#you dont care that someone is sleeping in tent on the street

[lovrboyx]

a lot of people love acting like they care about marginalized groups until it inconveniences them. I live in a city with an unavoidably large homeless population, and the amount of people who want to show empathy until someone expresses they may not be the most Mentally Well, or until they grow tired of seeing their tents on the sidewalk because they’re “eye sores” for your overpriced coffee shop.

Everyone wants to “solve” the problem until they realize the solution isn’t as simple as cleaning up the tents and locking everyone up. Padded or not, a cell is still a cell

a lot of yall wanna be leftists until you have to treat drug addicts and the homeless like theyre human beings deserving of dignity and respect

[proheromidoriyashouto]

Inksignia, Beyond Alteo - Tattoo artist!Inko x Flower Shop Owner!Rei AU with pre-IzuShou Part 1

Canon is mostly the same with a few exceptions. Izuku immediately tells the teachers what Shouto said during the Sports Festival. Trust is broken but Izuku would rather have him alive and safe than continue to leave him in that house. The teachers - Eraserhead, All Might and Nighteye mostly- investigate and Endeavor is taken down, goes to jail, blah, blah, blah he’s not important. After careful consideration, the authorities tentatively release Todoroki Rei from the mental hospital as an out-patient.

In order to gain independence from his estate, she decides to start up a flower shop for income. So much time spent in that drab, stale hospital has fostered a desire for bright colors and the scents of nature. She uses some of her monetary award to pay off the rent for a space wedged between a smaller convenience store and a tattoo shop. The tattoo shop has dark-tinted windows with intricate, black detailing that creates a black-on-black appearance Rei recalls seeing on pottery in the States a lifetime ago. The tattoo shop opens and closes later than her own flower shop so she goes a few weeks before she makes contact with the owner.

Business starts off slowly as there are more renowned shops a short drive away but Rei creates a niche for herself by exclusively offering carnivorous plants, and freeze-drying flowers. She had a lot of time to read and explore her tastes with a decade apart from Enji and she developed a fascination with carnivorous plants. Beautiful, deadly, and deceptively delicate, they require the utmost care. Preserving flowers by freezing them was a past-time of hers prior to her marriage and she is delighting to pick it up again. It was an uncommon practice then and continues to be so now. She uses her quirk to frost the vases and keep that part of the shop cool without altering the temperature necessary by the tropical plants. Soon enough she has moderate, steady business and she’s finally beginning to turn over a profit.

She’s returning from lunch when she spots Shouto shuffling about outside. He visits her here since her release or at her apartment above the shop so being outside must mean he was waiting for her. He looks despondent when she guides him inside and he spends nearly an hour simply walking through the shop, familiarizing himself with her wares. Even after all this time she call tell something has upset him, though he undoubtedly has a lot on his mind after the Hosu Incident. Though when he came to visit after the Sports Festival and again since the investigation into her ex-husband he had been angry about something then too. He’ll speak when he’s ready so she helps a few patrons with their orders in the meantime and when he does he seems... lost.

Mama?

Yes, dear?

Are you... happy... with all of this?

...How do you mean?

I... He visibly swallowed around a lump in his throat. H-his arrest. The court proceedings, the media attention, public opinion. Doesn’t it... bother you? Make you uncomfortable? I passed by people on the way here who were whispering about you and all of us, how we’re ungrateful and-! Validating the things people like Stain say about heroes and society. Is this, he kept his eyes firmly downcast, all even worth reliving that pain? Wouldn’t you rather forget it?

S-shouto?

I’m not saying this isn’t a good thing, now, but wouldn’t have been better to let sleeping dogs lie? I... I was going to save you from that place. When I made it and he couldn’t control me or you anymore, I-I had a plan, but...

But? She approached him slowly, letting him gather his thoughts. Something changed that? She could see the tips of his ears flush though she couldn’t see his face for his hair.

I told someone. He almost growled at that taking her by surprise. He told the teachers. That’s when they started looking into it. His fists were clenched at his sides in his hurt. I just needed him to understand what- I didn’t think he’d say anything. I didn’t know him. We’d never spoken before but he was always butting his nose into things... I didn’t think he’d hang us out to dry. But he did and now. He lifted his head to look her in the eye. His expression was imploring, desperate maybe. Being dragged through court and forced to relive all those horrible things and having people think less of you for it.You- you can’t tell me it’s made you happy.

She considered his words carefully. No. No, that certainly wasn’t. Having to testify, being in the same room as your father. That was... never something I wanted to experience again.

He adopted a look that was equal parts relief and... vindication? But she continued.

But I would do it again in a heartbeat.

His expression became clear shock then. Why?

Shouto, where do you live now? She asked instead of answering.

...with Fuyumi?

Are you happy with her?

Yes.

Do you feel safe there?

He tilted his head to the side, reminiscent of an inquisitive puppy. So cute her son. ...Yes.

And you know that your father will never come near you again, right?

...Yeah.

So, my sweet boy, who I know is so so smart, She gently cupped his face in her hands and kept his eyes on her own, why wouldn’t I repeat this fight if it meant getting you and your siblings here, to this safe, happy place every time?

His eyes shined with tears.

For the record, she said, I am. Happy- that is- here. And however unintentional, I’m grateful that you told that boy. Her son’s eyes widened. He set us on this path. It was painful, yes. She tucked an errant lock of crimson hair behind is ear. It was also the road to freedom. For all of us.

Tears wet her fingers and Shouto looked away in shame. Oh. He said so softly. You- it- it doesn’t... you mean that?

She nodded fervently. Absolutely. I would thank him if I saw him.

Shouto drew his shoulders up tensely and gently pulled her hands away from his face. That... I’m not sure that’ll ever happen.

She hummed curiously. Has he requested to remain anonymous?

No, I-I thought you were hurt by all of this. I, um. He curled in on himself a bit. I was angry. I... told him off after they started looking into our lives. ...we aren’t talking.

Oh. Shouto. You were worried about my feelings? She would remain amazed by his capacity to love her after what she’d done to him.

He nodded.

Could you make up? I’d hate for him to think he didn’t do the right thing. He might not come forward for someone else if the situation arises. I’d hate to think that someone else if left in suffering over this.

He seemed to shrink in on himself even more. The- the things I said to him were, um, pretty personal. His face twisted in obvious shame. Someone else told me- a bully of his told me that he was... I said a lot of horrible things to him and he won’t even look at me anymore. Before, I was glad. But you’re- you’re happy. He said the last word as though it a ludicrous notion.

She nodded.

Now, I- I don’t know. I should apologize. Looking back it was going too far. He didn’t mean to hurt you by it. Or me. Or any of us. He’s just... I think he’s just like that. So helpful.

She smiled. He sounds nice.

Yeah. His voice cracked as he blinked away more tears. His right hand reached over to cover the knife wounds on his left arm. They were weeks old, maybe they were still causing him pain? Too nice. ...I don’t think he’ll want to talk to me. His voice dropped to a nearly inaudible whisper, a few more silent tears slipping down his face unbidden. ...I made him cry.

Would it hurt to try?

They spent the rest of the day discussing how to go about making amends, and ended up staying well-past the typical closing time. It’s dark out by the time they head out to pick up dinner. She finally has enough money to take the children out for food and Fuyumi and Natsuo said they would meet up at the restaurant. It’s been such a long time since she had a warm meal with her babies. She’s excited. They can finally get to being a real family.

They’re surprised by the door to Inksignia suddenly swinging open, bathing the street in light. A woman stepped out and she blinked large eyes at them. She was short and chubby with green hair and eyes, wearing a black dress with sheer lace revealing colorful patterns on her shoulders, chest, and back without appearing risque. Her arms, neck, and legs were conspicuously bare of tattoos. She carried herself like someone comfortable in their own skin. Surreal.

Oh! Hello! She offered them a smile. Didn’t see you there. Her green eyes drifted over Rei’s apron. She’s forgotten to take it off. You work right here at Beyond Alteo?

No worries. Yes, I’m the owner actually. I’m, uh, Rei. Just Rei.

Ah, how rude of me, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Midoriya Inko, nice to meet you. Her round face was soft and welcoming. This is my parlor. She said proudly.

Midoriya? Shouto blurted out suddenly, eyes wide.

Hm? Yes. Inko turned to him. Do I- oh. You’re him. She narrowed her eyes in recognition. Todoroki Shouto-kun. You fought my son during the Sports Festival.

Y-yeah, I did. Shouto looked nervous. Understandable. Rei had watched the fight after all. A seed of suspicion before to take root in her chest. If it had been her son injured in their match...

Are you alright? Inko asked to their surprise.

I- I’m okay.

I heard about Hosu. Are you healed properly? Have you been eating enough? My son said you eat very little- he eats me out of house and home so his idea about what constitutes regular portions is a bit skewed but he seems really worried about you so I thought I’d ask. Ah, if that’s okay?

It’s... fine. My wounds are healed. I’m eating, uh, everyday?

We’re going out for dinner right now. Rei said. Hm, she would have to see if he was in fact eating enough for a boy his age. She’d compare to Natsuo for reference.

Midoriya-san, your son... talks about me? Shouto asked.

Oh, all the time. Everyday it’s Todoroki-kun this, Todoroki-kun that. He’s been so worried about you! Especially since the, well, the news. And Hosu. He said you’ve been busy with family matters- and I won’t pry- so he hasn’t had the chance to talk to you in a while. So you mind if I tell him you’re doing okay?

Everyday? He seemed to whisper to himself. No, t-that’s okay. Yeah. Um, has he said anything else?

Ah... Just that he’s worried about where you’re staying and if you feel comfortable there. We have a spare bedroom and he wants you to know you’re welcome to it if you need it. It’s alright with me of course.

Shouto’s jaw dropped as his cheeks pinked again, and he dropped his face to hide behind his bangs. He clutched his hands to his chest. O-oh.

Shouto is staying with his sister for the time being. He was telling me how much he likes it. Rei replied when it was clear Shouto wasn’t going to. Thank you for the concern. Please thank your son for his thoughts. I’m glad that someone outside of the family is looking out for him.

Shouto flinched from behind his mother.

Inko smiled. I will. He’ll be so relieved. She spared a look to her watch and gasped. Oh gosh, I just meant to get some fresh air but I’ve kept you from your plans! Sorry! She opened the door to return to her business. It’s been wonderful talking to you. I know the hours are a bit unusual but feel free to stop by anytime with your boy! It’ll be nice to have a friend in the neighborhood.

Rei felt a flutter of something soft and fuzzy from her hairline to her toes. A friend? ...when was the last time she had one of those? Before Enji. After, most of her friends had gone on to actually make use of their hero certification and were too cowed by his political and social capital to heed her plight. None of them had reached out to her in years. The children were great comfort but they had their own lives. Maybe... should she? Oh it’s been a bit, should probably respond sometime this year- Yes!

Inko blinked at her loud answer.

Erm, Rei flushed, y-yes, I’d like that.

Inko’s smile widened into a 1000-megawatt grin that almost seemed to dull the lights from the within the parlor in comparison. We’re open earlier on the weekends. You could come by then if it’s better for you.

I will, I think. Yeah.

(This was supposed to be a short headcannon and now the animal is loose. I’ll expand from here and post link to AO3 when it’s done. Does anyone want to read more??? Let me know!!

Shouto felt betrayed and protective over his mama so he raged a bit. Izuku can understand why but it definitely hurt and he’s been avoiding Shouto- which Shouto now feels regret about. They’ll make up don’t worry.

Rei and Inko are gonna be nearly as dumb as their sons and I think it’ll be fun.

TLDR: tattoo artist!Inko x flower shop owner!Rei get together AU, still quirks and hero-sons. the name of Rei’s shop has meaning. inko’s almost as cool as she seems yo)

[magic-marvel]

I Love to Hate You

Chapter 5

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Pairing: Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Reader

Summary: You don’t know what it is, but seeing him breathe makes you want to punch him in the throat.

Word Count: 2039

A/N: im crying??? its been so long??? im so sorry???

yall this update was originally like 5k words long or something like that so i split it into two chapters so its easier to keep track. im sorry for making yall wait so long i swear ive been working on it i just like had no motivation until last night to finish this.

WARNINGS: remember when i said i wasn’t gonna warn anymore and to take note of the previous warnings? yep.

It was 11:36 PM.

You awaited for the right moment, the perfect opportunity to execute your plan. There was no second chances, not even a plan B. This needed to go how you expected it to or it wouldn't work at all. So you waited.

11:38 PM.

You watched it fall in place, the pieces of a puzzle you already solved. You watched as Bruce left his lab for the night. He sent you a quick goodnight before going his way. He was the last to be in the common areas of the Tower, a few members were still awake in their respective rooms. But with Bruce now gone, you were able to exit the building without notice.

11:43 PM.

You walked into Peter's room, expecting him to be ready for the mission. He was asleep.

You grabbed his suit off the floor and slapped it against his bare back, he woke up with a scramble.

“Get up! We are going right now!”

Peter was groggy, visibly confused about the situation. But with sleepy eyes and tousled hair, he put his suit on. You waited in the same chair Bucky was sitting in this morning, the knife marks still etched as a chilling reminder to not get on his bad side. You were running your finger over the marks, feeling the indents when you heard Peter's suit shrink into place.

You looked up at him, finding he was without his mask. He looked over the floor with half lidded eyes, a trail of dried drool still on his cheek. His hair was an absolute mess, maybe the mask wouldn't be able to hold it down.

“There we go...” Peter bent down to reach under his bed. You watched as he stretched a hand, mindlessly reaching for his mask. But he grabbed it in no time, walking up to you while putting on the final piece of his suit.

“Bruce just left the lab, so we can go out the window now.” You spoke, already walking towards the glass pane separating you from the outside.

“The window? We can't just take the elevator?” Peter questioned.

You unlatched the lock, pushing open the thin piece of glass to the outside. You leaned forward, staring at the concrete street 12 floors below you. It wasn't the highest point, but it most definitely will do a lot more than tickle if you fell at this height.

“The cameras would catch us, my dad would be alerted. Since Bruce left to his room, we can go past the floor below us without him spotting us through the windows.”

