#so i let my supervisor know and called the building to let the overnight shift lead know i won’t be in and have her pas that to the

[vexalia]

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[srose-foxfire]

Damirae - Vet AU

A/N: Hi! Welcome to my page this is my first ever Damirae fanfic, so I hope you enjoy!

-- -- --

“Thank you again for what you did for Titus, Dr. Roth.”

“It’s my job Mr. Wayne. Please stay safe. You be a good doggie, okay Titus? You were the best patient I ever had.” Raven knelt down to pat the great black Dane on his head, he barked at her happily before his owner Damian Wayne click his tongue to signal Titus to follow him. Raven looked up to the young man dressed in a fancy black suit as he gave her a small smile. Both dog and owner exited the clinic.

Not turning her back toward the two girls that worked the reception desk Raven crossed her arms over her chest, “can I ask why his paperwork was thicker than what our patients usually sign after discharge?” Earlier when Raven had come out of the examination room to say her farewell to Titus, she found that Damian was signing off the discharge papers, but he had a bigger stack than what was usually the norm. She eyed the two girls, with a stern look letting them both know she wouldn’t like whatever they were going to say.  

“Girl, we all just added some blank papers with a signature box in the bottom for him to sign!” Roxy exclaimed unashamed she cost the young man much valuable time.

“What for?”

Roxy only gave Raven a dumbfounded look, like she couldn’t understand why Raven would be surprised at her actions, “what for? What for? Girl, he is Damian Wayne! Like the hottest, most eligible bachelor in Gotham! His dad is Bruce Wayne, one of Gotham’s multi-millionaire and owns Wayne Enterprises. I can die happy having the chance to be in front of a god like Damian!”

The second receptionist, named Mayra only snickered before looking up to Raven, “don’t mind her Rae, she just one of those crazies calling themselves a member of the ‘Damian Fan Club,’ but seriously you never heard of the Wayne family?”

“I’m not much for social media or newspapers articles, besides the last nine years I have been focusing on completing my veterinary degree.”

“Well now’s a good time to get out then,” Mayra stated, really hinting on the idea that she should get out more.  

“Sounds fun, but I rather focus on my patients right now.” Raven said as she left them both to go back into the procedure room and look at the animals they were caring for. She had entered the room and looked through various folders they had on the counter, she found the one belonging to Titus. Raven opened the folder and reread his report for what felt like the hundredth time.

Damian had brought his three-year-old dog in an emergency, Titus was shot during a drive by. The poor young man was devastated that his animal friend had gotten hurt and didn’t know what to do. Raven who was on duty when Damian came in holding Titus in his arms, took Titus from him and reassured she would do everything in her power to care for his dog. Luckily the bullet only managed to graze over the dog’s shoulder. There wasn’t too much damage, all she needed to do was clean the wound to prevent any infection and help him get out of his state of shock. As a precaution Raven held Titus for two nights to observe him and make sure there wasn’t any other dangers. Now three days later Titus got to return home with his master. It warmed Raven’s heart that she was able to reunite them again.  

-- -- --

It’s been over a month since Raven met the infamous Damian Wayne. Well Raven hadn’t really spoken to him personally since Titus was discharged. One of the main reasons she kept hearing the young man’s name so often was thanks to Roxy who couldn’t stop talking about him. She would speak of the countless rumors the media had written about him. The girl sounded she was under a love potion of sorts, speaking of her fantasies she had on Damian. Immediately, Raven would leave the lobby of the clinic whenever Roxy would start her fantasizing lectures. To make matters worse Roxy had the audacity to build a small little altar with Damian’s picture cut out from a magazine article with pink hearts doodled around him.Of course, this didn’t bode will with Raven, this was a pet clinic and if their patients ever saw Roxy’s little corner of honoring the young Wayne; let just say they would be losing some credibility that the staff took their job seriously.

Raven was in one of the examinations room, cleaning the counters and all the surfaces to have it ready for their next patient, when she heard Roxy literally scream. “Oh my god!” Raven dashed out of the room as quickly as she could wondering what the hay Roxy was screaming for this time. Thankfully when she reached the lobby room, the clinic was empty, today they didn’t have as many patients as other days. “He’s here!” Roxy squealed.

“What’s wrong with her?” Raven asked, she didn’t care that her voice sounded very irritated at the moment. She wanted to make her point across to her coworker that this behavior wasn’t acceptable at the clinic.

“Damian is back. He is just been standing there for over half an hour.”

“What?”

Mayra who had her arms crossed over the reception desk shot Raven a look before motioning with her head towards the door. “Yeah, I thought he was going to come in and have us check his dog or something since he brought his pooch along. But they are just standing there. See for yourself.”

Raven cautiously moved behind the receptionist counter and shot a quick glance through the glass door to find Damian, leaning up against a light pole looking down at his phone, while his dog sat beside him. Damian was wearing a black turtleneck, paired with a dark grey jeans. God he was very handsome. Raven couldn’t help but continue to stare at the young man, as he glances away from his small screen to kneel before his dog and pet him lightly on his head. A smiled crept up her face when she saw Damian give his dog a most genuine smile, before Titus moved in to lick his master’s face. Raven could see how much the young man loved and cared for his dog. This is why she choice this career, she wanted to be someone to help and care for people’s animals’ companions because these beautiful creatures are part of a family. It brought Raven joy to see Titus was doing well, he will live many years to come along his benevolent master.

Raven sighed and looked back at Mayra and Roxy. “Well pay it no mind, we have work to do. For all we know he could be waiting for someone and that just happens to be the meeting spot.”

“You don’t think he is out on a date?!” Roxy practically yelled; thankfully the glass was thick enough to minimize her cry or else Damian could had heard her.

“Why should we care if he’s out on a date or not? Roxy go back to work and leave the poor man alone.” Raven added.

“As member of the ‘Damian Fan Club’ it’s my responsibility to make sure no harm comes to Damian and make sure whoever becomes his wife is right for him!”

Raven couldn’t believe this girl, she raised an eyebrow at her, “Seriously?”

“She’s serious.” Mayra who was keeping quiet during one of Roxy’s little fangirl phase. “It’s actually a thing. The club exists and all, bunch of crazies like Roxy here that want nothing more than to go to bed with Damian.”

“You witch! We take our role as Damian’s fans very seriously!”

Raven couldn’t help but feel flabbergasted at the little brunette, “Roxy, I have heard you speaking of the fantasies you have about him.”

“Well Raven, we are allowed to dream, aren’t we? Besides I know very well I am not meant for such a handsome prince like Damian Wayne.”

“Go back to work, I am gonna go finish up room 3 and 5. Then check on the animals we have staying overnight.” Raven said as she looked back out the door and found heat creep up to her cheeks when she noticed Damian catch her gaze towards him. Quickly she turned around and walked towards the door that led to the examination rooms.

-- -- --

It was now 6pm and everyone had already left for the day. Raven was busying herself making sure she jotted down any new appointments on her agenda. Afterwards the young vet made her rounds around the kennels. There were a few animals staying overnight at the clinic, she pulled out their files and adjusted them on a shelf organizing so the overnight staff knows which patients needed more attention depending on their case. There was a back door the overnight staff used to enter from. Soon enough Garfield Logan, the supervisor of the night shift had arrived; Raven went ahead and handed him the full reports on their overnight patients. After she discussed what they were monitoring in each of their patients, Raven went inside the staff’s locker room and changed from her work clothes to her civilian clothes. Raven finally called it a night and said her goodbye as she went for the front door with her shoulder bag.

Once exiting, Raven found Damian was still leaning up against the pole, she was grateful he hadn’t noticed her due to the fact he had his gaze pinned to his phone. Though Titus recognized her, as he stood up and started wagging his tail. Raven quickly turned around; locking the glass door, afterwards she then reached for the metal folding security gate and pulled it towards her to lock the clinic. Unfortunately for her, this gate was due for some maintenance and sometimes instead of smoothly sliding along, the bottom part of the gate would always get stuck. Today of all days the damn gate decided to mock her and really give her a hard time as Raven kept tugging the gate; mentally begging it to obey her. She cursed under her breath, giving in to her defeat. Raven pulled out her phone and was about to call Gar to come help her with the damn gate.

“Here allow me to help.”

Her finger was about to press the call option, when Damian stepped from behind her. She looked up to him and just realized how his eyes were a beautiful emerald color, they held so much warmth in them. Damian gave her a soft smile, before handling her Titus’ leash. Raven had to blink a few times to remember where she was before grabbing the leash, as the young man before her stepped up and gave a good hard tug onto the gate sliding all the way across the door. Needless to say, Raven was impressed how strong Damian was, she noticed how his black turtleneck was tight and his tight muscles were begging to be free from the cloth containing them. A light blush managed to creep onto her cheeks at the idea of a shirtless Damian. What was she thinking?! Raven shook her head a couple of times to get these wild thoughts far away from her mind, she then looked up to Damian gesturing with her head to allow passage towards the thick key lock. Damian side stepped, taking back Titus’ leash as he allowed her to open the lock and passing it through the slotted area to secure the gate.

When Raven finally locked the gate, she looked up to the man beside her and gave him a small smile, “thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please call me Damian, Dr. Roth.”

“Then you may call me Raven, what brings you here? Is Titus unwell?” Raven asked as she bend down and patted the dog’s head, he responded back her gesture by licking her hand. His tongue was very ticklish that Raven couldn’t help but giggle, she looked up to find Damian was smiling down at her. She looked away from him when she could feel heat worm it way towards her cheeks, she prayed her face wasn’t flushed that Damian would notice.

“No, he is doing well. Actually…” Raven looked up to find Damian was looking to the sides as he rubbed the back of his neck. It looked cute nevertheless to Raven, she couldn’t help but snicker very silently at the very nervous young man before her. Finally, Damian turned too face her and extended his hand towards her to help her stand up. “I was wondering if we could invite you out to dinner? As a thank you for what you did for Titus. There’s this restaurant down the street that offers outdoor dining… I mean if that’s all right with you and if you aren’t busy tonight?”

“Actually, I had nothing planned for the evening. I would love to join you both.”

- -   - -  - -

That was five years ago when Raven had gone out on her very first date with a guy. The sun was coming up over Gotham’s skyline as she looked out the window thanking the universe for the life she had received. Raven had gotten up just a few minutes before the sun was even up, she was wearing a light blue tank top, with a pair of cotton navy blue very short shorts. Just then she heard a stir come from the bed, Raven turned around to find her husband was moving in his sleep. The covers covering him had slipped down his body, exposing his sculpted chest and abdomen, gosh he was so handsome. He was even more beautiful under the sun’s morning light as it highlighted his perfect face. Even after all this time Raven couldn’t help but blush whenever she saw him naked. Her female coworkers -especially Roxy- at the clinic wouldn’t like to admit it but they were jealous that the fact Raven didn’t even try but manage to bag Gotham’s most eligible and hottestbachelor.

Closing her eyes, Raven turned around again to stare out the window as she continues to hear Damian stir in his sleep. Still keeping her back turned she could hear him groining and moving the sheets to the side as he steps closer to her. Damian walks behind her, placing his strong muscular arms around her waist, then pecks her on her cheek before resting his chin on her shoulder. “Good morning Mrs. Wayne,” he says into her ear as Damian begins to trail the tip of his tongue along her neck down her shoulder, just the way Raven liked it. She couldn’t help but blush at how he addressed her. They been married for over two years and she still felt like their relationship was still new to her, exactly like how she felt five years ago. “How long have you been up?”

“Mm…not too long,” Raven answered him as she turned to face her husband and wrap her arms around his neck. She looked him up and down seeing he was only wearing his black cotton boxers’ briefs. Raven then met his emerald gaze she was so entranced with. He gave her a warm smiled before leaning in and placing his lips softly onto hers. 

The kiss was soft much like their first kiss, when Damian had come to her apartment to pick up Titus after she dog-sat for him while he was away on a business trip. He was acting very nervous and after being decline of receiving the payment he was offering Raven for her service. He muttered something under his breath in another language and leaned forward to steal her first kiss. Afterwards Damian confessed to having feelings for her since the moment they met and asked if she would give him a chance. Raven answered him she started developing feelings for him as well, before she could say anything more Damian captured her lips once again. One thing led to another that they made love to each other that night. Since then Raven knew she wanted nothing more than to spend her life with Damian.

Now coming back to the present Raven pulled away from their kiss and lightly trail her fingertips over his bare chest; tracing a scar that was over his heart. Damian mentioned to her that as a child his grandfather would make him train day and night just to teach him self-defense. Some trainings were very brutal that most of his scars came from his own grandfather’s hand. It saddened Raven the least to know Damian has been hurt by members of his own family. All she could do for her husband now was kiss his healed scars and hope any painful memories could be covered by her love for him.

Raven wrapped her arms around his waist, then buried her face onto his hard chest; slowly pushing Damian towards their bed. When he was stopped by the foot of their bed, Raven let go and took a small step back before pushing Damian to fall on the mattress. Her husband sat up giving her a sly smirked she so loved. Raven then moved closer to him swaying her hips very seductively. She placed her hands on her hips before finding the waistband of her shorts, Raven never once let her amethyst gaze leave her partner’s emeralds. Keeping her movements very slowly Raven pulled down her shorts. Stepping out of them she walked over to Damian who reached for her waist and bringing his wife down onto his lap. Raven rested her knees on either side of his hips, she then gave him a devilish smile before she pulled her tank top off, now only wearing her cobalt blue lace undergarments before him. Raven could see Damian’s eyes were filled with hunger and desire, he started trailing hot messy kisses just beneath her collarbone. Lightly leaving bite marks to signify she belonged only to him, which Raven didn’t mind at all. Damian then lightly started kissing the top of her plump bosom, she knew she was playing with fire when she was seducing him a few seconds earlier now as punishment Damian was teasing her. Raven didn’t know how much longer she could last.

“I love you beloved,” Damian whispered as he continues to caress her skin with his lips. His hands were running circles on her bare back, before resting and gripping her hips.  

Raven let out a moan, before grabbing either side of her husband’s face having his emeralds looking into her amethysts. “I love you too, Damian.” She said softly as she pulled his face to have their lips meet once more. Raven felt an immense happiness consumed her as she shared these moments with her husband. She thanked whatever universe or destiny had made their paths crossed five years ago.

She couldn’t imagine her life differently.  

