#GERMANY JOB MARKET

[vjcoverseas]

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[munaeem]

11 Years in Germany. My experience as a Software Engineer, Wife and Mother

1. Initial Expectations and Arrival in Germany (2013): The speaker, an Indian software engineer, initially expected to feel out of place in Germany. She came to pursue a Master’s in Business Computer Science, with the understanding from her parents that finding a job wasn’t mandatory. The relatively low cost of living and tuition compared to other countries like Australia or the US made Germany…

[jcmarchi]

Study finds workers misjudge wage markets

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/study-finds-workers-misjudge-wage-markets/

Study finds workers misjudge wage markets

Many employees believe their counterparts at other firms make less in salary than is actually the case — an assumption that costs them money, according to a study co-authored by MIT scholars.

“Workers wrongly anchor their beliefs about outside options on their current wage,” says MIT economist Simon Jäger, co-author of a newly published paper detailing the study’s results.

As a top-line figure, the study indicates that workers who would experience a 10 percent wage increase by switching firms only expect a 1 percent wage increase instead, leading them to earn less than they otherwise might.

That is one of multiple related findings in the study, which also shows that workers in lower-paying firms are highly susceptible to underestimating wages at other companies; and that giving workers correct information about the salary structure in their industry makes them more likely to declare that they intend to leave their current jobs.

The study also has implications for further economics research, since economists’ job-search models generally assume workers have accurate salary information about their industries. The study was performed using data from Germany, although it quite likely applies to other countries as well.

“Misperceptions about outside options have substantial consequences on wages,” says Nina Roussille, an economist at MIT and also a co-author of the paper. “The intuition is simple: If low-wage workers do not know that they could make more elsewhere, then these workers stay put in low-wage firms. In turn, these low-wage firms do not feel the competitive pressure from the external labor market to raise their wages.”

The paper, “Worker Beliefs about Outside Options,” appears in advance online form in the Quarterly Journal of Economics. The authors are Jäger, the Silverman Family Career Development Associate Professor in MIT’s Department of Economics; Christopher Roth, a professor of economics at the University of Cologne; Roussille, an assistant professor in MIT’s Department of Economics; and Benjamin Schoefer, an associate professor of economics at the University of California at Berkeley.

Updating beliefs

To conduct the study, the researchers incorporated a survey module into the Innovation Sample of the German Socio-Economic Panel, an annual survey of a representative sample of the German population. They used their survey questions to find out the nature of worker beliefs about outside employment opportunities. The scholars then linked these findings to actual job and salary data collected from the German government’s Institute for Employment Research (IAB), with the prior consent of 558 survey respondents.

Linking those two data sources allowed the scholars to quantify the mismatch between what workers believe about industry-wide salaries, and what wages are in reality. One good piece of evidence on the compression of those beliefs is that about 56 percent of respondents believe they have a salary in between the 40th and 60th percentiles among comparable workers.

The scholars then added another element to the research project. They conducted an online experiment with 2,448 participants, giving these workers correct information about salaries at other companies, and then measuring the employees’ intention to find other job opportunities, among other things.

By adding this layer to the study, the scholars found that a 10 percentage point increase in the belief about salaries at other firms leads to a 2.6 percentage point increase in a worker intending to leave their present firm.

“This updating of beliefs causes workers to adjust their job search and wage negotiation intentions,” Roussille observes.

While the exact circumstances in every job market may vary somewhat, the researchers think the basic research findings from Germany could well apply in many other places.

“We are confident the results are representative of the German labor market,” Jäger says. “Of course, the German labor market may differ from, say, the U.S. labor market. Our intuition, though, is that, if anything, misperceptions would be even more consequential in a country like the U.S. where wages are more unequal than in Europe.”

Moreover, he adds, the recent dynamics of the U.S. job market during the Covid-19 pandemic, when many workers searched for new work and ended up in higher-paying jobs, is “consistent with the idea that workers had been stuck in low-paying jobs for a long time without realizing that there may have been better opportunities elsewhere.”

Data informing theory

The findings of Jäger, Roth, Roussille, Schoefer stand in contrast to established economic theory in this area, which has often worked from the expectation that employees have an accurate perception of industry wages and make decisions on that basis.

Roussille says the feedback the scholars have received from economics colleagues has been favorable, since other economists perceive “an opportunity to better tailor our models to reality,” as she puts it. “This follows a broader trend in economics in the past 20 to 30 years: The combination of better data collection and access with greater computing power has allowed the field to challenge longstanding but untested assumptions, learn from new empirical evidence, and build more realistic models.”

The findings have also encouraged the scholars to explore the topic further, especially by examining what the state of industry-wide wage knowledge is among employers.