You tugged at your sleeves, hoping they would fight off the bitter breeze that flowed through the window. It bit at your cheeks, causing a quick shiver to run along your body. You should have brought more layers.

“Okay, well hold tight then.”

You were leaning out the window when he spoke. You furrowed your brows, turning quickly once realization hit.

“Wait—what?”

Peter swooped you up with one arm, your body pressed tight against his while he climbed out the window

“WAIT, WAIT! I WASN'T READY—PETER!” You shouted before Peter took a dive out the window.

The air was sucked out of your lungs while you clung your arms around Peter's neck. You were rocketing towards the ground at a rate that you didn't think was possible, you felt your soul leave your body and trail back up to the room to watch its body splat on the sidewalk. Maybe your dad won't find out.

“Hang on!” Peter shouted over the rush of air, using his currently free hand to push under your thigh. He kept tugging until you finally got the idea, wrapping your legs around him like a baby koala.

It was in that instant, when you found a tight grip on him did you hear his webshooters go off. It tugged the both of you roughly into the opposite direction, had you not held so tightly you might have gotten a nasty hit of whiplash. It also helped that Peter held you securely in his arm, preventing you from even getting a wiggle out.

You clung to dear life, not for a second opening your eyes as you felt your body move through the air. Your ears popped, letting a rush of sound to flood in before you both took another dip towards the ground.

You had stopped screaming by now, nearly numb from the velocity and the rush of blood. Your muscles were locked in place, wrapping around Peter in hopes that you could melt into him for safety. He didn't seem to mind, at least he didn't make it obvious. So he continued swinging between buildings, not exactly sure where he was going but he was enjoying the trip while he still could.

12:04 AM.

Peter eventually let you down in an alley. Well, he intended to let you down.

“Hey, we're on solid ground.” You continued to hold on, face buried into his neck and eyes screwed shut. “...That means you can let go now.”

“No.” You uttered.

You held on, despite both of Peter's arms hanging by his side. You stayed snugged against him, your bottom slowly sliding down with the lack of support. You kept trying to adjust your grip, even wiggle your hips to get a better lock around Peter's waist. Nothing worked, and eventually your own strength failed you. You began to drop, but Peter managed to hold you up before then.

“C'mon, we dont have a lot of time. And I want to sleep.” Peter let go of you, making sure you could hold yourself up after that trip.

You let out a groan of frustration, staying close behind him before he would let you go do your 'mission'.

“Okay, so I'm thinking I'd check out the donut place and then just walk down the street a bit. I'll try and stall so maybe we can bait this guy out.” You poked your head out from behind Peter, checking your surroundings before stepping out yourself. You wobbled a bit, still trying to get used to solid ground. You hoped Peter hadn't noticed. He did.

“Got it, ma'am! I'll be on the rooftops!” Peter already began climbing up the side of a building when you called back to him.

“Call me 'ma'am' again and I'll shave your head in your sleep.”

“Roger that, ma'am.”

You threw your shoe at him, smacking him in the head before it fell back down to you. He continued crawling, giving his head a gentle rub. You hoped it hurt.

You slipped your shoe back on, now ready to walk the New York streets in an effort to catch whoever is behind the hack. Peter was to catch them, web them up and you would call your dad and Steve to take care of the rest. You thought it was a sound plan, something to prove to your father that you can be a valuable member of the team. Maybe even after this he would consider making you an avenger.

12:33 AM.

You walked down an empty street. Street lamps flickered above, giving a more lifeless feel to the empty sidewalk. Cars would drive by, the ones with tinted black windows made you weary. But they would drive away quickly, giving you a chance to breath again. This went on for some time while you walked. You took the long way to the donut shop, trying to extend your trip for as long as possible.

The old shop was a 24/7 vendor. You walked up to a window, someone sitting inside quickly got up to greet you.

“How may I help you?” The kind lady asked, her accent heavy with each word. You shifted on your feet, pouting your lips while staring up at the chalkboard menu behind her.

“May I have a half dozen box? Three glazed and the other three chocolate, please.” You responded to her in Spanish, hoping that it would be more comfortable in her own language. She gave you a wide smile as you spoke. The winkles in her warm features deepen as she watched you speak, even her eyes brightened with the sound of her mother tongue.

“Of course, honey. Would you like a drink too? It's cold out, my love. I could warm up a hot chocolate for you.” She asked.

Your own eyes lit up at the thought, you quickly nodded your head before speaking, “Yes! I would love that, thank you so much!”

She quickly packed a box with your donuts before sneaking away to grab a new mix of hot chocolate. You sat at a bench in front of the window and waited while she prepared your drink. The more you thought of it, the more you realized that she was right. It was practically freezing out, a hot chocolate would cure any shivers just by the mere thought.

And a box of donuts for you and Peter was a bonus, the late night snack should help you both stay alert for the rest of the mission.

The woman returned to the window, box and paper cup in hand. You gave her the money for both, but she tried waving off the extra amount for the hot chocolate.

You wouldn't take no for an answer, so you gave her the money for the hot chocolate and a generous tip. You left it in a clear box in the front, giving her a toothy smile and thanking her sincerely. She thanked you for coming, telling you to go home and warm up.

But you simply smiled at her, assuring you would. Choosing to simply lie rather than admit you weren't going home seemed simpler, it gave the kind woman a chance to soon forget you. You were another customer, a polite girl who made a quick stop for donuts and hot chocolate, nothing more.

You continued walking down the street, turning around random corners in hopes of luring someone out. You ate away at the donuts while taking tentative sips at the warm beverage, you didn't want to burn your tongue.

But soon, you became full, your drink felt cold. You were wandering aimlessly for some time, the box in your hand becoming an annoyance. So you sat down at a bus stop bench, pulling out your StarkPhone and quickly finding Peter's contact.

DIALING: LITTLE SHIT

…

…

The phone rang just twice before Peter picked up.

“What's up?” He answered. You shifted your phone against your cheek and settled the box down at your side.

“I got donuts for you. I ate all the glazed though, not gonna lie.” You replied, quickly popping the box open to inspect the chocolate donuts left over. You looked above you, trying to find the masked hero.

“Well, at least you saved me some.” Peter acknowledged. You found him climbing down a wall across the street. He kept his distance, not trying to associate himself with you for the moment. You both agreed that if he was seen with you now, that might scare off the culprit.

You got up from the bench, throwing your cold cup into a trash bin and leaving the box on the bench. “Alright, I'm gonna make another trip around the block. If nothing happens then I guess we should call it a night.” You sighed, disappointed that nothing has happened so far. It was cold, you were tired, and these assholes still haven't showed up. What a bunch of jerks.

“Sure thing, I'll still be watching your back.” Peter assured.

“Thanks, Pete.” You replied sincerely. He hummed in response, accepting your gratitude without any tease or jokes. You appreciated it.

Soon you both hung up, you kept walking forward trying to make it back around to where you originally started. It was later into the night, more people actually came out. Not exactly the type of people you'd wanna hang out with, but they were people nonetheless.

At least you weren't alone out here anymore. But then again, that's not always a good thing.

Chapter 6

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[katymacsupernatural]

A New Life Chapter 1: Your Story

Dean Winchester x Reader

1500 Words

Story Summary:You're a Demon who is trying to erase all the bad you've done, by helping the Winchesters. But the price to be good can be too much, even for a crossroads demon.

You hadn't always been a bad person, a Demon. Once upon a time, or a long time ago, depending on how you wanted to start your story, you had been a very kind person. The type of person everyone looked up to and admired.

When you said a long time ago, you had meant it. You had been born in 1880, to a wealthy railroad tycoon and his trophy wife. Raised with the best things money could buy, you should have been a spoiled brat. Instead,  your parents raised you with manners, showing you kindness is more important than greed.

Straight out of boarding school, you had fallen in love with an up and coming stage actor. He was handsome and suave, and made your knees buckle with his beautiful blue eyes, and dashing personality.  Your parents had been disappointed, and in the end, eventually cut you off from your inheritance.

You didn't cared too much, a lovestruck fool. At first it was hard, going from a life style of ease, to living in a tiny flat with barely enough food to survive on. Steven wouldn't let you work, he wanted you to dress the best, looking pretty hanging off his arm. Steven, the love of your life, tried hard to find good work, but for an actor it wasn't always easy to find.

Then came the news, Steven was sick with the consumption. You worked hard to make him comfortable, but he wasn't the easiest patient. In one of his bouts of anger, he turned on you, telling you that it should be you dying, not him, he was too important to die this soon. That he still had roles he had to portray. For the first time in your short relationship, Steven raised his hand to you.

Upset and hurt, you ran, through the muddy streets, towards the end of town, where tents stood instead of houses, and men with missing teeth smiled at you lustfully. Ignoring the crude looks, you fled to the last road, falling on your knees in the middle, not caring that your favorite dress was ruined from the mud and the muck. Tears poured down your cheeks, your heart shattered.

It took you a moment to notice you were at a crossroads, four ways to chose where to go. Straight led into the dense, uninhabited forest full of danger. Behind you led back to town. Back to Steven who had grown cold and cruel while being sick. On each side of you, the unknown, which was no place for a gentle raised lady.  Sobbing, you begged, for anyone listening, to help. You were so lost and broken. So different from the girl  who had grown up so sheltered and loved just a mere two years ago.

You were shocked when someone answered your plea, and accented voice coming from above you, dark brown eyes staring down at you with what you had thought was compassion at the time. He was dressed in a dark black suit, fancier than anything you had seen in years. Pulling you to your feet, he offered you a deal, knowing facts that a simple stranger shouldn't know.  Stevens life for your soul. At first you had laughed, knowing there was no way this was plausible. However, when the man flashed his eyes your way, the black sending shivers to your soul, you found out that Demon's were real. And this Demon was willing to barter with you. At first you were scared, ready to turn and run, but he gently held your hand, assuring  you he wasn't there to hurt you. That he was there to help you, to give you the thing you craved the most.

Not knowing what else to do, you agreed, giving your soul up for Stevens health. You had already given up your life, and your wealth for Steven, how big of a deal was your soul?

The Demon promised that Steven would be okay, that his illness had completely vanished. Reminding you that someday, someone would be collecting your soul. Nodding your head you agreed, stiffening in his embrace when his lips were sealed to yours. Confused, you had asked how long you had before collection, but the Demon just laughed before vanishing. In the wind, like he had never been there in the first place. His voice echoing in the wind, calling out soon as shivers raced upon your arms, your heart heavy with your decision.

Still reeling from everything that had just happened, exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions, you trudged back to your flat, ignoring all the intrigued stares of people you passed. You were curious and scared, wondering what you would see when you returned. Would Steven be as you had left him, angry and sick? Or was the Demon real and Steven would be healthy and happy once again?

Leaning against the splintered wooden door, you took a deep breath before stepping inside. Your flat was miniscule, big enough for a table and a bed, along with a stove to heat and cook upon.  At once the smell of stale whiskey, and sickness wafted towards you, but the sight in front of you brought tears to your eyes. Steven was back to himself, standing up straight, his blonde hair once again silky. His once sunken cheeks were now rosy and plump, and he was no longer coughing. He was back to the vigourous, dashing man you had first fallen in love with.

Jumping into his arms,  ecstatic that he was healed, but he shoved you away. In shock, you tried again, wondering if he had been confused. This time, instead of pushing you away, his hand came up, hitting you square in the jaw, knocking you to the ground. Staring up at him in horror, you curled into a ball as his foot continued to connect with your middle, and you screamed out in agony. Crying, you kept asking why, but it was as if he couldn't hear you. Kicking again and again, before finally stopping, you had no strength to stop him as he took all of your valuable possessions before striding to the door.

Before leaving, he laughed in your face, saying the only reason he had been with you was because of your connections but they hadn't worked out, and now he was tired of you. Tired of being held down by you.

Watching as he left, you curled in even farther, your entire body aching. Wondering what was to become of you now. The last of your money had left with Steven, you couldn't afford to stay in this flat on your own. Your parents had moved to the country side for a year, so you couldn't ask them to take you back, and you feared they would never forgive you.

As you sat there contemplating the lack of your future, you heard a familiar voice. The Demon was sitting at your table, smoking a cigar. Clicking his tongue, he stubbed the cigar out before crouching down next to you. "It had to be this way," he muttered in that accent of his, explaing that he was being kind, collecting your sould so soon. Saying that it was much better than become a prostitute.  Heartbroken, you agreed, knowing you had no choice.

___________________

Shaking your head, you cleared the thoughts of your past from your mind. There was no use remembering what had happened, wondering what you could have changed. It had happened so long ago, over a hundred years, and even though you weren't happy with the way things happened, you knew things could have been worse.

The Demon, whose named turned out to be Crowley, was a crossroads demon, one higher up in ranking. He had taken a liking to you straight away, which had been a blessing in disguise. With his tutoring and support, you had been able to skip most of the torture and torment that new souls had to endure. Instead he offered you the task of being his intern, following in his footsteps. As the years passed, the evilness of hell had managed to sneak slightly into your soul, turning the once kind and compassionate girl into one of the best crossroads demons in hell. Even though you still wished for the days before Steven, and the kind of life you could have had.

When Crowley became the King of Hell, he had begged you to follow him to court. Promising you everything you could want.  Instead, you stayed where you were, content on making deals and taking souls. And that's where you met the Winchesters, who would change your world.

Dean/Jensen Tags:@acreativelydifferentlove​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @akshi8278​ @anokhi07​ @aubreystilinski @bebravekeeponfighting​ @brindz30​ @colette2537​ @crusadedean​ @darthshreydar​ @deanwinchesters-impala67-deacti​ @haelyn​ @horsegirly99​ @ikeneasul11 @its-not-a-tulpa​ @just-another-winchester​ @lady-phoenix-of-tardis​ @librarygeekery​ @msimpala67​ @love-charmer-sketch​ @ria132love​ @ruprecht0420​ @shadowhunter7​ @sizzlingbearpolice​ @sleep-silent-angel​ @sortaathief​ @superseejay721517​ @torn-and-frayed​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​

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[bluboothalassophile]

Innocent little demon update? Or maybe devil's deal and wrong universe, again? I really enjoy reading those, it makes me happy to see something like alternate or different versions of them. I just wanna say you have a beautiful mind. Your type of creativity in writing is quite wonderful and a fun time to read too. You dont have to rush or even give an immediate update,take your time 😆😆😆

Hello,

I’m so happy to hear you enjoy the stories; they’re a lot of fun to write! Innocent Little Demon is complete though, the five parts of it were all there were to write. Wrong Universe, Again, has hit a hiccup; because I have NO idea where that one was going so I’m trying to sort it out.

