the story of the time she thought she had to poop, gave birth to me in a barn and wrapped me up in a Mr. Submarine wrapper, and you’ll be scarred for life.”

“Ew.” The boy sticks out his tongue. “That’s disgusting, and I don’t think my mother would appreciate you telling me that story.”

“Your mother will make that decision.” Brittany’s jaw nearly hits the floor when a gorgeous brunette in a pencil skirt and blazer steps into the room. “Santana Lopez, it’s a pleasure to meet you Miss—”

“Pierce. Brittany Pierce.”

“Miss Pierce. Now what was this story you were telling my son?”

“Oh…I…uh…never mind.” Brittany stammers. “We were just getting to know each other.”

“Well, you haven’t run screaming from the house yet, so I suppose that’s going well. Tyler, go get Valerie and Abigail.”

“But Mom—”

“Go.” She shoos him off, and Brittany can’t help but stare at the woman in front of her.

“Santana—”

“I’d prefer if you call me Ms. Lopez, thank you.”

“Right, sorry, Ms. Lopez. Um…he’s a character.”

“That’s one way to put it.” She sighs. “Your resume, please.”

“Oh…yeah. Well, I kind of forgot to bring one with me, but I have this.” Brittany hands over the lipstick scrawled paper, and Santana holds it between two fingers.

“So, you came to an interview without a resume? Is that lipstick?”

“Well, I’m kind of having a bad week, you know how that goes.” She bites her lip, figuring she may as well just show herself the door.

“You’re not here for the interview, are you?”

“I—look, I wasn’t exactly called her for an interview, but I’m telling you, I’m great with kids. I have like…thirty-six little cousins, and I could totally be a nanny.”

“Yet you have no experience. I see here that you worked for…Dani’s Discount Bridal?”

“Mom!” A little girl with her hair in long braids tumbles into the room, and Brittany smiles at how much she looks like San—Ms. Lopez. “Tyler pushed me again!”

“Kid, what’s your deal?” Brittany asks him. “Why do you want everyone not to like you?”

“You can’t talk to me like that! Mom, tell her she can’t talk to me like that!”

“She’s not wrong Tyler. How many times have I had to tell you to keep your hands off your sister?”

“I don’t know.” He rolls his eyes. “About a billion.”

“Look, Miss Pierce, clearly I need more help here than you’re qualified to give. Thank you for coming, I’ll have Kurt see you out.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry. Thank you for your time.”

Kurt enters the living room again holding Brittany’s water, which he immediately sets down on the coffee table, sensing the tone of the room. While he’s escorting Brittany to the door, she catches a glimpse of the oldest Lopez child and she sighs, thinking that she probably could have made some kind of difference in their lives, even if she doesn’t necessarily have any formal training as a nanny. When she gets to the door, another short brunette enters, who gives her a dirty look, and she just exits without another word.

“Santana!” Rachel cries out, looking at the ketchup on Tyler’s shirt with disgust before the kids all scatter from the room in her wake. “I’ve been on the phone all morning with the caterer for Saturday night. I’m telling you, if this party is a disaster, then we’re never going to get the funding we need for our play. They’re going to immediately jump ship and support the next Lin Manuel Miranda production, and we’ll be out in the cold again.”

“Rachel, it’s going to be fine. I just have to focus on getting a nanny for these kids today, and then Saturday will go off without a hitch.”

“What was the matter with that one? Scared off again by Lord Ketchup?”

“No.” Santana looks to the door, feeling like perhaps she’s made some kind of mistake just as the phone rings. “She’s just not right for our family.”

“Well, you better find someone who’s right. We have three million dollars riding on Saturday night being a success, and as much as I adore your children, I just don’t think having them run around our cocktail party will do anyone any favors.”

“Yes, I’m aware, you’ve told me that about forty-six times this week.”

“Ms. Lopez.” Kurt interrupts. “It’s the nanny agency on the phone for you.”

“Rachel, I have to take this. Go into my office and look over the notes for our pitch.”

“You know that I’m your partner, not your employee, right?”

“Okay.” Santana pinches the bridge of her nose. “Decide if you want to look over the notes for our pitch so you can be prepared for Saturday night.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea.” Rachel chirps. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Great.” She takes the phone from Kurt and sinks down onto the couch. “Santana Lopez speaking.”

“Ms. Lopez, this is Mindy from the agency. Unfortunately, the interviewee we were sending out to you today was offered another job and has decided to cancel. I can get someone else to you on Monday, maybe Tuesday.”

“Monday or Tuesday isn’t good enough.” Santana snaps. “I’ve told you a dozen times that I need someone for this weekend.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do that.”

“You have got to be kidding me. I have three kids who need a nanny, and I have an event Saturday night. Next week is unacceptable.”

“I’ll do what I can, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it work.”

“Goddamnit.” Santana hangs up the phone and looks at Kurt desperately. “Why is it so hard to find good help in this town?”

“I believe I can still decipher the lipstick on Miss Pierce’s ‘resume.’” Kurt offers. “Maybe you ought to give her a shot. She certainly wasn’t afraid of Master Tyler.”

“She has no experience. And did you see what she was wearing? What kind of influence on Valerie would I be bringing into this house?”

“You certainly seemed a little…preoccupied with her wardrobe if I do say so myself.”

“Honestly, shut up.”

“You need a nanny before Saturday, and she clearly needs a job. Hire her on a trial basis, then you at least have yourself covered and you can resume your interviews next week.”

#brittana #the nanny #new fic

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zayndrivesmeinvain · 4 years

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The One Where Y/N gets Let Go From her Job

You never saw this coming, you were completely blind sided. You came into work at your normal time, did your same old routine when coming into the office. However, this time it was different. You were called into the conference room and you’re told that they sadly inform you that you’re getting fired. You sat there in disbelief and couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You thought everything was going well, they constantly told you how well you are doing and how much they appreciated you, what changed? You sat there in shock without knowing what to say and just taking all the feedback in that you were getting. Apparently, people felt as though it was unfair for me to be in such a position at a young age and complaints have been made by others feeling as though I took their spot. People threatened to quit if I weren’t let go and I know the company can’t risk that. Of course no one would risk their company for a young, freshly out of college girl who still has years of learning. I could see it in their eyes that they were apologetic but I was hurt and couldn’t mouth out a word, I could only let out a head nod and with that I went to clear my desk.

I began gathering all of my belongings, my pens, pencils, calendars, picture frames; each item sparks up old memories when I was first given this job a year ago. I pick up a picture frame that holds an image of me smiling, dressed in my navy blue knee length skirt and my white button down blouse ready for my first day on the job. Harry took it for me before I left my place, he was so proud of me. He always believed in my hopes and dreams and never let me down. He knew how much I wanted this and when I got it, he went and told the whole world that His Bub makes him so proud and never let go of my dreams.

Oh no, Harry! What will he think when I tell him? Will he think I let him down? Will he be disappointed? The thought of telling him makes me stomach hurt and evokes tears to come to the brim of my eyes. I can’t let anyone here see me like this. I look around and glance as everyone's working and I wonder who holds so much disdain for me that they felt as though I should be fired. Sure, Harry put my name out there to some of his friends and made connections and maybe that’s why people don’t like me? Just because Harry helped does not mean I didn’t earn or deserve it, or does it?

I’ve been driving around for an hour because I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go and see Harry with that cheeky smile of his greeting me at the front door and I break the news to him. He’s going to be disappointed and most likely enraged at what happened. These are people that he’s helped out in the past, people that he believed in and helped invest and they let his girlfriend go? I should have never taken this position and I wouldn’t be in this place at all. I wouldn’t have to go home now and apply for unemployment, I wouldn’t feel so worthless and unwanted. But most of all I wouldn’t feel like such a disappointment.

I wonder if this has anything to do with one of the CEO’s making a pass at me during a meeting and he got mad? At first it seemed innocent when he gently brushed passed me and touched my ass. He did apologize at first, but then it happened again. When we were sitting down, he sat next to me and dropped his pen and when he went to get it, he skimmed my bare legs and again he apologized. I should have seen this coming though when the meeting ended and he told me he needed to speak with me and instead of speaking business he commented on how tight my skirt was and how he would love to see what we underneath and told me not to be nervous. That day was a week ago and I still feel disgusted when he walked by me or even when precious Harry would kiss my neck. The thought of being harassed never crossed my mind but again, I’m young, freshly out of college and what do I know? I couldn’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t believe me and would probably make it into a tragic story of me trying to get someone fired, but here I’m the one that got fired because I didn’t want to show an older man what was under my skirt.

Another hour passed and I just arrived home. I just pulled up into Harry’s drive way and I can see him sitting on the couch in his grey sweatpants, shirtless, eating a bowl of popcorn watching cartoons. My precious Harry doesn’t know what’s about to hit him and that scares me. He’s only been home less than a month and leaves shortly again for tour and this is not how you expected to spend it. You know him, you know he’s going to sit and pity you and tell you it’s not your fault but it is. You didn’t let that man see what was under your skirt, remember?

I muster up the courage and finally get out of my car, my legs practically shaking and my hands can barely hold my keys. Thank God Harry left the door unlocked because I wouldn’t be able to get the key in the hole. The house alarm making a dinging sound signaling I’m home. I can hear his footsteps coming to greet me but I can’t move. I look in the hallway mirror and I look a mess. My make-up done this morning is practically gone, mascara has dripped down my face, my once nude lipstick is long gone, my white blouse that was once dried is practically see through in some spots because it’s soaked from all my tears and the water spilled from not having a steady hand.

“ Bub, I’ve been waiting for yeh’ to come home. I’ve been watching cartoons all day and made the bed. Are yeh’ proud?” His cheeky voice stopped when he turned the corner of the hallway and takes in the mess that is his girlfriend.

“ Bub, what happened? Why’s my precious girl crying?” he takes into an embrace and you can’t even wrap your arms around him. After a few minutes of standing there in his embrace, he picks you up gently and carries you into the living room and placing you down onto the sectional sofa. He walks back to the front door, properly closing it and locking it, he opens the mini fridge that he has in his living room and hands you a bottle of water. Finally, he sits down gently onto the coffee table that’s directly in front of you and with a sympathetic look he grabs your hand and you know he’s waiting for you to spill what happened.

“ Harry, they fired me today. They couldn’t tell me why, besides that they felt I wasn’t ready and neither did others”, my breathing increasing once again and tears beginning to stroll down my face. You gently wipe them away, causing mascara to smear even more. You probably look ridiculous and you wonder what Harry’s thinking at the moment. Your heart’s pounding out of your chest and if it were silent enough you could probably hear it.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He takes your hand into yours, “ It’s gonna be okay, I’ll help you in the meantime, we’ll find a new job, stay here.” You find his offer generous but you can’t accept that again. You can’t keep letting your super star boyfriend fix everything for you. You know with a snap of your fingers he could get anything done for you, but that’s not what you want.

“ Harry, no, you can’t keep trying to fix everything for me.” your back hitting the back of the sofa and your hand fly up to your face as you take in a deep breath. “ They fired me because people complained that I got the job because of you. People worked their asses to get there and here comes in a freshly graduated college student, surrounded by older men that thought they could have a pass at me. And women that resented me for it, they couldn’t even give me a reason or excuse to fire me besides the truth that others were intimidated by me…” you see Harry midway get up and pace back and forth and you can see flames brewing in his eyes, “ Did someone make a pass at you, bub?” Your heart stops for a second because you let your little secret slip out and he wasn’t supposed to find out.

You too stood up, and your gulped the rest of your saliva down as Harry takes a step closer, “ I’m asking you again, did someone make a fucking pass at you?” you can tell he wants to scream and break something but he’s holding it down. “ Why didn’t you tell me?”... “ Y/N I’m asking you a fucking question” his curses sting you everytime he throws them out.

“ Y-Y-Y-Yes.” was all you could mutter out. You gently sit down onto the sofa which you thought would signal Harry to do the same but he’s pacing back and forth. You clear your throat and take a few breaths. “ L-L-Last week, while we were in a m-m-meeting..” you take another deep breath, “ one of the CEO’S, one of the brothers walked past me and touched my ass, he apologized. But then it happened again, and again and then touched my leg all the way until my thigh…” You can see Harry’s eyes are filled with fire and rage, but you still your hand out and he takes it, and sits down in front of you again, “ and again, he apologized, but then I could feel him, just staring right at me and I felt disgusted, I felt so filthy during the whole meeting. ” You look back up to Harry and the only thing he could muster up to say is your name.

“There’s one more thing but you have to promise, promise, promise me that can’t get mad.”

He’s staring back at his precious little Bub and he can’t believe what she’s telling him. He’s mad that she kept this from him, he’s mad that she got fired, and he doesn’t think that he can bare her saying anything else. But here she is, spilling her anxiety and insecurities out to him and he’s thankful for that. He’s mad at himself for putting her in this position, and he swears to God the moment that she’s done talking he’s driving over there and beating the shit out of whoever did this to her.

“ Just say it” he says a bit too aggressively and he catches her jump at his tone. He clears his throat and sits directly next to her, grabbing her hand into his and gently rubbing his thumb on her palm, “ Baby, you can tell me anythin’ ’” He notices her breath chop up but she spills her little secret out, “ H-H-He asked me what was under my skirt and if he could ever find out.”

Harry’s practically out the door when you look back and you’re up and chasing him. You see him turning his car on and you bang on his windows, practically shattering them before he rolls them down. “ Harry, please, don’t go” your sobbing at this point. “ Don’t leave me, I swear I didn’t let him do anything to me. I promise, baby, I swear to God” your body collapses down onto the stone driveway as you curl up into a ball just sobbing your life away. Harry leaving you would be the worst thing that could have come out of this.

“ Baby, I’m not leaving you. Let’s go inside.” You were broken and he knew that. You felt disgusted and filthy. Harry on the other hand keeps apologizing but refuses to look at you. Did he too think you’re disgusting?

You walk into Harry’s bedroom and walk to your side of of his closet and pull a pair of panties out and grab an oversized t-shirt to change into. Harry followed you in, but when he notices you get undressed he immediately walks out, he saddens you that he thinks he can’t watch you anymore. “ H, you don’t have to walk out” it silent for a minute until he comes back in, “ Y/N, all I can see is some perv’s hands going up and down your thigh, his hand grabbing your ass, MY ass, no one elses” he sighs in annoyance “ Why didn’t you tell me, Bubs?” he looked defeated as he sits on the bed. Without getting dressed you walk over to the bed and crawl onto it, sitting next to Harry. “ Harry I was ashamed, I felt disgusted and damaged. I couldn’t even look at myself. I didn’t want to keep this from you, I swear. I just didn’t know how or what to say” Harry runs his thumb against your cheek and pushed a piece of hair out of your face, and takes in for a sweet embrace. “ Bubs, you can tell me anythin’ you eva want”

“ I think we need to get yeh’ washed up though. Your poor make-up has run all down yeh’ face. Why don’t I run a bath for yeh’ so you can relax and we can figura’ out a plan later” You follow him into his bathroom while he starts running a bath for you and he helps you take the remainder of your clothes, which isn’t much, just your bra and panties. Harry places a soft kiss behind your ears and wraps his arms around your torso, you can feel his heart beating so fast, you practically thought it would pop out of his chest. “ I love you Bubs, and I’ll always keep you safe. But I swear to God himself, I’m going down there tomorrow and getting that bastard fired. No one’s ever allowed to touch you like that ever again” Your insides start to feel warm again, and your body loosens up under your touch because you know Harry would never hurt or violate you like that. Harry only wants the best for you and to keep you safe. “ Will you take the bath with me? Just hold me, I need to be held” Anyone could see the smile that plastered on Harry’s face from a mile away, “ I would love to”.

