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i-dont-want-your-hysteria · 3 years

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A Certain Heartache (Joe x Reader)

(this might be the supreme Joe Hoe fic. Just simping out the fucking ass. Before I had a title for this, I just referred to it as “The Simp Fic”. I would write this late at night while lonely)

Dedicated to @heaven-is-hysteria >:3

Words: 3,494

Prompt: Holland, 1985, pre-Hysteria. You’ve been working alongside the band long before the recording of the 4th album began. Studio stress is at an all time high, so you and Joe (your mutual confidant) have a long, intimate talk one evening to vent it all away. After you part ways for the night, both of you are kept awake by the gears turning in your heads.

Romantic tension ahoy!

-----

His warm, lengthy body was perfectly contoured against yours. It was such a cold night, and you were glad he was there under the covers to provide you with an extra sense of security. The drumming of his heart thumped against your ear, and the swelling of his lungs was your reminder that your pillow was capable of breathing, too. As per his duty as a pillow, he let you cling to him in any way you pleased and had not complained once; he would just tell you "if you're comfy, then so am I."

Yes, that's what Joe would've done- if he were there with you.

Instead, there you were, in the wrong bed again. The bed would only feel like the right one if you had his company.

Romantic tension didn't even begin to define what you and Joe had between yourselves. There was no doubt in sight that both of you sensed it. It was magic in the air that only appeared when you were alone; it was something truly different. Things like a brief touch to your hair, holding hands, a quick kiss on the cheek, or occasionally dozing off on each other made this magic arise. There had been times of genuine affection with Joe, just as there had been times of platonic friendship. Unfortunately, you weren't sure where the line was drawn between them.

Based on past events, neither did he.

Stress at the studio had taken a toll on both of you over the past few weeks. That night, either of you were on the verge of a total breakdown because of it. You'd spent about two hours sitting and standing, walking and talking, laughing and crying to each other. The more you thought on it, the more romantic it felt. The social intimacy you discovered felt somehow more binding than what Joe had with the rest of his band mates.

Your heart leapt against the sheets at the realization; he let himself be open and sensitive around you that night, not the others. Of all people the mighty Joe Elliott was close to during such a pivotal time in his career, he chose to have deep conversation at night with you. And there you were, lying awake at night, unable to sleep because you were thinking about him.

For fuck's sake- this is getting too serious. You weren't sure why neither you or Joe hadn't made a move quite yet. One thing was for sure; it was killing you- especially after an evening like that.

-----

Your warm, gentle body was perfectly curled over his. While he didn't want to appear nervous, Joe's heart was mercilessly thumping against your ear. You were using him as a pillow, and he was trying to be the best one he could be. Even after Joe dismissed your concern for his comfort, you'd still try to shift yourself in a way that would feel better to him.

Yes, that's what you would've done- if you were there with him.

The game of chicken you two were clearly playing was reaching a breaking point. Joe wasn't sure who would crack first, but cracks were undoubtedly forming.

Joe stared up at his ceiling. The cold night was eating away at his skin, and goosebumps came and went when they wanted. When you both left each other for the night, it felt wrong and awkward. He felt like he should've spoken up and asked if you wanted to stay with him. Just a quick "wanna stay at my place tonight?" would've sufficed.

Joe thought that might have sounded better than "can I stay at your place tonight?", but regardless, he didn't get the chance to test either of them. It's not like it mattered too much to him. After all, you were only a hallway away from each other.

That evening, your long route through conversation topics left Joe feeling changed. He couldn't put his finger on what had changed, however. He supposed it had something to do with how you normally viewed him. For inexplicable reasons, you always seemed to get along with him the best. After that night, it was apparent you preferred him over the rest of the band.

The bumps on Joe's arms rose higher under the covers.

Out of the five Leppards, you chose him. He was the singer, and should've been used to girls picking him, but you still left him flattered and flushed like a shy child. Joe felt that of all the Leppards in distress, he was the last one who needed another heartache or another sleepless night.

Yet there he was, lying awake at night, unable to sleep because he was chosen by you. Oh, bloody wonderful. When it came to you, the line between 'friend' and 'girlfriend' was getting thinner and thinner. Joe couldn't get you to leave his heart, it seemed.

Unfortunately- to him- that only meant one thing:

There was no going back.

-----

It felt incredibly late now, but hardly an hour had passed since you went to bed. With Joe occupying every corner of your mind, you almost wanted to get up and go to the end of the hall to get him. You almost wanted that so badly. His affection wasn't just something you desired at the moment; it was something you couldn't get through the night without. It was an ache deep inside you- but you couldn't place whether it was in your heart or your soul.

Thinking of him felt like a dream, and in one corner of your mind, the phrase "man of your dreams" soon became his label.

The plain old pillow you embraced wasn't doing as well of a job as a tender, 6'2", warm-blooded, long-haired Yorkshire gentleman would have. You could still feel him all around you; his presence wouldn't leave. A hallway away and nothing but silence separating you both made the sound of Joe's heart louder than anything.

You wanted him with you, plain and simple. You just needed him there in whatever way was convenient. You wanted him to hold you and softly breathe against you and tell you he was happy to be in bed with you. Hell, he didn't even need to say anything if he didn't feel like it.

In the darkness, you blinked a few times. Your head shook and you rolled away from the fantasies of your late-night conscience. Who could ever truly know what Joe wanted? Certainly not you. He had his thoughts, and you had yours.

That night felt like the night where if a move could've been made, it would've been made.

It should've been made.

Wasted time, you thought. Maybe that's all tonight was; a missed opportunity, and wasted time. Just when you speculated things might have been getting down to the bone, you began to think too much, and an idea crushed you: what if you were just another hopeless maniac who wanted to get your hands on the lead singer? Anyone with an outside perspective would have most likely seen things that way.

You didn't feel like that, though. You knew what you felt.

Maybe you were just another crazed fan, and maybe Joe was just another rocker out of your league. Even if that were so, that didn't mean your feelings for him were fake.

Maybe Joe wasn't even the man of your dreams... but god, you still needed him so badly that night.

----

Joe lost track of how many times he'd tried falling asleep. Each and every time, he was interrupted by a flood of your imaginary presence. With you threatening every inch of his mind, he almost wanted to march down the hallway and take you back with him. Dare he say, he needed that. It was such an intense longing, he wanted to beat his arms against his bed and exert it all away- just to make it stop.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the energy for that right then. He felt like he was trapped in a dream he was unable to be woken from. Any second now, he hoped, he'd wake up and realize he'd made it through this dream-like temptation.

For a fast second, his conscience labeled you as "dreamy."

Joe shook away the label, rolled onto his side, and resumed his fantasy. There wasn't just a craving for your presence; there was a starvation for it.

As far as your previous interaction went, there were a million more things he thought of to add onto it. He didn't want that evening to stop- not then, not ever. He wanted more from your time together. He didn't just want vocal reassurance; he wanted physical reassurance. Joe wanted to experience every soft part of you cushioning him while he slept. He wanted to feel your hair frazzled against his skin. More than anything, he needed a tender touch from you- any tender touch from you. You were a reminder that tenderness still existed, and that tenderness still cared about him. Joe's eyes opened in the darkness, and he audibly sighed as the fantasy was broken. He didn't know if you desperately cared about him like that; he couldn't read your mind. Who could ever truly know what you wanted? Certainly not him. Just like Joe currently trapped in his own universe, you had a world of your own down the hall. These worlds felt like perfectly matching puzzle pieces when they collided- especially hours before. It would've been easy for Joe to make a move. In fact, it wouldn't have just been easy; it was probably expected from you. If there was any right time to make it move, it was that night for sure.

But Joe didn't do that. Instead, he wasted time regretting something he didn't do. Things seemed as if they were looking clearer to him. He finally reached the extent of how badly he needed you in the dead of the night, yet also felt you were getting further away. Perhaps he was overthinking it- but that sense of failure was overwhelming and true. He blew it; plain and simple. You'd definitely peaked in your friendship that night, and to Joe, that meant it was only downhill from there. He didn't want that.