As to your request for Devil’s Deal, that I can continue and I hope you enjoy!

Inconsequentially Important…

Raven sighed as she sat in Warrior as Kyle stared at theobject of his affections. The one-sided affections he insisted he didn’t have,but were plainly written all over his face.

“If you stare at his ass any harder you’re going to burn a holein it,” Raven informed Kyle as she took a sip of her bourbon.

“We can’t all have crushes on perfect matches,” Kyle stated.

“I do not!” she protested.

“Garth Curry.”

“Okay fine, but at least I don’t stalk him at his place ofwork and moon over his ass,” she countered as she rolled her eyes and slowlystood.

“Where are you going!?” Kyle demanded his panic obvious asshe shouldered her bag.

“I have to get up in the morning, and I have that jobinterview, I also have my own story to finish writing, and I need to call mymoms and wish them a happy anniversary,” Raven said.

“You’re leaving me!?” Kyle sputterd.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she promised as she walkedaway.

“FIEND! You never leave a wingman behind!”

“I’m not going to sit here all night so you can moon oversome Guy’s ass,” Raven punned back as she walked out.

“You’re a cold hearted witch sometimes!”

“Demon!” she shouted back as she waved him off and walked outinto the city’s night. Tugging her coat on a bit tighter she pulled her capover her messy hair as she started walking down the street for her stop.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Artemis Crock walked with Jason through the bustling city.

“And check on Slade’s defenses,” Jason said.

“You know that this is a terrible idea,” Artemis said.

“Just do it.”

“It’s going to be worse when he finds out you were sleepingwith his daughter,” Artemis stressed and Jason stopped.

Artemis was of the very few people who knew; really knew, Jason.He’d survived two years of torture from the serial killer Joker, he’d dughimself from the depths of his own grave, he’d fought, and killed, he’d trainedto the point of being more lethal than SEALs, Delta, SAS and others. He was aruthless killer, he was a gentle soul with more empathy and compassion in himthan anyone could ever prove.

And she loved him, like the annoying little brother she’dnever had. She loved him.

“He knows, I’m pretty sure Rose rubs it in his face,” Jason admittedas they walked to her stop.

“Alright, I’ll compile the information, and forward it toyou before the end of the week.”

“Good,” he nodded.

“Anything else, boss?”

“Yeah, tell the moron to stop trying to tail me,” Jason ordered.

“You know Roy cares because he tails!” she chimed.

“I like my privacy.”

“I’ll tell him, see you tomorrow Jason,” she waved him offas she jogged down the stairs to her subway stop. Jason nodded at her as hedisappeared into the crowd and she sighed as she walked with the crowd.

She really wished it wasn’t Lucifer Morningstar of all thedamn people that B could have made that deal with.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason supposed he couldn’t be furious with his father fordoing what any father really should do, but he was angry all the same because he’drather be dead most days than dealing with this shit. To be fair he’d beentortured in everyway possible by a delusional serial killer, and Jason was notentirely sure if life or death would be an easier route for him. But as long ashe was breathing he’d keep fighting, keep working, it was in his nature.

Sighing he continued down the street when he twitched hearinga disturbance to the bustling night. His head turned, and he looked into analley where he had heard the muffled sound. Jason pocketed his phone as he creptforward, into the darkness.

“Shut up!” a man growled.

“Please! I’ll give you anything you want!” the small voicegasped.

“look at this Rob she’s pretty!” another man mused.

“No, please!” the woman gasped and it clicked where he knewthe voice as his eyes narrowed dangerously on the men. They threw her againstthe fence, pawing at her and Jason stepped out of the shadows.

“I believe the little bird said ‘No’.” he snarled lowly,there was a flash of panic in the woman’s eyes as she saw him. “Let her go.NOW.”

The men released her.

“Little bird,” he motioned for her, and the girl lookedbetween her attackers flanking her and him before she darted behind him, herfingers caught his coat as she pressed herself securely behind him and he couldfeel her peering around him at the men. God above the woman was tiny.

“Now we’re leaving, come after us and I will kill you,” hewarned darkly as his own arm came around Raven and they backed out of the alley,his hand on his weapon in his pocket. They made it to the street before hepulled her around and into his side, slinging his arm over her shoulders heguided her to a near stop. He’d get her home but first they’d be ditching dumband dumber before he circled back to kill them.

“Thank you,” she whispered inaudible against his side.

“No problem,” he admitted.

“Little bird?” she whispered.

“Like you don’t have a code name for me in the morning,little bird.”

“Jay, I call you Jay.”

“That’s not very original.”

“I also call you Mr. Sexy Muscles but I’d never dare to saythat aloud,” she mumbled.

Jason stared at her as they walked; watching her face turnscarlet and then he finally roared with laughter. “Little bird I think anyone’sever called me sexy.”

“I can’t believe I said that! What’s wrong with me!?” shesputtered.

“Do you honestly think me sexy?” he persisted, her faceturning a more violent shade of red in this November cold.

“Will we please get off this topic!?” she pleaded.

“Hell no!” he laughed.

“Okay, despite the grime, bad boy, aura, and the obvious troublemaker vibe you have, you’re very handsome, and why am I little bird?” shedemanded.

Jason was shocked hearing nothing about the J carved intohis cheek or the other scars that were visible. “Isn’t that obvious? You’retiny and you remind me of a little bird.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Jason, Jason Todd,” he smiled a bit at her.

“Raven, Raven Quinzel-Isley,” she answered.

“That’s a hell of a mouthful,” he said.

“My moms hyphenated their last names,” she shrugged.

“You mind if I walk you home?”

“We’re heading for the wrong train then,” she mumbled.

“We’re going to ride around for a bit, until I know you’resafe,” he said. She nodded into his side and he felt her shaking now as they walkedthe subway and she was leaning heavily into him.

Jason got them on the train, he saw the men behind and Raven’sknees gave out, which had him scooping her up. She was shaking somethingviolently and it wasn’t from the cold as far as he could tell as he sat withher on his lap.

“I… I…” she chattered.

“I’ll get you home to Sylvester,” he promised.

“You remember?” she whispered, her gloved fingers curledinto his chest.

“Yeah, you know sometimes you’re the best part of my day,”he admitted softly.

“Thank you….” she whispered.

“Mind giving me your address, little bird? I’ll get youhome,” he promised.

“I trust you,” she murmured as she hid against his chest.

“Good, and we’ll go back to our morning routine,” hepromised holding her tight. This felt right for some reason, and he liked thatthe scar wasn’t her main interest for being around him. It was comforting.

“I just want to go home,” she sobbed now, he held her firmlyagainst her as he rubbed circles on her back and whispered promises of goinghome.

She whispered her address to him an hour later and hecarefully navigated his way to her apartment, not letting her walk as she hadnearly fallen on her face when he’d set her down. Making it to her building waseasy enough, she fumbled to get him the keys.

They made it up to her apartment and he got them in thedoor. Raven said nothing as she hid her face against his shoulder.

“Kay little bird,” he said setting her on the chair. Before hefumbled around for a light. He was a bit surprised to note he only lived twobuilding over from her, he could see his apartment building across the street,even see his apartment window for his kitchen. There was a black hiss of furthat was on the kitchen counter.

“Stay!” she grabbed his hand. “Please!” she pleaded.

“You get changed for bed, my apartment’s across the way, I’llbe right back and take the couch,” he said softly. She reluctantly let his handgo as he jogged out of her apartment.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven stumbled to her room, she changed and found hercollege hoodie to pull on and her hair was loose around her. She didn’t want tobe alone just yet, she couldn’t stand the thought, and she was terrified to bealone at this minute even as Sylvester wound his way around her ankles.

She gasped when she heard a light buzz on the intercom.

“Jay!?” she pleaded.

“Yeah, ready to lemme in?” he asked her. Raven didn’t haveto wait five minutes before he appeared. He was in sweats and a hoodie, with abag slung over his shoulder, his feet had boots on though.

“I… You…” she started.

“I’m staying one night, I’ll walk you to the coffee shop andthen we go back to our morning routine, deal?” he held out his hand.

She nodded as she tentatively took it.

“Kay,” he smiled a bit.

“Thank you again, you didn’t have to,” she whispered.

“Of course I had to little bird, you’re my morning routine,can’t have someone fuck with that,” he smiled.

“Thank you, again, for… for everything.”

“Uh-huh, bed,” he ordered. She nodded as she walked to herroom.

“You can…”

“I’m taking the couch, see you in the morning, we’ll getcoffee and back to normal,” he promised.

Raven nodded as she slid into her room, she watched as he sethimself on the couch and she felt Sylvester on her bed, prowling towards her ashe claimed his spot behind her back. Raven shivered a bit as she pulled thecovers closer to her shoulders.

She was safe. Jason was here to protect her. She was safe.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason waited until he was sure the little bird was asleepbefore he sat up and opened his phone to see the slew of messages from hisbrothers.

Everyone was concerned about the heir to LuciferMorningstar, he was concerned about the little bird. Fuck him, until he’d heardher in that alley he hadn’t thought about what the morning routines meant tohim.

It was just coffee; but every morning it was consistent.

It was this impersonal personal friendship and one he didn’tknow he valued so much until now. He was fucked he was so royally fucked.

Someone so inconsequential to his existence was apparentlyimportant, and that terrified him.

Jason supposed he was just going to have to keep an extraeye out on Raven and make sure she didn’t attract anymore trouble. Come tomorrowher attackers would be dead; he’d see to that, because no doubt those men hadattacked other women. Jason wouldn’t stand for that. And making bodies disappear;well that was easy. It merely took a matter of proper planning and he was goodat planning.

He’d assign Artemis to protecting Raven until he was certainshe was safe.

He didn’t relish the idea of losing her.

Getting up he peeked into the room where his morning routinewas in a fitful sleep, her cat glared dangerously at him and Jason groaned. Hewas so fucked!

[flatorangecat]

I didn’t know what to name this so it won’t have a title. Just a warning this includes some spoilers for DeltaRune, as it is in the perspective of someone who has just completed the pacifist run of the game. Not really meant for anything, just a snip of story.

It seemed like so long since you had last seen the surface. Susie turned to you, reflecting your own confusion as the two of you stood amongst the discarded games of playing cards, blocks, and chess pieces. The day had been long enough fighting to maintain the balance of light and darkness within the word, but discovering the whole thing may have only been a dream weighed on your shoulders even more.

Even so, the two of you decided to head home, as the sun danced low along the horizon and you didn’t want your mother to worry. You weren’t sure how the passage of time worked between this world and the other, but you were sure by the sunset as you strolled through town that about half a day had elapsed as you took your adventure. It had been a while since you went through the routine, so out of curiosity you stopped at every establishment to reintroduce yourself to the locals before finding your way back home.

Some things hadn’t changed, familiar faces revealed themselves, though not in the same context as before. Others didn’t change, like the good ‘ol Librarby that sat a block away from your school. Burger pants seemed to recognize you immediately, raising your hopes slightly. At first you thought he remembered you - the real you, from before- but he deviated to talk about Asriel and the past you two shared growing up together with the king and queen. No talk of previous jobs or fancy dancing robots who made him sell burgers adorned with edible sequins (though after stopping at the diner you realized those still existed). You were still the only one whose consciousness persisted through the timelines. Despite how many times they changed, you were still you.

Sadness began to pull at your soul the more you listened to the townsfolk relay their stories. Some relationships blossomed, whereas others you knew were meant to be together didn’t even know the other existed. You quickened your pace until you came across what looked like a familiar establishment a street up from your house. It almost looked like Grillby’s, but all the letters had been scribbled over the abandoned building with graffiti save for the ‘S’ at the end. Instead, the letter remained to help spell a new word, a name- Sans.

Your soul jumped a little, remembering one of your previous encounters with Sans. The morbidly curious aspect of yourself had gotten the better of you, leading you astray from the true path and straight down the road to mass genocide. Sans was the only one who seemed to understand the anomalies, and partially how you seemed to be connected with them. If there was anyone other than you who could remember times from before, it would be him. Aside from the first fallen child, that is. After spacing out at the sign for a moment to recount that, you half smiled when you recognized a small skeleton lounging on the front steps of the boarded up building.

“Hey, long time no see.” You commented. Sans gave you a blank stare with his quinticential toothy grin.

“hey buddy. think you might have the wrong person, we’ve never met before. my bro and i just moved into town here.” You fought back the burning sensation that began to build behind your eyes. Not even he knew what was going on.

“Right.. I- I thought you would remember me is all. Sorry.” Instead of continuing the awkward conversation you turned to leave, actually heading for home this time to bury your head under the covers of the mess you call a bed. A voice called out from behind you to wait a minute so you reluctantly turned around.

“am i supposed to know you?” Sans asked, expressing genuine concern and confusion across his skull. You bit the inside of your lip briefly.

“Yeah. You’re supposed to know asriel, and my mom-“

“of course i know your mom, i was aquatinted with her last night.” He laughs and gives you a wink. You clench your fists.

“Sans I’m being serious! You dont even know who I am. And it’s just.. frustrating. But I’m guess I’m expecting too much, aren’t I. Try to change the timelines again, convince Chara to help open the barrier so the other children would be spared, but at what cost is it for everyone else’s lives to practically be ruined?” Sans began to advance towards you, arms outstretched as if that could calm you down.

“it looks like this is a pretty nice town, the people here seem happy.” Your eyes narrow are you snap to him.

“How closely are you looking? Besides, in this timeline you don’t even know anyone other than your brother so how would you expect to understand what’s going on. I thought there was more to you but in reality you’re just another one of them. Another part of the game that I changed.” A guilt formed a pit in your stomach. You didn’t mean to go off on sans, but that had been the last straw to break your back. He meant so much you you, your friendship, your relationship, was now meaningless. You sank down to the ground, drained of energy. Sans placed a hand on your back tentatively to rub small circles.