__________________

A/N:

Hello!! If you reached this far first all… THANK YOU!!! I found many amazing completed fic and ongoing fics here on tumblr and wanted to try my hand with my own ideas to show my love for Raven and Damian. I am currently writing two other fics for a separate fandom but will probably start sharing one-shots of Damirae here on tumblr. I have a couple Damirae fics that are on the longer side, those will be posted on my Wattpad page under my user: s03Rose .Those fics are still in development because they will have a plot line to follow so when I get halfway the storyline I will post little snippets here.

On the side note, I started writing fics for my own enjoyment because I want to be a writer, I have original ideas already started but first things first I must practice my writing to see first if it makes sense and if it’s entertaining to read. Also this was my first ever writing a fic filled with some small ‘smut’, I read fics that were on the mature side and wanted to try my hand at writing these sort of scenes. Again I am no good but practice will aid me. I don’t know when I will upload another Damirae fic since I have work and other ongoing personal projects. Please bear with me but do know I will try to update every second week. Till next time!

--Simona R.

[renegadepisces]

Bright Imagine: Kandomere accidentally meets your family Part 4 FINAL

Fandom: Bright Pairing: Kandomere x reader Tags: slow build, fluff, eventual nsfw Note: also on AO3 as Serendipity & Caffeine

A/N: Thank you all so much for hanging in there. It’s finally finished!

If anyone had told you in the miserable weeks since Kandomere kissed you and fled your apartment that he’d be sitting on your sibling’s couch watching a Disney movie with your nephews and niece curled up between you, you would have started the paperwork to have them committed to a psychiatric facility right then and there. 

Weeks had slipped into months since Kandomere kissed you in your apartment. It was enough time for you to be fairly certain that he hadn’t filed a complaint with human resources or asked for you to be transferred to another division. As grateful as you were to still have your job, the time had underscored another, more uncomfortable point. Unfortunately, it was also enough time for you to really miss whatever your relationship had been before that night. 

Overnight, he’d stopped coming by your desk and making friendly conversation. In meetings, he always put himself in the seat farthest from you. Almost all work-related communication came from Montehugh now, because apparently even calling you was a mistake. 

The word haunted you. With the exception of a few curt greetings and orders, those were the last words you’d heard from him. But you hoped tonight’s plans would take your mind off them. Your sibling and their spouse were taking a long weekend to celebrate their anniversary. You’d agreed to move into their home while they were away and take care of your nephews and niece. Tonight was the first night of what they’d called ‘the long sleepover’, and you were excited to spend some time with them after weeks of pressure at work. 

And your mind had admittedly been pleasantly distracted until you’d investigated some suspicious noises coming from the back patio and found two would-be burglars trying to reach a second-story window and break in. Thankfully, yelling loudly that you were a federal agent and waving your stungun at them had been enough to subdue one and send the other fleeing into the night. 

Even without discharging your service weapon, the incident still created a bureaucratic headache. Any kind of police response to a law enforcement officer’s home was a cause for alarm. Both the LAPD and the county sheriffs committed units to patrolling the area and checking local hospitals. Your sibling’s supervisor had even volunteered to station a patrol car outside the house all weekend in case the suspects came back. 

Most shocking of all was watching Kandomere arrive in furious style in his polished black sportscar. He barely paused to put the vehicle in park before stomping up the drive toward you. Even the most senior officers on the scene had rarely crossed paths with federal agents of his rank, much less the elven commander of the Magic Task Force. 

You were pretty sure damn few people had ever seen him quite like this. His usual scowl was harder and more deeply etched into his otherwise handsome face than usual. He seemed to have forgotten his blazer. His vest hung open, unbuttoned and slouching against his expensive button down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, highlighting his bare forearms and the lack of cufflinks or his watch. He’d also seemed to have taken off his tie. 

Had he come from his home? Had he cut his night short to rush over to your sibling’s home? He seemed so disheveled that the horrifying thought that he might have been on a date sent your heart plummeting into your stomach. 

You nearly spit out the swig of water you'd taken when he fixed the ranking officer on scene with his most polite and unsettling smile and told them he’d personally keep watch. It was irregular, but no one was going to argue with him. Except you, of course. 

You were tired. More importantly, Kandomere’s rejection still stung and you weren't keen on being near him in an otherwise comfortable and private space. But all your arguing was futile. Between his infamous intimidation and mentioning that he’d been invited into the home before while casually dropping your in-law and all the kid’s names, he’d convinced the ranking officers to let him watch the house. 

As the last squad car pulled away, you whirled on him. Your tone was polite - he was still your coworker after all - but your rigid shoulders and crossed arms practically advertised your displeasure. 

“Coffee?” you asked curtly.

He nodded, his eyes seemingly grazing over yours rather than really looking at you, and followed you into the house. 

Your nephews were thrilled to see him and you didn’t want to think too hard on why that made you unhappy and, more importantly, what kind of relative that made you. If Kandomere was at all put off by your frosty behavior, he didn’t let it show. Halloween was approaching, and you and the kids had been immersed in Hocus Pocus before you’d heard the would-be burglars’ shoes scuffing against the side of the house. That felt like hours ago. The perfect ease with which Kandomere inserted himself into what was otherwise a perfect slice-of-life snapshot from the suburbs was alarming. 

Movie night? Check.

Blanket and pillow fort? Check.

Three excited kids fighting sleep as the TV flickers in front of them? Check. 

Hot elven boyfriend staying the night? Not quite. 

Soon enough, the boys lost their uphill battle with their own weary bodies. While they didn’t fully comprehend the potential danger of what you’d prevented, the excitement of so many strangers coming to the house had worn them out. Your niece had been put back in her crib about twenty minutes after you’d resumed the movie. 

That left you alone with Kandomere, despite the two tiny bodies laying in their make-shift fortress of pillows and blankets. You didn’t dare look at him. For all you knew, he probably found this movie offensive. You knew Halloween was a human holiday linked to Samhain, which was a big holiday for elves. You’d heard plenty of elves complain about hating Halloween and about it being a watered-down version of Samhain. As the final credits finished rolling across the screen, the living room was engulfed in still and silent darkness. Kandomere was the first to break it.

“Seems a shame to move them,” he said, “They’re sleeping so well.”

You kept your silence, considering the options. The boys could sleep through the night in their pillow fort. That wasn’t the problem. But you had to deal with Kandomere. You had planned to sleep in the guest room, but you could hardly let him sleep in your sibling’s bedroom. That was simply too intimate a space for your coworker, who had met your sibling a total of two times, to spend the night in.

“They’ll be fine here. The guest room is made up. It’s the last door on the left,” you told him as you gingerly rose from the couch to avoid waking either of your nephews. 

Without saying another word, you gathered up the handful of cans and juice boxes scattered on the coffee table and made your way to the garage. You needed some privacy - just a minute of privacy - to collect yourself. The near break-in was bad enough, your nerves were too frayed to let you sleep tonight. Having to interact with your Kandomere after he rejected you was the gritty, bitter icing on an awful, lumpy cake. 

After gently placing the cans and cartons in the recycling bin, you braced yourself against the wall. It was covered in a layer of soundproofing material, which felt soft against your fingers. Your sibling had told you once that the previous owners were musicians and used to practice in the garage, hence the soundproofing. Screwing your eyes shut tightly, you inhaled deeply and exhaled in a huff. 

Your frayed and frantic nerves, aggravated by the night’s earlier adrenaline, ensured that you heard Kandomere’s footsteps approaching from the hallway. You hadn’t turned the light on, so you couldn’t see him. It was childish, but you harbored a dim hope that he wouldn’t speak to you.

“We need to talk,” he murmured.

“No, we don’t,” you countered.

“Y/n,” he chided, “I don’t want things to be like this between us.”

“Like what?” you retorted, “There’s nothing between us. Which is why I don’t understand why you’re here.”

“That’s not quite true, and you know it,” He sighed, grimacing.

“Really? I’m surprised we even have a work relationship anymore given how hard you’ve been avoiding me Kandomere.”

You couldn’t see his face in the dark, but his voice wavered enough to tell you that your words hit their mark. Hurt lingered in his tone when he answered. 

“I owe you an apology. I handled it poorly. But I’m here because I - I heard the call and had to see you. I care about you, and I had to know you were okay.”

“Didn’t take you for the kind of man to make the same mistake twice,” you hissed. There was less venom in your voice than you’d intended, but you still weren’t proud of it. 

Instead of replying, you heard him draw closer. You could feel warmth rolling off him as he neared, despite the general chill that always lingered in the garage, which was less insulated than the rest of the house despite the soundproofing. 

His lips crashed into yours as his arms wrapped around your waist. You wanted to argue - this was just as bad an idea as it had been weeks ago in your apartment. But you found yourself leaning into his embrace instead of pushing him away. Finally, you tore your lips from his, panting breathlessly into the nape of his neck. 

“The mistake was mine. I should have been more honest with you about my feelings. But I was worried you’d put in for a transfer or file a complaint.” he whispered, not loosening his grip on your waist. 

His words brought you out of the reverie of his touch and back to reality. How could he possibly not know?

“Kandomere, you’re not actually my boss. You lead the MTF, but I don’t actually report to you. I was appointed by a completely different division of the FBI.”

He blinked, as if to clear his eyes from some intrusive debris. They glinted like stained glass in the dim light spilling in from the corridor leading into the house.

“What do you mean?” he rasped. 

“We work in two different departments of the FBI. The MTF is part of the Criminal, Cyber, Response and Services branch. I was appointed to the MTF to represent the intelligence branch, and I still report to that side of the agency,” you explained. 

“So, you don’t actually report to me at all?” He quizzed, pinning you with a sharp, serious gaze that made you feel something like a butterfly pinned to a display.

You nodded. 

His features broke into a wide grin. His teeth - sharp and glinting in the dim light like ice under moonlight - were fully visible. In a flash, his weight settled against yours and sent you backward a few inches until you were leaning against the wall. 

“This isn’t any less of a terrible idea than it was in my apartment,” you whispered as his lips descended on the soft, delicate skin beneath your jaw.

 “Actually, it’s an even worse idea because there are three children in this house.”

“Then you’ll just have to be quiet,” he teased, and put his warm, deft fingers over your mouth before attacking the waistband of our jeans with his other hand.

[starlit-dreaming]

work related stuff

tl;dr -- i’m kinda enjoying work, but its very draining on me since i havent had this much exercise since i worked at my first job which is over 1 year ago and a couple of months now. also my supervisors deadass keep moving me all around the place??? while the other new workers in my group have only been in one area as opposed to 3-4 areas

ramble/rant ahead for those curious about my first 3 days at work

okay so here’s a lil bit of backstory and setup

during this week, i had my orientation for my new job at the post office (which lasted around 3 days). there were 4 different work groups related to the company -- drivers, support, clerks, and mail handler assistants -- MHAs, aka the job i signed up for

during orientation, i befriended a dude who i’m gonna refer to as T, and on the first day of training/work i befriend a girl who i’ll call R

day 1 of training/actual work -- a lot of walking around; i was placed in the area that’s referred to as the “docks” with R, and its basically the place where parcels and mails gets loaded onto trucks. the docks area that i was in mostly focused on cargo that was probably gonna end up going to other cities in my state, unlike the mail that was going to board planes to get to places.

now, i knew that as an MHA, we were most likely going to end up working in a bunch of other areas of the plant. so i wasn’t too surprised when me and R were being moved to an area that i affectionately refer to as the “conveyor belt area” when really it’s just a machine conveyor belt sorting the mail into bins based on the area codes. its was pretty simple work, but it required a lot of walking. thankfully it didnt require me to push heavy carts onto a ramp into a truck or anything -- overall, a fun first day

day 2 of training/actual work -- more walking around, more lack of communication between the daytime supervisors. R and i were no longer working in the same place -- she was learning something new, and i was learning something. vaguely.

so i was told to stick to a different supervisor for my day 2 work. before that, i was learning how to put regular boxes filled with letters/simple mail onto a different conveyor belt. thrilling work, clearly.

anyways, i stick with the other supervisor. who brings me over to this area where people process the mail more closely (as in, we’re actually looking at the local area code on packages and mail and putting it into the bins with the same area code). and the dude tells me to just stick with this one girl. now, this was fine for a while

until it was 11pm and the girl i was sticking around with left. but that was fine, there were 2 other guys who showed up and we were getting things going

and then it was 2:30am and the machine (which felt like how i imagine airport conveyor belts to look like ngl) was shut down and suddenly it was only me, the area code bins, and the packages in the bins waiting to get sorted

i was, basically, completely alone for 30 mins. and i wouldnt say it was terrible, but this is a fact: i’m new and the scanners wont accept my card because i’m new

so i find someone willing to let me scan their card, and im slowly going through the mail thinking about wanting to go home

by 3am, the overnight crew starts showing up and immediately get to work and i know none of them, but what matters was that i went home

day 3 of training/actual work -- i started at the docks, but the area i was in was slow so i got moved to placing boxes of letters onto the conveyor belt from day 2, and i pretty much went back and forth from that to the docks. thankfully, the supervisor of the lovely conveyor belt area, as i affectionately call it, told me at the beginning of my shift that i’m supposed to head over there at 11pm and that i’d be staying there til i went home

now, as im walking through the building with my bag and coat (note: it took me 5 minutes just to reach halfway across the plant), i run into T who was working in an area that i’m unfamiliar with. we saw each other earlier that day when i had to go pick up a scanner, but this was our first conversation since the few minutes before we started our first day

we exchange pleasantries. i tell him that R and i have been running all over the place, and that we were both mainly at the docks or the conveyor belt area

and he tells me that the supervisors have only been keeping him in this one area

which is when i start feeling very much annoyed at how R and i have been running around the plant for the past few days like a headless chicken, and the other new MHAs dont even have to rush through all that shit when we’re supposed to be in training for 2 weeks (i think)

anyways so we say our goodbyes, with me telling him that he looks like he hasnt aged in years, and then i leave the building after 3 minutes

another thing, btw. so on day 1 the evening supervisor asked me and R about which days off we’d like to have ideally, if the schedule allowed for it. i asked for wednesdays off. low and behold, when R and i are finally added onto the schedule, they give me R’s requested day off, and they give R my requested day off. now, i’m willing to ignore that cause to be fair supervisors have a lot of shit to do and have to remember a shit ton of names

so i’m not too torn up about it, but when i got off work earlier and just found out that it was only me and R thats being made to run around? yeah, that did Not help my mood

thankfully, it was resolved since R and i told our supervisor that it was supposed to be the other way around

regardless, now i’m just happy that i don’t have to spend countless hours on my feet

i actually have to invest in a fanny pack, maybe a new pair of work shoes, and some cold compresses. i’m pretty sure that i’m also going to need a compression sleeve for my leg -- i know that it’s unlikely but sometimes it really does feel like my right leg is gonna snap like a twig just for walking for hours. and some ankle compression socks or whatever, mainly just so i can wear it when i’m home

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,631

Chapter 28: Rain

“Then I turned my eyes to the window and everything looks gray. Gray city, gray buildings, gray roads, gray rain.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Seoul – Sinchon; Seodaemun District South Korea

“You’re a lifesaver, Raelyn-ssi!”