He didn't need another thing to regret. He didn't need another reason to not march down the hall and somehow ask you to stay with him for the night. He didn't need another hour of heartsick insomnia.

But god, he needed you so badly that night. Maybe he needed you just a little bit more. -----

You were starting to rationalize that you weren't going to get any sleep. The best you could do was lay facing the ceiling and hope to fantasize yourself into slumber. If one thought could lead to another, perhaps it'd be pleasant enough to lull you to rest.

A few lovely fantasies rolled around in your head. First, it was Joe suddenly showing up right then and there, sweeping you off your feet, and kissing you deeply. Second, it was you going over to him and pulling him down onto your lips.

That aspect of your midnight brain struck you as strange. You'd never thought too much about kissing Joe before. Although thoughts about kissing were expected from romantic tension, it wasn't something you actively desired. It wasn't as if you normally thought about Joe's lips- how soft they might be, how gentle he might use them, how not gentle he might use them, or how he might make them dance on other parts of your body.

It wasn't like thinking about those things kept you up at night.

After that, the third fantasy that came your way was waiting until morning to try and rekindle the spark you and Joe created not long ago. Maybe approaching him and trying that would go over well.

Instantly upon registering the thought, you draped your forearm over your eyes with a scoff.

No, that would horribly awkward. The fourth fantasy, you decided, was a more reasonable course of action. What you would do was wait.

You'd wait however long you needed and let things run their course. While it was painful to think of, you concluded that maybe not touching anything would make things better.

While it was rational, that option sounded the least realistic.

Or, maybe, I should just sleep on it. A loud sigh floated from your mouth at the idea. You wanted to be put out of your misery in order to get away from this certain heartache. While you were half-decent at handling your problems, you weren't a miracle worker.

-----

Joe was staring at his door now. He had accepted that he wouldn't be getting any sleep. The best he could do was lay facing the door and hope he'd come up with a course of action to end his suffering and heartache.

His mind wasn't working like yours. There weren't multiple fantasies for him to dwell upon in order to lull him to sleep. There weren't several options floating around in his head. He was stuck, he was antsy, and he was impulsive. Into his mind came only one option, and, unfortunately, it stuck to him. To his disbelief, it was a realistic course of action.

Joe smushed his face into his pillow, sighing loudly. Being tired didn't just make you fantasize more, and he knew it.

Being tired also made you completely, undoubtedly, one-hundred-percent honest. Paired with his impulsive conscience, he had a perfect recipe for humiliation. The worst part of it: he didn't care. Well, she's probably just as tired as I am, he reasoned with his twilight mind, Would it really be that big of a problem? -----

Knock, knock. knock. Naturally, your brain whispered Joe's name the instant you heard a feeble noise in the hallway. Your heart instinctively leapt, but just as quickly, your mind shot down the possibility of him crashing through your door and declaring his intense mutual longing. Perhaps you were truly exhausted now, and had hallucinated the noise to begin with.

Your arm was still over your eyes when there came proper knocks at the door. A startled gasp flew from your mouth. In a wink, you were sitting on the side of your bed and staring intently into the blackness.

"Y/n?" Joe's voice gently seeped through the door. Your eyes lit up, and your heart began to tremble within you. Turns out this isn't a fantasy after all. A hand reached over and turned on the lamp, and you'd never thrown on your robe so fast in your life. Joe was there- he was there for real. "Coming," you cooed, not even thinking of fixing your appearance. None of that mattered; what mattered was getting to the door.

You carefully twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open. To your continuing surprise, your tender, 6'2", long-haired, warm-blooded Yorkshire gentleman was standing there. He was in his own robe- his rather short Union Jack robe, if that- and hadn't bothered to fix his appearance in any way at all either. As if you were looking in a mirror, you noticed how tired he seemed all over.

"Joe?" you made your surprise apparent, "What's wrong?"

Honesty, Joe said to himself, Honesty is what's wrong. "I can't sleep," he spoke with such sincerity.

You didn't hesitate to admit, "Me neither. What's got you up?"

Joe did hesitate at first.

"Oh, just- you... and everything we talked about. The gears are turning and I'm- so stressed."

He ran his fingers through his messy hair and faltered before tagging on, "I just wanted to ask you..."

You made your attentiveness clearer. You thought to pinch yourself in order to make sure you were conscious. What could Joe possibly say after seeking out your presence in the middle of the night, only to admit he couldn't stop thinking about you? Your fantasy, perhaps, may have been becoming concrete. If that was the case, you wanted to fulfill some of it yourself. "Would you wanna stay the night?" you both asked in sync with each other.

Each of you were taken aback, and giggled to yourselves as you avoided the other's eyes.

"We think too much alike, you know," Joe shook his head.

You stepped aside, inviting Joe into your apartment.

"I know."

With a twist of the lock, you felt no need for your silly fantasies anymore. You wiped away your stupid grin, and joined Joe on the mattress where he sat.

"I hope I didn't wake you," Joe apologized, "Even if you were having trouble sleeping. It's just- how was I supposed to sleep after an emotional roller-coaster like tonight?"

You sensed his emotional stress, and reached out to sloppily fix his hair from his face. His eyes bashfully darted away from you and looked down at the bed. "I know, I know. That's exactly why I couldn't sleep, either. My mind's all shook up; rattled around."

Your hand ruffled his hair, unable to keep yourself from showing him affection.

He silently laughed while masking the shiver your touch sent through his body.

Joe rubbed one of his legs and went on, "I can't stop thinking about past versions of ourselves. I feel like we could've prevented this whole fucking mess somehow. I feel... I don't know, guilty? And it's keepin' me up..."

While you were paying attention to what he said, you were paying more attention to his body language. Joe was being shy. Everything about him was oozing shyness. It was so out of character for him, even if he were half asleep. He was fidgety and avoiding eye contact with you. Even his choice of words sounded cautious. Not only that, but as soon as you seated yourself by him, there was a definite blush on his cheeks.

It was as if something had changed, but you don't know what. He almost looked like he was trying to be small. Joe's fingers traced shapes on your blanket, "I know things were never meant to be easy, but now things are getting impossible, you know? Like we had one shot and-"

His hand accidentally brushed against yours. The sound of your hearts dropping together was as audible as a gunshot. If he had suddenly taken your hand, it would've been less intimate than such a subtle gesture.

To cover up his accidental action, Joe did take your hand instead.

"-and it's like we blew it."

You could feel his quick pulse through your hand. There was no hiding he was nervous, now.

You other hand was placed on top of his. With a sympathetic smile, you looked at his blushing face and told him, "You didn't blow it, Joe. We're all in the same boat, and it's okay to have doubts. You guys are gonna have your second chance and I know it." He rolled his eyes in thought, still avoiding your look, "Maybe we're not good enough for a second chance..."

His hand was taken away shyly. Joe finally looked at you, but dashed his eyes away instantly.

"Oh, honey..."

Your hand sought him again, reaching out and cupping his cheek so he would look at you. Instead of speaking further, you leaned in and wearily planted a tired kiss on the opposite side of his face. "...you know you're worth it." your voice softly hit the side of his face. Before you could think of a way to pull back and move on with the conversation, Joe went completely rigid. Without thinking, you froze, too.

The magic was back- you both knew it. This was what you needed to get through the night.

You held yourself there at his jaw for a second or two, then carefully drug your lips over the side of his face, only stopping when they met his own. There was no other fitting action at that point; no other appropriate thing to do besides giving him a real kiss. Joe turned his head slowly, closing his eyes and complying with the sealed embrace. It seemed the thought of his lips were keeping you up at night after all. You both kept your eyes shut when the kiss ended. The dreamy sensation had captured you both; magic, indeed.

"Seems to me like we got a second chance tonight..." you whispered close to his mouth when your eyes fluttered open. Joe was now blushing even more strongly than just a moment ago.

