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hinadoria · 3 years ago

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Title: like nobody’s business

Author: hinadoria / Twitter: @bunniepunk / AO3: bunnypunk

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Mild amounts of swearing

Summary: Shen Yuan had never known what to do about crying people, much less crying men asleep in his bed at ass o’clock in the middle of the night. God, if Jiu-ge knew about this, Shen Yuan would be six feet under. No, he’d be yeeted directly into hell’s abyss. Arguably though, this was all Jiu-ge’s fault.

AO3: Link

It started when his old roommate Shang Qinghua decided to get hitched at Shen Yuan’s 25th birthday party. Disregarding the fact that it was his birthday party in his apartment that he was paying for (Shang Qinghua was only there to keep an eye on him at Jiu-ge’s ever insistent demands), an increasingly hammered Shang Qinghua had decided it was the perfect time to propose to his disappointingly sober boyfriend.

“My LORd, have yOU EvEr ThoughT about Getting HitchED?!” he shouted in Mobei-Jun’s face. Shen Yuan saw the wince on Mobei-Jun’s face before he could smooth it away. Airplane-Bro had that effect on people. Even his boyfriend was no exception.

However, Mobei-Jun had silently pulled the biggest ring Shen Yuan had ever seen out of his pocket like it was a dimension to worlds unknown. Shang Qinghua yanked it out of his grasp, put it on, and immediately started sobbing loudly in his boyfriend's arms, effectively ruining the atmosphere.

If it wasn’t because Shen Yuan was already secretly plotting to escape to his room, he might have been significantly more miffed at this sequence of events.

After all, he had never been one for big, lavish events like a formal birthday party. He’d much rather spend it in the comfort of his room, maybe playing videogames with a few close friends. However, Jiu-ge had insisted, in that stubborn way of his, taking no arguments. As a result, Shen Yuan wasn’t sure he even knew half the people at his own party.

This all didn’t mean he was completely free of indignation, however. Shen Yuan cleared his throat pointedly, but was ignored by both the affectionate couple and the crowd of people politely applauding.

It was a testament to Mobei-Jun’s excitement, if he was a man that felt such emotions, that he leaped up onto the table, which creaked dangerously with his weight.

“I’d like to thank my dear friends and my soon-to-be best man who supported me through this time. Whom I wouldn’t have met without Shen Yuan’s recommendation to work at Cang Qiong’s internship program under Shen Jiu. So a heartfelt thanks to them both,” Mobei-Jun proclaimed.

The attention of the party turned to its host, who began to turn hot under all the attention.

Damn, it wasn’t as if he was Mother Teresa.

He had simply wanted to stop hearing Jiu-ge’s nagging complaints about a lack of competent interns at his company. And he knew that Airplane-bro’s boyfriend was just about to graduate. It was simple math.

Either way, he had to resolve this situation before Mobei-Jun broke the table or worse, made him give a speech. He quickly grabbed an abandoned glass from the table and raised it high. With raucous cheer, the party returned to full swing, and Shen Yuan strategically retreated to his bedroom.

The next day, Shang Qinghua had all but been moved out of his apartment (Mobei-Jun worked fast and efficiently. Shen Yuan had been begrudgingly impressed). In the midst of his soporific haze, a loud banging came from his front door. Reluctant to get up, Shen Yuan nevertheless used every last bit of his willpower to do so. When he opened the door however, he immediately found himself in deep regret.

A pale Jiu-ge, like Bloody Mary summoned from a dirty elementary school bathroom mirror, stood at his door, foot tapping a mile a minute. He stormed past Shen Yuan into his apartment and curled his mouth in distaste at the mess.

“This apartment is no longer acceptable. I’ve put up with it until now, but this is the last straw. It is imperative that you move out immediately to a place not infested by the stench of the poor,” Jiu-ge demanded. Shen Yuan would never tell him it was probably the week-old ramen stewing on his kitchen counter.

“But I don’t want to, Jiu-ge, please!” he whined. Like most things regarding his older brother, would eventually yield, but would put up a valiant effort nonetheless. No one had the right to accuse him of being a pushover, after all.

Jiu-ge sat down at his oily counter with a sigh, hands flying up to bury themselves in his messy hair.

Shen Yuan immediately felt guilty.

His brother looked a lot less put-together than he usually was, now that he was looking more closely. His shirt was unbuttoned and his makeup was smudged, both facets of his appearance he usually controlled with meticulous determination.

“Please don’t fight me on this, A-Yuan.” His brother looked back at him, and Shen Yuan could see the weariness in his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” asked Shen Yuan. He tapped his fingers nervously.

“It will be,” Jiu-ge answered immediately as if he had expected this question. “Once I get a good night’s sleep.” Shen Yuan moved to sit by his brother.

“Mobei-Jun proposed to Shang Qinghua yesterday,” he offered. This made the crease between Jiu-ge’s brows deeper further.

“At your birthday party?”

“I know, I was shocked too!”

“Rude bastard. I knew nothing good could come out of that tight-knit group of rascals the company foisted on me.”

“Don’t be like that. I bet you secretly appreciate their help, big softie.” Shen Yuan poked at his brother’s cheek, and giggled when Jiu-ge pretended to bite at him. A small smile appeared on his brother’s face, and Shen Yuan rejoiced at the sight. He felt like he deserved an award for Best Brother of the Year.

“I suppose they suffice at times.” Jiu-ge wrinkled his nose like he had thought of something particularly disgusting. “Well. Almost all of them,” he huffed. He shook his head when Shen Yuan looked at him in question. But Best Brother of the Year did not do things half-heartedly.

“I know how to cheer you up even more,” Shen Yuan decided then and there.

That was how Shen Yuan found himself moved into the expensive nouveau-riche apartment complex next door to his brother on the third floor. All things considered, it wasn’t too bad. Jiu-ge was too busy to check up on him more than once a week in person, although the daily calls to his office phone were still a requirement.

Shen Yuan had always been a homebody, there was no denying that. As long as he could coop up in his room reading and editing trashy novels, he didn’t care for the particulars of time or place, even if leaving his apartment and chancing upon another human made him feel like Oscar the Grouch having been caught outside of his trash can and committing a crime.

The point was: it had all been going just fine and dandy, until one day a shout disrupted Shen Yuan from his editing of one of Airplane’s terribly written papapa scenes. He roughly yanked open his curtains, hearing a rip in the plush blue velvet. Whatever, what Jiu-ge didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

The scene which greeted him was one of darkness, which okay, he wasn’t quite expecting that but fine, it wasn’t the first time he had lost track of time doing this and that. Shivering, Shen Yuan stepped out onto his balcony and peered over the rails to see a very attractive, very drunk man holding a broken bottle of what looked like Xin Mo liquor.

“Shen Jiu, there you are, you fucking bastard. Fucking coward! What, too afraid to come and see your disgusting student Binghe on this beautiful night? You always thought you were above us mere mortals, didn’t you? I hope both sides of your pillow are always ice!”

Yikes, Shen Yuan thought privately.

This dude was hammered. Despite everything a laugh bubbled its way up his chest. He didn’t know his brother was so unpopular at work but with a sour face like his, he should’ve expected. Briefly, the thought of pretending to be his brother just to hear more of the entertaining insults crossed his mind, but before he could open his mouth the man, probably named Binghe, went on.

“I bet you think you wake up just looking like an angel descended from the heavens! Well let me tell you, scumbag, that I curse you and your descendents to always have shaky eyeliner! Let’s see you keep up that hoity-toity look and scream at me when you come into work looking like a clown!”

Shen Yuan covered his eyes in horror. Not his eyeliner! He had to look sharp for the ladies.

“I fixed that stupid assignment one million times! Your nitpicking doesn’t even make sense anymore, you blind geezer! Come down here, if you’re not a coward and I’ll show you ...” Binghe paused, looking like he was gonna hurl.

“Show me what? You can’t leave me hanging like that, I won’t be able to sleep!” Shen Yuan shouted out, against his better judgement. He had already been collecting Binghe’s flavored insults to use against that traitor Shang Qinghua next time he saw him.

Binghe looked back up, with what seemed like confusion in his eyes, though it could have just been bleary drunkenness. To Shen Yuan’s horror, it looked like Binghe had tears in his eyes.

“All I wanted was for Laoshi to acknowledge me,” Binghe sobbed out. At this point Shen Yuan had missed his chance to tell the poor man that his brother was out of town on a business trip, and that Binghe was shouting at a stranger. He felt something in his chest squeeze at Binghe’s watery puppy dog eyes.

“Why does everyone look down on me?” Binghe cried. “I try so hard, over and over but all you do is scorn me … again and again! What do I have to do, just tell me, and I’ll do it. Anything! Just …” At this point the boy was choking on his sobs. Shen Yuan felt something shattering. He found himself walking down the stairs. He was going to go down and fetch him before the police were called, that was all, he told himself.

By the time he arrived on the cold grass ready to coax the drunkard, he found him passed out, clutching the broken bottle so hard his hand was bleeding. Shen Yuan sucked in a sharp breath.

“Alright buddy, let’s get you warmed up,” Shen Yuan said as he pried the glass from Binghe’s hand and used all his strength to haul him up and to the elevator.

He got several strange looks as he dragged an unconscious man across the fancy lobby, but Shen Yuan just snorted and ignored them. The people here had sticks so far up their ass they were getting free prostate massages. Shen Yuan stifled his laughter at his own wit in Binghe’s dead weighted shoulder and got a few more strange looks by the lady in the elevator. Halfway to Shen Yuan’s room, Binghe woke up and stared at Shen Yuan like he was an alien.

He struggled a bit and whined, “Laoshi, please don’t dropkick me into the Panama Canal, I promise I’ll be a good boy.”

Shen Yuan laughed and patted Binghe’s hair. “Go back to sleep, rowdy boy. We’ll talk in the morning.” It probably wasn’t because of his words, but Binghe managed to walk a few steps on his own before becoming dead weight on Shen Yuan again. He felt the breath knocked out of him.

“For someone who’s such a crybaby, you sure are … heavy!” Shen Yuan panted as he managed to drag Binghe into his apartment and throw him onto his bed. He shoddily wrapped up Binghe’s bleeding hand with several bandages. Novels may have taught him a lot, but he had surprisingly little practical knowledge when faced with a gash like Binghe’s in reality.

The fatigue of the night finally caught up with him as he saw Binghe’s peaceful sleeping face and he barely managed to do his nightly routine before sliding into his bed next to the unconscious person.

Shen Yuan was just about to drift away into sleep until he heard sniffling coming from the other man and turned around to see Binghe crying in his sleep.

And so was his current dilemma. Shen Yuan had no idea how to handle crying people. He stared dumbly for a few moments before kicking himself to do something, anything!

Shen Yuan wouldn’t do this for any random stranger that came knocking to his door, but luckily he had gleaned several useful tidbits of information from Binghe’s drunken speech. For example, he was likely one of Jiu-ge’s new interns at the large Cang Qiong Company he worked at, under the Qing Jing subsidiary. Second, Jiu-ge seemed to be giving the poor boy an extremely hard time, and Shen Yuan knew better than anyone just how sharp his brother’s acerbic tongue could be. Shen Yuan felt mildly responsible for cleaning up his brother’s mess.

Also, Binghe was terribly cute. He reminded Shen Yuan of the little puppy he used to play with in childhood, named Bingbing, after his favorite actress.

It was a combination of these facts, or none of them, that ultimately made Shen Yuan do what he did next; wrap his arms around Binghe and gently stroke his hair, murmuring comforting words to him until he stopped crying.

Somewhere along the way he found himself asleep as well.

Binghe awoke from his drunken stupor sometime between ass and fuck o’clock in the morning. His hand was covered in messily wrapped bandages.

When he saw the face of the person fast asleep next to him, he flinched backwards so hard he almost fell out of the bed.

What did I do last night? He wailed miserably in his head. A worst case scenario flashed through his head, and he made sure that both of them were clothed before exhaling a sigh of relief. That was the last time he let Mobei-Jun get him drunk, bachelor party be damned.

The last thing he remembered was accepting a glass full of alcohol in the bar he’d been dragged to, but everything afterwards was a blur. He didn’t remember how he walked all the way to his boss’s nouveau riche apartment, and he certainly didn’t remember how he ended up in bed with the man he was most fearful of.

There was one thing Binghe knew with full certainty, however; he had to escape this apartment immediately before he lost his job or worse: his life.

He had barely turned around and registered vaguely that the apartment was a lot sloppier than he’d expected of his avaricious boss before a sleepy hum made him freeze in his tracks.

“Mmm… Binghe?”

Binghe froze. Shen Jiu had never called him by name, it was always something along the lines of “scum” or “lad”.