“One natural follow-up to this project would be to better understand the firm side,” Jäger says. “Are firms aware of these misperceptions? Do they also hold inaccurate beliefs about the wages at their competitors?”

To this end, the researchers have already conducted a survey of managers on this topic, and intend to pursue further related work.

Support for the research was provided, in part, by the Sloan Foundation’s Working Longer Program; the Stiftung Grundeinkommen (Basic Income Foundation); and the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (German Research Foundation) under Germany’s Excellence Strategy.

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[movetogermanywithease]

Beyond Borders: Expat-Friendly Careers in Germany

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[stillnaomi]

during WW1, the British government was so scared of socialism that it decided to build 500,000 spacious and good quality homes for the higher strata of blue collar workers, in order to avert any chance of revolution. this would give jobs to many of the demobilised troops and would stop a large section of the proletariat agitating about their living conditions. previously, the government had steadfastly refused to interfere in the freedom of the housing market, despite large sections of the population living in slum housing

as Major Astor of the Local Government Board told parliament during a debate on the scheme:

“When we talk of expense and cost let us realise that everything is comparative, and let us measure the cost of our housing proposals by the cost of Bolshevism to the country and the cost of revolution. The money we propose to spend on housing is an insurance against Bolshevism and revolution. What is the cost to the country of industrial unrest and strikes? You have only to realise the conditions under which many men and women live to realise that unrest is fully justified.”

believe it or not, revolution was seen as a serious threat. this is how the minutes record the PM, David Lloyd George, speaking in a Cabinet meeting on March 3rd 1919:

“In Europe we were now faced with very serious conditions. Russia had gone almost completely over to Bolshevism, and we had consoled ourselves with the thought that they were only a half-civilised race; but now even in Germany, whose people were without exception the best educated in Europe, prospects are very black.

“Bavaria was already in chaos, and the same fate might await Prussia. Spain seemed to be on the edge of upheaval. In a short time we might have three-quarters of Europe converted to Bolshevism. None would be left but France and Great Britain.

“He believed that Great Britain would hold out, but only if the people were given a sense of confidence—only if they were made to believe that things were being done for them. We had promised them reforms time and again, but little had been done. We must give them the conviction this time that we meant it, and we must give them that conviction quickly.”

this is what communists mean when we say that the capitalist state only gives out concessions when its power is under threat

read more about the Homes Fit for Heroes initiative and its politics

[worldswin]

1 Engineer2 Accountant3 Housekeeping / Helper / babysitting4 Teacher 5 Nurse6 Chef7 Driver8 Technician9 Medical services10 Data analytic / software specialty11 call center agent12 consultant13 Business development 14 Marketing ( digital , content writing etc...) 15 Sales 16 IT ( all different category in the field  are required )

[ukulelegodparent]

There is also the case of Western Nazis exploiting the dire economic situation of many in the East in the 90s and 2000s. A process that went largely unchecked for way too fucking long (at least on the governmental side of things).

Also I do want to point out that I have no earthly clue what that map is supposed to show. And I would really like to know.

[komsomolka]

Women in the GDR were the largest group to lose out through unification. They may now have access to material goods not available before, but they have been pushed back into dependence by a dominant ideology of women serving men. In the GDR, 88% of all adult women worked and another 8.5% were in full-time education, which meant that 96.5% took an active part in the wider social context outside the home and they also had their own income. Work was the basis for economic independence, a sense of self-worth, a place for communication and social interaction, not just a source for additional household income or, as some critics have argued, a state-imposed, obligatory activity.

Women were highly skilled - only 6% had no qualification at all, as against 24% of West German working women. In the GDR, 50% of all jobs in medicine and law were carried out by women and a third of women worked in technical professions.

Given the great importance that work represented to women in terms of their identity, unemployment on the scale, that happened after unification, had a devastating effect. Even after 20 years, on the territory of the former GDR, two thirds of the unemployed were women (in agriculture it was as much as 75%) and they made up at least 70% of the long-term unemployed. Post-unification, the labour market was biased against women; men had a better chance of finding alternative work. [...]

Although gender discrimination was by no means completely abolished in the GDR, this blatant disparaging of women as a group appeared like history going into reverse. This perception is underlined by the fact that, in the general hunt for jobs, children are now deemed to represent a problem. It is well-known that the GDR had excellent childcare facilities which made it possible to combine work and parenthood without financial hardship. In 1989, 68% of working women in the GDR had children under the age of 18, whereas in the Federal Republic it was only 25%. [...]