#harry syles #harry styles writings #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry style angst #harry styles fluff #one direction #fanfiction #fanfic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #smut #daddy hary #harry styles smut #love #1d #zayndrivesmeinvain #the one where he

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Ten | B. B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: All Ages

Word count: 2,975

Chapter 10/24

Warnings: Just a bad word.

AN: This chapter is. . . not my favorite. Mostly because I’m a stubborn bitch and finished this up in the middle of a migraine; I apologize in advance for my less-than thorough proofreading. It’s very heavy on information, but it’s necessary to set up future chapters and I feel like it shows growth. Don’t worry, I threw in lots of fluff and cute moments for ya. Forever appreciative for those of you reading!

Also, my 1k Followers Celebration is still going on! I’ll start posting the drabbles tomorrow, requests will remain open until Sunday. Y’all are the greatest followers ever! 💕

Chapter Nine

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky crams two fingers into the collar of his dress shirt, tugging at it for an attempt at relief in the sweltering New York heat. Pushing open the door to the skyscraper housing the VA’s Regional Benefit Office in Manhattan, he steels himself for this meeting. There were few things he hated more than dressing up in a monkey suit.

As soon as this is over I’m burning this tie.

The office is overflowing with men dressed almost exactly the same as him. Every seat in the waiting room is taken, presumed veterans stand elbow to elbow in what available standing room is leftover. There had to be at least 20 of them crammed into the small space. Fighting every instinct to turn tail and run from the room radiating nervous energy, Bucky politely checks in with the secretary before finding the last unoccupied spot by the window. This was a good thing. A step in the right direction. . . right?

He can’t help but inspect the window’s cleanliness, noting that the brushing technique was sloppy, leaving streaks behind. Gazing beyond the glass he imagines you working in your office today completely focused on your work. Wishing he really was watching you while he washed windows he remembers the huge smile on your face when he’d shared the news that he’d finally gotten this job counseling appointment. The thrill that lit up your eyes, the pride when you squeezed his arm. . . that was reason enough to stay put and wait.

After reading a spare newspaper entirely and watching what felt like every other person on earth walk in and out of the office, his name is finally called. He nods and steps forward to indicate that he indeed was James Barnes before following the weary man with the clipboard.

“Carl Baines, nice to meet ya. Alright Sergeant Barnes, how can the Department of Veterans Affairs help you today?”

“I, uh, was told I could get job counseling.” Following the man’s lead, Bucky sits opposite of the man, his desk piled with paperwork between them.

“That is correct. We have a questionnaire you can fill out that will give us a sense of direction on what you have an aptitude for,” the employee was already rifling through files, opening and closing drawers before placing a stack in front of Bucky.

“Sorry - I already have an idea of a job, I just don’t know where to start. Can you help with that?”

“Oh,” he blinks. “Yeah, you’re the first person I’ve talked to in days that’s said that. Uhh. . . what’re you thinking?”

“Working with cars?” “Okay, I can steer you in the right direction. Hold on.” Swiveling his chair to the filing cabinet behind him he mutters to himself as he cards through various files. “Automotive service, here we go.” The file lands on his desk with a plop before he’s flipping through it.

“Alright, looks like there’s lots of options. Best place to start is by picking up service manuals from manufacturers - they crank them out every year for mechanics to stay up-to-date, your local shop may have a few around. Manufacturers also usually have training courses if you agree to work for them. There’s also a lot of training conferences held if you get a job at a garage first. The library might even have a couple film rolls on auto mechanics. Looks like there are a few evening classes the public school system is offering. Another option is a private trade school where you’d stay until your training was complete. Or you could take a correspondence course, work in a shop at the same time, theory and practice together is always a good idea. Thoughts?”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to blink. “Uhh. . .”

The man smiles apologetically and leans back in his chair. “Sorry. I understand that was a lot. We’ve been so busy, I forget to slow down sometimes. But the VA is offering to cover tuition for college or trade school up to $500 per year. Book, supplies, all of that is covered too. Plus you’ll get a cost-of-living stipend so you can focus on getting through school or training.”

Bucky nods, the idea of a future right in front of him somehow both thrilling and paralyzing. “Wow. Okay. Where’s the nearest trade school?”

“Let me check,” his finger trails down a list. “New Castle School of Trades, Pennsylvania.”

“How long would I be there?”

“Most schools are condensing their programs because of the influx of students. Maybe six months?”

Bucky is already shaking his head. “I don’t think I can be away that long.” He knows he can’t be away from you that long.

“It says here that they have a correspondence course. You’d receive assignments from instructors through the mail. You could finish in the same amount of time and only have to be there for a month of training halfway through the program. And they recommend finding a job a garage in the meantime. I have a friend who’s a mechanic and from what he says it pays to learn as much as you can as fast as you can. It takes constant studying, but you’ll be ahead of the curve if you work at the same time.”

“Okay,” Bucky stares at his hands folded in his lap, trying to think quickly. He didn’t want to be away from you, Steve, or his family for any length of time, but one month was better than six. And the sooner he could start something of his own, the better. “I think that’s the way I wanna go.”

“Let’s make it happen. Here’s an application for their school, get it in the mail as soon as possible so you can get started. Here’s a letter to attach stating that the government is covering all charges. While you’re here, I can get the paperwork started for your cost-of-living stipend.” More paperwork is pushed around the mess of a workspace as Carl pulls out a checklist. “You never enrolled for unemployment benefits, correct?”

“No, I was able to find a job pretty quick.”

He checks a box, “Okay. No dependents?”

“No.”

Another box is checked. “That combined with your service record will be about. . .” Carl slides a finger across a graph before tapping the paper twice, “$75 a month while you’re training plus an additional two months after you’re gainfully employed. Sound okay?” Bucky opens his mouth to answer but Carl didn’t give him the chance to respond. “Also if you’re looking for funds for a business or home, you’re eligible for a guaranteed loan whenever you apply, zero down with low interest. Lots of people are leaving the city and building houses on the outskirts of the city. It’s probably just a phase though. Any questions?”

“Not right now.”

“Well if you do have any, you’re welcome back anytime. We’re here to help.” Carl stands before shoving a pile of paper into his hands, simultaneously herding him toward the door. Next thing he knew Bucky was back in the waiting room that didn’t feel any less crowded. Thinking only of escape, Bucky doesn’t stop moving until he was outside the building.

Looking at the mess of paperwork he held, he sighs.

“One step at a time,” he whispers to himself, hearing your voice in his mind.

----

“How could the class sizes have grown so much since we graduated?” Bucky mumbles in Becca’s ear, pressed together in the masses of families seeking seating for the high school graduation ceremony. Baffled by the sheer number of people, he was quickly realizing the goal of everyone sitting together was futile.

The Barnes family shuffles through the crowd, searching in the chaos of the Brooklyn Stadium. Even being head-and-shoulders above most of the crowd Bucky couldn’t shake nerves ticking away in his chest. When they do find a clear bench in the stands they quickly discover the five of them don’t have a chance to fit together.

Rose gasps in dismay, “Oh, and I promised to save Robert a seat. If it was just us I’d say we could squeeze together but between when John gets here, my belly, and Robert. . .” she lays a self-conscious hand to her ever-growing midsection.

Becca gently grabs her sister’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, y’all take these seats. Bucky and I can find a spot together somewhere else. We’ll meet you afterwards.” George and Winnifred having long ago taken their seats, Rose joins them - sitting strategically to save seats for Evelyn’s beau and her own husband.

The idea of crawling over people to cram into a seat with little-to-no way to exit swiftly made Bucky’s anxiety heighten. Before Becca can move up the bleachers she catches her brother’s eye, catching the subtle tilt of his head toward the bottom of the stairs. Their remaining family being thoroughly distracted by the hubbub of the event, they weren’t noticed as they move down and away from the dull roar of the crowd several yards away from the bleachers.

“You alright?” Becca probes. Not taking his tight nod for a good enough answer she asks quietly, “Too many people?”

“Yeah. Still don’t like loud, crowded places.”

“Makes sense,” she says, more to herself than to Bucky. They stand together and people-watch, making comments about peers they recognize from their old high school days or teachers they couldn’t believe were still working 10 years later.

Before long their brother-in-law joins the family in the stands, sending a wave their way before kissing his wife on the cheek. But then a young, rail-thin young man approaches the Barneses, sheepishly accepting their warm welcome.

“That him Rose is fawning all over?” Bucky nods toward the situation. Becca cranes her neck before nodding affirmatively. “God, he looks 12 years old.”

“Bucky.”

“And he’s older than her?”

Becca narrows her eyes in his direction, “Only by two years. He’s just about finished his teaching training, should be able to start working in the fall.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t sound so unimpressed, you were the one bent out of shape about him having a good job. Teachers are in demand, you know that.”

Bucky rocks back and forth on his heels “How have I not met the kid when they’ve been dating for almost a year?”

“You only got back around the holidays.”

“But Evelyn only brings him around the house when she knows I’m not going to be there. Why?”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“You’ve turned into a shit liar the last few years, Becs.”

After a good-natured elbow to his ribs, Bucky’s shoulders relax ever-so-slightly.

“Evelyn’s gotten under your skin, huh?”

“I just don’t like it.” A hand makes contact with the back of his head and he jerks to face his sister, her face glowing with stern righteousness. “What was that for!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m lost.” Bucky hold his hands up in surrender, not even sure what he’s surrendering to.

“As much as Evelyn doesn’t act like it, your opinion matters to her. Plus she doesn’t want you scaring him off.”

“If he scares easily he’s not good enough for her.” Bucky shifts his feet, eyes zeroing in on the gangly boy sharing a laugh with his mother.

Becca scoffs at him. “Have you seen yourself when you’re trying to be scary? Let alone when you aren’t trying? He’s a solid guy, Bucky. Give him a chance.”

A sigh escapes Bucky before he makes an admission. “The whole family has gotten to know him. I know y’all like the kid and don’t have a problem with them getting married, but-.”

“You’re hurt that you haven’t been given that chance.” Bucky tries to protest but is quickly shushed by his sister. “I get it. You and Evelyn are too similar for your own good. Show her a little respect in her choice, give her the chance to make a good choice.”

Bucky can’t formulate a reply before the ceremony commences, the long line of graduates marching out onto the football field. The event is efficient for a such a large class - a record-breaking class at that-, even after the family cheers and whistles as Evelyn Barnes receives her diploma early on. The moment the ceremony comes to a conclusion hoards rush to their graduates on the field, whereas the Barneses hold back, waiting for Evelyn to find them.

George, Winnifred, Rose, John, and Robert gravitate to the spot where Bucky and Becca had watched with pride.

“Well, our girl did it,” George gives a rare smile as Evelyn finally pushes through the crowd so the family converges together at the same moment.

“Congratulations, sweetheart!” Winnifred wraps her youngest in a delighted hug.

“Thanks, Mom. Hi, Rob,” Evelyn blushes deeply and accepts a kiss to the top of her capped head from her beau.

“Proud of you, Evie.” Bucky sidles up to give her a hug from the side before facing Robert, Evelyn’s panicked face causing a twinge in his heart. Becca was right. He has been too harsh on her.

“Bucky, right? I’ve heard wonderful things about you,” Robert extends a hand, delivering a surprisingly confident handshake despite the sweat developing on his brow.

“Likewise.” Bucky says with forced optimism. This is why I was a soldier and not a spy, he thinks ruefully.

----

“So you actually approve of Robert?” Even over the phone Bucky can practically see the surprise on your face.

“Can’t believe I’m saying it, but yeah. Becca gave me a whole speech before I met him, made me back off of the protective brother bit slightly.”

“Oh, only slightly?” you tease.

“Yeah. Turns out Becca was right.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to get along with her.”

His heart flutters at the idea of you anticipating, even looking forward to, meeting his family. “Anyway,” he sighs dramatically, adjusting his grip on the phone before observing New York City bustling outside the phone booth. “How was your day, Sassafras?”

The sound of your groan crackling through the receiver triggers Bucky’s grin. “Don’t you even start with me. Between you and Anderson-”

A strange voice laced with an Irish accent abruptly enters the conversation. “Is anybody on the line?”

Bucky holds the mouthpiece away to avoid deafening you with a bark of laughter.

“Yes, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy,” you breathe with exasperation. “We just started talking.”

“Oh. I see. Well I need to call my sister, dear - with the weather getting so warm I’m worried about her and-”

“Okay, okay, we won’t be too long, I promise.” Even in your frustration you remain kind, a quality Bucky was beginning to deeply admire.

He hears a tell-tale click before you sigh. “The joys of party line service. What was I saying?”

“Something about your boss.”

“Oh yeah. He’s been in rare form this week. I’m starting to wonder why he’s the executive and I’m the typist when I’m drafting the original letters myself.”

“You have been pulling a lot of long days this week.”

“Apparently his time is better spent in the file room with the new secretary which sticks me with all the work,” you spit out bitterly. “And he gets to take credit for my flawless products, the pig. He makes my skin crawl.”

“Because he’s a corporate-climbing jerk or for another reason?”

“Well. . .” your hesitant voice hints at something else. “He’s forward and brash while being underhanded at the same time. It’s. . . unsettling.”

As Bucky opens his mouth to question further another click sounds off and the now-familiar lilt echoes back through the handset. “Is the line open now?”

“Still here, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. I’ll be off in a few minutes.”

“You can’t tie up the phone line all day, young lady.”

“We all pay for the service. Check again soon.” Bucky bites his lip to contain his amusement at your firmness. A car horn goes off for several seconds, drawing the attention of several passers-by.

In confusion you ask, “Where are you calling from?”

“Payphone outside of Steve’s.”

“You’re paying that much for this call, Bucky? Jeeze I would’ve stopped talking ages ago, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright. Worth hearing your voice. I know I sound like a lovesick teenager, but not seeing you for a few days has been hard.”

“I know. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Any news today?”

“Yeah, I got my first assignment and textbooks for my training course.”

Your squeal makes his heart grow two sizes. “How exciting! Have you looked through it?”