“Yeah, thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“We had our hands full, so we really appreciate it.”

Raelyn smiled brightly, shaking her head as she waved at her fellow nurses at the hospital she was dispatched to. They all shared a laugh in the break room, steaming paper cups of coffee cradled in each of their hands as they chatted about how busy their schedules had been. Raelyn’s Korean was good enough that she could keep up with the various dialects that filled the room; from as deep in the city as Seoul to as far as the countryside as Gwangju. She enjoyed getting to know each of the nurses and orderlies who milled in and out of the main general hospital in Seodaemun.

Normally, her hospital in Gangnam was busy. But her supervisor insisted that her expertise would be better suited in Seodaemun for that week. If they needed her longer, she was given the go-ahead to remain for a few more days. Either way, she would earn a full week of PTO when she returned and she certainly wasn’t about to start complaining about that.

Part of her was happy to be out of Gangnam for a few days. She needed time to process things and really think about what road she was taking. Raelyn felt slightly hypocritical when she thought about her relationship with Taehyung, and on many levels at that.

While the Golden Jackals may have been no more, it didn’t change that their foundation was still a little unstable. People wouldn’t shift their opinions about them so easily, though it was becoming less and less difficult to throw that mantle into their faces. However, she was no fool to how the criminal underworld worked. If anything, the lack of firearms made Korean gangsters scarier than American gangsters. In America, all a civilian needed was another gun. While a normal person could carry a knife, the difference was that Korean gangsters could all fight. All of them. They wouldn’t hesitate to pierce someone with a knife or bludgeon someone to death with a steel pipe.

Getting their hands dirty was part of the territory.

When she thought about it, Raelyn probably attributed her attraction to Hoseok to that level of danger at first. Discovering that he was the leader only caused her adrenaline to soar to new heights, tickling the senses and rousing a deep-seated darkness that she had long since buried while she was living in the States. Raelyn was young and foolish in her younger years, running headlong into the fire and not caring if she wound up getting scorched or not. The feeling of her heart pumping like a piston in her chest made her feel alive. She was addicted to that chemical that released itself in her brain.

There was an actual condition for something like that. “Adrenaline Junkie” as she had once affectionately been called by her peers. That sense of danger excited her. Dealing with Hoseok and the other Golden Jackals was guaranteed a life of said danger.

When feelings were involved, however, Raelyn realized very quickly that the criminal life wasn’t for her. She could handle the backdoor dealings and under the table handshakes. She could take the mask she often had to don when she walked beside Hoseok during gatherings, both with his underlings and his main umbrella. What Raelyn couldn’t handle was seeing someone she cared about constantly in pain; struggling mentally and physically with his own demons as he promised that things would change. He made those promises as easily as it was for him to breathe.

In the beginning, she’d believed that they were all lies. That he was just saying what she wanted to hear to get her to stay by his side. It was the sort of thing Raelyn expected from most people in her life; men and women, friends and family alike. Nothing changed. Nothing ever did.

But now things were different. Things were beginning to change. Raelyn felt conflicted for the first time in a long while.

“Oh, dammit,” she heard one of the orderlies say, rising from his chair to cross the breakroom, “I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

Raelyn craned her neck with the others in the room, seeing the sudden torrential downpour that fell from the skies. While everyone else groaned in shared sentiments, she smirked and continued to sip her coffee. She didn’t mind the rain. She minded it even less when she didn’t have an umbrella.

It’ll be fine, she thought while setting her cup down on the table, a little rain never hurt anyone.

Her phone buzzed on the table, causing her to raise a brow when she saw two messages. One was from Taehyung, asking the normal question of when she was going to come back home. She shook her head, not sure if she wanted to answer him just yet. It wasn’t like she was avoiding him, but it would be a lie if she said his promise hadn’t shaken her up a bit. Why he felt it was even necessary for her...what did that say about her?

Had she made it that obvious?

The second message was from Eden, which had her almost laughing.

Eden: I’m sick of having to deal with this shit by myself. Ana is in LaLa Land and I’m not having it. You hear me? I spoke with your supervisor and he said today’s your last day at that hospital. I’m coming to pick you up. Don’t even think about trying to dodge me.

She picked up the phone, sending her a ‘smirk’ emoji, before replacing the phone into her pocket. Raelyn scoffed, finishing her coffee and tossing the cup into the trash. If anyone didn’t know any better, people would think that Eden was her girlfriend.

“Raelyn-ssi,” one of the female nurses called out to her, “are you going to be busy later? We were thinking about getting drinks after our shifts were over.”

Eyeing her wristwatch, Raelyn sighed. She was scheduled to do one more walk through of her rounds and then she could call it a day. By the time she finished, Eden would be arriving at the hospital.

Looking up at her fellow nurse, she shook her head and smirked. “I’ll have to take a raincheck, Mina-ssi. My ride is going to be here after we do our rounds.”

A few of her colleagues pouted and she laughed. It was a short amount of time she was dispatched to the hospital, but they already welcomed her as one of them. It was nice to be valued for her skills and who she was as a person versus the color of her skin.

Fifteen minutes seemed to fly by faster than she’d anticipated. As soon as Raelyn finished checking on her last patient, she made her way to the front desk to let them know she was leaving for the evening. Already other nurses and orderlies were coming in to relieve the Day Side crew of their shift – taking on the evening hours until the Overnight shift would come in to replace them .

As if on cue, her phone buzzed and it was a message from Eden telling her that she was pulling up. The rain hadn’t eased up. If anything, it was coming down harder than it had just a while ago. Mulling over the downpour, Raelyn was inwardly thanking Eden for being so stubborn. A little rain never hurt anyone, but a lot of rain in early Spring could cause someone to get sick. Maybe even her.

She waved to the receptionist at the front desk, clutching at her light jacket and bag. As she exited the building, Raelyn stopped just short of the hospital’s awning. She looked around, trying to spy out Eden’s car, and pouted when she didn’t see the mixed girl’s vehicle in sight. Pulling out her phone, she began texting her that she was outside. Raelyn pouted, tapping her foot on the concrete pavement.

“She demands I don’t ditch her, and she goes and ditches me ,” she muttered, turning her head in every direction to see if maybe she’d just missed her friend, “that bitch.”

“Take your fuckin’ hands off me!”

Whipping her head to the right, Raelyn’s eyes widened slightly. It was Eden’s voice. Taking a half step forward, the fronts of her shoes got wet from the water splashing on the ground. Squinting, she tried to make out what was happening in the parking lot. Eden was standing there with an umbrella opened over her head, her other hand clinging to a smaller one – presumably for Raelyn. However, there were about four men attempting to accost her.

Raelyn took another step forward, about to intervene. But before she could open her mouth and yell, she saw Eden dropping the umbrella in her hand only to extend the smaller one in her other hand, rearing her arms around her and swinging like she was holding a baseball bat. Successfully clobbering one on the side of the neck, Raelyn could only watch as her friend spun on her heel and smashed her combat clad foot into the gut of one of the men who tried to grab her by the shoulder.

Sighing, Raelyn knew that it was useless trying to get in the middle of one of Eden’s scuffles. The woman was damned and determined to spit in the face of society because they continued spitting in hers. She was hoping that giving Jungkook a chance would loosen Eden up, but it only proved to get the woman even more riled up than usual.

Just as Raelyn was about to take a lean against one of the hospital pillars, one of the men reached out and snatched Eden by the back of her hair. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled back, causing Eden’s head to whip back and she yelled in protest. Raelyn’s legs moved before her mind could process anything, her shoes splashing in small puddles of water as she attempted to close the distance between her and her friend.

“Hey! Get your hands off her!”

No sooner had Raelyn yelled it, did the man holding Eden’s hair scream in pain. He immediately wrenched his hand from her thick curly locks, now soaked in the downpour. Clutching at his wrist, she saw the blood weeping from his fingers and palm. Raelyn skidded to a halt, blinking wildly as she attempted to process just what in the hell just happened. Tilting her head, she didn’t have time to really get a look at the man’s hand before she saw Eden’s knee crash into the side of his temple.

As Eden’s boot slammed into the ground, soft tinkling sounds followed. Raelyn’s eyes shifted to the ground and she could only stare agape at the three razor blades now on the ground. Her eye-line moved to meet Eden’s and her friend smirked, tossing the small umbrella to Raelyn who caught it robotically in her hands.

“I brought this so you wouldn’t have to be standin’ out in the rain,” she replied cheekily. All Raelyn could do was stare at her. Eden cocked her head to the side. “What?”

“…did you really just—”

Before she could get the words out, one of the other men grabbed Eden by the wrist – yanking her backward with all the force he could muster. Her heels slipped on the wet concrete and Raelyn let out a sharp gasp when Eden slammed back-first onto the ground. There was a distinct pop from her shoulder and her yell exploded from her chest.

“Mother…fucker!” Eden snarled through clenched teeth, glaring at the man holding her arm through one open eye. “Let go of me!”

“Let go of her!” Raelyn screamed in tandem with her friend, ready to clobber him with the umbrella the same way her friend had.

“Oi! Let her go, Taewon-ah,” called a voice over the roaring rainstorm.

The man immediately released Eden’s arm, her limb splashing into the water and Raelyn was at her friend’s side – already helping her onto her feet. Her arm dangled limply at her side, but she could feel Eden shaking furiously in her grasp. Whatever pain her friend was in, she apparently didn’t care. The mixed girl was ready to fight like a wild tiger who’d had its whiskers pulled.

Standing off to the side was a man with dark auburn hair dressed in a long black trench coat, a tailored gray suit underneath. He held a clear umbrella over his head, the four men who assaulted Eden now standing by his side. They clasped their hands in front of them, stoic like soldiers despite one of the men’s hands bleeding freely in conjunction with the rain. Still mentally reeling over her friend having razor blades hidden in her hair, she turned to head back inside to treat Eden’s dislocated shoulder.

“I can see why she’s the Steel Claw ’s girlfriend,” she heard the man say from behind her.

Raelyn paused, slowly pivoting around but careful not to aggravate Eden’s arm further. “What did you say?”

“She’s feisty, that one.” He grinned, one hand slipping into the pocket of his jacket. “It’s almost a waste, really.”

Eden spit at him despite being several feet away. “And who in the fuck are you?”

He bowed his head politely, his eyes still locked on theirs. “Lee Minhyuk,” he said easily, straightening to his full height, “Jindo Dog of the Jade Fangs.”

A ball of ice crashed into Raelyn’s gut. “W-What?” She tried to maintain her sense of calm, but found it was difficult the more she stared into his icy smile.

Her friend’s laughter cut through her trepidation. “And we’re supposed to give a shit, why? What’s that got to do with those punks following me around like some fuckin’ cockroaches, huh?”

Raelyn was angry now. “You should know by now that the Golden Jackals have phased out from gangster business. Why do you guys insist on poking around?”

Minhyuk shrugged one shoulder. “In our world, it’s not so easy to step into the light. It's a fickle place and treats scoundrels like us as little more than garbage.” Even though his smile was present, his eyes narrowed. “Changkyun-ah is curious, is all.”

“About what?” Raelyn snapped, readjusting her hold on Eden.

“He wants to know if what Hoseok-ah and the others are doing is genuine or just some big show to hide their true plans.” He shrugged again, closing his eyes this time. “And what it will take to drag them back into the shadows with the rest of us.”

“You lousy sack of shit!” Eden shifted forward, attempting to lunge at Minhyuk but Raelyn held her back.

Minhyuk chuckled, pivoting so that only his profile was in view. “One of the tigers has claws. That makes things interesting, for sure. I apologize for the boys’ behavior. They get a little excited from time to time.” Craning his neck slightly so he could face them, he bowed his head again in a polite gesture that was in stark contrast to what his actual words were conveying. “Take care, ladies.”

Neither of them moved, watching Minhyuk leave with his small entourage. When it finally appeared that they were gone, Raelyn felt Eden slump against her. Without wasting another second, she yelled for help and a few of the EMTs who were pulling up for their shift came to her aid. They hauled Eden onto a gurney and wheeled her into the hospital, Raelyn already calling Jungkook to let him know what happened.

The rain was lost to the sound of her raging heartbeat.

[prorevenge]

Sergeant DGAF 'Bout Your Emergency

So this started more than a decade ago, but I remember (most of) it like yesterday. It is my own story, and I tell this from my perspective. This is a long story, but I promise you will be staring at the screen, thinking “dafuq?” by midway through.

Background

Early 2000s. I was in the military, mid 20s, stationed somewhere in Europe. Rank E-4. It’s a bit different when you’re stationed overseas, and your squadron basically becomes your extended family. The Mission is always priority #1, but everyone tries to go the extra mile to make sure their people are taken care of. This was my second assignment, and my second overseas assignment.

I had just gotten married when I was on an extended leave back in the States, during my PCS (Permanent Change of Station; officially changing your assigned base) to this new location. I became an instant father overnight, now having a wife and a 3-year-old (step) daughter when I had none before. My wife became pregnant with our son about 5 months later.

My new supervisor was a Master Sergeant, who I will call Bastar(d) Sergeant [sic], or BS, for the rest of this. Bastar-Sergeant the Master Sergeant.

BS was a family man, married for a while (about ~15 years or so) and had two kids with his wife, as well as two kids of his own from a previous marriage, with his wife ALSO having two kids from a previous marriage. This is relevant because BS, being a family man with six kids ages 4 to 17, often would have stuff going on with his family and need to cut out early, miss morning briefings, and so on.