Unification brought another considerable change for women: the abolition of their right to an abortion on demand. In the GDR, since 1972, women had had the legal right to terminate their pregnancy free of charge within the first 12 weeks. West Germany has a penal code (paragraph 218) which states that abortion is unlawful and those who attempt to abort face up to three years in prison or a fine. After unification it became necessary to bring West German and East German law on this issue into alignment. In 1992, paragraph 218 was amended to adopt GDR legislation, but a compulsory consultation prior to the procedure was added. After protests from the CDU/CSU and the Bavarian state government, which wanted abortion itself to remain illegal, even this amendment was declared null and void by Germany’s Constitutional Court only one year later. [...]

Even after 25 years since unification there still exists a very different perception of equal rights among women in the territory of the former GDR. According to an investigation undertaken in 2008, 80% of East German women wanted an equal division of labour in the family, but only 50% of West German women, among whom traditional family models still exerted a strong force. In fact, the more emancipated consciousness of GDR women has increasingly influenced women in the West, even though they often appear to be unaware of where their new confidence has come.

Stasi State or Socialist Paradise? The German Democratic Republic and What Became of It by Bruni de la Motte & John Green with Seumas Milne (Contributor), 2015.

[omgthatdress]

Barbie made her debut in 1959. The way she was sold then is a little different than the way she's sold now. These days, individual Barbies come with their own unique looks & usually some kind of unique function or accessories. You can buy clothes separately, but those looks are still secondary to the expectation of buying a lot of Barbies. Back in the day, you bought the one Barbie and then bought her clothes separately. This is why back then Barbie came with a bunch of friends and always came wearing a swimsuit.

The oft-memed origin story for the classic Barbie is that she was modeled on a German sex doll named Lili, which is only partially true. In the 50s, most dolls available for girls were baby dolls that primed girls for being a wife and mother. Fashion dolls were a thing but they were generally more reserved for adults.

Ruth Handler, who co-founded Mattel with her husband and served as its president from 1945-1973 (#girlboss much?), got the idea of making an adult doll for girls when she'd see her daughters playing with paper dolls. Instead of playing with babies, they chose teen-aged and adult paper dolls and played fantasized versions of adulthood. Then, on a trip to Germany, Ruth saw a Lili doll in a store, and asked her daughters what they'd think of playing with a doll like that. Apparently, they liked the idea.

Lili the doll wasn't an inflatable fuck doll. She was based on a popular comic strip character Lili created by Reinhard Beuthien and published in the Hamburg-based Bild Zeitung. Lili was a buxom gold-digger seducing her way through the wealthy men of post-war West Germany.

The comic was definitely adult-oriented, and the doll it created was a popular bachelor party gag gift.

The introduction of a doll with breasts did cause *some* controversy, but it was more pearl-clutching rather than tremendous cultural outrage. Barbie was actually an immediate hit. She fit in very well to late 50s ideals of femininity. I've heard it said before that parents liked her because she helped little girls get into the beauty, fashion, and level of grooming that she would need to catch a husband. IDK if that was intentional, but it seems to fit very well.

I don't want to get into whether or not Barbie is this huge feminist icon or not because, well, she's a toy. I think Ruth Handler was an incredibly smart businesswoman who saw a market demand and met it. Barbie is about the power of fantasy and imagination, and anything that people see in her are the things they want to see in her.

In her incredible multitude of careers, she also holds up an impossible and toxic standard of beauty. Mattel has always been very aware of Barbie's image. I'm pretty sure that the reason Mattel hated "Barbie Girl" so much wasn't because it was wink-wink sexual, but because it nailed the popular stereotype of the time that Barbie was this fake, plastic bimbo who was an unhealthy role model for girls (go listen to Aquarium, now!).

The recent years of Barbie taking on a more empowering, feminist, and diverse lean is because Mattel is simply correcting course and keeping up with the times. Honestly, they've done a very good job of it, but I'm not going to kid myself into thinking they're doing anything other than maximizing profits.

I love me some Barbie but I was always an AG girl, ngl. However, I think Barbie and her cultural context are still incredibly fascinating and worth taking a look at.