“Not yet. Wanted to give it a good look when I had time. Also got my stipend in the mail.”

“That’s gotta feel good. When’re you going to give your window washing team notice?”

“I dunno. Don’t wanna leave them high and dry.”

“That was a horrible pun, Barnes. But I’m sure the boys can handle it.”

“We both know that’s debatable,” he revels in your giggle. “I better go chat with Steve.”

“You still haven’t talked to him?”

Even though he knows you can’t see him, he waves a flippant hand. “Nah, but it’s Steve. It’ll be fine.”

“And you’re sure about all this?”

“Very sure.”

“Okay. Hope it goes well. Tell me all about it tomorrow?”

“See ya tomorrow, sweetheart.” Before Bucky can hang up he hears Mrs. O’Shaughnessy once again, “Well he sounds handsome.”

Your unbridled laugh sends warmth through his chest as he replaces the handset and exits the booth. A block later, Bucky knocks on Steve’s door, army rucksack over his shoulder.

“Hey Buck,” Steve greets, eyes quickly flitting from the bag, to Bucky’s hands, before meeting his gaze.

Bucky gives a smug grin, holding up the envelope with his stipend nestled inside. “Spare room still open?”

“Nope.” Panic grips Bucky, that being the last thing he expected to hear. “Never was a spare room. Been yours from the start.”

Breathing out the fear, the brunet groans. “You’re a real jerk.”

“I know. Come on in.”

Chapter Eleven

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #1940s Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #beka writes #marvel fanfiction #All We've Got is Time #Chapter Ten

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pivitor · 4 years

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I’ve been really frustrated lately.

One thing quarantine has hammered home to me is how much I hate my current job. I just...don’t want to go back. I hate being there. I don’t get any satisfaction from it. I’m not going to act like I’m special for hating my job or anything, but when I was still going in every day I thought it was at least something I could handle in the long term, I think I played down to myself how much I actually disliked it. I don’t think I can keep doing that.

Atop from normal job related things, my boss screwed me over with my taxes this year and I didn’t realize it until right when i stopped going into work this year. My office has had three employees at the most the entire time I’ve worked there, so the office has never had its own payroll; I was always included on the payroll of the restaurant we operated. Once we sold that, my boss told me he was shutting down the payroll altogether and would just be paying me by cutting me checks and giving me a 1099 at the end of the year, and told me that I’d still be paying the same amount of taxes, just as a lump sum at the end of the year instead of having some deducted from my paycheck every week. I didn’t really feel like I had much of a choice. But, hey, when I had my taxes done this year, it turns out that’s hella illegal! 1099s are for self-employed independent contractors, and I am neither! My tax person told me that I wouldn’t get into trouble, but that my employer could definitely get in trouble with the IRS for swapping an employee over to being an independent contractor like that when they’re still working the same position for the same amount of money. It also cost me extra in taxes, because every paycheck the employer pays a bit of taxes, but as a “self-employed person” I’m expected to pay that portion. So a little chunk of my taxes I’m paying this year is money my employer used to pay/was supposed to pay. I’m pissed about that.

Those two things put together mean I really want to get a new job. This lands me pretty much exactly where I was a year ago, when I was looking for a new job, then eventually stopped because my boss offered me a couple of promotions within the company in regards to the real estate company and coaching company he was starting, both of which really had only just barely started to come together when quarantine started. So now I have the added joy of essentially having wasted a year, and starting to look for a new job in a much worse economy than last year’s. Fun!

The coaching thing sucks. My boss is starting a company to teach food safety classes for the local food safety programs all restaurants need to be certified in. I’ve taught one so far and I was proud of myself for it, but none of the students passed, even with us stretching the eight hour outline given us to close to twelve. The pay isn’t what we originally agreed to and, frankly, isn’t worth the time you have to put into it. The idea of me teaching these was supplemental income, but if I were to teach one during the week instead of doing my desk job, I wouldn’t really be making enough money to justify it. With the extra time, I’d really be making less. It’s such a headache.

I really should see through the real estate. At one point I thought I’d get a new day job but maybe still help my current boss with the real estate on the side, but even if I don’t, I’ve already invested over 80 hours into this, I should really finish it. I’m 99% done with the program and just have to pass the final exams, but I started in November and honestly don’t remember a lot of the information. I’ve done nothing with it over quarantine, partially because I thought I couldn’t take my final exams during that time, but it turns out I could have all along. The course was going to expire at the end of May so I spent my own money to renew it thinking it would motivate me to finally finish it, but I haven’t. I can’t tell if I don’t actually want to do real estate, or if I’m just being lazy, or if it’s the fact that I honestly just don’t know how to study. I don’t think I can pass the test right now and I really don’t know what to do about it.

I also didn’t know I could apply for unemployment until, like, the end of April/beginning of May. I technically still had a job, right? Nope, even with me just being temporarily out of work, I could still apply. So I’m frustrated on myself at missing out on a month’s worth of unemployment payments for no reason other than my own stupidity.

My boss called me Wednesday and I panicked and didn’t answer, but he said they’re going to open back up soon. I don’t want to come in, but if I refuse or quit, I could lose my unemployment. Ugh. And THAT’S frustrating because going back to work, I’ll be losing money. I was making more money on unemployment than I was going to work, while spending less. I haven’t put gas in my car since March. March! Less money+more gas=suck. I send my boss and his wife an email tonight detailing the tax situation. I guess I’ll give them a call tomorrow.

I’ve been lucky to have been well-taken care of throughout this pandemic, and to have been able to pay off quite a bit of my debt -- for the first time in a few years now, I have more money in savings in the bank than I do in credit card debt. But the extra $600 in unemployment goes through the end of July, and I was hoping to be able to continue cashing in on that for a few more weeks and actually add a bit of money to my savings. I know I’m going to need it in the future.

So I’m frustrated, I think, because I basically have no direction, and feel like I wasted so much time. Even in quarantine, I applied to a few jobs and even had an interview, but I wasn’t serious about job searching, and now I feel like I didn’t take advantage of all that time I had. I need to get out of my parents house so badly, I need to be able to finish breaking away from their fucking cult bullshit SO BADLY, I’m having such a hard time seeing the path forward. And it’s such an awful time to be job hunting or, god forbid, moving right now. I think I really screwed up, and while I think there’s not much to do but start applying to jobs again, I’m frustrated and, honestly, a little bit scared about my future.

#pivitor

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gremlinsae · 5 years

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My Story + Current Situation

I don't know how to begin this post. To be honest, what I'm about to tell y'all may not help me out in any way other than giving me an outlet to vent. Fair warning, this is going to be a long post and I may ramble a bit but I'll add a tldr; at the end.

Sigh.

Let me start from the beginning.

My name is Stacey. I turn 25 years old on April 24th, 2019.

My story begins when I was 19 years old - a freshman at my local university. I was finishing up my first year of my undergraduate program in Biology, aiming to get a Masters or PhD in Genetics. I had many accomplishments; I was awarded a scholarship because of my GPA, a group project I was a part of won 1st place in a writing competition because our independent research paper was the best, and I was just living life and working on my future. I had to take the bus everywhere, I was moving around a lot, and I was working out regularly at my university's gym. One day, as I'm walking to the bus stop, it felt like my right hip popped out of place and then slammed back in.

At the time, it was a minor inconvenience. It hurt, yes, but it mostly just left me sore and it went away with some rest so I didn't think much about it.

I started questioning it more when it happened again over summer break. I was at a friend's house playing D&D when I felt an acute grinding sensation in my right hip joint as I stood up to get me a soda. This time, the pain was significantly worse - sharp and it took longer to go away. I started thinking that I was developing arthritis as my dad also got it young.

It took a while to happen again...but when it did, it got to a point where I couldn't ignore it at all.

I had picked up a seasonal job at Macy's. My first day on the sale's floor was Thanksgiving night going into Black Friday. We were understaffed and it was hell, but I made it through my shift which ended at 2:00 AM. A co-worker came to me and asked if I could pick up her shift the following morning and I took it because I wanted to work. On Black Friday, I started feeling that grinding sensation in my hip again but I worked through it - blowing it off as simple arthritis. I believed rest would help.

That following Saturday, I had another 8 hour shift but this time it was in juniors which was the busiest area. I was moving around a lot, had to bend over to pick things up off the floor, and I'm not even going to get into the mess left in the dressing rooms. Towards the end of my shift, I was limping. The grinding sensation only got worse and suddenly my hip was locked up. I could barely move and when I did I experienced sharp intense pain. I left an hour early because I could no longer do my job. I thought maybe I just picked up too many hours, so I decided to take the rest of the weekend to rest.

But the pain didn't go away with rest. I was in pain for 2 weeks straight, hardly able to walk, before I finally went to see a doctor. I limped my way to the university health center and scheduled an appointment. The lady who saw me performed a simple hip exam. I wasn't able to walk much, so she mostly checked my hip flexion. Off the bat, I knew that I had lost some range of motion as we could barely bring my knee to my chest without pain. The fun part happened as she was guiding my leg back down.

My femoral head caught on my hip bone. It was audible, and yes it hurt.

She had a look of shock as she said, "You are way too young for this."

I was prescribed diclofenac for the inflammation and cyclobenzaprine (flexeril) to relax my muscles and help me sleep through the pain. That same night, my mom took me to the ER and I had a x-ray done on my hip. The radiologist said that there was a slight chance I had femoroacetabular impingement (FAI) (in layman's terms: the bones are misshapen) on both hips, but would need more imaging to truly determine a diagnosis. I was prescribed hydrocodone (vicodin) for about a week to try and manage the pain until I could get insurance and see a specialist.

That's where the fun part started.

Since I turned 19 that year, I was no longer covered under CHIPS Medicaid. I applied again, but was told that I do not qualify because I didn't have any children.

Yeah...you read that right. The state of Texas does not extend benefits to anyone over 19 without children.

My only choice was a county program that helps low income people get medications and treatment so they can get back to work. I wasn't able to apply until months later (a combination of not having my own transportation, busy schedules, and my mom trying to convince me that I would be denied.)

I was 20 years old when I finally found a doctor (we'll call him Dr. D) that could help me figure out what was going on in my hip joint. He took it seriously - performed another hip exam and ordered several lab tests. We checked everything under the sun: cancer, rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, etc. He got me on physical therapy, changed out my diclofenac to meloxicam (mobic), ordered me an MRI, and referred me to an orthopedic specialist to determine how we needed to move forward.

The MRI I had was without contrast. The result was greater trochanter bursitis, or inflammation of the bursa which are sacs filled with synovial fluid that help cushion joint movement.

When I saw the specialist in November of 2014, the chronic bursitis was the sign that something was definitely wrong with my hip. I was only 20 years old with no traumatic injury. Chronic bursitis is not common in someone that young, so he ordered me an MRI with contrast so that they could have better imaging of my joint. My husband's grandparents paid the $932 to get it done in December and it was honestly one of the worst things I had ever gone through. When they injected the dye into my hip, the numbing agent didn't work and it hit a nerve HARD and my entire body convulsed. They injected more of the numbing agent, but that also didn't work so again my entire body convulsed as they tried to get the dye in. The third time worked because they decided to give me a stronger numbing agent...but it messed my hip up. I walked funny for three days.

When I finally saw the specialist again about the results (several months later because of an issue with scheduling), not only did I have bursitis but they also confirmed that I had cam type FAI (layman's terms: the deformity is on the femoral head) and a 9mm labral tear.

Since the condition was causing joint damage, the answer was surgery.

I was sent back to my primary care physician's office, but unfortunately Dr. D wasn't available so I saw a different doctor. (This may seem irrelevant, but it is actually very important.) I told her EXACTLY what the specialist told me, which was that I needed to get sent to San Antonio or Galveston in order to get treatment.

The referral was denied.

I was assigned a new doctor. We'll call him Dr. S. He told me about the denial when I had asked about it during an appointment for a different issue. I remember crying because I had no idea what to do. I was only 21 years old - I didn't know how to navigate the medical system! Plus, I was very very broke. I won't go into too much detail, but I was forced to move out of my parent's because my dad is irresponsible and I was put in a massive amount of credit card debt because my own mother stole my identity and I ended up having to pay the bill for it because my mom was diagnosed with cancer and couldn't work anymore.

(This is only surface level by the way. The last 5-6 years have been absolute hell.)

That summer I was working two jobs. I had a GoFundMe page and I was just trying to save up enough money to possibly get me on an insurance plan to cover the surgery. I came home every night limping and crying, my husband having to half carry me and help me get into a hot bath just to try and bring the pain down enough so that I could do it all again the next day. School was rough as well and my grades were dropping.

I was destroying my body so much that it got to a point where I could no longer do my job as a sale's associate at Macy's. My managers were amazing and they did everything they could to help accommodate me, but it got to a point where I was unable to finish shifts due to pain and I was calling out often. I was running low on my attendance credits and I didn't want to be fired for absenteeism.

I go back to see Dr. S and I tell him I really need something, anything. What I was doing wasn't getting me anywhere and my condition was getting worse due to the progressive joint damage. He didn't really know what to do...saying things like "I can' believe they denied you - the whole point of the program is to help people get their treatment and yet they're denying you." I told him I had heard something about an orthopedic program at one of the hospitals in network and he put in a request for me to see one of their surgeons.

I never got a response.

At the time, I really couldn't pursue the issue - I changed from a sale's associate to a wedding gift registry advisor at Macy's. It was a desk job which really helped keep my hip under control, but the problem was that my hours were reduced and I had no way of picking up more like I did with my previous position. I was having to donate plasma so often just to have food money that I actually have a permanent scar on my left arm.

I loved that job, but it barely paid the bills. I took a semester off of school so I could focus on working and babysitting my nephew due to a family emergency. Thankfully my in-laws paid me. Even though it was something I would have done for free, it really helped out.

But then Macy's had a huge company layoff in January 2017...and I was affected. The position I had was being removed from my local store, so I was without a job. My depression took a big hit and it almost ruined my relationship with my husband. I wasn't taking care of myself, I wasn't doing my responsibilities that were required for my unemployment benefits and my insurance, and I basically became extremely dependent on my husband to a point that our relationship became unhealthy. It took a while to get me out of that rut. I started applying for jobs and I ended up getting hired by Aflac around the end of April, but I had to get my driver's license before I could be officially on board.

I understand that the above may not seem relevant, but...that summer was when things got even worse.

I wasn't able to get my license in time to take the position, but that was only a part of the issue. In July, I was helping my husband's business at a convention when I had one of the worst flares I've ever had. I had twisted the wrong way, causing my femur to catch on my hip bone, and I ended up on the floor in fetal position.

At best, the pain felt like I was being stabbed with an ice pick. At worst, it felt like every tiny movement I made was splintering my hip bone. The splintering sensation I had felt before, but not to this degree. My hip was locked and it felt like I was stuck in a vice. On the pain scale, I was around a 9. It was unbearable. I ended up in the ER where the only thing they could do was give me a shot and a prescription for Tylenol 3 (acetaminophen + codeine) to help me get through it...

