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suzdin · 8 months ago

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Belly of the Beast: Part I

Dark!Dave York x F!reader

Warnings: it’s Dave, so…buckle up! No use of y/n. Homicide with a gun, reader is shot and grievously wounded and dying, graphic descriptions of murder and gore, use of medical equipment/terminology, amateur triage and medical care, Dave is a voyeuristic creep, Stockholm syndrome?, physical restraints, partial nudity, divergence from EQ2 plot and major character deaths mentioned. No mention of wife or kids. No smut this time! (Shocking, I know.) Dark themes obviously, I mean, Dave DOES kill for money, after all.

Summary: You’ve been Dave’s housekeeper for two years. When you arrive for your morning shift, the last thing you expect to see is Dave standing over a body.

This was going to be a one shot but I decided it worked better as a two parter. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4,700

Taglist: tagging the people I know for sure want to be tagged. If you want to be tagged for part II, lmk!

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @kellybelly1978 @awilderi @oberynslady @natdeandar @daddy-dins-girl @heavennumber2 @guelyury

—

The sky is still dark, a faint slice of jagged light cast across a slate colored horizon, when you arrive for the day at Dave York’s home.

You notice his car parked in the driveway as you pull in, checking your messages to make sure you hadn’t missed anything from him, finding nothing. You frown.

Normally, he would tell you when he would be home if he knew you were also going to be there that day. He simply must have forgotten to mention it this time. It wasn’t a big deal; you could just work around him like you always did.

He was gone for work more often than not. What that entails, you aren’t entirely sure of; all you knew was that he worked in D.C. Something bureaucratic, most likely.

What was even more curious than his unannounced presence, however, was a second vehicle parked behind his.

You pull up next to aforementioned vehicle and get out, gathering your bucket of cleaning supplies from the backseat. Dave provided most of what was used, but there were a few items you preferred for various reasons, with his approval, of course. You had been his housekeeper for the last two years, servicing his home bi-weekly, and he paid you well, plus tips. You had few complaints.

Although the home was large and stately, he lived alone as far as you knew. You couldn’t recall seeing anyone there before now.

As you walk along the edge of the driveway to the side door, you note the pale illumination filtering out through the kitchen window onto the concrete, which makes sense considering the time of day. He’s most likely just sitting down to have his coffee and breakfast. You hope you don’t startle him too much.

The sun is ascending rapidly, already burning brighter in the short walk from your car to the door, providing you with enough light to get your key out.

You unlock the side door, which steps directly into a small utility and mud room. The interior door to the kitchen is drawn shut, which wasn’t unusual, but an unfamiliar noise registers as you enter, immediately followed by what sounds like chair legs scraping along the tiled floor, and Dave’s voice saying what sounds like a name. Mac? Is that what you heard?

Your mind fumbles over the original sound, knowing it’s familiar, but that you can’t quite place it, trying to trace its source. You can best describe it as a muted pop, loud enough to notice but not so loud as to sound any alarm bells. Or so you think.

You smell the strong waft of coffee and eggs cooking as you enter. And something else.

The scene that is laid out before you as you push open the kitchen door is the last thing you would ever expect or want to find, and the realization of what the unidentified sound was hits you like a freight train.

What you discover is Dave standing above a body, pistol clutched tightly in his right hand, knuckles turning alabaster, with what you’re certain is a silencer screwed to the end of the barrel.

The body sprawled across the floor belongs to a man you don’t recognize, a pool of fresh blood spreading rapidly from a single gunshot wound to the front of the skull, bone and brain matter studding the kitchen island and wall, the stink of crimson iron filling the air.

Dave’s head snaps up when he hears you enter, his face gone pale, but otherwise completely blank and devoid of emotion.

Your eyes lock.

You think you say his name. You aren’t sure, and the only reason you know you’ve said anything at all is because you feel the muscles in your esophagus stretching and vibrating, your heart thundering inside your rib cage.

You’re smart enough to deduce that this isn’t some home invasion gone awry. The unknown car in the driveway and the trained, emotionless nature at which Dave currently presents himself is testament to that.

The only option left is that Dave killed a man. And now he has his sights trained on none other than you.

You drop the bucket of supplies, the hollow sound of plastic hitting ceramic reverberating in your skull as you turn, your brain screaming at you to run, run.

In hindsight, running was a bad idea. But panic doesn’t always create rationale.

You feel your legs pumping, your lungs sucking in air. You want to scream for help but when you attempt it, the only sound that comes out is a small, strangled croak of terror. You feel like a damsel in distress in every horror movie you’ve ever seen, almost as if you aren’t actually moving at all, like you’re just running in place while the villain slowly catches up to you.

If you could just reach the neighbor’s house. If you could just… reach…

You manage to make it to the driveway, but you’re barely a few steps onto the concrete when that same muted pop registers again, and you instantly feel a sharp, burning, agonizing sting that rips right through you like a hot knife through butter, knocking you ass over teakettle just paces from Dave’s car, your face slamming hard against the ground.

You look down to see the spreading circle of blood on your shirt against your lower abdomen, a geyser of red bubbling up from the wound. And Dave is on you in an instant, hovering above you, gun trained right at your head.

You know you’re a goner. Abdominal gunshots are frequently fatal, at least according to the kind of shows you like to watch. And at the rate you’re seeing your blood spill out, you know it’s anything but good.

Before you fully comprehend what is happening, your vision already waning, you’re pleading for Dave to end your life as quickly as possible, ‘please, please Mr. York, I’ve been good to you. Please do it fast’, you choke out.

But Dave doesn’t kill you. His dark eyes bore into you, through you, and he hesitates. He’s watching you die and beg for him to put you down and yet he can’t bring himself to actually do it, regardless of how many names he’s scratched out of his ledger without remorse. Maybe because you’re just an innocent, wrong place wrong time, but he can’t seem to do it.

“Please, don’t let me suffer,” you sob as you lift a single, quaking hand that is slicked deep burgundy, and still he doesn’t put you down, only lowering the gun to his side, and you can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve to suffer slowly like this.

Finally, some sense of self preservation washes over you, and even as you’re dying, in your final throes of desperation, you start ripping and clawing at your shirt, managing to somehow tear a sizable chunk out of it, in order to make some kind of makeshift tourniquet that could potentially save your life.

Your hands shake and slip, blood pressure dropping rapidly, and your vision wanes more, the edges of the lightening sky fading and blotting away. You suddenly feel very cold and you can feel your heartbeat gradually ebbing to a slow, dull throb.

The last thing you see before your vision goes completely dark is Dave crouching over you, his face screwed up in regret.

——

God damn it.

When Dave had found out only days before that McCall was still alive, and that his old compatriot had sniffed out the details shrouding Susan’s death, Dave had lost all sight of anything else, completely forgetting you were scheduled to clean his house that day.

Had he realized, he would have canceled. It would have made things far less complicated.

But God fucking damn it. He didn’t want to kill you, his militaristic training and instincts piloting his actions when you fled instead of surrendering, intending to put a round in your skull but changing his mind at the last possible fraction of a second so that he totally FUBAR’d the shot and hit your abdomen instead. A gut shot wasn’t much better. In fact, it was worse. Way worse.

You’re still breathing when he finishes applying the crude tourniquet that you had started, which didn’t completely stop the bleeding but slowed it enough to make a difference. That way, he could get you down into the basement where he could apply proper triage.

His medical training was rudimentary and archaic at best, but it was better than nothing. And it was his best chance at keeping you alive.

Your blood soaks through the light blue dress shirt Dave is wearing as he carries you through the house draped in his arms, the one you once told him looked nice on him. He takes you into the basement and places you on his work table — which isn’t sterile — noting no exit wound as he sets you down, which can be good or bad, all things depending.