[bauliya]

looking at how much the uk seems to hate immigrants and how well immigrants seem to do anyway has led me to the conclusion that??? the english are somehow??? BAD????? at RACISM???

tories are wild imagine hating immigrants so much you first wreck the best economic deal in the world (brexit) and as you’re reeling from its economic effects you also dismantle one of the only sectors in your economy that brings in boatloads of money (higher education) because you hate the people who are bringing you that money (intl students) and it’s not even efficient because these are not even the sort of immigrants your racist voter base dislikes the most but you don’t know what else to do and by the way your leadership is mostly second generation indian

[bloodstainedsaint]

loose lips sink ships (lewis nixon x medic! reader)

summary: lewis nixon's alcoholism has been getting worse. you, a medic of easy company, are responsible for the well-being of the men, so you're sent to babysit look after an inebriated lew.

word count: 2100+

warnings: pathetic attempts (multiple) at comedy, drinking, alcoholism, drunken love confessions, lil pining, lil angst, nixon being a lil shit and a cheater??? but his wife divorces him so idk

notes: sorry if this is sloppy 😭 writing dialogue is hard

Your first time speaking to Captain (actually, you weren't sure of his rank anymore— you'd heard he'd gotten demoted to Battalion S3 by Colonel Sink recently) Lewis Nixon was after Operation Market Garden, where he got lightly burned by a stray shot to his helmet. You recalled it going something like this:

“You’re lucky to be alive, sir,” you said at the aid station where the then Lieutenant Winters had sent Nixon to get his graze checked, though there was really no use for it.

“I sure feel lucky,” he responded with a weird, almost dazed stare at you, as if you were some kind of angel sent from heaven to save him from his minor injury.

You met his eyes with a slightly raised eyebrow and assumed that he was just coming to terms with his brush with death. “You'll be fine, sir. Just try not to be in the trajectory of any other stray bullets, and you'll stay that way.”

He nodded and procured a flask from his pocket. “You drink?”

You narrowed your eyes at the container. “I try not to on the job.”

“Well, cheers to being alive, then,” he said, taking a swig.

“...Cheers.”

Following that encounter, you found yourself worrying about the officer more than you thought was normal— if a medic being especially troubled over one soldier was normal at all. Your eyes would search for him in a sea of people to see how tired or hungover he appeared. Whenever you got a chance to talk to him, you would brew him coffee or tea to help with his hangovers, seeing as medicine was always scarce and never spare enough to freely hand out.

You weren't sure where your worry for his well-being came from, but whatever it was, it wasn't quelled by the way he would ask you to stay and chat while he finished his cup— if you weren't busy, of course. The wry grin he would occasionally flash at you was burned into your mind, and his sardonic wit along with his competence as an officer, regardless of his love for alcohol, was impressed upon you. In these fleeting moments of peace, you learned of his rather privileged upbringing, his military background, and that he had a family waiting for him back home. Despite not even knowing what your own intentions were getting close to him, when he told you that last fact, your heart sank a little in your chest.

Your concern for him grew with the recent news that his alcoholism had reared its head again while the company was sent to idly occupy Germany. Someone had broken into a drugstore earlier that week; you'd suspected it was Lew scrounging around for booze. Though the war was coming to an end, he’d been looking more exhausted and ill-tempered as of late. You had yet to really talk to him about how he was holding up; in the meantime, you had been eyeing him from afar, trying to gauge where he was physically and mentally, your heart breaking at how you rarely saw him smile or laugh anymore. Everyone in the company had changed after Bastogne, but you suspected it was his disastrous third combat jump that prompted him to hit the bottle this time.

Now in Landsberg, you were in the middle of playing cards with some of the men in your billet’s living room when Major Winters knocked on the doorway.

“(Y/N),” he called. “Could I speak with you?”

You placed your cards on the table face up, presenting your good hand to the men who groaned in unison at the sight. “Coming, sir.”

As Winters brought you down the hall, you pondered what could be so important that the Major would come personally to speak to you, of all people.

He stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to you, seeming to have read your mind. “It's about Nixon.”

Your eyebrows creased slightly in concern. “Oh. Nixon.”

“Yeah, you know him?” Winters offered a dry smile that you returned.

“What happened?”

“I'm worried about him. Ever since his jump with the 17th Airborne, he’s been drinking more than usual.”

You sighed and cast your eyes downward. “I've heard.”

“I’d like you to look after him for a while. For tonight, at least. Make sure he doesn't drink himself into a coma.”

“Me?” You looked back up at him. “Why not Doc Roe?”

“You’ve been taking care of him for a while, (Y/N). I've noticed.” He didn't sound accusing in the slightest, yet you felt your cheeks warm from embarrassment. Winters continued in a slightly more conspiratorial voice, “And Nix asked for you specifically.”

You fought the blush creeping up to your ears. “Is that right…I'll, uh, have to lord that over Eugene.”

The corner of Winters’ lips quirked up knowingly. “Of course.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder. “Good luck, Doc. He's in his room. You know how to get there.”

Winters turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway. It was true that you knew which house he was quartered in; you made it a point to know ever since you began treating his hangovers. However, the thought of being alone with Lew was always nerve-wracking and had been from the start, for reasons you didn't have the courage to explore.