He exhaled in surprise. The unexpected kiss had taken his words (and his breath) away. "Oh thank god, Y/n... I've been waiting so..." instead of saying something, he leaned in again to softly press his lips back against yours.

There was no more starvation, no more heartache, and no more fantasies. The only fantasy to be found was the present moment; the man of your dreams, kissing you gently, just as you had dreamed of.

Suddenly, you both felt you'd found the right bed at last.

#happy soft saturday everyone UwU #def leppard #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #joe elliott #joe elliott x reader #def leppard x reader #joe elliott fanfic #joe elliott fanfiction #original content #fanfic #fanfiction #this doesn't have a song it's based off of #if you wanna get specific it's loosely inspired by HYENSSB #i don't even remember how i started writing this or what made me do it #but I do know I wrote it within a week or something #i finished it a WHILE ago but it never felt done

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Link

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 1, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

For those of you exhausted by this week’s news, you can take a break tonight. Lots of moving pieces are in play, but nothing that would hold a historian to her desk a hundred years from now, so skip this letter with a clean conscience.

For those of you who do want some reflections, I am struck today by the media’s breathless recounting of how the ongoing negotiations over the two infrastructure bills shows that the Democrats are in disarray and President Joe Biden’s agenda is crashing and burning. The New York Times called a delay in the vote on the measures “a humiliating blow to Mr. Biden and Democrats” and wondered if “Biden’s economic agenda could be revived.”

Exactly a year ago, the news reported that Trump adviser Hope Hicks had coronavirus and that she had recently traveled with White House personnel on Air Force One. The stock market dropped 400 points on the news. The previous day had been the infamous presidential debate when Trump yelled and snarled at Biden, while his entourage, including Hicks, refused to wear masks despite a mandate that they must do so. We did not know who else might be infected.

Hours later, we learned that the president and First Lady were both sick, and within hours the president would be hospitalized.

The rest of the news provided a snapshot of the Trump presidency:

•A study of more than 38 million English-language articles about the pandemic between January 1 and May 26 showed that Trump was “likely the largest driver of…Covid-19 misinformation.”

•Trump’s former national security adviser, retired Lt. General H.R. McMaster, told MSNBC that Trump was “aiding and abetting Putin’s efforts” to disrupt the November election.

•We learned that Amy Coney Barrett, Trump’s nominee for the Supreme Court, had not disclosed that in 2006, she signed an anti-abortion ad in the South Bend Tribune. It appeared near another ad from the same organization that called for putting “an end to the barbaric legacy of Roe v. Wade and restore laws that protect the lives of unborn children.”

•A tape leaked of Melania Trump complaining about having to decorate the White House for Christmas—“I’m working… my a** off on the Christmas stuff, that you know, who gives a f*** about the Christmas stuff and decorations?”—and then said of criticism that she was not involved with the children separated from their parents at the southern border: “Give me a f****** break.”

•News broke that Donald Trump, Jr.’s girlfriend, Kimberly Guilfoyle, had left the Fox News Channel after an employee complained of sexual harassment, saying she required the employee to work at her apartment, where she would sometimes be naked, and where she would share inappropriate photos of men and discuss her sexual activities with them. She denied any misconduct, but FNC settled the case against her for $4 million.

•The House of Representatives, controlled by Democrats, passed a $2.2 trillion coronavirus relief measure. No Republicans voted for it.

•Right-wing conspiracy theorists Jacob Wohl and Jack Burkman were charged with four felonies in Michigan for intimidating voters, conspiring to violate election laws, and using a computer to commit a crime.

•Claiming he wanted to prevent “voter fraud,” Republican governor Greg Abbott of Texas limited the number of locations for dropping off mail-in ballots to one site per county. While Republican counties tended to have just one location already, Democratic Harris County, the third largest county in the country, with a population of more than 4.7 million and an area larger than the state of Rhode Island, had previously used 12. Democratic Travis County, which includes Austin, previously had four.

That was one single day in the Trump presidency.

In contrast, today, the Democrats are trying to pass an extremely complicated package, consisting of two major infrastructure bills, backed by different constituencies, that will alter the direction of our country by investing in ordinary Americans and revising the tax code to claw back some of the 2017 tax cuts the Republican Congress gave to corporations and the very wealthy. Although there is no guarantee they will pass, the bills are currently still on track, and all the relevant parties are still at work discussing them, exactly as one would expect.

What is the unusual piece in this process is that the other major American political party—the Republicans—is refusing to participate in the crafting of a major bill that is extremely popular.

This infrastructure package is huge, but it is hardly the only item in Biden’s agenda. In March 2021, the Democrats passed the American Rescue Plan, a $1.9 trillion economic rescue package that has helped the administration produce more jobs in its first six months than any other administration in American history.

Not a single Republican voted for that bill; it passed while they were focusing on the ungendered Potato Head kin and the decision of the Dr. Seuss estate to stop the publication of some of Theodor Geisel’s less popular books.

The economy has recovered in large part because of the Biden administration’s enormous success at distributing the coronavirus vaccines to every American who wanted one.

Republican lawmakers have worked against this process, and today we crossed the unthinkable line of 700,000 officially counted deaths from Covid-19.

Now, the administration has begun to put vaccine mandates into effect, and they are working. Those who insisted they would never get vaccines changed their minds when employers and public venues required them. Today, California governor Gavin Newsom announced that the state will require coronavirus vaccines for school children, along with the ten others it already requires, as soon as the Food and Drug Administration fully approves them for use in children.

Meanwhile, Republican-dominated state legislatures are following through on the voter suppression noted a year ago, passing measures to cut down Democratic voting and install Republican operatives in key election posts before the 2022 election.

As political scientist and foreign relations expert David Rothkopf tweeted: “Are the Dems the ones in disarray when they are crafting specific programs while the GOP offers up only cynical Tweets & obstruction? The only GOP agenda items are voter suppression, defending the worst president in history & when they have power, pushing tax cuts for the rich.”

For my part, I’m not sure what is driving the stories that seem to paint Biden’s work as a lost cause: The recent position that Democrats are hapless? That it’s safer to be negative than positive? That our news cycle demands drama?

Whatever it is, I continue to maintain that the issue right now is not Democrats’ negotiations over the infrastructure bills—regardless of how they turn out—but that Republican lawmakers are actively working to undermine our democracy.

—

Notes:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2021/06/24/nightmare-scenario-book-excerpt/

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/01/us/amy-coney-barrett-abortion.html

https://www.cnn.com/2021/10/01/us/california-students-covid-vaccine-requirement/index.html

https://www.newsweek.com/texas-ag-says-trump-wouldve-lost-state-if-it-hadnt-blocked-mail-ballots-applications-being-1597909

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/09/30/us/politics/infrastructure-democrats-pelosi.html

David Rothkopf @djrothkopfThe NYT does it again: "House Delays Vote on Infrastructure Bill as Democrats Feud." On the homepage they call it a "Big Setback for the Biden Agenda." Really? Really? A day? A couple of days? The media is getting this story 100% wrong.

House Delays Vote on Infrastructure Bill as Democrats FeudA liberal revolt left Democrats short of votes, but leaders insisted they would bring up the measure again on Friday, giving them more time to reach a deal on a separate climate and safety net bill.nytimes.com

2,463 Retweets9,500 Likes

October 1st 2021

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Politics #history #perspective #Heather Cox Richardson #Letters From an American #the news #legislation #fairness #last year

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prorevenge · 4 years

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Give my hours away to a new-hire? I’ll leave you with a store to close yourself, misfiled paperwork and get you fired.