Filled with trepidation, he turned to face his boss against his better judgement.

A sleepy smile stretched its way across the face of the person in front of him just as the morning’s rays peeked through the rip in the curtains and fell across his face.

Angelic, Binghe’s mind vaguely registered. Maybe he hadn’t come to his boss’s apartment after all. Maybe he had died and entered a realm different than the one he’d been in. Maybe he was already in heaven.

The angel’s face scrunched up cutely at the offending rays across his face. He glanced at the curtains before letting out a forlorn sigh.

“Jiu-ge’s gonna kill me for that …” sighed the angel across from Binghe.

Jiu-ge? Who’s that, I’ll fight him so you never have a frown on your pretty face ever again, Binghe thought blearily.

Mr. Angel noticed he was awake and smiled a crooked smile.

“Good morning. You were drunk and screaming outside my window last night, so I thought I’d do a public service and take you in before you hurt yourself, “ the angel laughed nervously. “Binghe is your name, right?”

Binghe nodded, feeling like his body was not his own. Then he had a thought.

“Wait … how do you know?”

The angel’s lips thinned, looking like he was trying really hard not to laugh. Oh, that was not a good sign.

“Well … You dropped your name in the middle of shouting about how you wished your boss’s food was too salty, among other things …”

The wave of relief that was about to pass through Binghe at realizing this person was likely not his boss aborted itself as it was overtaken by sheer waves of mortification.

Binghe covered his face with his hands, letting out an ungodly groan of embarrassment.

“Binghe… I’m saying this for your own good.” Mr. Angel looked into Binghe’s eyes seriously. “Do you know how to use swear words?”

Binghe immediately pouted, feeling like he was being made fun of. He couldn’t find it in himself to be truly annoyed, however, at the angel’s bell-like peals of laughter smothered by his hand. It was such a stark contrast to his boss’s restrained expressions.

“Ah! I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Shen Yuan, Shen Jiu’s younger twin brother.”

And there was the horror again.

Just as Binghe was about to bid farewell to his short, inconsequential life, Shen Yuan continued chattering. “You’re lucky Jiu-ge’s out of town on a business trip, and that you weren’t actually serenading his window but mine. If he was here, I don’t know if I could have even stopped him from personally throwing you into a jail cell.”

Binghe felt like he had gotten off of a life-threatening roller coaster ride. Stiffly, he rose from the bed and bent ninety degrees into a bow.

“Thanking Shen Yuan for his kindness in rescuing this lowly one from his predicament!” Binghe grew so nervous he immediately started speaking as if he were in a period drama. “In order to repay my honorable benefactor, this one will prepare breakfast!” He rushed away before Shen Yuan could speak a single word.

Once Binghe found the kitchen, he allowed himself a mini-freakout session. He! Was in! His boss’s younger brother’s bed! And the younger brother was an angel! Even though Binghe was fairly certain nothing untoward had occurred between the two of them the night prior, he felt every inch of his nerves tingling. He was also fairly certain that any other person that lacked Shen Yuan’s generosity would have immediately called the police on him at the least.

This was the first time anyone had done something so selfless for his sake.

Unbidden, a flush streaked across his cheeks, and Binghe slapped at himself to get out of it. Shen Yuan was his benefactor, and it would be wrong to have indecent thoughts about someone so innocent. There may not be much Binghe was good at, as he had learned from his internship under Shen Jiu, but the least he could do was cook him a decent breakfast.

Shen Yuan was roused from his half-wakeful state by the smell of something good coming from the kitchen. Which was weird because last he checked, there was nothing in there but dust and half-eaten ramen. (Yes, he had a problem.)

Wait … Binghe!

It was a little belated, but the nagging voice in Shen Yuan’s head that sounded suspiciously like Jiu-ge berated himself for falling asleep again while a stranger was in his apartment. A cute stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

Shen Yuan, the voice nagged. One of these days you’re going to get yourself murdered in cold blood …

Alright, shut up, you. No one wants to hear this in the early morning, Shen Yuan bickered back.

“Sir?” Binghe’s voice nervously called from the kitchen entrance.

Shen Yuan immediately relaxed back into what he thought was a cool pose.

“There’s no need for formalities, Binghe. After all, you’ve already slept in my bed.”

Binghe’s ears flushed red at his words, and he swayed back and forth like a maiden on the morning after her wedding night. Shen Yuan stopped this strange line of thinking once he realized how weird it was.

“I made you breakfast as a thank you for er… handling me last night,” Binghe said softly.

Well, that didn’t help his strange thoughts. The last conscious thought Shen Yuan had was that he’d better go and eat the poor shy guy’s food since he had made it already.

He didn’t recall getting up or sitting down at the kitchen table, but the next thing he knew he was staring down at an empty plate, stomach full of delicious food.

“I don’t know what to think. This is the first time this has happened to me.” It wasn’t, but Shen Yuan had always had a flair for the dramatic. “If you can cook so well, why are you wasting your time under my brother’s wing? You should go be a professional chef, and share this magic with the rest of the world.”

It wasn’t empty praise. Shen Yuan genuinely believed he’d be blessed if he could eat like this every day for the rest of his life. His terrible habit of crappy eating would be forever changed.

Binghe was so red he looked like a tomato.

Abruptly, the sounds of a phone ringing disrupted the nice atmosphere. Binghe’s face paled.

“Oh no, I left Mobei-Jun at the club last night. He must be wondering where I am. The bachelor party got kind of crazy.”

Hm? Mobei-Jun? Shen Yuan slapped his forehead in realization. Of course! Binghe was a part of Jiu-ge’s interns, of course he knew Mobei-Jun. Shen Yuan had no idea how he had failed to make that connection. He might even be the best man Mobei-Jun had mentioned, since he was pretty sure the third intern was a woman. Sha Hualing, he believed her name was?

Either way, Shen Yuan hadn’t realized he and Binghe were so closely connected. Besides, he hadn’t felt comfortable calling Binghe a stranger, now that they no longer were.

Maybe he’d get a chance to see Binghe in a tux at the wedding? That would be so cute! Of course, he’d have to help keep him away from the champagne, especially since Jiu-ge would also be there. That was a nightmare waiting to happen.

While Shen Yuan was off fantasizing, Binghe had gathered all his stuff and prepared to leave. He hovered nervously around the door.

Shen Yuan snapped out of it to bid him goodbye. Binghe smiled shyly.

“Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime?” he asked.

Shen Yuan hid a smile behind his hand, and adopted a lofty expression.

“This immortal does not often descend from his honorable peak. However, if fate wills it to be so, then so shall it be,” he said, imitating Binghe’s earlier style of speech.

Binghe laughed, but kept hovering near the door as if he was waiting for something.

“Alright, your friend must be wondering where you are. Go on, now.” A flash of disappointment crossed Binghe’s face, but he obediently left, looking back like a puppy several times as he did so.

It wasn’t until much later that Shen Yuan would realize he had forgotten to explain that he was friends with Shang Qinghua, and that they would likely see each other again at the wedding. By the time the wedding itself rolled around, it would prove to be an ordeal of its own.

But that would remain a story for another time.

#SVSSS #svsss fic #bingyuan #shen yuan #luo binghe #scumbag self saving system #bingqiuweek2021 #fanfic #day eight #fanfiction #my works

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rheawritessometimes · 4 years ago

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yoo besttieeee,,, *twirls hair cutely* cann i get a vision/weapon assignment please…aha…. ur so sexy…. my height is 160cm..i think thats 5’3 in american or smth ?? i played softball once for like mandatory phys ed classes and. funny story but one time the person before me swung back and hit me in the stomach really hard and for some reason the teacher scolded me and not the kid but i think the teacher was just racist lol. (jst based on othr things and not just the getting hit in the stomach thing lol) my favourite class in school is probably calculus cause its fun and p easy ? feelings about nature… hmm ok. i love plants and animals and stuff (im trying to grow plants but i keep killing them and buying new ones kinda hurt the poor wallet :’) but i hate ants and most bugs. esp ants bc i have an ant infestation rn and i caNT FIND THE NEST ??? AND THEY KEEP. CLIMBING INTO MY CHOCOLATE MILK AND RUINING IT >:(((((( hate it here frfr :////. as for my bucket list. i think i wld want to get a tattoo?? i have a couple of designs in mind like mayb mothman or smth lol. the only reason i havent gotten it is cause they r so expensive ?? and i dont have the self control to save up lol. OH. ANOTHER thING !! maybe getting a pet like cat ?? i think they r so cool. ok or maybe living overseas with my friends + escaping my shitty family !! sorry i have so many things on my bucket list AHA. my favourite colour is probably like. mustard yellow ? i generally love all shades of yellow im gna be real!! but my second favourite has to be pink but !! this either like. cotton candy pink, coral pink or baby pink ??? i think pink is so cute ??? andd my favourite genshin boss is probably childe bc. beating up white men is therapeutic /j. no bc im lazy to run all the way to the wolf, i dont like the perspective when u fight dvalin (also i dont want to fight dvalin. when i first started playing i was rlly excited that we cld become friends w/ the dragon :// then i was informed we had to fight him ??!!!!) ok but. mini-ish boss wise it wld be the cryo regisvine bc i like to see how much damage my hutao does!! i also love fighting ruin guards bc the first time i fought it it took me like 10 tries to kill it but now its so easy !! wahoo!! mmm a secret,,,, ooo this might b very dark but i have a rlly bad rs with my parents + i cant wait to move out but where i come from u cant move out unless u get married or smth. which is why i want to move overseas HAHA. anw!! thank u bestie in advance for the weapon/vision kinnie assignment lol 😝 hope u have a great week ahead !!! <333

I think a bow user with a Hydro Vision. A bow for distance, but I'm not super solid on it. I think you could go a lot of ways but instinct says bow. Your energy just matches Hydro so well. You can't keep plants alive and you like math, so that leans Hydro too.

Your energy suggests to me that your elemental skill would allow you to trap enemies in bubbles like the Hydro Abyss Mage. The cooldown would probably be fairly long though.

#.rhea mail #rhea assignment

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solar-bean · 5 years ago

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This is the very extensive and detailed rant of a fed up black, female student of class 2020

-You are free to scroll past this if you want. I really just needed to get this off my chest. But if you have advice or are experiencing a similar situation, feel free to message me-

So first off, I haven't liked going to school since I was 9. And highschool has only deepened my loathing of it. But maybe I don't hate school in general. Maybe I just hate the schools I've gone to ( 4 in total ). This rant is about highschool specifically. Perhaps what I'm about to type is normal and I'm overreacting. But I'm tired of not talking about my problems because I'm worried that I'll sound like an ungrateful brat. Typing/ writing about my issues makes me feel better. And I really need to feel better.

So here are the main points in order of severity: Low income, Advisory, Graphic Arts and Discipline/Work Ethic

Low Income:

I've only ever gone to low income schools in my neighborhood. I hoped high school would be different but thanks to the crappy education of my old school and an even crappier selective enrollment test score, I couldn't get into the schools I wanted. Then again my single mother probably couldn't afford those other schools anyway.

My highschool shares a building with another highschool. And unfortunately they called dibs on the best features and have control of the heating and ac. We don't even have our own gym. We also have the least amount of space with the smallest class being mine of 144 seniors. So there's a lot of packed classrooms.

Speaking of having way too many students, recourses are slim as a result. Our best equipment, chromebooks, need to be reserved weeks in advance by the teacher and even then they still may not be able to get enough of them for their class. Said chromebooks can often be missing keys, not work at all or be stolen easily because of their small size.

A few other issues are terrible lunches ( I've been bringing lunch from home since sophmore year), very limited field trips, mice infestation, very few clubs ( if we have any idk ) and teachers have to pay for just about everything class related.

Advisory:

Advisories were created to prepare us for greek life in college. I honestly think it's to keep everyone in check but ok. Even so I have absolutely 0 interest in anything frat or sorority related ( no offense to those who do ) as well as many of my classmates but advisory is mandatory.

My first 2 years of advisory were hell. Most of my advisory sisters were either people I'd never talk to because we weren't in the same class, had nothing in common or they were straight up terrible people. I should mention that freshman year has the worst students because about 30% don't make to the next grade or just transfer. Most of my advisory sisters I had problems with were in that 30% ( a few had already repeated ).

Since I kept to myself there were very few incidents were I was put into a tense situation with them. The main conflicts involved our advisor, who I guarantee you was not the problem. She was essentially a poor, white, optimistic, young math teacher from out of town that was thrown to the slaughter. And my cowardly self watched not wanting to be next.

She ended up leaving by junior year so what was left of my advisory merged with another and got a new advisor. The only downside is that our new advisor is a firm believer in " sisterhood " and no cliques ( even if you converse easier with a certain group of people and advisory is already a forced clique in itself ). Maybe I'd be more up for advisory events , which we rarely have , if my advisory experience wasn't sullied so early on.