-

With a glass of water and a book in hand, anticipating him to be knocked out from all the liquor in his system, you knocked on the door to his room. As you expected, there was no response save for the soft snoring coming from within. You opened the door a sliver and found the floral-wallpapered room lit up with a bedside lamp and the moonlight pouring in from the open window as the day spanned into night. You spotted a messy-haired head poking out from under the strewn blankets and smelled whiskey in the air. Upon fully opening the door and entering the room, the snoring abruptly stopped. He slurred, half-muffled by the pillow his face was buried in, “Who's there?”

“It’s (Y/N),” you replied, turning on some more lamps around the space.

“Oh. Hey, (Y/N).” Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. It wasn’t the first time you'd seen him in just a tanktop and shorts, his dog tags dangling around his neck, but he had always been half-conscious from a hangover when you saw him like this. Not awake and actively drunk like he was now. “How're you?”

“You're on your way to liver failure, Lewis,” you said sternly as you pulled up a chair next to his bed. “As for me, I'm doing better than you right now.”

He pouted petulantly. “You only call me Lewis when you're mad at me.”

You shot him a look. “And why would I be mad at you?”

“I dunno, you tell me.” Nixon gave you a lazy smile.

You sighed, directing your glare to the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, which you observed was not even his favorite brand of Vat 69. You handed him the glass of water. “Here, drink up.”

Squinting, he sniffed it. “It's not more liquor, is it?”

“No, it's motor fuel, now drink.”

“Oh no, not more ethanol,” he joked, raising the glass in a cheers motion before downing it and clumsily setting the empty glass on the nightstand. He kept his gaze on you as you sat down, opened up your book, and attempted to read, avoiding his stare.

Crossing his arms behind his neck at your efforts to ignore him, he leaned on the headboard. “What is that? Twain? Poe? Ah, Shakespeare? ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’”

You spared a glance at him. “Sometimes I forget you're a scholar, Lew.”

“Ohoho. Try to play some Beethoven and tell me it's Mozart. I’ll figure it out”—he snaps—“like that.”

“Not in this state you will,” you glowered. Nix retained his expectant countenance, so you answered, “It's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Some of the guys got done reading it, so now it's my turn.”

He hummed. “What’s it about then, Miss (Y/N)? Enlighten me.”

“If you’d let me read it, then I could tell you,” you said, continuing in a lower voice, "How are you an intelligence officer if you're this mouthy when drunk...and you're drunk most of the time."

“You say somethin’?”

“Nothing, Lew.” You tried to take in the words on the page, but the way he was looking at you made your skin feel hot. Exhaling and setting down your book, you turned your focus to him.

“You still hiding Vat 69 in Winters’ footlocker?” you asked, silently cursing the satisfied expression that spread over his face at your attention.

“Wha, hey, how'd you know about that?”

“You told me. While half-asleep and hungover.”

His lips stretched into a smile as he seemed to recall. “That I did. See, the real shame is that there’s not a single drop of the thing in the whole damn country. So no, there’s no booze in Dick’s footlocker.”

You glanced again at the unfamiliar bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. “And that’s why you've been drinking alternatives?”

“Beggars can't be choosers.” He shrugged with a sluggish wave of the hand. “I'm half-convinced you and Dick are hiding some from me!”

You chuckled. “That's not a half-bad idea. It wouldn't stop you from getting drunk off other kinds of hooch, though. Speaking of… why'd you start drinking this time?”

“Oh, you know.” He gestured vaguely. “I got divorced. She sent me a letter in the mail. Real sweet of her.”

Your face fell, the mood suddenly not so lighthearted. “...I’m sorry to hear that, Nix.”

“It’s alright. Didn’t like her much anyway. She took the dog.” A beat of silence passed, and he gave you an unreadable look. “Was kinda waitin' for it anyhow.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Waiting for it? But before you could question it, you noticed his eyelids drooping as he uncrossed his arms from behind his neck to cover a yawn with his hands. You figured it was better to let him rest before pressing him on it.

“You settling down now?” you asked, getting up to brush his unkempt hair from his face and check his temperature with the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” he murmured. He settled into his bed before tiredly swatting your hand away, complaining, “I’m not hungover yet!”

A slight smile graced your face. “Not gonna piss into a cup this time, are you?”

“Maybe next time,” he said with a smirk before blearily staring at you for a while, like the same way he did all those months ago in Holland. Your heart felt strangled in your chest.

Clearing your throat, you turned and grabbed your book and the glass. “Goodnight, Lew.”

He blinked up at you. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ve got people who need me,” you said, a small laugh bubbling up from your throat.

“What if I need you?”