Neither the shot or the medicine worked. While my hip was unlocked, I was still experiencing sharp pain that was so deep in my hip bone that none of the medications touched it.

It hurt...it hurt intensely and consistently.

It got to a point where I had to borrow flexeril and tramadolfrom someone while I was trying to renew my insurance. Yes, I'm aware that this is illegal - but I was out of flexeril and the meloxicam wasn't working so we were trying to get me through the MULTIPLE flares I was having even when I didn't do anything to aggravate my hip. The end of 2017 was exhausting for multiple reasons.

Once I got back on the county program, I had an appointment scheduled with a new doctor (we'll call her Dr. P) because Dr. S was no longer working in network.

The week of my appointment...was really rough. We had to put our dog down at 2 years old because he had severe chylothorax and we didn't have the money or the means to seek treatment (plus it was so severe that seeking treatment could have killed him.) A few days later, Hurricane Harvey hit and my area was badly affected. My appointment had to be rescheduled.

I saw several different doctors in the following months because Dr. P never had an opening available. I ended up needing a wheelchair to get around because my standing/walking limit was drastically reduced. I'm lucky to be able to stand for 10-15 minutes now compared to the 1.5 - 2 hours it used to be. I tried to apply for medicaid again, but was denied and advised to try and apply for disability. I didn't have enough credits to apply through social security so I found an attorney and just gave it a shot. However, I got a rejection letter for representation due to the information that they received from my doctor's office.

I start questioning things at this point. What did they tell the disability attorney? We knew I needed surgery and that my condition was getting worse. What could my doctor have told the attorney that resulted in a denial?

I didn't see Dr. P until May of 2018 and apparently, she had no record of my diagnosis and my need for surgery. The only imaging she could find on file was my very first MRI (without contrast) and so she was under the impression that the only issue was mild inflammation in my right hip.

I was pissed.

I ended up having to redo the entire process. I see the very same specialist again and he didn't remember me. I had to get another MRI done and he requested an x-ray right before my appointment, but he never went over the results with me. He basically told me I need to "put up with it" and ordered me a fluoroscopy guided injection.

I get the injection in October and literally minutes afterward I start crying because of how overwhelmed I was at no longer being in pain. To give y'all an idea, chronic pain isn't always intense pain 24/7. For me, it feels like my hip is constantly bruised. I usually hover around a 2-3 on the pain scale and the more I move the higher it gets. IT IS EXHAUSTING. To finally feel "normal" again was so overwhelming for me that I was a sobbing mess as we walked back to the car.

That week I was so happy. My mental health immediately improved. I was able to walk around, go up and down stairs, even go on a camping trip with my ecology class and go hiking! All these things that I wanted to do I could finally do again with only minimal and MANAGEABLE pain. I still took it easy, but I was finally able to enjoy my life again.

...

The following Monday, a week after the injection, I woke up in severe pain. I had felt the familiar twinge the night before, resulting in an anxiety attack because of the fear my hip pain was returning...and unfortunately my fear came true. The injection normally lasts a few months...for me, it lasted one week.

I go see the specialist for the follow up appointment regarding the injection. He seemed kind of confused, saying things like "At least now we know the problem is your hip." I was beyond frustrated because WE KNEW FOR YEARS THE PROBLEM WAS MY HIP. He wasn't listening to me! He even asked me if he had talked about surgery the last time I saw him and I told him YES. So to wrap up the appointment, he gives me a half-assed hip exam and requests that my PCP put in a referral for orthopedic surgery...again. My depression hits its lowest point. I even contemplated suicide and had to start therapy. Overall, I was not in a good place.

I don't hear anything about the referral for months so I call and they tell me there are no orthopedic surgeons at the moment. So I make another appointment but this time I see a different doctor that we will call Dr. I because she was the one who put in the request for the referral. She was amazing! She listened to me, didn't interrupt me, and she worked to make sure we got details regarding any hold ups so I wasn't left in the dark. She even performed a standard hip exam on me to measure how bad my hip got. Anyway, she finds out that yes - everyone with the clinic card does not currently have an orthopedic surgeon because the contract with the previous one ended and was not being renewed. She encouraged me to keep calling, at least once at month, to check on the status of their hiring.

My first call was in February of 2019 and not only was I told that there still wasn't any orthopedic surgeons...the county had also decided to no longer cover hip surgery as of this year.

I was LIVID.

I made an appointment with Dr. P and was seen literally the next day because I was DONE. We gathered all the info we could to prove to them that I had been seeking treatment for years. She listened and she took me seriously. She put in a new referral that aimed to get me a one time approval, ordered physical therapy, and referred me back to the specialist so we could get this done. She also prescribed me gabapentin to help me out with some of the nerve pain I was experiencing because as of the end of 2018, my hip pain was causing issues with my knee. As of 2019, my ankle and foot started being affected as well. She theorized it was due to nerve damage and so she put a note on my referral for it to get done ASAP.

Which brings us to the present. I went to physical therapy and it caused me to flare up...repeatedly. I ended up having to resign from my job (that I only had for a month) because my absences were atrocious and I was constantly having to update my accommodations just so we can attempt to have my absenteeism reduced. (In the end, I had to chose between voluntarily resigning and be eligible for rehire in 30 days or risk being terminated and not being eligible for 3 years.) My last physical therapy appointment was Friday, April 12th because during my exercises my femur caught on my hip bone and caused a severe flare. The physical therapist put a stop on my therapy until after I saw the specialist because it was only causing me more trauma.

Today, April 17th, I saw the specialist and we finally figured out why I never received the treatment I needed. To reiterate, we are on year 5since I first got on the county aid and started seeking help from them.

It turns out, all of my referrals were done incorrectly.

I was being referred to the local orthopedic department which can not do the procedure I need. On top of that, the specialist was trying to order me an arthroscopy for DIAGNOSTIC purposes - not an arthroscopic surgery. Somewhere in the mix there was massive miscommunication and things were not being documented correctly. My PCPs had no idea how to handle my case so it ended up being mishandled entirely.

Essentially, the specialist brought in someone from an internal department and they are now taking over my case because this is grounds for a class action law suit and they want to avoid that at all costs. She explained to me where the block happened and that they were no longer going through my primary care physician for referrals because it would risk continued miscommunication.

They admitted that the fault was on them. I understand why this happened because the hospital I go through is in a major transitional phase and they've been tearing down the trauma center and relocating, building new clinics, updating, etc. I even told her and the specialist that I am not mad at any one person, that I do understand - but they have to understand that I was a victim of this. I experienced YEARS of suffering that affected my physical and mental health, my education, and my ability to work. My condition has devolved to a point it never should have and it may have permanent life altering repercussions. My surgery may go from a simple fix to needing a replacement which would result in at least 2 more replacements later on in my life since they do have an expiration date and I am only 24 going on 25.

TLDR; because of the transitional state my hospital is in plus the fact that I was jumping between multiple doctors, there was miscommunication regarding the treatment for my FAI and it led to my referrals being done incorrectly...and I suffered for it. I am now waiting on a referral that will send me up to San Antonio where they will be taking arthroscopic images of my hip joint so that we can further determine how to proceed with treatment. I may pursue legal action, but ultimately I just want something done so I can get on with my life.

⬇️

So why am I posting all of this information here?

Because of the fact that I am now out of a job again, plus everything that I had explained above, I am opening up EMERGENCY commissions. We have bills to pay and we also need to be able to pay for this trip to San Antonio and unfortunately, my husband (who is currently employed by my previous employer, go figure) is not making enough to keep us afloat. We are in the red and will not make it through May at this point so we are already working on selling some extra stuff and getting ready to make some major sacrifices.

I mostly write Victuuri but am willing to discuss other pairings. If you have any questions regarding what I will or will not write, just shoot me a message on twitter and we can discuss it.

Commissions will be pay what you want - no minimum. I'll literally take anything at this point. I know my writing can be a bit inconsistent so I don't feel right setting a price. Here's the link to my ko-fi page.

All I ask is to please understand if the commission takes a while to get out. I have real life things to take care of and sometimes my medicine makes it hard for me to stare at my computer screen. Just trust that I will get it done.

I'm currently working on a piece for hentipie. I'm hoping to have it out this weekend so prepare to see that soon! It won't be posted here due to the rating though, so you'll have to look for it on AO3.

Anyway, for those of you who took the time to read this ridiculous chunk of text, thank you. If you can't help me out financially that is perfectly fine. I know and understand the struggle so don't feel bad by my sob story. I just needed to get this out.

Talk to y'all again soon! <3

-Sae

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entitledunemployedmillennial · 6 years

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Endless Job Searching

While I waited for my unemployment benefits to come in the mail, and for the past 6 months or so. I’ve started applying for jobs in whatever way I could. Monster, Craigslist, Dice, Ziprecruiter, Indeed, any major job search site, every major company you named it I did it. All unemployment insurance in all states require people going to receive benefits to apply for three jobs a week. And more increasingly, they require you to sign up for the unemployment office website, register their information, and register your three applications on their website so they can verify that you’re actually seeking work.

Most people apply to at least ten jobs a day. But in reality in order to actually get any type of job in a metropolitan area you need to apply for 125 jobs a week. Here is a list of all the jobs titles I’ve applied to:

Linux Systems Administrator

Linux Administrator

Site Reliability Engineer

Linux Analyst

Solaris Administrator

System Administrator

Technical Writing

Software Engineer

Unix Engineer

Unix Systems Adminstrator

IT Support Analyst

Help Desk

IT Manager and IT Lead

They’re with Large companies, small companies, recruiting firms, temp agencies. And or the most part despite being well qualified for these roles, I rarely get a call back.

Many of the applications range from simple ones that just want your name, address, phone number, email, and your resume to ones that require you to make an account to simply apply for a job with your resume, or in some cases you are required refill the entire application for the Applicant Tracking System so that it will be parsed with keywords or buzzwords set by the employer’s Human Resources Department. If it does not fill enough buzzwords, it won’t be selected.

And even if it does fill in enough buzzwords, it would not not be selected anyway. This is because ATS systems have beyond buzzwords to secret algorithms that determine if your resume would be actually seen by a human. These same systems are in some cases, used by state courts in the United States to determine sentencing in criminal cases. Due to the use of algorithms, you can be rejected for any reason: Length of unemployment, length of gaps between jobs, which type of experience you have, place of living, email. In some cases, certain address you put there will put your name and application on a blacklist, meaning that you may not be hiired ever from a company that uses such a blacklists. This affects people living in homeless shelters who are actively seeking work, not knowly that they have been placed on a blacklist for doing what they’re supposed to do to stay in a homeless shelter.

In some cases, the applicant tracking system is glitched and it’s apparent that HR did not even test their systems.

In many cases, most companies have a 5 year experience requirement for their positions. This is done to legally discriminate recent graduates, and those who don’t have recent experience in the employment field. In some cases, they only want paid, professional, and recent experience. Shutting out people who took the advice of volunteer to get paid experience. Even people who volunteer in a different field who get employers to look at their resume are rejected because the volunteer experience is not related to the field they wanted to work in.

Due to all of this, the standard advice for job seekers that have been repeated to them over and and over simply do not apply anymore.

Due to the advancements of ATS systems, most people don’t bother reading resumes anymore. In many cases, just type in buzzwords and just email job opportunities to as multiple people as possible. Then they do the usual phone screening, and then phone interview, then in-person interview, then finally a job offer. That’s the usual practice.

In reality, companies have been known for taking a long time in hiring people. Even in times of low unemployment or a labor shortages. In some cases, the job opening can be fake in order to college resumes and get a feel of the job market. In some cases, the job opening is placed there to fulfill Equal Opportunity Employer regulations because they already have someone who the employer want via a referral or a internal candidate. In some cases, companies may choose to refile the job opening over and over again because the people they apply for the job, may not want be the ones the employer wants. So it’s more easier not to hire anyone than to risk a liability or a bad hire.

Recruiters do the same practices of most employers these days, and they do it with no consequence because instead of actually advocating to the employer on your behalf, or actively seeking and apply for jobs for you, they apply for one position and three positions and call it a day.

In practice, what recruiters do is sales. Not actual recruiting. In actural recruting role, the person finds a person, reads the resume, after sometime they call the person in. After the screenig and phone interview, they will send you to the person the actual company for a interview.

Often times they will tell you that they will call you when there's a update or will call you on like Wednesday. Then wednesday comes along and then you realized that they have not called back because they forgot. So you have to call them yourself. Then when you follow up with them, they seem to routinely dodge your phone calls and emails. When you do catch up with them, they will pull an excuse and pretend that they didn’t hear that you said that you missed their voice messages.

Indian recruiters, whose whole business scheme is to spam resumes in areas where no one want to go with a 3 or 1 month contract. They’re hoping that people who are unemployed are desperate to post their resume so they can use them to prove to the US company that want to hire a person who is part of the overseas company attached to recruiting “business” that they tried to find a US candidate. Or in some cases, steal the information for their own ends: Such the job experience and place them on their hire they actually want that is from overseas, or steal the person’s name, address, and phone number as a form of identity fraud.

These practices have been active since the 2008 recession and have not changed because company simply realize that it’s easier cheapen the cost of labor by hiring less or none at all. Some of them I won’t include are abolishing on-the-job training programs for new hires, or outsourcing them to the workers on their own dime and time. But what most companies did was outsource hiring and recruiting to HR executives, ATS firms, and the recruiting industry as a way to cut costs. In some cases, companies post their listings on several job postings, to several recruiting firms. So the amount of jobs that are posted may not be real at all.

But the most insidious and unprofessional thing about the job market since is they way respond to job seekers. These days, they’re actually not genuine, some cases it’s totally fake as you can in some cases listen between words of interviewers and people calling you or calling you back. Despite systems that allow you automate sending rejection letters to each state of the process, most employers choose not to even though it can take less than five minutes to set them up.

Often times, you will never hear back. And this is done via ignoring your phone calls, emails,and voice messages. In some cases, recruiters place your number on a block list, straight to voicemail. It’s unprofessional but a routine practices nowadays in the age of the internet, and cell phones. But if a job seeker calls out a employer for doing so, they will make the job seeker the bad guy for not playing their game.

If you do get a hold of the HR person calling you, they will tell you a generic statement.

We have too many applicants

You’re resume is impressive, but we decided to go with other candidates

You’re not a good fit

We’re not decided to go with other candidates

We closed the position.

The same thing with email statements, too. It’s all generic because they don’t want to risk a lawsuit. You can argue that the hiring practices today, is to find excuses not to hire even a candidate that is not perfect but can work with: Zero-Liability Hiring.