Thankfully, he locates the bullet readily enough, fishing it out with a narrow pair of forceps, discarding it into a medical pan as he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the bullet didn’t strike anything crucial, an incredibly lucky feat.

He grabs a skin stapler to close up the wound; a messy and rushed method of closure that would leave behind a pretty significant scar, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to close the wound properly with a needle, especially considering the rate at which his hands were already shaking.

He takes in a deep breath when he finishes stapling you back together and leans over you, examining your face and body visually, his mind racing as to what he should do now. You still had a pulse. You were breathing. But you had lost a lot of blood, and your prognosis wasn’t good.

Frowning, the crease deepening between his brows, he cleans and sterilizes the wound, wrapping you up in proper dressing, which he hopes is enough to stave off any infection. He can’t risk taking you to a hospital. Especially when there’s still a dead man to deal with only a floor above.

The good news is that he knew no one would come looking for McCall, the majority believing him to already be dead, so disposal would thankfully be swift and painless. You, on the other hand, he was unsure of. He knew your parents had passed and you didn’t have siblings, but he didn’t know if there was a boyfriend or girlfriend in your life, or friends who would notice your absence.

His mind reels with every possibility. Dave isn’t a man who enjoys loose ends. Loose ends make his ass itch.

Your shirt is shredded and bloody, so he removes the remainder of it, leaving you in a soft black cotton bra. He doesn’t let his eyes wander, although, at the back of his mind, he realizes he has always found you attractive. Just as quickly as it dawns on him, he shakes the thought from his mind; it is neither the time nor place for such endeavors.

He removes your shoes but not your socks, knowing you would be cold from having lost so much blood. He might actually put one of his pairs over your own, for good measure.

After a long beat of silent contemplation, Dave scoops you up into his arms once more.

——

You wake up from a fitful sleep some hours later, in a bed you’ve never slept in before. The room around you is dark, shades drawn, a faint light flooding in from beneath a closed door.

When you attempt to sit up, pain lances through your torso and you cry out, your back hitting the mattress. You immediately realize, much to your horror, that you’re also handcuffed to a bedpost. Even if you could move without effort, you aren’t exactly going anywhere.

Your memory suddenly comes flooding back in a tidal wave of images, recalling all of the events that lead up to this point; the body on the kitchen floor, the gunshot, Dave staring down at you with a pistol in his hand.

But you aren’t in a hospital and this isn’t a hospital bed. You’re in Dave’s bedroom. In Dave’s bed.

The door clicks open and a familiar silhouette steps into the room, regarding you in steely silence. You recognize the broad shoulders right away, the thick arms, the short cropped hair.

Your pulse quickens, your body and mind telling you to flee again, even though you know you can’t, causing you to flinch with a choked whimper when he takes a step toward you.

“I wouldn’t move, sweetheart. You lost a lot of blood,” Dave explains, his voice low and soft to your ears as he approaches the bed.

Your body is trembling hard. So hard that it makes the entire bed vibrate.

He’s no longer wearing the blue shirt or black slacks from before, now dressed in a slate gray t-shirt and Adidas sweats. His dark eyes study you as he sits next to you on the edge of the bed. If you weren’t so weak, you think you would strike him.

He lifts the back of his hand to your cheek and you flinch again.

“Shh,” he tuts, “I’m not going to harm you.”

His hand presses to the soft round of your cheek, your forehead, checking for fever.

“Y-you— you s-shot me—?“ you croak.

“I reacted poorly,” Dave agrees with a small nod, his lips parted softly, “but you also shouldn’t have run.”

“You k-killed… that man…”

“I did, indeed.” His eyes grow a shade darker, his brow knitting together, lending him a sinister appearance. “But that man was threatening me. That man was going to kill me…” Dave explains, an edge of malice and contempt to his voice. “I was left with few options.”

You stare back, unblinkingly, trying to decide what to say next, if anything.

“My family will come looking for me,” is what you settle on, a wash of bravery suddenly welling up within you.

To that, Dave smirks, eyes remaining dark, hand lowering to the bed by your hip.

“What family?” Dave asks, smirk slanting even more, his tone semi-mocking. “Do you really think I would hire someone to come into my home without doing a full investigation on them?”

Your jaw drops open, hanging slack in the air, as it dawns on you that a trained killer has been right under your nose this entire time. You would scream if you had the lung capacity to do so.

You should have seen the patterns. Noticed the signs. The constant travel, the lack of personal touches to his home, the pinpricks of blood you occasionally found on his clothes that you excused for other things. That one room in the basement he forbade you from entering.

But you hadn’t, causing you to nearly pay with your life.

Truth is, Dave had picked you for good reason, and it wasn’t just because of the exemplary reviews. You were naive and trusting, you had no family, no criminal record, you didn’t work for an agency; you worked solo. Your work ethic and reliability were just cherries on top.

You look down to notice the IV needle in your hand, and you lift it in examination, your hand shaking and sputtering weakly. No… no, you really had no clue who this guy was at all.

Dave watches you for a beat before he gently grasps your hand and places it back down on the bed, regarding you with uncharacteristic softness and empathy.

You feel your consciousness starting to drift then as Dave pulls the covers back to check the dressings, finding they’re still intact and that the wound hasn’t reopened from what he can tell. He’ll clean and redress everything in the morning. For now, you need rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you, stepping out of the room for what feels like only a meager blip of time to you, but when you open your eyes again, he’s hovering above you once more with a thermometer and an ice pack.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you do so obediently.

“Good girl,” Dave praises as he checks your temperature, and you close your eyes.

When the thermometer beeps, which feels like an eternity later, he frowns, exhaling a long sigh. “101.5. Here,” he says, leaning to the side where he opens a drawer on the night stand, a bottle of aspirin rattling somewhere next to your head. The sound is grating, making your head throb, and suddenly the lamp seems too bright.

He feeds you some pills and gives you a drink of water from a nearby tumbler, which you guess was also on the nightstand, but aren’t too sure.

He pulls the blanket back up all the way to your chin and places the ice pack on your forehead, staring down at you. Although Dave was the reason you were even here at all, he is treating you with a surprising amount of tenderness.

“You need to eat,” he says after a moment. “Dinner is almost ready.”

——

You must pass out again, because when your eyes reopen, Dave stands next to you with a small tray table filled with food.

“Chicken and dumplings,” he explains. “It will keep the cold away.”

You nod your head weakly as he places the tray over you. When you reach for the spoon, he stops you, blocking your hand with his own.

“Let me,” he says, picking up the spoon. “I don’t want you moving anymore than necessary.”

You have to keep reminding yourself that he’s the one who shot you. He’s why you’re in this mess in the first place. Why you’re here, injured, with a hole in your abdomen, chained to his bed.

The way he’s acting shouldn’t be trusted.

You try to resist, but he grabs your jaw with the other hand and forces it to pop open, pressing the spoon past your lips as he ladles the soup into your mouth, much to your displeasure.

“Eat,” he says softly, but sternly, his features darkening in regard.

The food is warm, as promised, and delicious. You aren’t sure of the last time you ate, not knowing what time or even what day it is, but you soon realize you’re starving. Because of this, the second spoonful is not met with as much resistance as the first, your mouth hinging open in resignation and acquiescence.

Dave’s eyes zero in on your soft lips. The way they twitch ever so slightly as they divide. The way your tongue looks so velvet and inviting…

He feeds you slowly, thoughtfully, watching your every move, his own lips parted in concentration as you take in the much needed sustenance.

By the end of it, you’ve managed to polish off about half the bowl. Seemingly satisfied with that, he makes you drink some Gatorade.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask weakly as soon as you swallow down a couple gulps of the blue liquid, your consciousness ebbing and flowing by the second. Dave looks at your face, but he doesn’t give you an answer. He doesn’t have one to give.

Part of him wishes he did.

