#stay with the current job and settle for less then bare minimum

[littlemouserat]

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[gukyi]

home | pjm

summary: one country after another, you have never had time to settle down. just because you meet your soulmate one night in a hotel in a foreign country doesn’t mean that will change. not even for him. 

{soulmate!au, idolverse!au}

pairing: park jimin x reader genre: melancholy angst? pining? wishing things in your life were different? word count: 1.5k warnings: alcohol mention a/n: a massive thank you to @opaljm​ for commissioning me for this drabble and donating to the #blacklivesmatter movement!! i really appreciate it. this is the first soulmate au (and idolverse fic!) i’ve written in a while, so i hope i did it justice!

Travelling has always been the best and worst part of your job. The stamps in your passport and unexplored cities. The long, red-eye flights and overpriced hotel food. There are many pros and many cons to travelling, but the worst one of them all is the fact that nowhere really feels like home. 

Not your apartment, which you stay at so infrequently that it’s starting to feel more like a hotel suite where you have to pay for utilities on top of residency. Nor your workplace, which is more your laptop on an airplane tray table than a desk in an office. and certainly not anywhere you’ve been, though they are all wonderful places in their own right, filled with rich histories and delicious meals. It feels like you’re a tourist of your own life. 

Like nowhere has stuck. 

People dream of being able to travel around the world, spending a month here and a couple of weeks there, but the glamor wears off faster than you wish it did and everything feels as though it’s beginning to lose its spark. 

But nonetheless, you must go on. 

Besides, there’s a part of you that sort of wonders if you’ll ever meet your soulmate on one of these many trips, see them standing in a quaint European cafe or in the check-in line at an airport. See that halo around their figure, that warm yellow glow, feel the sparks rush through your bodies when you touch. 

There’s nothing terribly dramatic about meeting them, though all the movies and books act like it’s the end of an old life and the start of a brand new one. Like you’re being reborn, or something. But it’s supposed to feel like a shock of lightning, like a jolt through your bloodstream when you touch. 

“You just know,” people say. You wonder what they mean. 

You’re returning to the hotel much later than you were hoping, desperate to jump into the shower and wash away the day’s problems. The dinner you were just attending turned into a chatter fest, all of your coworkers and clients alike trying to one-up each other as they downed more and more wine, paid for by your company. It’s a miracle you didn’t stuff the dinner knives into your ears just to drown them out. 

Tipsy on fine wine, cheeks burning and lips stained cherry, you walk into the lobby, rubbing your eyes and desperate for even a wink of sleep. You still have a day more here, which you will spend half exploring and half packing for the trip back home, but the hours always seem to pass by faster when you’re abroad. 

As you walk in, you notice that standing by the front desk are two tall boys, both wearing sunglasses despite it being late at night and despite them being inside. Their clothes are expensive, you can tell from here, having become rather acquainted with luxury brands as of late, crisp leather shoes and silken shirts. 

But when one of them turns around to see who has caused the automatic glass doors to open, you freeze in place. 

Surrounding him is a golden glow, a halo effect, warm yellow making his light pink hair look orange. You watch as he looks at you, up and down, eyes peering over the edge of his sunglasses and lips parted in a round ‘o’, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

Nor can you. 

The man says something to his friend, who looks confused for a moment before nodding, and he comes rushing up to you. 

Instinctively, you reach out a hand. 

When he touches it with his own, it feels as though you’ve been struck by lightning. Like an electric current is running through you, setting your nerves alight, paralyzing you. The man has the same reaction, body shaking as he looks down at your hands, fingertips pressed against each other’s, before gazing back up at you. 

“You,” the man says. You can tell he’s not from around here. Neither are you. 

“Me,” you echo helplessly. What more can you do?

“Jimin,” the man’s friend says, making him turn. He says something about heading up to their hotel room, to which Jimin nods, before turning back to you. 

“I’m Y/N,” you introduce yourself. You suppose that it’s only right to know each other’s names. You are soulmates, after all. “How long are you here for?”

“A week more,” Jimin tells you. “I have… official stuff.”

You wonder what he does. It must be something rather well-paying, seeing as you can make out the Chanel necklace underneath his shirt, tight-fitting black jeans that don’t come from an ordinary mall store. Expensive leather shoes, pointed toes and shiny soles that echo on the marbled hotel floor. 

“You?” Jimin asks. 

“I leave in two days,” you tell him. It’s a shame that it isn’t longer. It’s a shame that you had to meet under these circumstances at all. 

People dream of travelling the world, but meeting your soulmate in a foreign country that neither of you live in isn’t part of that kind of dream. 

“Would you like to grab a drink?” Jimin asks, motioning towards the empty bar. You’re full on wine, but some sparkling water might be nice. 

“So, what do you do?” You ask him, swirling the paper straw around in your glass. “Something, fun, right? If you get to travel to a place like this.”

Jimin coughs, almost like he’s surprised you don’t know. “I’m a singer,” he tells you. Oh, is that it? He must be rather talented, then. “That was my band mate earlier. We’re in a group together.”

“I’ll bet you’re good,” you muse. You’d love to hear him sing. 

“I’m alright,” Jimin says humbly. “What do you do?”

“Nothing nearly as exciting,” you tell him with a sigh. “Office stuff. I’m the international spokesperson for a foreign investment company.” Much less glamorous. 

“Do you travel a lot?” Jimin asks. 

“Always. Several times a month. What about you?”

“I’m on tour a lot. But we live in Korea.”

With every sentence spoken, it’s becoming increasingly clear that the two of you will not be able to go on dates, get to know each other, marry and settle down in a small apartment in a city together. Not like any of your friends. Not like any of his. The curse is not that you have a soulmate, but that your lifestyles are not compatible with one. That being together would ruin you. 

You dream of settling down, but you know that will never happen. 

You dream of a real home, but that has always seemed out of reach. 

When you’re finished at the bar, Jimin somehow manages to find his way to the roof of the building, pulling you up metal stairs leading out to the sky, feet stepping onto the cement ceiling, looking out at the world around you. It’s quaint here, nothing like American cities, which are bustling and loud and modern. Old buildings with smoke coming from the chimneys, like overlooking a town rather than a metropolis. 

“Where are you headed to next?” You ask him. 

“London,” Jimin tells you. “And then Paris, and then Berlin. Then we’re going back to Asia.”

“Do you ever settle down?” You ask. You think you may have finally met someone who travels more than you. 

“Sometimes,” Jimin says with a shrug. “We get a month off here and there. It’s nice, but I like being abroad. I don’t miss home until I’m just about to go back.”

“You must travel a lot then,” you surmise. 

“No more than you do,” he counters. 

“Do you ever want it to all stop?” You ask, partly to him and partly to the sky, the moon and the stars. Wondering if they ever feel the same. 

Jimin pauses, thinking. “I didn’t, before. But now,” he says, turning to you. When his hand dances across the cement floor to rest atop yours, you still feel sparks, electric shocks to remind you of the feeling of lightning racing through your veins. “Now, I sort of do.”

“I wish things were different,” you say. 

“Don’t we all?”

It goes without saying. Neither of you needs to speak it for it to be true. You will never be able to be together. Not like this. 

“Will I ever see you again?” You ask. This is your first and last chance. 

“If you want to, then we will,” Jimin says. It sounds like a promise. He reaches out for the phone sitting on your lap, smiles softly when you let him enter his number. You do the same for him, and he grins. Not many things can tie you down to something, to a place or a person. A contact in a cell phone is the bare minimum. But it’s a start. Jimin knows it, too.

When you’re with him, your heart feels at ease. 

When you’re with him, it’s almost as if you could never leave. 

“Will we?” You ask, skeptical. It’s easier not to get your hopes up, easier to expect the least. 

Jimin nods, certain. “Yes. I know it.”

In two days time, you will leave here, return to your apartment before being sent off to another city, another country. And in two days time, Jimin will stay here, watching as the spark begins to fade between the two of you, as the thunderstorm calms. Is it strange that you wish it was always stormy, now? That you want nothing more than for lightning to strike? Your lives will keep you apart. But perhaps fate will hold you together, just barely. 

You sure hope Jimin’s right. 

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[wordsnstuff]

20 Mistakes To Avoid in YA Fiction/Romance

* This is a re-upload due to the original being flagged a few months ago for having a gif of two teenagers...*GASP*... dancing. What, tumblr? What is “adult” about that? The post has been in appeal for 4 months, and I have a feeling it won’t leave, so I decided to finally repost it. 

--

YA Fiction is an incredibly popular genre of literature, and most people have picked one up and devoured it in less than a day, but there is a trend in the genre where in certain instances, people forfeit quality for a cheesy dramatic plot. A lot of these stories are just regurgitated cliches with vaguely interesting characters and just enough drama, fluff, and mildly (or extremely) sexual content to keep the reader paying attention. (No shade to the authors, because obviously, any author who writes and publishes a book works hard, no matter the end product.)

There are a lot of aspects of YA Fiction that repeatedly rear their ugly heads and annoy readers or flat out scream dangerous messages to the young people that indulge in them. I thought I’d put the spotlight on a few in the hopes that it will help clean up the genre’s reputation as new and more awakened authors contribute content to it.

Below you will read about some common mistakes that YA Fiction/Romance writers make that either ruin the story, promote dangerous messages, or unrealistically portray teenagers.

Forgetting The Supporting Characters

The supporting characters are an important part of any story, even if the main plot revolves around two people. Supporting characters provide subplots, information to the reader, and more opportunities for your audience to connect and relate to your story. It’s always good to give your supporting characters love and attention when creating and writing them. Sometimes they end up carrying the story.

A mistake that a lot of authors make is that they give the reader a couple defining characteristics, a name, a relationship to the main character, and then just make that character pop into the reader’s view whenever the main plot needs them to. No backstory. No life of their own. Just support to the plot, and that’s a huge waste of potential. You don’t want your readers to put down your book and either forget the supporting characters existed at all, or believe that they were extra pieces of a puzzle.

Using Slang Badly

Writers should not feel the need to include current slang in order to make their story more relatable or popular amongst their targeted demographic. Slang is constantly changing, evolving, and most importantly, dying. Not to say that you should only write in traditional terms or put “thy” and “thee” everywhere, but using standard English and avoiding the trendy but temporary slang words is key.

If you must use slang, try to use the bare minimum and only in fitting circumstances. If your character is the type to say “OMG her dat boi memes are on fleek” then, by all means, go right ahead, but you probably cringed when you read that. That would have been totally normal 2 years ago, but every bit of that sentence has died over time, and no matter how much you think a slang word will stick, don’t risk it.

Sympathy and Envy Mongering

Two emotions that YA Fiction and Romance always try to invoke in their readers are sympathy and envy. The author either wants the reader to feel bad for one or many of the characters, or they want them to be jealous of the awesome (and usually unrealistic) lives the characters have. Don’t be one of these. It’s tired and boring and not original in the slightest.

Are sympathy and empathy both totally okay emotions?

Yes.

Are they all you need to write a good story?

Nope. Not at all.

The reader needs and wants to feel more than jealous of and sad for the characters in the story. The best stories are the ones that trigger a complex whirlwind of emotion. Sympathy and envy are the easy way out, and you get out of those emotions what you put into them.

Unrealistically Portraying Teenagers & Teenage Life

Teenagers look up to and compare themselves and their lives to the characters and lives of the characters in your story. Keeping in mind that your audience is young and impressionable is essential for authors of the genre.

Love At First Sight

Love-at-first-sight does not happen. Infatuation, maybe, but love is more complicated than that. Writing a plot based on “love at first sight” can leave a bad taste in your readers’ mouths from the start, and that is something you should avoid at all costs. On top of that, love-at-first-sight is a very easy-way-out move and if you’re dedicated to your characters and your story, there’s a good to fair chance that you can come up with a more satisfying build up.

Unrealistic Romantic Situations

If you’ve ever opened a YA Romance, chances are you’ve read a scene in which the protagonist and the love interest end up in a stunningly beautiful place and the love interest sweeps the protagonist off their feet prior to riding into the sunset. This, unfortunately, does not happen very often, especially in teenage relationships. The most romance you’re going to get (usually) is the love interest offering to pay for the protagonist’s bag of skittles with the leftover money from their paycheck they earned at McDonald’s.

Just because teenagers don’t really go to great lengths to rent an entire ice-skating rink in the middle of the night so they and their crush can skate to Ellie Goulding music doesn’t mean there can’t be cute and memorable moments. Great doesn’t always equal grand and that’s important to remember. A lot of the time, teenagers appreciate fantasizing about things that are actually possible.

Happy Endings

Not all stories have to end happily, and you’ve definitely been told this before, but nobody ever takes into account how stories about teenagers have so much potential when it comes to endings. Teenagers read books about teenagers and unfortunately, this means that a lot of them will take what you’re writing about and try to change their own lives to match. Be honest in your depiction about what actually happens when you leave high school.

The majority of the time, high school sweethearts won’t stay together. Long distance won’t work, they’ll find someone else, the spark will die out, their personalities will undergo drastic changes, and their goals and plans for the future will turn out differently than they expected. “And they lived happily ever after” is criticized harshly for a reason, especially in YA and YA Romance. Most stories don’t end happily, but there is more than one story in a person’s life and giving a person their happy ending as they graduate high school is a great injustice, to your character and your readers.

Avoiding The Dark Parts Of Teenage Life

Teenagers, despite what a lot of the media claims, go through some really serious and stressful and damaging things. Teenagers suffer from mental illness and deal with the intense pressure of the education system and hold their heads high in the face of stigma over every little detail about them. They suffer from eating disorders and body dysmorphia and self-harm tendencies, and that doesn’t even bring into account the bullying and family issues and the stress of constantly learning and feeling things for the very first time with little to no guidance or assurance or resources to ask for help. It is hard being a teenager. Do not forget that, and don’t leave the actual teenagers reading your story feeling underrepresented and/or abnormal because they aren’t as stress-free as the characters they look up to.

Exaggerating How Teenagers Interact With Each Other

A lot of teenage interactions are short, awkward, and uneventful. Teenagers aren’t super eloquent and socially apt, but YA Fiction seems to believe they are. It’s quite rare that a teenager will just walk up to someone they like, say “wanna go to dinner on Saturday?” and all will be fine and dandy. It’s quite rare that a teenager will saunter up to someone who talked about them behind their back, say something super clever and damaging to their enemy’s ego, and saunter off like the king/queen of the world. Those interactions look great in our heads, but they usually contain a few stuttered words and “um”s and blushing. Confidence is usually a trait that people develop later in life, so try not to push it if you’re trying to be realistic.

Maturity of Teenagers

Teenagers are underdeveloped human beings with minimal experience in most areas of life. They do not have it all figured out. A lot of YA books revolve around characters that are extremely intelligent, disciplined and ambitious at a level of maturity a 25-year-old be on. This is not accurate. Making characters “awkward” or “childish” does not have anything to do with how mature they seem to readers. There is a distinct difference between an awkward girl with childlike innocence and a girl who makes mistakes, does not have her life figured out, and is not yet comfortable with casual social interaction. The latter things I mentioned are pretty universal when it comes to teenagers.

Unfitting Aspirations

There are more than two paths in life. It seems that in YA you’re either going to graduate, get married, pop out a couple kids and live the rest of your life in the suburbs, or you’re going to leave home, go to college, travel for 20 years and settle in some random country in Europe writing poetry until the end of your days. There is no in between, which sucks. There are a lot of interesting things you can do in life, not to say that either of the two life paths I mentioned are uninteresting. You could take a gap year and travel the world, go to college, move back home for a couple years then maybe get a job that has you traveling and exploring new things for the rest of your life. You could meet the love of your life in college and have some kids but put them in online school so you could travel with them. You could live your whole life in an awesome cabin in the forest casting spells and adopting wild squirrels. There are so many ways life can be and restricting it to opposite extremes takes the imagination out of the future.

Not All Teenagers Think Their Relationships Will Last Forever

This one is pretty self explanatory, so long story short, not every relationship a teenager enters into is with the end goal of staying together forever, or even more than a few months. Most teenage relationships are pretty short and not very meaningful, and portraying every single couple in your stories as “we’ve been going strong for 2 years and plan on getting married right after graduation” is inaccurate and will probably cause your readers some disappointment in the future.

Relationships Aren’t A Teenager’s Only Concern

Most teenagers are more concerned about the F they got on a History test than they are about who they’re going to stare at next period. Everyone has more than just their crush to worry about. Some teenagers have to worry about where they’re going to get their next meal or how they’re going to get a ride home from school or even how they can apologize to a friend they’ve hurt. It’s not all about relationships for teenagers, in fact, relationships are a pretty small part of teenage life. If all your character has to think about is the hottie they sit next to in Biology, perhaps you should work a little more on character development.

Unnatural Appearances

Most teenagers are not model-level attractive. All teenagers have break-outs and leave the house late with greasy hair or with their shirt on inside out. No teenager shows up at school every day looking absolutely flawless, as if they’re about to walk down the runway. Please keep that in mind, because portraying teenagers accurately, especially when it comes to physical aspects such as weight, acne, etc. is super important. In YA and YA Romance, you must keep in mind that the teenagers you are trying to appeal to should not feel like a piece of trash because they aren’t as perfect as your characters. Yes, YA Fiction is Fiction, but just because you know that it’s unrealistic doesn’t mean your readers do. Readers of YA Fiction compare themselves to the characters in your books whether you like it or not. It is not hard to realistically portray physical appearances of teenagers.

Avoiding Dangerous Messages

A common problem found in YA Fiction is the lacing of dangerous messages found in the smaller details. You may miss them the first couple times you read a story, but if you go looking for them, you will find them, and perhaps you will find the source of a lot of mistakes you’ve made. YA has a bad habit of endorsing mindsets that lead to bad decisions. Some of them, however, can be avoided in your own writing.

The Need To Change The “Flawed” One

Nobody in this world is perfect. Expecting the person you supposedly love to be flawless all the time is not realistic. People make mistakes. People are not always happy and bubbly and confident about themselves. People do not always act the same one day as they did the day before. Human beings are flawed and should be portrayed as such, especially in the stage of their life which is the most confusing and scary. Teenagers are underdeveloped human beings, and for some reason, teenager girls in YA Romance expect teenage boys to be charming and loving and never ever make a mistake, which is ridiculous. Creating love interests that appear flawless and can make no mistakes is detrimental to your audience. It raises your readers’ expectations to an unattainable level which causes them disappointment and might cause their future partners unrepairable damage to their self-esteem because they’ll think that in order to find a partner, they cannot be flawed and cannot make mistakes.

Glorification Of Illegal Activity

It’s not “cool” or “edgy” to pump yourself full of deadly and mind-altering substances you know absolutely nothing about. It doesn’t make you “badass” and it isn’t a personality trait unless that trait is stupid. Whatever your position is on drugs or alcohol or whatever, there is no excuse for putting the idea in the heads of young readers that doing things that are illegal and addictive and that might even get you killed is ok. Not only because most of your readers are younger than 21, but because it will always be dangerous to take drugs, commit crimes, and drink. Your choices are your choices. Don’t impose your habits and excuses on kids who don’t know any better.