Graphic Arts:

The reason I chose my school was because it had an art class. In seventh grade I knew I wanted to have a career in art and that my talent was lacking but had potential. So you can imagine my horror when I learned that the art teacher had left once I'd gotten there.

I was sad but stayed positive and even highly recommended them to get another art teacher. Then by sophomore we got an art after school program ( 4:25 to 6 twice a week ). I managed to keep my grades the same and take the classes every week for the entire school year. I only missed about 4 days total. For once I actually enjoyed staying after school.

The class taught me so much and I didn't have to wait for the summer to take an art class downtown. Even better I got to interact with other young artists of my race ( there was usually only one other black kid at the summer classes ). Everything was finally looking up.

Then the art galleries happened. The school hosted one per semester. I brought my art to display but I couldn't stay cuz of a shitload of math homework. I got complimented the next day but still regretted not staying. So I vowed to attend the next one with even more pieces than before.

The night finally came and I was hyped. Me and two seniors were in charge of doing caricatures for free ( one senior gave me a dollar tho ). I had fun with that but noticed something weird...none of our art was displayed.

Apparently they cut it out for time along with the theatre clubs performance. And I would've been fine with that. If my family hadn't come.

The icing on the cake was when they turned off the lights in the hallway where we were drawing the caricatures so they could start the show for the performing art groups. I couldn't contact my family until the show was over and booooiii were they pissed. Especially my mom. I was more sad than anything. I had a feeling my school valued the performing art more and this just proved that. At least now we have an actual art class. And my art teacher is awesome and supportive as hell.

Discipline/ Work Ethic:

These are together cuz they've equally fucked me up. Don't get me wrong. I have a 4.2 gpa and 0 detentions.

The problem is my classmates.

I have been to soooo many class/school meetings about behavior and grade issues over the past 4 years. One of which a staff member said " now i know all of ain't bs-in' but why aren't those people helping the ones who are."

Like wow! Thanks. I hate it.

I'd be happy to help my fellow classmates. It's just that their version of help is cheating off my tests and copying my homework.

So yeah my bad. I've been sooo selfish.

I can count on my hand the amount of times I've been told that I'm doing a good job directly and not in front of a class as a way to embarrass them.

This year behavior was so bad that they made a competition to see which advisory would get the least demerits. Big mistake. My heart goes out to all the poor well behaved students who lost because of a few advisory mates. It only takes one. The record for most demerits in a day was 30 I think.

I forgot the competition was going on at some point cuz I've only gotten 2 demerits in 4 years. My advisory won second and we played the waiting game for our prize only to have a pizza party with 17 other advisories. The winning advisory was salty as hell. But hey we got free lunch at least.

I managed to get good grades simply by doing everything on time and having no social life. This was by choice really. I promised myself I'd do better in college but now I gotta study for ap.

It was actually ap literature that gave me a new perspective on my classmates work ethic. We were given a lengthy reading assignment but the due date was stretched by two class days and the weekend. Even though I'd been mentally drained lately ( by lately I mean since the 1st week of school ) and had other work to do, I completed it with slightly less annotations.

Upon the due date I discovered that I and one other classmate completed the reading. Even the valedictorian didn't do it!!! And this wasn't a one time thing either.

In fact my class is notorious for never doing work on time. I'm talking completing-a-project-in-the-class before-the-it's -due- for bad. And some people I understand. Some of them really need help and resources. But every one else. Excuses excuses. The extended due dates gave me extra free time but it made the work I completed on time feel pointless. Like I could've just not done it and not face any consequences.

I tried that and was stressed out all day to the point of doing the work anyway. School's got me whipped I guess.

So if I hate highschool so much why do I go on time everyday, miss at most 3 days a year, do my work, behave myself and study??? Simple. I'm trying to get out. Having a good gpa and test scores will get me more scholarships cuz God knows my mom can't afford art college ( I got into my first choice so yeah:). Really highschool has just been a means to an end.

I've had my good days and have made some friends but I really just wanna run to hills with my diploma in hand. And thats what's kept me going. But now we're quarantined.

And my school has decided to make work optional.....and I have all A's......

Needless to say I've barely done any work at all. If we never have to go back theres a good chance I won't. I'm so numb at this point that I don't care that we may not have a prom ( aka the only dance I was ever going to go to ).

I'm just done. Done and fed up.

But thank you to my mom, family, bestie, teachers and my classmates that actually want to have a future for keeping me going. If I don't completely give up it's thanks to you. Future me, I hope you get everything you want at art school:)

#school #highschool #class of 2020 #2020 #senior year #rant #lomg rant #if anyone wants to share their shitty highschool experience feel free #i actually left a lot of stuff out #like the freshman year camping trip #and social media drama #and spanish class #ughh im getting flashbacks #if you read this thanks it means a lot😊💗💗💗

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bountyofbeads · 5 years ago

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A Tale of Two Jeffreys: How the Virgin Islands Welcomed a Rich Sex Offender—and Punished a Poor One

https://news.yahoo.com/tale-two-jeffreys-virgin-islands-100129832.html

A Tale of Two Jeffreys: How the Virgin Islands Welcomed a Rich Sex Offender—and Punished a Poor One

By Michael Daly, Special Correspondent | Published 07.28.19, 6:01AM ET | Daily Beast | Posted July 28, 2019 |

From the Virgin Islands comes a tale of two Jeffreys, and the difference great wealth can make when it comes to sex crimes—until it doesn't.

Both Jeffreys were convicted of shameful crimes that required them to register as sex offenders in whatever state or jurisdiction they resided.

Jeffrey Epstein pleaded guilty in Florida to engaging a minor in prostitution in a 2007 plea deal only a super-rich guy could have swung. He did 18 months locked up, mostly in a private wing of the Palm Beach County jail, where he only stayed at night, returning each morning to “work release.”

He then proceeded to prove that a registered sex offender with enough money in the Virgin Islands can just continue to come and go from a private island off the coast of St. Thomas, with an ever-changing entourage of girls who appeared to be barely in their teens. He would announce his periodic return by raising the American flag over the opulent hideaway identified on the maps as Little Saint James Island, but known to locals as “pedophile island.”

Jeffrey No. 2—Jeffery Cole—was convicted in Ohio of a misdemeanor charge of voyeurism in 2009. He was a schlub of modest means, but his offense was relatively minor (if creepy) and he needed neither wealth nor influence to receive just a suspended sentence of 90 days and two years probation.

“The underlying conviction, which requires Mr. Cole to register as a sex offender, did not involve a minor, physical violence, or physical touching of any kind,” his present attorney, Melanie Turnbull, noted in court.

We Found Red Flags All Over Jeffrey Epstein’s Jail Records

Once he successfully completed probation, Cole moved to Georgia, where he registered as a sex offender. He moved to the Virgin Islands in 2018 and has not been charged with engaging in further voyeurism or any other crimes.

The problem for this Jeffrey was that he failed to register promptly in his new home as a sex offender. The U.S. Attorney for the Virgin Islands, Gretchen Shappert, did not miss an opportunity to convey through the media how seriously her office takes such matters.

“USVI resident indicted for not registering as sex offender,” the headline in a local news outlet read.

That February 28th article was accompanied by a photo illustration that showed a parked auto with a driver-side front door emblazoned with the words “SEX OFFENDER In This Car.” It also pictured a house with a sign out front reading, ”SEX OFFENDER LIVES HERE.”

On April 12, Cole entered into a plea deal where he faces a sentence of no more than a year.

“St. Thomas Resident Pleaded Guilty to Failing to Register as a Sex Offender,” the U.S. Attorney’s press release announced.

In the meantime, on March 15, the other Jeffrey flew into St. Thomas aboard his private jet. He made his annual check-in at the local sex registry office, a gesture that can now be seen as a kind of mockery, as it’s been revealed that he had been seen still bringing young girls to his private island.

“Everybody was like, ‘Oh, yeah, that’s pedophile island,’” remembers a Wall Street numbers cruncher turned pizzeria owner who arrived in the Virgin Islands from New York in 2009.

Where were the authorities when it came to this Jeffrey?

Epstein’s Coney Island Days: From Math Nerd to ‘Arrogant’ Prick

At least four members of the local legislature accepted significant campaign contributions from Southern Trust Company, Inc., one of a host of business entities Epstein founded in the Virgin Islands. Those companies began with L.S.J, LLC, through which he bought his private island for $7.95 million in 1998.

Epstein had hired Cecile de Jongh, wife of former Virgin Islands Gov. John de Jongh, as the office manager for Southern Trust, which was granted income tax breaks of up to 90 percent by the U.S. Virgin Islands Economic Development Authority. The former first lady also managed the Epstein VI Foundation, which supported everything from brain research at Harvard to the girls’ volleyball team at St. Croix Central High School in the Virgin Islands.

After Epstein was arrested in Florida for a sex crime involving a minor, a Virgin Islands newspaper called The Avis ran an article suggesting that Cecile de Jongh’s connections with Epstein might muddy her husband’s political prospects. The Avis also noted that the arrest called into question whether the girls’ volleyball team should have jerseys bearing the name Epstein.

A purported grassroots movement collected 5,000 signatures on a petition accusing The Avis of yellow journalism. Epstein attorney Gerald Lefcourt issued a statement saying, “The grand jury and the prosecutor's office... determined that no serious offense had occurred.”

Really.

Epstein kept partying on Pedophile Island. He is said to have met some resistance when he sought to buy the nearby, larger island of Great St James. The blue-blood Danish family that owned it is said to have been reluctant to sell to someone with Epstein’s unsavory reputation. But he appears to have managed to acquire it anyway in 2016 by cloaking the buyer’s identity with a company called Great St. Jim LLC. He is said to have paid $18 million.

Epstein immediately applied for a permit to erect two 80-foot flag poles, arguing that the 45-foot limit on the books should not apply to his property. No doubt at least one of the poles would be used to fly an American flag and announce for everyone to see when the owner of Pedophile Island was back.

But construction of a compound on the bigger island was delayed by environmental concerns that even somebody as well-connected as Epstein could not just circumvent.

And there was far greater trouble brewing for Epstein as the result of a determined reporter, Julie Brown of the Miami Herald.

Brown revealed and documented the unconscionable plea deal Epstein had been granted. The Manhattan U.S. Attorney launched a new investigation.

In reviewing the 2007 Florida case, the FBI noted a court document reporting an incident that when agents served Epstein’s personal assistant Lesley Groff with a grand jury subpoena, she excused herself, purportedly to check on her child. She is said by the court document to have used the moment to telephone Epstein, who was headed in his private plane from Palm Beach to Teterboro Airport in New Jersey across the Hudson River from New York. He was in the company of another assistant, Nadia Marcinkova, who has been accused of complicity in his sex trafficking.

“Mr. Epstein became concerned that the FBI would try to serve his traveling companion, Nadia Marcinkova, with a similar grand jury subpoena,” the document reports. “In fact, the agents were preparing to serve Ms. Marcinkova with a target letter when the flight landed in Teterboro. Mr. Epstein then redirected his airplane, making the pilot file a new flight plan to travel to the US Virgin Islands instead.”

The American flag no doubt again went up over Pedophile Island as the FBI stood thwarted at Teterboro.

A dozen years later, the FBI took great care that Epstein received no warning. He flew unsuspecting on July 6 from Paris to Teterboro and a waiting pair of handcuffs.

On July 8, Epstein was arraigned in Manhattan federal court on charges of trafficking in underage girls. He was remanded as a flight risk and a danger to the community. He was consigned to the Metropolitan Correctional Center, briefly in general population but within hours assigned to the Special Housing Unit due to threats from inmates who apparently take a dim view of “short eyes,” as child molesters are known behind bars.

Epstein must have considered the arrest a possibility, for some time ago he commissioned an artist to paint a mural in his Manhattan mansion of him in a prison yard. Neither he nor the artist seem to have foreseen that he would find himself locked up 23 hours a day in an eight-by-eight foot cell infested with cockroaches and rodents. A thickly screened single narrow window faces a brick wall and lets in only enough light to tell night from day. Mold is said to grow on the walls. Water seeps in under the door from a shower to which he has access only once every three days.

For two weeks, Epstein’s cellmate was an ex-cop named Nicholas Tartaglione, who is accused of a quadruple murder. Tartaglione says the two became “friends,” whereby he joined a list that once included two presidents, Donald Trump and Bill Clinton. A realtor who asked not to be identified recently told The Daily Beast that Trump exclaimed at a business gathering at Tavern on the Green some years ago that Epstein was “my best friend.”