“I have to pee,” you tell him suddenly when you notice the familiar stab of discomfort in your lower region. A realization that sends a jolt of anxiety rushing through you, your pulse racing when you watch his face fall. He hadn’t even thought of that…

His skills and equipment were limited to wound care, so of course he hadn’t put a catheter in. He wouldn’t know how even if he did happen to have one.

He deliberates on what to do. He didn’t have a bed pan. But, he was sure he could find something comparable to use.

Or he could help you to the bathroom. He has an en suite, it was literally only steps around the bed. But the space was tight. It would take some maneuvering. And he would have to be close to you the entire time. Not to mention uncuffing you from the bed.

In the end, that’s what he settles on.

“Let me help you to the bathroom, sweetheart,” he says to you, pulling the blankets back, and you are cold. So cold. Your flesh pebbling with the lick of cool air against your skin.

He unlocks the handcuffs and you massage your sore wrist and shoulder the moment you have full motion of your arm again.

“Slowly,” he instructs, his voice low and even. “Grab the IV stand.”

You do as you’re told, gripping the cool steel in your hand as you grasp his forearm with the other while he gingerly manipulates you into a sitting position. You cry out at the sudden dagger of pain that slices through your lower gut, and he does his best to steady you against him.

He did this to you, you keep reminding yourself. He did this to you.

He lifts you carefully, slowly, and you groan at the swell of pain when he places you on your feet.

“Easy, easy…” he murmurs, one arm circling your waist to keep you upright. You flinch at the contact.

You make it to the bathroom easily enough, light flooding the small room as Dave flips the switch. A bathroom you’ve cleaned countless times. There was rarely much to clean in here, save for the occasional whisker in the sink, or some light trash in the bin.

Dave was neat and fastidious, and not frequently home. You often wondered why he needed someone to clean his house in the first place.

The space looks no different than usual, but right now it feels… different. You shouldn’t be here.

He guides you to the toilet, and when you get there, you stare down at it, pondering to yourself how this is going to work.

He seems hesitant to leave your side.

“Go ahead,” he tells you softly, “I won’t look.”

You freeze. The last thing you want is to expose your body to him when he already has several advantages on you. But your bladder is screaming at you to go, especially now given your proximity to the porcelain bowl, and you can barely stand on your own, your arms and legs wobbling.

You watch as he turns his back, placing himself between you and the exit. You bend just slightly to tug your bottoms down, but it’s too much, more pain coursing through your body. You yelp, unable to even budge the fabric.

“Hey,” Dave says, turning back to face you, “Let me help you.”

“No, I—I got it,” you protest, your arms shaking, attempting it again, only to end up with the same result. “Fuck—“

“Hey,” Dave says a second time, more sternly than before, as he moves in to your space. “Let me help. I promise I won’t touch you.”

You tremble. You’re cold, you’re frightened, you’re weak. So weak. You’re in your bra, partially exposed to him already. Yet, you concede with a nod anyway. You’ll piss yourself if you don’t.

He mirrors your nod in silent confirmation and moves closer, crowding into your intimate space, his fingers finding the waistband of your leggings and underwear. He slides them down your hips and legs in unison, all the way to your knees. As promised, he doesn’t touch you more than he needs to.

But he has to look. He needs to see where his hands are in relation to your body in order to keep himself from accidentally breaking his promise of touching you in a way you didn’t consent to, and another part of him just can’t help it, either. He is a man, after all, and he wasn’t currently seeing anyone. Romance wasn’t exactly optimal for someone in his position, his attention honed in on his work above all else.

When the nights were long and lonely enough, he would, on occasion, share his bed with a sex worker, but aforementioned nights were few and far between. He enjoyed his job. He got off on it. Romance was often placed on the back burner.

But there’s just something about you. Especially now, with how vulnerable you are, that he finds irresistible.

His gaze only lingers on your bared skin for a moment, big brown puppy dog eyes roving over your soft curves, holding on to you as he lowers you down to the commode. And, god, you’re just as beautiful as he imagined, his skin heating at the sight of your soft folds.

“Call for me when you’re done,” he grates quietly as he takes a step out of the bathroom, blood rushing to certain parts of his body, shutting the door to give you a modicum of privacy, which you’re more than grateful for.

His eyes on you had not gone unnoticed. You weren’t stupid and you weren’t seeing anyone either, currently; his attention, regardless of how brief, had made your skin heat and your core pulse with need. You clear your throat and try to discard the thought.

Dave is why you are here. Dave is dangerous. So dangerous he can’t even take you to a hospital to get proper medical attention. Stop it.

It feels like you pee for ages. You aren’t totally convinced you’re awake for most of it. Eventually, you finish, even managing to wipe yourself, in spite of things, which you’re relieved for. You wouldn’t want him to do it for you; that would be humiliating and degrading.

You call for Dave when you’re done and he returns in an instant, hoisting you to your feet as he pulls your pants and underwear back up and over your hips, trying not to think about your soft cunt. You can see how hard he’s trying not to look at you.

“Good?” he asks. You nod.

Bracing yourself against him, he helps you back to the comfort of the bed. It smells like him, despite how little he’s actually in it. You hiss through your teeth as he manipulates you into position, adjusting the pillows and covers until you’re as comfortable as possible.

You’re cold. Freezing, in fact, despite it being the swell of summer.

“I’m c-cold,” you lament to Dave, crossing your arms over your chest beneath the blanket.

Dave’s lips pinch to the side in thought. “Hold on.”

He returns a moment later with an extra blanket, tossing it over you, tucking the edges neatly around your form, taking extra care to be gentle, noteably around your abdomen.

As you watch him, his face and eyes soft, his hair mussed and unkempt, you ask yourself once again why he’s doing all of this for you.

Guilt? Shame? Something else?

You don’t have much time to ruminate on it for too long before your consciousness peters away once more.

——

Dave sighs as he watches you slip back into listlessness. You’re doing better than he anticipated, but you aren’t out of the woods yet. He knows how much blood you had lost; he’d spent hours cleaning it. Not to mention McCall, the remains of which he had delivered to an acquaintance who works at the industrial incinerator on the outskirts of town, after tending to you.

He loops your hand back through the cuff on the bedpost and peers down at you. You’re so beautiful; he hopes you make it. He wishes you hadn’t run from him. God, why did you run? He doesn’t want you to meet the same fate as McCall. He doesn’t want to know what your incinerated body smells like.

Every body has a different smell, in his experience.

He gives you another dose of morphine to reduce any pain you may be feeling and to keep you knocked out for a few more hours, checking for fever again, which is currently holding steady. It was good that it wasn’t going up. Any higher and you could potentially be in trouble. He’ll keep checking throughout the night to be on the safe side.

He sighs, knowing he’ll have to stay in town for weeks, which he detested doing. He hated staying in one place for longer than required. But he didn’t have much of a choice at this point.

He turns off the light and shuts the door behind him as he leaves you to rest.

Part II coming soon!

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #romance #dark romance #pedro fanfic

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fayeandknight · 5 months ago

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Something I've been chewing over is Forte's work as a service dog, or rather how I utilize him as one.

I put so much time and effort into training him and, aside from the odd outing or event, I really only take him on grocery runs.

Don't get me wrong, he is amazingly helpful to have on them and I've been able to improve my diet because of him. He's also super helpful at home. But a big part of my drive in training a service dog in the first place was to make my world bigger. To give me the ability to do the things I want.

I had that with Faye. We went shopping for clothes so I could wear things that made me feel good about myself instead of just whatever t shirt and leggings were clean. We went to movies and the zoo. Heck I had a membership to the semi local aquarium because of how often I went. And while human company would have been nice, it was so life affirming to be able to enjoy those things on my own terms.