Despite the Trump’s Administration boasting of a 4.1%, and a now absurd 3.8% unemployment rate, you would think that companies might suddenly change their tune and maybe be more flexible. Sadly, they haven’t, as it’s too profitable to change practices.As a matter of fact, for the tax breaks Trump promised and signed to Congress, most companies have pocketed the tax reductions they got instead of reinvesting it into hiring more people.

Now as for my story, almost all companies I’ve applied to have not acted like they’re desperate to hire people. In some cases, they stalled or made excuses why they can’t move forward.

The worst part is that I got laid off during the worst part of the year: The Holiday season. It's the time where employers despite posting job openings, are less inclined to actually pull their weight when it comes to the job application process, and will flake or stall out the first change to avoid giving applicants a callback closer the actual holidays come.

(The only exception is if you know someone that is willing and able to help, and will actually keep trying to help instead of seeking a one off thing and then going away if it does not work out).

In many cases, I’ve tried applying for jobs and casted a wide net to even places in the Northeast such as New York, Boston, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware. Same result, never hear anything back or they refused to go forward because I don’t live in the area where the employer is. I’ve even applied for jobs that are outside my field. Anything and I get no reply back response.

I’ve created multiple resumes over the past six months: There was one that had my job experience for the past 7 years. I had a federal resume to apply for federal jobs. I had a full one that is similar to the federal resumes, but without the federal government specific sections. I even had a dumbed down resume with just the last job I had. It didn’t matter, which resume as none of them got me the job.

And I’ll tell you why. Despite the fact that the unemployment rate is is low, there are too many people applying for too few jobs that exist in the market. 95% of the job growth since the 2008 economic recession is for part-time/contract work in low wage service industries, with the exception of fields that are in bubbles such as the STEM field, and the Oil/Shale industry during the oil boom before OPEC caused a oil glut in 2014.

Instead of companies expanding full-time job openings the jobs since 2008, they kept it low on purpose because it’s more profitable to hire less or none at all. This is what we call a jobs shrinkage. This is why you have one person doing the job of 2 or 3 people without a wage increase. And when the person finally quits, they will spread out the work to new hires that will be paid much less.

But it does not matter what I experience, because to American society I’m a worthless entitled unemployed millennial

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gaiatheorist · 6 years

Text

Improvising, and unpaid labour.

Half past four in the morning, I’m working around how to make a pie and a curry at the same time, with my ‘limited capacity’. I’m also factoring in energy costs, the impact of processes on end-products, and how to maximise my use of the ‘dead’ time between stages. My disabilities have an impact on my available functional hours, the hyper-vigilance that comes with my PTSD perversely helps me to portion-out my productivity. (Thanks, Mother, you didn’t teach me how to cook, or clean, or budget, but some other things you didn’t do mean that I can.)

Oliver Burkeman in this morning’s Guardian, is using the term ‘shadow work’. Most of us have always acknowledged that we have to do our own cooking, household chores and such. The category on my PIP award that scored the highest number of ‘points’ was ‘preparing and cooking food’. In reality, I actually find some of the other descriptor-categories more difficult, dangerous, and draining, but I was able to list more adaptations to my food-processing practices. If you don’t eat, you die. (Yes, that’s dramatic, it would take weeks to starve to death. If I miss too many meals, the blood sugar dip impacts on my background fatigue. I forget to turn the heating on, or take painkillers on schedule, and there’s that foggy-fugue state, where I’ll just stare at the phone until it stops ringing. I also sleep too much, not to escape the hunger-pangs, I don’t feel those, but because my body realises I have no energy, and effectively CTRL/ALT/DEL shuts me down.)

‘Shadow work’ takes on a different meaning when there’s a disability to factor in. It’s not just the “I’ve put it in the bag, you beepy bastard!” annoyance at the self-scan checkout, or remembering dozens of passwords for online utility billing and such, it’s varying degrees of everything.

Necessity is the mother of invention. I had a short discussion with an acquaintance earlier this week, he’s damaged his ankle, and has a cast and crutches for a minimum of nine weeks. This is the first week, and he’s finding a huge number of basic tasks difficult. I’ve actually offered to go to his house and help out during this initial adjustment phase. By week four, he’ll be managing everything much more easily, and by week six, he’ll quite possibly be finding uses for the crutches that the NHS wouldn’t like endorsing. It’s what people do, we improvise and adapt. That particular chap ‘only’ has nine weeks of this, but it’s still a useful analogy. Cast-and-crutches, or one arm in a sling, or your car off the road, after the initial “Well, this is an absolute disaster.”, you start to work around things.

I’m looking at the idea of ‘shadow work’ from multiple angles. Head-on, the increase in automation of some previously-human employment will flood the labour market with the people who used to do a job that a machine does now, that’s increased competition for jobs, which will be a concern for me when I’m fit-for-work. Historically, I objected to part of my previous job becoming automated, which was at odds with my principles, and odd in that I’d streamlined another part of my job, to need as little human-input as possible. The future is computers, though, and it’s none of my business how that all-singing-all-dancing software actually works in practice.

Recently, I’ve been entangled in doing shadow work for DWP, ‘Sleeping with the enemy’ to provide information that they already have, for their fancy new system. (Pride goes before a fall, but I’m probably using it more effectively than the staff paid to use it, they could have cut a significant number of person-hours if they’d followed my initial straightforward suggestion, instead of their convoluted one. They’re making part of my payment manually while I chase the ex to change the tenancy agreement, instead of a 30-second check with HMRC. They’re also making me ill, boo-hoo, poor me.) I saw a quote, I can’t remember the source, someone within DWP stating that claimants weren’t allocated any payments during the first week of a claim, because “The claim process won’t give people time to write a CV.” Furious, me? (I’m always furious, frontal lobe brain injury.)

Despite peripheral issues in an imminent brain-scan, and providing evidence to student finance, I managed to fill in the forms, and find the additional evidence that was behind the ‘beware of the tiger’ tab. (Wasted trip to the cash-point, thanks to Kenneth on the help-line, who’d told me to take an advice-slip issued on the day, when what the system actually asked for was two months of bank statements.) Luckily for all concerned, the new work coach barely glanced at the bank statements, I was fully expecting the Spanish Inquisition on the plethora of Amazon purchases after the PIP money went into my account. Mostly disability-aids for ‘normal’ household tasks, and repairing/replacing things I hadn’t been able to do while I was living on fresh air and food bank parcels as it goes, but I’d overheard enough “You don’t NEED Sky Sports, cancel it.” interviews to know there was the potential for them to pick through the statement.

I’d filled in the forms, secured the requested evidence, and moved onto the next task on the ‘to-do’ menu, because it was there. “Oh, you already have a CV uploaded, that’s great!” and “Did you write these? They’re excellent.” I’d done my work coach’s job for her, and I’d done it very, very well. (Arya Stark “You want to watch that one.” and such. That’s not a threat, it’s a reference to the conversation my previous work coach probably thought I couldn’t hear, “She will already have done it.”) *Liam Neeson voice over* “I am a nightmare.” It’s the paranoia that keeps me three steps ahead, I know I’ll have days when I’m less functional, so I ‘bank’ tasks before they’re due, to avoid missing deadlines, I did that before the disability, to mitigate against working hours lost to migraines, and ensure I never left colleagues in the s*it if I was absent. Now, with ‘please log in today’ emails pinging to my phone all over the place, that anxiety is compounded, my work coach has confirmed that my claim won’t be ‘stopped’ if I don’t respond same-day, and noted a mitigation/reasonable adjustment that I’m less functional later in the day, but there’s still that anxiety about missing a computer-generated ‘task.’ and incurring a sanction. My phone battery is wearing down faster because I’m repeatedly logging into my email, in case one has come through while I’ve been in a signal dead-spot. Shadow-work, the coach probably ‘should’ have made me an appointment in a month to review my Claimant Commitment, and another a month after that to write a CV. It’s done, she doesn’t ‘need’ to see me again until January, except she will, because I’ll have to produce a copy of the tenancy agreement once the ex sorts it out.

That’s not the only shadow-work I’ve done for DWP. There was the pointless ‘Work Capability Assessment’, and the horrendous PIP process as well. Almost half of women taken through the WCA process have attempted suicide. I know I contemplated it once or twice, and that’s a major admission coming from me. (I don’t know why that statistic only focused on women, unless it’s because men are more likely to complete suicide, due to choosing different methods, that’s a different scenario, ending-all as opposed to reaching that point, and still having to live through it.) 70% of PIP applications that are initially declined are accepted at Tribunal. It took me 17 months, from applying for PIP this time, to having my ‘award’ granted at Tribunal, and it wasn’t 17 months of sitting on my behind just waiting for it to happen. There are agencies and individuals who can assist with WCA and PIP processes, but they’re stretched too thin to cover everyone who needs help, and I’m a bugger for prioritising the needs of others over my own. (I’m also something of a control freak, I’m very difficult to work with when I perceive others working inefficiently, my “Oh, you’re making a right mess of that, give it here!” streak is strong.) During the UC/WCA/PIP process, I was over-stretching myself, and I became very frayed as a result. I was over-stretched in part because I should have asked for help sooner, and in part because when I did ask for help, it was too stretched and fragmented to be of any use. A social prescribing case-worker, a social worker, a welfare rights advocate, and two ladies from Citizens Advice. Little old brain damaged me, sitting in the middle of this fragile web of support, asking one party not to duplicate work being done by another, to save them work-load, and trying not to bang my head on the desk and say “It would be easier if you did it *this* way.”

Shadow-work. Providing the same medical evidence to two different parts of DWP. “Rolling six benefits into one”, my arse, the ‘disability’ part is still separate from the ‘unemployment’ part, I have an award of PIP for three years, which is completely distinct from the one year notice of ‘limited capacity for work’. Both departments have exactly the same evidence on me, I know, because I photocopied the files myself. (At 10p a page, I’ll have you know.)

The PIP process, and the WCA strand not only involved a hell of a load of shadow-work in terms of admin and coordination from me, they also cast light, and, paradoxically, shadow on my improvisations. Back to the crutches/cast analogy, you look at where you are, and where you need to be, and you figure out whether you can get there. You fall over a bit, and adjust your methods to avoid falling over again. Unless you can’t get up, and the police end up breaking in when the neighbours report the flies, and the smell. There are hundreds, or thousands of things I can’t do ‘normally’ any more, so I’ve had to make my own ‘reasonable adjustments’. (Some of them are bizarre, some are profoundly maladaptive, but they get me through most days without major incident.) Those improvisations, the additional shadow-load that’s on me every single day of my life, for functions that used to be so simple they required no conscious processing are a Very Bad Thing when it comes to PIP and WCA ‘assessors.’ “You said you had difficulties with x, I have decided that you can x.” over and over again. I didn’t say I “couldn’t”, I said I have difficulties, but some bloke in an office somewhere can ‘decide that I can.’, and that’s supposed to be case-closed. At that point, I was supposed to ‘just get on with it’, to limp around my various disabilities as best I could, because a decision had been made that I wasn’t disabled enough. Physically, I can’t do that, but, more importantly in my twisted little head, emotionally, intellectually, and socially I can’t do it, without my deficits placing myself or others at risk of significant harm. If I have a bad fall, or a cognitive lapse, not only is my life at risk, but I could place others at risk when they have to fish me out of whatever mess I’ve landed myself in. I won’t do that.

Another layer of shadow-work for DWP, painfully describing my improvisations in more detail. That part alone is enough to deter some people, it’s demeaning to have to explain, yet again, how you get on and off the toilet without assistance from another person. (Also the PIP system keeps the descriptor activities the same, but alters the qualifying thresholds without telling anyone. “Can you walk 200m?” has somehow morphed into some ambivalence about being able to move that distance, regardless of how long it takes, how difficult or painful it is, or what aids or adaptations are needed. They haven’t so much ‘shifted the goalposts’ as changed the game altogether.) I knew from the outset that the ‘computer says no’ would be the outcome, that the ‘assessors’ wouldn’t see the additional adjustments I have to make every day, they’d just bounce back that I ‘can’ complete all of the descriptors. Not repeatedly, reliably, or within a reasonable time-frame, though, and only with a massive degree of improvisation, which is physically and mentally draining, compounding the fatigue-element of my condition. (Shuddering at the thought of ‘home help’ assisting me with washing, dressing, or toileting, but that’s the PTSD, and PIP claims only deal with your most-recent condition, not anything underlying that compounds it, bizarre system.)

You’re damned if you do improvise, because DWP/PIP will tick the ‘can’ box, the ‘fit for work’ box. You’re damned if you don’t, because some faceless decision-maker will decide you’re just not trying hard enough. What about the people that can’t improvise? The ones who are already stretched to the limits of their functional capacity? Have they tried just not being disabled/depressed/dependent?

“Making work pay.” is a cute tag-line, but underneath it is the reality that vulnerable and disabled people are being churned through a workhouse that doesn’t work. We’re inputting our own admin. I have some cognitive issues, but nowhere near as high a level as some people. I have some visual issues, and my left hand doesn’t work properly, reading and typing are time-intensive, and painful, but I ‘can’ do it for a narrow window, given plenty of screen-breaks, some people can’t. It’s not hyperbole at all to say that this government has blood on its hands, it does, and it will have more to come while these systems are in place. People will fall through the gaps in the system, which will suit statistics, because ‘unemployment figures are falling.’ People. People are falling, into a shadow-realm of not being counted as ‘anything’. Some people’s improvisations to deal with that will be brutal. Domestic violence will increase when the ‘dole money’ suddenly stops going into bank accounts. Street robberies and burglaries will increase when people run out of their own things to sell. Referrals to social care and food banks will continue to increase. Evictions will increase, placing additional strain on local authorities to provide emergency accommodation, and I seriously doubt that people in emergency accommodation will be able to satisfy the conditionality of checking their online account for ‘to-do’ actions. Two-for-one sanctions there, I wonder if there are bonuses for that?

This isn’t working, I genuinely don’t believe it was ever meant to, I think that the intent all along was for it to be so complex and intensive that people would just opt-out. All well and good if that opt-out is into gainful employment, some of the opt-outs will be of a more permanent nature, and the government will still have to allocate resources to deal with the very long shadows this shadow-work will create.

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festiveboydanielhowells · 6 years

Text

figuring things out (chapter 5)

Summary: Prince Daniel of Eithoia has been seeing Lord Philip in private for years, despite his marriage to Princess Isabella. Up until now, it was never an issue for the three to be together. No one anticipated for the Princess to have an urgent announcement, and now anticipated that it would impact Dan and Phil and their countries as much as it did.

Warnings: pregnancy, smut, mentions of violence, swearing, vomiting

Tags: fluff, (horribly written) smut, royalty AU, polyamory, pregnancy

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Thirteenth of January

Steeple Palace, Kings

Phil misses Julia.

It’s the first thing he thinks when he wakes up with Dan’s arms around his waist and Isabella’s face buried in his neck. He likes being in between them, they’re both so warm and comfortable, but he needs to use the bathroom. He moves Dan’s arms from around his waist with minimal protests and moves over Isabella and out of the bed.