It was no big deal if we weren’t working on mission critical stuff. It’s rough when the nearest military hospital is 30-45 mins away at another military facility and you can only depend on your own immediate family and fellow military members. Just about everyone, BS especially with his larger family, had to cut in and out of work fairly frequently when we didn’t have big things going on. But hey, take care of your people, they’ll take care of the mission.

Now, BS and I got along really well at first. He and his wife were both quite the “socialites” and would constantly – damn near every weekend – have parties at their house and invite people over. It was fun at first, but it really grew tiresome. Being a new family man myself, and really just starting to figuring it all out (translated: how to keep your wife happy and not both be miserable, while still trying to be a functional adult in the military), and I just could NOT keep up with the party-every-weekend lifestyle.

BS and Mrs. BS drank a lot at those parties, too. You could tell it took a toll on their health. I guess that might be tempting with that many kids, and a 17-turning-18 daughter that had just gotten pregnant with her foreign boyfriend, but I digress…

Like I said, I just couldn’t keep up, not every weekend. I slowly fell out of favor with BS and his “Good ol’ Boys Club.” He wasn’t hostile per-se, but there were times he would just get mean, and with increasing frequency. He would call me into his office for tiny things, like thinking I had shown up to work late, when I could prove that I had been logged in on my terminal 10 minutes before start time – meaning I was at least 15-20 mins early due to walking times, putting my coat and stuff in lockers, etc. But my terminal’s clock, synched with the atomic clock, didn’t matter compared to his clock on the wall.

I was also called out for attending big medical appointments for my wife’s pregnancy, like being there when they determined my son was a boy – I was called out specifically when everyone else was doing the same thing.

The assignment was slowly turning into hell. Meanwhile, the members of the Good ol’ Boys Club would often be very late (without phoning), constantly going to appointments, and so on. There was definitely some favoritism going on. But in such a small unit, overseas, what can you do? The guy was even buddy-buddy with the First Sergeant, and they had been friends since bootcamp.

Anyway, enough background. Onward!

​

The Main Event

This is where things got crazy. My son had just been born, healthy and at a good weight, not even two weeks earlier. I came home from work after a very long day, about 13 hours on a normal 8 hour shift, due to some stuff breaking.

My wife was exhausted because she was still healing from the birth, and our son had gotten really, really cranky and irritable through the day. He was non-stop fussing and feeling slightly warmer, but not quite running a fever.

I let her go to sleep, and to give her peace, I tried to sleep in the chair downstairs with the kiddo bundled up on me. He got worse and worse through the night, and at about 0300 hrs, I noticed that his diaper smelt really strange (sorry to gross you out), with just pee. It was a sickly smell, not at all what anything from a human body should ever smell like. He seemed hot, so I went to take his temperature. He had risen to 103.5 F – VERY dangerous for an infant.

Fuck.

I immediately wake up my wife and rush him to the hospital. She stays behind at home with our daughter, since the ER is no place to keep a young kid and we didn’t know anyone that could watch her at that late of an hour.

Since it would have taken longer to wait on an ambulance out in the countryside, I sped to get him to the military hospital’s ER in about 20 mins. They immediately put him on fluids and call in the on-call pediatrician. They move him to the ICU, and after a few long hours, I get told that they believe he has a urinary tract and kidney infection, and while they had gotten his temperature down to a safer spot, we weren’t out of the woods yet.

While waiting, knowing that my regular work day was coming up, I tried calling everyone’s phone number I had, but nobody answered. At the gym probably. After leaving some voicemails, I gave up and decided to wait until people roll in at 0700 hrs. I kept trying to call the unit phone number, but no one answered until 0720. I get asked by one of the guys where I was, I let him know I’m at the hospital due to an emergency with my newborn, and he gets BS over to the phone.

​

BS: OP, where you at?

Me: I’m at the hospital. My son is in the ICU, had a fever of 104 and a serious infection. I’ve been up all night and haven’t slept.

BS: Well you should be at work. You missed PT, and you’re late.

Me: *pausing, because, WTF?* … I need to come into work? My son had to go to the ER, he’s in the ICU…

BS: I don’t want to hear it. You’ve already been late multiple times. [but not really, as I mention above] *angrily* Get your ass down here!

Me: … Uh, well I’m not in uniform. I will have to stop by my house. One parent is required to be here, so I need to see if one of my neighbors can give my wife a ride to the hospital, and our daughter has to be dropped off at school because children can’t be in the ICU.

BS: Just get here. *hangs up*

​

I was completely floored. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

At no point in my entire military career, before and since then, have I EVER heard of anyone being forced to come in to work when an immediate family member was in the hospital for an emergency. I was half confused, half outraged, and wholly beside myself.

My wife shows up, I take the car home after updating her and making plans to take care of our daughter while we rotate shifts at the hospital. I did a very quick SSS – shit, shower, shave – and drive over to the shop.

BS ignored me when I arrive, other than a sidelong disapproving look. I start my usual routine, but I am exhausted, worried sick, and pretty fucking angry all at once. Some of my coworkers heard what happen and are concerned, but BS the tyrant seems to be angry himself and no one wants to approach him.

​

Revenge, Part 1

A few hours went by, with me keeping in touch with my wife on the status of our son. I tried approaching BS a few times, but he was having none of it.

One of the other Master Sergeants in the squadron, part of a different unit, but whom I had worked with before, came by and noticed me probably looking distraught. We’ll call her Hero Sergeant, or HS. She pulls me aside to one of the quiet corners of the shop.

​

HS: OP, are you okay? You look terrible?! Is something wrong?

Me: [I tell her about my son being sick and in the ICU – I was barely able to hold my composure in at this point, I was so angry yet so worried and downtrodden about my son, and I’m fighting to keep it together through the exhaustion and lack of sleep.]

HS: WHAT?! Why the hell are you here?!

Me: I’m not sure. BS ordered me to come in when I tried to explain. He won’t talk to me.

HS: Fuck that. Hang tight.

HS then quickly walks off. Now, our unit is on the other side of the base from the main squadron: about 15 minutes later, just enough time to drive to the squadron and back, HS appears – along with our unit Captain, and the squadron’s Major (XO to our Lt. Colonel CO).

The Major storms toward the unit office section, pauses and looks right at me, and says in an obviously angry but soft voice…

Major: OP, get out of here. Your place of duty is the hospital until your son is discharged. Don’t step foot in one of these buildings until then, I don’t care how long it takes. Take care of your family. Are we clear?

Me: *as I start to scramble* Yes, sir.

Major: *yelling* BS, GET YOUR ASS IN THIS OFFICE RIGHT NOW!

​

I proceed to quickly gather my shit together, all while seeing BS head toward that same office door and he gives me a glowering look on his way in.

As I leave, there is no possible way to doubt that everyone in the area, probably the whole building, could hear BS get absolutely reamed and raked over the coals by the Major as I departed. The Major was always a quiet and fair man, I had never seen him anywhere even approaching angry, so it was absolutely terrifying to behold.

I have to admit, it felt good to know that he was getting some of what he deserved.

My son did clear up eventually and was discharged from the hospital 5 days later, healthy and no harm done, thank God!

I know this first part’s “revenge” isn’t quite revenge, but it was sweet, sweet karma to see that asshole put in his place. Still, as good as it was, it made things worse between BS and I much, much worse.

​

Fallout

Well after all that, BS hated my guts. Obviously, it would be career suicide to openly retaliate against me, so he found little ways to do so at every opportunity. That wasn’t to say I didn’t have my faults, I certainly did, and I made mistakes no doubt, but what he did was particularly underhanded.

You see, it wasn’t until he PCS’ed to his new assignment that I learned what he had done. My new Sergeant (NS) was awesome, highly relatable, and knew BS from previous deployments together - he indicated on more than a few occasions that he wasn’t exactly fond of BS.

In the meantime, I had gone to training to become a Sergeant myself and graduated at the top of my class with honors. I then went on to another deployment to the “sandbox” and came back with some major kudos from leadership there, working my butt off every day wanting to prove I was more than what BS tried to paint me as. It was after my return to home station that I learned what BS had been up to - completely behind the scenes.

Remember how even the First Sergeant was buddy-buddy with BS? Well the FS had also PCS’ed while I was deployed. Our new FS went through everyone’s Personnel Information Files (PIFs) and discovered that I had a massive - and I mean massive - stack of Letters of Counseling (basically, you got a “talking to,” and the LOC is documentation proving it) and even a Letter of Admonishment (LOA), a more serious version just under a Reprimand.

I found out from NS that when he and his boss were talking with FS, he was wondering how the hell I hadn’t been kicked out of the service with such a track record. But then he also noted how suspicious it was that every single one of the LOCs and the LOA lacked my signature - something that is required by regulations, acknowledging your reception of it (though not admitting guilt).

I had never been shown these, nor had any idea they existed. The majority of them were very minor infractions, almost none of which I had committed in any fashion. Even more strange, NS caught onto details that there were four of them dated for the same time I was in training (at a different base / different country), and one during a short deployment I had gone on earlier. It didn’t add up, and all three sergeants found it rather confusing and shady.

Thankfully, my performance once I was out of the shadow of BS was more than enough to convince all three sergeants that I was not the dirtbag that BS was trying to paint me as. I don’t know the details, but I do know that his pseudo-forgeries (he could just claim they were “incomplete” and not meant to be filed) caught up to him and he caught some flak for it. He retired not long later, and I hope that it was a black mark on his record.

​

Revenge, Part Two

So this is where it gets interesting again. Fast forward about four more years. I had gotten out of the service by then, finishing my second enlistment, and I moved back to the States to take advantage of the GI Bill.

It’s also worth mentioning that I’m an IT guy, and I’ve always got at least a dozen boxes of parts, tools, and hard drives. It’s also what I was in college for at the time.

I’m going through a stack of old ATA hard drives to see what I could salvage for a lab projects (we basically needed a bunch of “victim” machines to test against, and a few of us had old ATA motherboards hanging around). I’m checking them before I scramble/wipe the drives to make sure they’re working fine, and to make sure I’m not deleting wanted files/archives.

I’m flipping through this drive’s old files, nothing much beyond typical Windows folders, until I hit a buried directory with a bunch of images in it. I can tell they’re of the X-rated kind from thumbnails - not surprising, I’m a guy, and who didn’t have a sizeable porn stash in their single days, right?

But then I realized… these weren’t porn shots. These were homemade. It definitely wasn’t anything I had ever done. But I recognized something almost immediately - a unique lower back “tramp stamp” on the woman in the photos (faces were never shown). A tattoo I remember clearly: one of the wives of a guy in my old unit was showing it off after she had gotten it.

And the guy she’s on top of? Far, far too pasty of a skin tone to be her husband. It was then that I realized that this was one of the drives I had salvaged from a broken old PC that BS had given me for parts, back when we were still on good terms.

BS had been cheating on his wife with one of his subordinate's wife. Looking at the background of the photos, it was obvious that this was in the home of BS, too - if you remember, we had all been there many times.

Time to extract some revenge. I would like to tell you that I did some cool scene out of Mr. Computer or some crap like that, but really, simple efficiency won out here.

I knew BS, Mrs. BS, and the other couple were all on Facebook (they’d often come up as recommended friends-of-friends). I created an account that vaguely sounded like someone we could all know, and had military work history to match the assignment, in order to protect my own privacy/identity. I sent a few messages each to Mrs. BS and the husband of the tattooed wife. Once I got responses asking, basically, “Who is this?” I just pasted a number of select photos from the private photo shoot.

Mrs. BS, obviously recognizing her husband’s body and their old home in Europe, kept saying “WHAT THE FUCK?” - I said I was just the messenger, and to do with the photos what she pleased.

The husband of the tattooed wife first thought my new identity was the man in the photos and started to threaten me, until I told him to pay special attention to the background. He realized who the man in the photos was, having also been in that house countless times, and thanked me for telling him the truth. While we weren’t close, I do feel really bad for him. :(

(I didn’t feel too bad for Mrs. BS because she turned into a snob when BS got mean.)

I heard through my buddies from the unit that both couples were divorced, roughly a year later. All the old crew knew exactly who had cheated with who. I also heard that the divorce of BS and Mrs. BS was particularly bad. Nobody knows who leaked the photos, though.

​

Closing

This is the first time I have admitted to what I did, just for the sake of revenge and getting back at the bastard who did so much to personally attack me, even in a time of need, and who very nearly ruined my military career. Part of the reason I decided to get out of the service was because of him - I never wanted one person to have that much control over my life again.

I hope you enjoyed my story, sorry it was so long, but there was just so much that happened. I could add even more crap that he did, too.

​

And to Bastar-Sergeant, if you ever read this someday, I’m sure you will have realized who I am. I only have one thing to say to you: Fuck you - you deserved it.