Tartaglione has reportedly told authorities that he saved Epstein from a suicide attempt. But Trump may not be the only liar on Epstein's list of pals. Tartaglione ended up in the Special Housing Unit after he was caught with a cellphone that he insisted had just been given to him by another inmate. Tartaglione then moved to keep the government from inspecting the phone’s contents on the grounds it may have privileged communications with his lawyer and with his wife. Never mind it was supposedly not his.

Epstein is now said to be on suicide watch. He is 66 and, if convicted, he stands a good chance of dying in prison even if he takes the best possible care of himself. He may have finally landed in a situation where all his money cannot save him from suffering the consequences of his actions.

Also behind bars is the other Jeffrey, having been remanded when he entered his guilty plea in April.

Cole had been free on his own recognizance since his arraignment, the court having deemed him to be neither a flight risk nor a danger to the community. His attorney petitioned for him to remain at liberty pending sentencing, which is set for August 15.

The attorney noted that Cole is a 57-year-old graduate of Ohio State University with a Bachelor of Science degree in landscape architecture, had been steadily employed for more than 30 years and was presently a fleet manager at a car rental company. He would be able to continue working there until his day of reckoning.

The judge remanded Cole nonetheless. Cole was shipped off to the Metropolitan Detention Center in Guaynabo, Puerto Rico. His attorney has since filed a motion to expedite matters.

“The current sentencing date inevitably results in a period of incarceration of four months,” the petition noted, adding that Cole was eligible to receive probation and no time at all.

As of Saturday, the sentencing was still set for August 15. Cole remains behind bars in Guaynabo. But he will almost certainly be free within the next few months.

And you can bet that this Jeffrey would not trade places with the other one for all the money in the world

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awfullyhorriblybadfantrolls · 6 years ago

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https://imgur.com/a/SCkEdGa

https://imgur.com/a/RQgDQYZ

(links if the pictures don’t show!)

Name: Mari Wendell {This is exciting, I dont get to do a lot of kids!} Age: 13 years Birthday: 20th October Sex: Female Relationship status: Single Symbol: A skull Symbol colour: #1B0C34

Appearance: Messy hair, kinda disheveled looking with a very pale complexion Disability (If they have one): Nearsightedness Interests/likes: Reading(especially horror and detective novels), solving mysteries, ice cream, knowing everyone’s secrets, collecting things, radio shows, puns, researching urban legends Dislikes: Large crowds, not knowing anything about anyone, being called stupid, being kept in the dark about stuff

Personality: (+) likes to learn tries to make friends despite her shyness likes to help fix problems: is very eager to please and tries to help whenever she can (-) nosy: she’s always trying to find out everything, which leads her to constantly snoop around other people’s belongings when they’re not looking doesn’t listen to people: she has a habit of ignoring other people’s opinions if she feels that they are in the wrong socially awkward kinda shy: is very awkward around others, and prefers to hide and watch from afar. messy and disorganized (Neutral) talkative: has a habit of rambling on about anything on her mind when nervous to distract herself from feeling awkward. She also likes giving lectures about her interests/hobbies if anyone she’s talking to seems interested, although she gets embarassed and will apologize for blathering if she thinks you’re not a bookworm: loves to read, and can almost always be found reading. She especially loves detective novels-always trying to be like the protagonists and attempting to solve the plot alongside them-and horror books for the suspense and because she loves a good scare! introverted doesn’t really care about her appearance (Fears) animals(they’re too excitable!), open spaces

Home description: An average looking two story house that’s filled with clutter. Most of it is books Pesterchum handle: paranormalInvestigator Handle meaning: “Paranormal” refers to her love for spooky things, and “investigator” refers to her being an aspiring detective Text colour: #1B0C34 Quirk: -Capitalization: Normal -Punctuation: Uses commas(,) a lot -Other: Has a habit of using run-on sentences -Laughter: Hee hee hee! Quirk example: Hi, my name is Mari, I like books, I hate math homework, I love snow, sandwiches are the best! Fetch modus: Mystery modus How to fetch items: Each captchalogued item is assigned to a random card. A piece of paper with some clues on it then spawns. In order to access an item, you must use the clues given to you to determine where the desired object is located. If you are wrong, all the items will rearrange themselves and you will have to start over Strife specibus: ½ broomkind Weapon: A broomstick with the head broken off

Dreams on: Derse Land: Land of Ruins and Ghosts Land description: a desolate land with crumbling ruins scattered about. most of it is heavily overgrown with foilage. there aren’t many consorts about because the entire planet is infested with ghosts of the dead Land quest: God tier: Page of Doom

Other notes: she cuts her own hair but is not very good at it

Random Quote: Oh, I love sandwiches! Although, don’t you think it’s funny how sandwiches have “sand” in its name? Wait, beaches have sand. I mean, think about it, perhaps sandwiches were meant to be a beachtime snack all along! I’m not sure if I’m happy with that, since I’ve never really been to a beach before. Maybe they just have an inate affinity for all things sandy, who knows?

((thanks so much for taking the time to review her! i hope she’s ok!))

{I think she is well developed, its pretty obvious you put a lot of work into her! I think a kid is a lot harder to mess up because there isn’t quite as many rules, but she’s believable and I can see her being a canon kid. Very good job!}

{Mod rating 10/10}

#submission #review

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lovietmars · 2 years ago

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my day was actual dogshit and the person i’d normally rant to is the reason my day is this bad

summary: my house is infested with wasps, i’m failing history and stressed about school, and i don’t think my boyfriend likes me anymore???? send help ;-;

(this basically turns into a huge rant about my boyfriend by the end lmao)

tw: wasps (obviously), divorce, cheating, a heterosexual relationship (ikr, disgusting)

i’ve been having a really shitty day and i wanted to rant about it on tumblr because it’s the only social media where people on here don’t actually know who i am. to begin with, my house is literally infested with wasps. apparently my mom found 30 wasps in my room. actually screaming. then, i got to school and got my grade back on my ap history test that i thought i definitely did well on, but turns out i got a 58.3% which is the second worst grade i ever got on a test (first place is the 57% i got on a precalc test last year). i have two tests tomorrow which i didn’t study for. plus an entire math packet. and 4 ap chem worksheets bc my teacher for some reason assigned every single homework from the entire first month of school to be due on the same day. so basically i am incredibly stressed from school and i literally have a C in ap history rn. which is kinda bad bc i’m trying to get a 4.0 gpa (i have maintained it for the past 2 years) and i don’t think i’ll be able to this year thanks to this test. not to mention the fact that my boyfriend-ish (like a guy i’m basically dating and has asked me to be his girlfriend but i said i wanted to wait until after homecoming to make it official) is acting really fucking weird over the past couple of days. he was literally acting so normal 2 days ago, but suddenly started being weird as fuck yesterday. i saw him at school 2 days ago, and we even stayed up calling until 2am like normal. i thought something was up when yesterday he didn’t send me a good morning text and supposedly woke up at like 3pm. okay so clearly that’s a lie because first of all man doesn’t need 11 hours of sleep. supposedly he was just dying to get off the call at 2am bc he was soooo tired, so assuming he went to sleep right after the call, he woulda got 11 hrs of sleep which is excessive. also he literally never goes to sleep that early like bro usually up until like 4-5 am at least. secondly i literally saw him online before he texted me that he just woke up so like mans not slick. we barely talked the entire day. any convo we had was dry as fuck and i had to start it myself. which is weird bc usually he texts me himself first and isn’t a dry texter at all. i usually get a “how’s your day love” and like it’s not just that i didn’t get a “love” but i didn’t even get a text from him at ALL. and it was yom kippur and i was fasting and he didn’t even ask me how i was from that. then that night i finally text i’m like how’s your day, you’ve been absent all day just like my dad. and like i know he appreciates a good absent dad joke bc one of the things we joke about is our dads bc like my parents are divorced and his dad just straight up cheated on his mom. and anyway he was being really dry and i noticed and i mentioned it, and he was like i’ve had a busy day, i’m watching stranger things. but even so, i didn’t get a “goodnight love” text, or even a goodnight text at all. the next day (today), i didn’t get a good morning text either. and at this point i was getting kinda upset. at lunch i texted him to ask if i could come over and say hi for like the last 10 mins of lunch, which supposedly “didn’t see” until lunch was over. then at the end of the day i asked him if he wanted to walk to the buses with me, which he didn’t respond to despite responding to my other message answering a question he asked. i asked again if he wanted to walk to the buses and he said sure so we ended up doing so. the walk was awkward, he seemed different. when he got on his bus, i didn’t even get a goodbye hug and he didn’t even dab me up (which we do for some reason), he just got on the bus. and then he hasn’t texted me for the whole rest of the day since then even though i literally went to the mall and got my homecoming dress and sent a picture of it to him???? like he’s literally my date to hoco, you’d think he’d be interested in what i’m wearing to it, especially bc he’s supposedly matching his tie with my dress. Continued.. see next paragraph..

apparently that paragraph was maximum length so we’ll continue here. anyway, i finally sent him a message a couple hours ago (at like 9:45pm - and mind you, i sent the picture of my dress at like 4pm) asking “Hey are you okay? Maybe I’m being too critical but you’ve been kinda distant the past couple days. Is everything okay? Do you need to talk about anything? Do you need to take a break from me?” which i thought was a pretty good way to handle the situation but like idfkk i’m bad at life. but the funny thing about that text isn’t that he didn’t respond to it, but that it simply didn’t SEND to him. and i’ve sent texts to other people since then that delivered, so idk what’s up with him. the wifi at his house is bad at times, like stuff sometimes takes a bit to send, but not 2 hours. not to mention that he’s been online on discord this whole time, so clearly his wifi is working to some capacity. that’s the whole rant but omfg i am so confused and upset about this. and in case you forgot, my house is still infested with wasps and i have a shit ton of homework due tomorrow. probably wasn’t a good idea to waste all this time i could have been doing hw making a rant on tumblr but like i had to rant. anyways that’s all. goodnight loves <3

UPDATE

apparently his mom took away his phone. first of all, that’s such a lie because he was on discord for literally hours last night. every time i checked discord, bro was online. and if he cared about me that much, he would have messaged me in discord to tell me that he got his his phone taken. i often get my phone taken, and i have messaged him in discord before to tell him that i got it taken. and i usually texted him from discord in these circumstances. not to mention that his mom really isn’t the type of person to take his phone, plus he didn’t even provide a reason why. and he didn’t even say sorry. i think he doesn’t like me anymore. and for some reason i’m not even that sad. he can go fuck himself. oh and also i skipped school today bc i had so much work to turn in that i didn’t do. i know that’s bad. but yeah. and i don’t even feel sad about my boyfriend. i’m just mad at him for very clearly lying to me. i wonder what his reason was. and it’s not like i don’t have a date to homecoming. i was originally going with one of my friends as a joke in addition to my boyfriend. i think he might have gotten jealous of the friend and that might be part of the reason he’s being like this. yes i am bisexual, but the friend is straight, and i would never actually want to date her even if she wasn’t. i still have a homecoming date at least. so all is fine. i’ll update more later

UPDATE AGAIN

broooo what??? he’s not at school today. bc according to the snap map he was at his house an hour ago. and it’s currently 1pm to clarify. i skipped school bc i had too much work, not bc of him. but i wonder why he skipped. bc of me?? i wonder if he thinks i skipped school bc of him. i would never. with all due respect i’m in 6 ap classes and i wouldn’t sacrifice a day of education for such a reason. humble yourself. but like now i can’t even ask him why he wasn’t at school bc i wasn’t either so he’d know i’m stalking. my strategy now is to just do nothing. keep stalking him and see if he texts me at all. i bet i won’t get a single text the entire weekend. see if i give a fuck. and i bet he won’t come to my game that i invited him to, either. and i won’t go to his soccer game either. L

oh and even if he had gotten his phone taken, he probably should have responded to the texts i’d sent him earlier, including the actual pictures of my homecoming dress??? like bro is supposedly my date, shouldn’t he care? or even just say that he saw the pictures? like some acknowledgement please??? plus he started not responding like around 3pm so his mom would have had to take his phone like right after he got home from school. which is unlikely. and sure even if his mom did take his phone, he was on discord the whole time and could have easily messaged me from there. plus it’s not just this. he was acting weird in person yesterday too. and over text the past couple days. like literally 3 days ago was so normal and suddenly the next morning bam everything was different. i wonder what happened. because clearly something is up.

and this whole rant post probably makes it seem like my boyfriend is a really toxic guy which couldn’t be farther from the truth. he’s just your standard nice jewish boy. he plays soccer and chess and d&d and he likes marvel and stranger things and listens to the beatles and the beach boys. i’ve had really deep conversations with him before. about our friend who died about a year and a half ago. about the universe and creation and whether god was real. about our parents, about mental illness, just so much. literally 4 days ago we had this really deep conversation about the universe and everything and the next day he asked me to be his girlfriend. i said i wanted to wait until after homecoming but yes. and me not choosing to be his girlfriend immediately clearly wasn’t the reason bc that happened on monday, but monday and tuesday were totally normal. on tuesday i asked him if he wanted to call and he said “double yes please.” and then literally the next morning he started being weird. i hope the call didn’t contribute to the weirdness. but i don’t recall the call going badly at all. he was trying to get off the call like at 2am which is a bit weird bc he usually goes to sleep way later, but he said he was tired so why would i think anything of it? especially bc he was like so eager to call me. and literally the day before he’d asked me to be his girlfriend. i really didn’t expect that he’d start being different. i was really hoping to be his girlfriend. i just can’t believe it

#lovietrants #bisexual #jewish #judaism #jumblr #yom kippur #tw divorce #tw cheating #tw bugs #tw wasps

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yanifestations · 2 years ago

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Journey to Self-independence: an anecdote of emotions I had experienced from the last 36 hours.