This happened a couple months ago at an old employer. I worked at a supermarket in my state throughout high school and while in college in the United States making $9 to start and only $10.50 at the end. The store had 1 Store Manager, 2 Assistant Store Managers, 1 manager and assistant manager per department, which there were 9 departments. For 5 years, I worked every position there because who knew what hiring was, right? Understaffing was a regular here, so if a department needed closing and I worked, I had to close it. From stocking to register to managers duties, everything was game. My biggest acknowledgements were being a Book-Keeper (Out terms of the person who keeps track of all the money), Monitor (Glorified cashier, basically wrangle the regular cashiers and divvy up cash drawers to each register), Service Desk (Cigarettes, lottery, customers bullshit) and store opener/closer. There were 5 people who knew Book-Keeping, 2 other people besides me and the 2 managers who ran the front end of the store. There were about 5 monitors who all needed to be trained on Service Desk as well. Every monitor and Book-Keeper needed to know how to open the store and close it. For being a supermarket in a town with about 20,000 people, we were severely understaffed. I worked 12 to 16 hour shifts at least once a week because people would call off all the time. Keep all this in mind for later on.

Backstory: I started working here at 16 in high school originally as a stock person. 25 hour work weeks, eventually moved up to 35+ hour work weeks. Moved up to register, then monitor, then Service Desk and finally Book-Keeping when I turned 18, now 21. The hours were always good, never had a week drop below 35 hours at least. But it all changed because of some dickhead.

At the start of COVID-19, I was working while in college, so all these guidelines had to be followed. Everyone needed their toilet paper and hand sanitizer to keep COVID away. No biggie. On top of the guidelines, we also had been hiring a copious amount of people. This store had a history of training new hires with other people who have been working for maybe a month or so. So as you could guess, training was a disaster. But since COVID-19 had the store busy all the time, we needed more people. I wanted to train people the right way because I got sick of doing other people’s jobs. In March, we had gotten 4 new-hires to train for my position. Now these new-hires needed training on the service desk. Easy, let them run it while I watched and helped out the best I could. Easiest way to get people to learn. Most of them needed trained on here because there were 3 of us total, at the time, who could run it. After training everyone, one per shift at a time over 4 weeks, there were 7 people now ready to fuck up the world. But everyone who knew how to run the service desk needed training on Monitor too. Guess who had to train everyone for another position? After another 4 weeks of bullshit, everyone got trained. Around this time was the end of May. This is where the juice begins.

The Juice: Starting in June, we had been starting to lay off the hours since COVID-19 started to slow down. Hours started to get cut from all the register people, from about 20-30 hours a week to 10 hours max. We got over staffed and people started quitting left and right. Not a big deal because those positions were easy to fill. But that’s when MY hours started getting cut. At the time, the one new-hire who started in March, who we’ll call Helen, had been getting really good hours, I’m talking about MY hours. We had the same problem, college money, car money, the works and all. But then I got scheduled for 16 hours one week and they got scheduled for over 35 hours. Not once since I was 18 did I get less than 35 hours. So I decided to confront the Assistant Manager who was in charge of scheduling, we’ll call him Frank.

Me: Hey Frank, I noticed my hours got cut. What’s happening?

Frank: I know, everyone’s hours are getting cut. I have to make room for everyone, ya know?

Me: I couldn’t help but notice that Helen is getting quite the hours, so you made room for her and no one else?

Frank: I was unaware of that, I’ll get you some more hours next week.

The reset of the week was kind of boring since I was a workaholic. No one called me to cover shifts or anything. The following week, I asked around to see who covered any shifts last week and it turns out that ALL the new hires got called first. That kind of pissed me off but hey, can’t do anything about it now. Later that day, I check my schedule and whaddya know? The same 16 hour week. I was livid at this point, I should have been honored for my seniority there, not getting fucked over in hours. I went back to Frank and confronted him.

Me: Hey, what the hell is this?! I thought you’d be finding me hours this week, I can’t live off of this.

Frank: Well it turns out that I couldn’t find you hours. I tried calling-

Me: Bullshit you tried calling me, not a single person called me. Instead, all the new-hires got called. What the hell man?!

Frank: There’s nothing I can do, you might have to just find another job.

This PISSED me off beyond belief. I was ready to pop. But this is when my bright idea came into play. For a couple days, I searched around for other supermarkets in my area offering jobs. After about a day of searching, I found a job paying DOUBLE what I made now for the same qualifications. I gave them a ring and got an interview for the following week. The following day, I went into work, for what I didn’t know was my last shift, and told Frank what was happening.

Me: Hey Frank, I just wanted to let you know I took your advice.

Frank: Advice? Do you mean finding another job?

Me: You’re A fucking right, I hope you have fun!

I will never forget the look on his face. Completely baffled. He didn’t expect me to actually find another job so quickly. This is where my revenge began.

Revenge: After I walked out of dickhead Franks office, I went around doing my usual work. During every shift, a metric fuckton of paperwork needed to be processed in the computer in order to close the store correctly and setup Book-Keeping for the next day. Fun fact, that day in particular was SNAP-day. For those who don’t know what that is, it’s the day that government funded Food-Stamps arrive on everyones EBT card, monthly. That day I decided to say fuck paperwork and just don’t do shit, I was quitting that day because my anger got the better of me. The store closes at about 12am, and I walked out of that shit hole as free as can be.

The next day, I woke up to find some really obnoxious and angry texts from coworkers. I completely disregarded them, unknowingly that they said I worked that morning. I went down to the supermarket to grab some things for my house and as soon as I walked in the door, every ex-coworker of mine looked at me as if I had just passed on the floor. One of them pulled me aside, let’s call them George, and this happened:

George: What the fuck bro? I had to cover your shift this morning and you have the balls to walk in here after that?

Me: I don’t work here anymore, fuck off.

I continued to get my groceries and talked to one of my closer ex-coworkers there about what happened. As it turned out, the Frank had no idea that the previous day was my last AND that the ENTIRE front-end of the store had gotten brutally fucked over. Since the store closed at 12am and no paperwork was filed, our Corporate called the Assistant Manager, also in charge of making sure all departments are closed correctly, and asked where all the paperwork was. No idea that I had not filed it, Frank had to go into the store, over an hour away from him, to file all the paperwork himself. Not only that, tons of violations were given to him because since none of the paperwork got done by the person closing, no one had a record of anything done at the store from the previous day. On top of everything, the amount of paperwork needed done was practically doubled since that day was SNAP. As soon as the Store Manager heard about this, she was LIVID.

After about a month, I was working my new job and heard some information about Frank. Apparently he had to go into a meeting with our Corporate bosses and the Store Manager. He had gotten fired from his position due to all of this and had not been able to get a letter of recommendation from that employer also. Sucks to suck huh?

TLDR: Manager gives my hours away to new-hire and tells me to get another job. I walked out and got him a bunch a violations and fired due to his stupid remarks.

(source) story by (/u/FweakinLittle)

#prorevenge #by /u/FweakinLittle #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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qonqr · 3 years

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I’m Still Here

Many of you may have been asking yourself where did Silver go? Is anyone still working on QONQR? I admit I’ve been very quiet the past year and from the outside, it looks like not much is going on.

Before I give my QONQR update I want to share a major accomplishment for me. I’m a little less of a hoarder than I was a month ago. As the 11th year anniversary approached, I decided I had too much old QONQR merchandise I needed to get in the hands of my players. However, I hate shipping. I should be the spokesperson for one of those shipping providers that make shipping easy because I hate doing it so much. Many of you know that the player Rayndel has an Etsy store where she sells QONQR merchandise with my permission. I sent her a 65lb (30kg) box of QONQR stuff. Coffee cups, T-shirts, dog tags and stickers. She is liquidating all of it for me. You can find it all right here.

https://www.etsy.com/shop/DragonHoardCrafts?section_id=19648949

2020 and 2021 have been challenging for most people, and I’m no exception. Both our kids are off to college. We are getting older and so are our extended families. Medical issues become more frequent for us and them. The stress of the pandemic doesn’t help. There are days when I can sit at my computer all day, and never write a line of code. Things are hard, they impact our ability to work as hard as we once did.

A little over two weeks ago, QONQR hit its 11th birthday. The milestone passed quietly. I always spend time reflecting on how QONQR has changed my life and the stories you’ve shared about how it has changed yours. We’ve built something great together. Together we keep it going.