Slut Shaming

News flash: it’s 2017, people. Nobody cares who you’re kissing or dating or having sex with. People are finally getting used to the idea that maybe, just maybe, it’s not the end of the world if you do whatever you want, as long as you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else. This recurring theme of “I hate this person because they do what they want with their body” is getting old and annoying. Believe what you will regarding religion and morals and what is right or wrong or whatever you want to believe in, but the second you start turning your story into a commentary on the decisions and beliefs of other people, you’re in the wrong. There are other, more creative reasons to make your characters hate each other than their sexual activity.

Forgetting The First Times

One of the most exciting parts of being a teenager is that everything you’re experiencing, you’re experiencing for the first time. Everything is confusing and exciting and 10x more painful or memorable or enjoyable, and that’s neglected all the time in YA. I don’t mean the common trope of the first kiss or the losing of virginity. I mean love and infatuation and loss and heartbreak; it’s all happening to them for the first time in their lives, and these events make up their memories that they will carry with them forever. Teenage years are incredibly heavy times for people. It is, after all, the years in which they learn the most and the fastest and where the majority of their brain development takes place. These moments that you’re writing, the first kiss, the first time having sex, the first time your character loses someone they love, they’re all going to determine how your character will develop in the future. Treat them that way. Teach young readers that it’s normal and perfectly okay to be scared and inexperienced and lost. That’s the bitter-sweet part of youth and it’s beautiful.

Bad Boys And Boring Girls

Bad Boys are, in reality, bad news. The real “bad boys” in this world are slimy, manipulative jerks who trick girls (usually more than one at a time) into thinking they have feelings for them, using them for things like sex or money, and then either end up controlling their entire lives, introducing drugs and problems, or breaking their hearts. It’s sad, but it’s reality. Yes, there’s always a cause for this behavior, and sometimes these bad boys grow out of it, but that’s not always the case. Portraying these bad boys as “changeable” is not only dangerous for the female readers but also the men in their future. If you make girls think that they can change whomever they’re with to be the perfect prince charming, they will never be satisfied with someone who is flawed (spoiler alert: everyone is flawed) and they may destroy the self-esteem of whoever they’re with by making them think they need to change to be lovable.

Boring Girls are, sort of, connected to bad boys in this sense. They show up in every story, which makes sense financially because authors who make more relatable main characters sell more books. It’s just demographics. But at the same time, this stretch for a wider audience can end up influencing girls’ expectations of themselves and their love lives. If you make every protagonist completely boring, compliant, and devoid of strong, defining traits, girls will take that as advice. They will learn that all a girl has to do to make people fall in love with them is sit quietly and be pretty, which is horrible, in case you hadn’t noticed. Teach girls to look up to strong characters with rich personalities. Nowadays, that counts as an original idea.

Generalization

Portraying every aspect of teenage life and teenagers themselves as if you opened a book full of cliches, closed your eyes and pointed at something is not ok. High schools and families and personalities are different wherever you go, and making blind generalizations about aspects of teenage life can not only change how your reader interprets their own lives, but how adult readers assume teenage life is when they’re not around. It is important to not reinforce the assumption that there is always a popular clique and mean jocks and awkward nerds and dead-beat stoners because these stereotypes are a way for people to justify their snap-judgements, and not only does that say a lot about you as an author, but that will breed a whole new generation of judgmental, close-minded people.

Glorification Of Unhealthy Relationship Behaviors

I’m gonna say this once: It is not “hot” to have the love interest constantly putting restrictions on their supposed loved one. It’s not okay to borderline stalk someone and use “I love you” as an excuse, even if the person reciprocates your feelings. It is unhealthy to ignore someone when they say “no, no, not now” or “no, stop, not here” when you’re in the middle of initiating sex or even just kissing. It is disgusting when romance, especially YA Romance, which has mostly young, impressionable readers taking in your messages, promotes these behaviors like they’re something to strive for. Like it or not, your writing is going to alter the way they imagine a “perfect” relationship. If you aren’t willing to take that responsibility seriously, you should not be writing YA, and especially not YA Romance.

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[templepriest-motherfucker]

I am unable to express the frustration and feelings of worthlessness at my current situation. Disclaimer: I know other people have it worse and I’m fine physically and am safe.

But how do I even begin to talk about this. I’ve grown up as the “smart kid” then got a full tuition scholarship in my university’s honors program, graduated with two degrees. I had over 160 credit hours. I’ve spent time working on high level genetic barcoding projects for the EPA, I’ve published papers, I’ve won international awards for my writing. My entire family sees me as some scientist, writer, translator, someone who’s going places.

I was told, with my academic achievements and experiences, I’d easily get a job making 50k right out of college. “Our honors students work for multinational corporations across the country, we have students at NASA, working mid-level positions for the NPS and EPA. That’s what you’ll be doing, don’t settle for anything less.” they said. And I believe it, because I have friends and classmates who did just that. But...I didn’t.

And I don’t know if that’s a personal failure on my part. If I should have gone to grad school, or stayed in Michigan, or maybe I’m just not trying hard enough on my applications. It’s a coin toss: half the time I think it’s my fault and half I don’t.

Because at the end of the day, I’ve applied to over 350 jobs. I’ve fucking tried. I’ve written cover letter after cover letter and made an entire CV. I did everything they told me would work (but did I really? did I do it well enough? did I put enough blood sweat and tears into that linkedin profile, or was I doing the bare minimum?)

is it me or the end of the world? Am I unemployed because the world is going to shit and there’s a raging pandemic, or am I just using that as an excuse? People have found jobs in the last five months, it’s not impossible (why am i acting like it is? I cant tell what���s real anymore)

I don’t want to measure my worth by how much I produce for a capitalist system. I do things I enjoy, I’m an activist, I try to be a good and helpful person. I pick up litter off the beach and am friendly to everyone I meet, isn’t that enough? Sometimes I believe it is, sometimes not.

Am i the worthless ungrateful lazy hippie millennial they say I am?

Or am I finding my meaning in another way?

but then...

Am I truly okay with how I’m existing in my life right now?

Or am i deluding myself into thinking that, so I can ignore my self loathing?

.......

Do I really even want to be a part of a system that will deny me opportunities for the style of my hair and length of my shorts? One that measures a persons worth by the color of their skin and number of revolutions around the sun?

Maybe I do. Maybe that’s why I’m so restless and depressed. But maybe not.

[renewablenergon-main]

End of year ask! 38, 49, 50

38. What was the best moment of the year for you?

I think easily the best moment of the year for me was when I read the offer letter for my current job. For context, for the past two years I had firmly planned to move to the other side of the country and then, COVID. It really complicated everything after I had already made a number of decisions to very much not stay where I was at such as telling my apartment I was moving, not renewing my teaching contract with my old job, etc. I spent months trying to get things to work out as far as a job and housing where I planned to move but it was really looking like it wasn’t going to work out. When I was offered the interview for my current job, I actually considered not going to it and I was feeling exhausted and sick. It also ended up being for a subject I don’t feel confident in. Somehow I crushed it and my interviewers thought I was an expert in the subject. I was offered a job during the interview. 

That was a great feeling, but what really did it was reading the offer letter because the pay was double what I was making at my home state with a position that would be far less work. Honestly I think I nearly fainted because I didn’t realize you could get paid a fair amount as a teacher???? I think it turned out amazing. This is easily the best job I’ve ever had.

49. What do you wish for others for the coming year?

I wish for safety and stability as a bare minimum. I also hope that people feel that they have the opportunity to grow and flourish. I know a lot of people have felt like they’ve been forced to put their lives on hold, so for them to be able to feel like their time is meaningful and productive I think would be a nice change. 

50.  What do you wish for yourself?

Again, safety and stability. I think also that I’ll get more fully settled. Moving across the country during all of this was no joke and I had to give up most of what I owned to do it. Just developing strong roots would be perfect. 

[thesecretsofawoman]

A question of honesty

Little white lies.  We all tell them.  We have all told a friend that those jeans make their butt look magnificent, or that a certain shirt brings out the color of their eyes.  We know it’s not true, but it’s better not to hurt their feelings, right?

 In general, there is nothing wrong with a little white lie or two.  The problem begins when those little white lies grow into something much larger.  

 I had a conversation about this issue quite recently. This couple in particular have been together for thirteen years.  In the beginning they had a problem with settling into marriage.  Both had never been married before, never had a long-term relationship before the other, and married each other in their late twenties and early thirties.  

 The first six months went well.  They were happy and in love.  Then the husband met another woman and began seeing her.  The wife would come home from work and find him, and her daughter, gone.  Again, and again, it happened.  

 It didn’t take long to discover that he was having an affair, but what could she do?  She had taken a vow to stay with him, but she certainly was not going to tolerate what was going on.  Of course, she also had to consider her daughter.  He was the only father she had ever known.  Additionally, if she did leave her husband, how would she make it? Like many single mothers her job was minimum wage, and anytime her child became sick, she risked losing it.

 Still, she issued an ultimatum.  Stay away from her or get out.  

 He chose to stay.

 The fights and arguments worsened over time until finally he left.  He crossed half the country.  He got a good job with benefits while she and her daughter lost the house and moved into a tiny roach infested apartment that was all she could afford.  She went back on benefits to help with food and medical costs, and she prayed everyday that her daughter wouldn’t get sick.

 After a year, the husband returned.  He came home well rested and happy.  Desperate, she let him move back in, and he spent the entire time at the apartment complaining that it wasn’t good enough for him and that his girlfriend in Idaho had been so much better off.  

 She stayed silent because he was partially right. The apartment was terrible, but it had been all that she could afford and even then, just barely.  After all, he wasn’t helping!  

 Life moved on.  She wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t terrible.  Feeling more secure in finances was a better feeling than constant fear, but she knew that his cheating would not stop.

 Thus, was born “the deal”.

 She decided that she would rather know, than be lied to so she told him that they could have an open marriage, but that there would be rules.  Rule one was that if one could do it then the other could as well.  Rule two: that the other person had to know.  Total honesty.  Rule three: never in their bed, and rule four: never ever in front of their daughter.

 For ten years she heard about girlfriend after girlfriend.  He saw women all over the country when he was travelling for business. At one point he even wanted to move his current fling into the house so that the woman could carry a baby for him because his wife couldn’t get pregnant!  

 After the ten years, the woman had a good job and they had moved back to her hometown.  Her daughter was old enough that she could take care of herself more, and they were able to move into her grandmother’s old house which they would own after paying off a little less than fifteen thousand dollars on the mortgage.  Life was going great!

 A couple of years into living in the house a new neighbor moved in across the street.  He was quite attractive and obviously single.  Of course, she looked; she’s married, not dead!

 Eventually, the two of them met.  Her husband was always gone, and the neighbor wasn’t aware that she was married so he asked her out for dinner.

 She agreed but was honest about her marriage and it being open.  She talked to the husband about the neighbor and he was immediately angry.  He tried all kinds of arguments to dissuade her, but she was adamant.  The neighbor made her feel beautiful and as giddy as a schoolgirl.  He was gentle, and kind and cared that she was comfortable, and she was not in the least ready to give that up!

 She questioned her husband about why he was so angry.  After all, he had spent the last ten years going from woman to woman quite happily.

 He told her that he had never had any girlfriends and that she had misunderstood.  He went on to say that he had wanted to talk to her a few months back about cancelling ‘the deal’ because he didn’t want to take advantage of it.  He only didn’t say anything because he was waiting until he was permanently home from travelling because he didn’t think it was fair to cancel it before then.

 She said that she had lived with hearing about his girlfriends for ten years, and he certainly wasn’t cancelling the deal just because she was the one now taking advantage of it.  Either he was lying then, or he was lying now, but either way he was lying somewhere, and she absolutely was not going to tolerate it any longer!  

 He was quite insulted but had spent so long bragging to everyone he knew about being able to date whomever he wanted, that he couldn’t even complain to anyone about the situation without making himself look foolish.  She had done everything exactly by the letter and had even explained the situation to the neighbor who was mainly looking for someone to eat dinner and watch tv with, so they quite happily started dating.

 I would like to say that everything worked out 100% for the best, but the truth is that I don’t know.  The story is still going on.  Maybe one of them will leave, and maybe they won’t.  The truth of the story is that if the husband had simply been honest from the very beginning, then everyone could have been much happier and better decisions could have been made.

 Sometimes, people will fool you.  That’s on them.  The best you can do is the best you can do. Be sure to be honest with yourself first, then everything else can find its place.

[prorevenge]

I end up working for the scammer who conned my parents.

So, this tale starts twelve years ago in 2007. Both my parents had retired at the same time and had received a large cash lump sum and would have a decent pension income for the rest of their lives. Dad was ex-Army, doing his national service and staying for another 8 years before travelling the world. He served with the Royal Engineers and moved into an engineering/maintenance role when he returned to the civillian life. Mum was a teacher, and with careful savings and multiple pensions they had more money coming in individually than I did in a salary.

The first thing they did was to renovate their house. They got several quotes for new windows, some minor building work, a new kitchen and a block-paved driveway. I helped them with researching the companies involved and with all the information at hand, they settled on a local company that we'll call Bad Company. Bad Company had membership of all the relevant professional bodies, had some good feedback and importantly was not the cheapest but their sales guy explained to my parents why a cheaper quote wasn't always better. They agreed on the £35k work and paid a 10% deposit. Work started, and they weren't asked for a single penny more until it had been completed. There were a couple of minor snags which were easily corrected, and it went £500 over budget due to the bad drainage of the house (something that had been mentioned before) but it looked satisfactory.

As it turned out, the windows had massive gaps in them that leaked water when it rained and you could actually hear the wind whistling through. Heating became expensive. Within a month, weeds and grass started poking through the block paved driveway and the electical work that was done in the new kitchen caused blown fuses if both ovens and the hob were turned on together. If you touched the plate around the light switch, you'd get an electric shock. After three months, water burst through the newly laid kitchen floor and the "Secured By Design" doors could simply be lifted out of their frame even when locked. We also noticed that they keys to the new doors were not the originals, and they were extremely difficult to lock especially as both parents had arthritis. The icing on the cake was that most of the windows were supposed to be argon filled, but the seals had already blown allowing air inside and condensation on the inside was apparent.

Dad asked a friend, Bob, to estimate the extra cost of fixing it. Bob said that to correct the now evident defects would cost nearly £20k as almost everything would have to be ripped out and re-done. Dad immediately contacted Bad Company, and the guy they sent round was rude, arrogant and blamed everything on the builders who had originally constructed the house doing a bad job. He wrote a report stating that none of the defects were down to the work carried out as the work had been done according to current best practices. That evening, one of the window frames fell out.

Dad spent a month after that trying to get Bad Company back to fix the issues, then he called all the regulatory bodies to find that Bad Company wasn't a member but just used the membership logos on their documentation. Around a year after the work was originally completed, Bad Company simply vanished. Phone numbers were disconnected emails bounced back and their office was now a conservatory showroom. Dad had already paid a well estabished window company £3k to fix the immediate window and door issues, and was left to pay another (much better) company £22k to fix the issues. This time we checked everything and made sure they were registered. We even got a warranty.

Cut to 2018, and I'm looking for a new job. Dad passed away quite unexpectedly in 2015 and Mum wasn't too good either (although she's a lot better now) so I needed a job closer to her house than the 2 hour commute to the next city that I currently had. As luck would have it, a local kitchen manufacturing company (lets call them Local Kitchens) was looking to expand and wanted an IT technician/developer. The pay was about £1k more a year than I was currently making, but I didn't have to spend £500 a month travelling to and from work (busses and trains are expensive). I interviewed, liked what I heard, and was accepted for the role. All the time, I thought that I somehow knew the boss of Local Kitchens.

Having worked in factory environments before, I arrived in a hi-viz vest, toecapped boots and with my own ear defenders. No-one else wore any P.P.E. - not even masks and goggles. When all the machinery ran, the factory floor hummed and buzzed along at a noise level of 105dB, well over the required minimum for wearing ear defenders or plugs. The boss, who we'll call John, also attempted to cut corners everywhere. My workstation was barely powerful enough to run the development software let alone the CAD/CAM software required. When the CPU fan died, he said that he couldn't afford to replace the fan. A new computer keyboard took 3 weeks to arrive and although we were paid on the 28th of each month, the pay was often not in the bank until 9pm, well after he had chased people who owed him money.

There were more lies that I uncovered, and bad business practices. It was like John had read a book on running a business then did the exact opposite. I spent the first six months between designing kitchens - something that I knew nothing about but suddenly fell under the remit of IT technician - maintaining the factory machines, driving the forklift (something that requires a specialist license that I don't hold) and doing IT work on his personal home computer equipment and mobile phones of him, his trophy wife, his kids and his parents. I also wrote several small computer programs, wired up the factory network, ensured that machinery could connect to the office computers and re-wrote most of the configuration for the industry specific software he used - which was not only unlicensed but also used on five separate machines despite the single (lapsed) license.

Also working at the company was Dad's friend Bob. Bob was a decade and a half older than me and had served his time "working the tools" making and fitting kitchens, bedrooms, and had spent a good fifteen years as a shopfitter on some very prestigious contracts. Bob was hired originally to do my job but he moved back to the manufacturing side when the expansion started as it was easier to employ an IT tech than it was a shopfitter. Bob had read an eulogy at Dad's funeral and was often round helping mum with bits around the house, so I knew Bob well and he looked after me at work. We got talking one day and I found out that Bob was earning less than me, even though he had a highly skilled and experienced role, and that despite being given more responsibility, John refused to pay Bob what Bob was worth.

Honestly, if Bob wasn't there, most of the knowledge was lost. Bob and I had frequently told John better ways to do key tasks, but John refused simply because there would be a small cash outlay. I should have seen the writing on the wall at that point, but no.

Running up to Christmas, John tells us all that he's giving us all a bonus, and will pay us early for the christmas to new year shutdown period. We soon discover though that the bonus was a £5 tub of sweets - which Bob can't eat because he has type 1 diabeties, and I can't eat because I have this really strange sugar allergy. I was going to mention it to John, but Bob tells me not to as it's Christmas and it will be something for my kids to enjoy. I actually ended up with three boxes of sweets because he over-ordered.

That day, despite being an IT technician, I had to chase an order with a company, order some materials from a supplier, and supervise a fitter as he attempted to install some new showroom units. John is nowhere to be found until just as we're about to leave. He asked Bob for a moment of his time and I go home.

The next day, Bob tells me that he and John talked until 7pm (an extra 3 hours) about the business. Bob was asked to invest £10k for a quick capital injection as winter is always a bad time for people buying kitchens, so income is slow but there are a number of large orders in the pipeline. Bob told him what he thought of the shady business practices and the poor management, and he said that he could walk out of this job today and be earning double before the year is out. He refused to invest. Other things were said, and Bob dropped the first bombshell, explaining that every job they did for a new client was actually making a loss. The new client had been Local Kitchens only revenue stream since mid October. Apparently John was genuinely shocked and didn't realise that it cost him £200 per hour just to run his business, jumping to £300 if the machinery is running.