And I really don't do that with Forte. Not because he isn't capable of it, he proves that he is any time I "dust off" his public access skills and go somewhere. Like today I got out of work early so I stopped at the mega mall on the way home, just to see how he'd do and refresh his training in a bigger/busier place. He did amazing. He switched between casual heeling and fmp as directed, ignored the people calling to him, alerted in a timely manner, and after an hour of wandering around - led me to my car in the giant parking lot. And he did it all happily. Nothing bothered him, not the flashing lights of an arcade, not the toy gun range, not the indoor bounce house, none of it.

So why don't I utilize him more?

When I sit myself down and really think through it, it's internalized ablism.

When I lived further from my family I was free from their direct input on deciding to go out and do things with a service dog. Now that I'm with them again, I live with their constant pushback around bringing my service dog. They want to go out to eat, but do I really have to bring him? It's such a hassle and really they're family and that should be enough for me. They want to see a play but there's no need to bring the dog when we're going together. And on and on until somewhere along the way I just started opting out of going because it was easier.

No amount of 'but we're your faaamily' changes my disabilities or benefit of having a service dog. But I've grown so accustomed to anticipating complaints that I talk myself out of going now before they can.

And honestly I'm pretty disappointed in myself to come to this realization. I don't want my life to consist only of home, basic errands, work, and nothing else. I worked so hard to give myself an avenue of independence and I'm wasting it.

So here's my pledge to myself. I will do more. I will go to places and enjoy the world again. I will visit the library and bookstores and cafes more than every once in a blue moon. I will see that really interesting museum exhibit. I will go to the aquarium because I absolutely love it.

I'm going to focus on easing him back into working more frequently out and about and for longer durations first. But I am also going to trust him more to do the job I worked so hard to train him for. The job he shows me he loves at every opportunity.

It's past time to start living life again.

#personal #personal growth #or something like that #maybe #hopefully #belgian tervuren #forte #psychiatric service dog #service dog #this is mostly me yammering at myself as i work through things #i just hate how small i let my world become again #i want to go to the aquarium so badly in particular #and there's no good reason i can't #I've just been letting internalized bullshit hold me back

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arcielee · 2 years ago

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Wait So Long

Summary: You are trying to surprise your boyfriend and it does not work out like you had planned. Pairing: modern Aegon Targaryen x FemaleReader Word Count: 2279 Warnings: Implied sexy times, but this is purely fluff. Author’s Note: Here is another part of my series-that-isn’t-really-a-series. This is a collaboration piece I did with the darling, talented @f4ll-for-you ♥ Her work is amazing and I cannot thank her enough for her help with this piece! And a shoutout to my amazing beta reader @foxee-d-or. Taglist (my Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aspen-carter @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @randomdragonfires

“Yeah, I know, Cree, but I keep telling you and Jace that I fucking suck at this game,” you heard Aegon whine into his headset, animated with his hands and wielding the controller as an emphasis to his words. “And, yet, I still play with you all, only to be verbally abused by you cunts-” his eyes rolled over and he saw you.

One of the many things you cherished about your relationship with this man was his ability to read you like a book, to such a degree he seemed more aware of the emotion you were feeling before it registered with yourself. Aegon moved in a fluid motion, beginning with the words, “Hey, I’ve got to go right now,” before he tore off and abandoned both the headset and controller on the couch; he pushed from his seat and moved towards you, his brow furrowed with concern.

Then you felt it, the tears that spilled from the corners of your eyes and bunching your lashes together. You did not know when it started, perhaps the frustration that had been building since you first took on this contract role, something you have been adamant about six weeks prior.

In the beginning, you saw his hesitation, but you coaxed him into believing it was a good idea, and in theory it had been. You promised him this job would allow you to polish your portfolio and you promised to quit that customer service role you currently worked. You explained your excitement to finally do something with your damn degree and how you could use the extra money to upgrade your equipment.

“I can buy you new equipment, though,” he had argued and you vehemently refused, continuing on about your independence, how this was your career, your passion.

And he listened to your every word, watching you in a way that was so uniquely him and you loved him for it: the slight tilt of his head, how his lips pursed together when he was not quite yet convinced, how his lavender eyes moved back and forth with your presentation.

“Only four weeks?” was all he had asked when you were done. You swore yes.

Now you were on to your seventh week, dealing with a client who was unhappy with everything you presented, with their ceaseless revisions that kept prolonging the contract; yes, the pay was nice, but you were unsure if it was worth your sanity.

In truth, you did want to utilize your degree and this opportunity would allow you to be rid of the customer service role you had since uni, to finally transition to remote work life. You also had an ulterior motive: a gift for Aegon.

He had always spoiled you and you loved him for it, but you were also frustrated that any gift you managed seemed to pale in comparison. “Babe,” he laughed the one time you tried to bring it up to him, “I’m a fucking trust fund baby. Just allow me to pay it forward, since you have already done so much for me as it is!”

This only made you all the more determined to contribute, as meager as your income seemed prior to this contract, but Aegon never breathed a word of complaint, other than he hated you being away from the apartment you shared.

It was the selling point. “If I take this, I will quit that job,” your tone honeyed and your eyes doleful. “This way I can work at home and be with you.”

But also, you desperately wanted to buy him a dog.

The idea came from his friends, Jace and Cregan, when you had a moment alone to press them for an anniversary gift for Aegon. They hemmed over their words and finally Jace mentioned getting him a dog and Cregan nodded enthusiastically.

“He sends us clips all the time,” he continued. “Specifically a golden retriever.”

You squealed your excitement at the possibility to outshine your boyfriend gift wise. “This is perfect! There is no way he can top that!”

They had exchanged looks, but said nothing.

Fate presented itself with a text from Cregan, letting you know his half-sister’s dog was pregnant from a dog park mishap, which also happened to be the same dog that began Aegon’s fixation on them. You texted Sara immediately and she offered your pick of the litter, letting you know her dog was about five weeks along.

It felt like everything was falling into place: the contract job would finish a week after, you could take Aegon to choose his pup, then go to Cregan and Jace’s apartment to collect the pet paraphernalia you had been hoarding there.

There was a moment when Cregan stopped by to grab the royal purple collar and leash, that Aegon happened to return home sooner than you planned.

Your relationship had a rocky beginning, but through his rehabilitation came an unwavering trust between you both. You considered yourself lucky to have Aegon as your boyfriend in that regard; there was no hint of jealousy when he found Cregan at the apartment, but his confusion was apparent when he saw him holding the leash and collar.

“I was showing her the collar,” his friend stammered. “I bought it for this…girl I am dating-uh, fucking,” Cregan had a white knuckled grip and you watched Aegon for his response.

“Uh,” he narrowed his eyes on him for a moment. “That’s good for you?”

Cregan was quick to leave.

Sara let you know the puppies had been born but that was four weeks ago and you were three weeks extended into this contract with the most unpleasable, nit-picking cunt clients. You wanted it to end; you had already sneaked away to pay the pet deposit and all that was left was to bring Aegon to be surprised by the litter, but instead you received your umpteenth email of revisions needed and it would damn you to another week of this never ending misery.

At first, you felt confident when you accepted this contract; you always had a knack to gauge colors, pigmentation, and you were software savvy to pick up on whatever the client was using. The interview left you feeling like they would value your expertise, but instead the weeks whittled away at your self-confidence, having you second guess your every attempt to begin this damnable career.

You thought to quit it all and just accept being spoiled by Aegon.

“Hey, pretty,” you heard Aegon coo and it returned your attention to the kitchen. He was rounding the counter and moving towards your spot; you worked here because the lighting was what you wanted and you appreciated how it overlooked the living room, where the curtains were drawn and allowed whatever sunshine was available to pour in.

Aegon would crash onto the couch when he knew you were at the end of your workday and you liked looking up from your laptop screen, exchanging glances with him.

“What’s going on?”