“Beside a hangover, you'll be fine,” you smiled, believing he was joking until you looked at him and found his face dead serious, almost pleading. Your eyes had to be deceiving you, right? Or maybe your mind was spinning things the wrong way.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “Before you leave," he started, breaking his gaze for a second before meeting yours. "You're really beautiful, you know that?”

You were stunned into silence with widened eyes, floundering for words. “Lew, I…”

“And don't say, ‘You’re drunk, Lewis, you don't know what you're talking about.’ I’ve liked you for months now, (Y/N). Sometimes it feels like I'm fighting this war for you, so we could be together after.” Somehow his voice was the steadiest it’s been the entire night, and that scared you.

You suddenly felt bashful, afraid he could hear your heart pounding loud in your chest. “I…like you, too, Lew.”

A soft beam adorned his flushed face. “And if I forget in the morning, I’ll just tell you again. I’ll tell you over and over until it's the only thing I can remember piss-drunk.”

“I’ll be making sure you're never piss-drunk again, but… I’ll remind you. Keep your word.” You leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“That you will,” he said impishly, grabbing you from around the waist and pulling you next to him in the sheets, his arms encircling your body.

“Hey!” you giggled, struggling against his bear-like grasp. “Can I at least get my boots off?”

He snickered into your hair and held you close.

“Nope.”

-

Bonus:

A couple of hours had passed, and there was no sign of Doc (Y/N). Figuring she was still with Nix, Dick decided to check in on them.

Knocking on the door and receiving no response, he let himself in, saying while surveying the room, “Doc, you still there— Oh.”

-

taglist: @mads-weasley

[jamneuromain]

Hello,

Congrates again Sweetie, you really deserves it ❤️

I don't know how many asks we can send and I had so many ideas of combinations

I am sending two of them depending on what's inspiring you. If both of them inspire you, it's even better. 🤭

🥳😶❤️ Steve Rogers

👇🕯😈 Jake Jensen

Good luck 😘

Okay this is definitely a brain teaser

but still, I'm going to go with 🥳😶❤️ Steve Rogers, because this reminded me of an idea I once had...

Disguise

Captain America!Steve Rogers x You

Warning: A little cursing but that's all.

Summary: It's your first mission, and Captain America has told you to disguise yourself. You've followed that order to a "T".

A/N: Hiya! Sorry it took so long to get it out :( I have to say, originally I wanted to write a short drabble where Steve was teaching her a lesson, but then I wondered, why is she on this mission in the first place? and I can't control this drabble which turned into a ~2k one-shot....

"... and the last item on our agenda," Maria took a brief stop from her briefing and looked around the room like a hawk, scanning everyone with her sharp eyes until they landed on the selected few, "congratulations on our fellow analysts who have applied for the field agent assistant position and passed the final test."

With a few claps from the fellow analysts, she paused again, waiting until the claps died down before quickly gathering her thoughts and assigned a few missions to three other analyst/field agent assistant, "And Y/N, I will brief you for your next mission, please stay for a few more minutes after this meeting. The rest of you, keep up the good work. You are dismissed."

It had been an eventful six months with all of your trainings - basically starting up from the ground up, no previous experience being an agent whatsoever - but you made it till the end, even though barely passing all the bars that are required for a field agent assistant. You felt very lucky as field agent assistant only requires 60% of what full-time agents can achieve, and watching your once muscle-lacking arms and legs, now turned out to be somewhat of an amateur wrestler, half of a professional boxer, and a sprinkle of assassin (thanks to Clint for his dart training).

You felt good about yourself. Truly, good.

Maria handed you a slim brown folder with a few pages in it. Opening it with sheer curiosity, you hear Maria picking out a few important points to brief: "There is rumored to be a highly dangerous neurotoxin in the black-market with more than a dozen buyers interested. This mission would be an undercover job in Venice, where the said toxin would be sold to the highest bidder."

The first page had a few sentences of what the said toxin could do. It evaporates soon but kills just as quickly. Victim's skin turned purple in contact with this chemical, looking as if they had suffocated to death. Word on the street? It was responsible for the terrorist attack in Paris last month.

"You would be posing as Mrs. Anna Dashevsky, wife of Mr. Vlad Dashevsky, the notorious couple of wreaking havoc: the train accident in Germany, the bombing in L.A., and a few other dozen of suspected murders and attacks. We have apprehended them both from their Belarus safe house twenty-four hours ago, safe to say that your cover would not be blown since the auction is fully anonymous." Maria had her skeptical look on you, her cold voice brought chills to your spine, "Unless of course, you got made."