I know I have posted about my first flight experience already (and yes, very vague, I know). That is why it felt like the best thing to do is to post this as I believe I didn't extricate my thoughts that well, so I'm posting this to be as succinct and detailed as possible.

I left my hometown at 2200 last June 27th. Travel time from my hometown to ZC takes 4-5 hours (depending on the bus), and in my giddy anticipation of the prospect of finally being inside an actual plane and flying high onto the clouds, I took the earliest bus trip, which was at 2300. So if you do the math, I'd arrive at around 0300, which I did, and when I took the jeepney ride to the airport, it was still closed. And my flight is still at 0950. The reason why I took the earliest bus trip was that my sister told me that the next trip would be at 0300, and if I count the time, I'd arrive at around 0700, and I still need to do a jeepney ride to the airport, which takes around 20-30 minutes (if my math didn't fail me). In my defense, I needed to be there 2 hours before my flight. Add those hours up and I still have 4 hours to wait before I actually board. Also, it's better than arriving late anyway. The last thing I needed to deal with was the dilemma of missing my very first flight.

So, moving forward. Finally, I'm on board. Huzzah! I should pop champagne and revel in this innocent bliss. The queue wasn't bad. Wanted to be at the last, intentionally.

So, after all that giddy excitement, we made our way to the plane. Was assigned to enter at the back entrance (which was a bummer since my seat was located the near front center, so I had to walk all the way down the hallway). Found my seat, and placed my backpack in the overhead luggage bin. Took a seat, and cozied myself to rest. A deep sigh and all I did for the next couple of hours was either between staring out the window or dozing off to sleep.

What I've heard from my high school class really was true; flight turbulence is the worst. Not only did it make my already terrible hearing an annoyance, but it made my head inflate like winter air was blowing on both my ears. Oh well, a bit of inconvenience to pay for my blithe ignorance.

(In case you're wondering why there was a long trail of black smoke billowing in the background, from what I've heard from the locals, an LPG warehouse exploded at midnight.)

The plane trip lasted for an hour, and boy was I at cloud-nine, figuratively and literally (in a sense).

Bummer that I left ZC with the weather bright and sultry, only to be welcomed by the murk and downpour at NAIA.

So I took a bite for lunch, went back to the terminal, rode a bus trip for Pampanga, and the rest was bliss intermingled by existential awakening.

While I was traveling along the long roads of Pampanga-- as I appreciated the beauty of the mountains and the seeming convergence of a city proper infested by a country-side theme-- I can't help but smile and get lost in my accumulated peace.

I was tired. So tired, truth be told. But drifting off felt unnecessary. And as I was drowning in my placid, sedentary silence, I noticed that my peace had this giddy and naïve happiness that got me to see a life worth living. As though all raw and dark thoughts I had had just been dissipated by this temporary, picturesque distraction. And somewhere around that naivete, a tingling thought crept like a baseball bat of a slap that felt as though it needed to be recognized.

Chain to the Rhythm was playing in the background, and the music brought me to the actuality that this naive happiness had been repressed for so long from my tolerance of doing the bare minimum and staying in my comfort zone ever since I started growing up and learning mature, pragmatic, rational thoughts. Even though it made me sad, a more dominant, somewhat imposing but radical thought emerged; this may be what reality looks like, and things may not turn out for the best, but at least I can work my way to figure it out.

Even if the world seems like it is against me, I can compromise and wiggle my way out of the bad days and bad things. And this naivete is something that I must not linger for long, as this may also distract me from the consequences of my ignorance and indifference.

So there's that. Wanted to share.

Thanks for indulging me.

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visualrhetoricalanalysis747 · 4 years ago

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hollywoodx4 · 8 years ago

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Sticking With the Schuylers (40)

(Not only did I stay up way too late for my schedule to write this, but I also woke up earlier this morning to finish it...it wouldn’t go the rest of the day undone. I mean, I’m a teacher and it’s the end of the year, I don’t have anything glaringly important to do....no way....)

If you haven’t given this story a chance...I mean, I’m not saying you’re missing out but it might seem daunting, but don’t we all like a little emotional roller-coaster once in a while?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 1112 I 13 14 15 16 17 18A 18B 18C I 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 I 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Tagging: @linsnavi

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

“I need to talk to you.”

Eliza comes home on Wednesday night with an unreadable expression, somewhere between somber and passive. It’s later than usual; the inclusion of therapy has not only imposed on their night, which they’ve wordlessly moved to Tuesdays instead, but it has also taken a chunk of her relaxation away as well. She kicks off her snow-infested boots at the door, peeling off layers with slow and careful movements. He can’t tell if she’s exhausted or tense, mulling over her words. Her keys hit the countertop with a clang and she looks up to meet him.

He’d risen from his chair in the office immediately upon hearing her voice. It barely even reached the room, where he’d been holed up working on a case study he’d been buried in for days. Her voice falls flat. There is a worry that sinks into his heart, cold and unforgiving, and he hesitates at the door to watch her. She lets her coat hang from her hands for a moment, fabric brushing the floor before it falls completely. The knit pattern on her scarf is traced by tentative fingers that run along its ridges, carving out each space as if the feeling of wool chilled by winter weather is something she needs to memorize in this very moment. It feels like an eternity by the time she has completely shed all of her winter garb, leaving it in neat piles by the door as she finally looks up at him.

This week had been her third session with Lisa. Eliza had warned him-as Lisa had warned her-that things would only get harder before they got better. Then she’d shaken it off, pegged it as a cautionary tale not meant for her. She’d been so sure that she’d be able to make it, to leave therapy in the room and continue on with her life as if it were completely normal. It was a mistake to think so optimistically. The night had been especially tiring; ‘we’ll leave that for the next session’ had finally caught up to her, the pass cards completely used up. There were too many things to talk about in the space of time they had to be lingering on every minute, pleasant detail within her life. She’s acutely aware of the fact that she won’t be able to move on unless she begins to talk about the bad-the unpleasant. Still, wanting and needing had become two very different places in her life, distancing themselves more every second. There’s no room for compromise. Need has to come now before want or wish or hope. This premise aches, and stings. Eliza is exhausted.

She sinks into the couch expectantly, patting the space next to her as if she’s giving herself a death sentence. Her face has fallen considerably, eyes cast to the floor and fingers fumbling idly in her lap.

“So I don’t want you to think that any of this is your fault, okay?” Alexander nods, curious. Eliza draws in a breath-a shot of courage, and holds it in place for a moment before speaking. She has the floor. Alexander is attentive and curious and silent, poised no doubt with the perfect turn of phrase on the tip of his tongue. Her stomach turns with nerves that roll in a docile storm, just enough to shake her confidence.

“Lisa talked to me last week about a decision I had to make and I ignored her, thinking it would just go away. It hasn’t, and she keeps giving me all of these drawn-out reasons why we have to have this talk and at first I didn’t think it was necessary but the more she talks the more she changes my mind…”

“Okay, it’s alright, we can work this out. I can get another job, we don’t have to have an office. You can even keep student teaching, right?-because nine months give or take would bring us to September, and that might be kind of hard but if we just sit down and talk about it we can figure this out. And then your parents-shit, your parents-they can, uh, we can just sit down with them, and have a rational talk, and you might need to cry if I’m not already crying and if your dad doesn’t murder me, and a baby’s a lot of work but I think we can do it,”

“-Wait, Alex, slow down!” She’s nearly laughing now, alarm in her eyes and the hint of a smile playing at her lips. She moves her hands from her lap to his shoulders, tracing tracks along them as his heartbeat and his scattered mind settle. “I’m not pregnant.”

The release of tension in Alexander is visible; his shoulders drop, his hands stop sweating. He nods his head, fervently, letting the words wash over him in excess until they finally click in his mind.

“Good-okay, not good as in I wouldn’t support you if you were, but good as in we haven’t even had this conversation yet, and this is not the right time to be raising a child, and we have careers and family and,”

“-It’s okay, Alexander, I understand. I’m not offended. I mean, could you imagine my father if that were the case?” He had. He’d imagined it all, right down to each gruesome detail within the thirty-second span of time he had been stumbling over his words ready to provide for her. Being maimed by Phillip Schuyler after impregnating his daughter three months into their relationship isn’t exactly the kind of rapport he wants to have with the man. He’s fine continuing the simple chats they’ve had thus far, those are enough to carry him into his good graces.

“I-uh, I did have something important to talk to you about, though.”

May; the school year has ended, and somehow Eliza has managed to complete every task and assignment on time, and in good reflection in her grades as well. She sits on the porch of her parents’ house with Angelica, looking over her final grades with a sigh of relief. She is genuinely surprised that she passed the year. Academically, Eliza did not find it too difficult. In fact, she excelled far above the others with her knowledge taken from volunteer work and tutoring, bits and pieces of knowledge coming in handy in her development classes. Even in math, which had proven to be her worst subject throughout school, she managed to pull a grade above her expectations.

The second semester had been trying. Angelica can see it reflected in the dropping marks, the weight of Eliza’s GPA dipping her down to just barely missing the dean’s list, which had been her goal all along. She had tried to explain, for the fifteenth time, that making the list was exceptionally hard-especially at a school like Columbia. Eliza wouldn’t listen. Watching her little sister was like watching herself through a mirror. The high expectations did not come from their parents as much-no, Phillip and Catherine wanted their daughters to succeed by trying their hardest, not by breaking their backs. This is something internalized, built into their mismatched DNA in a harrowing representation of perfectionism that fought with their minds on a daily basis. It isn’t enough that they both are going to Columbia. It isn’t enough that they’ve made high marks their entire year. To Angelica and Eliza, there is always a higher goal to be met in academics. Angelica has achieved it for the third year in a row. Eliza has missed on her very first try.

Angelica knows the pathway that had taken her younger sister from straight A’s to lower A’s and B’s. This is entirely a fault that cannot be placed on Eliza, who had spent late nights trying to complete school work and come to class late covered in concealer with sorrow-ridden eyes. From the moment she had moved in with James, her grades began to slip. Her assignments grew harder. Her life grew harder. She had held her head up like a warrior through it all, persevered and battled herself to keep her spot at the school she had been dreaming about for years on end. It’s her family’s legacy, to move from Manhattan Prep to Columbia. It’s their dream to keep the dignity and respect alive through the deeply-rooted tradition. And she had almost lost it-according to her own thoughts.

“You didn’t do badly at all, Eliza. Look-your Health & Nutrition professor left a note that your final project on bringing sustainable choices to school lunches was inspired. Actually, you have a lot of comments on here.”

“I guess.”

“Eliza, you got really good grades for your first year at Columbia. And for everything you went through,”

“-No.” Her voice is hollow, cracked. Eliza grabs the paper transcript from her sister’s hands, burying it in her lap without sparing a second glance. She’d already memorized the marks, anyway. “We’re not using that as an excuse. We broke up in March. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have been able to higher grades than this.”

As summer slowly crept into view, the thought of final marks never left Eliza’s mind. There were days where she seemed fine; that she was no longer pained by her experiences and could not even remember what she had been so upset about. But most days she found that time hung suspended in front of her, where the beginning prickling heat of summer took over the streets. The world was surrounded in humidity that brought crowds stumbling inside and packing the subways with sweaty bodies pressed tight together. In this chaos Eliza never stopped. She threw herself back into the things she had missed in a manic sort of frenzy that packed her schedule from dawn to dusk. Angelica went from seeing her every time she walked through the door from work to only once in a while, in sparing moments in the holes of her schedule. And when she did see Eliza-when they sat together at brunch, or spent a moment in the kitchen over some tea and cookies-she was just an average human being with an over packed schedule and a sleep pattern to match.

Angelica knew better-she always knows better.