The day before we're due to finish for Christmas, I get called into the nearly complete new showroom. I thought John was going to show me what needs finishing and which units need designing, but no. He's worked out the finances and states that there's only enough money to keep me on for another couple of months. He even tries to turn it around by saying that he's sorry and that I'm a good employee but the income isn't there, and he wanted to give me enough time to find something else. I felt my entire world crumble. The rest of the day was a daze, but just before I left, I overhear him ordering some materials from a supplier. His exact words were: Yes, it's John from Local Kitchens. You might have us down as Bad Company.

That's when all the pieces fell into place. It finally clicked why I knew his face. He was the one who scammed my parents.

The last day of work before Christmas arrives, and John had taken his family away over the christmas / new year period. We had to ensure that the factory was powered down, locked off and secure. No-one else wanted the responsibility so I volunteered. With only Bob and myself still left in the factory, I set about gathering evidence and investigating his finances. I already know about the losses, but digging deeper I find that the company actually has no cash flow. Everything is done on credit. His house, his wife's Range Rover, his Jaguar and several other assets are registered as company assets but they're all on finance through Local Kitchens. He owed at least £750k in credit, loans and mortgages.

Bob advised me against doing anything rash as it would only come back to me and agreed that John needed to be taught a lesson not just for the way he treated his empolyees, but for conning my parents and several others out of their life savings. Bob had found a set of files from 2005 to 2008 with customer complaints for shoddy work in the name of Bad Company. It was far too late to legally do anything about the complaints, but we could bring down John and his smug attitude. Bob suggested I read up on health and safety over christmas, and perform some observations in the new year.

January and February I spent making notes, taking photographs and researching legislation. By the time the end of February rolled around, I had a thick folder full of breaches of health and safety, environmental issues, data protection (or lack thereof) and the lack of software licensing. John was well aware of the software issue, but he said that "as long as the software keeps running, it'll be ok". I had emals from him to back this up, and requests for purchases of software and hardware that were turned down so he could dine out at fancy restaurants or stay in 4 star hotels.

My last day rolls around. I have a much better development job lined up thanks to some recruiter contacts I have, and as the current day was a Thursday and I didn't start my new job until Monday, I planned on sleeping in on Friday. John is strangely absent all day but arrives just as we're all leaving for the day. HE SAYS NOTHING as he watches me leave. I got the impression immediately that he wanted me to stay until Friday, but he said that my last day was "the end of the month" and not "Friday". Unsuprisingly, the pay is late. It's 10pm before it appears in the account.

I went to see my mum that evening and told her who my boss was, the way he simply cast me aside when he was done with me, and that I wanted to break him as revenge for the bad work and what we have always considered as a scam. Now, my mum is the sweetest lady you could ever meet, and I was completely shocked when she actually said "bury the bastard". She even let me use her garden incinerator to destroy the personal hand-written instructions that Bob and myself had created since I started. The knowledge of how to fix issues with the specialist software now only existed in our memories.

Friday rolls around, and I have no reason to get up early. My phone is ringing constantly becuase John is trying to get hold of me and it's soon evident that things are going south, rapidly. Bob sent me a text telling me that he gave John a final invoice at 8AM and walked out. Now, had this been petty revenge then the tale would have ended here with him not being able to use his business-critical unlicensed software, and hiring new people, but this is Pro revenge and my mother did tell me to "bury the bastard" so despite feeling sorry for the one other genuine employee that I had a lot of respect for, I enacted my totally legal if not a little underhanded plan.

I reported Local Kitchens and John to the Federation against Software Theft for illegal use of licensed software, giving them information regarding which software was illegally used and how. Just to be safe, I also reported them directly to those software companies too. I supplied the emails as evidence where I had explained to John that he was breaking the law by not having the correct and valid licenses.

I then called a friend at the local government Health and Safety team, reporting no fewer than thirty rule breaches, sending him the supporting images and video. One of Local Kitchens professional memberships had lapsed, but John was still using the logo on paperwork, email signatures, website and the company van, in addition to the signage on the building. I reported that to the professional body in question. I honesly considered reporting GDPR breaches, but I don't think that he had done anything that could be considered a breach.

A week later, John sent me a message stating that If I was still looking for work, he would pay me £50 per day to do "IT work" for him. It came across as if he was trying to do me a favour. I told him that I was previously on £90 per day, but as I was now a freelance contractor, the going rate was closer to £200 per day. He didn't send me another message.

Three weeks later, and the showroom saleswoman - who we'll call Jane (the one remaining staff member I respected) called me to tell me that John had closed Local Kitchens and declared bankruptcy owing nearly a million pounds. I asked about fines, and she said that Health and Safety were behind a building closure which stopped production causing the bankruptcy. In the same week, he had legal notices for illegal software.

As this unfolded, I kept Bob in the loop and Jane kept me informed. As of the start of July, the final figure for fines was levied. £932k debts to the business, £876k fines too. On that same day, purely by chance I was helping a friend deliver pizza and John placed an order My friend was driving and doing the shop work, and I was going to the door to hand the food over, so I actually got to deliver his food. He was nice enough to me when he opened the door, and stated that if I had done the extra "IT Work" for him then I wouldn't have to deliver pizza. I told him that it was what it was, and questioned the fact that there was only enough for 1 meal - didn't his wife like pizza? He told me that she'd left him and taken the kids back to her parents, and that he wasn't OK with that but he had no choice. I agreed, an then decided to twist the knife even more.

I told him that it was a good job he got rid of me when he did, because I now had a fantastic well-paid job that I'm good at, and that if I had stayed, then I would have brought myself down as well as him. That's when he realised that I had called in all the agencies that had eventually shut him down. He demanded to know why, as he had "given me everything" and "taught me how to work in the kitchen industry". I simply replied with my parents address and the year 2007. I saw the colour drain from his face as he realised that his past had caught up with him. Then I told him how much he had to pay on his pizza, and he threw £40 at me and snatched the food out of my hands, slamming the door in my face. His food was only £21.50, so I got a nice £18.50 tip from him that night.

(source) story by (/u/tac-21a)

[toxoiddiamond]

T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Seong Ki-mun Nicknames: He briefly went by the name Kyle in middle school because he was tired of people teasing him about his “weird” name. But by the time he got to high school he didn’t care anymore and was back to going by his real name. (He also started purposely mispronouncing the names of anyone who made fun of his name– think A-a-ron.) Age: 30 Birthday: November 23rd Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius Birthplace: Anaheim, California Current Location: NYC, New York Speaks: English, Korean (fluently, but his family teases him about his “American accent” all the time) Dominant Hand: Right Education: He got his Associates Degree from LaGuardia Community College, then transferred to NYU and got his Bachelors in Arts & Sciences. He cheerfully refers to college as the most money he’s ever wasted in his life. Occupation: Teaching Assistant in the English department at CUNY Hunter College. He mostly assists with the Writing and Poetry classes, but also helps out with various Literature classes and acts as a substitute teacher within the department if a professor is out sick or anything. He sometimes ends up being treated more like a personal assistant– sent out for coffee or lunch, asked to type up notes or sort paperwork, but he doesn’t mind. Vehicle: Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle bought him a white 1998 Honda Prelude when he graduated from high school, and he still has it to this day. He doesn’t drive much since it’s so impractical in the city, but he likes having it around as an option for longer trips, road trips, etc. Worldly Possessions: Tons of random art supplies– pencils, charcoal, sketchbooks, clay, paints, brushes, etc. Notebooks completely filled with poetry (with many of the poems scribbled out). A fancy smart TV. A bunch of bean bag chairs. A super nice tablet (Ki-Mun may have a bit of an obsession with having the latest technology~). Tons of socks– like, way too many socks. He has an entire dresser drawer just for his socks. Pet(s): A super adorable calico munchkin kitty named Bugsy.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: He says 5’8”, but he’s closer to 5’7”. Hair: Dark black. Very full, soft and shiny. Always seems to fall perfectly into place even with the bare minimum of effort. He usually just puts a bit of pomade in it and tousles it. Facial Hair: His facial hair is very patchy, so he doesn’t bother growing it out. Eye Colour: Brown Skin Tone: A makeup artist friend of his, Andi, occasionally asks to put makeup on Ki-mun as practice (and also for fun) and has informed Ki-mun that his skin tone is “warm beige.” She also informed Ki-mun that he is an Autumn– Ki-mun doesn’t know what that means, but he likes to share it as a fun fact anytime he has to introduce himself to a group of students. Clothing: Ki-mun dresses like a pretty typical hipster, honestly. Skinny jeans, oversized sweaters, band tees, peacoats, cardigans, leather jackets, etc. He usually wears contacts, but occasionally wears big ol’ glasses. Distinguishing Marks: Does being adorable count as a distinguishing feature? Face Claim: Justin H Min

H E A L T H Physical Health: Not bad. Ki-mun was born HIV positive, but has been taking antiretroviral medications since he was a kid. At this point, his viral load is basically non-existent and he is considered to be in remission, with a very good prognosis. Because of the medication he takes, his immune system is not the best, and he is much more susceptible to getting sick as a result. During cold and flu season, Ki-mun will often wear a mask when he’s out in public– his aunt and uncle ingrained that habit in him from a young age (and also wore masks themselves so he wouldn’t feel like the odd one out). Physical Abilities/Limitations: He’s decent at almost anything to do with art, but is especially good at drawing with charcoal. He also likes doing speed-sketches, figure sketches, etc. He is also weirdly good at baseball, and plays on the New York City Metro Baseball Team as part of the NY Blacksox during the season (June through August). Also, he is great at tossing food directly into people’s mouths– popcorn, M&Ms, etc. He hardly ever misses. Addictions: Definitely caffeine, but no serious addictions. Allergies: He gets a mild rash when he eats or touches strawberries. Mental Health: It’s not horrible? It’s not great, but not horrible. As much as he denies it, Ki-mun is pretty lonely, partly because he has such a hard time letting anyone in. He’s not the most trusting person, and tends to keep people at arms’ length until he’s sure they can be trusted. At the moment, he only has one person in his life that he would actually consider a friend. Everyone else is just an acquaintance to him. Ki-mun has sort of “accepted” the idea that he may end up being alone forever, even though that’s not really what he wants.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Ki-mun was born in Anaheim, California, and got off to a pretty rough start. His mother had AIDS, and unfortunately, it was passed on to Ki-mun. He was fine and had no symptoms for a few months, but eventually began to get sick, though thanks to swift treatment, he recovered quickly and the HIV never progressed. As Ki-mun got older, his mother’s health began to deteriorate, until finally they moved in with Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle so they could help take care of her. She eventually was bedridden and had to stay in the hospital full time. One of Ki-mun’s earliest memories is of visiting his mother in the hospital for the last time, which is absolutely one of his worst memories. After his mother passed away, Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle took him in and raised him as one of their own children. They love him like crazy and were amazing parents to him, and Ki-mun has always been grateful to them– not only for raising him, but for loving him as much as they love their actual children and never making him feel like he mattered less. He had a relatively happy childhood in spite of everything. After high school, Ki-mun decided to move to New York– he wanted a change of pace, and wanted a chance to start over and reinvent himself. He found a job and began taking classes at the community college, managed to get his associate’s degree after a year and a half, and transferred to NYU to get his Bachelors. Ki-mun was a very dedicated student and didn’t spend a lot of time getting to know any of his fellow classmates, going to parties, making friends, etc. Still, he ended up being roped into a friend/study group, which is where he ended up meeting Spencer. Spencer was the first person that Ki-mun had serious feelings for. They were friends for the better part of two years, each attracted to the other but both too nervous to say anything. Finally, a week before graduation, Ki-mun got up the courage to confess how he felt, and they became an official couple for all of one day. Unfortunately, once Ki-mun explained to Spencer about his diagnosis, Spencer flew off the handle and accused Ki-mun of being deceptive, being a liar, being manipulative, etc. He told Ki-mun he was disgusting and to never contact him again, and that was that. Shortly after Ki-mun’s heart was smashed to pieces, he packed up everything he owned and moved to a new area of the city, wanting to put at least a little bit of distance between himself and his old friend group. It was here that he met Andi and became close friends with her, and also found a job at CUNY Hunter College. Although Ki-mun feels that his life is generally good and happy– he enjoys his job, has a really good friend and coworkers he likes, he has gotten really into his poetry lately and has been reading it at open mic nights– he can’t help but feel that something is missing from his life. Job History: He worked in his aunt and uncle’s restaurant from ages fifteen to eighteen. When he moved to New York, he did a little bit of job hopping before finally settling on a job at a grocery store– he stayed at that job until he graduated from college and took his job at CUNY Hunter. Fondest Memories: Despite the fact that his childhood was pretty rough at times, Ki-mun has a lot of great memories as well. Family trips to Korea, various birthdays, his graduation day. He also has fond memories of his job at the grocery store– as much as he didn’t enjoy the work, he really liked his coworkers. Plus, all the various spur-of-the-moment adventures Andi has dragged him into. Worst Experiences: His mother dying when he was four years old. Finally getting to be with the person he’d been hung up on for two years, only to be broken up with after less than a day.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Sarcastic. Often sounds like he might be annoyed. He speaks in monotone with most people, even when he’s not in a bad mood, so people often think he’s angry or doesn’t like them (and to be fair, they are sometimes correct). If he’s talking to a friend, he’ll definitely be more animated and not so grumpy. And if, by chance, he’s talking to someone he’s attracted to (*coughDODGERcough*) then he’ll get a little tongue-tied, like he wants to flirt but he doesn’t really know how. Accent: American. When he speaks Korean, his American accent does come through a bit, something his family likes to tease him about. Favorite Phrases or Words: When he’s done listening to someone and wants them to stop talking to him/stop telling him a boring story, he will just say “cool” in the most monotone voice he can manage. It usually works. Usual Curse Words: He says “Jesus Christ” and “oh fuck” a lot.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: ISFP-T Sense of Humor: Definitely sarcastic and dry. He can be mean at times, but usually only if the person deserves it. As a result, Ki-mun has been described as “sassy” more than once. When he’s with people he actually likes, Ki-mun is a lot more lighthearted and not so sarcastic. Habits: Twists his lips a little when he’s thinking hard. Rolls his eyes when someone says something he thinks is dumb. Also rolls his eyes and sighs if he’s stuck in a conversation he really doesn’t want to have. When he’s reading his poetry out loud, he never looks up at the audience/whoever is listening because he’ll get too nervous if he sees everyone looking at him. Fears/Phobias: As much as he tries to act like he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, Ki-mun is very secretive about certain aspects of himself, and is very afraid of someone finding out more about him than he wants them to know. He can’t stand having his privacy invaded, and it honestly makes him feel sick to think of the wrong person knowing too much about him (he still hates that he ever let himself be so vulnerable with Spencer, and blames himself for not seeing more clearly what kind of person he was). Strengths: Ki-mun is very creative and has a knack for all kinds of art. Although it’s hard to get to know him, once he becomes friends with someone, he is fiercely loyal and would do anything for them. As a teacher/teaching assistant, he is exceptionally patient– much more so than in other aspects of his life. He is always happy to answer questions and help anyone student who needs it. Underneath his harsh exterior, Ki-mun is a kind person who just has trouble opening himself up to others. Flaws: He has built up a lot of walls around himself in an effort to try and keep himself from getting hurt. Every time he’s let those walls down, he’s ended up regretting it and building them back up even higher. Anyone who wants to get to know him has to be very determined. Ki-mun is also not the type of person to be nice just because social conventions say he should– if he doesn’t like someone, he won’t talk to them. If he thinks someone is boring, he will tell them so. He can’t stand small talk and will never willingly engage in it. This makes him a very difficult person to interact with. Hopes/Desires: He is not entirely sure what he wants to do with his life, but right now, he’s happy just working and exploring his options. All he knows is that he wants to keep writing poetry, possibly get some published, and keep working in a field that lets him play to his strengths. Wildest Fantasy: A cure for HIV/AIDS being found. Self-Esteem: It’s a little complicated. On some level, Ki-mun is confident in himself and proud of all he’s accomplished in his life. But at the same time, he has it in his head that he doesn’t deserve some of the things he wants, such as a romantic relationship, marriage, a family, etc. He kind of views himself as damaged goods, unfortunately. Religion: He was raised Protestant, and his family used to be fairly devout. He went to church every Sunday, they read scriptures and said a family prayer every night, etc. But the older the kids got, the less active in the church the entire family became. His parents and siblings are still casually religious, and Ki-mun has held on to certain aspects of it, but he doesn’t care about going to church or reading the bible or anything.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Usually on his stomach, occasionally on his back. Boxers or Briefs?: Briefs Day or Night?: He’s okay with both. He works during the day, which he likes, and in the late afternoon/evening he goes to the cafe and hangs out or reads his poetry. Top or Bottom?: Bottom, but he’s willing to switch if his partner wants to. Partying or Relaxing?: He likes parties, but he really prefers relaxing when it comes right down to it.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Andi is currently the only person Ki-mun would call a friend. He has a lot of acquaintances, but no one else that he’s really close to. Relationship History: He dated a couple of people in high school, but it was just puppy love and nothing serious. He had a couple of flings in college as well, just short-lived, purely physical relationships, and the only sexual encounters Ki-mun has ever had. And then there was Spencer. Ki-mun has not even been on a date since that whole debacle. Sexual Partners: Just the two guys Ki-mun had brief flings with. Thoughts About Sex: He enjoys it. He’s also pretty sure he’s never going to have it again, and has come to accept that.

P A R E N T S Name(s): His mother’s name was Seong Bo-ram. His aunt and uncle are named Park Min-ji and Park Kang-dae. Age(s): His mother passed away at the age of 28. His aunt is 57 and his uncle is 60. Social Standing: His mother was very well-liked, but was shunned by a lot of her friends after she not only became pregnant out of wedlock, but ended up contracting HIV. His aunt and uncle are well-respected in their community, and also well-off financially, firmly in the upper middle class. Occupation(s): His mom was a flight attendant. His aunt and uncle run a small Korean restaurant which is extremely popular– on weekends there’s often a line of people outside waiting to get in. Religion: Protestant-ish. Quality of Relationship With Their Children: Ki-mun’s mom loved him a ton– the reason she left him to her sister and brother-in-law is because she knew they would love Ki-mun as much as she did, and she was right. Ki-mun is still very close to his aunt and uncle. Living/Deceased: His mother is dead, but his aunt and uncle are alive.

S I B L I N G (S) Name(s): Park Kang-min,  Jang-mi (aka Jamie) Sanders, and Park Bo-ram (named after Ki-mun’s mother). Age(s): 33, 31, and 27. Social Standing: They’re all doing quite well in life and are upstanding members of society. Occupation(s): Kang-min is a commercial airline pilot, Jamie is currently a stay-at-home mom but plans to go back to work as an RN once her kids are a little older, and Bo-ram is a violinist with the California Symphony. Religion: They’re all sorta Protestant, but Jamie is the only one of them who still goes to church now and then. Quality of Relationship with Character: Even though they are technically Ki-mun’s cousins, they always refer to him as their brother. They’re all pretty close; they don’t talk all the time or anything, but when they do, they get along very well and have always enjoyed each other’s company. Living/Deceased: All living~

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Ki-mun lives in a modest studio apartment fairly close to both his work and Central Park. The apartment is well-decorated, with a lived-in, cozy sort of look. He’s very comfortable where he is, not at all bothered by living in a small space, especially considering how much more expensive it would be to upgrade to a one-bedroom.