Despite outward appearances. Things are happening at QONQR. I am working, albeit at an admittedly slow pace. I’ve let go of the stress of pushing QONQR as fast as I can, and instead I’m working on QONQR at a pace that is comfortable. It is important to me and my family that I end my day without being drained of all my energy by the awful decisions and quality that Apple and Google hand me every day.

The next release of QONQR will include the following features. Many of these are mostly done, so I’m happy to share them, with the caveat that I have no idea when these will actually hit the store. Tons of testing is still needed.

New Sync Lock Rules

Sync lock will now last much longer, perhaps a week or even a month before it automatically expires. Along with that Sync Lock Protection will also last longer. The more times you gain sync lock protection, the longer it will last. We want to protect legitimate family members from daily locks, but also want to avoid situations where multi-scoper can get infrequent help to unlock an army of devices and accounts. In addition to longer locks, Sync lock may also hurt resource collection with your bases depending on how play testing goes.

As with everything pertaining to multi-scoping, it is a blurry line between stopping those who play unfair, and those that are punished for inviting family and friends to play.

Notifications

I have wanted push notifications for most of the past 10 years. In fact, we were very close to having them implemented about 5-7 years ago, but Google changed their push notification system. We used a unified messaging system created by Microsoft to push to both Google and Apple simultaneously. There were incompatibilities between the new and the old Google system for a long time. We gave up on trying to finish that implementation back then, waiting for Google and Microsoft to get their stuff fixed, and it was years before it became a priority again.

I spent most of the past 3-4 months working on notification. This area is quite possibly one of the worst technical implementations I’ve had to work with in all my time working in software. For example, if you kill an iPhone application, you also remove the ability to get push notifications until the next time you start the app. It appears to be almost random when Android will decide to beep your phone when receiving a notification, and when it will be silently added to the notification center. For both Apple and Google, the documentation is frustratingly inaccurate or out of date. There are multiple different ways a notification can be processed depending on whether the application was terminated by the user, suspended by the operating system, in the background or in the foreground. Was the notification scheduled locally or sent from a remote server? Honestly, as a developer, it would be difficult to purposely design a worse system.

The good news is that I believe I have it working as good as it can possibly work. In the next release you will be able to enable or disable notifications as a whole, or selectively choose which notification you want to receive. Notifications will include: Atlantis, New Wire messages, Mentions in Chat and Forums, Bots and Bases Full.

A Major Overhaul to the Scope

The changes to Sync Lock mandated that overheat have additional logic to control bots and energy regeneration. More significantly, if we want to have a notification that your scope is full, so I needed to know exactly when the scope would be full. Currently your regeneration rate is based on the number of launches in the past hour. Launching a few seconds before or after an old launch rolls off that 1 hour mark can mess up the prediction of when you will be full again. To make that prediction accurately, without checking every minute to see, “Are my bots full now”, we changed the formula for when bots will be full, and scheduled a notification based on that time.

The new regeneration is very similar to the old, but we predict you may get 1 or 2 more launches per hour. I’m hedging the formula towards more not fewer launches to make sure this is seen as a positive change.

As long as we are messing with the scope, let’s talk about the Bot Regen Accelerator. Hard core players have pointed out that players who launch on a timer, always hitting the “optimal” launch interval, don’t gain any advantage when purchasing this $0.99 upgrade. In the new release this upgrade will reduce your overheat level by 1 level and you will never be in maximum overheat due to deploying bots. The impact of the upgrade will be noticeable by everyone with this change. The name of this upgrade will probably change to “Scope Coolant” or “Heat Diffuser”. Send me your name ideas.

Subscriptions, Ads and Elite Players

This is a change that probably won’t be in the next release, but it is something I’m thinking about before the end of the year. Apple has had a bug in their subscription logic for years. If you purchase a subscription on an iPhone, then get a new iPhone, you need to cancel the subscription in the App Store, then renew from your new phone. Apple keeps charging you, but the new device can’t see the subscription, so QONQR doesn’t know you are a subscriber. Why wouldn’t Apple fix this? Well Apple only takes half the percentage of a subscription after the first year. By making you start a new subscription, they can double their cut of the money you pay QONQR for the subscription. Another problem with subscriptions is that they result in many support requests because they honestly aren’t 100% reliable in either Apple or Google’s implementation.

Many people know that earlier in the year, Apple introduced a change to advertising that blocks tracking. This is great in theory, and I get it as a consumer that I don’t like to be tracked, but this tracker blocking also blocks my ability to make any revenue on advertising. Why would I continue to give away free advertising?

Elite players are those that have spent over $100 in QONQR over the life of their gaming experience. Over the years the benefits of being “Elite” have dwindled. Features have changed, and incentives have ended. I’d like to invest more time and energy to build features for players that continue to support QONQR but I think it makes more sense to lower the bar and make the benefits for “active” spenders.

With these three things in mind, there is a chance that QONQR will move to a monthly “pass” option rather than a subscription. There seems to be a trend with games, where players buy a monthly pass that offers benefits, rather than using subscriptions. Subscriptions are buggy and in the case of Apple, a shady business practice.

The same benefits available to subscribers would remain under the “pass”, but you would have to explicitly purchase the pass each month. Secondary missions may move to the “pass” model with non-pass players getting only a handful of secondary missions per month. Ads would be completely removed from the app in this scenario since they no longer generate much revenue.

What’s in the Plans for 2022?

If you have read my blog over the years, you know that Apple and Google make it harder and harder to stop cheating (primarily multi-scoping). It is being reported that Windows 11 will have the ability to run Android apps. I don’t know yet how that will impact QONQR, but I’m guessing it won’t be good. At best it will have no impact because I’ll be able to stop QONQR from running on Windows, at worst it could be a nightmare.

March 2022 will mark the 10 year anniversary QONQR hit the Apple App Store. I can say with a high level of confidence that QONQR is now the longest running location-based, multi-platform, mobile game.

Personally, I think 2022 needs to be a transformational year for QONQR. I’m not sure we can survive if the game doesn’t change. Apple, Google, and Microsoft have never cared about supporting mobile developers. Outrageous fees and abusive rules (recently acknowledged by the US Congress) have been part of the ecosystem from the start. There are dozens of apps that you can download from the official Google Play store that make it a simple tap to attempt to hack and manipulate an Android app, so players can do something the developer is attempting to prohibit. Once again Microsoft broke the tools I use to help secure the app from hackers, causing weeks of work to find a solution that would maintain the same level of security. Apple and Google both purposely hide information from developers that would help them ensure real people are using their apps instead of bots. They do this under the façade of privacy, but ignore simple solutions that could maintain privacy, while helping developers ensure the integrity of how their apps are used.

I’ve said for years, the only way to stop hackers and cheaters in QONQR is to make it irrelevant. That requires a major shift in gameplay. Together, you the players and me the developer, we need to decide if we want QONQR to have such a major shift. I don’t know what that shift would look like, but 2022 might be the year we figure it out.

2020 was a year of making sure QONQR can survive. Through tons of work that year, massive software rewrites and updates, I was able to cut the cost of hosting QONQR. Today the cost of hosting QONQR all year, matches what we spent in three months during 2019. So far 2021 has been a year of slow work toward significant improvements to the game, but without major strategic impact to your daily playing. I’ve taken my time to avoid burn out. I’m enjoying the pace of my current work week. It has been good for my family and me.

I’m not sure what 2022 will look like for QONQR yet, but I’m excited to try something new. Maybe we’ll break things, maybe we will create something ten times better than what we have had for the last decade. Time will tell. We’ll figure it out together.

Thanks for keeping the lights on.

-Scott (aka Silver)

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

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Beyond a Seasonable Doubt

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 7478 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 2: Soulmate AU

Summary: Peter's been living in winter for 17 years. A single smile from his soulmate would bring him into spring. Today, he finally has a real conversation with MJ, the girl he's pretty sure is the one.

Every day, Peter Parker wakes up certain of three things: that he won’t leave himself enough time to finish his cereal, that he should dress for snow, and the (probable) identity of his soulmate.