"No, I won't, Ma'am." You replied on instinct, knowing fully well that the danger of arms dealers and terrorists gathering in such an auction could possibly be the end of your career - and your life as well, which was why you took a glance at the page of Mr. and Mrs. Dashevsky, making a mental note of the couple's information.

"Good. I shall hope not." Maria gestured you to turn the file to the next page, "You would be working with an Avenger for this mission. Your task is to provide tactical analytic support on the ground. Locate the position of the toxin, get it out, our team would be picking you up two miles south of the venue -" She pointed to a red cross marked on the map, "which is this bridge. If you missed the rendezvous, retreat to the safehouse." Her fingers tapped the red circle on the corner of the map, "Proceed as Protocol 4-12 Agent in Distress."

You scanned over the map to remember the extraction routes, noticing that these are the only pages in the thin folder, "There's no teammate information - am I going in there as Anna alone, or ...?"

Maria shook her head lightly, "You would be greeted by your teammate once you land in Venice, and your teammate would be posing as Vlad, your husband - I noticed you've got a B+ in Russian?" Seeing that you've nodded in confidence, Maria continued, "Good. Practice your Russian, might be handy. Your flight takes off at Runway Charlie in thirty minutes, I'd suggest you head off to the equipment room right now for the gadgets."

"Yes, Ma'am." You dared not linger a second more and headed straight to the equipment room.

First mission on the ground. You could not be more excited.

Turned out, you could. When the famous Captain America greeted you once your plane had landed on a small airstrip in the outskirt of Padova. Where he was leaning by a smooth silver sedan with a fake nose and a fake moustache.

You almost did not recognise him until he spoke.

"Steve." He introduced himself briefly, extending his hand for you to shake. Didn't take much to know the only one named "Steve" existing in the Avengers team was Steve Frigging Rogers, Captain America himself, the golden boy of the States, and the man with the plan.

"Hi! I'm Anna." You put down your briefcase of trinkery, took his hand and shook with a firmer grip than you had imagined. "Well, my name isn't Anna," You smiled apologetically, "It's ..."

"I know, Y/N." He chuckled, opening the car door for you, gesturing for you to sit, "I've got the files Maria sent. We'll talk on the way."

Yeesh, such gentleman. You bit back the grin and sat in the passenger's seat, while he put the case into the backseat.

The drive from Padova to Venice took about forty minutes, during which he briefed you the latter half of the information required. You switched to one of those little boats - which Italian name you still couldn't pronounce - on entering Venice, by that time you were picking up something casual to talk about, just in case the toxin seller had eyes and ears around the potential buyers.

"First time leaving the office, huh?" He teased you lightly, rubbing small circles around your shoulder blade, pretending to be intimate as he spoke softly.

"Yeah." You murmured, clasping and un-clasping your hand due to obvious nervousness, "It's the first time, well ... ever."

"It's okay." Steve smiled warming, practically glowing kindness when he offered to soothe your nerves, "I'd say you would forget about it ..." He shrugged, "But then I would be lying. Truth is, it's always frightening for the first time, but you will be fine." Steve beamed at you, scratching his fake nose, which you thought must be some kind of silicone that created authentic skin-like appearance, "Just give it time."

Your destination was the safehouse marked on the map. After Steve tipped the boat guy generously, he made sure no one was lurking before tugging a key out of his pocket and opened the door.

Maybe it was your expression that betrayed you, because Steve read something from your looks and grinned, "You want to ask me something? Go ahead."

You're that obvious? But you decided it was best to follow orders.

"This safe house doesn't look so ... safe." You commented, "How are we supposed to defend ourselves, if it comes to ... you know," you chuckled drily, "shooting and stuff?"

Steve seemed stunned for a moment, before really taking a good look at the plain wooden floor and the almost ancient decor in the kitchen, the rusty oven, the missing cabinet door, the whole lot suggesting this place hadn't been set foot in years.

"What, this?" His brows furrowed into a knot, as if seeing completely different things.

You nervously waited for his reply.

"Oh..." Realization hit him as he slapped himself on the forehead, pressing a button below the kitchen table, "You mean ... this."

The noise of machine operating out of nowhere startled you, almost immediately sent you into a defensive position. But as the old crappy oven flipped to the other side and showed an array of guns, bullets, knives, and tasers, the dusty kitchen table pulled the planks to its side and revealed a huge tactical screen, and the fireplace tugged a secret passageway open for an escape route, your jaw fell on the floor.

"I might have told Tony about the whole disguise idea for the safe houses and uh," Steve chuckled, "He and Bruce took it way too seriously. Probably got a bit carried away too."

"One little problem, though," You raised your index finger and swiped a line along the greasy stove, making a face, "I don't think there's anything we can find here to eat ...?"