[thatsoundsgud]

https://my.w.tt/zmsBN8EEp9

“If you want an ounce then I get your ass.” The man in front of Louis stated dangling the baggie like an awful pendulum.

“But last time a blowie did it.” Louis shook his head, desperate.

“Well that was last time and now I want your ass.” Sam was a larger man and his dick tasted like old sweaty man, clearly one of the many men who were only ‘gay for the stay’ at Doncaster Correctional Facility. Louis knew for a fact that he didn’t want his dick in his body again, let alone in his ass. He hadn't had to cross that line yet and didn't want to now.

So, he shook his head, “No. I’ll give you a blow job.”

“Listen here, junkie, I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands.” Sam growled, back handing Louis across the face, “Ass or nothing. You have forty-eight hours and then the offer expires.”

Sam and his two goons wander away, one of the bald men who follow him everywhere even fakes it out like he’s going to hit Louis when he passes. Laughing with a mouthful of meth teeth when the smaller boy flinched.

“Fuck.” Louis huffed, sliding down the wall of the prison laundry room. This was one of the only places left in the prison without adequate cameras leaving multiple blind spots including the one where Louis currently sat against the wall, head in his hands.

He hadn’t always been like this; he was born into a nice middle-class family. Went to a nice public school and made his way through almost two years of college before he met Olivia. She was a pretty girl who liked control and Louis was an easy-going boy who liked to give it to her. When she grew bored of Louis, she tried to leave, he begged her to stay, and she told him the only way she’d stay was if he experimented with her.

When she showed up to his dorm room with cocaine he almost backed out. But she just raised her perfectly manicured eyebrow and threatened to leave, so he did it. That’s how every step down this path went, he could leave but he chose to stay. No one to blame but himself.

At least the sex was good, that’s what Olivia said anyways, he barely remembered it. She’d load him up on drugs, sometimes pills, cocaine, or meth, she always bought using her father’s money and he’d get sluggish, slurring, docile.

She knew her limits, so it always seemed like she was just a step closer to sober than he’d ever be. She’d lean over him and ask him to debase himself and Louis would without hesitation. The words and the memories long gone but the feeling of humiliated submission brought color to his cheeks without warning.

He didn’t know what was worse. The fact that he let it happen or the fact that in some sick way he still craved the feeling to some extent.

Drugs for Louis were an escape he never knew he needed. So after that first night he fell behind in his classes. His grade tanked and he lost his scholarship and more importantly his will to continue in school. He was kicked out of his dorm but that was ok because Olivia had an off-campus apartment.

She would go to class each day leaving Louis behind, she would giggle saying Louis was her housewife. He’d cook and clean and get high. His parents didn’t even know he dropped out until he was supposed to graduate two years later, and he had to tell them not to bother coming to the ceremony. He went for Olivia though, dressed in a nice little suit and sat next to her parents.

After graduation, Olivia started a cushy job working at an accounting firm and didn’t have time for their criminal activities anymore. She quit cold turkey and laughed in Louis’ face when he couldn’t, saying it was a lack of self-discipline. That’s when she started to refer to him as her junkie deadbeat boyfriend and made him beg her to buy him high quality drugs. He could only afford some back-alley shit working his minimum wage job. She liked when he begged, they always do.

Louis’ misery suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and the quick steps of steady feet. A taller man, with curly hair and a lean but muscular body appeared. He didn’t seem to notice Louis sitting across from him as he slipped between two giant washers and accessed a vent. The smaller boy leaned his head over to see two huge bags, one looking like heroin, the other meth. Both of which the man slipped into his pants replacing the grate before turning to leave.

If Louis wasn’t strung out, desperate for a fix, he might have thought to hide but he didn’t. Like a deer in headlights green eyes met blue for the first time, the larger man paused, staring at the boy across from him, silent on the ground, ��Did you see that?”

Louis’ eyes flickered between the grate and the man in front of him and he shook his head, “no.”

The man rolled his dark green eyes, “Liar.”

Louis shook his head again, “I-I-I…” “Liar and a junkie.” The man mumbled, a look of frustration growing on his face as he looked over Louis like he had a giant sign giving away that truth. Anyone could tell he was a junkie just by looking at him. Maybe it was the dark circles under his eyes, or the way he always looked nervous and skinny. Whatever it was brought a deep coat of red to Louis’ cheeks and the smaller man just huffed, before green eyes continued, “Fucking perfect.”

“Sorry.” The word hung in the air, so small and inadequate the taller man didn’t even acknowledge it.

“Tomlinson?” The man read his name tag, “What’s your first name.”

Louis shook his head, he was definitely about to have a hit out for him, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“First name?” The man growled, mouth set in a fine line.

“Louis.” The man spared him one last look, walking back out drugs in hand. There were big names in this prison, gangs, cartels, and crime families, they wouldn’t want anyone knowing how they got their drugs in and they’d be willing to kill to keep that secret. The sinking feeling in his stomach steadied Louis’ shaking hands, fuck.

“Tomlinson, you’ve had a cell reassignment.” A particularly nasty guard everyone called Calypso stopped outside Louis’ cell the next morning, “You have ten minutes to pack and move.”

It came as no surprise, he’s been more on edge since that curly haired man left him sitting in the laundry room. Everyone that walked by started to look like an enemy, like large lurking shadows. He flinched at every noise that echoed around the stone building. Waiting for an inevitable death like a lamb to slaughter. He just didn’t know when.

He was so fucking dead. Louis rolled his bed up slow trying to think of a plan, maybe he could offer the guard some payment for protection. His mouth could work wonders, he’s been told by many people. Calypso looked like the type to accept bribes.

But he didn’t even get his chance to offer before he arrived in front of his new cell—in the same block just a short walk away. The entrance was dark, and he paused before walking in, maybe the hitman that waited within would have the decency to wait until he’s asleep to shank him.

“Are you coming in or are you gonna sleep in the doorway.” The man from the laundry room asked, as Louis hovered near the door. His new cellmate.

The smaller boy took a small step into the room—it felt too small, too dark, and the guard was already gone.

“I haven’t told anyone.” The words spill from his lips soft and scared, the way predators like it. Something appeasing in the degradation of their prey.

“I’m sure you haven’t.” The man nodded towards the bottom bunk and Louis placed his stuff down, muttering, “You wouldn’t be allowed to live if you did.”

“You’re not going to kill me?” Louis’ voice quivers.

“I won’t if you don’t give me reason to.” He explained, as if it were that easy.

“Ok.” Louis gulped, he could be good, obedient, people liked that.

“When was your last fix?” The man asked and Louis felt his nerves settle, maybe the bigger man would keep him drugged up to keep him quiet.

“A few days ago.” Louis mumbled.

“Oh good.” The man nodded again, “So you’ll be through the worst of the withdrawals in less than a week.”

“What?” Louis’ eyes snap up to the other man’s face, now leaning near the entrance.

“You’re getting clean.” The man stated easily, like that was even an option after years of being strung out.

“I-I-I can’t.” Louis shook his head, coming to stand in front of the other man, “I can’t quit.”

“You can and you will.” The larger man’s tone was steely, even. This wasn’t a debate.

“You can’t make me.” Louis shook his head, his finger twitching nervously at his side.

“How do you pay for your drugs, Louis.” His name on the other man’s lips felt oddly intimate, no one had called him that his entire time here. It was always Tomlinson or a slew of degrading nicknames.

“I work for them.” The blush that settled on Louis’ face an indicator of his embarrassment, his eyes dropping to the ground as well.

His cellmate walked Louis back until he was against the wall, the other man had a few inches on him. Not to mention his shoulders out width Louis’ own. The man’s hand rises and Louis flinched waiting for an impact on his face but not finding one, instead it landed gently against his cheek. His hand large enough to splay across the entirety of the right side of Louis’ face, his thumb pressing on Louis’ bottom lip, “You work with your mouth or your ass.”

“It doesn’t matter how I earn it.” Louis shook his head or tired but the grip on his face slid down to his chin holding him still. Green eyes pressed his thumb in between Louis’ plump lips, the pad pressing onto Louis dull bottom teeth, onto his tongue. Louis watched enchanted as green eyes darken and focused on his entry point, the way they bow around the other man’s thumb.

“It does now.” His cellmate hummed, “You are mine and no one would be dumb enough to try to use what’s mine.”

“No.” Louis shook his head again, “I need it.”

The man just quirked a humorless smile, “No you don’t.” His eyes linger where his thumb has slipped out of Louis’ mouth spit coating the tip before stepping away. Nodding to himself and leaving their cell, Louis was left to collapse onto the floor. Fuck.

The next morning Louis woke with the urge to vomit barely making it to the toilet in their room before his dinner from the night before came back up. He shivered uncontrollably and sweat, as he leaned over the metal bowl. He didn’t even hear Harry get up, flinching sharply when he saw a water bottle appear in his peripheral vision. The man nodded towards the commissary item and Louis’ shook his head wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I can’t pay you back.” Louis stated and the man just rolls his eyes.

“Take it, Louis.” Again, he uses Louis’ first name and it sits heavy in the smaller boy’s gut.

When one pm rolls around he searched out Sam in the usual spot, finding him already there.

“I’ll take the deal.” Louis nodded, fingernails scratching a little too hard over the skin on the bottom of his wrist, up to this elbow.

“The deal?” Sam played dumb, raising his eyebrows. A few of his thugs around him were smirking.

“My ass for the ounce.” Louis nodded, looking to where he knows Sam keeps his stash hidden.

“Say it.” Sam nodded, a shit eating smile on his face. Louis shuddered, his fever getting higher, sweats even worse. He was about to hit a sobriety record soon,

“I want you to fuck me for an ounce.”

Sam laughed, pinching Louis’ cheek, “No can do, kiddo.”

“What?! You said I had forty-eight hours!” Louis felt tears enter his eyes, “I need it.”

“You had forty-eight hours when you were a free agent.” He shrugged, “Now you belong to Styles and even I’m not dumb enough to fuck with him.” Styles, that must be the name of his new cellmate. Apparently, he worked quickly spreading the news of his acquisition.

Louis’ lips tremble with desolation, his body sore when he finally returns to his cell after going through all his plugs. Each denying him one after another, he stood in the doorway as Styles read a book on the bottom bunk, Louis’ bed.

“Why?” Louis’ voice trembled, nowhere near as strong as the anger he felt brewing in his chest.

“Hmmm?” The taller man asked, eyes flicking from his book to Louis’ face. “Why are you doing this?” Louis pressed his back against the wall, sliding down across from his roommate. Just a foot or two between them.

Styles finally put his book away, eyes flashed to Louis again before sitting up straight, his feet square on the floor, “Come here.”

The man wanted Louis to crawl to him? To go down on him? Louis would, Olivia used to love that. That’s how these people were; those who craved control.

Olivia went to answer the door what felt like hours ago to Louis’ ketamine induced euphoria. Like his body floated in a soft pool of pillows but his mind was somewhere even better. He laughed to himself thinking about his childhood bed and the pillow he used to hug at night, with little bees all over it.

“ What’s he on?” A deep voice spoke from above him, to which he lazily tilted his head up to see a skinny man sitting on the couch.

“It’s the K you gave me.” Olivia giggled and Louis giggled too because Olivia's laugh was funny. Louis lifted his fingers and giggled at them too, they were tiny and wiggling.

“I told you that shit was strong.” The man was named Kyle and he was one of Olivia’s plugs, Louis knew that. Waving lazily at the man with a sloppy grin.

Louis didn’t see or hear her reaction but then she was tilting Louis’ head towards her, “Did you hear me, Lou?” Louis shook his head, he may have said something, but he couldn’t be certain.

“I said I want you to suck Kyle’s dick.”

Louis giggled again, because that has to be a joke, but it wasn’t and Louis did it. That part came in flashes, Kyle’s grip in his hair. The hard floor against his knees. The sound of Olivia laughing, her hand on the back of Louis’ neck.

Louis shook himself from that thought and clumsily got onto his knees and closed the distance between them. His cellmate’s deep voice left no room for argument, so he sat kneeling with slumped shoulders between the larger man’s thighs.

Again, Style’s hand rose and landed softly against Louis’ cheek over his ear and onto the side of his neck, “You ask why? Why would I do this?”

“You don’t even know me.” Louis muttered towards the ground, the man’s fingers tighten not painfully but firmly at the nape of Louis’ neck. Directing his face upward, his eyes meet the other mans.

“Maybe I’m altruistic?” Curly laughed when Louis shook his head. No truly altruistic man would be here.

“Maybe I just want what’s best for you.” The man asked and Louis shook his head again, then the other man’s face fell serious, “Or maybe I want it so that if you ever come back here high, I’ll know exactly where you got your fix.”

Louis huffed, there it is, “I won’t steal from you.”

“You certainly won’t if you’re clean.” The man nodded, with an easy smile.

“I can’t.” Louis sobbed into his hands, so pitiful sitting between the legs of a man he barely knew.

“You can and you will.”

The first week of withdrawals was so bad Louis remembered why he hasn’t been sober in years. His body quaked and he stayed in bed for a full forty eight hours, time all blurs together. He vaguely had a feeling his new cellmate held a water bottle to his lips and fed him crackers but that can’t be true.

Once the worst of it is through, Louis found himself more sober than he can remember being in recent history but that doesn’t mean he’s better. He still itches for it, can feel a hum of desire under his skin like a constant vibration. Not to mention he’s on edge all the time and regularly felt a terrible sense of impending doom whenever he’s out of his cell, so he stopped. He stopped showering, eating, or anything else for days.

A shadow fell over Louis’ bed where he sat picking at his blanket, Styles tilted his head to see Louis leaning against the wall, “You haven’t eaten in days.”

“’M not hungry.” Louis shook his head, not meeting his cellmate’s dark eyes.

“Bullshit.”

“I just can’t go down there.” Louis admitted, picking at his nails now. A gasp of surprise escaped his lips when Styles gripped his ankle, pulling him to the side of the bed, finally getting a good look at the smaller man’s face. All dark circles and pale skin.

“You scared?” The taller man mumbled, hand gently cupping Louis’ chin, tilting his head until his neck ached to see him. His hands were just as warm and soft as the first time they met Louis’ skin.

“Fuck you.” Louis spat out much too soft to sound menacing at all, “”m not scared.”

“It’s ok. Anxiety and paranoia are common symptoms of withdrawal.”

“I just don’t feel safe.” Louis shook his head; he sounded like a kid. Who the fuck feels safe in prison?

Harry hummed, his thumb brushing Louis’ jaw, always with those dark and searching eyes, “I’ll watch your back, come on.” There’s no room for arguing, Curly’s hauled him up and walked them towards the mess hall, with a firm hand on the back of Louis’ neck. He’d never admit it out loud, but it made him feel better, more secure. It was a giant red flag to everyone else though. Louis Tomlinson is this man’s bitch.

If Louis had any dignity left, after what he’d done to get his fix in here than it was lost when he allowed his cellmate to walk him to the mess like this.

The food sucked but Louis ate and ate until there was nothing left. When he finished, Styles wordlessly pushed his tray over and replaced Louis’ empty one. The smaller boy blushed but ate that tray too. He didn’t feel bad, he knew the other man had commissary for days.

“Why?” Louis asked again, when he finished half the second tray.

“Why what?” The larger man asked, eyes stopping their constant scanning of the area to look at the smaller man before continuing.

“You didn’t have to do this.” Louis murmured.

“I did this to keep my supply chain safe.”

“I meant this. Bringing me to the mess.” Louis blushed, “Getting me water when I was coming down.”

“You remember that?” Dark eyes inspecting Louis’ face for something.

“Barely.” Louis shrugged, eyes now fixed on his hand playing with the food left on the tray,

“I just don’t get it.” The taller man’s long fingers tapped the table while he thought before responding, “I’m not a bad guy, Louis.”

Blue eyes searched out the other man’s face, stoic as ever before nodding, “Ok.” He could accept that answer for now.

https://my.w.tt/zmsBN8EEp9

[redrobin-detective]

Y’all got me jazzed up so let me talk about the immortal Wizard Billy AU that I’ve been playing with in secret (tried to write a fic sort of maybe abandoned it?)

Okay so, same shtick, Billy is a homeless kind-hearted 11 year old chosen by the Wizard to be his champion but also, when the previous Shazam died, passed on the mantle of the Wizard as well. Except it’s 1939. Billy does his Captain Marvel thing for awhile alongside Mary Marvel and Captain Marvel Jr., fighting the good fight and loving life not really aware of his other responsibilities. It’s a few years in when Freddy and Mary are growing up and Billy is still stuck at 11 that they realize something is up. 

It’s a devastating realization at the time as he sees that he’s not going to be able to grow up alongside his family. It’s at this time Captain Marvel disappears from the world and he dedicates himself to being the Wizard full-time. I’d like to think before he gives up Cap he there for the first wave of heroes and has a hand in forming the JSA. He was on his way to bonding with the heroes of old when he learned the truth and left without a trace. Mary and Freddy continue on as his first official Marvels for many years until they give it up to pursue real life goals. They remain very close as they grow, Freddy died young(ish) but Mary only recently passed of old age which really was a blow to Billy as he now has nothing left of his old life.

So as the Wizard, Billy is the center of all magic. The magic lives in and is nourished by his spirit and while he can’t do things like rewrite reality he’s still one of the most terrifyingly powerful beings out there. Not that he ever uses it as such bc hes a bean. The previous Shazam was a hermit who did kind of less than the bare minimum of his job and magic was kind of a free for all. Billy decides to step up and be better. He serves not only as the Guardian of Magic but also an ambassador/king/spiritual figure. He is very engaged with the magical world, settling disputes, serving as a friend/mentor to all who needs it. There’s trial and error but after 80 years of working out the bumps, he’s got a decent handle on his job. 

The majority of magic society LOVES the hell out of their boy king, think about how people go nuts for the British royal family. You never know what you’re gonna get with Wizards but Billy is kind and understanding and actually steps outside of the Rock to see the real world. He’s got quite a following, probably has guards watching out for him at all times. Because there’s also a strong minority who hates having an active Wizard. They don’t like what he’s doing and they’re threatened/jealous of his power. Bill controls all magic, he has awesome powers but also has his hands on the off switch and that terrifies lots of people.

Billy is still fundamentally human. So I want to make clear that Billy is 11, he has been alive for almost a century but he’s still 11. He is mature, wise, has lots of outdated slang but he is still is a child at heart, he’s just been 11 for a long time. He stills needs to eat, he gets tired early, has a tiny child bladder and most importantly, he has human weakness and can die if you get past all his magic. If Billy dies before he properly passes on the Wizard mantle then the magic will be loose for anyone to grab, chaotic, out of control and a major disaster. The fact that Billy is small, vulnerable and puts himself out there so readily makes a lot of people nervous. He has a secret weapon, hardly ever used though and that is he never officially gave up Captain Marvel, he just stopped transforming. Should he find himself in over his head all he need do is call upon his predecessor and Cap will live once more. Almost no one knows he was Cap nor that he kept the powers.