Isabella makes a noise that sounds vaguely like, “What are you doing?” as Phil maneuvers around her and onto his feet.

“I’m using the bathroom,” He whispers, giving her a kiss by her hair.

“Don’t be long,” She says, her words slurring, before she moves closer to Dan and tucks her head into his chest. Within seconds, her breathing has evened out and her eyes are closed peacefully in sleep.

He gives her another kiss on her hair before heading into Dan’s bathroom.

Being in his bathroom is uncomfortable—his shower has odd knobs on it, his whole bathroom feels much too big for some reason. He supposes that he always gotten a smaller room because he had a “lower” status, but now he’s staying in a King’s room, which means he’s literally at the top of the food chain.

He struggles to get the shower going, but eventually, he discovers which knob is hot water and which knob is cold water. Thankfully, it’s not too complicated, and he gets in the shower within a couple of minutes. He really doesn’t want to get out of the bathroom to grab his bag, so instead, he uses Dan’s body wash.

(He hopes it’s Dan’s body wash—there’s two bottles of similar things, and Phil doesn’t want to smell like honey suckle and lavender despite how good Isabella smells.)

Thankfully, he grabs the correct bottle of wash as he begins lathering his body in soap. It smells like mint and eucalyptus—exactly like Dan. He shampoos his hair and thinks about home—his home. He distinctly wonders how Dan will react if he asks him to bring Julia to the palace. It’s not Dan’s stingy or anything, but Phil still worries.

What if he didn’t like Julia, and so he says no? What if he tells Phil that he can’t allow her to live in the palace because she’s Intoran?

He takes a breath and turns off the water before stepping out of the shower. He refuses to use Dan or Isabella’s toothbrush—that’s disgusting, regardless of how often they kiss—and wraps a towel around his waist to grab his bag.

Isabella and Dan are awake, but they’re not out of bed. Instead, Dan has retrieved his laptop from his desk and Isabella is looking over his shoulder, occasionally pointing at things and saying, “Is that right? I think those are off,” before grabbing her phone and opening the calculator app.

Phil grabs his duffle bag and rummages through it before reaching his bag of toiletries and heading back into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He skips washing his face, rather choosing to splash his face with cold water and apply his deodorant.

He combs his hair back until he deems it relatively good-looking, and then exits the bathroom to change clothes. When he emerges from the bathroom, Dan has a distressed look, and Isabella’s comforting him about something. “It’ll be fine,” She tells him. “It’ll be fine. This is just a bump, okay?” and Dan nods, giving her a kiss.

“What’s happened?” Phil asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too nosy.

Dan shakes his head. “Boring stuff. Economic stuff.” He mutters, and Phil’s look must persuade him to keep talking, because he does. “It’s just so stupid.” He mutters, “Jobs need to be made but instead, companies are rapidly closing to reconcile with the money loss due to needing to supply their employees with a livable wage.” He puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do. Unemployment is so high and so many companies are cutting down on jobs.”

“What’s minimum wage here?” Phil asks, because sue him, he doesn’t know anything about foreign countries.

“Five-forty,” Dan mutters. “It’s definitely not livable, but it’s close because of the new housing bill and medical care bill.”

Phil shivers, “It’s twelve dollars in Intora,” He says, and then feels like shit for saying it. Dan knows that, Dan knows that his people aren’t able to live, but the big corporations were using Etithoia as a way to get cheap labor for so long and he’ll need to gradually build up to a proper minimum wage.

“Trust me, Phil,” Isabella says, “We’re aware. Our country has been the shithole dumping site of everyone else for so long. Cheap labor is so common and illegal operations too because everyone here is poor and we’re the only ones who have food, at this point.” She says.

“We could put the one idea into operation,” Dan suggests, and Phil wants to know what the ‘one idea’ is but he holds his tongue. “The one with the donations of excess food.” He says.

Phil grabs an outfit from his bag and turns around and lets the towel drop before getting ready for the day. He hears Izzy hum in agreement before saying, “The bill or the operation?”

“Either one, really.” Dan says, turning towards Izzy. “I’ve been thinking about setting the bill into publicity for a while now, but I haven’t really had the guts.”

“You should do it,” Izzy says, giving him a soft kiss on his cheek. “I received an email from the housing units—they say that they don’t have any funding for buying food or clothing. Having companies donate whatever they don’t sell under they law would be pretty helpful for most of them. The biggest needs right now are food, furniture, and clothing.” She explains.

“I got the same email,” He says, “They want to have more reasons for the upper class to support them.”

“Tax write-offs,” Izzy suggests. “Menia has them. If you donate to a shelter you get a portion of your taxes taken off depending on how much you donated that year.” Dan nods, typing down additions to the notepad he has open. “Bring that up at the meeting, yeah?” She asks, and he nods.

“Will do, love.” He opens up a tab for his email and types out a new email to his advisors.

“Advisors” is their title, but their job is to convince Dan that he’s making bad decisions. Dan tends to not listen, and he takes it upon himself to prove them wrong at every opportunity. He begins typing his email.

To: Winston Davidson, Logan Brookes, Kate Ingrid, Taylor Nelson

Cc: Isabella Howell, Emily Howell

Subject: Monday’s Meeting

To whom it may concern,

There is to be a royal advisory meeting held on Monday the fifteenth of January in the grand common meeting hall.

The topics to be covered:

-Bill 1197; topics of minimum wage

-Living conditions of citizens below poverty limit

-Introduction and editing of Bill 1198; topics of food, clothing, and furniture donations

-Corporate interference with daily life

Sincerely,

Prince Daniel James Howell

He hates the flow of the email, hates the fact that he has to write “to whom it may concern”, and hates the way he has to be just vague enough but also specific enough.

He ignores his hatred of the sentences he wrote in favor of focusing on the fact that he now has a plan for what he’s going to actually say. Every meeting he’s gone to has either been information packed or completely void of any plans, and Dan hates both.

He supposes he just hates his job, really.

Phil crawls into the bed next to Dan, and Dan attempts to give him a kiss, but Phil pushes him away. “Your breath is disgusting. It’s nine a.m., brush your teeth.” He scolds, and Dan fakes offence.

“I will have you know I was doing important business.” He says, but gets up anyways to get ready for the day. He washes himself off in the shower, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed for the day. He ends up wearing a plain shirt and a plain pair of trousers; he doesn’t have to make a presentation, so he will be wearing lounge clothing thank you very much. Dan emerges from the bathroom with soaked hair, before motioning to Isabella to go after him.

“What are you doing today?” Phil asks.

“Writing a bill. And you’re going to go to the doctor’s with Izzy.” He says, completely monotone. Phil can’t gauge whether or not he’s being serious until he looks at his tired eyes and understands. Of course he’s being serious, he has an entire country to transform. If he doesn’t do it to the best ability, other countries look down at him even though they have to hardly do anything. He sighs and flops himself onto their bed. “It’s not like I want to, but ever day without this bill going public is another day of wasted material for the housing units.”

Phil nods in understanding, and falls on top of Dan dramatically, spreading his arms out so that he’s put his full weight on top of Dan’s. He grunts, “Thanks, Phil.”

“No probably. You stress yourself out.”

“So, you’re going to be my human blanket?” Dan asks into the duvet.

“Yep.”

Dan lets out a content hum, before rolling them over and leaning against Phil. “I really do have to write this, but there’s breakfast downstairs in the kitchens. If you want some, you and Izzy can go together. She always needs to eat before she goes to the doctor’s, but—”

“But eating this early always upsets your stomach,” Phil finishes, giving him a slow kiss on the lips. When he pulls back, Dan’s smile is a little more real, and his shine a little brighter than before. “Izzy and I will grab food and head off, you stay up here and work, okay?” Dan nods, and pulls him into another slow and happy kiss before crawling up the bed and putting his laptop on his thighs.

He opens the document he was working on earlier, and hesitantly begins to type as Isabella exits the bathroom and joins Philip at breakfast.

Bill 1198

To go into effect (n/a)

Under the Daniel Howell Advisory.

180 Steeple Drive, Kings, 33478, Etithoia

The Bill 1198 is to be a solution for the lack of food, furnishings, and clothing available to housing units around the country.

He stares at the sentence, before deleting it off of the template.

House Bill 1198 is a solution to the country-wide issue that housing units have been experiencing since their opening and endorsements. The bill will encourage citizens above the poverty line to donate to said units with compensation in the form of tax write-offs. The bill also aims to provide corporate-donated materials by creating a system where companies can donate unused food, furnishings, clothing, and items to the units in return for government-given tax write-offs.

He looks at the paragraph, which seems much more put together than the simple sentence he’d written out before, and continues to work. He wants to make the bill seem as appealing as possible—the more appealing it is, the more the citizens will accept it.

The goal of the tax write-offs (which are to be provided by in receipts by the units) is to reduce the tax that one has to pay on job income and housing. Should a citizen need to limit their debt to the government of Etithoia—whether it be taxes, student loans, or any other debt—they can provide the receipt on their taxation logs in order to receive compensation for their good deed.

In order to receive a write-off, the citizen or business representative will deliver the products (through mail or personal visiting to the donation site) and receive a letter back with the items the unit received. The unit will keep a digitalized copy of all receipts in order to provide any lost receipts to donors. The amount that the donor donates to the unit will affect the amount taken off of taxes or debts.

Is that good? Does it flow well? He hopes it does, because he sends the document in a follow-up email to the same group of people. He chooses not to write out a formal email, the subject and the document practically explain themselves, anyways. He signs it and presses send, hoping that they read it before Monday. They hardly ever do, and then end up confused when he brings up whatever document he’d emailed them over the weekend.

He stands up, stretches his arms, and checks the time: twelve-fifteen. He knows lunch will be served soon, but his stomach is heavy with the anxiety of Monday’s meeting, and he chooses to skip out. Instead, he texts Isabella a quick, “where are you? Done with bill xx,” and goes back to mindlessly typing notes into his laptop, feeling semi-productive.

From: Izzy

We’re outside. The snow was super pretty lol

She sends him a picture of her and Phil outside, both covered in snowflakes all over. Phil’s eyes are bright and shining and he’s jumping in the background of the photo.

From: Izzy

we want 2 go out for lunch B)

To: Izzy

Where tho like that’s whats important

From: Izzy

Obviously that 1 diner at the edge of kings

U kno the 1 with the fairy lights :)

To: Izzy

Sure yea id be down

Do u want to take a car or walk

From: Izzy

Can we walk my feet hurt

Will show u pics of the ultrasound at lunch. We’ve got neeeeeeeewssss

He puts his phone down and closes his laptop screen. He puts his shoes on and joins Izzy and Phil outside, “We’ll have to tell someone where we’re going.” He tells them. “And we should probably bring, like, a guard or two.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Izzy says happily. “Drake and Josh?” She says, and Dan laughs.

“Yeah, sure, if neither are working right now.” He says.

Phil likes the restaurant. It’s pretty, simple, and their food is good. Fairy lights are strung up around the building and the lights are dimmed so that they stand out even more. He ordered a plate of fish and chips and some ice cream and is extremely grateful that he did.

Dan and Isabella split a vegetarian pizza with mozzarella sticks, and Phil turns his nose up to it. He likes cheese on pizza, but this pizza looks too cheesy, and it has at least four cheeses on it according to the menu. The waitress said hi to Dan and Isabella as if they were old friends in university, “Oh! How are you? It’s been a while; I was starting to worry that you didn’t like our food anymore.” But both Dan and Isabella assure her that they would never stop visiting the diner.

Phil learns that Drake and Josh did not mean the television show characters and instead a burly guard with strange resemblance to musician Drake and a tall curly-haired man literally named Josh. He’s sort of disappointed, but upon watching them interact with each other, becomes very happy.

“Drake” (apparently his name is Fergreck, Phil understands why everyone calls him Drake) keeps feeding Josh food and giving him compliments. Phil didn’t know that he would ever wish two bodyguards would date, but right now, he really wants them to just admit their undying love for each other. This must be how the internet feels about Dan and Phil, he thinks.

They eat in silence, occasionally making jokes or talking about their days, but it’s a comfortable silence. Dan’s holding his hand underneath the table and every time Izzy bumps her foot playfully against his he blushes deeply.

Towards the end of the meal, as everyone is taking their last bites of food, Izzy turns to Dan. “So, the doctor found something interesting.” She says, and Phil grows stiff. He completely forgot about it before, but now he’s anxious of Dan’s reaction. “Laurie’s going to have another sibling.”

Dan looks confused, his brain catching up with the words before he squeals and wraps her into a hug. “Twins? Oh my God,” He exclaims, and Phil knows they’re attracting attention, but Dan gives them both long kisses and then begins crying and he’s never been happier. “We’re going to have two of them, holy fuck. I totally called it.”

Izzy laughs, “Yea, yea, you were right all along,” She says lovingly and giving him a quick kiss. Dan drops a kiss onto Phil’s hand and wipes his happy tears away with the other.

“I’m just so excited,” He says. “I—I just—”

Phil cuts him off with a kiss, and he smiles into Dan’s mouth. “Let’s go home, come on.” Phil says, pulling away. “Head out before we get mobbed or some shit.”

They head out, Dan slams a twenty percent tip for the waitress onto the table, and the waitress gives all of them hugs and her congratulations as they leave. Dan’s so happy, he won’t stop talking about names for the babies.

“You can keep ‘Laurie’ but I want to name the other one!” He says, and Isabella gives him a look.

“I’m going to push a screaming watermelon out of my vagina, you have no right to name either of them.” She accuses playfully, and Dan pouts.

“Laurie Anne and Jordan Isabella.” He says.

“Jordan Isabella is ugly,” Phil argues. “Isabella Jordan.”

“No, that’s too close to my name,” Isabella complains.

“What if one of them is a boy and one is a girl?” Dan asks, “Then can we name a baby Jordan?”

She rolls her eyes at his eagerness, “You’ll get your Jordan, I promise.”

He pecks her cheek and gives them both a goofy smile before leaning against Izzy’s shoulder and snuggling into the backseat of the car.

#phanfic #phan #phandom #phanfiction

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newstfionline · 3 years

Text

Tuesday, July 27, 2021

Sparked by pandemic fallout, homeschooling surges across US (AP) Although the pandemic disrupted family life across the U.S. since taking hold in spring 2020, some parents are grateful for one consequence: They’re now opting to homeschool their children, even as schools plan to resume in-person classes. The specific reasons vary widely. Some families who spoke with The Associated Press have children with special educational needs; others seek a faith-based curriculum or say their local schools are flawed. The common denominator: They tried homeschooling on what they thought was a temporary basis and found it beneficial to their children. “That’s one of the silver linings of the pandemic—I don’t think we would have chosen to homeschool otherwise,” said Danielle King of Randolph, Vermont, whose 7-year-old daughter Zoë thrived with the flexible, one-on-one instruction. The surge has been confirmed by the U.S. Census Bureau, which reported in March that the rate of households homeschooling their children rose to 11% by September 2020, more than doubling from 5.4% just six months earlier.