“‘m sorry, didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

“You can’t help it. It’s fine.” You shrugged out of his grasp and set course for home finally. Maybe getting some sleep would help you forget this confusing nightmare. Maybe it would help clear your mind before you impulsively reset again. After greeting your mom at the door you strode straight to your room, kicked off your shoes, and threw the covers over your head before nodding off recounting the curious new characters you met earlier.

—————-

You woke with a start, struggling about trying to find the edge of your blankets. Something was cutting off your air flow, making it impossible to sleep, let alone breathe. When you finally got out from under the covers you realized it wasn’t something, but someone instead. The force on your soul tightened as you focused on it, causing you to double over onto the floor and clutch at your chest. As if by instinct, your body began to move on its own. The hand that clutched your chest dug tighter and tighter into the skin, pain nearly blinding you until you saw a flash of red. You realized too late you weren’t in control any more.

Suddenly the perspective changed and you were thrown against something cold and hard. You tried to look around but your senses had been clouded. Colors surrounded you, but no distinguishable features could be found. The sound of screeching metal clued you in that you somehow wound up in the old birdcage on the corner of your room. Only your pain radiated through the darkness, not even the silence could comfort you. Just then a voice spoke- your voice. Except you weren’t speaking.

“Oh how long has it been since I inhabited this body. I have to say, you did a good job of keeping it warm for me.” Your thoughts buzzed with frustration. A chill ran down your now nonexistent spine as you realized who this was. They acknowledged your shift in emotion.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you. Think you’ll find this spot nice and cozy for some time while I take this baby out for a test drive. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

You did mind, actually.

“Great. Well, if youll excuse me,” there was a faint scraping sound as they pulled something out and laughed. “I have some unfinished business to attend to.” Footsteps sounded as Chara exited the room, leaving you alone in your thoughts. You tried to cry out and warn everyone, even though they weren’t the same ones you knew from before, you still cared about them. You still wanted to warn them about the dangers that lay ahead. But nothing happened. All you could do was sit there, alone, in the cage, until you could figure a way to take your body back from the one who stole it in the previous life.

[haribeaux]

With All Awry

by Blair Bidmead

(First Published in, the now out-of-print charity anthology, ‘Mythmakers Presents: Golden Years 1963-2013′)

Entry 1 – Thoughts

Even a broken time-machine can move through time. Only in one direction. A second at a time. For once I think Reg is right. History is eating us alive.  

I hope that my notes, scrawled on these damp pages can soak up the remainder of my leaking memories.

I fear I have little left to retain.

Things I am sure of are few. At this moment I can say in all confidence that I am definitely sat, naked in a bath of lukewarm water. But where is this bath located? It seems like a flat in Camden Town, North London. The date, according to the newspaper I am leaning on, is September 27th, 1969.

But, is it? Everything is wrong. The sky is blood red. Night and day are indistinguishable, as though they have been crushed together.

A dream reality. A waking nightmare. So... fractured. Vague.

Enough of this! I must focus on certainties.

As far as I can tell, there is only one certainty left in my possession; the fact that I am the Doctor.

(Reg has burst in - No lock on the bathroom door. He’s ranting. I must discuss the situation with him immediately)

Entry 2 – Notes on Reg

My flatmate is a tall, lugubrious figure. Well spoken with an acerbic turn of phrase. His clothes are fine, somewhat theatrical and have seen better days. But he, like my surroundings, seems... insubstantial. Unfinished.

There are times when I feel he is my closest, most loyal companion. Sometimes it’s hard to discern where I end and he begins. But other times it’s as though he doesn’t exist at all.

No. Concentrate. What just happened? I am out of the bath now. I’m in a dressing gown, a towel around my shoulders, in my bedroom. Check your notes, Doctor!

Yes! Reg came into the bathroom! He was complaining about the cold. He said we had a visitor. Did he say it was his auntie? His cousin?

He said her name was... What was it?

I’m going to speak to her.

Entry 3 – The visitor

She’s just left. I can still smell her perfume. She was... real.

More than real.

I walked into the lounge and caught sight of myself in large mirror above the fireplace. I looked pale and gaunt. Reg was there too, a spectral, sketch-of-a- man haunting the far corner of the room.

The visitor was not like us. She stood in sharp focus, while all around her was a dingy, grey blur. Shining with colour. Dressed in silver catsuit with shocking pink belt, boots and gloves, her honey-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her smile was devastating. Disarming. Was this our jailer? Will never be set free?

Clearly, I was known to her. She took my hands and sat me next to her on the couch. She looked into my eyes, concern was etched across her face. We spoke. About what!? It’s fading. I was brought here for my own safety, she said.

She wants to help. She’s trying to help. But the sadness in her eyes betrays the fact that she doesn’t think she can.

There was more. I am sure there was more! She said I was safe, but I feel in considerable danger here. I can’t remember her leaving. Her name! I forgot to ask her name!

Reg says he feels unusual and wants to go outside.

Entry 4 - Outside

Reg and I are in agreement. We’re going to escape.

I haven’t seen a soul since we left the flat. The streets are eerily quiet. There’s a background drone, behind the silence. I’m not sure if that is coming from inside my head or the outside world. Come to think of it, perhaps this “outside world” is inside my head!?A disconcerting thought. My head isn’t the most reliable container for anything at the moment. Hence these notes.  

Are they helping?

I’m lost again. What was I doing? I’m sitting on a park bench with Reg. The sky looks like doomsday. Everything has a crimson tinge. No one else in the park. We need to get away. Rejuvenate.

Escape! Yes, that was the plan. Take the car. Leave the city.

We have a car?

I have a car.

Entry 5 – The getaway

The number plate on the jag is “WHO 0”. Is that significant?

I’m the designated driver, it seems. I have just left Reg’s relative’s house and am waiting for him to join me in the car. We came here because... because, the relative had the means to help us in our escape bid? I think that’s right.

The streets were deserted on the drive over. Despite its dilapidated appearance, the jag handles reasonably well. The relative (Reg’s auntie?) is insane. A little old lady in layers of colourful knitwear, her house smelled of cigarettes and years of accumulated dust. But the most disturbing thing about her was that she had substance. She was like the blonde woman who visited us earlier. Real.

Auntie didn’t seem very happy to see us. She was ranting about some "oaf" who had ruined her day. Reg wanted to speak to her in private and told me to wait in the car. The cigarette smell lingers on my velvet coat. It reminds me of... something. Someone?

I remember complaining about that smell. In the console room. A man, smoking in a leather jacket. A friend? Yes! I had a friend! He smoked! Is this my second certainty?

I am the Doctor and I have a friend called... I can't remember. That's dangerously close to reassuring.

Reg is back. I’m starting the engine.

Entry 6 – The cottage

Coming here was a mistake. The city was vague enough, but the countryside is nebulous to the point of almost total absence. Red light and black shadow. The car brought me to the very edge of this equivocal world. Here, teetering on the brink of existence stands this grim cottage where I now sit.

Alone, I scratch out these notes, a ritual to sustain what remains of my corporeal state. Should I just stop?

Reg! Reg is sitting across the table from me, swigging a bottle of wine! He wasn’t there a second ago. Or did I just forget him? He looks like a bad photocopy of a cartoon vampire. I dread to think how I look to him. I am not the man I was. Reg seems to have abandoned any hope he possessed. He was expecting to find something here. He's cursing his aunt, his cousins. His fate.

Who am I? I am the Doctor and I have a friend. A friend who smokes and I don't approve. A friend who cares for my well-being. A friend who has... compassion.

Obviously. (What made me say that?)

If you exist. If you are my friend, I need help. All that’s left of me is here on these tattered sheets of paper. I am almost gone.

Reg says he’s cold. We need to light the fire.

Entry 7 – Dreams within dreams

I have woken up in a big brass bed after a fitful night’s sleep. I am still at the bleak hovel in the country. Unsettling dreams made all the more disturbing by the fact they are so akin to my waking world. Reg’s auntie haunted me, wondering if we could allow ourselves an indiscretion. I strenuously declined the invitation.

At one point, Reg came into the room with a shot gun. Did this actually happen? He stared out of the window and urged me to listen.

“Time,” he said. “Time wants to get in.”

It appears we are under siege. The background drone seems louder. More palpable. I can’t stay here. Too exposed.

I can hear clattering from the kitchen. Hopefully it’s just Reg preparing breakfast.

Send me a sign. Before I fade away.

Clap your hands! “I do believe in Doctors!”

Entry 8 – Telegram

During breakfast, there was a knock at the door. Reg and I exchanged a concerned glance. I tentatively opened the door to find on the doorstep, the Grim Reaper dressed as a postman. Silently, he held out an envelope. I snatched it from his grasp and slammed the door. It was a telegram addressed to me from someone called... Fitz.

Fitz! That’s my friend's name!

DOCTOR ITS REALLY ME (STOP) I AM SAFE SO DONT WORRY (STOP) TOO MUCH TO EXPLAIN BUT BASICALLY ITS OVER (STOP) YOU STOPPED IT (STOP) I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DID BUT IT WORKED (STOP) THE WAR IS OVER (STOP) YOU WERE MESSED UP PRETTY BAD (STOP) THE FACTION TOOK YOU IN (STOP) THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY IS MY FRIEND I GUESS (STOP) THEY SAID SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR BIODATA BEING HIGHLY TOXIC TO HISTORY (STOP) THEY HAVE BEEN TRYING TO DECONTAMINATE YOU (STOP) THEY MODIFIED A REMEMBRANCE TANK (STOP) THEY HAVE TRIED EVERYTHING (STOP) BUT THEY ARE ABOUT TO GIVE UP ON YOU (STOP) DON'T WORRY I AM NOT GIVING UP (STOP) HELP IS COMING (STOP) THEY MAY HAVE SPOKE YO YOU ALREADY (STOP) I SENT YOU SOMETHING TANGIBLE TO FOCUS ON (STOP) MY LEATHER JACKET IS IN THE HALL OF THE CAMDEN FLAT (STOP) THE TARDIS KEY IS IN THE INSIDE POCKET (STOP) GO TO EARL'S COURT TUBE STATION (STOP) IF ALL GOES WELL THE TARDIS SHOULD BE THERE WAITING FOR YOU (STOP) DONT FORGET TO KEEP TAKING NOTES (STOP) ITS VERY IMPORTANT APPARENTLY (STOP) SEE YOU SOON (STOP) LOVE FITZ (STOP)

I show Reg the telegram. He reads it and congratulates me with a grim smile.

We must leave immediately.

Entry 9 – M1, heading south

To make time, Reg is driving while I write. The M1 is an endless, stripe of shadow stretching ahead of us. Behind, the motorway dissolves into nothing. A swirling black and red vortex surrounds us. Things are falling apart.

I have reread Fitz's telegram over and over. It’s definitely him. I can’t quite picture his face, but his voice is clear and distinct. The accent, the intonation; It's Fitz Kriener alright! The rest of the message rings true, even if I still can’t remember the specifics.

The TARDIS! That really does ring a cloister bell! Just seeing those six capital letters on the page make me feel safer somehow. What is it?

I have been evacuated from time, but evacuated to where? How can anything outside of time be counted as a ‘place’ at all? I am outside reality. What does that make me? A fiction?

He said that help was coming, that I may have spoken to them already. Could he mean the woman in the silver catsuit?

No matter. I have a course of action and all my questions will be answered later. Reg points out of the window and Watford Gap services rears up from the maelstrom.

Not far now.

Entry 10- Help

Reading back over my notes, the woman in the silver catsuit and Reg’s auntie both seem likely candidates for this 'help' that Fitz mentioned. I wish I could remember more of my conversation with the blonde woman. Why was Reg so eager to speak to his auntie alone? What could have prevented them from freeing us?

I have been edited from the story of time, made unreal and woven into a different tale. Maybe too much of me was lost in the transition? I have become too engrained in the story. It must be played out to the end.

No other cars on the motorway or as we join the north circular into London. The city is a mausoleum.

Reg is reticent and almost transparent. The jag is running on fumes.

I'll have to catch a train back to reality.

Entry 11- Visitors

Something strange has happened. We’re back at the flat in Camden. I walked into the bathroom and found a stranger taking a bath. A man I have never seen before with a crew-cut and a cheery smile. He greeted me with an affable “Hello” which, for some reason, terrified me. I ran to my bedroom, only to find the woman in the silver catsuit already there, although her catsuit was on the floor and she was in my bed, half asleep. She apologised, saying hadn’t expected to find me here.

Who was the enormous Northerner in the bath? What was she doing here? I demanded to know!  

She said it didn’t matter, that she would leave and then started to search around for her clothes.

(They both sound like they are from the North. Is that significant? North of where?)

I went through to the lounge and found Reg opening a bottle of wine and reading the post. An overwhelming sense of dread enveloped me. I quickly took notes.

She’s leaving. She is standing in the doorway now, offering a sad smile. She blows me a kiss and then hurries out of the flat.  

Reg gives a derisive snort.

I can hear singing from the bathroom. He's still here!? Why didn't he leave with her!?

It's all slipping away. I need to study my notes

Entry 12- Eviction

The Faction have been and gone. They want us to leave. That's alright with me. I just need... something. What was it again?

Entry 13 - The jacket

The man in the bath has gone. I can't find Fitz's jacket in the hall. Reg swears he saw the jacket when we he answered the door to the Faction. Reg is now steaming drunk. It's all going wrong!

"He took it!" Reg shouted, over and over. "He took Fitz's jacket!" I asked him if he meant the man in the bath.

Reg gave me the strangest look and muttered; "It's not a bath, you idiot."

He said he'll walk me to the station.

Entry 14- Goodbye Reg

And there he goes, swigging his bottle of Mersault ’96, sauntering off across the park. With every step, Reg is fading before my eyes. He’s a ghost, then an outline, then nothing at all. I shall miss you, Reg, even though I was never sure if you really existed at all. I had tried to persuade him to come with me. He said it was impossible. I didn’t ask why, I just knew he was right.

The city itself is fading now, evaporating all around me. All that’s remains is the park bench I am sitting on and the path I must take, towards the tube. I can see the light from the station’s sign beckoning me.

Time to go.