Okay so we’re in the modern era, the second great era of heroes is here. As more magical beings enter the League, they speak lovingly of the boy king, the Wizard who watches over all magic. Soon the JLA and Billy have an arrangement that all major magical disputes go through him first to try to diffuse without violence which doesn’t always work out but they still try. The League is pretty damn weirded out by Billy and they fall in one of two modes: treat him like an adult or treat him like a child where he is neither. He has the wisdom of an adult but the body and soul of a child. Only the kids get him and he gets on very well with them. Often Heroes will send their sidekicks to Billy because they just don’t know how to properly interact with him. The magical heroes also get it, it’ll never not be weird to see the stoic and unimpressed Jason Blood kneeling and reverently swearing himself before a kid in a Ramones tee and dirty sneakers.

Billy has had many Marvels over the years, all of them kids, most but not all came from tragic circumstances. The current Marvels are three foster kids: Darla, Eugene and Pedro (see what I did there). While he is a kid himself his Marvels are also HIS kids. He never feels more like an adult than when dealing with his champions. He loves the HELL out of those children and basically becomes a second parent to them. Kids are so adaptable that none of them think its weird that a 16 year old Marvel is having their hair petted and worries soothed by an 11 year old in a cape. Billy’s just like that, they love him so much and still stay in contact even when they decide to return their powers. I’ve gone back and forth on Billy as Marvel, on the one hand him keeping it hidden and it only coming out in dire circumstances and everyone’s like WHAT is fun. But also Billy losing the last of his old life (Mary) depresses him so much, the resurgence of heroes makes him want to build new bonds that will last and he joins as just another Marvel not telling anyone who he really is. Living JSAs are like ‘woah you went out for milk 70 years ago and never came back’. Idk I think its cool.

Bleh this is getting long, one last section on Billy himself. Billy is an odd one to pin down. He’s so painfully kind and warm and open and you just immediately feel safe and comfortable when you’re with him which is disarming in its own way. He’s very quietly wise, only giving advice when asked and carries himself with a sense of regal duty. But on the other hand he’s also very childish and silly and likes to goof off a lot and pull pranks and go see cool things. He rough houses with his Marvels/sidekicks, he swears like a sailor, he l o v e s memes and though he isn’t always up to date he can talk the talk with other kids. He’s a conundrum, both adult and child and neither all at once. He’s vaguely unsettling to adults because he doesn’t fit into any one box, to kids he’s just like that. Billy Batson is a hero when he can be, a Wizard he didn’t want to be but still does his best and friend to all who are willing to take his hand. 

[stubbornattempt]

I hope this is ok to try to get a message to you again. If you'd prefer that I didn't I'll certainly stop. There are just so many things I don't know or understand. The past couple of years I've come to believe that for whatever reasons you and I can never be together. And while this is my best guess, I realized I would like to know that for a fact. You see, I'm still in love with you and I always will be in love with you and I would wait as many years as it takes until its safe to be together, if there ever would come such a time. It's a long shot, but I'd like to know if there is a chance. That would change every aspect of my life. It seems to me that you and I can't be together because of the danger of being arrested, and if that is the case I would never want you to risk yourself trying to be with me. I would rather never see you again and let you have a good life. But maybe is there some sort of statute of limitations on the thing? If enough time goes by would everything be ok? I think about you every day and it hurts a lot. I can't put it into words but I ache like I've lost the thing in the world most precious to me. Sometimes I just whisper your name. I don't know how you feel. Maybe you don't still have strong feelings for me or even want to be together. If that's the case I'd rather not know that! You said you would always love me and I believe you. I remember every single thing you've ever said to me. You're in the deepest and most permanent part of me. You're my home and as long as we're apart I'll never be home. It's ok if that's what it boils down to. It's been a long time now and I've accepted the idea of never being together. I told you I'm dating this guy Steve and I like him well enough. It's slightly nicer to have someone than to be alone. But I don't think I could ever be in love with him, or anybody else really. I can love someone as a person and be fond of them but that's not the same as being in love. I've just accepted that any other relationship I have I will be settling for less. Over the past year I've started becoming what I think might be a bad person. I'm just selfish and sometimes I feel absolutely nothing. I don't care that the planet is dying. I don't really want to expend energy to help anybody else and I do the bare minimum to help myself. I have more callous and angry thoughts than I used to, and until recently I've been aware of becoming a worse human being but I haven't cared. I'm also becoming increasingly perverted, and while I don't think there's anything wrong with a fantasy that you would never act on, I wonder what it says about me that I'm getting off on things that would disturb most people. I've always had a twisted sort of libido I guess, but its just firing on all cylinders now and I wonder if I'm so different from regular people that I'll always be on the outside pretending to fit in and hiding my true self. I did about 4 weeks of school and withdrew from my classes. I didn't want to do the work and I didn't like the subject material very much. It was Statistics and Chemistry and I realized I was gonna have to work hard to get A's. I didn't really want to be in school anyway. After visiting Steve in Cleveland for 5 weeks I realized that I could live a decent life on a tight budget. I'll get disability checks forever until I die, so if I don't want to I really don't have to work. And the truth is that I definitely don't want to work. Even if I wanted to I don't know if I could. I've always had trouble having to be places. Sometimes, quite frequently in fact, I break down and quit. I can't be somewhere all the time and also be forced to be around people. These days I find I'm happiest when I'm watching TV. There are enough shows out there that I could watch TV for the rest of my life. And when I get bored of that I could read books and do a little exercising. I have the opportunity to just have all my time to myself and I'd rather be poor and have that than go back to school, pay a shit ton of money, and then have to fucking work some job I'll probably hate. In any event, I don't think Biotechnology is the degree for me. The only potential job I would actually enjoy is being a therapist or counselor of some sort, and that would take a lot of schooling to get to a point where I could have a career. I'm a little too old now to look down that road. Maybe not. I just don't feel like being back in school just yet. I still have too many emotional and psychological issues that I'm dealing with. I've decided to get some therapy myself. I think I'll go next week. Try to talk about some of this stuff. Eventually I told a few people about what I went through. I told Steve, another online friend, and then today I told Michelle some of it. Maybe talking about it will somehow help? If I thought there was a possibility of being able to be with you in the future it would infuse every aspect of my life with such profound happiness. I'm not holding out much hope for it, but I think you should give me an answer if you can safely get one to me. If there is no chance I think I'll move to Cleveland. Not because I'm so crazy about Steve, but I like him well enough and its an opportunity to start over. I love where I live but there are memories everywhere I go. I can't be the way I was again, and being reminded of everything I used to have can be painful. Cleveland is very cheap and poor and I could fit right in. My mother will be supremely disappointed upon finding that I don't intend to go to school and then get a job and I can't really explain myself to her. Telling my family about my life is out of the question. So in Cleveland I could at least be in a new setting where I'm not bombarded with memories around every corner, with a guy who I enjoy spending time with, and I could live cheaply. As you get older your options narrow all the time. I'm looking at my options and it seems like the best one. Today I miss you so much I want to cry. I don't cry that much these days. After I figured out you weren't coming for me again I didn't cry for a year or something. I did some art therapy on Tumblr and listened to a lot of screamo. Last winter I made that playlist I sent to you, and I would listen to it all day every day for like a month or two and cry to it. I haven't cried since then I don't think. Crying doesn't do anything anymore. My emotions are resoundingly futile. I'm so scared of forgetting a detail or a feeling. I'm scared of the time and distance that separates me from when I last saw you and I'm scared that it's only ever going to grow. I'm scared of getting older and inevitably not being the same person I used to be and I'm realizing the thing that might save me is that I don't want to become someone you would no longer love, even if we never see each other again. I want to be the person that you love and I don't know how to do that going into the future without you. As I slowly turn into somebody else that's putting even more distance between us. It hurts so much its the dullest ache. No one will ever know what we shared and that's ok as long as I can keep it alive in my heart and my mind, but life is long I guess. Even though we're not together somehow I'm scared of losing you. Loving you is the most profound experience of my life. A future without you is static, muted, black and white. I feel like I lived more than most people in life ever have. I've had more mystery and adventure, trauma and pain, and depth of love. Sometimes I actually feel lucky, even though it devastated my life for good. At least I was special for a time, and experienced something unique in all the world. And I experienced your love, which is my top rated experience of all time. Sometimes I beg your memory not to leave me. So far it hasn't, but I'm afraid of Time. I'll wrap this rant up here. I just wanted to say that I'll no longer send you messages on Facebook. I guess that might be dangerous somehow? I also want you to know that I will never come looking for you. If you want to be with me and its safe, the ball is totally in your court. I don't want you to feel haunted by me and if you don't want to hear from me I won't message you. Even if we can't be together IRL maybe we could keep in touch through secret messages over the years? Maybe just an update every couple of years? I want you to have a life and be happy and I don't want to interfere with that. So maybe you'd prefer a clean break and just to let me go? Fuck, I love you so much. Whatever you want is fine with me. I only ask that you give me a sign so I can know for a fact that it's over forever. You don't even need to tell me why. All I really want to do in this life is tell you how much I love you. I'm trying to live my life and I am. Some days are easier than others. I'm alone in my headspace most of the time. I don't know if it helps or does harm to think about everything so much. I'm realizing a lot about my limitations and coming to terms with what the rest of my life is going to look like. I think I could find reasonable happiness if I moved away and started new. As long as I stay in this city my family will make me feel bad for not accomplishing anything professionally. And I just don't have it in me to be what they want me to be. Everything I went through from like 2011-2017 or whatever it was, that is and has to be my "contribution" to the world because I truly don't have anything left to give. I'll never feel like everybody else and no matter what happiness and stability I'm able to attain, there will forever be this deep current of sadness for everything lost. I find myself feeling alienated from other people and not totally respecting their emotions and experiences because of what I've been through. Things I went through were so extreme it makes it hard for me to take the plights of others so seriously. I'm on the outside forever and I am alone forever. I feel happier with Steve but he doesn't have much emotional depth and even though I told him about you/everything I don't think he begins to understand. So I'm alienated forever from everyone IRL and nobody who knows what happened to me is willing to talk to me. What exactly happened anyway? When did John first start filming me? When did others start watching? What's the ballpark number of people who were watching me? Were there cameras in the bathrooms? In the Tea House? Basic fucking things I'll never know. No one affiliated with the theater is ever going to tell me and there's no way to find the answers to my questions. It used to be very troubling to not know, but I've come to terms with not knowing. It's not that high on my list of concerns anymore. The PTSD from believing that John was going to kill me has probably subsided as well. I don't think I really have schizophrenia, but I think you guys gave me schizophrenia for a time. I was out there seeing clues and receiving messages left and right and that shit did get pretty scary. But I don't see clues and messages anymore, so I doubt I'm schizo. Maybe I have like schizo-affective disorder or something, but I don't think I'm schizo. I even stopped taking my meds months ago and I'm fine. I'll pretend to the docs like I'm taking my meds and I'm fine with the diagnosis as it has allowed me to be given disability. I feel like I deserve disability and I honestly feel like after what I lived through that I shouldn't have to work. I know I said earlier that I was wrapping this up, but I do not want to stop talking to you ever. My love. I also want you to know that there is no future where I blame you for what I went through or am angry with you. Looking back over our communication I see perfectly clearly that you didn't lie to me or deceive me. I think you made some poor decisions because I would have liked to marry you straight away and skip the internet games. I know you feel badly about the way things happened. I don't want you to though. It's bad enough that I'm not happy, if you can be happy you really should be. I'm so glad that you have your kids in your life. It makes me very happy to know that you have those meaningful relationships. That night in the truck when it seemed like we were running away, if that's what was really happening I want you to know how much it meant to me that you were willing to leave everyone in your life to be with me. It was powerful. Obviously I'd do the same for you anytime at all, but I don't have kids. So your devotion to me was the most impressive gesture anyone has ever made for me. I don't think anyone has ever really seen me the way you did. I want to always be that person you fell in love with but that can't be. I'm growing older and changing and the changes probably aren't all good. Thank you for being there at my most vulnerable and for intoxicating me with your love. I know I was probably draining and maybe demanded more from you than you had signed up for. I hope I didn't mess things up for you too much. I know your wife left you and it seemed like my going to where you used to work may have influenced her decision? Anyway, I hope you don't look back and think of me as a mistake that made you lose your wife. Even if its not me I hope you find someone who loves you. I would just hope that you never stop loving me. I don't know how I'm gonna carry myself through the rest of my life. Maybe things can be better than I'm imagining. Maybe I'll be more of a good person than a creep. I have to try a little bit harder though. I'm so disaffected. I don't like being around people or going out and doing things. If I move to Cleveland Steve will make sure I get out and do things. He has crazy levels of energy and fills every second of the day with an activity. After 5 weeks I was thoroughly exhausted, but perhaps that's a good type of personality for me to be around. It's hard for me to stop writing to you because it kind of feels like spending time with you when I talk to you. I would love to hear from you. Anything from you I cherish. I'm afraid to look at your blogs or your online accounts though. I don't want to see things that aren't meant for me. It also hurts. I only want to see things from you that are meant for me. Anything you could tell me about how you're feeling or what actually happened I would be grateful to hear. You could be creative. I'll know if its you. One last thing I forgot to mention is that I'm having transgender problems again. I've decided not to pursue transitioning. It's a little late in the game for me. The results wouldn't be as good. It's a lot of fucking work to transition. Most people are wildly transphobic. I don't want to have to explain and justify my existence to everybody. I don't want to be discriminated against. My mom might disinherit me. It would be harder to date. I'd be a dude with a vagina which is awkward. Top surgery is a lot of money. I don't think I want to shave my face every day. A lot of trans people say that if you can live as a cis person that you definitely should because being a transsexual is very hard. The part of my life were it would have mattered being correctly gendered the most is behind me. I'm just saying fuck it. It's just one more way that my life fails to be perfect. If I did transition probably I would be happier and more comfortable in social situations and more likely to socialize but the cost is very high. Maybe I'm being cowardly or lazy about it, but I'm trying to be pragmatic. Anyway, I'll love you no matter what even when you're 70 and bald and your teeth are falling out, so if at any point in your life you want to be with me and its possible, reach out. I'm yours and its not possible to make it otherwise. If you don't respond to this I guess I'll take that as a sign and try not to contact you again. If that happens I want you to know that I will think of you always. As the years roll on I will imagine you raising your kids, going to their graduations and weddings, having grand kids, growing old. I'll think about you in your dorky baseball caps and playing the guitar, enjoying your success and continuing to crusade against the insanity in the world. Your obsessiveness, your industriousness, your raw intelligence and creativity. I think you're golden. That night in the motel room when I refused to leave you and because of that you ended up getting away, that was the thing in my life that I'm most proud of and I would do it over and over again. At least I was given the opportunity to demonstrate how much I care for you. Not everybody gets to make such a dramatic gesture. I hope you feel it in your bones how much you are loved. I hope I'm inside of you the way you are in me. If you still feel the same for me, please consider the possibility of trying again if there is any possible way. I would try to be the best version of myself for you. I've decided to try that anyway, but it would be easier with you. Can I tell you just one more time? I love you. I was a kid for a long time, longer than usual, but I'm less so every day. And although I'm a terribly inadequate adult I don't think I would be a burden on you. I'm financially independent now, I have a car and a license and I've dealt with a lot of my problems on my own. I still have many lingering problems but I don't think you'd have to repair me as much. We could have a relationship based on mutual love more than need. After everything, wouldn't it feel like the world’s greatest victory? It would to me anyway. I'm just appealing to you on the chance that we could try to make it work. If it was my choice we'd never stop trying. Ok, I've been long-winded. It feels super good to talk to you. I hope against hope that this isn't the last time.

[tmiquotepage]

I REALLY Need Advice

(LONG post, but I appreciate any feedback you guys can offer me here!)

I currently work as a babysitter for three wonderful children for the summer. They are 7, 10, and 13. I used to watch them before school during the school year, and I watched them for Spring Break as well. The parents got a divorce not long after I started working for them, and so the kids travel back and forth between two apartments five minutes apart. That's the gist of the background.

Now, normally, my fee for babysitting, especially for 3 kids, is $10/hr. The hours I agreed to at the beginning of the summer were 6 am until 3 pm. (I also live 30 minutes away, but my hour of commuting and my gas were never on the table for reimbursement.) Well, the mom asked me on Spring Break if, since I would be watching the kids for 8 weeks, we could do $300 a week, as $450 would get "quite expensive after 8 weeks" (like, yeah. Individualized care for kids is expensive. If you want cheaper, put em in a camp or daycare. Jesus.). I got her to raise that amount to $350, because $300 for 45 hours a week is highway robbery and less than minimum wage. I wouldn’t be able to afford my car and the gas to move this summer. Okay. That was settled.

Summer time rolls around and, at the end of the school year, the mom gets a new boyfriend, who immediately moves in with her. We'll talk about this dude later, because WHEW. Anyway, despite the fact that this dude is constantly hungover and/or day drinking and/or sleeping, the mom decides he is an adequate babysitter for the kids a few days a week. So, my schedule becomes completely confusing (as in, the mom will literally wait until 10 pm the night before to tell me whether or not she needs me the next day, whether she wants me to come in late, etc.). Keep in mind, even though we said "$350 a week," I am really getting paid $70/day. Which is the same thing. Unless you get told at last minute that you aren't needed for the three days of the week the mom has the kids with her boyfriend, in which case, it's only $140. So, I am already having issues with how much I am getting paid BEFORE I get into the shit show that is the family dynamic I have to work with.

Now, let's talk about the family. I'll obviously give codenames, not real names, because I'm not a monster. We'll start with the parents, Popeye (Dad) and Diva (Mom).

Popeye is a good dad. Works hard, doesn't make a ton of money, but always spends what he has on his kids. His apartment has more kids toys than signs of being a bachelor pad. He works hard, hasn't seen anyone since the divorce. His primary focus has ALWAYS been his kids. He cooks dinner for them almost every night (eating out is MAD rare. He's a really good cook.) He is ex-Navy, so he can be a bit strict. He doesn't accept mouthing off or being rude, but he also isn't mean. I have never seen him yell at his children or get angry. He is completely in control of his emotions around them. He's not a huge hardass about censoring his kids either. He'll let them listen to explicit rap music, play war video games with the kids. He's careful, but not overprotective. He is a balanced, comfortable, imperfect but loving parent

And then there's Diva™️. Diva is an Australian transplant who has a master's degree in the art of giving facials. She is all about pristine living, Michael Kors jackets, and acting way more rich and perfect than she is (though she has a LOT more money than Popeye). Acts like she is God's gift to all mankind. She has a boyfriend, who we will call JT, that she puts above all else - including her 3 children. Dinner at her house is almost always take out because, as her 10 year old tells me, she knows how to cook, but badly, and she's just too lazy to do it. She runs her own business, is constantly looking for groupons for the kids to use. Or rather, looks for cheap things "kids their age" would like. I am convinced she knows nothing about her children's likes and dislikes. Their rooms are her house are sterile and clean and don't have much feeling. Whenever things are out of place, she makes them clean it up and chastises them because "they are old enough to know better." She acts the part of the nurturing, caring, all-natural mother, but her eyes and words are always cool and sharp as a blade. She, the small woman I could probably break like a toothpick, scares me more than the buff retired navy father or the ex-con she has living with her and her children. I get the feeling, from the way the kids talk about her, that they have the same fears as I do.