Facebook Wants You to Connect With God. On Facebook. (NYT) Months before the megachurch Hillsong opened its new outpost in Atlanta, its pastor sought advice on how to build a church in a pandemic. From Facebook. The social media giant had a proposition, Sam Collier, the pastor, recalled in an interview: to use the church as a case study to explore how churches can “go further farther on Facebook.” For months Facebook developers met weekly with Hillsong and explored what the church would look like on Facebook and what apps they might create for financial giving, video capability or livestreaming. Facebook, which recently passed $1 trillion in market capitalization, may seem like an unusual partner for a church whose primary goal is to share the message of Jesus. But the company has been cultivating partnerships with a wide range of faith communities over the past few years, from individual congregations to large denominations, like the Assemblies of God and the Church of God in Christ. Now, after the coronavirus pandemic pushed religious groups to explore new ways to operate, Facebook sees even greater strategic opportunity to draw highly engaged users onto its platform. The company aims to become the virtual home for religious community and wants churches, mosques, synagogues and others to embed their religious life into its platform, from hosting worship services and socializing more casually to soliciting money. It is developing new products, including audio and prayer sharing, aimed at faith groups.

A Mexican state suffers bloody fallout of cartel rivalry (AP) When they heard gunfire in the valley, residents locked their doors and cowered inside their homes. Some 200 armed men had just looted a gas station, according to a witness, and the shooting would continue for hours as an equal number from an opposing group confronted them. The authorities didn’t arrive until the next day. When they did, they found 18 bodies in San Juan Capistrano, a small community in Valparaíso, Zacatecas. The north-central Mexican state holds strategic importance for drugs being shipped to the United States. Mexico’s two strongest cartels—Sinaloa and Jalisco New Generation—are locked in a battle for control. One month after the June 24 killings, there have been no arrests. The military has sent reinforcements, but killings continue across Zacatecas: a doctor here, a police officer there, a family killed, eight killed at a party, two girls shot along with their parents. In a country that has suffered more than a decade of violence at the hands of powerful drug cartels, the situation in Zacatecas, as well as violence-plagued states like Michoacán and Tamaulipas, shows that neither the head-on drug war launched by former President Felipe Calderón in 2006, nor the softer “hugs not bullets” approach of current President Andrés Manuel López Obrador have managed to break Mexico’s cycle of violence.

Cars, pavements washed away as Belgian town hit by worst floods in decade (Reuters) The southern Belgian town of Dinant was hit by the heaviest floods in decades on Saturday after a two-hour thunderstorm turned streets into torrential streams that washed away cars and pavements but did not kill anyone. Dinant was spared the deadly floods 10 days ago that killed 37 people in southeast Belgium and many more in Germany, but the violence of Saturday’s storm surprised many. “I have been living in Dinant for 57 years, and I’ve never seen anything like that,” Richard Fournaux, the former mayor of the town on the Meuse river and birthplace of the 19th century inventor of the saxophone, Adolphe Sax, said on social media.

London cleans up after flash flooding drenches homes, subway (Washington Post) Londoners were cleaning up Monday after torrential rain left homes, roads and several subway stations flooded, the second unseasonal inundation in as many weeks. Whipps Cross Hospital in the northeast of the city canceled all planned surgery and outpatient appointments on Monday after basement flooding damaged its electrical systems. Eight subway and train stations were closed Sunday because of flooding, including Pudding Mill Lane, an above-ground station where video footage showed water surging through a concourse and up stairs. Residents used buckets, brooms and wooden boards to create makeshift flood defenses for their homes as storm drains were overloaded in parts of the city. The rain followed a spell of hot, sunny weather that sent Britons to lakes and the sea in search of relief.

French parliament OKs restaurant COVID pass, vaccine rules (AP) France’s parliament approved a law early Monday requiring special virus passes for all restaurants and domestic travel and mandating vaccinations for all health workers. The law requires all workers in the health care sector to start getting vaccinated by Sept. 15, or risk suspension. It also requires a “health pass” to enter all restaurants, trains, planes and some other public venues. It initially applies to all adults, but will apply to everyone 12 and older starting Sept. 30. To get the pass, people must have proof they are fully vaccinated, recently tested negative or recently recovered from the virus. Paper or digital documents will be accepted. The law says a government decree will outline how to handle vaccination documents from other countries.

Europe’s hotels and restaurants are eager to welcome tourists—if they can find enough staff (Washington Post) As Europeans embark on their annual summer vacations, they are finding that some restaurants and hotels are still shuttered or operating at reduced hours, with many citing staff shortages. American hospitality businesses report similar problems, which put pressure on employers to raise wages and offer better benefits. Europe, though, wasn’t expecting this. Expansive wage subsidy and furlough programs were supposed to help workers get through the pandemic and ensure they would still be in place when businesses were able to reopen. Those programs appear to have worked for the people they covered. A study in the International Journal of Hospitality Management found businesses that put employees on paid furlough instead of laying them off were more likely to retain them beyond lockdowns. But seasonal workers, of the sort that staff resort hotels, had to apply for normal unemployment benefits instead. And, after 16 months of on-and-off lockdowns, it is increasingly clear that many of them sought out new, and, in some cases, more stable jobs in the retail industry and other sectors. Many may not return to hotel reception desks and restaurant kitchens anytime soon, if ever. France’s hospitality sector estimates that 150,000 workers have left the industry. In Germany, union experts estimate that every sixth worker—almost 300,000 people—left the sector last year. There are about 200,000 vacancies in the sector in Britain, where the effects of the pandemic have been compounded by Brexit.

Flooding in India (Foreign Policy) At least 135 people have died in India following a weekend of catastrophic flooding and landslides after heavy monsoon rains. More than 130,000 people have been rescued from villages across Maharashtra state, while at least 100 are still missing. India’s Central Water Commission has warned of “isolated very heavy rainfall” across the state, home to Mumbai, in the coming days. The rains follow similar downpours in Germany and China, as scientists warn that climate change could make India’s monsoons stronger.

Pandemic leaves Indians mired in massive medical debts (AP) As coronavirus cases ravaged India this spring, Anil Sharma visited his 24-year-old son Saurav at a private hospital in northwest New Delhi every day for more than two months. In May, as India’s new COVID-19 cases broke global records to reach 400,000 a day, Saurav was put on a ventilator. Saurav is home now, still weak and recovering. But the family’s joy is tempered by a mountain of debt that piled up while he was sick. Life has been tentatively returning to normal in India as new coronavirus cases have fallen. But millions are embroiled in a nightmare of huge piles of medical bills. Most Indians don’t have health insurance and costs for COVID-19 treatment have them drowning in debt. The pandemic has devastated India’s economy, bringing financial calamity to millions at the mercy of its chronically underfunded and fragmented healthcare system.

Pandemic Olympics endured heat, and now a typhoon's en route (AP) First, the sun. Now: the wind and the rain. The Tokyo Olympics, delayed by the pandemic and opened under oppressive heat, are due for another hit of nature’s power: a typhoon arriving Tuesday morning that is forecast to disrupt at least some parts of the Games. Don’t worry, Japanese hosts say: In U.S. terms, the incoming weather is just a mid-grade tropical storm. And the surfers at Tsurigasaki beach say Tropical Storm Nepartak could actually improve the competition so long as it doesn’t hit the beach directly. Any sort of rain—typhoon, tropical storm, or even light sprinkling—will be a wild swing from the first three days of the Games. Svetlana Gomboeva collapsed from heatstroke on the first day of archery but recovered to win a silver medal. Top-seeded Novak Djokovic and Medvedev, who complained his first round match was “some of the worst” heat he’d ever played in, successfully leaned on the International Tennis Federation to give Olympics players extra time during breaks to offset the high temperatures.

Tunisian democracy in crisis after president ousts government (Reuters) Tunisia faced its biggest crisis in a decade of democracy on Monday after President Kais Saied ousted the government and froze parliament. It follows months of deadlock and disputes between Saied, a political independent, Prime Minister Hichem Mechichi and a fragmented parliament as Tunisia has descended deeper into an economic crisis exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic. Supporters of the rival sides threw stones at each other outside parliament on Monday morning. The move poses the greatest risk to Tunisia’s stability since the 2011 revolution that triggered the “Arab spring” and ousted an autocracy in favour of democratic rule, but which failed to deliver sound governance or prosperity.

#headlines #news

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pandemicspring · 4 years

Photo

On July 20th, my dad’s birthday, I allowed my family to eat Inside the Olive Garden as a way of keeping the peace so we could just do some type of dinner together. Otherwise everything was going to fall apart. That’s the only time I’ve been inside of a restaurant since March. For both of my siblings’ birthdays on the 6th and 21st of August, we got takeout and ate it at either mine or my mom’s house. My extended family has been inside of restaurants. They’ve even gone to Michigan’s adventures. I feel that we’ve been lucky none of us has gotten sick.

About a month ago I did get my hair cut at a Sports Clips. We were nervous, but I wore a mask the whole time. I’ve also taken my little sibling to get their hair cut. I was glad to be able to get a trim, but for the most part I’m still growing it longer.

summer has been passing. Once a week or twice a week ever since June I’ve had the kids for a day. I’ve only missed one week. It’s been awesome to get to spend so much time with them. They’ve gotten used to the hoop house and been to the arboretum. One time I did take them to Airway Lanes because my tias gave us money and told them that’s where we were going, but for the most part I try not to take them out in public. It’s too much work making sure they stay distanced and masked because they’re only 6. I did take one to a bookstore today. He was very well behaved and stayed masked the entire time.

I went to Amy Newday’s farm once a week for about 5-6 weeks. This to me was the greatest risk I was taking because even though we did our best social distancing for the most part, when we ate we sat at tables together and didn’t wear masks. It was really nice to be going to the farm. Any time I’ve had a sick scare though, my biggest fear is having to tell Amy Newday and the farm crew.

My housemate Vivian and I have been working at the arboretum 3 times a week since mid-July. This is possible because I’ve had my mom’s truck all summer. One week, we had to miss a whole week of work because our other coworker had an ex-housemate test positive. He couldn’t go to work until he tested negative twice and it was up in the air whether he had infected the reset of us. Sara Stockwood had to go and sanitize everything. Honestly, before then, I hadn’t been being as careful with him as I should have been. Luckily he tested negative, but for a minute there it was really scary.

I did get tested last week. It wasn’t as bad as everybody said it was going to be. It did hurt, but a couple weeks ago I was laughing while eating a sandwhich and accidentally ended up breathing chewed up sandwich into my sinuses and that was more painful. I got from my car at my family doctor. They stuck the big Q-tip up just my left nostril. I haven’t gotten the results to the test back even though I got tested on Tuesday and they said I’d have results by Thursday. Tomorrow is already Sunday. I would have gotten a same day rapid test at Western, but since they’re moving people in they’ve reserved testing slots for only their students. I was calling for testing because there was about a week when both Anna (my sibling) and I were having chest pains.

KPS announced their plan to be online for the fall a couple weeks ago. K announced the decision to be completely online just a couple days ago. I’m going to try to do some homeschooling with my kiddos for a few hours about twice a week. I’m kind of ready to be homeschooling myself too I guess. Based on how things were in early July I was hoping we’d be able to return to school this fall, but those that are are already closing as they’ve been having huge outbreaks. It’s okay. I did most of my mourning in March/April/May. Many people are upset because they had signed leases, planned to come to Kalamazoo, are losing their jobs, or don’t want to pay the same tuition for online programming. I’m upset with them and wish things weren’t how they are, but those same problems don’t affect me because I live in Kalamazoo full time. I don’t pay tuition and in fall I’ll be getting the largest refund I’ve ever gotten. $2800. They put a bunch of desk chairs outside while they were preparing to social distance classrooms. I stole 3 of them for me and my housemates.

I’ve been receiving unemployment since July and that also really helped to relieve my financial struggles. For a few weeks now PUA is over, but it was helpful while it was a thing. I attended a protest at Fred Upton’s house about PUA extension and spoke as a representative and was videod on 3 different news stations. My mom was receiving unemployment as well, but luckily she got a new job right as PUA ended. I’m happy for her because even though she’s not making as much money as she was, her new job at LA insurance treats her much better and opens her up for new opportunities.

I am still a bit sad that my fellowships got cancelled, but mostly because now I can’t put it on my resume that I won one. It would have looked good to grad schools. I’ve been looking for programs and am hoping to be able to attend. That’s the sad thing about my research being cancelled too. Last week I got an email from my PI that we can resume research, but I haven’t heard from her since. I really want to get into grad school and I hope that when it’s time I can attend in person. I’m also sad that the IC probably won’t be running the grad school group for first gen students : /. I’ve been waiting to be a part of it since my first year and thought it would be really helpful.

My fall responsibilities: my 3 classes:

Communities and Schools - Dr. Espelencia Baptiste Advanced Molecular Genetics - Dr. Jim Langeland Research for Social Change - Dr. Adriana Garriga-Lopez

Being TA for:: The Hands That Feed us - Dr. Amelia Katanski Evolution and Genetics - Dr. Michael Wollenberg

Co-running the online composting class Applying to grad schools Spending time with my little ones

I feel more ready for than I felt at all ready for spring. There’s a lot to do, but I think things are going to be okay. I really do. Because of the pandemic, I even get to take the GRE online! I wasn’t going to take it at all, but because of Prof. Garriga Lopez and Francisco Villegas, I’m thinking it’s a good idea.

One unfortunate thing is that one of my best friends is 37 weeks pregnant and I havent been able to be with her during her pregnancy and wont be able to see the baby. It’s been in a word: pretty heartbreaking.

I don’t know how the future will be! Will keep you updated.

#good morning

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adamarinayu · 7 years

Text

So I was thinking recently... I want to do commissions. Writing or drawing. But I need to have examples of what I'm capable of before I can actually open commissions.

I'm waiting for my pen to charge (I have a huion, not the best but works well enough) so I figured I'd just explain a little bit about why I want to do commissions.

The most obvious reason, of course, is the fact that I have an art degree and art is kind of, well... my thing? I'm not good with ducks or mimicing styles, I'm better at developing my own style (which I think I'll do next time I draw ducks) and realism, but overall I have experience with drawing and writing, both.

The bigger reason I want to start taking commissions, though, is to try and save up money so I can get out of my parents' house.

I'm 22 years old and just graduated college, and my sisters and I have been planning for the last year and a half to move out once my middle sister pays off all her debts. As it is, we won't be able to move out until February at the earliest... but now it's looking more and more like my oldest sister isn't going to move with us. She's in a serious relationship and they've started talking marriage and kids. My middle sister is a cashier at a local grocery store, and my many attempts at finding a job have been futile. Without my oldest sister, there is absolutely no way we'll be able to afford to move out, even into an el cheapo apartment.