Entry 15 – Departure

The platform is dimly lit and deathly silent. When did the background hum stop? I’ve gone over all my notes and reread Fitz's telegram. These pages are the sum total of my knowledge. There’s so little of me, just a list of confusing events and my will to continue.

No, I was forgetting the most important part. I am the Doctor and I have a friend called Fitz Kriener. Through the doubt and confusion, with all awry, he reached out for me. He told me I had succeeded. I stopped a war. If it were all to end here, it would all still be worth it. I would count for something.

The tracks are rattling. A tube train slowly emerges from the tunnel.

Last Entry - Earl's Court

I reached street level and I saw the TARDIS. She dissolved before my eyes. The roar of her engines filled me with an indescribable joy. As the sound slowly faded, the sense of loss that followed was absolute.

The light is fading.

[secretary--hamilton]

My Hamilton canon/memories

(I’m Alexander, saying it so the post makes more sense)

TW: storms/water, a couple mentions of getting drunk (nothing bad, all very pure), war, getting shot, guns, adoption/orphan, someone stabbing themselves, suicide, death

BODY MEMS

- I had slight freckles

- I had a little bit of a stutter

- brown hair

- bright blue/green eyes

- big forehead, receding hairline

- my lips got chapped a lot fuc k cold wea t h e r (plus I licked them a lot too but shh I’m blaming cold weather)

- I was around 5'6 to 5'7 and was about 125 pounds? But I had a lil bit of stomach and thigh chub. I was so tiny compared to everybody else (George is a. Giant)

- for the time I had my hair up in a ponytail, I used like a string thing? I remember the strings dangling down, throwback to 1700s when circle elastic hairties weren’t a thing so I used ribbons/string

PERSONAL/THINGS I DID MEMS

- I was afraid of storms/raging water because it reminded me of the hurricane/the storms I witnessed while on the ship to the colonies

- when I went off to war, I used Eliza's blue ribbon to tie up my hair

- I was always writing and I always had a notebook with me

- the booklet I had that had all my lists and writing on it was pieces of parchment with 3 holes in the side, with strings through the holes

- i loved (more like.. needed to) keep lists on things and be organized, I had a list of all the people I had to write letters to, etc. I had lists about everything. People’s birthdates, their names, so I would never forget them

- if I ever lost a certain piece of paper with like all the lists and information on it I would freak out

- I had extreme anxiety, my mind was constantly racing and it felt like I could focus on 20 different things at once, which kind of helped me write so much and finish so many essays.

-my canon was definitely NOT modern- we didn't have electricity or pens or technology- just pure 1700s things

EARLY LIFE MEMS

- i have a memory of walking along the beach in the carribean on an extremely rainy day, I was looking at towards a ship on the water when the water started rushing towards me and I heard thunder and that's when I realized it wasn't just a normal storm

- I vividly remember walking up the board to the ship i immigrated on, and what it smelled like (really just sea water and old wood) , carrying my small belongings which were just a few books, and a pen and paper

- I got set up in this little cot in the ship that had a hard mattress on the floor, a small chair in the corner, and a lantern

OOF okay so,, this memory is of when I was still in the Caribbean, shortly after my mom died. Me and my brother were put in custody of my older cousin(?), and he killed himself by stabbing himself with a kitchen knife. I was the first one to notice him, the layout of the house was that the bedrooms were upstairs and the kitchen and living room were downstairs. On the right side of the house upstairs, was my cousins (peter) bedroom, and me and my brother (James) were sharing this open room on the left side of the upstairs with mattresses on the floor for us, a window on the wall/roof (it was like a slanted roof, like an attic) So from left to right, our open room (like no door, just a space), a tiny hallway that lead to the stairs, and then peters room. ANYWay but I remember I just finished reading and I was going to talk to peter about something, so I opened his door and I just see blood **everywhere** So I run downstairs and outside into the streets asking for help. I was only 13 when this happened

- I was born in 1757, and the hurricane happened in 1774

WASHINGTON MEMS

- I loved George Washington so much, he was such a good friend/boss- I’m forever grateful to him for giving me the chance to rise up

-I also liked organizing things a lot, I once organized gwash's entire office and he walked in and was like "what the fuck"

- George was brushing my hair and putting it up in a ponytail for me- this was in the tent during the war, before we went off to battle. He did it another time in his office before a cabinet meeting

- me and wash always helped calm eachother down- if either of us were having anxiety, just the others presence would help

- I loved George in a way that's hard to describe- he was like a father to me, he was there for me and protected me and helped me feel less lost

- the only people I would really listen to were George and Eliza- if those two looked at me and said "Alex, it's not worth it" I would stop in an instant, because I trusted them

- I have a memory of the war, and it was raining and slippery and I was climbing up rocky hills following george lead the command, and I was behind him and we were all heading to our next spot

GENERAL REV SQUAD MEMS

- I once got so drunk with the rev boys that I kissed them all on the cheeks while drunkenly singing

- I was the shortest of the group, Mulligan was the tallest, Lafayette was the second tallest, and laurens was a little closer to my height but still taller

- whenever we went out to drink, I always got the drunkest since I was the shortest- and plus I couldn't handle my alcohol at all. They always took care of me when I was super drunk, I would lean on their shoulders, they would tuck me in with blankets, etc.

MULLIGAN MEMS

- Mulligan was super good with his alcohol, it's probably because he was so big and tough, he only got a little bit loopy but was still fine

- my Mulligan had vitiligo

- one time Mulligan had to carry me home because I was so drunk

LAURENS MEMS

- my Laurens was definitely asexual

- the two people I had weird crushes on were Laurens, and Jefferson- they weren't full on 100% crushes (probably due to the fact that I was confused about them) but they were more "holy fuck these guys are hot and great", I don't know if anybody could notice, even though I acted a bit more lovey towards laurens

- he was always so giggly and happy god I love him his smile could light up the room ngl, and his laugh was so,, good

- his freckles got /a lot/ more prominent if he was out in the sun all day, freckle boy

- he loved space so much, he was always out watching the stars and learning about them- he had this book about astronomy that was p cool

LAFAYETTE MEMS

- when laf immigrated to the colonies, he snuck on the ship as a pregnant woman so he wouldn't get stopped by anyone

- when he came to the colonies he spoke like only a few words of English, when he met me I helped him translate! I was fluent in French so it helped

- he had a birthmark/mole on his cheek near his eye- it was just a small dot

BURR MEMS

- my burr got shot in the leg during the war, and he had a bit of a limp the rest of his life. I remember when he got shot, I was near by so I had to help carry him to a medical tent and then go back to fighting

KING GEORGE MEMS

-i called king George king douche, and he called me a lapdog since I followed Gwash around a lot

- I once called KG just "George" and he was all sassy like "that's KING George to you"

- one time KG talked to the rev boys and I like got all angry and protective, he talked to Lafayette and I was behind Laf trying to but into the conversation to call George out- it was during the war so we were on a field in our war outfits

- his eyes were bluey-purple

JEFFERSON MEMS

- I hated Jefferson but I also had a weird hate crush on him,, I didn't tell anyone tho, let's just say I wanted to beat up the man but also fuc the man. The crush died down after a while though

- my Jefferson would always say lewd jokes to me and humiliate me just to see a reaction, because I was a flustered boy,, one time I got so flustered that I just, LEFT the room, and Jefferson was like “WHY DONT YOU SLAM MY BEDROOM DOOR LIKE THAT” upon me storming out

- during one of the cabinet battles jefferson was sassy clapping at me, he,, sassy clapped a lot

- when jeff was like “daddys calling” I got so angry but also flustered so I stormed out, funnily enough I stormed out to follow george. I fuckin loved George and followed him everywhere

- I once got a 🅱️oner because of some lewd joke Jefferson said oof

- after the second cabinet meeting, we got into a fight. Jefferson wanted us to defend France so I snapped back and interrupted him with “You cant sacrifice our country because you're scared Lafayette’s going to die like your wife.” and Jefferson got livid and yelled back “I am NOT going to be intimidated by you and your washed up bullshit” or something along those lines

RENOYLDS AFFAIR MEMS

- oof I remember yelling in marias face when James sent the letter

- after Eliza found out about the affair, she forced me to stay in my office for 6 months. I only left for food and a short aimless walk I think. My office was in a different building

- the renoylds affair definitely happened. God it was such a bad/weird time, i was so exaushted and sleep deprived and getting constant headaches but I needed to stay awake and work, I heard a knock at my office door so I opened it and it was Maria, it was raining outside so her hair was all wet so I let her in, after her sharing her story I gave her some money and walked her back to her place, but she insisted on staying. I believed her, but once James sent the letter I accused her of being a con artist, and I still don't know the truth of what's what.

- I have a reallyyyy clear memory of me rambling on about how I need to get work done and how my wife needs me and all this stuff and then Maria whispered in my ear "shhhh, you don't need to worry about all that, no one will know" before we got. Down And Dirty TM. And usually I would deny stuff like that but I was so tired

- I have aNOTHer rly clear memory of me kneeling down to Maria and straight up screaming at her "HOW COULD I DO THIS, I AM HELPLESS" or something like that

FAMILY MEMS

- my friends took care of my kids for me while I was busy working, mostly Laurens because I was the closest to him! Philip loved Laurens so much it was adorable

- Burr was really good at math and often taught Philip math

- I always got in arguments with a lot of people, but I'm glad I had people like Eliza to calm me down, I remember she said "Alexander, it's not worth it" and I chilled out instantly

- I married Eliza right after the war ended

- All of our children were adopted except for Angie, Alex Jr., and Eliza

- I think my Philip had a slight tooth gap and rly curly hair, and either a slight lisp or a slight stutter

- I would brush philip's hair and put it up, or braid it. He would sit in between my legs when I was sitting on a chair and brush through his wet hair- Philip was my ultimate pride and joy

- dinner time was my favourite time of day, it was always so warm and happy- Eliza would make us dinner and I would come down from working and eat with Eliza and our children

- I have a memory of me, Eliza, and young/toddler Philip having a picnic in a field with daisies all around us, and we were making daisy chains and eating food and it was rly rly nice and sunny and warm yet slightly breezy and it smelled like jasmine

- I remember the first time Eliza found out about my fear of storms, we were having dinner and i heard thunder and I just like. Froze. And she tried talking to me and I was just like "I need to go" but she calmed me down, asked me to sit down at the table, and got me to explain to her eventually, this was before Philip, so it was just us.

- but once we got Philip, and he was maybe 3 or 4, it was another stormy day and I froze again and Philip said "what's wrong papa?" And I bent down to his level and reassured him that I was okay, after that he sat on my lap and distracted me from the storm outside, I was really focused on this one curl in his hair that was out of place lol

- before Philip, Eliza kept having miscarriages, so we decided to adopt Philip. Our first successful pregnancy was Angie, I was SO protective over Eliza when she was pregnant, if she got up in the middle of the night I would ask her if she needed anything, and when she was walking I would walk behind her with my hands on her hips incase she fell bc she was waddling

- Angie had slight autism all her life, and when Philip died she just lost it and went insane. She was delusional and never grew up a day past 17. she would constantly ask if Philip was coming home and was living in a world as if Philip was still alive, she constantly lived in a world between 7 years old and 17 years old, even when she physically grew older. I would walk with her and play with her, and when i was with her i started to go into her world of Philip still being here. We took care of her. One day, someone suggested we put her in a hospital, and i slammed my fork into my food and quietly but surely said “i will NOT lock my daughter away.”, and the room fell silent. Later on, Eliza and I were walking near the ocean, and she brought up the topic again. I said “They locked away my mother. She nearly starved to death and i will not let my daughter go through that” and Eliza reassured me- “Hon.. your mother was jailed for adultery, not mental wellness. Im not in any way saying we should put our daughter somewhere, all i am suggesting is that she be checked out by a doctor.”

- I remember a few of Angie’s breakdowns. She would pull her hair out and slam her head against walls

-Once Eliza got too old to take care of her (late 70/80′s′s), She put her in a hospital where she stayed for her entire life. she was cared for extremely well there.

DEATH/LATER LIFE MEMS

- I have this like,,, really weird memory of Eliza saying “when you have a problem you come home, you don’t go off and make matters worse on your own” to me a couple different times, one was when Lauren’s shot Charles Lee and I got sent home, another one was when I got into a fight with burr after he ran for senate. The reason why it’s a weird memory is because those are in the heights lyrics???

- I remember the day before I got shot, I stayed up all night writing my goodbye letter to Eliza, there was crumpled papers all over my desk since I kept rewriting them until I was satisfied

- the morning of the duel, it was extremely quiet, like I was literally in a ghost town. Same at the dueling grounds, nobody wanted to talk. I remember I was freaking out trying to focus on one thing but my brain kept going to everything I've ever done in my life, kind of like a life flashed before my eyes kind of moment. I thought of Eliza, and how upset she would be. I thought of Philip, and what was going through his head when he died and how I wish I could apologize to him. Burr's gaze felt like literal knives, so I couldn't bare to look at him. Once I shot up, my mind suddenly calmed and I had this strange factor of "this is my legacy". On the way back across the Hudson I just wanted to keep talking but my doctor said to relax. My Burr tried to run over to talk to me after he shot me, but he wasn't allowed to. He also tried to come to my funeral but wasn't allowed either, he might have watched from afar. but he visited my grave a few times

[istvp]

Change of Decades

.

when it was the end of 2019 I was caught up on the ideas of decades and how I should start a new decade with a different approach putting to affect everything I've learnt in the past decade. when december reached its end and came into more realisation and understanding to how I was in this past decade (2010-2019)

and what I've learnt and done in those 10 years and how I came to be from the very begginging of 2010 till the end of 2019.

from dancing and learning english to the mentalist and being smarter than everybody else. from reading books and listening to older people and their experience and learning from everything I face and live.

from 2012 and learning about the Illuminati and the Freemasons till the moment of full understanding by watching Zeitgeist movies.

to learning about Jacque Fresco and learning about everything he says and downloading his videos and rewatching them all.

and the venus peoject and how its bettet than everything I had ever read about or hear about.

to 2013 and buying a laptop and watching even more videos. and droppening out of highschool and never going back. and the time on facebook and youtube.

then in 2014 and leaving my old house and moving to a new neighborhood. and then dealing with the aftermath of that and how reminiscent I became about my shit old room as I described it and my old town that I was so desperate to leave.

to then unsubscribing from the faith and religion and escaping my environment.

to then adopting a new diet and being labelled vegetarian in 2015, then losing my laptop later that year.

then having my first smartphone in january of 2016.

and at February I did my first dental surgery and remove my right wisdom tooth in qibla,

and having my fist offical job in Basra Times Square Mall. in February.

and then removing my left wisdom tooth later that month

only to go back to that mall in march and having my favorite job of all time almost as cashier in Texas chicken restaurant.

and then quitting that job for me to be jobless for alomst the entire year.

then ofcourse 2017 and how hot and sad she was

how summery and painful

from the death of Jacque Fresco in may

getting my first tattoo in may

then June of sadness

my 23rd June anf the time in the beach

the sad songs and all the jobs of that year.

then 2018 and getting back to the same mall and going more to see and speak with the beach.

till the end of it and meeting golden girl

and then 2019 and how fast it was and how wiser I became, with every cup of tea and beach visit with every summer and palm tree.

for the sad and .... very sad

for all the songs and every single person I spoke with. that I hurt or made them feel good

nice and mean.

for the start and the end.

for all the changes.

for me

.

it only brings me to saying what I wanna say about trying to make the New Year's Eve special

in December 31st 2019, where I went to have tea at my spot in ashar and then to the beach of rivers.