As a tack on the end of the adult descriptions, allow me to tell you the bit I know about JT, the mom's boyfriend. He is significantly younger than her, halfway between the ages of her and her 13 year old daughter. He is a hot head. No job. Sleeps most of the day. Often leave the apartment reeking of booze. Often hungover. Has been in jail before, though I am unsure as to what he was arrested for. From what the kids said, I believe it was some sort of assault, burglary, or armed robbery. He occasionally cooks the meals at the house, which means the kids are at least getting a little bit of non-fast-food when they stay there (or, as the mom puts it, when they “visit.” They apparently don't “live” there. They visit, like you might visit a grandparent.). He has a daughter that is 10 years old, who also lives with him at Diva's house when she isn't with her mom. JT is confrontational with Diva's 10 year old boy, which I'll talk about later. I never feel comfortable when he is around, because he seems misogynistic (he called his daughter a ho for wearing yoga pants out to play) and always looks like he's ready to start a fight. Even though he and the mom are just dating, he already acts like a stepdad to Diva's kid, and he is NOT the good kind. When the kids do something he doesn't like, he will call Diva and tell her to chastise and punish the children. Occasionally, he even gives them punishments like grounding them for three weeks, even though he has ZERO authority to do so. Diva always takes his side in arguments.

On to the kids. Diva and Popeye have three: Uni (13), Pathfinder (10), and Sharknado (7). JT has one daughter, Mellie (10).

Uni is the most mature of the kids. She is a very talented artist who has been dealing really well with the divorce, as she surrounds herself with friends, a positive attitude, and creative outlets, like skateboarding and drawing. She cooks for herself often, and easily adapts to whichever situation she is in. It rarely ever feels like a chore to watch her when we go somewhere. She helps with the boys when I am swamped, occasionally, and knows how to calm the youngest's tantrums. The only real issue I have with her is when she and the middle child get in arguments and she tried to mother him and chastise him. It doesn't go well.

Next up, we have Pathfinder. Pathfinder is a 10 year old boy, the middle child. He plays video games very well, and has a soft heart which he will show when you prove he can trust you. He is, by far, the best dancer and beat spitter in the whole family, and he is proud of the fact. Pathfinder has a few behavioral issues where he will lie, and push boundaries every once in a while. He gets heated when playing video games, and often plays way too roughly and/or doesn't share with his little brother. Pathfinder, however, I understand more than I think I used to. He is a middle child with a sick younger brother and an older sister who wants nothing to do with him. He gets bullied at school and doesn’t make friends easily. He is starting to show early signs of major depression. Perhaps most importantly, Pathfinder is not taking the divorce well. More specifically, he clashes like hell with Diva's boyfriend. JT often picks fights with him and gets in his face. JT constantly feels the need to assert authority over Pathfinder and intimidate him. Pathfinder has shared with me that he never feels comfortable staying with JT. He begs me to take him to his dad's, to get him out of the apartment whenever possible. A few weeks ago, he stood up for himself to the boyfriend. JT gog in his face and yelled at him, then grounded him off all electronics (which, let's be honest, was because he wanted to play Pathfinder's Xbox at Diva's apartment without Pathfinder telling him no, because he's the one that got it for his birthday). When Pathfinder told his dad that he didn't want to go to his mom's anymore, the mother called the kid while we were at the store getting supplies for a craft project to tell him he was grounded for longer and that she was now going to shave his hair that he's been growing out for two years because he isn't respecting her boyfriend. She told me he wasn't allowed to even do our craft or watch TV. He could “sit on the couch and twiddle his thumbs" all day. (I eventually said fuck it and let him do whatever he wanted because we were at Popeye's place, and I could see that this kid was positively distraught.) He is STILL grounded, 3 weeks later. Yesterday, JT came out of his bedroom while the kids were talking, got in Pathfinder's face and started calling him gay because his shorts were sagging a bit. I took Pathfinder to Popeye's because he was shaken at the altercation, and told his mom what happened. Her ONLY response was “[Pathfinder]’s main problem is that he can't take direction or obey adults, and he needs to work on that.” What's worse about this situation is this kid has since told me (since he knows I am gay and proud and accepting) that he feels like he might be bisexual. He doesn't feel like he’d be safe if his mom and JT found out he is interested in a boy in his class. Pathfinder has openly stated that he hates his life, dreads staying at his mom's place, feels completely alone, thinks no one loves him. He barely calls her “mom" anymore. He has said that, if she goes through with shaving his head, he will never call her “mom” again, and will basically disown her as his mother. Keep in mind with all this shit that this child is 10. Ten years old and already a god damned nearly suicide risk, judging by his words and behavior lately. I had a meltdown yesterday when I realized this much because, unless this kid get serious help, he could very easily be just another name on the news in the coming years, and that breaks my heart.

Finally, we have the youngest child of Popeye and Diva, Sharknado. Sharknado is seven. Sharknado is a total trainwreck in the behavioral department. This kid has an adrenal insufficiency that means he is reliant on a steroid the way a diabetic is reliant on insulin. He is a bit more prone to disease than other kids. As a result, the mother babies the ever-loving shit out of him. She lets him get away with absolutely everything, and blames Pathfinder if they are ever in an argument. Tells Pathfinder he has to be gentle with his little brother. As a result of this parenting, Sharknado is a MAJOR tantrum thrower, even at age seven. If we are not playing the game he wants to play, the screaming and stomping starts. If he is losing, the screaming and stomping starts. If we are not actively paying attention to him, he will scream and make a spectacle of himself. Where the mother loves seeing that Pathfinder has an issue taking direction from adults, she is blind to the fact that her youngest is exponentially worse. When we go to the store, he runs off. When we go out to do something, he is instantly bored. When I tell him not to touch things in the store, he thinks it is funny to grab it an run away from me. If he is in any way unhappy, he will drop onto the floor and start screaming. Even in public (bowling alley, the zoo). Rules just do not apply to him, and he is positively dumbfounded when you try to correct this behavior through punishment (like taking away a toy, or banning video games for the day). We played the quiet game one day where all winner would get a dollar when we got back (because I had a headache and it was an hour drive and they just kept arguing). He talked the entire ride home, and the others didn't. They got a dollar each, he didn't. He pitched the biggest fit, pounding on the floor screaming, hiding under the bed, saying he wished he was dead because I was being so mean to him. He is always yelling about “fairness" when you tell him “no.” I don't think he actually knows what the word means. Sharknado is a nightmare who never listens and screams his head off on a daily basis, louder when I tell him to stop. And yet the mom has never threatened to chop his locks off. He is her perfect angel.

Lastly, I'll introduce you to Mellie, JT's daughter. She is 10. She is kind and generally respectful, which I assume comes from her mother's side. She is a daddy's girl, however, and so takes on her father's qualities when it comes to his treatment of Diva's kids. She's best friends with Uni, which is great, because Uni needed a girl friend to hang out with during the summer. She let’s Sharknado win in games and babies him. And, of course, she constantly belittles and picks fights with Pathfinder. This week was the first week I was babysitting her as well, so I don’t know much more than that.

So here's my main problem (yeah, all the above was essentially preface. That's the stuff I am USED to putting up with for barely minimum wage). This week, I watched the kids at Popeye's apartment Monday and Friday, with the rest of the days at Diva's. JT was at Diva's, but he is unable to travel, I guess, and two of the kids had dentist appointments two of the days. So, I went. At Diva's request, I came in later at 10 am on Tuesday and Wednesday, then 7:30 am in Thursday. On Tuesday, the kids were having a pillow fight in the apartment at, like, 1 pm, which apparently woke JT up, so he came lumbering out of the bedroom, snatched up the Xbox controller Pathfinder was using to find a YouTube video, and yelled at everyone – Mellie included – to get dressed and go play outside. I was then (without ever being asked) babysitting a fourth child outside with my three. We ended up going to the pool all three days, too, by the way. Three days with 4 kids in a pool. I stayed an hour late the first day, and an hour and a half late yesterday, too, because I came in late. I drove the kids to their appointments, and also made 4 different trips to and from Popeye's apartment to retrieve things for the children, and I drove the girls around to gather ingredients for their bake sale. Keep in kind, it was nearly 50 miles just with the kids in my car (not counting my commute or anything) that I was not getting reimbursed for. I also went and spent $60 on pool toys for the kids (including Mellie), because I love them and want them to have a great time. I spent personal money, knowing I wouldn't get reimbursed. But here's the kicker. When I contacted Diva to ask about adjusted payment to include the fourth child, she just said (I swear I could literally hear venom dripping from her teeth) “of course I won't short you for those days, even though you came in late. You will get the full $350 we agreed on.” Basically, even though she is already paying me peanuts, she assumes the fourth child is covered by the extra hours in the day I didn't come in. As if I shouldn't be getting paid at least $70/day, regardless of what hours I work, because even that is barely acceptable for the job I do. I should also mention that she and the dad split the childcare costs. So, if she really is saying the rest of that $350 completely covers the cost of a fourth kid, that means Popeye is shelling out childcare costs for his ex-wife's boyfriend's daughter.

So that's my situation right now. I just want advice, you guys. Should I stay, leave, ask for more per week? I mean, the thing is, I know the dad will pay more if I ask, but he's already spread pretty thin with the income. Diva is the one who always asks me to cart the kids places and has me watching extra kids and do extra stuff like crafts with them, and she’s the one who makes so much money, but she's the one who is being stingy and not giving me what I deserve. It bugs me. I just need advice on future steps, guys. I love these kids, and I don't want to just leave and have them think it was something they did wrong, but I am at the end of my mental rope. What do I do here?

[the-uptake]

Something-Something Full Empty

The Uptake, The world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds. Book 2, Chapter 3. Go to previous. I never said ‘Choly was a rational creature. TWs: Poisoning, attempted lust suicide, symphorophilia minutiae, hard emeto, joint trauma.

_________________________________

Leaving Cecil to sleep, 'Choly rolled off the mattress into the floor, and stood again. With damp hair, he walked on his knees over to the microwave perched on a cardboard box. From one of the food boxes in the floor, he pulled a food-meal bar. In his horridly over-loved armchair, he peeled down the wrapper and ate quietly, washing down the pebbly, vaguely flavored junk with the rest of his room temperature vodka coffee from earlier. His face soured. Neither the bar nor the coffee revolted him individually--but those of more frail constitutions should not consume them together. But, he persisted toward polishing off the easy-access, high-protein substance that would help soak up a bit of his encroaching hangover without waking his boyfriend.

While he snacked with the reader in his lap, legs up with his feet up in the seat with him, he continued browsing for more Wolfrin information. He’d most likely find Wolfrin in the Quarter somewhere on Level 1, since Levels 2 and 3 saw less chemical dumping and more solids. And he could most likely slip past EPA’s barricades near where the buildings functioned as support columns for the downtown off ramp from the Bayonne Bridge.

A morsel fell off the bar down his tank top, and he fished it out and ate it absently.

Drafting a mental laundry list trapped him in a loop of thought for a spell. No matter how much either of them wished it, ‘Choly genuinely had almost zero experience with chasing verbot--or truffling, for that matter--and this whole thing smacked of ridiculous parody. He tossed the bar wrapper in the waste bin under the TV tray. It had crushed him in a very real way that night, to finally admit his financial infirmities to Cecil, and despite Cecil’s supportive response to the confession, in this forming illicit act existed an opportunity to prove that 'Choly deserved his admiration.

His peculiar spontaneity had attracted Cecil, hadn’t it? The dreg glanced down at the fresh tattoo on his right forearm, a simple clean monochrome style, a triangular sigil divided by an inverted ray of swords. He took another drink, and sighed. Ink excited his boyfriend, an indicative tongue of rebellious fire which imparted its language upon the skin. He’d gotten the design at encountering Cecil’s enthusiasm (the librarian himself porting two intricate tattoo sleeves), and had come close to touching up his dye job. It felt so... fake, as though he couldn’t trust his identity to hold up to scrutiny should it meet any. He’d lived his life surrounded by verbot, but he wasn’t really a chaser.

But he could chase. Couldn’t he? Certainly a sorter could wander off the cadre floor in pursuit of the black market lifelines that pulsed out from it. That’s how he found the hard drive in the first place, after all. Sorter 101: test all data technologies for improper disc wipes. But, to step out of the cadre and into the yards... That was another creature entirely.

He checked his messaging service one more time for Revenant. When he still found his friend offline, he hovered over the username to see he’d last logged in thirteen days ago. Rev usually stayed logged on, bare minimum away or idle, and ‘Choly took notice just how long it had been since his friend had last logged on. He reassured himself with the affirmation that if Rev couldn’t be raised to join in the fun, that he’d just have to play catch-up later. But...

You’d never really do that.

‘Choly shifted to slouch to one side in the chair, then immediately to the other. He bit at his centred labret ring. The thing is, he would really do that. Abandon help him, should he ever locate any of the Geek’s... elephant’s feet he described in coitus not an hour before. In the past, only the barrier of reality and proximity had ever stopped him from acting on any of these impulses. Substances which could transfigure someone beyond the human condition simply had not existed, and now they existed, and they existed in his city. A twisting radiochemical kismet had manifested a new and unexplored realm of potential metagenesis, and he couldn’t deny her.

There was a chance he could, in the attempt to mod the system, brick it. But, the risks that came with unprecedented payout only heightened the appeal. Everything about the attempt, he calculated beforehand, arcane and obscene in its own right. Every article, every action, held in it a certain power over him. In that moment of machination, the fantasy-becoming-reality seized him to his core.

He outright lacked compunction for any real safety in the endeavor--only ritual and circumstance had a home in him tonight. The only industrial gear he owned was his BLT, likely his most expensive belonging. Inlaid with backlighting and translucent digital display, the curved clear acrylic full-face visor-tech provided its wearer a customized vision aid and variably hands-free Web access. Sorters predominantly had them for jotting invoice notes, and some models even had edges outfitted with inline respirator film which could filter e-waste dust particulate. His visor and cutout work gloves would suffice to brave the hazardous waste quarantine. Not that any of that mattered once he got to the prize.

A subtle rummage through the pile of clothing beside the bed netted him a black t-shirt, his hybrid denim skinnies, and a pair of socks. Donning the change of clothes, he swallowed his nerves, then slicked down his bangtails to either side of his face and put on his BLT halo over them and pulled down the glass. Cecil had not yet stirred a bit, and as the pale chartreuse visor calibrated to his prescription, ‘Choly smiled to himself in a distant ache that crawled into anticipation.

With the visor running, he could then strap on his black work boots and confirm the contents of his clear sidebag: his glasses, in the off chance the visor acted up, and chapstick, wallet of cardkeys and cred, and his reader. A variety of smuggling vessels had graced his fantasies, but carried off-site in a see-through bag, no success seemed so viable as with his tippling cane. He shivered as he put on his slim knee-length coat just thinking about following through with it, and grabbing his cane from the umbrella stand, slipped out of the apartment unnoticed.

Not many buses ran this late at night going down from Level 5, and he appreciated the bone conduction nodes in the halo of his BLT to burn the good next half hour waiting at the bus stop with music. Favoring the organic shoegaze loaded in his reader with cubes, he resisted the compulsion to stream music to save bandwidth. Once his ride arrived, the lonely transit passed quickly with no stops along the way, and he continued scheming and re-scheming the exact minutiae of his task uninterrupted.

He got off on Level 3. After a certain hour, the free public lifts charged a third-cred per level, and he happily resigned to waving his toll pass upon entry to the empty lift to fork over the full cred it would cost. Upon stepping foot off the lift at Level 1, he turned off his music and focused fully on his errand.

The residential sector of the Quarter came alive at sunset with the typical ambient discord of various yelling. It struck an unusual chord in the stalker, to descend to ground level by lift to find the stalking yards themselves so eerily silent, accompanied only by the sound of his limp gait. Bustling traffic aped distantly above him against the solipsistic dimensions of the area. Passing by some blocks, he heard the occasional dripping, or the echo of vehicles in reverse. Subconsciously, he knew the latter meant more waste dumping belied the quarantine, for its inhabitants to discover come morning.

‘Choly savored entering a space the federal officials had declared unsafe, and that his low-grade BLT filtration would likely only do so much. No accounting for air quality in a place like this, after all. Stalkers had reasons they didn’t even eat in their own homes, and only dined in the commercial district abutting it. Yet, federal bullying had instated this quarantine, this exclusion zone. The stalkers hadn’t asked for this. They’d never asked for any of this. Even just a year ago, he’d have met no resistance venturing where he did now; but tonight, he remained vigilant for EPA employees who might try to stop him.

First, the government had to deny him the right to grafting by banning the splicing drug Vekarix before medicine had advanced far enough to permit more than just mammal, marsupial, and reptile compatibility. Bullshit insect politics. He still sometimes regretted trying to be patient, now that he couldn’t even settle on something lesser. But now, with the Wolfrin, the government sought to deny him the right to knot up his genetics like some kind of saccharine, fractal klein bottle. They were his genes, and he wouldn’t have it to let them tell him what he could and couldn’t do with them.

The dreg did his best to skirt a different path, anytime he noticed generator spotlights or vehicles that stood out as non-native. At a dead end just Southwest of the residential area fashioned from abandoned factory buildings, he glanced out over the waterfront reflecting the lights of higher levels, and steeled himself. The loose quarantine of all three lowest Levels started at 87th Street and extended just past 99th down through the foundations of the Bayonne Bridge, from the shores of Newark Bay to the West all the way East to Route 440. Almost the entire Quarter, but not quite. He embarked across the street, and with buildings only to one side, not even the sound of his cane accompanied him, replaced by the waterfront current. A yard cordoned off with caution tape greeted him. Unlike the typical chemical dumping yard, rather than scattered unceremoniously, hundreds of drums had been arranged neatly, as though sorted by contents. Two figures in white hazmat suits guarded the locked fence, so he wandered the perimeter until he found a point at which the rust of fluctuating water levels had peeled the chain-link wires from the support pipe. He could not feasibly scale the fence, so through the narrow gap in it he went.

He had a lot of reasons to avoid truffling.

Only limited but effective use of generator spotlights illuminated this particular yard, set on key haystacks of drums. He looked side to side in awe. A combination of water and a saturation of leaking chemicals thickened the damp soil, which possessed an ungodly industrial stench that cut through even the BLT filters and thrilled ‘Choly wild. The elements had rusted off the labels of many of the drums, their contents now unknown without cracking them open. These contents, for many of them, had trickled from cracks and crusted upon their exteriors. He licked his lips eagerly with a knitted brow, at the thought of the technicolor landscape this must have been by broad daylight.

Distracted by near-synesthesia, his cane sank in too deep in the slurried soil and compromised his footing. He stumbled and planted face-first in the noxious mud, and his cane resounded against a drum. The two on-duty EPA workers immediately approached to investigate the potential for an intruder, and he panicked at hearing the gates open. The muck smearing his visor blinded him, and though he grappled for his cane and kicked at the mud in vain, attempts to stand only successfully doused himself further in noxious muck. Tears streaking hot, he planted a filthy gloved palm flush to his mouth under his BLT at the awareness he’d hyperextended his knee in the fall. Adrenaline propelled him to a hiding place in the middle of an arrangement of drums. A stink that reminded of battery acid enveloped him. Deer-eyed, he raked mud from his visor and crouched in a mixture of agony and intensity, and watched as the beams of two flashlights cased the area. One guard ultimately informed the other that the sound must have been a drum giving into chemical pressure, and that they’d investigate more thoroughly once they had the daylight, and then they returned to their post outside the gate.