(source) story by (/u/Celesae)

[liesyousoldme]

have a headcanon about eddie the doctor and richie the comedian

so after high school richie and eddie move to new york city together

eddie’s pre-med and richie is a theater major with a minor in creative writing

eventually they get their bachelors and richie starts doing pretty consistent standup and eddie gets into med school

they’re besties who hang out all the time and purposely rent apartments close to each other

they’re also besties who get strangely distant when one of them is dating someone, which leads them both to having very short relationships

they never talk about it though

richie’s known he has feelings for eddie since they were twelve and eddie shoved him while he was sitting on the windowsill of eddie’s room. he fell into the bushes below and eddie immediately started crying. richie couldn’t stop laughing

at first, he didn’t say anything because he thought eddie was straight. then, it was just easier not to say anything. they had a good thing going. why ruin it with his dumb feelings?

eddie took longer. he was in denial for a really long time about his sexuality, and it wasn’t until college that he accepted he liked men. it was even longer before he realized he was in love with richie. he never did anything about it; he knows richie is bold and unafraid and thinks that if richie had feelings for him, he would’ve said something by now

eventually eddie is doing his residency at a hospital in nyc and richie’s agent gets him a weekly gig at a really great comedy club

he’s constantly telling eddie that there’s a ticket saved for him every night he’s performing, that he just needs to show up at the box office. eddie never shows. he already knows how out of his league richie is, he doesn’t want to watch him in his element, probably making jokes about all the people he’s fucked, and just be reminded of that. he tells richie he can’t get away from the hospital, that they need someone for overnight shifts

richie is disappointed, but doesn’t show it

eventually, richie perfects his set and his agent is able to book a tour across the country, ending with a set in new york

the tour lasts 2 months

richie and eddie don’t talk the whole time

eddie regrets not going to say goodbye, but he knew richie was mad that he wasn’t going to his shows, and he couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on his face. 

the two months pass slowly, and eddie hates every fucking minute of it. he considers calling richie every day that he’s gone but he can’t bring himself to do it, too scared of what he’ll say. richie probably hates him by now.

the day before richie is back in new york, eddie gets a call from him

it’s a little awkward and stilted, and neither of them really acknowledge that their friendship is a little broken

richie ends the call by saying, “listen, i’m still going to leave a ticket for you in the box office, but if you don’t use it, i swear to god eddie i won’t leave one for you again.”

eddie is in a daze throughout his entire shift at the hospital, and before he leaves at 9 AM, he finds his supervisor and tells her that he won’t be in tonight

he sleeps most of the day, and with his heart in his throat, goes to the theater box office

he’s almost too nervous to say his name, scared that richie will have changed his mind and won’t have a ticket ready for him, but he does. it’s toward the back, which eddie appreciates, because he’s not sure he could handle eye contact with richie just yet. he figures richie feels the same way

he sits down, fidgets through the opening act, and finally richie comes onstage and his heart speeds up and he can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across his face

he’d thrown himself so far into his work that he’d managed to forget how much he loved his best friend

and then, as richie starts his set, beginning with a story about a terrible date he’d been on, eddie finds himself holding back tears. this was the reason he didn’t come. he couldn’t handle hearing richie talk about other people

but then, richie ends the story by saying, “but it’s cool, because i actually get my romantic fulfillment by pathetically pining after my best friend”

eddie gasps out loud, but it’s drowned out by the laughter of the audience

“now let me tell you about my best friend!”

eddie is sitting on the edge of his seat, gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles are white

“when we were twelve he threw me out a window and then cried about it. like, i’m the one lying in a bush with twigs up my ass and he’s crying?”

eddie is up in arms, grumbling “it didn’t happen like that you asshole” but then richie keeps going

“that was actually the moment my dumb ass fell in love with him, because, you know, masochism.”

eddie’s heart is racing but he barks out a laugh anyway

“he actually didn’t come out until college, and when we were teenagers i was like, desperately heartbroken over my super straight best friend. which in hindsight is hilarious, because he literally carried a fanny pack and had a poster of han solo on his wall even though he didn’t like star wars”

richie transitions into a few other stories that have eddie laughing so hard tears are rolling down his cheeks

he ends on a high note, leaving the audience in stitches and eddie jumps from his seat as the house lights are coming back on, rushing to the lobby. he’s looking around, trying to find someone who looks official, a door that looks like it leads somewhere important, but he can’t find any

the disappointment is settling in his stomach like lead as he trudges out the doors; he knows he can just go see richie tomorrow at his apartment but every cell in his body is screaming at him to go see him right now

and then he overhears these two teenage girls giggling behind him about meeting richie after the show, and without thinking he turns around and says, “where?”

they look absolutely weirded out, but eventually shrug and tell him that richie always meets fans about an hour after the show at the backstage door, on the other side of the building

so eddie books it

there’s already a small crowd forming, even though they still apparently have an hour before richie will grace them with his presence

eddie joins them, awkwardly standing to the side, and then the door opens. his heart leaps into his throat and settles again when he sees it’s just a security guard clutching a clipboard

eddie watches as the girls at the front start asking if he can let them inside

“not unless you’re on the list”

and eddie isn’t sure that he would be on the list. but it can’t hurt to try, right? so he slowly, nervously, makes his way to the security guard, and says, “is the name eddie kaspbrak on the list?”

the guard looks at his clipboard for the longest moment of eddie’s life, then looks up and nods. hope fills eddie’s chest as he’s let inside.

there are a lot of people moving quickly, and he finds himself being pushed along a hallway until he notices a door with a piece of paper taped to it that says richie’s name

he knocks on the door

a woman answers. she’s wearing a headset and also holding a clipboard. she looks at him for a moment, then says, “i dunno how you got back here, but he’ll be out to sign autographs in an hour”

“no!” eddie pushes his foot in the open doorway as she goes to shut it. she raises her eyebrows at him. “no, i’m not - i’m not a fan, i’m-”

“eddie?!”

the door is being thrown open, and richie is standing there with absolute shock written on his face

eddie takes a moment to breathe it in, to drink in his best friend that he hasn’t seen in over two months, and, because he doesn’t know what the fuck to say, says “i did not throw you out of a window, you shit.”

richie’s face is completely blank for two seconds, and then he breaks into laughter

“yeah but it’s funnier that way, right?” eddie glares at him but can’t keep the smile off his face. the woman slips out of the room without either of them really noticing, and then they’re alone

“so other than... that. how’d you like the set?”

eddie can see how nervous richie is, it’s coming off him in waves, so he closes the distance and wraps him in a hug

“it was so good,” he says into richie’s shoulder. richie holds him tightly for a moment before they let go, not moving too far away from each other. “i wish i’d seen it sooner.”

“yeah,” richie says, looking down, some of the happiness draining from his face. “me too.”

eddie bites his lip, grabbing at richie’s hands. 

“i’m so sorry i didn’t come, rich,” he says. richie doesn’t look up. “i didn’t.... i didn’t want to hear you make jokes about other people. about, like, dating and sex and stuff. i didn’t want - we never talk about that stuff and i liked it that way because i don’t think i could just.. sit and listen to you talk about liking other people and -”

he’s cut off when richie presses forward and kisses him

after, eddie can feel how red his cheeks are, and he can’t stop smiling. “so you forgive me?”

“i mean, you’re definitely going to have to make it up to me, but i’m sure we can arrange something.”

“like what?”

richie looks like he’s deep in thought before he says, “give me permission to tell dirty doctor jokes in my next set. i haven’t gotten it pinned down yet but it will involve a prostate exam.”

eddie groans, scrunching up his nose. “richie, that’s disgusting!”

“that’s the price you pay for my love, eds,” he says, grinning

eddie relents. “fine.” he leans in, presses a soft kiss to richie’s lips that leaves them both blushing. “but you have to stop telling people i threw you out a window.”

[flipfundingstuff]

6 Ways to Support Working Mothers

Mothers are excellent multi-taskers: they can answer the phone, feed the dog, and catch the toppling toddler simultaneously. But that doesn’t mean they don’t need support when balancing parent and work roles.

Lack of support for working mothers during the pandemic contributed to 1 in 4 women exiting the workforce or downshifting their careers. And, while it’s not apparent when those women will return to the workforce, it’s clear that there’s an impact. As the US Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) says, “The pandemic has set women’s labor force participation back more than 30 years.”

Fortunately, as a small business owner, you can take steps to support your working mothers—both today and in the future.

1. Implement Equal Pay

For many working mothers in a 2-parent household, the decision of who quit their job or cut their hours due to pandemic-related caretaker demands was simple math—who earned more? Logically, the person with the higher income should keep working.

On average, women earn less than men for the same work— 82¢ for every $1 men make, according to BLS’s 2019 report. Unfortunately, that number wasn’t much better in 2020.

  Source: “Highlights of Women’s Earnings in 2019,” BLS.

Equal Pay Days show “how many extra days on average a woman needs to work to reach the same pay as men from the previous year.” The US Department of Labor’s (DOL) calculations show that to “earn what a white, non-Hispanic man earned in 2020”:

The average female worker has to work until March 24, 2021; and

A working mother (compared to a working father) has to work until June 4, 2021.

Thus, implementing equal pay is the first step to support working mothers.

2. Over-Communicate

Communication issues were a major work-related stressor during the heart of the pandemic for many employees. So many questions, so little clarity: What are the rules for remote work? What does workplace flexibility mean? Can PTO be used to handle children’s remote learning demands?

No one wants to weed through vague, conflicting, or inaccurate messages from their employer. But working mothers especially don’t have the time to deal with poor communication. Instead, they need clear guidelines to build the schedule that permits the juggling of work and home duties.

Over-communicate workplace changes via every channel available—written, verbal, and even carrier pigeons if you have to. Don’t force any employee, let alone time-strapped working mothers, to hunt for information on your business’s modified work practices, safety protocols, and leave policies.

3. Work Flexibility

Working mothers need options that include alternative work hours, flexible work locations, or opportunities for picking up additional income when needed. School and daycares reopening may reduce some caretaker duties, but that doesn’t mean all mothers want to—or can—return to their “before” working life.

Some mothers may return to the office full time to have space to focus solely on work (e.g., no more “can I have a cookie” interruptions). However, others may prefer a fully remote work option or even a hybrid work situation, such as working part-time in an employer-sponsored coworking space.

Some working mothers may need your support to earn extra income due to a change in household income or a need to make up the gap from lost 2020 income. For example, we spoke to a nurse working only per-diem shifts during the pandemic who felt supported when “my manager opened up shifts for me to pick up when the hospital closed elective surgeries and cut my hours.” Support means giving employees what they need, when they need it.

4. Train Managers

It’s no secret that a good boss can protect employee well-being and health, so it’s essential to train and empower your managers to support working parents.

Managers need to understand the demands on a mother’s time and offer flexibility when possible. A dental hygienist and mother of 5 shared that “I feel that employers need to recognize that mothers are the main nurturing parent and caregivers; accommodating situations that arise is very helpful.” We can all guess which parent (mom) gets the “take me to ER” phone call after a child’s unsuccessful skateboard jump.

Acknowledgment of a working parent’s dual roles can also help. For example, a contractor working remotely told us that her supervisor “expected a kid cameo of at least 1 per staff meeting.” That reduced her anxiety of trying to keep her child quiet and off camera during work meetings.

5. Fix Hiring Practices and Performance Evaluations

Eliminating biases and unnecessary hurdles in hiring practices can help, too.

McKinsey suggests that businesses can support working mothers by changing hiring practices to “…not question their gap in employment. Ensure that job descriptions and interviews focus on the fundamental capabilities required to do the job well, without added dimensions that could create bias against women and mothers. For example, remove requirements for recent experience or for knowledge of new technology trends that can be learned on the job.”

Similarly, ensure that performance evaluations measure actual work performance. According to the Harvard Business Review, businesses that “define effective criteria before making critical decisions about employees” can eliminate biases. For example, it’s easy to reward the “always-on” employee versus the flexible-hours employee if there aren’t objective metrics to measure work output. 

Back to the contractor’s story: her supervisor made it clear that the remote work mandate included new work expectations to “get your work done by the deadlines.” In the words of the contractor, “It helped to know I wouldn’t be judged,” especially when her mom/professional balancing act meant her workday didn’t fit the old norm of 8am–5pm.

6. Support Broader Changes

The workforce may look different now than it did in 2019, but women are still part of the key to a complete economic recovery. As Labor Secretary Marty Walsh said during an interview on NPR’s All Things Considered, “We need to make sure if we’re going to have a strong recovery—a strong, equitable recovery—we need to get women back into the workforce.”

Returning women to the workforce will require a shift at the national level. The DOL says, “By creating a national paid family and medical leave program, increasing the size of the country’s care work infrastructure, improving benefits and wages so that the care workforce can support their own families, and implementing tax credits and financial supplements with historic potential for reducing child poverty, these plans will create long-overdue supports so parents won’t have to choose between caring for the families they love and keeping their jobs.”

While significant changes won’t happen overnight, you can—and should—take steps at your small business to support working mothers. Not only is it the right thing to do, but an increase in customer and employee loyalty may pay you back in spades.

The post 6 Ways to Support Working Mothers appeared first on Lendio.

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[megabadbunny]

some kind of AU where Rose dates her superior, The Doctor. Could be student,teacher or worker,boss or whatever you want

Hey there nonny!!! I’m sure your interest in my fill for this prompt died a long time ago and its corpse is now gently crumbling away to dust, for which I deeply apologize. The thing is, while I totally understand why folks like AUs, they’re not my thing (I tend to be a stickler for canon or canon-divergent stuff, with the exception of fem!versions of the Doctor), and after a series of former jobs with male supervisors who were, well, kinda dickbags a lot of the time, I’ll admit I had a hard time getting over that and struggled with this prompt quite a bit. (Seriously, I’ve been working on a response to this for two and a half years now!) However, because I do have stuff written, and it seems a shame for it to just languish away in my WIPs folder untouched by the light of day, Imma go ahead and post what little I did manage to get written over the last 28 months. And here’s the dilly: if someone else sees it and feels a mighty need, I’d be more than happy to send them my notes or do a bit of collab with them if they’d like to pick up the trail from here!

pygmalion’s revenge

Rose Tyler is, in no particularorder, 24 years old, British, white, female, a stage actress, a former gymnastand current runner, a connoisseur of chocolates and films starring Idris Elba andColin Firth, and, despite being a dreadful flirt, just a tad bit dense when itcomes to picking up on signs of a certain nature.

The epiphany smacks her like a handto the face, dawning on her sometime in a grey morning in her tiny London flat.Evidence of a job hunt is spread over her dinged old kitchen table, a smallmountain of newspapers and printouts with her laptop sitting pretty andvictorious at the peak, all of them hiding pockmarks and coffee-rings andsomething that looks suspiciously like a cigarette burn which Shareen swears upand down that she knows nothing about. Rose stares at it all while hersleep-lagged brain tries to decide whether her mouth wants tea or coffee. (Teais the obvious answer, and the likely victor, but sometimes a mug of foul-tastingjet fuel is just what she needs to get through the morning. “Morning person”does not number among the many things that Rose Tyler is.) And while her eyesstare and her eyelids droop and her brain pontificates, even though it’s gotnothing to do with anything, somewhere in the back room of her subconscioussome part of her just realizes.

The Doctor is totally, completelyarse-over-heels in love with her.

“Jesus, Jack,” she asks, withoutpreamble, the moment her flatmate steps into the kitchen, “Am I an idiot?”

Jack’s resounding laughter letsher know that yes, in this particular case, “idiot” ranks very high on the listof things that Rose Tyler is.