Ok, the first one’s not a certainty per say―sometimes he has microwave oatmeal or blueberry toaster waffles―but the second one’s been true his whole life. Every single day, for the past seventeen years and change, he’s been swaddled for winter weather. Could be January when he’s three years old and his puffy snowsuit looks totally appropriate as his mom pushes him down a slushy sidewalk in his stroller. Could be August 10th just last year and he’s wearing a woolen fisherman sweater (inherited from his Uncle Ben) and two pairs of socks to his own birthday pool party. Until his soulmate is confirmed, he won’t be part of the regular changing of the seasons that, up to this point, he’s only heard about and seen pictures and video of. For all intents and purposes, in Peter’s world, it’s winter. Some people say the date they’re stuck on bothers them. Personally, he doesn’t know how it could, since he’s never known anything different. You just have to layer up and get on with it.

His arm’s deep in his backpack, feeling around for the scarf he could swear he stuffed in there yesterday, as he walks into the kitchen. It’s a rare day; both Happy and May are at the table, working from home today. With ambivalence to the inevitability that he’ll be dumping half of it in the sink, Peter starts in on his Cheerios. He’s less apathetic about watching his dining companions. They haven’t had the easiest path, so he studies them for clues. May’s first soulmate was Uncle Ben. That’s not up for debate. Within 24 hours of when they met, the seasons adjusted themselves and two more people joined the rest of the world’s matched soulmates in enjoying the proper rotation of the earth around the sun. After Ben’s death, May told Peter that the seasons continued to change for her, but they slowed. Once a couple of years passed, there was a noticeable lag. She fell out of step with the world. When Happy came on the scene, things got back on track. Voilà, soulmate number two. From what Peter’s read, it’s not that unusual to find another soulmate if you lose your first, but honestly, he’d be happy just to get one.

May and Happy are dressed for mid-spring.

“Rain today?” Peter wonders, spooning Cheerios into his mouth.

“It’s holding off for now,” his aunt informs him.

When he turns to look out the window, there’s a cottony haze of thick snowflakes, like all of Queens is having a pillow fight on the rooftops. He sighs with acceptance rather than despair. Nothing was going to change overnight. It couldn’t, not without her, whoever she is. (He thinks he knows.)

“Cool.”

He leaves in a rush, slopping milk into the sink, and pulling on a hat.

A season isn’t much of a clue, but that’s not exactly how everyone experiences their pre-soulmate life. Instead of cycling through an entire spring, for example, and then starting again, each person exists in the weather as it was on the day their soulmate was born. The universe was kinda against Peter from the first. Snow, in his mind, goes with winter, but of course, in their New York climate, snow isn’t trapped between the boundaries of December and March. It wasn’t until he got his second clue that he figured out the first. The second clue was that this one girl would never smile at him. Soulmates need to smile at each other. That’s it. Just smile and everything else falls into place. No more dressing for the same temperature every day or involuntarily shivering when they see people in shorts and t-shirts in a world they observe to be covered in snow. Most people who haven’t found their soulmate yet smile a lot, trying to catch everyone’s eye, in the hope of locating the right person, so the fact that this one girl refused to smile at him (and continues to refuse) made Peter curious―curious enough to do some research to find out her birthday. End of November. Meaning autumn, not winter. He checked the weather for the year he was born, assuming he’s got the right girl and they share a birth year. Bingo. Big cold front, unexpectedly heavy snowfall that day. Plus, this girl dresses like it’s the peak of summer, which fits with when his birthday is, and he’s never seen her wear an outfit for cooler weather or hang around with any one person in particular (soulmates, especially those his age, tend to cling).

So, the third certainty. Peter’s pretty sure he knows who his soulmate is. What he doesn’t know is why the hell Michelle Jones won’t smile at him.

―

Every day, Michelle Jones wakes up certain of three things: that the inevitable sweat patches in the armpits of her uniform shirt will aid her in bullying Coach Wilson into letting her sit out during gym, that Peter Parker is her soulmate, and that she’d really prefer that he wasn’t.

People think she’s rude, which is maybe correct in the effect she has on them but not in the intention of her actions. She doesn’t like acting a certain way because it’s how she’s supposed to act. She doesn’t like etiquette, she doesn’t like rules, and she doesn’t like soulmates. Doesn’t want one, doesn’t need one. It’s an opinion adults condescendingly informed her she’d grow out of―as if accepting that she’s being denied free will is the kind of thing she’d mature into―until she quit voicing it. People love the system as long as they believe it’s working for them. What’s childish, as far as MJ is concerned, is placing complete faith in something as pervasive as soulmates simply because it seems too big to fail. That expression always makes her think of the Titanic.

She knows it’s not the cotton candy fantasy everyone wants to believe it is, and she’s not just disillusioned because she wakes up to a heatwave every day and has to carry deodorant with her all the time. Like most people, she was born the child of two soulmates. They met, they smiled, they took the soulmate bait, hook, line, and sinker. And then, even though they loved each other and got married and made MJ, her mom became mildly depressed. Her doctor thought it was the consequence of the seasons. MJ’s dad was a late-April baby, so maybe her mom was just one of those people who took longer to get used to variations in temperature and hours of daylight. The doctor thought she’d snap out of it when winter ended and nice weather came again. The problem was that MJ’s mom packed up and left in February. MJ’s never going to know for sure if it was the weather that made her go, but she does know that the soulmate bond wasn’t enough to make her mom stay. It taught her that, if a person’s determined enough, they can override destiny.

So she’s thankful to her mom, wherever she is, for that.

Based on her motives for distrusting the soulmate influence, the reason she doesn’t want Peter should be because she doesn’t want anybody, but no, it’s him in particular that MJ’s pretty much convinced she could do without. He’s smart, funny on occasion and mostly by accident, and he’s experienced family tragedy that’s different from hers, so they could connect over their messed-up pasts without too much overlap. All of that is more than she wants to deal with. If the universe attempted to shack her up with some trust-fund-having, loafer-wearing, future-frat-house-keg-meister, she could’ve worked with that. She would’ve smiled at the silver-spoon-suckling to confirm they were soulmates, then let that puppy-dog trail her from protest to protest while she told him when to pull out his chequebook and how many zeros to put down. There would’ve been a clear, Robin Hoodian purpose to that relationship. There’s not a point to Peter, besides him being someone she could very probably, very quickly fall in love with. Obviously, she can’t do that because soulmates are bullshit and true love is a con and long-term monogamy is a doomed enterprise.

…And she’s going to be late for her first class, Biology. Ugh, Peter always does this to her―intentionally walks slow to try to trick her into catching up with him. All that does is make MJ take a longer route and misjudge how quickly she needs to move. She wishes he’d knock it off. He’s backed off on a lot of other things for her sake (that’s an assumption based on observation because, of course, she’s never initiated a conversation with him), like sitting across from her in the cafeteria and dropping out of marching band (he plays trombone, she plays euphonium, and the brass section was too cozy a space for successfully avoiding someone). That second one was a waste because she was about to quit anyway, so now neither of them are in it and the whole band’s off balance. Too many fucking flautists. If Peter would commit to doing one or the other―pestering her or ignoring her―that would be convenient, but he’s inconsistent and she’s annoyed.

Oh, here’s another thing that happens every day: MJ hopes her displeasure will protect her from the urge to smile at the adorable, well-intentioned pain in her neck that destiny wants to tie her to until one of them drops dead or, marginally less dramatic, runs out on the young family they’ve created. It really pisses her off that Peter seems like he’ll be a great dad in another decade or two.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, when she finally makes it to Bio and slides behind the lab desk in front of his.

“Kiss my ass, Parker,” she mutters back.

He’s the reason for the sweat running down her spine. MJ pinches the front of her t-shirt and flaps it away from her skin, trying to stimulate enough airflow to make it through the period.

―

“You could trick her into smiling at you,” Ned suggests. They’re sitting together at lunch and Peter has a glumness hangover from MJ ignoring him (again) that morning.

“Babe,” Betty admonishes.