Once alone again, ‘Choly tried to stand back up, this time forced to rely on his cane with a fully bad-off leg. He unzipped his coat a bit and took a mouthful of fabric between his teeth from the shoulder of his shirt, and bore down hard on the leg to reset it. Stifling a scream into a viscous nasal sputter, he ended up biting through the garment. He only consciously ignored the taste of mud, shock-induced drooling joining the mess of substances splattered and smeared on him. Vacuously he wiped his mouth with the back of his glove, and continued onward.

He stopped at one cordoned off haystack of drums, eyeing how the leakage glowed a furious antifreeze green in the moonlight. Though the precise and biting stench of rotten flowers, he couldn’t pinpoint the metallic odor. He stood there for some time in slack disbelief how easily he had arrived here. Surely this substance had caused all the media chaos. Trembling, he held up the tape with his cane and skimmed the faces of the drums for what little details remained. He squinted at faded white ink on glossy black surfaces. 1,4-dimethyl-2,3-fluoro-dieldrin. Before tonight, he’d known it only by a handful of trade names. Drinaflux. Wolfrin. Fluxeldrin. Though it did not appear notably caustic, the drums leaked from bluish iridescent crystalline scabs. He couldn’t read the warning diamond save the 4 on the blue health field.

He whet his lips and in both hands gripped the lever-locked ring poorly securing the lid to the open-head drum. He nearly doubled over it, enraptured by proximity, and licked at his teeth with a sneering, ragged breath. He hinged up his visor in favor of leaving as little between him and the experience of the prize, and he wafted readily of the nauseous and overwhelmingly metallic bouquet of the corrosion-halo. The stuff pooled around his uneven footprints from other adjacent drums. He frowned to unstick himself from the soft shoreline sediment so he could begin his work with surer footing.

‘Choly unscrewed the handle of his cane and tucked it in one coat side pocket, then carefully shook out all four glass vials it could carry and deposited them in the opposite pocket. He did not think to bring mechanical tools with him, and no amount of prying dislodged the lever of the corroded lid-ring. The attempt did, however, coax a crack to leak more readily, and he hurriedly unscrewed a vial to catch the liquid serendipity as it dripped out. Once filled, he slid the resealed vial into the cane, then followed with another.

Caught up in the delirium of success and fumes, he lost reality long enough not to recognize the workers approached on another perimeter scouting. Frantic at the wet smack of their heavy footsteps, he cried in desperation that the chemical wouldn’t pour any faster. He couldn’t leave without a full empty--he couldn’t. The two guards grabbed him and dragged him back as he shakily reaffixed the handle of his cane.

“You punk! Abandon you doin’ in here?”

“I--”

“This place’s giftwrapped with yellow tape for a reason, kid.”

“I-- I’m not--” He modulated his breathing. “I had t’see for myself the slag’s goin’ on. That’s the stuff, yeah? That’s what’s makin’ everybody sick as sin.” He tried to wag a finger at the haystack, but met silence as each guard hooked one of his arms in one of theirs, insisting his exit. “Hh-- hey! Answer me!”

The two workers tossed him out into the street. His cane clattered to the pavement and his bag crunched beneath him. He curled into himself after impact, and stared at his cane as dead-still as he could from where he lay coddling his knee and seething through his teeth.

“Abandon’s wrong with that kid.” The two of them returned inside the fence and locked it. “Obviously got health problems. The cane and all. Still climbing all over a yard like this. In the dark.”

“That’s a Stalker for you, man.” The other scoffed at ‘Choly, but after that their conversation fell too distant to overhear.

He sniffed away the mucus and twitched, aching all over and encrusted in chemical-saturated mud. Once he’d recovered enough from the fall, he reclaimed his prize. Disbelief stole his breath, of what he’d managed, his eyes thrown wide with delight. Holy slagging shit. It worked.

With bated breath, he sat up and pulled into his lap his cane, and his bag from under him. Unzipping the bag, he inspected the reader with relief, only to learn the crunch had been his glasses. A detached grope at his BLT pulled the visor back down with lighthearted resignation. He stood again to limp away before the workers had second thoughts about just letting him walk away. If the glasses were the only loss tonight, he’d succeeded in spades.

As he shambled along the dilapidated block, ‘Choly gawked at the cane he carried rather than used, in too much shock from his stupid success to ease his horrendous limp. He slipped into an alleyway once outside the quarantine proper, and leaned against a brick wall to catch his breath and rest his bad leg. If he ever slagged up a knee, it was the left one, wasn’t it. The sheer rush of the experience alone dampened the pain--but without fail, he’d more than feel it come morning.

He slid down the wall and sat. The impact of hitting the concrete might have shattered any of the flasks, and he scrambled to unscrew the handle back off to expose its contents. This expedited consequence agitated his aches to the surface at last. He shook out the vials one at a time, and set them in his lap with each confirmed in tact. Most of the chemical’s bizarre glow had faded, the stuff now more resembling the glaze of antifreeze on pavement. He gritted his teeth with a ragged breath and sniffed what had escaped the threads of the cap, to a gag reflex. The bouquet of rotten cut flowers had only intensified. He put the cautious tip of his tongue to the edge of the cap, and recoiled in a delighted revulsion at the mere taste.

Here and now, ‘Choly had to follow this idiotic series of bad ideas through to completion. He couldn’t take it home, to partake in private. Cecil would try to talk him out of it.

The copper cast of the nearest street light lay too far away from him for benefit. In the dark, he pulled out his reader and initialized his flashlight again to survey the site of his metagenesis. At this point he realized his battery had sunk to a sliver--he’d written for some time before coming down here. Too, he’d inadvertently left on his data all the while he’d researched his crown-stuffs--checking his usage statistics, he’d run out of non-Web data altogether, including minutes. He’d soon have no artificial light in the privacy of the alley, and if this went badly, he couldn’t call for help. He hadn’t even told anyone where he’d gone. Not that he had any reception from where he sat in the dank space between the two once-warehouses. The possibility he’d be helpless to the chemical’s aftermath only excited him further. It would have full control over him until it finished with him.

He swallowed hard, the oiliness of the glass tube an entirely too-pleasant sensation. It felt bitter. The chemical adopted that strange characteristic glow again, presumably from the temperature of skin contact. He emptied his splints and gloves into his bag along with his reader, allowing the dim glow of the metagen in his lap to light his endeavor.

Metagen. His mind reeled with the thought of his body wrecked asunder and rebuilt in another design. He wondered how instantaneous metagenesis might be, what method most fast-acting. From the start he hadn’t planned on having enough of the stuff to go with skin contact, so he proceeded with ingestion. He’d be the first to undergo metagenesis by drinking Wolfrin. Would he turn out as well, or even better than, the Geek? How many metahumans had this stuff even created? He’d soon join them. He unscrewed a flask and pocketed the cap, locked in metaskepsis, then let his nostrils drink deep of Wolfrin’s suppurate stink. He held it to his lips, and licked what the wet threads had transferred onto them, and he choked a bit on the potency of the rotten, metallic taste of the stuff, even more biting than the smell. His nose crinkled at the initial experience to steel himself, and he went bottoms-up.

Reflexively, he flung the flask across the alley. It shattered on the concrete. His hands shot to his mouth, eyes and nostrils watering as he immediately choked on vomit. His writhing echoed in the empty space, and he grew delirious on potential consequences. The entire length of his throat burned. He barely managed to down a second flask. The Wolfrin now coated his stomach lining. Another attempt at upheaval seized him up, and a moan shook deep in his lungs. Rhetoric only spurred him further, and he blindly grasped to cup himself through tears, his grip so weak between infirmity, illness, and exhaustion. Stifling a third dry heave, he drained the third flask, and the fourth chased quickly after. He blacked out as the toxins took hold, the delirious onset of an Erebus of nightmares. He dreamed himself melting to all abandon to soak into the asphalt, that he dissolved in entirety before reduced to atoms then recompiled by the catalytic substance he’d imbibed.

The city awoke before he did. After daybreak he sat up, shaky, and rubbed his head scruff with a groan. Clammy all over, he shuddered from a coating of morning mist and dust. He eventually noticed the blood splatter on the ground beside where he’d laid, and automatically wiped his nose and mouth. He didn’t pair the observation to the action until he saw the back of his hand, and snapped awake in arousal. Though his head reverberated with a lead-deep ache, his entire body throbbed to its tempo, and he writhed.

He knew Cecil would be livid with him for this--but he’d acclimate to having a meta around, wouldn’t he? The notion had him face-down in his blood spill in an instant, running his fingertips through its dark, still-damp stain.

“Oh slag--” he ground even more insistently against the ground, “--his meta. Gonna be-- hiS META--”

Nausea overwhelmed him again, and he coughed a spatter of blood. The clamminess, he realized, came more from a sick sweat, but this only aroused him further. The last thing he imagined before passing out again was his body in wretched, retching upheaval as it rejected everything it had rendered obsolete.

[wordsfromme4]

Between the ages of 17-21, Instead of doing my life exactly as I wanted. I settled and stupidly adopted an “adult” mentality to just settle and take life and deal. I didn’t want to burden my family, pretty much my mom and sister, because I was very well aware of the fact that I came from a low income single parent household. My first job was the catalyst for a horrible traumatic spiral of pain and misery for my life, that I then lost my way for so long. I lost my sense of self confidence, ambitions, everything. I let myself stay while trying to find something else, at only the age of 18, where honestly at that age I should’ve been able to be as fickle and childlike as anyone should be able to. I was still young, and I should’ve allowed myself to be. So I spent months until in desperation, when the first new job came my way, I took it and bolted out from that horrid place because that was the adult thing to do. I didn’t know that one can leave a job without a back up if the job is that painful for one to work at. So now I’m at the 2nd job, and it turned out to be a nightmare for me as well. Not in the same exact as the first, but I have trauma from it too. On top of the fact that, they fired me due to my inability to perform as a top employee during the probation period. However, if im being fair, I really tried. The first month of my working there, I was still trying to adjust myself to the new job and new format on top still trying to heal from the prior months of trauma, so I wasn’t always on time. They only allowed for a 2 minute grace period and I had came from a job that was so dysfunctional, they didn’t care what time you came in because they were always going to ask me to stay an extra hour or so past my time anyway. I was never horrendously late, anywhere between 10-30 minutes would occur. Yet, I would almost always stay anywhere between 30 minutes to an 1 and a half even past the time I was scheduled for. So of course now coming into a new job, I had to fix this pattern but it took me a little time. I started to adjust afterwards but by the end of the 3rd month I ran into a new issue where I was going back to school for the fall semester and I had numerous instances in the week for about 3 weeks where I either had a call out or lateness because I could no longer do the original schedule they gave me when they hired me for the summer. Finally by about the end of September after haggling them about it and reminding them and just back and fourth they gave me an appropriate schedule I could work with but a few days later, after evaluating my performance overall, they fired me. That devastated  me, because 1, who wants to get fired from a job and 2, I already had so much Trauma from the earlier months within that year. so I fervently searched for a new job while stretching the financial aid check during the last couple of months of 2012. I didn’t want to look irresponsible or childish or go a long period without a job to then have to rely on my mother or sister to financially take care of me and for them to feel bothered or burdened by it. So I was jumping for joy, when once more the first job that called me in for interview, offered me the job. Duane Reade was meant to be temporary, a job to help me get back on my feet after 2012 was a year of horrible experiences. ( One more horrible experience happened at the end of that year but it’s not job related so I won’t go into the details. Once again, I struggled adjusting. My main focus was school, especially since the fall semester was such a prosperous one for me. I received all A’s and made the dean’s list and it made me feel so good, like I was my old self still. Anyway, the first few months were tumultuous  handling my spring 2013 semester( which was a fairly decent one, I still made dean’s list) and had fieldwork during the day to do for the one education class I had taken. The staff was okay for the most part, I was grateful that they weren’t hood and horrible like the staff at my first job. I had an interview for bath and body works in the fall of that year and I was almost in and everything, the manager just needed my managerial reference to come through. I had kennedy ( the one decent manager I had from burger king) on there, however, he kept not picking up the phone. She asked if I had another manager possibly to speak to, and of course century was out of the question. something in me felt like I couldn’t really use them since they were the ones that fired me and also because I didn’t really have a manager there, I had like 8 managers and not one that actually knew me. So I used my current head manager, and although he talked me up and secured me the job, he stabbed me in the back shortly after. He bought up my wanting to leave and convinced me to stay. I already had the hardship or my last two jobs, especially Century, that I feared possibly being out of work. He seriously made me fear leaving and said that they might not work with my school schedule, and that once I leave, I cant come back to this store. So I conceded because he was a selfish jerk.... staff wise...  There was a girl there who really had a mood swing issue that made it difficult to work with her at times, as well as an shift leader/assistant manager who I strongly disliked for his childlike demeanor, insensitivity and just overall eww-ness. I will never forget how on one particular day I had diarrhea and instead of allowing me to go home after telling him I wasn’t feeling well, he sent home another co-worker of mine for either not being prepared for work that day or for disrespect. So you would rather keep a sick employee at work and send a unprepared and/or disrespectful one home? I hated conflict so much, so me speaking up more than the two times that I did, wasn’t something I was trying to do. So I grin and bared through the day. Guess what happened that night? About maybe an half an hour or an hr before my shift was done, I accidentally had a little accident and had some poop in my underwear from a leak that came out before I could make it to the bathroom. So that night with uncomfortable underwear on, I hurried home. And in the midst of the bus ride to my house, my phone was stolen. Normally, I would’ve been sitting down and or on my phone but I didn’t even want to sit on the bus or on the train ride before the bus because of my underwear being soiled. In a moment of vulnerability, where I had just quickly slipped my phone from my bag pocket and placed it back in the side pocket, a guy was behind me and slipped it out and walked out the back door in less than 2 minutes. And just like that my phone was gone after a horrid day at work. That should’ve told me to leave that store, but I kept the fear of a new job either not working with my schedule or possibly being a problematic job and firing me, that I stayed. Around the end of 2015, more so going into the 2016, I met a person who unfortunately stole the last flickers of light I had left in me. In 2016 I was still okay, almost done finally, with college and trying to just wrap that up and once I wrapped that up I knew I was going to leave the store once and for all. But here he comes along with his sad stories and made me feel so much pity and sorrow for him, I ended up being with him for four years. And I suffered for 3 and a half of those years. And even now, with 3-4 months of no longer being with him, I still suffer from all the ways he stole time, health and piece of mind from me. The last 8-9 years of my life, have been filled with so much trauma and hardship I don’t have it in me anymore. I have so much anxiety and lack of enthusiasm for my life. I spend every day angry and sad at what has become of my life. And I apologize to my 16 year old self everyday. I’ve also realized I have many half assed, bare minimum and toxic friends and family. So hooray for me. It’s so hard because there is so much that I want to do, so much that I wanted to be. And I had ambition and independence since I was a teenager. I even volunteered by myself in the summer of my sophomore year of high school for a food pantry when most kids at 15 were probably trying to find guys to have their first time with and get the newest clothes and electronics. 

Now I have all this damage, health conditions, and teeth and mouth trauma, all of which could’ve been avoided.

Life sucks.

[notyetaskywalker]

Fanfiction: Life Days

Title: Life Days Rating: General Word Count: 4251 Pairing: Reylo Summary: Rey and Ben's Life Days through the years.

Can be read on AO3 or on FF.net or under the cut.  I accept prompts for this pairing. Just leave me a message in my askbox.

Rey awoke to the sound of two voices echoing through the corridors of her home. Her parents arguing were nothing special, she was used to it. Still, there was something about this current argument that was different.

She crawled out of the bunk bed that she slept in and tried to sneak her way into the galley of the ship they called their home, the most common scene of her parents’ quarrels. As creaky as their cruiser was, Rey’s footsteps had no sound as she made her way towards the voices.

“We can’t afford to feed her anymore,” the deeper of the two voices said. “She’s getting bigger and bigger, consuming more portions than we can spare!”

“She’s our child!” the higher pitched voice said. “See some reason. We can’t possibly just dump her.”

“We sell her.”

There was a heavy silence that followed. Whatever her parents were arguing about, it was settled. This was usually the time Rey would pop out and get her parents smiling at each other again, however something, a force, compelled her to stay put.

“To Unkar. He’ll treat her well enough.”

That was her mother. She sounded sad, like she was losing something. Rey couldn’t wrap her head around why her mother would be upset. Rey could piece together enough to understand that it was about food. They had enough to eat, barely. But they made do.

Her parents were scavengers. Whatever they can dig up from wrecks that were deemed valuable. Rey knew that it was a dangerous and difficult job. Her uncle was crushed to death by an unstable wreck. When she gets older, Rey knew that she’d join her parents out scavenging.

“Mama?” Rey asked as she peeked into the galley. “I heard voices.”

“Rey?” her mother said, startled that the child was awake. “It was nothing. Do you want me to tuck you back in?”

Her mother gathered her up in her arms and lifted her. Rey snuggled closer for a moment, then turned to her father who had an unreadable look on his face.

“Pa?” Rey asked, furrowing her brow at her father’s expression.

“It’s nothing,” her father assured her with a forced smile as he tousled her hair. “You should get some sleep darling, or else you’ll never grow.”

“I’ll grow,” Rey said through a yawn. “I’ll grow and I’ll help you and Mama in old wrecks.”

Her parents shared a look. Not that she had noticed. She was too busy fighting sleep. Promising to herself that her present to her parents for Life Day was to promise to eat less. They’d be so proud of her. After all, she was turning five that year, no longer a child, but a proper age to begin life as a scavenger.

Rey couldn’t remember being placed in her bunk. Nor could she recall her mother’s teary kiss, or her father’s shaking hand stroking her face as if to memorize its angles. She was already asleep by then.

She could remember however, the next day, Life Day, a day supposedly for people to be grateful for family and the life that was shared. It was the day her mother did her hair up in their triple buns as usual. It was the day her father gave her a full portion for her to eat all by herself with a glass of blue milk.

It was the day her parents sold her to Unkar Plutt for an unkown amount of portions and left her there to earn her keep.

*

Ben hated Life Day. For most children, it was a day spent with family, receiving gifts and whatnot. For Ben it meant being brought to several functions at different dignitaries’ houses and getting his cheeks pinched several times with remarks of how much he resembled someone in his family.

He knew he shouldn’t complain. His parents and his uncle, who were his only family, were Very Important People. He could barely finish introducing himself before people would ask him about them.

Ben rolled over in bed and checked his holowatch. Life Day was almost over, but his parents weren’t home yet. It was expected that they’d get in late, but his mother did promise him that they’ll try to make it back so they could spend at least a small bit of Life Day just by themselves.

There was a whooshing sound as the main door to their home slid open. Ben eagerly clambered out of bed to greet his parents. They had kept their promise all along!