"Don't worry about that." Steve waved his hand dismissively, "We won't be here more than an hour before heading to the auction place. There's a full wardrobe and weaponry upstairs, first door on the right - but I'm sure you have already got plenty in your case - But by all means, take half an hour to adjust, rest, grab what you need, and I want us out of here by an hour. That sounds good?"

"Good. Okay. Thumbs up." You confirmed and headed upstairs with your suitcase, only to close the bedroom door and squeal into your palms.

O.M.FUCKING.GEE!

Captain America. In the living flesh!

On your first-ever mission!

Three soft knocks came through the thin wooden door.

"You alright in there?"

"I'm okay Cap - I mean, Vlad!" You called out, realizing as soon as you spoke that your voice was hoarse than usual.

"Careful there. The wardrobe door is on the left-hand side. Give me a shout if you need anything."

After that, small trotting noises, probably from the footsteps of Steve Rogers going downstairs.

Left-hand side? You eyed the dusty place curiously, poking and prodding the moldy wallpaper. You didn't see any wardrobe, other than -

Your nail bore contact with a piece of metal, from which a grey-ish camera leapt out of the wall, and nearly hit your hand.

It scanned your face, before emitting that rumbling Transformer noise again, revealing a wall full of weapons, money, and of course, clothes and wigs for disguises.

You gasped at the brand-new Magnums on the wall. You took your word back. This was the safest house in the fucking galaxy.

"Ta-da-" You walked down the stairs, "What do you think, Ca - Vlad?"

Steve had his gaze pinned on you for a moment. His expression was close to blank, which was giving you a hard time figuring out what he was thinking.

"Am I overdoing it?" You clenched the collar of your coat nervously, "Anna - I mean, I came from a Slavic root, so this is ... alright? No?"

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the corner of his lips from the uncontrollable grin. "I would say, that this outfit is ... " He tried hard not to laugh, "It's good, great. Could use a few ... improvements, though."

You were wearing a thick fur coat and a fur hat, sunglasses too, dressing up like a polar bear rolled over in red and brown paint.

"Just because the Dashevsky's are from Slavic roots doesn't mean we have to dress up as good-ole fashioned Russian villains." Steve helped you take off the thick fur coat, smiling to himself, "We still have some time. Care to go through Disguise 101 with me?"

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[apas-95]

there are plenty of things harmful to individual sections of the bourgeoisie that aren't harmful to the bourgeoisie as a class (and are often a net benefit to the bourgeoisie as a class), generally consisting of infighting between these 'hostile brothers'

the proliferation of a new type of car that runs on hamburgers would be very beneficial to mcdonalds, to the beef industry, monoculture agribusiness by extension, and whatever, while being harmful to the oil industry, car manufacturers needing to retool, etc - and would be strongly fought against by the oil industry (and the lobbies and parties representing them). just because the oil industry opposes it doesn't mean that it's a threat to capitalism on a wider scale, just to these specific capitalists. further, the competition between capitalists can be an overall boon for their class, such as in the case of war. in times of plenty, capitalists divide the spoils, and in desperate times, they apportion losses - wars between empires with no land left to colonise, no profit left to extract, are fought *between* capitalists, but fought *with* the blood of the workers, all in pursuit of regaining profitability. your boss outcompeting a market rival doesn't mean you're getting paid any better, and, in fact, you'll probably be paid less, now that you're competing for your job with a large number of suddenly laid-off workers from that 'rival'.

now, to the point: a lot of people will chastise those who outline the ineffectualness of voting by saying 'well, if voting didn't do anything, why do the right try so hard to stop you from voting?' - as we can probably understand by now, this is a moot point. the right *do* want people to vote, they just want people to vote *for them*. just because one or the other section of the bourgeoisie will be harmed by something doesn't mean it actually harms bourgeois rule as a whole, and can in fact strengthen it. surely the armies of WW1 also attempted to inspire desertion in the enemy ranks, but nobody now could try to claim that this was because fighting for Germany or France was doing something to defeat colonialism - quite the opposite, in fact. they could probably also recognise that, however much as was claimed at the time, fighting for either side of that conflict led to absolutely no difference, just more death and impoverishment for the working people (while the rich gained massively). similarly, in the lower-intensity conflicts between the bourgeoisie of the same nation, both sides represent functionally the exact same interests, save for which capitalists exactly stand to profit - and, as before, participation in their conflict on one side or the other only aids their class as a whole.

the idea that in any conflict, there always exists a 'lesser evil' who should be supported is incorrect, because the conflict itself may be what needs to be fought against. when the police play 'good cop bad cop', there is no side you can take that will lead to any difference to you, and partaking in it at all is precisely what dooms you.