“Babe, he’d only feel bad if MJ really is his soulmate. If she’s not, then at least they know for sure and they can quit being weird with each other.”

“I’m not being weird with her,” Peter objects. “I’m just being nice! And I told you, I know it’s her.”

“You get that feeling?” Ned checks. “That warm feeling like I got the first time I saw Betty’s beautiful face?”

“Aw, babe!”

Their arms are already linked as they eat, but now Betty lays her head on her soulmate’s shoulder. If they get much closer, she’ll be in Ned’s lap, at which point Peter will have to make himself scarce. Though love is cute, it’s also kind of an affliction with a lot of messy symptoms.

“I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong!” he blurts out in frustration, jabbing at the salad May made him for lunch. “How could we be so incompatible?”

“You’re not though,” Betty counters. “You’re totally compatible.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t even taken the first step.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t think of it as the first step,” Ned suggests, being all wise.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked cautiously.

“Babe, you couldn’t be more correct,” Betty gushes. Peter sighs impatiently. He shouldn’t―they’re trying to help him―but it’s hard having paired up friends while his own soulmate stays just out of reach.

“Elaborate please,” he prompts.

He shifts in place and shivers when he accidentally moves out of the space his butt’s been warming. Meanwhile, here are Ned and Betty in their lightweight sweaters and sneakers. Peter’s boots clomp under the table.

“Well,” Ned posits, “isn’t confirming you’re soulmates more like the final step? You’ve done your waiting and now you get to be together?” Betty kisses his cheek in agreement.

“Maybe,” Peter allows.

“If you accept that confirming your bond isn’t the very next step, then you can start considering what is the next step. What do you think that might be, Peter?” Betty asks.

“I should… get MJ to tell me why she isn’t ready or interested in confirming it. In a respectful way that doesn’t pressure her,” he adds when Betty narrows her eyes judgementally.

“And how do you plan to achieve that?”

“Babe,” Ned intercedes, “let’s give him a minute to think about it.”

Peter tries to do that while he finishes his lunch. There are a lot of vegetables in here and they’re seasonal, just not for the season he’s experiencing. May’s always trying to load him up with vitamin-rich foods, since most of his day’s snowy; the clouds clear for a while around the time he gets out of school, allowing him some sun on his face as long as he doesn’t dawdle or land in detention. That train of thought makes him realize that detention would be the perfect place to talk this out with MJ, except that he’s against Ned’s plan of tricking her into becoming his soulmate and making sure she landed in detention with him would probably involve tricking. He knows she used to hang out there voluntarily from time to time, but not since they became aware of their connection. Now, she seems to avoid any place she might get stuck in and be cornered by Peter.

Ugh! He’s so ready to love and be loved! It’s super awesome to have people to love and worry about and have breakfast with. Love and breakfast are precious, in Peter’s opinion, and so is time. Getting enough of it isn’t something to be depended upon. After his parents and then Uncle Ben, he can’t trust quantity―he gives and gets quality love these days. He doesn’t know everything about Michelle Jones, but he’d like her to understand that, the irreplaceable value she represents to him. If she’d just be a plain envelope, he’d do all the work; put on the stamp, write out the address, compose the note it would hold. Right now, she’s like a sheet of paper, he guesses, one that they fold up into an envelope. She hasn’t been cut out or had that gross glue strip applied and it seems like it might be a long time before she’s ready for a letter or, like, a Happy Bar Mitzvah card. MJ might not want to be his envelope person, or she just might not know the things he could be for her (glue-licking, stamp-applying, Mazel Tov!-writing). If she at least knows, then he’ll concede that he’s done everything he can. If she knows, it’ll hopefully be enough for her to make a decision. Peter can’t force her to decide in his favour, but even if she understands and decides that she needs another five years before she wants to talk to him about the probability of their being soulmates and maybe revisit the smiling thing, he’ll know something too. Waiting is really tough.

―

“Don’t smile at me,” Peter requests, both hands up, when MJ shuts her locker to see him standing there.

She rolls her eyes. Nothing about the one person she’s actively avoiding hanging out at a place she has to be makes her want to smile. Did he decide that if he couldn’t be her soulmate he’d settle for being her stalker?

…Probably not. He’s way too good a person for that. Seriously, she tries to make these made-up accusations stick to him, but he’s just not that guy. That doesn’t mean she accepts, likes, or appreciates this latest move to get her attention.

“Are you trying reverse psychology now?” MJ demands.

“I’m just trying to make it extra clear that, whatever your reasons are for not smiling, I respect them.” He shrugs his shoulders and she glances down at the lunchbox he’s carrying. She wonders what he ate today.

“What if I’m not smiling because I’m plotting a bank heist in my head? Do you respect that? Do you respect theft, Peter?”

His expression is so satisfyingly startled that she almost does smile. No, fuck this. There are only ten minutes or so left in the lunch hour and she can wander the halls until the next class starts. She goes to step around him, but their shoulders brush and she feels something. It’s more aggressive than the welcoming warmth the bond (that’s what she attributes it to) usually makes her feel when she sees him. This is pure affection and it’s really hard to put her back to it. MJ pauses, facing away from Peter, and she’s almost got the new feeling under control when he turns and starts walking beside her.

“I think we can figure this out,” he says eagerly. Dammit. His enthusiasm for learning is one of the traits she finds most attractive in him. Can’t he just lay off with that fucking fated appeal?

“I think I already have,” she shoots back, not looking at him. “The universe wants to play sock puppets and guess what? We’re the sock puppets.”

“Look,” Peter says. He’s shockingly persistent today as he jumps in front of her and catches her eye. “We don’t have to play by its rules. We can make our own.”

“You wanna be with me?” she asks point-blank. Her chin jerks up instinctively when she questions him, eyes appraising. Either the question or the blunt stare makes him blush.

“Yeah, I, I think I probably do.”

“You want me to fall in love with you? For us to get married? Live together? Have kids? Me and you against the world, forever?”

“Maybe?”

“Well, you can’t just want one thing, Peter,” MJ tells him. Her fingers grip hard at the books in her hands. “There’s no shallow end of the soulmate bond. Its plan is not for us to casually date and let things plateau if it doesn’t work out.”

“But it would work out.” Poor thing looks confused.

“Says who?”

He shrugs.

“Everybody.”

“Check your sources.”

She hangs a left into the girls’ bathroom before Peter can respond, but he’s waiting in the hall when she returns.

“You can’t ignore it,” is the first thing he says to her, pushing off the wall. This time, MJ plants her feet.

“Or you, apparently, if you keep stalking me.”

“I’m not trying to. I just want us―”

“To talk,” she finishes for him. “Which is pointless. You’re not going to gain any ground with me, Peter. I have no ground for you to gain on this issue.”

“Maybe, if you told me why you won’t smile, you’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine.”

“You do not. You’re trying not to let someone care a lot about you when it’s guaranteed that they would. He would. I would,” Peter rambles. He takes a deep breath and looks her firmly in the eye. “Isn’t that, like, the one thing everybody wants? To be able to count on someone caring?”

“I’m not broken just because I don’t want what everybody wants,” she bites back, feeling herself flush with annoyance and, beneath that, embarrassment at being assessed.

“I would never call you broken,” he swears in a quiet voice. He is not going to make her tear up right now. She’s softening though, she can feel it. Stupid sincere soulmate. “I mean, if anything, I’m broken, so I could never judge, even if I wanted to. I know people try hard to find their perfect match, but I feel greedy sometimes with how badly I want it to happen to me. I know it’s not fair to you, I’ve been coming to terms with―”

“You’re not broken, Peter. Wanting someone to love you doesn’t make you broken. Or, if it does, then most people are. You’re not alone just because you don’t have me.”

Clearly, the time to stop herself was one sentence sooner. Because the jerk smiles at her and the next thing she does is agree to discuss this further after school.