“Mom!” Ben said as he flew out of his room. “Da—Uncle Luke?”

“Hey kid,” Luke said shrugging off his cloak. “Happy Life Day. Why so glum kiddo?”

Ben shrugged as he plopped down on the couch. It was just his Uncle Luke. Not that he didn’t love his uncle, he did, but he was expecting his parents. Uncle Luke was just a consolation prize.

“Don’t worry,” Luke tousled his hair. “I’m pretty sure Leia and Han would be back soon.”

“Yeah right,” Ben pouted. “You always say that.”

“You got me there kid,” Luke was the one to shrug this time. “Want me to wait up with you?”

“Mom told me to go to bed early,” Ben pointed out. “I’d get in trouble if they came home with me awake.”

“Really?” Luke asked, raising one eyebrow. “How ‘bout you let me handle your folks and we stay up watching old reruns?”

“Are you sure?” Ben tilted his head. “Mom was very specific.”

“Don’t worry,” Luke assured him. “I’ll take care of it.”

Ben gave his uncle a weak smile. They both knew that if his mother wanted to get mad, nothing in the galaxy could stop her. Still, it was a nice thought.

He jumped off the couch and ran back to his room to pull off his blanket and grab a pillow. If he was going to wait up for his parents, at least he’d stay comfortable.

“Are we really staying up Uncle?” Ben asked one more time, just to be certain.

“You bet kid,” Luke replied, patting the space on the cough next to him. “Get over here.”

Ben gave his Uncle an ear-to-ear grin and positioned himself on the couch. He arranged his pillow and blanket and snuggled up next to Luke. Luke responded with a grin of his own and turned on the Holo and found a channel which had cartoons showing on them.

Ben was asleep sooner than he expected to be. He really did want to wait up for his parents, but it was already late and he was tired from the day’s activities. He did feel it when his father lifted him up and gently tucked him into his bed. He also felt his mother kiss him good night.

But the last thing on Ben Solo’s mind when he went to sleep that Life Day was that his Uncle Luke was the best.

*

Life Days in Unkarr Plutt’s employ meant getting a tad bit more portions. The man celebrated the holiday, but only to the bare minimum. If you had nothing to turn over, he wouldn’t give you any portions at all. Not even if you were ill.

Even the littlest ones were expected to have something to show for their day’s efforts. Plutt liked having children scavenge for him. They were small and they could reach the areas that were otherwise inaccessible to scavengers.

Rey knew a lot of contemporaries who had perished, either by falling debris or by getting stuck with no way out. She felt a chill run down her spine as she remembered all the lost scavengers. Some of them she even considered as friendly.

She sighed as she lugged her haul up to the counter where Plutt was waiting. She’s been doing this for ten years now. Ten years since she last saw her parents. But they’ll return for her, she was certain of it.

In the meantime, she had been deemed ‘too big’ by Plutt, and he had turned her out. Good thing she had done enough work to earn a speeder, and she had even acquired a humble dwelling in the bowels of a downed AT-AT.

“What have you got for me today?” Plutt asked, snapping Rey out of her thoughts.

After their transaction, Rey stepped away with an empty net and a fair amount of portions that she could use for a trade. She knew that she had to be frugal with her earnings, but she couldn’t help but wander the stalls at the bazaar.

After all, it was Life Day, she deserved a present for herself.

Walking around, she decided to trade a half portion to a farmer for a bottle of blue milk. It was a tradition for her, a sad one, but every year, without fail, she would make sure that she had blue milk, even just a little bit. It served as a reminder.

She didn’t know what it was a reminder of. She wasn’t certain is it was to remind her of her parents. Or if it was to remind her that they left her behind.

Rey shook her head. These were not thoughts that she should have while she was wandering the bazaar. While generally a safe place, the bazaar had its share of pickpockets and ramble-raisers.

Something grabbed her attention out of the corner of her eye. She felt like there something was leading her towards a goal. She held her breath.

Perhaps it was finally the day when she’d be reunited with her parents?

She let out the breath when the feeling abated and all she found before her was just a staff. Rey examined the staff, reaching out as if to touch it, but not really.

The base seemed durable, as if she could build on it. She could probably give the staff a bit of a redesign. It seemed worthless, but Rey knew better than to judge anything by face value.

“You want that?” the stall owner asked. “It’s not much, but it’ll hurt if you hit someone with it hard enough.”

“How much?” Rey asked, not taking her eyes off of the staff.

“Three portions,” the owner replied. “But since it’s Life Day, you can have it at two.”

“Deal,” Rey said, rummaging in her bag for the portions. “I’ll take it.”

“Good, good,” she said as she handed over the staff.

Rey slung the staff over her shoulder as she walked to her speeder. There was a sense of rightness with the staff on her back. It was as if the staff was made for her. She smiled as she hopped on her speeder.

“Happy Life Day, Rey.”

She said to herself as she turned on her speeder and drove off in the direction of her AT-AT.

*

Life with Uncle Luke at the fledgling academy was different from what Ben had expected it to be. He knew that it meant a complete lifestyle change for him. He was General Organa-Solo’s son after all, and that meant that he was subject to certain standards. His days were planned out from the moment he stepped out of their home to the moment he returned to it.

There were still some who thought that the Empire was a better place to live in. He was told that there were those who sent threats towards his mother and their family.

In the academy however, days were less structured with only a few mandatory classes throughout the day. The rest of the time, the students were free to do anything they wanted.

Ben thought this meant that he should spend the time meditating. It was something he thought Jedi were supposed to do. But he found it difficult to meditate. His mind had no problem connecting with the Force, he actually felt like his mind was one with the Force. His problem was that there was something else, someone else compelling his thoughts, turning them towards chaos.

Ben shook his head. It was Life Day, he was supposed to go home and stay with his parents, but some last minute business came up and they told him to stay where he was.

So here he was, sitting under a tree, trying to meditate but failing miserably because of the horrible things that he could see in the Force. He knew he should tell his Uncle about the visions, but that same thing compelling him to turn his thoughts to darkness was also keeping him from confiding in his uncle.

That morning, his uncle was nowhere to be found, not that it was unexpected. Luke Skywalker was always called to one place or another for some urgent Jedi business. That just meant that Ben was stuck in the academy, with all the other force-sensitives who had no other place to go.

He hated how the other students treated him. Half of them were in awe of him because of his family. The other half hated him because of the same. It was annoying that they were judging him because of who his family was and not because of who he is.

Ben should have been used to it. After all, he had been treated that way his whole life.

He was about to head back to his quarters when he felt a presence approach him. It was a familiar one, a welcome one.

“Uncle,” Ben greeted, not even bothering to stand. Most days he had to address his uncle as ‘Master’, but Luke always let Ben call him ‘Uncle’ when it was just the two of them.

“Hey kid,” Luke said as he lowered himself to the ground. “Busy socializing I see.”

“Yes,” Ben snorted. “As you can see, I’m holding court.”

Luke gave a snort of his own. It was well-known that Ben lived up to his name, always solo. Luke thought that his nephew handled the situation well enough.

“Well if you’re done with your adoring public,” Luke joked as he turned to face Ben with a solemn expression on his face. “I’d like to give you something.”

“A present?” Ben nervously asked, his uncle’s facial expression turning the mood from light-hearted to serious.

“I guess you could call it that,” Luke said. “It’s more of an heirloom really.”

“Uncle?”

“Happy Life Day Ben,” Luke said as he held out a wrapped cylindrical object.

Ben knew from the hum of the kyber crystal that it was a lightsaber. An old saber that has seen many masters but whose only allegiance was to the Light. Ben also knew that this lightsaber was supposed to be missing.

“It was found,” Luke said.

Ben was certain that that wasn’t the whole story, but he let it slide. His uncle was going to tell him some day.

He stood up and unwrapped the present. The feeling of the cold metal against his hand for the first time was indescribable. He could sense the power of his grandfather and his uncle imprinted in the crystal.

Ben ignited the blade and went through a few basic forms. While he was using the saber he felt the peace that meditating was supposed to bring him. With every swing he felt more and more one with the Force.

When he finished, he was breathing heavily, his body was tired, but his mind was calm.

“You know,” Luke said, reminding Ben of his presence. “Old Ben told me that my Father was unusual in that he meditated better during sword practice too.”

“Grandfather?”

“Yes,” Luke gave him the same reassuring smile he use to when Ben was young. “Don’t forget where you came from Ben, or you’ll never get to where you’re going.”

Luke flashed him a quirky smile and headed back towards the main building of the academy. Ben stared at his back as he let his uncle’s words sink in.

“Like Grandfather, huh?” he muttered, holding up the lightsaber. “Why not?”

*

The banging on the door woke Rey, but it was the banging in her head that kept her awake. They were finally at a new base. The Resistance’s allies had rallied, and as eager as the troops were to get back on the field and stop the First Order, General Organa had ordered them all to take the day off on Life Day. A day off meant a party the night before. Apparently, the Resistance had a lot of stocked alcohol and moonshine.

Rey was no stranger to alcohol, but she was at a loss to Resistance-style binge-drinking. The lack of a certain future made them all seize the day. And the members of the Resistance seized the day hard.

She would have wondered who would be awake so early the day after a night of revelry, banging on her door, but Rey had a clue.

“Rey! Wake! Up!” Rose’s voice yelled through her door.

Rose. Of course.

Ever since Rey had reunited with the Resistance, Rose clung to her like a lost puppy as soon as Finn had introduced them. He had explained that Rose had lost her twin sister recently, and while she and Finn were close, the mechanic verbalized that she wanted some girl time, whatever that meant.

“I’m awake!” Rey yelled as she slowly got out of bed. Her head was still throbbing when the door to her room slid open and revealed a very bubbly and not-at-all hungover Rose.

“Oh good!” Rose smiled brightly. She gave Rey a once over and pouted. “You’re wearing that?”

“What?” Rey asked, not quite following Rose’s train of thought. She was wearing her usual clothes sans her vest.

“It’s okay!” Rose said as she grabbed Rey’s hand. “Come on!”

Rey, in her current state, could do nothing but follow. She wondered how Rose could possibly be so normal after consuming the massive amount of alcohol that she had the previous night. It was either Rose was secretly strong in the Force and knew how to banish hangovers, or Rose had an iron liver.

“Where are we going?” Rey asked, trying her best not to vomit. Her head was pounding and all the walking was not helping her at all.

“To Poe and Finn’s room,” Rose replied. “It’s Life Day! We have presents!”

Rey allowed Rose to lead her through the corridors while her eyes were closed. Her head was beginning to spin again. She wondered how Finn and Poe were coping with their hungover. She felt Rose stop and heard her banging on their door.

“Finn! Poe!” Rose yelled. “Wake up!”

They waited for all of five seconds before Poe opened the door with a bright smile on his face.

“You don’t have to yell,” he joked. “Come on in. Finn isn’t feeling well.”

“Neither was Rey,” Rose said with a giggle. “They really need to up their game. Or lessen their intake.”

Rey walked into the room and collapsed on the nearest flat surface, which happened to be the bed Finn was in. She heard him grunt, but chose to ignore it and concentrate on controlling her nausea.

“They would be fine,” Poe pointed out, “If you didn’t keep refilling their drinks.”

“How was I supposed to know they couldn’t hold their liquor?” Rose replied in defense. “Either way, presents!”

“Right,” Poe snorted.

Rey struggled to get up and leaned against the frame of the bunk bed. Poe and Finn’s quarters were basically a bunk bed with two tables and two chairs. It was more suited to be a transient room, but they were working with meager resources. Rey was only assigned a room to herself because of her abilities.

“I didn’t get you all anything,” she said apologetically.

“It’s alright,” Rose assured her. “These gifts are from the General. With the war going on, none of us could really go out to get anything.”

Poe positioned himself on a chair close to the bed and began poking Finn’s cheek to get him to wake up. Rey watched the exchange with a mix of dread and amusement.

“I didn’t actually remember that it was Life Day,” Rose said as she picked up the presents. “Paige was the one who usually kept track.”

Rey turned her head to face the other woman. It was difficult, but even in her state, she could see that Rose fiddling with her half of the twin’s pendant, her face a picture of loss.

“But Life Day is about family,” Rose said, her voice a bit shaky. “Families are not just about blood.” She gave her pendant one last stroke and rubbed at her eyes.

“Families are also about choice,” she said with a shaky smile. “And you’re all my family.”

Rose handed Rey her present with a smile. She handed Poe’s his, then proceeded to prod Finn awake.

Rey watched her friends as Finn grumpily woke and caused a commotion. Even though her head was aching, this was definitely a better Life Day than most of the ones she had back on Jakku. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone.

“Happy Life Day,” Rey said smiling at her friends, her family of choice. They all, Finn included, smiled back.

Her thoughts reached out to Kylo Ren. She wondered if he was also celebrating with friends, but one look at him through their bond told her everything.

He was lonelier than ever.

“Happy Life Day Ben.” She whispered.

*

Kylo Ren’s head snapped to attention, but it was too late. Rey had already closed their connection once more.

It was too early to be awake, especially for a holiday. But Kylo knew that Rey was an early riser. There were days when he was just getting to bed that Rey was already awake.

Not that he was spying on her or anything, but he did like poking around at their bond, just to check up on her. He never tried to find out where the handful of Resistance members were. It would have placed Rey in danger.

Now that he was Supreme leader, he couldn’t really go and carry out his missions. He had to rely on the Knights of Ren more for the legwork. He knew that they would be highly efficient if he sent them to destroy the Resistance once and for all, but he also knew that Rey would never go down without a fight and the Knights would not hesitate to cut down a hostile opponent.

As much as he desired that the Resistance be silenced once and for all, his desire for Rey to be safe was greater.

Kylo climbed out of bed and began preparing for his day. It was Life Day, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a lot to do. The duties of Supreme Leader were endless.

He had no idea that the Supreme Leader was supposed to oversee so many factors. Kylo suspected that Hux had added some things, like the document entitled ‘Hazard Pay for Accidental Tantrums’. Kylo had all the right to have Hux suspended for insubordination, but Kylo knew that working under him was punishment enough for Hux.

Kylo sighed. It was lonely being Supreme Leader. It was even lonelier than when he was just the ‘Master of the Knights of Ren.’ Before, he was a high-ranking official in the First Order, respected and feared by most. But there were still a few who would interact with him. Like Hux and Captain Phasma.

When he became Supreme Leader, Hux had to limit his snark. It wouldn’t do to have instability in the ranks after all.

Difficult though the path ahead of him was, Kylo Ren would see it through. He squared his shoulders and held his head high. It might have been Life Day, but there was work to be done.

*

Chaos, yet order.

Rey kept reminding herself of that, chanting it as if it was a mantra. Really, the children in the Academy did test her patience at times.

They were all Force-sensitive nobodies from all over the galaxy. After the war, she and Ben had reached an uneasy truce, brokered by General Organa. They had to come together, for the good of the galaxy.

Five years down the line, and the academy was doing well, and the lessons from past Masters, Jedi and Sith, were being passed on to a new generation of Jedi, neither Light nor Dark, but Grey.

As for her and Ben, their bond may have been placed by Snoke, but they chose to keep it. When they were starting out, the bond was what kept them one step ahead of their young students. They chose to keep the bond for that purpose.

Nowadays, they got the hang of teaching and no longer needed the bond for that. But it served other purposes.

Rey could feel that Ben was aware of her current frustrations and he was sending her positive emotions through their bond. It gave her some semblance of peace, to know that she wasn’t alone. She spent most of her life alone, she won’t spend the rest of it that way.

She sent him feelings of gratitude through their bond.

They had both been alone for so long. But now, they were never going to be alone again.

“Happy Life Day Ben,” she said out loud, knowing that despite how far he was, he could hear her.

“Happy Life Day Rey,” she heard him reply. “We’ll have a private celebration later.”

Rey gave out a loud laugh. Happy Life Day indeed.

Fin

[donnarrivers29]

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Keep your climate in mind before getting any Lynchburg roof work done. If you are in a dry climate and want to keep your house cool, then a clay roofing in Lynchburg VA would be ideal. However, using clay tiles on a roofing in Lynchburg VA in a wetter, rainy climate can lead to quicker deterioration of those tiles. If you don’t know what material is best in your area, ask a professional.

When you find a contractor, make sure they are covered by liability insurance. The main thing that this will show you about a roofer is the fact that they are a reliable person. Also, if damage occurs to the roofing in Lynchburg VA while they work, their insurance pays the cost.

Roof foundations may be the cause of your leaks so don’t only assume it is the shingles. Dry rot on the side of your home can allow water to enter your home. Check all entry points to make sure this doesn’t happen.

Don’t use band-aid solutions. It may be cheaper for now, but it will get more expensive in the future. The smartest thing to do is to completely fix the problem as quickly as possible to prevent things from getting worse.

Be sure the roofer has all necessary licensing for doing the job. If you don’t know what kind of licensing your area requires, you shouldn’t just ask the roofer what’s needed. Pay a visit to your local City Hall to get the information you need, straight from the source.

Insurance is a must when it comes to roofing. A contractor without insurance can be very dangerous. That’s because if he causes further damage to your Lynchburg roof or gets injured on the job, you will be liable for the expenses. Ask if the roofer has insurance in place, and make sure you see written documentation that it is current and sufficient in amount.

Whenever you’re working on your roof, you must take steps to secure yourself safely. This is very important because many people are hurt or killed every year as a result of a fall from a roof.

The best roofing contractors are those who are always on top of their licenses, credentials, and documentation. Make sure your contractor has a roofing license. Also, ask for their insurance so that you are not responsible for damage.

Ask your roofing contractor if they offer a warranty on their work. Some contractors might offer better deals than others. Also, require the estimates for the cost of the project in writing and get a paper copy of any warranties that apply. That allows you recourse if anything happens.

Identifying the cause of leaks is frustrating but totally doable. You will find the source eventually if you use a water hose, and having a buddy will help as well. If you have a large house, try using cell phones to talk so that the water doesn’t go into the house by mistake as you test possible leak areas.

Avoid paying full amounts upfront. On average, avoid paying more than 25% as a start-up cost. You want to avoid having them do a low-quality job or less than what they were supposed to.

If you’re worried about a leaky roof, spray it with a garden hose. Doing so will help you figure out if you have a leak and if you do, where it is coming from. It is a much cheaper alternative to hiring a professional.

Only award your roofing work to a contractor who can prove he has valid insurance and proper licensing. If they can’t, don’t hire them. Without these qualifications, if a problem should occur, it will be up to you to pay for damages; this could cause you thousands.

You need to know if your contractor belongs to any industry associations. Reputable firms will be interested in staying up to date with current trends and methods in the industry. It is reasonable to wonder about the company’s dedication to the field if they do not participate with any of the relevant associations.

Be sure that your roofer has insurance. Without insurance, you are liable to paying for damages. You shouldn’t simply ask the contractor if he has insurance and take his word on it. Instead, request proof of insurance so that you can see for yourself whether they have current insurance.

With the tips mentioned earlier, you are now well equipped to handle any roofing situation that may arise. Your Lynchburg roof will get the attention it needs when you’re aware of how to fix it. Take care of your roofing in Lynchburg VA and you’ll be sure that it is protecting you at all times in the future.

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