There’s one morning that Eliza doesn’t leave the house, at least not at the crack of dawn. Angelica and John have both woken up, and are sitting at the little breakfast nook in the corner of their kitchen. John pours over one half of the newspaper while Angelica takes the other. They sit in a peaceful sort of silence, the sound of birdsong and small sips of hot coffee the only accompaniment. They hear Eliza before they see her. This morning she is a slow, methodical clicking of oxford flats against hardwood. John looks up from his mug to greet her and is met with blinking eyes and a grin painted unsteadily on well-made features.

“You’re here late.” John speaks up first, eyes lifted just above the crease of the newspaper. She nods. Although the conversation has invited her further into the kitchen she does not move-her legs won’t will it. Instead she hovers in her place, staring at the couple at the table with an inward plea she doesn’t even realize she’s sending. Prod. Her mind whispers the words, begging. Ask me what’s up. Help me.

“Come sit, Bets.” Angelica pats the space next to her on the bench of the nook and scoots over to accommodate her younger sister, holding out a piece of toast with an inviting grin.

“So what are you up to today?”

“I-uh, I'm meeting someone for lunch. Actually, that's kind of why I'm…I wanted to ask…well, I got a call from James this morning.”

“And you didn't answer it, because you're a smart girl.” Eliza’s face falls, eyes cast to the table. She picks at a piece of slightly burnt toast, no longer hungry anymore. Her stomach churns with the frown of disapproval and immediate flurry this sends both Angelica and Church into.

“Tell me he's not the friend you're going to lunch with.”

Another silence. The slow burn of their eyes on her-judging, accumulating facts that aren't quite there yet-that burn singes thin skin, leaving reddened marks in its place. Eliza sits under their watch. This is all she can do, as if they have magnetized her to the breakfast nook and the burnt toast.

“Elizabeth Schuyler, I know you're smarter than this.”

“It's not as bad as it sounds; he's getting help. He checked himself into a counseling center for abusive men. He's going to get better. And in order for him to be able to do that, his group leader told him that he has to meet the mistakes of his past. He has to reconcile.”

“At the cost of all of the progress you’ve made? I don’t think so.”

Angelica stares down her younger sister, who peers back at her through widened eyes. Eliza pushes strands of hair back into the bobby pins that hold them from her face before her hands drop. She picks at the fairly fresh coat of mint green nail polish, wincing as it begins to chip away. She hates painting her nails-the effort isn’t nearly worth the week they last, if that long. She does, however, love the first day with a new color on. Matching the polish to her clothing, looking down and admiring blues or pinks or nude tones had become one of the simpler pleasures of her life. And each time she began to chip away at it, she’d simply start anew. It’s easy to wipe away one round of polish to make room for the next. She does it without a second thought.

She wonders, then, if this effort would be worth it. Angelica continues to stare, keeping her rooted to her seat at the table with an iron grip made only with the fire of an older sister’s protection. Her heart is racing, then, running through the options although her mind has already been made up. The implications of her actions are real-she had felt them before, that day in March. There is not a part of her that wants that to happen again. However, there is still a draw. As much as she would never admit it, to her sister or to John or even to herself, hearing James’s voice on the phone had brought her back. There were times, simpler times, where she had been happy with him. In the beginning he’d hold her close to his side. He’d link her arm through his, walk to a bench in the smallest green oasis in the city where they would just sit and talk. In the beginning, James was gentle. He’d speak in kindness, with those hazel-green eyes that pop against chocolate, freckle-dusted skin. The summer introduced him with a sunny disposition and a warmed heart. As the weather approaches that mark again, reminiscing on that same heat has spun Eliza’s head around and back again. Suddenly, November through March are just faded memories that run on a plane of non-existence. Suddenly, there is only summer-the sweet, gentle warmth of James Reynolds before the lack of heat had turned him sour.

As long as one looks hard enough, there is hope in every moment. Eliza hitches herself to that belief as she finally meets Angelica’s eyes, her own full and round and ready to battle.

“God, Angelica, I’m not saying I’m going to marry the man tomorrow. I’m saying that this is an important key to his healing. I’m not going to deny him the chance to turn his life around. He’s taken the first steps. I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Angelica!” She shouts her sister’s name, then, a voice unlike her own rising from the depths of her diaphragm in an uncontrolled and sudden burst of anger. Both Angelica and John sit back in their seats, then, watching as Eliza picks herself up from the table. She paces the room for a while, force-pushing the optimistic thoughts back into her mind. John shuffles the paper. Angelica’s mug clinks against her plate. They’ve reached a stalemate, Eliza unwilling to go without the permission her sister will not give. Each with a different understanding of the situation, this is the first real fight they have gotten themselves into.

“I could go with you.” John speaks up, then, in his calm and subdued manner. He glances between the sisters, offering a peace-a compromise. His girlfriend’s eyes are lowered, angered and betrayed. She does not interrupt. There is always a judicial sense in whatever John Church has to say. Quiet by nature, his speech is thought out and significant when given.

“I’ll hang out at a different booth-close by, to be safe. This way, you can still talk.” Angelica has loosened, slightly, but the tension is still visible in her tight shoulders and unmoving limbs. John turns to her, a hand on her hand. “If things start to go badly, I step in. He won’t even know who I am. I’ll wear a hat or a fake beard or something if that makes it any better.”

…

May 14th is an overcast day. The clouds seem to want nothing more than to spill their contents on the thirsting earth, but they hold off. Instead they close the city in with a shadow that spills over, the day feeling immediately gloomy. Eliza holds her nerves in the lump of her throat as she waits to enter the small café James had chosen for lunch. John had gone in half an hour earlier under the premise of waiting for a date that will never show up, an excuse to keep the center table long enough to be witness to their meeting.

She stumbles in as soon as the clock on her phone shifts to noon, legs carrying her quicker than she wishes to the table he’d saved. She passes John, bowler hat and all, on the way. He nods. She’s nearly choking on the thrumming of her heartbeat in her chest.

He’s wearing her favorite of his shirts; a soft blue, collared cotton he dresses underneath a navy cardigan. It turns his eyes brighter, the green of the sea on an overcast day like today. James stands to greet her, holding her hand and nodding and waiting for her to sit across from him before he joins her. She sips the water already at the table and he chats as if they’re back to the beginning. It feels like the beginning. The tapping of Eliza’s heart against her chest slows into a steady hum. She leans back against her chair. She laughs.

The conversation turns quite slowly to the topic of his counseling; he hadn’t mentioned it yet, and it had felt wonderful to just catch up with him. But glancing up Eliza notices John in a booth near them, watching over a menu. He sits on the edge of his chair. Eliza recoils at the glaring memory that comes flying back then, back to her mission and the reason she nearly hadn’t joined him in the first place.

“So, this is for…for your therapy?”

“We’re working on getting back the things we lost-making peace with the past. It’s a…it’s a very intensive program, but I think it’s going well.” A pause, and then, “I miss you, Elizabeth.”

The sound of her name from his lips, the way he’d crafted it so neatly with perfectionistic diction and a near purring of syllables, stirs something within her. It is not love, not in the way she had felt so long ago although she doubts it will ever go away. Her heart, once thrumming wildly with the potential of possibility and boundless optimism, sinks and settles at the bottom of her stomach as a sea stone set cold with a fear of the rolling tide. Her full name, once beautiful and bright, is beautifully masked venom from a snake’s scheming tongue. Eliza freezes in her seat. Like any of her actions back in the cold of their fall-winter-spring together, it does not go unnoticed.

“What?” James inches forward in his chair, a hand on the table between them. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Where does your group meet?”

“Uptown.”

“How’d you find them?”

“Online.”

“Why did you really want me here?” It takes an impulse and a shot of courage to send the words across the table, and once she does Eliza immediately regrets them. James’s lips turn, just a hint of a degree, but enough to hint at the first signs of his anger. She backs further away, feet planted sideways on the floor; a getaway. She’d gotten good at escape plans in the months with-and now without him.

“Are you even in therapy?”

He does not want to answer her question; the Cheshire grin he has grown fill between the lines of their conversation sufficiently enough for Eliza to feel a shockwave-sparks that light within her body as warning flares. Her chair scuffs the floor as she propels it out from under her, gathering her bag. His hand is on hers before she can move away.

“I knew you’d come running the second I called. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Sweet Eliza. Sweet, naive Elizabeth. You need me, you know. Who else is going to keep you safe?”

His hand is all the way up her arm now, running itself up and down in a trail that leaves icy pin-pricks in its wake. She wants to recoil-she wills her muscles to punch, or tense…anything to fight back. Instead, she stays rooted-frozen. His touch transports her to a time where she could no longer move-to fall-winter-spring, where she’d been motionless under his spell of charm and wit and poise he’d saved only for the public image.

It feels as though time has suspended itself in mid-air as both of his hands find their way to her hips. In reality, it is only a matter of seconds before John has pulled her away, throwing filthy, daggered curse words his way as he wraps Eliza in his own arms, turning so her body is sheltered from him. He bellows in a voice she’s never heard from his reserved manner, with threats to harm she’d never intended. She’d never wanted any of this to happen. She’d never thought she’d have to be saved.

Naive; she’d trusted James. Her heart had fluttered at its reintroduction to his eyes. Her heart had been so full of hope, of stories she’d tell Angelica of his progress and his light.

He’d come to hurt her. She’d been naïve.

John does not speak to her on their way back to the apartment. Angelica does not say ‘I told you so.’ Instead, she whispers words of her middle sister’s boundless kindness as they lay nose to nose in bed that night. Eliza pretends to sleep. She is not sure whether reality or her dreams will haunt her more, and she is not willing to gamble. One word whispers her to a lurid, sweat-laden nightmare.

Sweet Eliza; forgiving. Kind. Sweet Elizabeth, always sweet.

…

“I think we need to live apart for a while.” She holds her breath then, the words tumbling out faster than she’d expected them to. It’s easier to speak to Alexander, simpler; even when she hadn’t wanted to have this conversation at all.

The air is stagnant and stale and Alex fights to keep his head above it all. Eliza’s suggestion-request, really-burrows deep into his mind. With it come one thousand accusations, thoughts and shouting and terse words all aimed from his mind to his heart. Although he seeks answers and the ability to understand he is suddenly buried under the premise of what she is saying, what the suggestion might mean for them. He hadn’t envisioned a life without her in a long time. The temporary piece of their living situation had gone away long ago-or so he’d thought. It’s only been a little over a month since he’d moved in-what could have gone wrong in such a short amount of time? Is she having second thoughts about him?

Two long, agonizing minutes and Alex still has not said anything. Eliza watches the physical manifestation of his thought process in his wandering eyes and hand that rubs the back of his neck. He nods, accepting, but his mouth hinges and unhinges in the beginnings of questions that will not form. He’s not sure whether the lump in his throat is from the now arid air or the beginnings of raw emotion that have welled up in his throat. Either way, he rests his hand on her thigh.

“…okay. Okay. I’m not going to argue with you-this is your apartment, that would be stupid. But can I just…can I ask why?”

“Because I’ve been going through a lot of memories…this giant, holed-up mess of things I never even knew happened to me. I’ve been so busy with you that I’ve forgotten myself again.” He looks away then, poorly-hidden guilt shrouding his sinking figure and seeping into her skin. “It’s not your fault-god no, it’s really not. It’s just this fun thing I do where I attach myself to people too heavily. Right now, I really can’t afford that.”

“Are we still together?” His tone of voice lingers somewhere between hopeful and subconsciously chilled. Alex is not angry; he could not find it in his heart to be cold to her about something like this. Disappointment sinks into his joints, his heart. The room changes almost immediately before his eyes, as if her words could erase the painting of domesticity they’d created in just a second. His mug is an intrusion in their pile of dishes, his blanket a left-behind. He pulls it from the back of the couch, cradling it in his hands before moving to their-her-bedroom.

“Or course we are-Alex, are you angry with me?”

“I just need a minute!” He pulls his bags from the closet, emptying drawers and cabinets and casting them by the door in a haphazard fashion. She stands in the hallway, watching his flurried actions with tear-blurred vision. The more he packs, the less control she has over herself. Eliza lingers in a limbo between being unable to see or hear anything that’s going on and taking it all in much too fast. There is no in-between. When Alex flies by her again she stops him, a hand on his, breathing his name through quivering lips.

“I’m not angry, Eliza. I just,” He flings the last bag by the door, holding her shoulders in his hands before wiping the warm, salted tracks of tears from her reddened cheeks. She shakes in his hold, her uncertain frown a permanent fixture. “If we need to live apart, we need to live apart. I’ll call the guys and we’ll figure it out.”

There is something more that lingers on the edge of his sentence, tucked back away before it spills over the edge. A coating of thickness creeps in and fills the air around them, turning Eliza’s breath heavy and laborious. This is important. This is for you. You’ll be alright.