I saw that everyone didnt seem to care about the year ending and definitely did not care about the decade ending. (wich is ofcurse a good thing, its just another number)

the seemed ok with 2019 ending because of what was going on at that time and the massive Revolution and the protest that was going on at that time from october fisrt.

then I moved my way back to the place of the protest in Jibila Basra Iraq at 10pm at night.

I saw that they were doing all kinds of operation and grief about all the young peole who died in the protest and still were dying at that time.

it was both mixed with sadness and happiness

hope and despair

love and hate

.

so I stayed there and decided that I want to finish this decade there with the people (mostly males)

and I had more tea and I played chess and I took a lot of pictures for the end of this decade.

and it happened at 12am where the clock marked the beginning of the new decade/year

I filmed the fireworks and the happy yelling of people in the street and all the overwhelming feelings that I had for I did not beleive I was alive that whole past decade and now I can witness the change of decades and document it and filim it.

after 23 mintues almost everything calmed down and everybody was going back to their places and some went back to their tents and I head back to empty ashar and empty Basra.

I walked in my town for a about 16 minutes at 1:16 am in january 1st 2020 and everybody was asleep and they definitely did not care about this decade.

.

its only 3 days in this decade and already a lot has happened, from ww3 and the memes to how bad it was in Iraq and with the killings of young protesters.

and the death of Kobe Bryant and his daughter.

to china declaring the outbreak of (covid19)

novel coronavirus in Wuhan China.

then the days went on and I had some of my own things to do like

getting on a boat for the first time in the decade this one and the one before.

having a somewhat happy/cold winter birthday

.

and for the very first time in my life I had someone as the best winterbirthday party present from the universe to make me happy at January 26th.

.

and I started doing a lot of things that I didnt think I could do or even think about in the first place.

and as the days went on and as we know each other and as I deal with the firstness of all of this.

of her

of the year

of the decade

of me

.

I had my first date ever in my whole life in February 14th

Valentine's Day

and I kept liking this decade with all of its early problems and stayed very positive about everything and wanted to see a solution for everything.

the time started to move fast and so does the problems, the protest and the killings and the pandemic that was declared on march 2020 by the WHO.

and I was very observant to how people and government reacted to this and how Iraqis reacted to this compared to the rest of the world. and I monitored everything both online and in real life and saw how the system started to crumble. and I tryed to stay very smart with this situation this is my first time witnessing a pandemic.

.

how did we not see what was coming, how did we not think about it and had teams be prepared for it how did we came to be very negligent and so comfortable with this system and we are witnessing now is the failing of

Governments

Economics

Religions

to deal with this very new thing in our day and age.

we have been sleeping on these comfortable beds of phrases like

"we are more advanced than ever now"

" humans can survive in every condition"

"humans are civil and smart"

and you can see that this is not true if you look at the current state of people and how they are behaving the globe.

your trust in democracy did not work

your trust in politics did not work

Your dependence on the economy and money did not work

Your religion and God did not work

.

and as we continued the destruction of the environment in ourselves with our aberrant behaviour. and how we can all see now that we were not really civilised or smart.

and now you are witnessing the aftermath of we did to this planet and ourselves.

.

only one thing remains one thing that helped us all since the beginning of time.

Science and how wonderful it is and how its the only way out of this pandemic.

.

every other thing has abandoned you,

your politics, economics, democracy, Money

and God.

they have all prove to you that they are not worth your time and faith in them.

they are not worth your thoughts of them

and their ego that makes you a victim of being you.

.

you can see that science is the only way, its the music and the internet of this Quarantine

the shows and the food

the company of people that is provided by the help of science

and medicine and doctors that are by science helping humans survive.

the ventilators and the bed

the antibiotics

the solution

.

and as Im sitting in my balcony of gaze, looking at the town as it rains heavy on these muddy streets, thinking to myseld if this is what I had in my mind for the start of the decade?

I dont know what I had in mind when I was waiting for a new thing to happen in this decade.

it is a strange time and a strange feeling that I have when I see the state of the world and how surreal it is.

I have hope for this planet and for humans that they will come out of this smarter and better

I dont know if they will I would like to work for that and see that in the next months and years and decades.

a lot of people are behaving currently regarding this situation.

most are doing their absolute best at times like these.

and I can only do my small part of anything from writing to filming and documenting.

and to listening to experts and science.

to not make assumptions and judgements

and to stay hopeful for the days to come.

.

maybe it will be the start of end of this Monetary System.

and the beginning of

Resource Based Economy.

[ecotone99]

[MF] Nadias Story

I'd love feedback! I did my best with english spelling and grammar, but most of what I know is self-taught, so if you find mistakes, tell me! Other than that, I hope this story fits here, if it doesnt, Id love a suggestion of another sub where it might. Also, not sure what tag fit, so I went with this one.

I dont know anymore when had the idea of leaving. I know it was a long time before I actually did, but ever since that idea, that possibility of leaving it all behind sprang into my mind it never left. Some days it was sleeping, dormant in the back of my mind, other days I couldn't think of anything else. I made plans, scrapped them and made new ones, wrote down a list of things I needed that was soon full of crossed out items or added notes to some. In time, over several years, I prepared my backpack, hidden from those I wanted to flee from, my "family".

Then, quite suddenly I saw an opportunity and instinctively knew it was now or never, it wouldn't ever be as easy to run as now. No-one was home except me, as always, little 17 year old Nadia was always left behind. So I grabbed the envelope with the money they had saved, took my backpack, some water and walked.

I walked for several hours, I didnt dare to look back. It was a peaceful, sunny day, but it was the end of winter, so it was still cold. The day was calm, but I was everything but. For hours my heart was beating fast, I expected every car, every truck every sound to be my family catching me. I walked near the street, but not on it, so it was slow going but I needed that bit of safety from being spotted.

When it got dark, and much colder I found a dry spot and set up my little tent, ate some bread and snuggled up in my sleeping bag. I had cried many nights before, and this night I cried too, but they were tears of relief, not of pain, fear and anger like before. It was just after sunrise when I woke up, quickly ate something and packed up.

I knew the distance to the next city only roughly, so I wasn't too sure when I'd reach it. I hurried, I didnt pack very much food or water, not enough for many days. My feet hurt, I never walked that much with a heavy backpack before and I was exhausted. I was cold, and scared I wouldnt make it to the city on foot, so I decided to try to wave down a driver to take me with him. I knew stories of things like this going wrong, but I didn't have anything to lose, nothing I really cared about anyhow.

I walked for a while at the edge of the street, waving at every driver who was going in the right direction. I still know the exact number of cars and trucks who passed me without stopping; thirteen cars and five trucks. It wasn't a busy road, so that was a while, but the sixth truck, a big one with some kind of water tank on the back stopped. He asked me if I was lost and I just asked if he could take me to wherever he needed to go. I could see in his face that he was thinking, so I added I'd be good company, or invisible and quiet if he wanted. If I knew anything, it was making myself invisible and not noticed. I was so relieved when he agreed, so I climbed in, put my pack between my legs and sat down.

He was big, burly with a big beard, but he had nice eyes and talked in a very kind way, so I thought I was lucky with him. We talked a bit, at first he asked me about myself, why I was all alone, but I dodged the questions or gave very vague answers, so he dropped the topic soon enough and we talked about other stuff. He told me about himself, his family and his dog. I soon knew that he wasnt going to the city I originally planned, but it was all the same to me, further away was better anyway. We talked for maybe two or three hours, then got quiet and he turned on the radio and I could feel my eyelids getting heavy, my exhaustion settling in. When I woke up, it was dark and we were stopping at a reststop. Tomorrow evening we would arrive St. Petersburg he said, thats where he'd have to drop me off.

The next day was as exciting for me as the ones before, but it was finally settling in, that I was free now, no family to tell me to shut up, or how to dress, noone to hit me for slightly burning the food, just me, my pack and freedom. It was also scary, but I told myself everything was better than before, no matter what happened. I enjoyed the scenery, the radio, talks with Alex, the driver. Evening came all too quickly, and I found myself in the outskirts of a big city, bigger than any I had been to before. I thanked Alex and went on my way, thinking if I could just set up a tent here or if I could find something solid to stay in.

In the end, after walking around for a while, I found a group of homeless guys under a large bridge and decided here was as good as anywhere else. Didnt need my tent, so I just got out my sleeping bag, put the backpack in it at my feet and slept. I could feel the others watching me, but pretended not to notice. I slept uncomfortably, and woke up early in the morning before the sun. I checked my stuff if everything was still there, and found everything where it was supposed to be, so I packed up and went on the search for food. I had told myself I wanted to use as little money as possible, so I had more for the times I had no other options.

I went into a few stores, and took little things at each one. An apple here, some water there, bread at another, you get it. It was surprisingly easy, no-one paid me any attention so as long as I wasn't acting obvious it would be easy grabs. The next days went by in a haze, I slept in a different spot each night, mostly stole food and sometimes paid for things that were too risky. I talked with other homeless people, the nice ones gave me some tips, most tried to flirt with me or outright groped me, which I absolutely did not know how to deal with, so I always just kind of let it happen and walked away as soon as I could.

After a while I had a routine. but I didnt want to stay on the streets. So I figured I needed a job, something to make money. I didn't really care what, so I asked around and after some persistent nagging I was referred to a Club. I am not going into detail here, but basically after that I was a maid for everything. Some days I was a courier, others I was a lookout, on others I had to clean. I was "mentored" by one guy throughout this all, and after a few weeks he let me stay at his place, provided I'd make sure it was kept clean. He taught me how a lot of things worked, at first basic things, then how to defend myself. He gave me a knife and taught me how to use it, how to keep it hidden but always in reach, where to use it on someone for what effects. I did that job for about eight months, and as I got better and more reliable, I got other assignments too. Vadim showed me how to exploit people, how to make them trust me, how to use my body to get what I, or my boss wanted. Throughout the time I lived with Vadim, he rarely expressed interest in me. He watched me a lot, and occasionally touched me in a weird way, but never made more advances. I think teaching me to use my body, and seeing me practicing with him changed things for him, because soon after, he started demanding other "favors" for the privilege of staying with him. I figured it wouldnt hurt me and I didn't really have a choice, so I agreed. I didn't hate it, but I definitely didn't like it either, especially when he got home drunk or high and got really rough.

But I endured it, the warm home was worth it I told myself. And, at some point I asked Vadim to share what he took with me, so from then on most times I was high when things happened or got heated, and only really knew about them when my body hurt the next day. Months passed like that, and I quickly got hooked on worse stuff, willing to do more and more for my next fix. I could see myself falling, slipping, but I just didn't care. At some point, I even wanted it to end, I wanted to take too much, but never did, and Vadim never gave me more than I could take.

It was midwinter, nearly two years after I ran when Vadim and me where running errands and the one we were supposed to bring things to started acting weird, aggressive. They said we brought them false stuff and got out knives, and as we were only two and they six or seven, we ran back to the car. I was first, so i got in at the drivers seat and started it, waiting for Vadim to get in, afraid, but also, for the first time in a long while feeling alive, like that first few days after I ran.

When he finally got in I wanted to drive back to our place, but one of the guys had thrown his knife and caught Vadim in his thigh and it was bleeding like mad. Vadim died next to me, before I could reach a hospital, so I turned and drove to our boss. I told him what happened, and he took care of Vadim and the car, and told me to stay at his place for a while. His place, as he called it, was a huge upgrade to Vadims place, even though that wasnt shabby either. But this place was all clean and tidy, with style that just fit together, so I didnt mind staying there at all. Three days it was before he got back. He had my backpack with him, after I told my story he and vadim agreed that it was good to keep that updated and ready.

He seemed distressed, told me we needed to go. I learned not to question things, so I agreed and helped him pack the rest of what he needed. Not an hour later we got to his car and drove out of the city, and soon, out of the country...

submitted by /u/Major-Bother [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3azYZrh

[shg11]

Adjunct professors in America face low pay and long hours without the security of full-time faculty. Some, on the brink of homelessness, take desperate measures

There is nothing she would rather do than teach. But after supplementing her career with tutoring and proofreading, the university lecturer decided to go to remarkable lengths to make her career financially viable.

She first opted for her side gig during a particularly rough patch, several years ago, when her course load was suddenly cut in half and her income plunged, putting her on the brink of eviction. In my mind I was like, Ive had one-night stands, how bad can it be? she said. And it wasnt that bad.

The wry but weary-sounding middle-aged woman, who lives in a large US city and asked to remain anonymous to protect her reputation, is an adjunct instructor, meaning she is not a full-time faculty member at any one institution and strings together a living by teaching individual courses, in her case at multiple colleges.

about

I feel committed to being the person whos there to help millennials, the next generation, go on to become critical thinkers, she said. And Im really good at it, and I really like it. And its heartbreaking to me it doesnt pay what I feel it should.