His arm wrapped around your shoulder and you allowed your head to fall to his chest; silent sobs of your budding frustration wracked your body. You felt him tuck you under his chin, wrapping both arms around you, with the whisper of, “Come on, sweet girl, I know you need to cry, but remember to breathe…”

The tears eventually subsided and he pulled you from the counter, bringing you back to the couch. He pulled you into his lap and held onto you still, while he hummed one of the many songs he seemed to have on repeat in his mind; his singing, his musical talent was a newer habit he discovered during his rehabilitation and was something you adored, along with his sobriety.

When he finished his chorus, you pulled back from his chest and he reached to grab your chin, turning your head to meet with his eyes.

“Quit the fucking contract,” he repeated, time and time again. “I will pay you whatever they will pay you and you can stay right here in my lap, but, you know, without the tears. Perhaps lingerie instead? It would be purely professional, of course.”

Your laughter felt groggy from your tears and he moved his large, warm palm to wipe your face dry. “Aeg,” your voice cracked, but you could not help your smile. “I’m gross.”

“Yes, you are,” he agreed with a smirk, wiping his hand dry on his jeans and moving to your other cheek. “Quit these cunts, they do not deserve you.”

“But…” and you faltered for a moment, realizing it was best to come clean with your true intention with the job. “But I also wanted this because I have a surprise for you.”

He groaned, falling back into the couch and pulling you against his chest. “How many times must I tell you that I already have everything I want,” and he wrapped his arms tight around your waist, nuzzling into your neck. “Must you make me repeat the cliches? That your presence in my life is present enough? That you, pretty girl, are my gift?”

You giggled and squirmed from his hold, the stubble on his jawline tickling your neck. You pulled back to look into his beautiful eyes and his wide cheesy grin on display. “I know, but I wanted to something more, give you something you really want-”

“I am dead serious about my contract opening,” he dead-panned. “About the pay and the underwear.”

You looked at him, his smile so contagious, and leaned forward to capture his lips with your own. His fingers combed through your hair, holding the back of your head; his lips felt warm and soft against your own, his beard growth tickling still. You giggled and he moved to rub his face against your neck again, goosebumps rippling over you.

“But what about a puppy?”

He stopped his movement and pulled back to take you in. “That was the gift?” The excitement bubbled in his voice, his eyes bright as they looked over you. “You were really going to get me a puppy?”

You nodded, smiling from his reaction. “Sara’s dog had a litter and I already paid all the fees, I have been getting the supplies, then we would go and pick you out a new furry friend…”

His hands cupped your face and he pressed a kiss to your hairline, then tilted your head back to find your lips again; you melted against his chest. “This is why you have been working this shit job?” He pulled away, his tone accusing. “I have been absolutely heartsore watching you slave away for these ungrateful swines who cannot tell the difference between azure or cerulean-”

“...you couldn’t either when we first started dating,” you remind him with a grin.

He held up a finger. “True, but if I hired a brilliant graphic designer, I would listen to your expertise and learn.” You blush and he sighed, pulling you against his chest for another hug and it was your turn to sigh, loving how well you fit against him.

There was a moment of silence and he continued. “A dog is a big responsibility and I would need your help,” he leaned forward and pressed his lips against your neck. “I am also not a fan of the stress they have been causing you, your anxiety has been in overdrive since this contract keeps being extended…”

You sighed again and he shifted his legs, catching your chin to bring your eyes to meet with his own. “I know you want this for your career and I will support whatever you choose,” he began, his eyes wide and watchful, the hint of a smirk to his lips. “I feel I must repeat myself and let you know I will happily fund you to be my perfect girl.”

You cannot help but roll your eyes, but giggled knowing that he would actually pay you to be a homebody, if it meant he got to be around you all the time.

The evening was spent with your laptop off, your notifications muted, and cuddled up with Aegon while watching some TV show you had been binging together. There is comfort being curled up, a pleasant warmth shared that inevitably lulls Aegon to sleep and you listen to his soft snores.

You were careful to pull away, creeping towards your laptop and reading the emails missed; not one included a thank you for your effort shown thus far, or any indication that your supposed contract would be over any time soon. Rubbing your eyes as if it would wipe away your frustration, you decided you had enough, that there were other jobs, other opportunities, and you didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

After pressing send on your resignation email, you slammed your laptop shut and felt a mixture of relief and worry wash over you. The sound caused Aegon to stir, his sleepy eyes barely open. “Babe?” he sounded confused, almost delirious.

“After careful consideration I have decided to accept your offer,” you joked, doing your best to mark the worry that brimmed beneath.

Aegon smiles, your words registering and waking him up. “Wonderful,” he breathed, pulling you in and sprinkling kisses over your face. “We start tomorrow with picking up our puppy,” and he giggled in a way that made your heart swell in your chest. “Then, we have to pick out a uniform…”

You giggled and grinned with how he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows, feeling a sense of relief washing over you and letting you know that you made the right decision; you could trust that, together, you would figure it out.

Arcie’s Masterlist // modern Aegon Targaryen masterlist

#mordern au hotd #aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fanfiction #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #this is just fluff #modern aegon targaryen

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mariacallous · 23 days ago

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Latest updates: CFPB and CMS take action to stop illegal billing of lowest-income Medicare recipients

WASHINGTON, D.C. – Today, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) and the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services (CMS) issued a joint statement to protect millions of people with Medicare living at or below the poverty line from unlawful medical bills. These people in the Qualified Medicare Beneficiary group represent about one in eight Medicare recipients nationwide. Federal law generally prohibits healthcare providers who accept Medicare from billing these people – referred to as “QMBs” – for cost-sharing, such as co-pays or deductibles.

“Medical bills are a major contributor to bankruptcy and financial collapse for a family,” said CFPB Director Rohit Chopra. “The CFPB and CMS are working to ensure that Medicare beneficiaries are not subjected to illegal debt collection on improper medical bills.”

“The Biden-Harris Administration's efforts to make health care more affordable are life-changing for millions of Americans,” said CMS Administrator Chiquita Brooks-LaSure. “This guidance is part of our ongoing commitment to ensure people have access to health care without fear of receiving bills that they should not have to pay. No one should go bankrupt from getting the health care they need.”

The agencies' joint statement emphasizes that Traditional Medicare providers and suppliers, Medicare Advantage providers and suppliers, and debt collectors can be sanctioned by CMS or be liable under federal law for improperly billing these recipients. CMS is also releasing new resources clarifying that healthcare providers must refund any improper charges, regardless of whether they received incorrect information about a recipient's QMB status from Medicare Advantage plans.

The scope of improper billing affects millions of vulnerable Americans, despite existing legal protections. In 2021, about 1 in 8 Medicare beneficiaries – 8.7 million people – were enrolled in the QMB eligibility group. There is evidence that some Medicare providers and suppliers improperly seek payment from this population – including when Medicare Advantage plans give healthcare providers incorrect information. These improper bills can cascade into debt collection actions and negative credit reports, creating lasting financial harm for protected beneficiaries and contributing to a medical billing system rife with inaccuracies.

Many Medicare beneficiaries with low income struggle with medical costs:

About 17% of the thousands of Medicare-related complaints that the CFPB has received over the past several years specifically reference QMB status, and most of these complaints (about 11% of all CFPB Medicare-related complaints) include a report that a healthcare provider or debt collector attempted to collect debts not owed. These improper bills appear on people's credit reports and impact their access to housing, utilities, and other forms of insurance.

The risk of improper billing is particularly high for about 1.5 million QMBs who are in Medicare Advantage plans that are not specifically designed for low-income beneficiaries.

The joint statement describes the guidance that CMS is releasing today and explains how the laws that the CFPB administers and enforces apply to improper debt collection of QMBs. Specifically, the statement explains:

Debt collectors may not collect on improper and inaccurate bills targeting Medicare beneficiaries. The Fair Debt Collection Practices Act prohibits collecting bills that are not actually owed or are in the wrong amount.