I'm continuing my job search, of course, but commissions would be a nice way to save up a little towards moving out on the side.

The reason we want to move out, and why this is important enough for me to do this?

Our step-mother is impossible.

If we go downstairs, we get yelled at.

We're not allowed to cook anything, so when she doesn't feel like cooking we're stuck with going out and buying food (unhealthy, disgusting, a waste of money!). In fact, when she and our dad went to Oregon to visit her family SHE HID THE STOVE BURNERS FROM US so we couldn't cook!

If we take our showers in the middle of the day we get yelled at for not warning her.

If we go anywhere without telling her, or visit/hang out with friends without giving her a day's warning we get yelled at.

If we play videogames or listen to music or watch a movie out loud (no headphones), we get told to be quiet, but she'll play her football at 6 in the morning on blast or at midnight when everyone else is asleep and HOLLER AND CHEER AND SCREAM and if we say anything we're just SOL. We're not allowed to watch the TV, either, even though they have THREE downstairs, all connected to cable, while ours upstairs is not.

If we even LAUGH she wants us to be quiet and demands to know WHY we're laughing.

Any time my oldest sister doesn't have work, she'll have the cars switched around so my sister is blocked in and my parents' cars are able to get out, even when she doesn't go anywhere, and then get mad when we ask her to move her car so we can go get some damn food.

We're all in our twenties and she talks to us like we're naiive, oblivious children. We come from an abusive background, and she actually thinks we don't know anything about the world. She has a hair trigger and all of us are at our wit's end trying to deal with it. We're tired of doors slamming every day, the yelling, the aggressive BS she pulls, the being blocked in, the fits, the lack of privacy, everything.

My siblings and I literally live upstairs. To the point where we have our own tea makers (which we also used for water to make oatmeal), a mini-fridge (for milk, mayo, ham, turkey, sandwich material), a food storage bin (for crackers, bread, cereals, canned spaghettios and ravioli, etc), we use the water from the bathroom... our desks are in our bedrooms, our gaming station and television is in my bedroom, we have a table and storage in our bedroom, we have a bookshelf in EACH of our bedrooms, everything we need is in our bedrooms. I've gone DAYS without going downstairs before, and the only time I go downstairs is when I fill up my large water bottle (I don't like the bathroom water, plus the bottle is too big to fill in there) or to go outside. As a bonus we eat once a day when we have no stock, because none of us are willing to go downstairs and face her wrath to get food. Of course, we never even know what’s okay to eat and what’s reserved for her/our dad/the future, anyway.

I've recently come to the realization that my depression and lack of motivation is partly a result of this. I feel trapped. I'm unhappy. I sleep for 12 hours a day just so I don't have to deal with her. I hate going anywhere with her and my dad because there's bound to be an argument. I don't agree with her political views, her social views, anything like that, and she is very open about it and oh man if I voiced my views I would get the lecture of my life.

There is so much more but this got so much longer and more ranty than I wanted it to.

The bottom line is, I'm in a situation that I can't get out of without some form of income, and I've been unable to get a job (I even applied at McDonalds- I hate McDonalds!- and didn't even so much as get an email back) so taking commissions would be at least a little helpful to getting my sister and me out of this situation we've been in for ten years.

My dad expects us to live with them basically the rest of their lives, but that doesn't feel fair to me. I don't want to be trapped. So my sisters and I are determined to save ourselves. I seem to be the most unemployable person in the world right now (exaggeration, I know I'm not literally the most unemployable person in the world) but I really need to do my part for this.

But yeah, I just needed to get this off my chest. This is my reason for wanting to do commissions. I hope you can understand and respect it.

#Personal #Commissions #My reasons for doing it #Idk if this counts as abuse #But I've been told by friends it does #You can ignore this if you want #It's completely unrelated to what I usually post here #And like I said #It doubles as a rant

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notaroadie · 5 years

Text

Twuesday, the 33rd

Dear 18 year old me,

Happy Birthday and congrats on getting your driver’s license. Don’t worry about stalling the car on the big road three or four times. In a few years time you’ll drive a van with all your belongings from Munich to Berlin and then back in one day and you’ll do just fine. Even though you won’t find the correct switch to switch the light on for a while. It’ll be okay.

I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you. I’m sorry hardly any of the dreams you have will come true. I’m just so sorry.

But let’s talk about today. Your nan will try to buy you as always. She’s hidden money in the bunch of flowers you’ll get. You’ll want to buy a car. You’ll not be allowed to buy one. You’ll buy furniture you’ll hate with it in a year’s time. You’ll never own a car, but that’ll be okay.

You won’t remember much about today. There’ll probably be an argument as always. I know you’re looking forward to your birthday party in your nan’s shed, but your friends will expect you to be their waitress and their present will be a sleeping bag with the tag still on, “wrapped” in a plastic bag. You’ll sit outside a lot whilst your friends get drunk inside. You’ll stop speaking shortly after you’ve moved away. It’ll be your last birthday party.

Now you’re allowed to drink and go out legally, you’ll do that a lot. Enjoy not having hangovers. Enjoy being able to drink Vodka Red Bulls and Bacardi Cherry. You’ll be more sensible later and you’ll never be in danger.

You dream of doing a whole tour one day. Music is your escape. One day you will get to travel around. And not just once.

I know you’re not worried about school. You never were. So don’t panic when a week before your Abitur you realise you need to ace it to get the grade you desire. You will. No one will care. The ceremony will be an annoyance to your family.

Soon you’ll get so stressed and upset about how they treat you, you’ll lose the hearing in your ear. Because you’ve never been looked after well (remember that time you walked to the doctor with a broken ankle?), you’ll be stuck with a tinnitus. You’ll get used to it. Somewhat.

You’ll send off some applications to MTV and the local newspaper, cos you wanna be a journo, and you’ll never hear back. You will eventually become a journo later, so dream about how good it’ll be to write for a living a little longer, until reality hits you in the face.

In a little while you will hear a classmate talk about a course at uni that sounds interesting. You’ll apply. You’ll be accepted. It’s the only uni you apply for properly. She’ll hate you for making her less special. She won’t talk to you much during the entire time at uni. You’ll meet her later, at a gig, where she’s sat behind the guest list desk and you’re on the guest list. You’ll suggest meeting for a coffee. She agrees. You’ll add her on Facebook. She never accepts your request. It’ll be okay.

The day you leave school your German teacher will give you her email and tell you you’re talented and should write for a living. You’ll never write to her. You’ll sadly write less and less. You’ll wish you’d kept it up. You could’ve been so good.

You’ll move out to attend uni when you’re 19. I know it’ll be such a huge relief to you, but I’m sorry it will not get any better. It will get so much worse. Now there’ll be more than two people against you. Your flat mates will make your life hell. You will hide in your room a lot, even lock the door, and become even more of a night owl than you already are. Sometimes you will not get up until 5pm. Some days you will not go to bed until 5am. You’ll spend a lot of time washing your hands at night. Sometimes you will do it for hours. It will get better though, I promise. Sleep will no longer be your enemy. Your hands will stop bleeding.

But you will also start gigging when you’re 19. You will go and see a band you like. It will be great. You will see them a lot. You will still see them when you’re 33.

You will make a friend at uni that you travel with. In a few years time you will spend your first night in Berlin on her sofa. A year later you’ll have lost contact.

You’ll make other friends on tour. You’ll keep in touch with some of them. You’ll lose contact with most of them. You’ll still speak to Sarah when you’re 33. She’ll be your oldest friend. You’ll appreciate her more than ever. You’re scared to piss her off every day.

Uni will go well. You will make friends. They’ll take you for who you are. You’ll hang out sometimes. They’ll notice the cuts and bandages on your left arm when everything else becomes so much you can barely cope. They won’t say a thing. That’ll make you stop.

You’ll get your Bachelor’s Degree. You’ll be excited about it. The first in your family with a degree! You’ll be told it was expected. You don’t celebrate. There’s not a single present.

You’ll apply again. For internships. For jobs. There’ll be no replies. So you continue doing your Master’s. You’ll miss the first 2 weeks cos you’ll be following that band. You’ve taken out a second loan to afford it. But it’s the only time you feel free and something similar to happy.

Uni continues to go well. You continue living in the hellhole flat share cos no one helps you to get out of it. You get interested in mental health and start realising all the things that are wrong with you. You go “home” less often. You no longer have a home. You start spending New Year’s Eve on your own. 2018 will be the 14th on your own in a row. You’ll sob on every single one of them.

You’ll finally speak to people about feeling really depressed. Your course mate will reply with “I think you enjoy being sad.”. You’ll call a clinic. The receptionist will laugh and tell you they’d need to check if your case is interesting enough. You’ll decide to swallow it down and keep a stack of razor blades in case in gets bad again.

You’ll start losing weight. You’ll starve yourself down to a 14. You’ll still be bullied. People still call you fat, and ugly and all sorts of other names. I’m so sorry. You’ve tried so hard. You’ll have gained it all again and more soon. You’ll hate your body as much as you do now. If not more.

You’ll get your Master’s Degree. You’ll celebrate with pizza and wine and some of your classmate friends and one of them will drive everyone home, 7 people in a Golf. It will be a good evening.

You’ll apply for jobs again. Any job will do now. You’ll be unemployed. You’ll have taken out a third loan. You’ll get a job. You’ll move to Munich. You’ll love Munich, but you can’t afford it. You spend the first few weeks in an empty flat, sleeping on an air mattress. Your boss will mock you for it.

A year into your job he will have broken you so much you’ll end in mental health hospital ER on a Sunday morning, sobbing, self harmed. You’ll go back to work on Monday.

By now you’ll hardly go to the place you were born in anymore. The last time you go there will be to attend your nan’s funeral. You won’t feel sad. It will be very weird.

You’ll spend your 27th birthday in Amsterdam. You’ll see that band a day after and when you want to mention it was your birthday, people interrupt you. I know it would’ve meant the world to you. You decide to just not get your hopes up. When you come home, the police will wake you. Your parents have sent them. You’ll stop speaking to your parents. Finally.

You’ll find out about your godfather’s death a few years later through a letter from his life insurance. You’ll wish more than ever before you had an intact family. The very selfish part of you appreciates that you’re not in your overdraft for the first time in years.

Before this all happens, you’ll become unemployed. Again. You’ll use all your savings you have at the time to survive. You will not be able to afford paying rent. You’re so close to becoming homeless. But it will be okay. Even if at some point it doesn’t look like it.

You’ll soon be scared to leave your house. You will speak to your parents one last time when they turn up at your door. They’ll insult you, as always. They will stalk you. You will stop answering the door. You will change your phone number. Remember all the things they said to your face? They’ll write them down in letters. You can’t change that. They’ll tell you you’re an awful human being and an even worse daughter. You know, so you stop reading the letters. You don’t need to be told that. You know.

At some point you’ll not speak to or see anyone in person for 4 months. You’ll survive, somehow.

You’ll find another job after 9 months of unemployment. It’ll be even worse. They’ll make you sign something where you’re immediately fired when you make more than 5 typos a month. They’ll eventually fire you for finding your blog and forcing you into therapy.

It’ll be your second attempt at therapy. The lady will tell you that if you lost weight and wore more make up and your hair open you’d get a boyfriend. She’ll also say she’s surprised you’re still alive. Joke’s on her, because so are you. You never go to see her again. You will not try therapy for a long time. Your OCD will spiral out of control.

I also know you hate your face. I promise I tried to fix that. I will spend 2 grand on trying. You’ll have 4 surgeries, 4 years of braces and procedures and orthodontist visits. I’m so sorry no one will be there to look after you when you come out of your first ever surgery. I’m sorry you will have to get a taxi. I’m sorry you’ll have no visitors at hospital.

But you will have a fixed face. You’ll dare showing your teeth more. Your chin won’t stand out as much. But you will lose the feeling in your lower lip and chin. I hate to tell you, but you’ll still not have kissed. Now you’ll never know what it really feels like.

At some point during that time you’ll flee from Munich. You won’t be able to even afford moving, but your bank person grants you an extra 500€ overdraft. You’ll pack all your things in a van and will drive to Berlin. You’ll spend your last night in Munich on an ex-colleague’s mattress on her living room floor.

You’ll spend the first night in Berlin on your uni friend’s sofa. It’ll be one of the last times you’ll meet.

The first month in Berlin you’ll live off your credit card. Nothing new here. You’ll take out another loan to buy some furniture. You’ll only own a bed, nothing else. You buy a fridge for the very first time. Not storing milk on your balcony in winter will feel like a huge luxury. Having a separate kitchen even more so.

I know you’ve been dreaming of having a small, cool flat, all for your own, with wooden floors and big windows. You’ll have that. Well, the wooden floors. You will still just have one room. I’m sorry I won’t be able to offer you more. You’ll also finally be a journo. You’ll give up being one soon.

But in Berlin you’ll start feeling free again. You’ve not given anyone your address. You can afford to travel a bit more. You’ll still go and see that band. You’ll feel okay for a few weeks.

It won’t last long. I kind of wish you’d known, so you could’ve enjoyed it more. You will get stalked again. You will go to court this time. You’ll get police involved. I know you don’t think so, but you’re so so strong. You will finally be left alone. Even if the police officer doesn’t take you seriously.

But you will also get even more depressed. You’ll get so sick you’ll stop working for a while. Life will almost feel too much.

You will turn 32. You’ll have gotten your hopes up again, about someone acknowledging it. You’ll spend it on your own at the airport, a day after seeing that band. It will be the 14th in a row you’ve gotten your hopes up for nothing.

You will get lonelier than ever. You’ll barely speak to people. You still survive, somehow. You’ll go see a doctor. She’ll be the first who understands. You’ll even try meds. They will help you sleep, until life becomes overwhelming again.

You’ll go on tour. A lot. It will be an adventure. Cherish the good moments, because you will also end up crying in storage rooms. Hotel rooms. Bunks. And lots of other places. Your brain will still not be your friend. You’ll never fully belong. You’re scared you’ve lost the one thing that meant the most to you. That, at times, kept you alive.

You’ll soon realise what you’ve lost. You’ll soon feel like a waste of space even there. I’m sorry you’re not a better person.

Today is your 33th birthday. You’ve cried at midnight. When you wake up, way too early, there will be no presents to unwrap, no cards to open, not a single message to read. You’ll cry for the second time today and it’s not even 7am.

You’ll get doughnuts for your new colleagues. You don’t even like them much, but they can’t notice just yet what a mess you are.

You even made plans. You shouldn’t have. Just because it means something to you doesn’t mean anyone else cares.

Well done for making it this far, girl. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment. I’m sorry you’ll be so alone. I’m sorry I’m not better. Or good at all.

But keep fighting, love x

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viratsharma1100-blog · 5 years

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