***

Rose firstmet the Doctor when she was 19 years old, neither a gymnast nor a runner norsomeone with even her A-levels, working a dead-end job at Henrik’s. She hadnabbed the position in an attempt to chip away at theseveral-thousand-pound-debt incurred by a year of irresponsible living with agood-for-nothing boyfriend. (Thanks, Jimmy.) And the day she met the Doctor, shehad just clocked out at the end of her shift and stepped into the ancient lift,so absorbed in her fashion magazine with some silly name (Belle or Metropolitanor Splendor or some such rot) that she didn’t even look up when the doorsopened and someone joined her.

She frowned.There it was again.

This time thetext was splashed in white across a model’s bright blue jumper—“Bad Wolf.”Those words kept popping up everywhere Rose looked. She saw them spray-paintedon bins, printed on takeaway menus, in big black letters outside stuffy-lookingoffice buildings, on the bottoms of pink and yellow nail polish sets. Thephrase had popped up everywhere seemingly overnight. What was this obsessionwith Bad Wolf, and more importantly, whydid no one else seem to notice it?

“I wouldn’tbuy that one,” a chipper voice informed her from somewhere to her left. “Thecolor is nice, but the lanolin acids present in such a wool-heavy blend arelikely to cause some unpleasant contact dermatitis.”

Rose openedher mouth to politely tell this gent and his posh Estuary accent to mind theirown business, but fortunately, her eyes moved faster than her lips; she foundherself staring at a bloke who, despite being so thin that a hard look mightknock him over, was pretty enough to make her heart trip on itself. Academictypes didn’t usually do it for her (there was something about their snootyvoices and prim manners and patronizing attitudes that grated on her nerves,somehow). But, looking this fellow up and down as subtly as she was able, eyescataloging everything from his spectacles to his wild hair to his freckles tothe ever-so-slightly tatty brown pinstripe suit—paired with Chucks, no less,who wears Chucks with a pinstripe suit?—Rose felt that perhaps she could makean exception this time.

“Thanks,professor. I’ll keep it in mind,” she teased as the lift lurched and lumbered upward.

“What makesyou say I’m a professor?” he asked, mouth twitching in amusement.

Sheshrugged. “S’just a joke,” she replied, but halfway through her sentence, itoccurred to her that the fellow was looking at her in a very specific way, andthat gave her pause. He wasn’t leering at her like the lads on the sidewalk, orsneering at her like gentlemen in suits were oft wont to do. Instead he waswatching her almost like—

Like she wasonto something.

Rose’s eyestracked him over. “I guess the specs look sort of professor-ish,” she offered.“Wearing a suit, too, brown and not too fancy. Nothing wrong with it, but youwouldn’t catch it at Harrods. And you’ve got a bunch of student papers stickingout of your briefcase,” she said, pointing at the worn leather case danglingfrom one hand.

“What makesyou say they’re from students?” he asked, a smile hiding in the corners of hiseyes.

She was definitely onto something.

“Well,they’ve got grades on them, don’t they?” Rose asked. “Gotta be students.”

His facesplit in a wide grin. “That makes sense. Well done.”

“Thanks,”Rose laughed, and she was only being a little sarcastic. “Did I pass the test,then?”

“With flyingcolors.”

Both of themsmiled at each other, and Rose felt just the tiniest twinge of regret when thelift arrived at its destination. The doors slid open, the bell chimed out aloud announcement, and neither Rose nor the professor moved away.

“Well,” theprofessor said, fidgeting a bit in his plimsolls. He tilted his head toward theexit. “Got to run. See you around, maybe?”

Not if I see you first is what Rose thought.

“Sure,” iswhat she said.

With acheeky grin, the professor stepped out of the lift and walked away. He didn’t seemto notice the paper that fluttered in his wake, drifting out of his case andfloating lazily, featherlike, to the floor.

“Wait,” Rosestarted, scooping the paper up in her hand, but the doors were closing and theprofessor didn’t turn back. Rose quickly gave the paper a once-over (it couldbe rubbish, but what if it was a student’s assignment, what if the professorhadn’t graded it yet, what if that poor sod ended up with a 0 through no faultof their own?) and was surprised by the words she found at the top.

OPEN CASTING CALL

And a littlebelow that:

For George Bernard Shaw’s

PYGMALION

At the Blue Box Theatre

Rosefrowned. Open casting? She wasn’tsure what that meant, exactly, but it was obviously something to do with aplay. Had to be a play if it was in a theatre. Right? Was it like auditions?(And if it was like auditions, why didn’t it just say that?)

The liftdoors opened at her destination and Rose balled the paper up in her hands,compressing it neatly into its own little cragged-edged world. She tossed it inthe rubbish bin without a second thought.

…but she didhave an individual thought, on its own, not two seconds later, which encouragedher to pick the paper right back up.

(No harm inchecking it out, right?)

***

A quick few minutes of Googlingshow her everything she needs to know. Jack is happy to supplement the rest.

“A bit familiar, isn’t it?” heteases, looking over her shoulder while she types. Normally she would beinclined to tell him that that’s a load of bunk, and then outline preciselyjust how much bunk that is, but the parallels seem pretty undeniable.

“Pyggies was years ago,” Rosesays in a protest that they both know is feeble. “This doesn’t mean—”

“Rose,” Jack interrupts, gently.“It means.”

Rose worries her lip while shescrolls down the screen. Jack’s right. Of course he is. But that doesn’t makethings any easier. It doesn’t make hurt feelings unhurt or apologies magicallysaid.

But.

“He’s trying,” Jack says.

“What, you his agent, now? Mostpeople get paid for a job like that.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Look, Iknow he’s an idiot. Everyone knows. Hell, even he knows. But you also know he’smore than that. And even if it’s a stupid gesture…at least it’s a gesture.”

Rose stares at the screen somemore. Open CastingCall, it says. Born Yesterday, it says. Seeking ExceptionallyTalented Woman (Character Experience Preferred), it says.

“Those American accents are goingto be dreadful,” Rose says.

***

They’ll tellyou that you should never go into an audition unprepared, but Rose didn’t knowthat yet. Besides, she never really cared much about what They tell you.

(Also, shestill wasn’t entirely sure she was going to audition at all. Or so she toldherself, standing in front of the Blue Box Theatre with a crumpled flier in herhand. Maybe she had only shown up to see what the thing was all about.Certainly she had not shown up hoping to get cast, definitely she wasn’t hopingto see the intriguing professor-bloke again.)

“The queuestarts round the back,” a Scottish voice popped up, and Rose turned to see ayoung redheaded woman leaning against the blue brick wall. Her hair fell aroundher face in curtains, her legs were impossibly long, and the casual way shedragged smoke out of her cigarette made Rose’s fingers itch.

“Sorry?”

“The queue,”the girl repeated, as if repetition would encourage understanding. “It’s roundthe back.” She gestured with the cigarette, trailing ash in its wake. “Thatway.”

***

And that’s it, folks. If you’re interesting in picking it up, let me know and I’ll send you my notes!

[gaypasta]

do you want fries with that?

Chapter 2 / ? Read on Ao3 

Previous Chapter

One Month Later.

The cold Autumn afternoon was quiet - much to be expected in this weather. It was an almost supernatural bitter wind which cut through the team members on their way to work, and judging by the frost build-up on the front door - it was due to stay the rest of the weekend.

Mike - who now works alongside Bill after Stan realised the only thing Bill didn’t burn was pancakes - had been late, the foreign country roads froze up worse overnight and Mike had to walk his bike for a mile until he had got onto the populated roads where the dozens of cars had slowly lifted the ice. It was understandable - Stan would rather Mike be late than drop his eggs (which Mike continued to donate to the Diner every weekend) or even worse, hurt himself.

Slowly, but surely, the entire Saturday gang had begun to arrive at work. Bill following Stan by half an hour. Mike and Beverly (after her first Saturday shift Stan had put her on every weekend after that. She was a fantastic worker and the customers loved her) arrived at eight. Ben and Eddie arrived at nine. Eddie continued to do dishes, even though he almost had a breakdown a few days prior because he had touched someone’s chewing gum. Ben helped Beverly out front, and even refused breaks if she needed someone to help wait tables.

Then there was Richie. Who was also meant to start at nine, but Stan doesn’t think he can recall a day yet where Richie was any less than fifteen minutes late. And sure enough, today wasn’t any different. Richie had bounced through the doors at eleven, after 2 hours he had barely done any work. He didn’t seem to be overly bothered about anything besides showing off his new sneakers. (They were ugly.)

Stan was trying to fill in wastage reports (Bill tried to cook hash browns and almost set the smoke alarm off), which was proving to be a more difficult task than usual because beside him, Richie was squeezing washing up liquid into Eddie’s sink, making a 2 - foot wall of foam. Stan had a headache, and his name was Richie Tozier.

“Ha-ha! Eddie, look, there’s almost enough suds for your mom to use to shave her legs.” Richie’s voice was like sandpaper.

“Dude, stop! This is gonna take ages to rinse. And my mom waxes, you know that.” Eddie complained, desperately trying to grab the washing up liquid out of Richie’s hands. Eddie, however, had barely grown an inch (or so it seemed) from they were thirteen. Richie had grown considerably, he was now taller than everyone except Stan.

“Oh, I know she waxes, I’ve seen it up close. Tell your future little brother that I’m sorry I can’t pay child support, too busy pimping.”

“Dude, that’s disgusting. Plus, child support comes out of a direct deposit, asshole.”

Richie dropped the bottle into the sink, causing a splash of hot soapy water to wave over the sink and wash Eddie’s apron and goloshes. Maybe they weren’t such a bad call after all. Stan stared at the puddle of water which had soaked the floor under Eddie. Richie turned around and caught Stan’s eye. He gave a cheesy grin.

Stan continued to stare directly into Richie’s coke-bottled eyes. It was almost like a battle of dominance, which was ridiculous. Stan was clearly in the dominant role, I mean - he was the supervisor. Not that Richie cared, he didn’t treat Stan any differently in work than he did at school, he carried no concept of a work/home barrier. Anything someone said in work, he would carry with him home. Stan recalled when he didn’t speak to Bill for three days because Bill had told him to stop being lazy and do some work during a rush hour. Stan didn’t really get it, they work to support a business and provide good customer service, having disputes with each other in work was inevitable,  all of the Loser’s Club (as they had dubbed themselves) had different personalities and different approaches to work. Stan didn’t see a reason not to leave it at the door. Regardless, Richie was in work - work which Stan took great pride in - and he will do his job as he is being paid $3/hour to do.

“Richie, please clean that up. The last thing we need is someone falling and cracking their head open.”

Richie looked down at the puddle, then back to Stan. “I’m the only one who comes near Eddie because he has AIDs.”

“Good, maybe if you slip it will knock some sense into you.” Stan quipped as took his pen back from the counter and continued to try to calculate how much money was lost by letting Bill cook. Stan heard a short slapping sound, followed by a yelp from Richie along with a string of explicites. Stan ignored it, choosing to do his work.

If twenty hash browns were thrown out, at sixty cents each - that’s $12. Plus the bottle of milk Richie crashed into on his bike this morning - $12.80, then the pancakes Bill had sneezed on, $13.80. Stan put the biro in between his lips to free his hands as he rustled through the binder looking for the wastage from the last week. His brow furrowed as he read the wastage from Thursday. $45?! How the hell did they manage to waste $45 worth of food? He began to recalculate all which was written down, in a desperate assumption that someone had made a mathematical muck-up. Stan had a habit of sticking his tongue out or sucking his cheek when he was concentrating, in lieu of his cheek he absent-mindedly began to suck the pen.  He faintly recognized movement out of the corner of his eyes. It was Mike bringing Eddie more dishes, stopping to wipe up the mess Richie had made.

Stan let out a smile of triumph. Someone had made a mistake and the wastage wasn’t nearly as high. He made a mental note to go back and double check the wastage as far back as he could, lord knows how their accounts didn’t notice it. He quickly, but neatly, corrected the maths and changed the subtotal - still letting the pen rest between his lips. It wasn’t until he moved the paper up from the counter to put it back into its folder did he notice Richie staring at him. Not the staring that Ben usually follows Beverly with, more alike to how your eyes fixate on something as your mind wanders, and it isn’t until minutes later that you realize you’ve been staring at someone.

He waited several moments to see if Richie would notice, but he didn’t. He just continued staring with eyes fixated on Stan’s chin. “Is there something on my face?” The underlying tone was ultimately ‘can I help you, Tozier?’

Stan could almost see the point where Richie had stopped dissociating as he had moved back about half an inch in surprise. Richie sloppily fixed his glasses - which weren’t that overly askew to begin with, Stan noted. “Yeah, jizz from that pen if you keep giving it all that attention.”

Stan went to snipe back, but Richie had skittered off towards Bill to pull at his apron - untying the bow and letting his apron fall loose, before spinning out the front to help Ben and Bev serve. Bill was carrying a tray of freshly baked peach pie from the oven, and he gingerly tried to step over the trails of his apron. Stan set his pen atop of the folder he was working with and made a beeline for Bill after Bill almost tripped on his apron with a shout. “Hold still.” Stan made delicate work of re-tying the apron. It felt strange tying a bow from the front now, after doing his own so many cold mornings. Stan used his own apron as oven mitts and took the pie off Bill when he was done tying it. “T-thanks Stan.” Bill traced the bow on the back of his apron. It was firm and unmoving. “W-when did we start doing p-peach pie?” Bill asked curiously, his head leaning to one side the way that it does.

“Oh, Mom had some leftover Peaches from Rosh Hashanah. They were just going to be binned, so…” Stan had trailed off. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable that Bill had asked. Stan could cook, and bake, and sew. His Mother firmly believed in order to be a well-rounded person it was important for him to develop both ‘feminine’ and ‘masculine’ hobbies and skills. He enjoyed baking with his mother, in fact, it was some of his most cherished memories growing up. But he’s not nine anymore, he should be doing more exciting things on a Friday night than making a peach pie for work the next morning.

Bill’s eyes lit up in amazement. “You made t-this? It smells am-amazing. It looks so much b-better than that cheap frozen s-sh-shit.”  Stan moved his eyes off Bill, looking out to the front of house instead. “C-can we taste it, I mean, we sh-should know what it t-tastes like before serving it, r-r-ight Mike?”

Mike looked up from frying fries and nodded. “If Stan doesn’t mind, of course.” He sent a reassuring smile to Stan, who straightened his back and nodded.