Debt collectors may not tarnish credit reports with improper and inaccurate bills. Furnishing inaccurate information may violate the Fair Credit Reporting Act, and may also demonstrate that furnishers do not verify the accuracy of information they furnish.

The new CMS resources outline how providers should verify QMB status and require refunds of any improper payments collected. Providers who bill QMBs for improper charges are violating federal Medicare requirements or their obligations under Medicare Part C and may risk CMS sanctions.

Today's actions build upon the Biden-Harris Administration's call on states, local governments, and health care providers to take comprehensive action to reduce the burden of medical debt. The CFPB has taken a range of actions to address unfair and coercive medical debt collection and practices, including issuing guidance to prevent families from being targeted by illegal medical debt collection tactics and proposing a rule to ban medical bills from people's credit reports. The CFPB and other enforcement agencies will take action against debt collectors that violate the rights of patients.

Read today's joint statement.

Consumers can submit complaints about their debt collection issues by visiting the CFPB's website or by calling (855) 411-CFPB (2372).

QMBs whose providers will not stop billing them for items and services Medicare covers can contact 1-800 MEDICARE (TTY users can call 1-877-486-2048). CMS can advise the provider to stop billing them and to refund any payments they've made. Find this and other tips for QMBs on Medicare's website .

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coochiequeens · 5 months ago

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Just the trans cult comparing their cosmetic procedures to people with real medical conditions.

By Amy Hamm June 29, 2024

A trans-identified male in British Columbia, Canada, is suing the provincial Ministry of Health after it refused to fund the out-of-country vaginoplasty he demanded be performed in Bangkok, Thailand.

The man, referred to only as KW in legal documents due to a publication ban on his name, originally lodged a complaint at the BC Human Rights Tribunal (BCHRT) in 2019 alleging discrimination. KW claimed that being denied funding for the out-of-country surgery was akin to sex-based discrimination on the basis of his transgender status.

In his legal complaint, KW insisted that a female would not have been denied the same laparoscopic sigmoid colon vaginoplasty — a procedure that is sometimes performed on females who are born with exceedingly rare disorders of sexual development. The surgery includes utilizing sections of harvested colon tissue to craft the appearance of a vulva and vagina.

KW claimed that he was unable to apply for the surgery because he could not find a specialist to complete his application form, and argued that a female could have accessed a gynecologist to do so.

The BC Ministry of Health (MOH) sought to dismiss KW’s claim on the basis that it held no reasonable chance of success, but was denied in a May 10, 2024 ruling. The matter will now be scheduled for a hearing.

The Ministry argued that they did not discriminate against KW, deny him medical care, or treat him differently “than any other beneficiary who requests out of country medical services.” They also noted that KW did not fully complete his application for surgery, adding that vaginoplasty procedures are available in Canada “and as such, the public health system was not obligated to fund the service [he] was seeking overseas.”

The MOH gave approval for KW to undergo a fully-funded vaginoplasty at GrS Montreal in October of 2017. However, months later in January of 2018, KW applied to the MOH to instead fund his surgery in Bangkok, Thailand.

He was advised that the application had to be completed by a BC specialist, and not the plastic surgeon from Thailand.

A letter from the Ministry read: “When surgery is available in Canada, the attending specialist in BC may recommend surgery outside Canada. The specialist must include peer reviewed medical articles with the application to confirm surgery outside Canada will result in a significant difference in success. The recommendation for surgery is sincerely respected; however as surgery is available in Canada, provincial coverage was not approved for surgery in Thailand.”

Ultimately, KW never completed his application and accepted the vaginoplasty at GrS Montreal on January 6, 2020. The hospital performs penile inversion vaginoplasty, in which penile tissue is “flipped” to create a vagina-like canal. This is the most common vaginoplasty technique in North America.

BCHRT panel member, Shannon Beckett, wrote in her May decision that the tribunal is also going to consider discrimination on the basis of gender identity, though KW did not allege this in his filing. She argued that the Ministry of Health made a “problematic” statement when they refuted KW’s claim about females accessing this type of procedure. Beckett appears to have taken specific issue with the Ministry’s explanation that vaginoplasties are “rarely performed on cisgender women, and only in cases where it is medically necessary (i.e. due to disease or injury).”

Beckett wrote that the Ministry’s usage of the term “medically necessary “ has “implied that where transgender women are seeking the same surgery, it is not in cases ‘where it is medically necessary.’ This argument appears to be based on stereotypical and outdated ideas about the nature and reason for gender-affirming surgery. There is no indication in the context of this complaint that the gender-affirming care KW was seeking was not medically necessary.”

This argument is reminiscent of a 2019 procedural decision by BCHRT member Devyn Cousineau wherein she referred to notorious trans activist Jessica Yaniv having his male testicles waxed by unwilling women as “critical gender affirming care.”

The hearing dates for KW’s suit against the BCHRT have not been scheduled, and it will likely take months if not years as the BCHRT is facing an enormous backlog of almost 5,000 active files.

This case is not the first of its kind in Canada. Earlier this year, and as reported by Reduxx, an Ontario man successfully sued the Ontario Health Insurance Plan to have the province fund an experimental surgery in Texas that will leave him with his penis as well as a surgically created “neo-vagina.”

The man in this case broke his own publication ban when he posted about his diaper fetish on Reddit, and openly admitted he was the individual documented in the highly-publicized case.

#Canada #thailand #Ministry of Health #Medical tourism #Dude wants Canadian taxes to fund his fake vagina in an exotic country #BC Human Rights Tribunal (BCHRT)#laparoscopic sigmoid colon vaginoplasty #He was rejected because the surgery won't have worked #BC Ministry of Health (MOH)#Gender cult comparing their wants to medical needs #He didn't even fully complete his application for surgery before crying victim #He could have his penis butched in Canada #Wasting the courts time

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beelmons · 2 years ago

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LL: gifts

Character: reid

-🐝

Gift giving (G)/Quality time(R) + Acts of services (Spencer's love language)

There might be a little bit of miscommunication here. Spencer doesn't quite get the need for human possessions, specially ones he considers "superficial". To tell him that you love him effectively, you will have to change your perception of your own love language, try to focus on utility when it comes to gifts. So, maybe not flowers, or watches, but rather a new pair of comfy socks, the one bookmark he didn't bring himself to buy, or that one book he didn't think he actually needed.

As for your receiving language, it can get a bit tricky. Being a profiler is by definition a job that doesn't give space for time. You will have to communicate very calmly how important it is that he's present when you have the opportunity to share the same space. There's a big opportunity here, though, he communicates through acts of services, so the time he's home, use it to do some chores around the house.

If he's away, he will have scheduled times, that he will never miss, to give you a call, even if that call is to let you know that he'll have to call you again for a longer chat. He will tell you about his day in detail, sometimes a bit too much, bit too gruesome, and when it's time for you to talk he will listen and listen until he falls asleep to your voice.

Scenario:

"Okay, so I got your ice cream, some soft drinks, the toilet paper we need, and some pizza, anything else?" he said into the phone as he juggled the bags on his hands.

"Nothing, babe, just get here as soon as possible" you said on the other side of the line.

Spencer beamed at your words and obeyed as commanded, doing his best to reach the place you called home without going over the speed limit. It had been a long week, him away, you busy with your own projects, the time seemed to go painfully slow as you counted down the days to see him again.

He finally walked through the front door, and you couldn't help but to tackle him in a hug. The pizza got slightly crushed in between your hug, but his arms welcomed you nonetheless, they had been empty long enough to care.

"Welcome home." you muttered against his ear.

"Glad to be back." he answered, a little ritual that you guys had come to build.

He settled the things he had gotten down on the coffee table and got ready for the movie you had already prepared. Your head landed on his shoulder as soon as you were comfortable on the couch, and his rested ontop to have you as close as possible.