As if to pacify the thoughts she does not speak aloud, Alex shifts over to wrap her in his arms. He feels different, radiating love but lingering with a hint of the disappointment she had seen earlier. She does not like it. She can’t blame him.

There is a bitter taste on his tongue, one he hopes will not translate as he kisses her goodbye later that night. There is no more room for words-he has lost them all in the fight to keep himself sane-to understand her request and accept it as dutifully as he should. When she shuts the door behind him, the slow, hesitant click is one last shock to his heart. Eliza watches out the peephole as he goes, bags slung over his shoulders, with a heavy heart.

She wants nothing more than to run after him; to invite him back inside their home. She’s already mourning his place in bed beside her, which no doubt has already run cold. The chill in the air comes from a lack of his presence, not the usual air of bitter, unforgiving January. The apartment is empty. Without his furnishings; his little souvenirs on the shelf, opened and pen-marked books on every flat surface….this is not home. But the immediate hole in her heart also speaks in volumes to her mind, which is racing with the implications of what she has just done. She’s hurt him. She’s heartbroken. In that same frame of mind, there is a light. It is small, but she figures it might just be what she needs to get by. Racing to the office, she pulls out an unopened sketch book and a tin of charcoals.

Next Wednesday, Eliza pulls the book from her bag and opens it, wordless, and watches as Lisa nods at her work. Most of the thick paper is filled with dark blues, accented only with blacks and the occasional mint in a swirling of colors resembling a thick and tumultuous sea. A red line crosses the page from one end to the other, from the darkness to a completely different masterpiece. There, at the top, is the centerpiece of it all. A quarter-sized cocktail of yellows and whites and orange stands out among the dark, coasting above the sea as a beacon. Hope. It’s the first time she’s pulled out her sketchbook since that summer-winter-spring, since it had been filled only with the mimicking of the purples and blues that were a constant ornament to her skin. This feels different, right. And although that wire, that red tether still binds her to Alexander, it is through the light and the hope. He’s connecting her from each opposite end of the art piece. He’s there.

The apartment is empty without him. There is a lack of light, of warmth and laughter he had once radiated brilliantly. Eliza knows that this is for the best; for healing, for finding the light…for her. Her heart and her mind and her body pull toward him. The apartment is frightening without him. Living alone is a quiet she hadn’t wanted to feel. But her goal remains the same, through Alexander’s crestfallen eyes and her own tearing heart. This isn’t temporary. This isn’t over. This is a step in the right direction.

And maybe, if she tells herself that enough, that little yellow light will cover her thick paper one day.

#hamliza #hamilton au #hamilton #mine: swts #i mean #i had to get up so many times during this #there's also the teensiest little connection to the first part within the flashback with James #like so little it's almost not worth mentioning #but it's that one word that bothers Eliza so much #and now we kind of see why #pray for my girl Eliza Schuyler everyone #I love her so much #also pray for Alex?#thanks

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frogmanphd-blog · 8 years ago

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Pixies & Frogs|| AR Lark & Tad

Snow was falling steadily outside the truck's window as Tad drove towards the University. The truck itself was Uni property, and he had permission to rent it out when he needed to move a lot of things at once, like if an experiment went wrong and needed to be disposed of. Tonight, Tad had such a need. Everything was going just as he wanted it to, and with a little luck, things would continue that way. This morning, one of his subjects had died (they had previously been a hunter), nearly breaking his record for the longest time spent in his lab. Not that it really mattered. Everything about their death was recorded in his notebook, and the lab had been scrubbed clean of any visible evidence. The hunter was safely hidden in plastic trash bags and bundled up into plastic boxes, all neat and ordinary looking and ready for transport. Tad had left his assistant, Daniel, a text message asking him to come help move the boxes. Hopefully the man would be there waiting, he thought as he pulled into the lab's parking lot and parked the truck, or he would be very upset. He opened the car door easily and hopped out, making a neat trail of footprints as he made his way inside.

The past few months had not been kind to Daniel. On top of ending up in another universe, one where the supernatural existed apparently, he simply didn’t exist here. The university gave Daniel’s math research and TA position to someone else and the only people who knew him were the pixies in the forest, but they didn’t know him. They knew someone named ‘Lark’, a person that Daniel didn’t seem to live up to as they expected him to know what Lark did and do what Lark did such as round up those weird armadillo creatures that infested the forest. Thankfully, though, Daniel had found some normalcy with Professor Jones. The other was a lifesaver, offering to give him the job of his assistant when he heard him trying to get his degree back. Professor Jones had offered to help him get his mathematics degree back if Daniel helped with calculations for some of his experiments and taught some of his classes in the meantime. While biology wasn’t one of Daniel’s best subjects, it wasn’t his worst, and he was just grateful to be back in the world of academia to complain about the subject matter. He, also, helped Professor Jones move boxes and equipment from time to time whenever he needed it for a bit more pay. It was why he jumped whenever he received a text from him, less time in the crazy land of the Fae and more time in the real world along with pay was more than enough for him. Daniel was already waiting inside in the outer parts of the lab. Professor Jones didn’t allow him in the restricted sections, but it wasn’t as if Daniel exactly minded. “Hello, Professor,” Daniel greeted him as soon as he saw him. “I’m ready to be of assistance. I, also, have those calculations you asked for, and graded those teaching assignments, just like you asked.”

"Already?" One of his favorite qualities about Daniel was his promptness. "Good man. Were the calculations as we expected? I hope so, otherwise I'm going to have to rethink my hypothesis." The calculations he'd asked the other to run were to see if he could continue to dip into the school's budget to fund his experiments without risking someone noticing, not that he would tell him so. Everything was so much easier with this particular person, because he didn't ask questions, he didn't stick his nose where it didn't belong; he wasn't a liability. Odds that he'd discover something suspicious were slim. Tad had very little to worry about with him. It was one of the reasons he'd promised him his degree back. He wouldn't be able to do it in the physical realm, but a few visits to the president while he slept would change his minds fairly quickly. Normally he wouldn't even consider following up on the promise, but Daniel seemed fairly lost here, and as long as he kept performing well on his assistant duties, it would be an option for the future. "Are you up to help me lift? There are some boxes full of junk I need to get loaded into the truck, and I could use a hand."

“Yes, well, I didn’t have much to do last night,” Daniel said, digging through his messenger bag for the papers that Professor Jones had given him. He set them down on the nearest counter for him to look over later, not that he would need to since the math he did was always right. “Not entirely, but I did make some adjustments that should yield better results given the way that the accounts are divided, anyway.” While he did think his talents were a bit wasted on banking, Daniel didn’t say as such, knowing that if it wasn’t for the profess then he’d still be back at the pixie village trying to collect vermin in his free time. He’d rather do calculations that were beneath him rather than roll around in the snow like some animal. “Oh, yes, of course, I can,” he said, with a nod of his head. Daniel didn’t like the idea of manual labor, always thinking that they had someone to do it for him, but Professor Jones was very secretive about his research, which was understandable given what happened to Daniel’s math calculations. The world was a competitive place, unfortunately, so he didn’t blame the professor for guarding his secrets. “Just point me to them, and I’d be happy to help get them into the truck for you.”

Tad nodded along, making a mental note to go over the figures before tomorrow. "If you like, I can introduce you to a few of my single colleagues. I hear they have math parties once a month, where they gather and talk about math or science and get drunk. I've never been to one myself, but it sounds like something you might like? It seems like something for young people like you. And it never hurts to have friends in the department you're bothering for your degree." As he talked, he waved Daniel into the next room to where the boxes were, picking one up and shifting it so it was easier to carry, then headed back towards the truck. They weren't that heavy, but the boxes could be bulky and difficult to wrangle. He made sure his tone and posture didn't change as he did. Daniel wouldn't be suspicious if he didn't give him anything to be suspicious over. "They're over here. It shouldn't take long."

“Well... I’m not really interested in meeting people,” Daniel confessed. He went over to the boxes, lifting it with a little strain since he wasn’t used to doing labor like this. Still, he didn’t complain as he carried the box, following Professor Jones towards the van. “Not to seem ungrateful, since I do see your point, but I’ve never been that into parties. They’re always a bit loud, and when people get drunk, they tend not to want to talk about academics. I would like to get in good with the people who would be in that department, but I want them to see that I’m working hard and that I earned it, not that I brown-nosed my way into it.” Daniel bit at his lip, hoping that he didn’t offend him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for what the professor was trying to suggest, and he hoped that he could see it that way since he had really come to look up to the other man in the few months that he worked under him.

"I understand. I think you're more like me than I realized," Tad mused, setting the box down in the truck's bed, "I've never been one for those kinds of events either. You have the makings of a good, pure academic. That's a very admirable trait to have." A few friends in the department might have made a good distraction for Daniel, but it wasn't something he really wanted to force. Besides, he hadn't shown any inclination to nosiness so far, and Tad was confident he wouldn't in the future. "With that attitude, you'll have people's respect in no time. I'm sure of it. But, do you think that your assistance to me is brown-nosing?" He let the question come out more amused than anything else, heading back into the lab to grab another box.

Daniel set his box down onto the truck bed alongside Professor Jones’ box. “Thank you, Professor,” he said with a small smile. “You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that. It’s been awhile since- Actually, I don’t think my old professors ever gave me such a compliment. I’m very honored by it.” Following the professor back into the lab, Daniel frowned at the question, though, trying to pick apart what he meant by it. Did this mean that Professor Jones’ thought that he was a stuck-up? No, his previous statement disproved that. He thought that Daniel deserved respect, which he did. No one back home had given him any. “It’s not as if I’m working for free. You pay me. It’s my job to assist you. In addition, I don’t try to get involved with you personally, as a party would with the others. This is different, more professional.”

"Professors tend to only give compliments to themselves, even if they aren't well deserved. But I'm confident that you deserve this one. Tell me, are you close to anyone right now? Your family, maybe an old friend, or someone on the internet?" Flattery was another good way of disarming and blinding a person. But a part of Tad was actually curious, since Daniel had many of the same traits as him, he wondered about his social life. And all the other aspects of his life. Not enough to use the methods he used on his patients, but enough to ask. He was pretty sure he was carrying the head out to the truck, judging from its weight. "That's correct. Although, I wish you could be my assistant for longer. It's nice someone I can trust to share the workload with."

“Thank you, Professor Jones.” The question struck Daniel as a bit odd, before he realized that it wasn’t at all given that he had dropped everything to help him move boxes without even needing to check about the time. “Well, I was taken in by this exchange family when I moved here, and there is this one boy that I have been talking with, but other than that, I wouldn’t say that I’m exactly close with anyone. That must seem extremely sad, doesn’t it? Even when I was back home, I didn’t speak with my parents and didn’t have any friends.” It made him wonder if anyone had reported him missing. No one but the Fae creatures seemed to notice that Lark was, so maybe no one had reported Daniel missing, either. “That actually means a lot to me, professor. If I was better at biology then I would probably consider taking you up on a more permanent assignment.”

"I see," Tad said. "It doesn't seem sad at all. Some people don't need as much socialization as others. It usually indicates a high performance in other areas of life, and a smarter individual." There were only two more boxes to be moved onto the truck, and then he would be home free. He hoisted one, giving Daniel a bright smile. "That's a nice thought! But your passion lies with math, so that's what you should do. Although if you ever change your mind, I trust you'll know where to find me."

“You really think so? Because I’ve always been told that you can’t get by with antisocial behavior. I don’t see why you can’t, since most people are in fact idiots, but it’s good to know that I’m not the only one with this ideology.” Daniel grabbed the other box with a bright smile at Professor Jone’s words. They were almost done, which was good. It meant that he could possibly get some more of his work done when they were finished. “Thank you, Professor. That means a lot to me. Even if get back on track with my degree, I’d be happy to help you move boxes or anything else that you might need when I’m free, though.”

"I do. Although if you ever meet someone who isn't a complete idiot, you hold onto them as much as you can." Tad smiled back, pleased to have such an effect on Daniel; his ego was only too pleased with the other's reaction to him. It may have also been predatory, reflecting how smug he was to get away with it. But, he always got away with it, so he kept his face in check and patted Daniel on the arm. "You're a good boy. I'm sure you'll get your degree back in no time at all, and thank you for coming out to help me with this. I appreciate it. You have a good night." Unhurriedly, he left the other behind and shut the truck's back end securely and climbed into the driver's seat. He waved at Daniel once through the window before he was driving away.