Sex work is one of the more unusual ways that adjuncts have avoided living in poverty, and perhaps even homelessness. A quarter of part-time college academics (many of whom are adjuncts, though its not uncommon for adjuncts to work 40 hours a week or more) are said to be enrolled in public assistance programs such as Medicaid.

They resort to food banks and Goodwill, and there is even an adjuncts cookbook that shows how to turn items like beef scraps, chicken bones and orange peel into meals. And then there are those who are either on the streets or teetering on the edge of losing stable housing. The Guardian has spoken to several such academics, including an adjunct living in a shack north of Miami, and another sleeping in her car in Silicon Valley.

The adjunct who turned to sex work makes several thousand dollars per course, and teaches about six per semester. She estimates that she puts in 60 hours a week. But she struggles to make ends meet after paying $1,500 in monthly rent and with student loans that, including interest, amount to a few hundred thousand dollars. Her income from teaching comes to $40,000 a year. Thats significantly more than most adjuncts: a 2014 survey found that the median income for adjuncts is only $22,041 a year, whereas for full-time faculty it is $47,500.

We take a kind of vow of poverty

Recent reports have revealed the extent of poverty among professors, but the issue is longstanding. Several years ago, it was thrust into the headlines in dramatic fashion when Mary-Faith Cerasoli, an adjunct professor of Romance languages in her 50s, revealed she was homeless and protested outside the New York state education department.

We take a kind of vow of poverty to continue practicing our profession, Debra Leigh Scott, who is working on a documentary about adjuncts, said in an email. We do it because we are dedicated to scholarship, to learning, to our students and to our disciplines.

Adjuncting has grown as funding for public universities has fallen by more than a quarterbetween 1990 and 2009. Private institutions also recognize the allure of part-time professors: generally they are cheaper than full-time staff, dont receive benefits or support for their personal research, and their hours can be carefully limited so they do not teach enough to qualify for health insurance.

This is why adjuncts have been called the fast-food workers of the academic world: among labor experts adjuncting is defined as precarious employment, a growing category that includes temping and sharing-economy gigs such as driving for Uber. An American Sociological Association taskforce focusing on precarious academic jobs, meanwhile, has suggested that faculty employment is no longer a stable middle-class career.

Adjunct English professor Ellen James-Penney and her husband live in a car with their two dogs. They have developed a system. Keep nothing on the dash, nothing on the floor you cant look like youre homeless, you cant dress like youre homeless. Photograph: Talia Herman for the Guardian

The struggle to stay in housing can take many forms, and a second job is one way adjuncts seek to buoy their finances. The professor who turned to sex work said it helps her keep her toehold in the rental market.

This is something I chose to do, she said, adding that for her it is preferable to, say, a six-hour shift at a bar after teaching all day. I dont want it to come across as, Oh, I had no other choice, this is how hard my life is.

Advertising online, she makes about $200 an hour for sex work. She sees clients only a handful of times during the semester, and more often during the summer, when classes end and she receives no income.

Im terrified that a student is going to come walking in, she said. And the financial concerns have not ceased. I constantly have tension in my neck from gritting my teeth all night.

To keep their homes, some adjuncts are forced to compromise on their living space.

Caprice Lawless, 65, a teacher of English composition and a campaigner for better working conditions for adjuncts, resides in an 1100 sq ft brick house near Boulder, Colorado. She bought it following a divorce two decades ago. But because her $18,000 income from teaching almost full time is so meager, she has remortgaged the property several times, and has had to rent her home to three other female housemates.

I live paycheck to paycheck and Im deeply in debt, she said, including from car repairs and a hospitalization for food poisoning.

Like every other adjunct, she says, she opted for the role thinking it would be a path to full-time work. She is so dependent on her job to maintain her living situation that when her mother died this summer, she didnt take time off in part because she has no bereavement leave. She turned up for work at 8am the next day, taught in a blur and, despite the cane she has used since a hip replacement, fell over in the parking lot.

If she were to lose her home her only hope, she says, would be government-subsidized housing.

Most of my colleagues are unjustifiably ashamed, she said. They take this personally, as if theyve failed, and Im always telling them, you havent failed, the system has failed you.

A precarious situation

Even more desperate are those adjuncts in substandard living spaces who cannot afford to fix them. Mindy Percival, 61, a lecturer with a doctorate from Columbia, teaches history at a state college in Florida and, in her words, lives in a shack which is in the woods in middle of nowhere.

Lecturer Mindy Percivals mobile home in Stuart, Florida. Her oven, shower and water heater dont work. Photograph: Courtesy of Mindy Percival

The mobile home she inhabits, located in the town of Stuart, north of Miami, was donated to her about eight years ago. It looks tidyon the outside, but inside there are holes in the floor and the paneling is peeling off the walls. She has no washing machine, and the oven, shower and water heater dont work. Im on the verge of homelessness, constantly on the verge, she said.

Percival once had a tenure-track job but left to care for her elderly mother, not expecting it would be impossible to find a similar position. Now, two weeks after being paid, I might have a can with $5 in change in it. Her 18-year-old car broke down after Hurricane Irma, and she is driven to school by a former student, paying $20 a day for gas.

I am trying to get out so terribly hard, she said.

Homelessness is a genuine prospect for adjuncts. When Ellen Tara James-Penney finishes work, teaching English composition and critical thinking at San Jose State University in Silicon Valley, her husband, Jim, picks her up. They have dinner and drive to a local church, where Jim pitches a tent by the car and sleeps there with one of their rescue dogs. In the car, James-Penney puts the car seats down and sleeps with another dog. She grades papers using a headlamp.

Over the years, she said, they have developed a system. Keep nothing on the dash, nothing on the floor you cant look like youre homeless, you cant dress like youre homeless. Dont park anywhere too long so the cops dont stop you.

James-Penney, 54, has struggled with homelessness since 2007, when she began studying for her bachelors degree. Jim, 64, used to be a trucker but cannot work owing to a herniated disk. Ellen made $28,000 last year, a chunk of which goes to debt repayments. The remainder is not enough to afford Silicon Valley rent.

At night, instead of a toilet they must use cups or plastic bags and baby wipes. To get clean, they find restrooms and we have what we call the sink-shower, James-Penney said. The couple keep their belongings in the back of the car and a roof container. All the while they deal with the consequences of ageing James-Penney has osteoporosis in a space too small to even stand up.

James-Penney does not hide her situation from her class. If her students complain about the homeless people who can sometimes be seen on campus, she will say:Youre looking at someone who is homeless.

That generally stops any kind of sound in the room, she says. I tell them, your parents could very well be one paycheck away, one illness away, from homelessness, so it is not something to be ashamed of.

Ellen James-Penney teaching an English class at San Jose State University in California. She tells her students, youre looking at someone who is homeless. Photograph: Talia Herman for the Guardian

I hung on to the dream

Many adjuncts are seeking to change their lot by unionizing, and have done so at dozens of schools in recent years. They are notching successes; some have seen annual pay increases of about 5% to almost 20%, according to Julie Schmid, executive director of the American Association of University Professors.

Schools are often opposed to such efforts and say unions will result in higher costs for students. And for certain adjuncts, any gains will come too late.

Mary-Faith Cerasoli, 56, the homeless adjunct who captured the publics attention with her protest in New York three years ago, said that in the aftermath little changed in termsof her living situation. Two generous people, a retiree and then a nurse, offered her temporary accommodation, but she subsequently ended up in a tent pitched at a campground and, after that, a broken sailboat docked in the Hudson river.

But there was, however, one shift. All the moving around made it hard for her to make teaching commitments, and in any case the pay remained terrible, so she gave it up. She currently lives in a subsidized room in a shared house in a wealthy county north of New York.

For Rebecca Snow, 51, another adjunct who quit teaching after a succession of appalling living situations, there is a sense of having been freed, even though finances continue to be stressful.

Author Rebecca Snow, now retired from adjuncting, has moved to a small apartment just north of Spokane, Washington. Photograph: Rajah Bose for the Guardian

She began teaching English composition at a community college in the Denver area in 2005, but the poor conditions of the homes she could afford meant she had to move every year or two. She left one place because of bedbugs, another when raw sewage flowed into her bathtub and the landlord failed to properly fix the pipes.

Sometimes her teenage son would have to stay with her ex-husband when she couldnt provide a stable home. Snow even published a poem about adjuncts housing difficulties.

In the end she left the profession when the housing and job insecurity became too much, and her bills too daunting. Today she lives in a quiet apartment above the garage of a friends home, located 15 miles outside Spokane, Washington. She has a view of a lake and forested hills and, with one novel under her belt, is working on a second.

Teaching was the fantasy, she said, but life on the brink of homelessness was the reality.

I realized I hung on to the dream for too long.

Do you have an experience of homelessness to share with the Guardian? Get in touch

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2017/sep/28/adjunct-professors-homeless-sex-work-academia-poverty

[trendingnewsb]

Facing poverty, academics turn to sex work and sleeping in cars

Adjunct professors in America face low pay and long hours without the security of full-time faculty. Some, on the brink of homelessness, take desperate measures

There is nothing she would rather do than teach. But after supplementing her career with tutoring and proofreading, the university lecturer decided to go to remarkable lengths to make her career financially viable.

She first opted for her side gig during a particularly rough patch, several years ago, when her course load was suddenly cut in half and her income plunged, putting her on the brink of eviction. In my mind I was like, Ive had one-night stands, how bad can it be? she said. And it wasnt that bad.

The wry but weary-sounding middle-aged woman, who lives in a large US city and asked to remain anonymous to protect her reputation, is an adjunct instructor, meaning she is not a full-time faculty member at any one institution and strings together a living by teaching individual courses, in her case at multiple colleges.

about

I feel committed to being the person whos there to help millennials, the next generation, go on to become critical thinkers, she said. And Im really good at it, and I really like it. And its heartbreaking to me it doesnt pay what I feel it should.

Sex work is one of the more unusual ways that adjuncts have avoided living in poverty, and perhaps even homelessness. A quarter of part-time college academics (many of whom are adjuncts, though its not uncommon for adjuncts to work 40 hours a week or more) are said to be enrolled in public assistance programs such as Medicaid.

They resort to food banks and Goodwill, and there is even an adjuncts cookbook that shows how to turn items like beef scraps, chicken bones and orange peel into meals. And then there are those who are either on the streets or teetering on the edge of losing stable housing. The Guardian has spoken to several such academics, including an adjunct living in a shack north of Miami, and another sleeping in her car in Silicon Valley.

The adjunct who turned to sex work makes several thousand dollars per course, and teaches about six per semester. She estimates that she puts in 60 hours a week. But she struggles to make ends meet after paying $1,500 in monthly rent and with student loans that, including interest, amount to a few hundred thousand dollars. Her income from teaching comes to $40,000 a year. Thats significantly more than most adjuncts: a 2014 survey found that the median income for adjuncts is only $22,041 a year, whereas for full-time faculty it is $47,500.

We take a kind of vow of poverty

Recent reports have revealed the extent of poverty among professors, but the issue is longstanding. Several years ago, it was thrust into the headlines in dramatic fashion when Mary-Faith Cerasoli, an adjunct professor of Romance languages in her 50s, revealed she was homeless and protested outside the New York state education department.

We take a kind of vow of poverty to continue practicing our profession, Debra Leigh Scott, who is working on a documentary about adjuncts, said in an email. We do it because we are dedicated to scholarship, to learning, to our students and to our disciplines.

Adjuncting has grown as funding for public universities has fallen by more than a quarterbetween 1990 and 2009. Private institutions also recognize the allure of part-time professors: generally they are cheaper than full-time staff, dont receive benefits or support for their personal research, and their hours can be carefully limited so they do not teach enough to qualify for health insurance.

This is why adjuncts have been called the fast-food workers of the academic world: among labor experts adjuncting is defined as precarious employment, a growing category that includes temping and sharing-economy gigs such as driving for Uber. An American Sociological Association taskforce focusing on precarious academic jobs, meanwhile, has suggested that faculty employment is no longer a stable middle-class career.

Adjunct English professor Ellen James-Penney and her husband live in a car with their two dogs. They have developed a system. Keep nothing on the dash, nothing on the floor you cant look like youre homeless, you cant dress like youre homeless. Photograph: Talia Herman for the Guardian

The struggle to stay in housing can take many forms, and a second job is one way adjuncts seek to buoy their finances. The professor who turned to sex work said it helps her keep her toehold in the rental market.

This is something I chose to do, she said, adding that for her it is preferable to, say, a six-hour shift at a bar after teaching all day. I dont want it to come across as, Oh, I had no other choice, this is how hard my life is.

Advertising online, she makes about $200 an hour for sex work. She sees clients only a handful of times during the semester, and more often during the summer, when classes end and she receives no income.

Im terrified that a student is going to come walking in, she said. And the financial concerns have not ceased. I constantly have tension in my neck from gritting my teeth all night.

To keep their homes, some adjuncts are forced to compromise on their living space.

Caprice Lawless, 65, a teacher of English composition and a campaigner for better working conditions for adjuncts, resides in an 1100 sq ft brick house near Boulder, Colorado. She bought it following a divorce two decades ago. But because her $18,000 income from teaching almost full time is so meager, she has remortgaged the property several times, and has had to rent her home to three other female housemates.

I live paycheck to paycheck and Im deeply in debt, she said, including from car repairs and a hospitalization for food poisoning.

Like every other adjunct, she says, she opted for the role thinking it would be a path to full-time work. She is so dependent on her job to maintain her living situation that when her mother died this summer, she didnt take time off in part because she has no bereavement leave. She turned up for work at 8am the next day, taught in a blur and, despite the cane she has used since a hip replacement, fell over in the parking lot.

If she were to lose her home her only hope, she says, would be government-subsidized housing.

Most of my colleagues are unjustifiably ashamed, she said. They take this personally, as if theyve failed, and Im always telling them, you havent failed, the system has failed you.

A precarious situation

Even more desperate are those adjuncts in substandard living spaces who cannot afford to fix them. Mindy Percival, 61, a lecturer with a doctorate from Columbia, teaches history at a state college in Florida and, in her words, lives in a shack which is in the woods in middle of nowhere.