Before you pressed play, however, you turned around to look at him. The tilting of his head let you know that he was confused as if he was forgetting something, you basically had a conversation without saying any words. After a short while, his eyebrows perked up and he jumped in place. "Oh!" he exclaimed as he did so.

You watched as your boyfriend took out the phone from his pocket, and with a couple of clicks he turned it off. "Good boy." you praised, and you raised your body to press a single kiss to nose. The gesture, however, was not near enough for him. His hand moved to hold your head hostage and your lips were attacked as a result. His own moved slowly but with passion, trying engrave the memory of your taste for the next mission.

You let the kiss continue for a couple more seconds, but finally decided to hit his shoulder in complaint. He pulled away with a mischevious chuckle "Fine." he grumbled "But after the movie, we're having some extra quality time".

#blurb: mine #blurb: spencer #blurb: criminal minds #criminal minds love languages #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/reader

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 months ago

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*patting myself on the back*

I just waited on 131 customers in 6.5 hours! And this wasn't just for returns; about two-thirds of the transactions were financial services. Wire transfers, cashing payroll & social security checks, processing utility, insurance, and credit card payments. This is by no means a complaint. I'm excellent at what I do, and being that busy comes from serious understaffing--but at least it gives me job security.

I'm just really, really, really, mentally exhausted right now.😵‍💫

#wish they paid me my true worth #reporting from the belly of the beast #September 3 2024

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big-sis-jules · 2 months ago

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When Your Boss Refuses to Provide Workplace Disability Accommodations.

Recently we asked for a disabilility accomodation at work. Our boss instead gave us an ultimatum: figure it out for ourself by disclosing our disability to our coworkers and begging them to assist, or forfeit our position and take a pay cut to be accomodated.

Well. What The Fuck Do We Do Now?

First we googled our rights. These official US government websites were the most helpful:

Equal Employment Opportunity Comission

Job Accomodation Network

Office of Disability Employment Policy

Our state's Disability Law Center website

In summary, we learned that employers are legally required to accommodate disabilities. They are not required to meet one's request to the letter if it would cause undue hardship, but if they don't, they must carry out an interactive process with the employee to agree on an arrangement. There are conditions they cannot impose upon the employee (a pay cut being one of them!) and reasons that are inadequate for not accepting a request (that there may be complaints from nondisabled coworkers regarding the accommodation is an inadequate reason, for example).

We could have laid the law upon our boss ourself, but considering the direness of the situation we wanted to ensure we had protections against retaliation, such as firing, and be sure our boss gets the memo. So we called our state's Disability Law Office. We explained the situation to the intake specialist and sent supporting documentation (our accommodation request letter from our therapist, our diagnosis paperwork, and an audio recording* of the meeting I had with my bosses wherein she said the things above) to an email she provided. It was supposed to take a week for the case to get picked up; instead it took a week to get approved and 2 more weeks to get picked up. We spent a lot of time calling and getting voicemails in that time, and feeling hopeless with our boss's deadline looming over our head. So we visited the office in person. As soon as we did that, we were able to bypass the front desk lady and met with the Managing Attorney. She got the case assigned to an attorney and the attorney called us within the hour.

Our aim isn't to sue, and we do not want to file a complaint with the EEOC at this point in time. We just to get our attorney to email our boss or something to force her hand. We are currently waiting for him to send us his draft before he sends it to her. We'll update how it goes!

But our lessons learned here are:

if you want something done fast, stop calling or using online portals. visit the office in person.

utilize public services! they are nonprofit, so I'm getting help from an attorney for free!

always ALWAYS get names & contact info of specific personnel, especially if they are higher up the ladder. otherwise you will be stuck with a front desk worker and all the red tape involved with their job blocking your path.

know. your. rights!!!! never let anyone take them away from you, ever!

As always,

Jules & Cecil

* recording audio of someone without their consent is not legal in every state. I'm fortunate it is in mine, because my boss writes nothing down on purpose. be sure you know the laws before following my example!

#americans with disabilities act #workplace accommodations #disability accommodations #disabilities #public services #neurodivergence #employment #mine

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anotherpapercut · 1 year ago

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College Resources

hey y'all so I have a degree in math, and have been tutoring college level math, stats, physics, and study skills for a few years now and I have several certifications as a college level tutor and in my years tutoring I've picked up a lot of absolutely essential things you NEED to know to pass math classes (and others!) if you have a hard time in math class, which unfortunately most schools will not teach you

so if you're in college (or high school, but some of these will be college specific) and you would like to hear my Professional Tips for how to survive math in college I have compiled a list of things I think you should know below the read more! I'm going to put a couple general tips at the top though for people who aren't taking a math class

alright, welcome to the read more! let's start with some general things

ok I'm starting with a kind of tip before the tips: if you are disabled, talk to disability support services at your school. a lot of times they provide services to attain a diagnosis if you don't have one, but if you do it's typically pretty easy to get accommodations and if your teachers try not to follow them, they will get in A LOT of trouble (I'm in the us so idk how disability laws are in other countries but here this is a big deal for universities bc public funding etc and if you make a complaint they will be FORCED to comply). I'm not saying bad experiences never happen, I've not been to every school in the us and I'm sure there are places that suck abt this, but I literally would not have been able to get a degree in math without accommodations (I'm autistic and have dyscalculia + memory issues) so it was worth every annoyed sigh by a dumbass teacher (which honestly rarely happened. most of them were cool). some possible accommodations include, extra time on tests, separate testing locations, formula cards, ability to use notes etc etc

I work in a free tutoring center at my local community college. while I won't say these are definitely universal, every college I have encountered (in the US, where I live) has one of these. Google the name of your school with tutoring. there is a very high chance you have free tutors available in a variety of subjects who are ready to help you. you should utilize the fuck out of this bc ur already probably paying for it in ur tuition

my favorite resource ever is one you may have heard of but I'm reminding you of it anyway. the Crash Course YouTube channel! it has free comprehensive videos about various subjects (including anatomy, physics, biology, economics, statistics and lots lots more). the videos are about 10 minutes each and they're incredibly easy to understand. they're an amazing way to study for finals. trust me on this one. they actually now have real introductory college courses that you can take for credit (tho I think you have to pay for that?) through YouTube so check into that!

take notes!!!!!!!! for real. seriously. even if you've never had to before. trust me. and don't just copy exactly what the board says, write what your teacher says out loud as well, that is often the most important stuff. I highly recommend investing in a few colored pens and/or highlighters. anytime the teacher says something important (such as formulas in a math class or a grammar rule in an English class) either write it in another color, or highlight it. color coding your notes even the tiniest bit will help you tremendously when you're studying and doing homework later. this doesn't mean having a color code so elaborate and strict that you're spending more time and energy figuring out the right color than listening and writing. I usually do the bulk of my notes in black then things like formulas or whatever in one bright color and extra bits of info from the teacher in another, this way it's easier to find the important stuff later on

if you've got a couple extra bucks, invest in a mini stapler. you'll be shocked how often those lil bitches come in handy

DO NOT EVER purchase your text books before the classes start (unless you get like an email before class starts telling you you need the book, but this is pretty rare tbh). half of your teachers are going to tell you on day 1 that they don't use the book at all. and honestly almost all of your books can be found by googling the name + pdf. just triple check that you have the correct edition!

speaking of emails, CHECK YOUR FUCKING SCHOOL EMAIL. I am so dead serious about this one. set up notifications on your phone. if you do not check your email you are going to show up for cancelled classes, miss assignment corrections, and generally not do nearly as well in your classes. I know this sounds fake but holy fucking shit please for the love of all that is good and holy check your fucking email. seriously.