#touchofchatzy #touchofar #onalarkspur

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samanthasroberts · 7 years ago

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I Teach At A For-Profit College: 5 Ridiculous Realities

For-profit colleges, aka colleges that operate for a profit, aka the only schools that buy pop-up ads, are a $30 billion industry, with millions of students nationwide. But much like that guy in high school with the bitchin’ mullet and radical IROC, just because they’re popular doesn’t mean they have the best reputation. We wanted to know how accurate that rep really is, so we sat down with “Stephen,” a former professor at one such college in Ohio. He told us …

There Is Zero Teaching Experience Required To Be A “Professor”

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Most teachers come equipped with a boxful of degrees, permits, certifications, and other fancy framed papers to confirm they’re trained educators and not, say, urine-soaked knife-wielding hobos. Not so with Steve’s school: “At my campus, I’d say that nine out of every ten professors don’t have an educational background.”

AndreyPopov/iStock/Getty Images “Hey Dave, drop what you’re doing. We need someone for Marketing 401.”

He was sure to point out that sometimes this led to great teachers, like the former hotel manager who became a professor of Hospitality Management: “He was honest about complaints, nipping lice infestations in the bud, and tons of other terrible things normal HM classes barely cover.” But that’s not a universal truth.

“Like, they may be an accountant during the day, but they moonlight teaching that at schools like mine … those teachers could be really good … But most had no idea how to teach. I sat in on a class going through economics, and … the ‘professor’s’ laptop gave the blue screen of death. He was a nice guy in his late 20s, and he immediately panicked.” Since the students were paying dearly for that professor’s time, they kept right on asking questions, like “What’s the difference between macro and micro economics?” Steve recalled, “He had a deer in the headlights look and he froze for 15 seconds. Finally, he said ‘Macro is big economies and Micro is individual economies. Like Bill Gates’ economy.’”

kasto80/iStock/Getty Images “Hold on, Wikipedia’s gone down.”

Those of you who know a little bit about economics might recognize that as complete fucking gibberish. Eventually, Steve and another teacher listening in had to call him out on his bullshit and give the class some proper answers, but, “When we gave the right definitions and answers to everything, he defended his answers as being correct. He was fired the next day.”

Jonathan Ross/Hemera/Getty Images Those who teach, can’t.

Once he’d started telling shitty teacher stories, Steve couldn’t stop. He told us about an accounting teacher in his 70s who told students “any math you couldn’t do by hand wasn’t worth teaching.” Another particularly enterprising educator gave out a two-week assignment to “have his students do his and his family’s taxes, giving bonus points to the ones who had found the way to have them owe the least.” Steve added, “He lasted three semesters.”

They Target Poor Minority Students And Con Them Into Taking Loans

Jacob Ammentorp Lund/iStock/Getty Images

For-profit colleges promise students who didn’t do well in high school a chance at a real college degree for far less than fancy university prices. And since everyone gets in, your past doesn’t matter. ITT Tech will take any breathing human being who applies. It’s like the Little League of higher education, minus the Capri Sun at the end of every session.

These colleges sell themselves as a “way out” of poverty and desperation to people who are poor and directionless. Ninety-six percent of ALL for-profit students take out loans, compared to 57 percent of those at normal public college. And while the average college student only has an 8 percent chance of defaulting on their loan in the first few years, for-profit students have a 25 percent chance.

It should come as no surprise that investigations have shown that many for-profits do in fact target low-income people who can’t pay. These people are often minorities. One investigation turned up the training manual for recruiters at the for-profit college Vatterott, including a list of ideal types of people to recruit:

Leadership Conference on Human Rights – Has To Use Library’s Internet To Fill Out Application – Thought They Saw A Ghost One Time – Can’t Find Phoenix On A Map

Steve noticed the same thing at his school: “Most of my students made minimum wage, and over half were black. Every one of my students had a loan, and it’s all they ever talked about. Some felt strong-armed into them, but some wanted them. They lived off of them. They wanted the loans as another source of income because they couldn’t make ends meet with their regular jobs. They took a few classes to keep up appearances, but I would always know why they were really there. Every college has these students, but at my college, I had several in every class I taught. I never knew what happened to them after the semester and they were 20 or 40 grand in debt. Many struggled to make ends meet, and the college offered an easy way to get loans. What did you think was going to happen?”

AndreyPopov/iStock/Getty Images “Thanks for the mortgage payment.”

For-profit universities vastly prefer loans — and the long-term, interest-bearing income they generate — to straight cash payments. So much so that they often don’t take cash: “One student in particular told me that she had $20,000 from an inheritance in cash, but ran into roadblocks everywhere. My college wouldn’t accept cash, so she tried a check. They told her they couldn’t, since they had too many issues with bounced checks. She then tried paying online in full, but she was told she shouldn’t because ‘What if you decide to drop a class? Would you still want to pay for it?’ She then tried monthly payments, but she was informed she was too late to sign up. She could only take a loan.”

Digital Vision./DigitalVision/Getty It’s usually a red flag when a business won’t let you purchase their one product.

Schools like the University of Phoenix depend on student loans to survive. In fact, the latter actively instructs their “Phoenixes” to borrow the max amount. And how could that possibly backfire? For-profit universities are one of the major causes of the current student loan debt crisis. So if you’re a New Yorker who had your daily commute fucked up by Occupy Wall Street, you can blame like half of that on the Participation Trophy of colleges.

They Cost More To Attend Than Conventional Universities

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For-profit colleges advertise themselves as much more affordable than traditional universities. According to the ads, a for-profit college is the Costco of higher education: great quality without any unnecessary frills, for the budget-conscious consumer.

“‘Scholarship?’ It’s just a discount.”

Why, you save so much money on these programs that it’d be almost insane to get your degree anywhere else.

“Our scam is cheaper than their scam!”

Surprise! That’s all crap. These schools are filled with more hidden fees than a bank run by ninjas. Here’s Steve: “A close family member was deciding on a cheap starter college. She was looking at my college and Cincinnati State. Honestly, I just started at my school and I didn’t know what the full cost was. I asked and got a quote for $9,000 a semester … When I gave her the written quote, she looked right back up and said, ‘I could get a degree from Cincinnati State for that much.’ I was floored.”

Two years at a community college costs, on average, $8,300. Four years at a state college? $52,000. But at a for-profit, that Associate’s Degree is now $35,000. The Bachelors? $63,000. It’s like deciding to eat out at Olive Garden instead of that fancy French restaurant, only to discover that the bread sticks are the price of a used Toyota.

bhofack2/iStock/Getty Images “Considering they are unlimited, you can’t afford not to.”

Steve explained: “All normal colleges show how much a semester is, or give a price by class. At ours, they made it look cheap by giving price for each credit hour. [Note: They still do.] So many of my students were suckered in this way. They saw the $550 cost per hour … and they assumed that meant $550 per credit.”

Oops! Silly desperate students seeking to better their lives. You assumed “for-profit college” meant something besides “a shell game in which you gamble your paycheck for decades to come.”

Michael Blann/DigitalVision/Getty As least Vegas gives you drink and food comps when you do it.

A Degree All But Guarantees You WON’T Get A Job

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All for-profit colleges essentially promise you your dream job, falling just short of issuing IOUs for personal oral sex bots upon graduation. The word of the day, kids, is “bullshit.” It was revealed last year that the $75,000 three-year criminal justice degree offered by Westwood College comes with a 3.8 percent job placement rate. And most of those “jobs” are as some sort of security guard, aka the job literally any breathing human can get.

A school like the recently shut down Heald College, or DeVry, can famously claim 90-percent-plus job placement rates, which sounds super impressive … if you don’t know that the FTC is currently suing them for classifying a business major getting hired as a waiter to be an “in-field” placement. Or counting a job at Taco Bell as successful placement. Steve gave a shit about his students and did his best to prepare them for careers as accountants, “but most didn’t become accountants. We had to go off of curriculum, and while many of us got through that as fast as we could with our students to tell them what they really needed to know, we often didn’t have time.”

Rawpixel Ltd/iStock/Getty Images “Welcome to Money Management 101. Lesson 1: You shouldn’t have taken this class.”

Steve explained how his college practically went out of its way to make their courses useless: “Normal colleges give you a mix of course work, field work, and other assignments, slowly making it more and more real world. Once you get the basics, you learn the programs, you see what employers want, and you expand your knowledge. For-profits are like standardized tests. You get the basics, but almost none of it can be applied once in the real world.”

Pinkypills/iStock/Getty Images “And that about covers the basics of being a barista.”

The evidence shows that graduates from for-profits make less and are less happy about their prospects than those from larger colleges. This jives with Steve’s experiences: “I’ve met several graduates, and nearly all didn’t get the jobs they wanted. A few thought they were going to be teachers in a few years, and I found them working as subs. One student who said he wanted to run a hotel I met by chance at a hotel in Columbus, where he was only a part-time assistant manager at a Microtel [and] taking classes for ANOTHER degree at the University of Phoenix at night.”

BananaStock/BananaStock/Getty Images “Unfortunately, two fake degrees cannot combine like Megazord into one real degree.”

So uh … clearly, that guy doesn’t learn lessons easily.

The conventional logic is that any degree is better than no degree. But that may not be true with for-profit colleges. A Harvard study found that such students are 22 percent less likely to get a callback from a job than an otherwise-identical resume that named a public university. And it’s even worse with an online degree. Even if these students do find work, high school dropouts tend to earn more than for-profit degreers in the same field.

For-Profit Colleges Are In Big Trouble

Albert Herring/Wiki Commons

Over the last year or so, the hammer has started coming down on for-profit schools. Steve explained: “Obama had been threatening for years to do something about for-profit colleges, but no one believed he would go through with it. In early 2015, it was apparent he was trying to do something, and we got emails everyday. Most were telling us not to worry, but we also had emails that said ‘We’re as strong as ever!’ I worked there for three years, and the only emails they had sent me was pay stub receipts, password expiration reminders, and the odd departmental email … these emails really showed how worried they were.”

Devonyu/iStock/Getty Images They were a step away from emails asking their employees, “Are you a cop? If we ask, you have to tell us if you are.”

This finally prompted Steve to make a career change of his own. He found another job and gave his resignation to his department head, who “begged me to stay. He didn’t try to flatter me or say how much they needed me or anything you would expect to hear. It was, ‘I know you’re worried about this Obama law (I wasn’t), and we’re worried too, but it will all be OK.’ Everyone was acting like the apocalypse was coming.”

And what terrifying new law change had everybody soiling their chinos? To quote CNN:

“The new set of rules, called the gainful employment regulations, require colleges to track their graduates’ debt and employment to prove that their programs don’t fall short of federal guidelines. Institutions now have to provide information on program costs, how much students earn after they graduate and how much debt they could accumulate.”

Alex Wong/Getty Images News/Getty Images “We’re moving forward on a new controversial anti-lying law.”

The new law also set limits on how much the schools could charge for loan payments (no more than 20 percent of a student’s income). Despite how reasonable those restrictions sound, it was essentially the apocalypse for educational conmen. Roughly 1,400 programs serving 840,000 students were estimated to fall below those minimal standards. The University of Phoenix lost half its students. DeVry is currently being sued by the FTC for false advertising.

Steve was not bummed out at all by this. He still feels some guilt for being involved in the whole thing to start with: “One student I had told me that he knew he was being had. I started to say he wasn’t, but he told me to shut up. He told me he went $25,000 into debt for a degree no one took seriously. He had a family, and I got the sense he was doing this for them … He told me to go fuck myself and proceeded to tell a few other professors too. We never saw him again after that. I’m hoping, really hoping, that the new laws will make degrees for people like him from for-profits actually worth it.”

Kondor83/iStock/Getty Images “Congrats on getting hired! Here’s your desk.”

We hope so too, for the students’ sake, but we can’t imagine a future in which a prospective employer looks at your resume and says, “Whoa, University of Phoenix, huh? Don’t you think you might be overqualified?” Well, not with a straight face, anyway.

If you were misled by a for-profit college, please protect other students by letting the authorities know. If you decided to attend a school because of a misleading ad or deceptive recruiting, contact the Federal Trade Commission.

If you took out a private loan (not including federal student loans) to finance your education, you can also complain to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau.

If you are a veteran or service member who was deceived by a college, and you used the GI Bill or other VA programs to fund your education, please report it to the Department of Veterans Affairs’ new complaint system. The folks at Veterans Education Success would also like to hear from you, and can connect you with pro-bono attorneys, state and federal law enforcement agencies, and generally advocate on your behalf to the VA.

Evan V. Symon is an interviewer, writer, and interview-finder guy for the personal experience team at Cracked. Have an awesome experience/job you would like to share? Hit us up at [email protected] today!

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Source: http://allofbeer.com/i-teach-at-a-for-profit-college-5-ridiculous-realities/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/02/17/i-teach-at-a-for-profit-college-5-ridiculous-realities/

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adambstingus · 7 years ago