“Fine, but only one slice. Between everyone, not each.” He sent a warning look to Bill, who was probably thinking about bringing a slice home to Georgie. Stan would allow him, of course, but Georgie would more than likely stop by to meet Bill and cycle home with him. Stan would give him a slice then. Stan lowered the plate onto a clear counter out of the line of sight from the customers. He walked over to beside Bill’s prep area and pulled a sharp butcher’s knife from the wooden knife block. Mike lifted the fries and left them in the basket, allowing the grease to drip out back into the fryers, and made his way over to Bill and Stan. Stan used his apron to hold the hot plate in place as he made eight almost exactly equal slices into the pastry. “I’ll go get a p-plate.” Bill jogged over to grab an immaculate white plate, peaking Eddie’s interest from a stained coffee pot. “Here, I got forks t-too.” Bill gently lowered the plate and the forks onto the counter. Stan lifted the slice and fluidly transferred it onto the plate. Like he had done dozens of times before. Using a fork, he cut the slice into seven equal pieces, which appeared to be about a mouthful each. Stan pierced one with his fork, they reminded him of the hors-d'oeuvres his mother had made for his Bar Mitzvah.

He looked around to realise that not only had Eddie joined the gathering, but everyone had their eyes glued on the pie. “Um -” he really didn’t know what to say.

“You have to try it first, I m-mean. It’s yours!” Bill smiled using his hands to usher the fork closer to Stan. “I get that, but do you all have to watch? I never considered eating a spectator event.” And with that said, they shrugged and all joined Stan in having a taste of his own baked creation. It was a strange feeling, knowing people were eating what you made. It felt almost personal, Stan had a temptation to slap the forks out of their mouths before they took a bite. That would be ridiculous though, of course.

Eddie wasn’t a massive fan of peach in the first place, so Stan didn’t think much of it when he screwed his nose up and shook his head. Bill and Mike, however, loved it. Bill made a weird groaning noise that Richie would probably make a crude comment about. Mike just took a heavy breath, as if preparing himself to recount the taste. “St-st-stan! This is s-so good. It’s like, fifty thousand t-times better than the ones at the b-bakery on R-Richmond Street.” Stan could feel his heart begin to swell the way it does when you’re happy. Bill’s family had exclusively bought their Sunday dessert from that bakery since as long as Bill could remember. Stan could remember joining Bill several times, but he never really was one for sweets. Usually, he just picked up a fresh loaf of bread. Mike nodded in heavy agreement. “I used to deliver eggs there, Mrs.Dotts always gave me a slice of something for the road.” He patted Bill on the shoulder. “I gotta agree, this is good stuff. Like, money-making good.”

Bill called in the rest of the group to taste. Their reactions were much the same, except Beverly had never had fresh pie before, only one from the supermarket - she was blown away.  

Richie took the biggest piece between the three and chewed it obnoxiously close to Stan’s ear. Stan was waiting patiently for what he could only anticipate as being irritating feedback. Richie’s head nodded as he ate it, making an obscene parody of the noises Bill was making earlier. Stan rolled his eyes. Richie swallowed loudly and threw his hands up into the air.

“Hallelujah, boys and girl! The messiah has returned in the form of Stanley Uris. Who knew Jesus would reincarnate as a Jew after his Jewwy demise?” Richie praised into the ceiling, wrapping an arm tight around Stan’s neck.

Stan shoved the boy away, “Don’t call Jesus - or anything for that matter - ‘Jewwy’. It sounds a toddler trying to say ‘Jerry’, also it’s offensive to my culture.”

“Go cry into your Yakuza.” “Yamaka - and you were there when Bowers and their gang of underachievers threw it into the sewer. Also, shut up.”

Richie looked up in thought for a moment before clapping loudly. “Don’t you all have work to do? Ten-hut soldiers!”

The group shuffled away, probably wanting to get as far away from Richie’s loud army-colonel impersonation as possible. Stan began to collect the dirty forks, before Richie grabbed his forearm. “Dude what the hell-”

“I need your help.”

Stan stared quizzically at Richie’s change of tone. It threw him off and left him feeling uneasy. “With what?”

“It’s my Mom’s birthday, I blew this week’s paycheck on cigarettes and the arcade, also I owed Eddie money.”

Stan snorted, “You owe all of us money.” He pointed out.

Richie waved his hand in the air in a dismissive manner. “Yeah, I’ll get to it, Mom. I need you to show me how to bake a cake, or a pie or a fucking doughnut or something.”

Stan looked down at the pie and back up to Richie. “That good, huh?”

“Dude shut the fuck up, it was a solid ten out of ten, and I can’t even lie about it to annoy you, that’s how good it was. Please?” Richie raised his eyebrows and held his hands together, like a child begging. “I’ll jerk you off, Mr.Uris? For extra credit?”

Stan inwardly grimaced at that. Moreseo the use of ‘Mr.Uris’ than the offer to jerk him off. “I already have your sister for that.”

Richie laughed loudly, clapping Stan on the shoulder, making him stumble slightly. “Boom! Stan the Man hits us with another good one! I’ll see you after work, bring what we need!” And with that, Richie was off, heading towards the back door, a cigarette already in his mouth to take an unauthorized smoke break. Beverly followed him, it was almost as if they were on a nicotine timer.

Stan stood there, the realisation dawning on him that Richie had just invited him over to his house, without really giving him an option. Stan tries to remember the last time anyone apart from Bill was at Richie’s house. He can’t, so he starts making a mental list of what to bring to Richie’s that night.

Richie better actually fucking help make his own mother’s cake or else Stan might just cook him along with it.

Next Chapter

[chestnutpost]

I Have A Bachelor’s Degree And Still Work 4 Jobs To Make Ends Meet

This post was originally published on this site

I used to enjoy getting mail ― back when I still lived with my parents and my biggest concern was whether the shoes I had ordered would fit. It terrifies me now. Will I find another collections notice for a doctor’s bill I had forgotten to pay? Or maybe another letter from the IRS reminding me that because my identity had been stolen, I now need a PIN to file? The credit card offers are the worst, as if they aren’t a part of the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.

The pit in my stomach is familiar. I felt it nine years ago when my boyfriend (now husband) and I couldn’t afford rent on our run-down two-bedroom apartment. I felt it again when a bill came that would be with us for years. I can vividly remember lying on the hallway floor with my boyfriend as he told me I should cut my losses now and leave. That he would only drag me down. He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

We met nearly 10 years ago at an auction. I was 22 and bright-eyed, working part-time as a data-entry clerk so I could tack the experience onto my resume. He was 42 and fresh out of auctioneer school, looking to redirect his career. The first time he asked me out for coffee, I refused. But the more time we spent together, the more I realized the age difference didn’t matter to me. In fact, I hardly noticed it.  

I was, perhaps naively, thinking that we would be fine. Sure I was a college junior working weekends and nights in a mall, but I would have my bachelor’s degree soon. And with my degree companies would be clamoring to hire me. After all, a degree in English meant I could work nearly anywhere (wrong). Truthfully, my major was based on the fact that I loved to read and write. The fact my math skills were so dismal only seemed to point me further in that direction. It didn’t take long before I was making lists of publishing companies and genuinely excited for a fictional city office I had built in my mind.  

Sure I was a college junior working weekends and nights in a mall, but I would have my bachelor’s degree soon. And with my degree companies would be clamoring to hire me.

Within a month of graduation, I had a very promising interview in New York City with a publishing company. I was ecstatic. This was it! A follow-up email a few weeks later informed me that they promoted someone from within. I was gutted. The trend continued. I worked for a woman whose dog would use my cubicle as a toilet. My paychecks were sporadic ― when they remembered to pay me. I answered an ad on Craigslist and interned for an author in Costa Rica. I moved from one mindless retail job to the next.

In 2012 ― nearly two years after graduating with a bachelor’s degree ― I finally landed steady work as a receptionist for an orthodontist’s office. It was a thankless job, but it was at least getting me closer to putting that degree to use.

A year of scheduling patient appointments paid off: I had finally landed a job in marketing. I thought this was it and things were going to start looking up for me. However, it didn’t take long after that to acknowledge the fact that a marketing assistant salary was not going be our saving grace. It wasn’t enough to pay the bills, let alone the rent in a seedy apartment complex behind a Wawa outside Philadelphia.

My nights were often filled with the sounds of fighting, police sirens and the POP-POP of guns being fired. Our mail slot was ripped off our front door, the knob wobbly where someone had tried to tool it open. A man with an ankle bracelet climbed into our neighbor’s window and swiped a wallet off the table. I rarely answered the door.

My husband and I argued often. While I struggled to build my career in marketing, he was adapting and forever changing with the ebb and flow. He went back to school to get his certification as a sign language interpreter. I couldn’t stomach the thought of adding to my student loan debt ― not when my degree meant nothing. I still recall the look of shock on my supervisor’s face when he realized I had a bachelor’s degree. If you’re wondering what a degree is worth, the answer is less than $1 ― the amount of the raise I received when they realized I had an education.

I still recall the look of shock on my supervisor’s face when he realized I had a bachelor’s degree.

It wasn’t until we started looking into purchasing a home in 2016 ― six years after graduating college ― that I realized just how little I was contributing. Within the span of a few months, our offer was accepted on what we had come to view as our dream home. A gorgeous Victorian with a wraparound porch, it sat neglected on a handful of acres tucked back from the main road. It was an absolute disaster inside ― a fact we can appreciate more fully now. I ignored the crumbling walls and mouse droppings in favor of the window seats and upstairs balcony. I didn’t flinch when a dead bird fell at my feet when I opened the attic door. This was fine, I had convinced myself. And truthfully, the state of the house was only reason we could afford it.

The nightmare began soon after. Our mortgage company would call us regularly as they worked on our paperwork. Having only ever rented, we blindly followed along as they requested bank statements and documentation. The calls became more intrusive and almost accusatory ― Why had I co-signed on my sister’s car loan? Could we get copies of signed apology letters from estranged family members to corroborate our story on some old loans?

After dumping thousands we didn’t have into inspections, we lost the house. Months later we learned the mortgage company had been purchased and it had put a stop on all loan approvals. When it called us back with assurances we would now be approved, we hung up the phone.

Devastated, we returned to our rental with the jacked-up door.

I was frustrated and angry. Angry that my degree meant so little. That I could barely afford groceries or our heat and electric bills. Everything went on a credit card ― a card that nearly three years later I am still struggling to pay off.

Desperate, I begged for hours at the auction house where my husband and I had met. They gladly took me back, although a part of me had selfishly hoped they wouldn’t. I didn’t want to work another job. My vacation time was quickly whittled away as I spent long hours keying in sales to make some cash for groceries. And it still wasn’t enough.

I found the address for another auction house and drove there to beg for work. Dozens of unemployed laborers meandered on the dock, offering clumsy help for tips. I was the only one there begging with a college degree. When they told me they didn’t really need the help, I volunteered my time for free. Anything to get my foot in the door and to help ease the press of anxiety on my chest. My persistence paid off, and I added another small but steady stream of cash to my wallet. And still the three jobs weren’t enough.

My life revolved around work. If I wasn’t at the office pushing papers, I was jumping from one auction house to the other. I was lucky ― there’s almost always a need for data entry clerks. Perhaps because one must be in a true state of desperation to voluntarily sit in front of a DOS system for hours on end without a break.

My degree sits mainly untouched and forgotten since I earned it in 2010. It’s hardly the topic of any conversation and it’s certainly not a point of pride.

I felt like I was missing something important. Something monumental that would turn our situation around. While working these auctions, I started to pay attention to what was selling and the prices I was keying in. I was no stranger to thrift stores or yard sales ― I shopped them often for myself. But what if I started flipping for profit?

I filled our living room with mountains of merchandise and taped ripped, faux brick wrapping paper to the wall. A half-collapsed, umbrella light stand provided just enough light for me to photograph my purchases and then stow them away in a second pile of bins. Mrs. Piles my husband called me, but it couldn’t be helped.

My consistency paid off. As sales slowly began to roll in, I could only feel relief.

I still don’t make anywhere near what someone with a bachelor’s degree is expected earn. I don’t have the cushy New York City office with a view. I don’t even make coffee runs for executives in the hopes that one day I’ll move up the ranks. My degree sits mainly untouched and forgotten since I earned it in 2010. It’s hardly the topic of any conversation and it’s certainly not a point of pride. My bachelor’s is almost an afterthought on my resume. A tiny blip or an accent mark buried at the bottom of the second page. It’s the auction experience that employers seem to take notice of. The degree itself is glossed over just like my name at the top ― they know I have one, but they’ll forget it once the interview is done.

It didn’t occur to me in high school that I didn’t have to go to college. Why would it when half of my time there was spent testing to prepare me for just that? I don’t regret my degree, even with my student loans hovering like a storm cloud over my head. If nothing else it was a great block of filler text for the bottom of my resume.    

For now, I continue to burn the midnight oil. Tomorrow morning I’ll head off to work at a job that pays too little with a degree I do not use. As my husband leaves for yet another overnight shift, I wonder if we’ll ever get around to starting that family we so often talk about. Maybe someday, but not today.

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The post I Have A Bachelor’s Degree And Still Work 4 Jobs To Make Ends Meet appeared first on The Chestnut Post.

from The Chestnut Post https://thechestnutpost.com/news/i-have-a-bachelors-degree-and-still-work-4-jobs-to-make-ends-meet/

[sarahburness]

The Art of Saying No: Lessons from a Caregiver

“When you say yes to others, make sure you are not saying no to yourself.” ~Paulo Coelho

There it is again. Another person asks me for help. There’s a sharp pull inside of me to stop what I am doing and give.

And the internal struggle comes up.

I should just say yes and help them. What’s it take to write out a few text lines? An extra phone call? It’s not so bad, I tell myself. You are, after all, a caregiver.

My internal voice is so strong. It has been with me for a long time, this voice.

Then I feel my shoulders tense. I feel my breath begin to shorten. And a light-headed feeling takes over. These are my early warning signs that I am taking on too much.

It has taken me some time to realize that this is what happens when I take on a lot and say yes—and that there is a significant cost to me. It stops me from getting my work done. I am not engaged and present when I am playing with my children. I am short with my husband. It derails my priorities. And it stops me from looking after myself.

If the above sounds familiar, then you can probably relate to being a natural caregiver. Perhaps you are someone who seeks approval from other people. Maybe you are a people pleaser. You might even describe yourself as a “do-er.” You do for others, but sometimes, or maybe always, you forget to just be.