the best way to study for your finals is to look at past tests and homework! if your teacher isn't a total dick they'll give you back your tests and homework. when studying for your final, go through and redo any that you got wrong, and look over the ones you got right. teachers usually take final questions from old tests and homework so if you do this it's very possible you'll study your exact finals questions. if they won't give you these back, reread your notes (in a way I'll describe in a moment)

reread your notes the same day you take them or very soon after so the lecture is still fresh in your mind! when you do this, grab a colored pen and take notes on your notes. I know this sounds ridiculous but it's actually a very important study tool. if you come across something you wrote that is confusing, write out an explanation. write down extra things that will help you understand the material. if there's something that you don't understand or don't remember PLEASE ask your teacher. some of them won't answer email so catch them in office hours or after class if you can. at the end of the semester when you're studying for finals, do this all over again but through your whole notebook for the semester (not all at once. pls take breaks lmfao)

if your teacher doesn't offer it up at the end of the semester, ask "can you please tell us some of the topics we should emphasize when studying for our finals?" (you can also say this in a far less pretentious way but I've found that professors are more likely to give you a real answer if you talk like this ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) I'm ngl, some of em will be assholes about this. they may laugh at the idea and snarkily say "look at your homework" or some shit equivalent. roll your eyes at these old bitches and move on. but many if not most will at least give y'all some idea of what to expect. and crucially: write down what they say and use it as a study guide

okey dokey!! that concludes the general section. now I'm gonna talk about some math specific stuff that will help you a lot if you struggle with math!

starting with an easy one: get a good calculator. please for the love of GOD do not get the TI-30X IIS unless you love it and are EXTREMELY familiar with all of the different operations. I'm sorry but this calculator sucks ass and it will hold you back. for about the same price you can get my personal favorite the Casio FX-115ES Plus (1st edition only, I haven't tried the 2nd edition bc I don't like change) or an FX-991 EX. if you're a Texas instruments guy get a TI 30XS or if ur doing calc and shit I'd get a 36X pro. I just prefer Casio personally lmao. in all likelihood your math teacher will be a calculator nerd who can teach you how to use any of these but there are also lots of videos made by calculator nerds on YouTube as well

so next I just want to emphasize how important your notes are. you cannot pass a math class without good notes unless it's a class you've already taken or something, and honestly even then I'd recommend you write some stuff down because the thing about math is there are a lot of different ways to do the same thing. which brings me to my next point

pay attention to the process your teacher uses to solve problems (I'll give an example in a sec) and especially to how they write the process down. if you're like me and you have trouble with the whole "show your work" thing this will help a lot, because you can use what your teacher writes down as a guideline for what you should write down. for instance, you may have learned about a math concept like permutations and combinations in high school one way, and then be taught a completely different way of performing the calculation in college. if this happens, ask your teacher about your way. sometimes their way is better for a specific reason and it's really important that you learn it. sometimes they'll say it doesn't matter just do what makes the most sense to you. sometimes you will also not get full credit if you do things a different way too so be careful and pay attention to what your teacher says abt it. you may have also been taught to show some steps in an operation but not others and your new teacher may want all of them. or none. or different ones. unfortunately math has a lot of variations

similarly, if there's a concept you don't understand, start by asking your teacher about it first bc they may want you doing a specific thing. if they're not helpful and you don't have access to a tutor turn to the internet. here are my recommendations for resources: Khan Academy has videos and examples explaining concepts in pretty much all types of math. usually really helpful because they'll show you several different methods and use different explanations, MathWay for classes that come before trig/calc. you can use it for those but it's a little more annoying lol specifically in regards to graphing and solving integrals and shit. this tool has A LOT of stuff in it but is best as a calculator to check your work on stuff and for showing you graphs that have transformations and shit like that from college algebra. it's got settings for different math types and even chemistry tho!, for more complicated graphing I'd use Desmos. you can use this in all classes but it's just a bit more complicated imo and it's more made for complex operations so I prefer to use MathWay as much as possible bc it's just more user friendly., there's also Symbolab which a lot of my fellow tutors really like but I personally tend to use the others more, Wolfram Alpha is a pretty well known one. tbh I find it kind of hard to use sometimes so i usually use it as a last resort lmfao but it is really good!, this last one is calculus specific (including things like calc based physics ofc) but derivative calculator and integral calculator are everything to me. could not have gotten through calc 2 and 3 w/o these mfs

OK THIS PART IS REALLY IMPORTANT!! we're going to talk about how you can make your math tests WAY easier on you and massively improve your chances of passing. here's what you're going to do for every test

1. when studying for your test, go through and find ALL formulas that you used in the unit(s) your test is over (this includes formulas you learned previously but used in this unit as well!!)

2. commit them to memory. easiest way to do this (besides practicing using them!!) is to rewrite them a few times including what you use them for and what all of the symbols and letters stand for

3. when you go in to take your test, spend like 5-10 minutes beforehand, right up until they make you put everything away, studying and rewriting these

4. the SECOND the test hits your desk, flip it over and write down every single formula immediately (including as much extra info like when to use and variable definitions as possible). now you won't have to try to remember them 30 minutes in when your brain is frying!!

5. go through the test and read each question carefully. if you can't remember how to solve it within 30 seconds skip it. you might only do 4 or 5 questions (maybe less depending on the length of your test) after the first pass, but just go back to the beginning and do it again, giving urself a little more time w each pass. this will ensure that you're not spending 45 minutes on problem 4 and having no time to get to the rest of the test. additionally with math it is extremely common to basically find the answer to how to do one problem while you're doing another problem. doing the ones you know first will also boost your confidence and help prevent anxiety from wiping ur brain. this is a really really important part of math tests

6. before you hand your test in, make sure you've written SOMETHING down on EVERY SINGLE QUESTION. even if you have absolutely 0 idea whatsoever what to do, there is always a chance for partial credit. a lot of times, you also know more than you think you do. so even if you can only do half a step of the whole process, half a point is better than 0!! if you really have no clue what to do, make something up. I know this probably sounds ridiculous but I'm so deadass. once I was taking a physics test and could not for the life of me remember what formula to use so I just made one up based on my vague idea of how it worked lmao. I wrote off to the side "I know this isn't how physics works, but I can't remember that so just pretend I'm god for a second" and I got like 75% of the points bc the teacher appreciated the effort!! there were fucking countless times when I was taking a test and I got to a point where I knew the steps of what I was supposed to do but could not figure out HOW to actually DO the math. so I wrote in words my understanding of what the next steps were. even though I didn't finish answering the question, I always got points for trying. this is what teachers are wanting from you. effort. so PLEASE write literally anything even if you're just making that shit up (just explain your reasoning in words to the side, as long as you're using logic you're really getting the essence of math anyway). you would not BELIEVE how fast your grades will improve by doing this. I tutored a girl who went from Ds to Bs within literally 2 weeks of starting tutoring just because she stopped leaving any questions blank and started getting partial credit

that's all the important stuff I can think of for now though I'm sure there's much more so I may update this in the future!

of course everyone is going to have a different experience and relationship with math. so adjust all of these tips to fit how you learn best. please try to remember that learning math is a very important part of developing your critical reasoning and logistical analysis skills. these are essential to understanding and interacting with the world and math is just a way of exercising those muscles. trust me when I say I know how infuriating math can be. I have dyscalculia and a math degree. I've spent so many hours crying over math you probably wouldn't even believe me. but it's worth it! and frankly, if you're in college, you're paying a lot of money for this class. you deserve to get everything you possibly can out of it

above all, if you're having trouble ASK FOR HELP. ask your teacher, ask your classmates, ask the head of the department, ask student services, ask Google!! and if you need help you can always ask me! :) I love helping people with this stuff and even if I don't know the answer to your question I'm pretty good at knowing where to look for them!

#this is so long and im praying the readmore works #this has been in my drafts for like a year sjdbakhdwihddnemsodm #college resources #math resources #forgot that tumblr builds in its own readmore now #good enough right?

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