Lecturer Mindy Percivals mobile home in Stuart, Florida. Her oven, shower and water heater dont work. Photograph: Courtesy of Mindy Percival

The mobile home she inhabits, located in the town of Stuart, north of Miami, was donated to her about eight years ago. It looks tidyon the outside, but inside there are holes in the floor and the paneling is peeling off the walls. She has no washing machine, and the oven, shower and water heater dont work. Im on the verge of homelessness, constantly on the verge, she said.

Percival once had a tenure-track job but left to care for her elderly mother, not expecting it would be impossible to find a similar position. Now, two weeks after being paid, I might have a can with $5 in change in it. Her 18-year-old car broke down after Hurricane Irma, and she is driven to school by a former student, paying $20 a day for gas.

I am trying to get out so terribly hard, she said.

Homelessness is a genuine prospect for adjuncts. When Ellen Tara James-Penney finishes work, teaching English composition and critical thinking at San Jose State University in Silicon Valley, her husband, Jim, picks her up. They have dinner and drive to a local church, where Jim pitches a tent by the car and sleeps there with one of their rescue dogs. In the car, James-Penney puts the car seats down and sleeps with another dog. She grades papers using a headlamp.

Over the years, she said, they have developed a system. Keep nothing on the dash, nothing on the floor you cant look like youre homeless, you cant dress like youre homeless. Dont park anywhere too long so the cops dont stop you.

James-Penney, 54, has struggled with homelessness since 2007, when she began studying for her bachelors degree. Jim, 64, used to be a trucker but cannot work owing to a herniated disk. Ellen made $28,000 last year, a chunk of which goes to debt repayments. The remainder is not enough to afford Silicon Valley rent.

At night, instead of a toilet they must use cups or plastic bags and baby wipes. To get clean, they find restrooms and we have what we call the sink-shower, James-Penney said. The couple keep their belongings in the back of the car and a roof container. All the while they deal with the consequences of ageing James-Penney has osteoporosis in a space too small to even stand up.

James-Penney does not hide her situation from her class. If her students complain about the homeless people who can sometimes be seen on campus, she will say:Youre looking at someone who is homeless.

That generally stops any kind of sound in the room, she says. I tell them, your parents could very well be one paycheck away, one illness away, from homelessness, so it is not something to be ashamed of.

Ellen James-Penney teaching an English class at San Jose State University in California. She tells her students, youre looking at someone who is homeless. Photograph: Talia Herman for the Guardian

I hung on to the dream

Many adjuncts are seeking to change their lot by unionizing, and have done so at dozens of schools in recent years. They are notching successes; some have seen annual pay increases of about 5% to almost 20%, according to Julie Schmid, executive director of the American Association of University Professors.

Schools are often opposed to such efforts and say unions will result in higher costs for students. And for certain adjuncts, any gains will come too late.

Mary-Faith Cerasoli, 56, the homeless adjunct who captured the publics attention with her protest in New York three years ago, said that in the aftermath little changed in termsof her living situation. Two generous people, a retiree and then a nurse, offered her temporary accommodation, but she subsequently ended up in a tent pitched at a campground and, after that, a broken sailboat docked in the Hudson river.

But there was, however, one shift. All the moving around made it hard for her to make teaching commitments, and in any case the pay remained terrible, so she gave it up. She currently lives in a subsidized room in a shared house in a wealthy county north of New York.

For Rebecca Snow, 51, another adjunct who quit teaching after a succession of appalling living situations, there is a sense of having been freed, even though finances continue to be stressful.

Author Rebecca Snow, now retired from adjuncting, has moved to a small apartment just north of Spokane, Washington. Photograph: Rajah Bose for the Guardian

She began teaching English composition at a community college in the Denver area in 2005, but the poor conditions of the homes she could afford meant she had to move every year or two. She left one place because of bedbugs, another when raw sewage flowed into her bathtub and the landlord failed to properly fix the pipes.

Sometimes her teenage son would have to stay with her ex-husband when she couldnt provide a stable home. Snow even published a poem about adjuncts housing difficulties.

In the end she left the profession when the housing and job insecurity became too much, and her bills too daunting. Today she lives in a quiet apartment above the garage of a friends home, located 15 miles outside Spokane, Washington. She has a view of a lake and forested hills and, with one novel under her belt, is working on a second.

Teaching was the fantasy, she said, but life on the brink of homelessness was the reality.

I realized I hung on to the dream for too long.

Do you have an experience of homelessness to share with the Guardian? Get in touch

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Facing poverty, academics turn to sex work and sleeping in cars

Adjunct professors in America face low pay and long hours without the security of full-time faculty. Some, on the brink of homelessness, take desperate measures

There is nothing she would rather do than teach. But after supplementing her career with tutoring and proofreading, the university lecturer decided to go to remarkable lengths to make her career financially viable.

She first opted for her side gig during a particularly rough patch, several years ago, when her course load was suddenly cut in half and her income plunged, putting her on the brink of eviction. In my mind I was like, Ive had one-night stands, how bad can it be? she said. And it wasnt that bad.

The wry but weary-sounding middle-aged woman, who lives in a large US city and asked to remain anonymous to protect her reputation, is an adjunct instructor, meaning she is not a full-time faculty member at any one institution and strings together a living by teaching individual courses, in her case at multiple colleges.

about

I feel committed to being the person whos there to help millennials, the next generation, go on to become critical thinkers, she said. And Im really good at it, and I really like it. And its heartbreaking to me it doesnt pay what I feel it should.

Sex work is one of the more unusual ways that adjuncts have avoided living in poverty, and perhaps even homelessness. A quarter of part-time college academics (many of whom are adjuncts, though its not uncommon for adjuncts to work 40 hours a week or more) are said to be enrolled in public assistance programs such as Medicaid.

They resort to food banks and Goodwill, and there is even an adjuncts cookbook that shows how to turn items like beef scraps, chicken bones and orange peel into meals. And then there are those who are either on the streets or teetering on the edge of losing stable housing. The Guardian has spoken to several such academics, including an adjunct living in a shack north of Miami, and another sleeping in her car in Silicon Valley.

The adjunct who turned to sex work makes several thousand dollars per course, and teaches about six per semester. She estimates that she puts in 60 hours a week. But she struggles to make ends meet after paying $1,500 in monthly rent and with student loans that, including interest, amount to a few hundred thousand dollars. Her income from teaching comes to $40,000 a year. Thats significantly more than most adjuncts: a 2014 survey found that the median income for adjuncts is only $22,041 a year, whereas for full-time faculty it is $47,500.

We take a kind of vow of poverty

Recent reports have revealed the extent of poverty among professors, but the issue is longstanding. Several years ago, it was thrust into the headlines in dramatic fashion when Mary-Faith Cerasoli, an adjunct professor of Romance languages in her 50s, revealed she was homeless and protested outside the New York state education department.

We take a kind of vow of poverty to continue practicing our profession, Debra Leigh Scott, who is working on a documentary about adjuncts, said in an email. We do it because we are dedicated to scholarship, to learning, to our students and to our disciplines.

Adjuncting has grown as funding for public universities has fallen by more than a quarterbetween 1990 and 2009. Private institutions also recognize the allure of part-time professors: generally they are cheaper than full-time staff, dont receive benefits or support for their personal research, and their hours can be carefully limited so they do not teach enough to qualify for health insurance.

This is why adjuncts have been called the fast-food workers of the academic world: among labor experts adjuncting is defined as precarious employment, a growing category that includes temping and sharing-economy gigs such as driving for Uber. An American Sociological Association taskforce focusing on precarious academic jobs, meanwhile, has suggested that faculty employment is no longer a stable middle-class career.

Adjunct English professor Ellen James-Penney and her husband live in a car with their two dogs. They have developed a system. Keep nothing on the dash, nothing on the floor you cant look like youre homeless, you cant dress like youre homeless. Photograph: Talia Herman for the Guardian

The struggle to stay in housing can take many forms, and a second job is one way adjuncts seek to buoy their finances. The professor who turned to sex work said it helps her keep her toehold in the rental market.

This is something I chose to do, she said, adding that for her it is preferable to, say, a six-hour shift at a bar after teaching all day. I dont want it to come across as, Oh, I had no other choice, this is how hard my life is.

Advertising online, she makes about $200 an hour for sex work. She sees clients only a handful of times during the semester, and more often during the summer, when classes end and she receives no income.

Im terrified that a student is going to come walking in, she said. And the financial concerns have not ceased. I constantly have tension in my neck from gritting my teeth all night.

To keep their homes, some adjuncts are forced to compromise on their living space.

Caprice Lawless, 65, a teacher of English composition and a campaigner for better working conditions for adjuncts, resides in an 1100 sq ft brick house near Boulder, Colorado. She bought it following a divorce two decades ago. But because her $18,000 income from teaching almost full time is so meager, she has remortgaged the property several times, and has had to rent her home to three other female housemates.

I live paycheck to paycheck and Im deeply in debt, she said, including from car repairs and a hospitalization for food poisoning.

Like every other adjunct, she says, she opted for the role thinking it would be a path to full-time work. She is so dependent on her job to maintain her living situation that when her mother died this summer, she didnt take time off in part because she has no bereavement leave. She turned up for work at 8am the next day, taught in a blur and, despite the cane she has used since a hip replacement, fell over in the parking lot.

If she were to lose her home her only hope, she says, would be government-subsidized housing.

Most of my colleagues are unjustifiably ashamed, she said. They take this personally, as if theyve failed, and Im always telling them, you havent failed, the system has failed you.

A precarious situation

Even more desperate are those adjuncts in substandard living spaces who cannot afford to fix them. Mindy Percival, 61, a lecturer with a doctorate from Columbia, teaches history at a state college in Florida and, in her words, lives in a shack which is in the woods in middle of nowhere.

Lecturer Mindy Percivals mobile home in Stuart, Florida. Her oven, shower and water heater dont work. Photograph: Courtesy of Mindy Percival

The mobile home she inhabits, located in the town of Stuart, north of Miami, was donated to her about eight years ago. It looks tidyon the outside, but inside there are holes in the floor and the paneling is peeling off the walls. She has no washing machine, and the oven, shower and water heater dont work. Im on the verge of homelessness, constantly on the verge, she said.

Percival once had a tenure-track job but left to care for her elderly mother, not expecting it would be impossible to find a similar position. Now, two weeks after being paid, I might have a can with $5 in change in it. Her 18-year-old car broke down after Hurricane Irma, and she is driven to school by a former student, paying $20 a day for gas.

I am trying to get out so terribly hard, she said.

Homelessness is a genuine prospect for adjuncts. When Ellen Tara James-Penney finishes work, teaching English composition and critical thinking at San Jose State University in Silicon Valley, her husband, Jim, picks her up. They have dinner and drive to a local church, where Jim pitches a tent by the car and sleeps there with one of their rescue dogs. In the car, James-Penney puts the car seats down and sleeps with another dog. She grades papers using a headlamp.

Over the years, she said, they have developed a system. Keep nothing on the dash, nothing on the floor you cant look like youre homeless, you cant dress like youre homeless. Dont park anywhere too long so the cops dont stop you.

James-Penney, 54, has struggled with homelessness since 2007, when she began studying for her bachelors degree. Jim, 64, used to be a trucker but cannot work owing to a herniated disk. Ellen made $28,000 last year, a chunk of which goes to debt repayments. The remainder is not enough to afford Silicon Valley rent.

At night, instead of a toilet they must use cups or plastic bags and baby wipes. To get clean, they find restrooms and we have what we call the sink-shower, James-Penney said. The couple keep their belongings in the back of the car and a roof container. All the while they deal with the consequences of ageing James-Penney has osteoporosis in a space too small to even stand up.

James-Penney does not hide her situation from her class. If her students complain about the homeless people who can sometimes be seen on campus, she will say:Youre looking at someone who is homeless.

That generally stops any kind of sound in the room, she says. I tell them, your parents could very well be one paycheck away, one illness away, from homelessness, so it is not something to be ashamed of.

Ellen James-Penney teaching an English class at San Jose State University in California. She tells her students, youre looking at someone who is homeless. Photograph: Talia Herman for the Guardian

I hung on to the dream

Many adjuncts are seeking to change their lot by unionizing, and have done so at dozens of schools in recent years. They are notching successes; some have seen annual pay increases of about 5% to almost 20%, according to Julie Schmid, executive director of the American Association of University Professors.

Schools are often opposed to such efforts and say unions will result in higher costs for students. And for certain adjuncts, any gains will come too late.

Mary-Faith Cerasoli, 56, the homeless adjunct who captured the publics attention with her protest in New York three years ago, said that in the aftermath little changed in termsof her living situation. Two generous people, a retiree and then a nurse, offered her temporary accommodation, but she subsequently ended up in a tent pitched at a campground and, after that, a broken sailboat docked in the Hudson river.

But there was, however, one shift. All the moving around made it hard for her to make teaching commitments, and in any case the pay remained terrible, so she gave it up. She currently lives in a subsidized room in a shared house in a wealthy county north of New York.

For Rebecca Snow, 51, another adjunct who quit teaching after a succession of appalling living situations, there is a sense of having been freed, even though finances continue to be stressful.

Author Rebecca Snow, now retired from adjuncting, has moved to a small apartment just north of Spokane, Washington. Photograph: Rajah Bose for the Guardian

She began teaching English composition at a community college in the Denver area in 2005, but the poor conditions of the homes she could afford meant she had to move every year or two. She left one place because of bedbugs, another when raw sewage flowed into her bathtub and the landlord failed to properly fix the pipes.

Sometimes her teenage son would have to stay with her ex-husband when she couldnt provide a stable home. Snow even published a poem about adjuncts housing difficulties.

In the end she left the profession when the housing and job insecurity became too much, and her bills too daunting. Today she lives in a quiet apartment above the garage of a friends home, located 15 miles outside Spokane, Washington. She has a view of a lake and forested hills and, with one novel under her belt, is working on a second.

Teaching was the fantasy, she said, but life on the brink of homelessness was the reality.

I realized I hung on to the dream for too long.

Do you have an experience of homelessness to share with the Guardian? Get in touch

Read more: http://ift.tt/2xHM6dO

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2hULE6J via Viral News HQ