You put the needs of others ahead of your own at the cost of yourself. You thrive on caring for others. You love to give. In fact, you probably hold yourself to high standards, and one of those standards is that you give to others.

Before my first child was born, and even in the first year or so of his life, I continued to give and say yes to others. I was the person that would tell others, “What do you need? I’ll make it happen!” or “Tell me what you have in mind for that day, I’ll be there.” Or if someone needed something, help with anything, I would quickly say yes. I would give up my own thoughts and feelings and needs in hopes of ensuring the other person was happy. To ensure that “we” were happy, and “we” were “good.”

And then it started to hit me in the fall days of long walks with my newborn child—the second child to join our family. With the wind swirling around me, the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet and stroller wheels, and the brightness of the leaf colors, I realized that I was giving so much to others to fill up my self-worth. I was defining who I am, and what I am worth, by what I give to others and what I can do for others.

Give more. Be more present for others. Be there for them. This was my mantra.

It’s not an unfamiliar role. I’m a clinical psychologist, after all. It is what I spend my day doing—caring for others.

My older sister recalls me being this way since my early formative years. She will tell the story of coming to me with her problems, and I would explore ways to solve them or cope. I loved watching others and trying to understand their thoughts and feelings, and their behaviors behind them.

It didn’t take much to find my “calling”—my sharp perception for relationships, how I use my sensitivity and empathy. I find it meaningful to spend my days helping others change, process hard and difficult experiences, and live a life that is filled with meaning and authenticity.

But I’ve noticed the impact of caring for others all the time. It’s a cost. And it was a cost to my own self-worth. I held myself to rigid standards—“If I don’t give then I’m not a good friend.” And yet I spend hours working with clients to help them develop more adaptive ways of viewing themselves. I wasn’t upholding this to myself. Would I think this of my friends? Absolutely not. They are “good,” just as they are, but not me.

I know I am not alone in this challenge. Most of us struggle with communicating our needs and setting healthy boundaries. And many of us need to explore the role of caregiving, what it does for us, and how we can find other ways to build our sense of self.

So, here’s the thing. Gaining insight into this pattern, this behavior, this desire to be in this role, is the first step. I had to understand what it was that I was doing, and what it was providing me. If you are reading this post, you likely identified with the challenge of saying no, and being a caregiver. So here are my eight tips to help you say no.

1. Tune in to when you are feeling overwhelmed.

These signs might be like mine where you experience increased physiological arousal. Or maybe they are emotional (feelings of being frustrated, anxious, hurt), cognitive (holding rigid thoughts; telling yourself you’re not enough), or even changes in your relationship (stop having sex; increased arguing). Identifying your emotional experience will help you identify when you need to change.

2. Acknowledge that you have different thoughts, feelings, and opinions from other people.

You have your own internal experience. And your partner/friend/parent/coworker has their separate internal experience. You are a separate individual from the other person in your relationship. It is not for you to change their internal world, and it is not for them to change your thoughts or feelings, or desires and wishes.

You are responsible, however, for communicating your needs to the other person. If you need to take space for yourself because you have too much on your plate, or perhaps you simply do not want to do a requested task, it is your job to communicate this, with respect, to the other person. More on how to do this in the next step.

3. Start saying no.

You have the right to say no. You do not have the right to be aggressive to someone or to criticize them. “How could you ask me to do that when you know I have so much going on?” That’s critical. You have the right to say no—and you do not have to explain your no.

You can provide empathy for the difficulties that the other person is in. “I see you are having a hard time right now.” You can also express what can happen next time. “Next time, perhaps we can find a way through this together.” And you can express your feelings. “I’m feeling overwhelmed and I am not able to do that.”

Note that sharing feelings starts with “I.” But remember, saying, “I feel like you don’t understand” is not a feeling. Feelings are sad, happy, mad, fearful.

4. If saying no is difficult, try giving yourself the twenty-four-hour rule.

So often we respond with emotion, and this leads us to taking on too much. If saying no in the moment is really hard, let the other person know that you will get back to them in twenty-four hours. Or, if the request comes through an email and it is not urgent, allow yourself a day to reflect on what it is that the request entails and how this would impact you professionally and personally. Remember, we often overestimate what we can get done in a day, or even a year.

5. Maintain your boundary.

If you start to assert yourself and begin to say no, and then you change your mind, others learn to not take your no seriously. This isn’t anyone’s fault. We all do this at times—we all have our own motivation for asking for help.

A boss asking you to stay overtime to help with a project? Or asking you to take on more work? A partner wanting you to complete a task in the home? Helping a friend? Saying no and being a broken record, “Unfortunately I am not able to at this time,” over and over again can help you hold that boundary.

6. Challenge the internal dialogue or bring acceptance to it.

If you hold yourself to a standard that you need to help others, try finding other ways of viewing your no. Does being a good friend mean that you have to always give? This would be what cognitive therapists view as all or nothing thinking. Can you try living in the grey?

Shift perspectives—what would you tell a friend if they were struggling to say no? Or maybe you are using emotional reasoning—you feel bad, so you tell yourself you are bad. What other ways do you show up as a significant other?

Challenge that old dialogue. And if you continue to struggle, perhaps try bringing a stance of acceptance to this old internal dialogue. I bet it has been with you for a long time. And I challenge you to ask others if they have the same dialogue!

7. Give yourself permission to struggle.

This will not change overnight. You will feel guilty. And it will be hard.

The best way to address guilt is to do exactly what it is that you feel guilty about. Feeling guilty for saying no? Say no! If you continue to avoid feeling guilty, guilt will continue to knock on your door. And the way others respond to your new stance of saying no will not change overnight. In fact, I can predict that if you have been in this role for quite some time, the other person will not know what to do at first, and will try to revert back to old patterns.

8. Ask for help.

This is a tough one, especially for someone that always keeps helping others. Often, we are so busy giving help and responding to others that we minimize our needs, and they are not aware that we, too, need help in some way.

Help might come in all forms. Perhaps you start by setting thirty-minutes of you time during the week away from the family. Or you share a task with someone. You could also try letting others know how you are feeling.

Learning to say no has helped me re-focus my priorities. It doesn’t mean that I always say no, but rather I allow myself to be flexible.

There are times when I can give and times when I cannot. Instead of feeling tied to giving as a symbol of self-worth, I shifted my focus to living a life that is connected to what is important to me and to being my authentic self. And when we can be authentic with ourselves and those around us, we feel the most connected between our mind and body.

About Tracy Dalgleish

Dr. Tracy Dalgleish is a clinical health psychologist working with individuals and couples. She specializes in helping women find balance in the multiple roles in their life. She is a clinical supervisor and gives presentations to healthcare providers and corporations on wellness and mental health. She is a mother of two, a wife, and a novice yogi.

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The post The Art of Saying No: Lessons from a Caregiver appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/the-art-of-saying-no-lessons-from-a-caregiver/

[ilyashrayber]

North Beach

 There has to be something in the air. There has to be something that is telling you that this cannot be real, that this is a dream, that deep down it could not be true. I am not describing sex, or landing a career, or even watching Star Wars for the first time. I am instead trying to convey to you the emotion I have everytime I get to walk through North Beach, a neighborhood situated in the northeastern corner of the city. I think I stumbled upon it by accident, probably lost sometime in middle school, sweating bullets that I was never going to find the 38, and subsequently, never make it home. Even in that instance, I still had a vague grasp on just how freaking cool this place was.

   It was only last year that I set off on a (very) poorly planned Europe trip for almost a month. With my best friend in tow, we left America, not knowing just how many shenanigans we would get into while abroad. Europe was amazing, as we went from the narrow alleyways of Paris, sipping fine red wine, to flying by the Swedish countryside on scooters, to discussing socialism while haggling with Danish locals, all the way to (almost) getting locked overnight in a Czech cathedral. It was a paradise, in short. But, for some reason or other, we never made it to Italy. Which is strange, because in all facets of my life, especially those in which I devour art, it seemed like I was skewing more and more towards Italy in terms of interest. My favorite films recently seemed to all stem from minds such as Fellini, Petri, and Pasolini. My taste in music had seen the same shift- I traded in loop pedals and washed out guitar riffs for old school organs and synthesizers. In place of Radiohead, Mitski, and The Strokes, I was now enamored with artists such as Piero Umiliani, Stelvio Cipriani, and Armando Trovajoli, all 70’s lounge legends. They made me feel like my life was one big screening of La Dolce Vita. I knew that my dream car, even though I only have my permit as of writing, had to be made by Fiat or Alfa Romeo in the 70’s. And don’t even get me started on the tailoring of houses like Brioni and Loro Piana. So why didn’t we go to Italy? Well, I guess that’s because I’ve had North Beach my whole life.

    I did not grow up in North Beach, and I certainly didn’t know anyone who did when I was younger. It was just a true coincidence that I found myself stumbling among it’s streets one day, blown away by where I was. Just like any neighborhood, it had its own air, it’s own smells, and most of all, it’s own vibe. (Cue the real estate developers.) For a while, North Beach was my little slice of Europe. It felt like a vacation every time I went there, since I lived about an hour away by bus. San Francisco is small for a city, which is why I’ve never thought about it that way. North Beach especially hammers that notion home. The thin alleyways, confusing dead ends, and surprising number of parks located there almost make you feel like you’re in a West Coast version of Call Me By Your Name, except instead of Armie Hammer in a speedo, you have a guy named Derek in a patagonia vest. (The swathes of tech workers have spread to every inch of town, and don’t let anyone tell you different.) Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re in a special, almost sacred place. It is not like any other, with the smell of focaccia lingering, mixing in with the scent of less than stellar cigarettes, usually from the same bakery. Is it touristy? Yes. Do I care? Not really. After a while, you just learn to tune them out. Instead, you take note of the old men yelling at each other in front of coffee shops, the beautiful array of pastries in every window, and maybe, if you’re lucky, the people at Z. Chiocolotto’s letting you get two free taffy samples instead of just one. These are all facets of this beautiful, vibrant neighborhood. And now, onto some memories.

   It was my senior year of high school, and me and one my best friends were talking about prom, happening later that weekend. I had called the girl I was supposed to go with around 4 or 5 times, anxious that she was going to cancel. Why? Because I was in high school, and that’s how my brain works. Little did I know she was celebrating shabbat with her family and had turned her phone off that night. So, in the midst of my nerves and anxiety, a friend and I went over to get a slice, calm myself , and discuss how we were going to ‘make a move’ this weekend. We went over to Tony’s off Columbus, and got mouth blasted by the best damn pizza I’ve ever eaten. They do calzones there too, but don’t bother with those. Tony’s is probably the only place I’ve ever heard of that has a slicehouse with an actual school for making pizza above it. Internationally recognized and accredited, of course. But again, ignore the calzones. Anything but a slice with pepperoni, or just cheese if you're a veggieboi, seems like sacrilege. We took our slices up to the highest hill in North Beach and looked down on the rest of the city. It was beautiful, with the fog rolling in to make it a classic San Francisco night, along with the ocean breeze coming from a nearby Pacific Ocean. Of course, as picturesque as it sounds, we kept it casual, sitting on the curb of the street, eating pizza, trying not to get hit by some out of townie driving an Uber, happy to just be alive. We began discussing the future. Would we get laid at prom? Eh, probably not. Would we have fun either way? Well, hopefully. Would we still stay friends after high school? Of course we would. We had agreed to be friends for life, no matter how long we went without seeing each other. It was one of those moments where you reflected on your past, appreciated the present, and somehow, in some insane way, even saw a glimpse of your future. And of course, because of the romantic I am, this glimpse involved us back in North Beach, going back to Tony’s, this time with our wives and kids, discussing how much things have changed, but really stayed the same.

  I hadn’t been on a date in a while. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Previously, I was seeing (this is a fairly generous word) a girl from down south, one that I met on a free 10-day tour of Israel. Zionist propaganda? Check. Sweltering heat that never, ever let up? Of course. Extreme amounts of sexual tension between young Jewish adults, propped up by the magic of the mediterranean countryside? Oh my god, yes. Anyways, it was on and off, with us being in different places, both geographically and emotionally. After a particularly bad weekend, we broke things off. I was alone. And yet, in the throes of my emotions, I somehow thought that the best way to get over her was to jump right back into the dating scene. In short, I was ready to get hurt again. If the theme to Curb Your Enthusiasm isn’t playing in your head right now, it should be. A couple weeks later, I decided to go out with another girl. Pressed for options and out of my mind in anxiety, I suggested the comforting embrace of North Beach. She said yes.

   In truth, we had started over at Glen Park, but walked over to North Beach later in the night. If that seems like a long distance, it’s because it is. But I didn’t mind. My anxiety is quickly squashed whenever I have something physical to do. We walked and talked for a while, got caught in the rain, took pictures with old cars, and talked about how much we loved analog photography. I liked her. So it was really a move when I took her down to Filbert Steps to look at the city, illuminated in light and surrounded by water. The Filbert Steps are right down by Coit Tower, a cluster of old houses entrenched in flora that were once the life work of a gardener who lived there. It’s almost an otherworldly site, seeing these great buildings hidden in the flowers and trees of the hill they were built on. I wanted to explore and get lost, but then we just started talking, and I had completely forgotten about that. She said she needed to be home by 9, she had work the next day. By midnite, after glancing at my watch in the middle of a discussion about French workwear, I could tell that wasn’t going to happen. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Aaron Peskin, the Supervisor for District 8 (which includes North Beach) comes walking down the steps. Because I’m a north beach nerd, I recognized him immediately and asked ‘Hey, are you Aaron Peskin?’. He replied with this: ‘Nope! My name’s Bubba!’. It was probably the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. We had coincidentally sat right outside his house, and we begun to strike up conversation with the man. He was intelligent, knowledgeable, and seemed like a really great guy all around. He even offered me a job cat sitting while he was out of town later that summer. It felt like a dream. Later that night, I walked her back to her MUNI train. It was a good night. We both agreed that there definitely had to be a second date.  

  North Beach is a paradise, and I got the privilege to work over there this summer as an intern for a low-income housing complex. Many days were stressful, but the best part of it was the walk down Columbus on my way home, passing old cafes, Fiat repair shops, and old mom and pop bike stores. It made me feel good to be alive. In many ways, the whole neighborhood does. And that’s not something you can really describe, no matter how many words you put on paper.