―

There was something she said, while they were talking after lunch, that has him considering their potential as platonic soulmates well into third period. That’s what soulmates are for some people―they want all of the kindness and support of the bond with none of the romance, and the universe gives them what they need. When MJ said that stuff about marriage and babies and forever, Peter began contemplating whether they could achieve the third thing without the first two. Almost immediately, he ruled it out. He knew what attraction felt like. Sure, being soulmates was probably influencing him towards MJ, but she wasn’t the only person he found attractive. He used to have a crush on Liz. One day, when his Business class was on a field trip and it rained, he saw Flash with all the product washed out of his hair and was attracted to him (right up until Flash made a few loud comments about getting ‘Penis’ out of the cold weather before he shriveled up).

The conclusion he comes to is clear: Peter’s definitely hot for MJ. While marriage can wait, falling dizzily, hopelessly in love―and properly, in the kind of love they could have with their soulmate bond confirmed―is something he can only ever half-heartedly postpone. He wants to give her presents with love on her birthday. He wants to hug her and feel a new kind of complete. He wants to be her Valentine.

When Peter sees MJ hanging back to wait for him once the final bell rings, he’s relieved. Then tense. Not screwing this up might literally be the most important thing in his future. Trying to reassure her that he isn’t planning some sort of ambush to force a smile out of her, he suggests they talk someplace where other people will be around. She flat-out refuses to go to a coffee shop with him because it would be way too date-like. (Yeah, he gets that, picturing an awkward moment in which he attempts to pay for both their orders, or their shoes bump under the table.) They agree on the gym, where the girls’ indoor soccer team is having practice. Together―him in flannel-lined jeans and her in shorts―they thud up the bleachers to sit at the very top. MJ catches her foot and Peter notices that, when he instinctively reaches out to steady her, she shies away with a regretful look on her face. He really doesn’t expect her to explain, but then she does as they sit down.

“It does something to me,” she says, jerking her head as though to reference their near-contact.

Peter shrugs.

“Yeah, me too, but I’ve never been trying to avoid that feeling. I’ve gotten used to, like, um,” he stammers, “leaning into it. But I’m sorry. I won’t touch you.”

“Well, you know that I have the opposite habit.” MJ takes a deep breath, and Peter gets the sense that this would be the moment for her to be vulnerable with him and explain why she works so hard to ignore him. Ultimately, volunteering that information appears to be too much of an emotional effort. She decides to ask, “Is that something you’re interested in knowing more about?”

“Anything you wanna tell me,” he says quickly. He’s been waiting forever for this opportunity. “You can ask me things too. Open book.”

“I’m… not used to just spilling stuff about my life.”

He considers that.

“Why’d you say yes to this?”

She sighs and leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Then, she cups her face in her hand and turns to meet his eye.

“I’m tired of the way seeing you is always such a big deal. The bond says it’s wonderful and my brain hates it. I don’t want to be so torn all the time.”

“So…” he begins uncertainly. “Which outcome are you hoping for? Thinking I’m wonderful or hating my guts?”

The speed with which MJ turns her face away from him makes him wonder if she’s hiding a smile. He wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Quit twisting my words,” she requests, straight-faced as she stares straight ahead to where the soccer players are booting around what looks like an oversized tennis ball. “I didn’t say I hate you.”

“Just your brain.”

“Mhmm. My brain hates the idea of you.”

“MJ,” Peter says earnestly. She looks at him. “Why?”

“You control my whole life!” she says abruptly. “I’m sweating from climbing these stupid bleachers because of you. I have the urge to smile right now, when I’m irritated, because of you. Your existence tells me what to wear even when I’m not with you and how to feel whenever I see you.”

“I’m sorry―”

“And I can’t even seriously blame you because it’s not actually your fault!”

The girls’ team has quit weaving and shooting the ball, heading and passing it. Peter gets that MJ wanted a public place, but now he knows they’re being eavesdropped on. He’s quiet, though not because of the potential listeners; he doesn’t want to stop MJ from saying whatever she might tell him next. He’s been longing to hear her thoughts for ages.

“And that’s just, like, surface stuff!” she huffs. She’s flushed. If he could hold her face between his hands, the warmth might stay with him all the way home while he trudges along the sidewalk, ploughing snow aside with his shins.

“Please,” Peter says softly, “tell me more. Tell me anything you want.”

―

She went into it knowing she wouldn’t be allowing her soulmate to make her smile, but MJ didn’t anticipate letting him see her cry. He’s so open and she’s fortified her defenses against this topic for such a long time. Apparently, that’s enough for discussing her emotions and fears to make her crack like an egg. Peter doesn’t rush her or tell her that her feelings are the wrong feelings and the whole time he watches her face with a startling amount of attention. Has anybody looked at her like this? Really looked at her? Ever? She feels like a mom would’ve, but she can’t remember if her mom did. And that’s who she’s talking about, that’s the part of the story she’s at, when she feels the tears dribble out and tilts her head to let them drain away over her cheek. God, this is embarrassing. At least the soccer team packed up and left before she felt her throat getting thick.

“I don’t know if I’m still just letting my mom decide whether or not I get to be happy,” MJ admits, face wet until she catches her tear tracks with the back of her wrist. “I’m trying to do this, ignore the soulmate bond, for me, but maybe… I don’t know…”

“You’re forcing me away from you?” Peter suggests.

“Yeah. I’m abandoning you before we can get attached.” Somehow, this dork has Kleenex in his backpack and hands her one. She blows her nose hard, then crumples the tissue in her hand. “Pretty fucked up.”

“Ok, this is gonna sound really stupid, because we’re not even together, but I don’t think I’m the kind of person who could leave you.”

“You can’t promise that though,” MJ says―so, so quietly. She wants her words to run away and hide under the bleachers with the dust bunnies.

“Would you rather have nothing?” he asks.

Coming from someone else, she’s pretty sure that would be an ultimatum, some kind of threat to accept him as her soulmate now or never get another chance. Peter asks it with as little agenda as he’s asked everything else, easing her through her memories and her dreads.

“I’m not sure,” she says.

“Can I tell you something? I’m not sure I could be with someone whose goal was to resist getting or giving love. I mean, I’ve heard everything you’ve told me and I can see why you’ve been dodging the soulmate thing, but if you get to look way ahead and worry about things that are only possible and far in the future, like me leaving you, then I get to look ahead too.” He pauses and she nods to indicate that, yeah, that’s fair. MJ thinks this is very brave of him, stepping out of the situation for a second to consider what he might need later when what he wants is to be with her right away. “I don’t wanna be left either. I don’t want you not to be able to overcome the idea that soulmates are bad and wrong. Maybe it doesn’t matter if you think that in general, but if it’s a part of our relationship, then you’re always going to be expecting things to end. It would be like you were trying to think your way out of it instead of enjoying whatever we could have. And what we could have, by the way? I don’t think the bond has anything to say about that. Does it encourage us to get together? Yeah, sure, fine, it does and we accept that’s how it works. Once we are together though, isn’t the rest on our terms?”

Finally, Peter takes a longer breath and some of the intensity fades from his expression.

“You’re looking at me funny,” he notes. “I know I talked a lot. Are you gonna say something?”

“Just that you sounded smart and it’s pissing me off.”

He gives her dry joke a sad smile.

“Losing people sucks.” His voice is like a rock falling, falling, falling through deep water. “For as much as you don’t want me to make promises, I know that I’d try really fucking hard not to lose you. You can’t hate me, or your brain can’t hate me, for that. It’s the human element of this whole thing, which should be the part you like, since you’re so anti-destiny.”

Looks like Peter’s raised his own spirits enough to offer a conspiratorial little smile at the end there.

“Another repulsively astute point,” she says flatly and watches his smile broaden. Fuck, it makes her heart feel like a marshmallow that’s melting onto a s’more and simultaneously being stretched until it tears into sticky ribbons.

He checks his watch and gets to his feet.

“I gotta get home.”

“Did I miss the soulmate-decision deadline?” she teases. Feels weird. She stands too and they clomp back down to the gym floor.

“No! God, no, I wasn’t trying to rush you by looking at the time!”

“Parker, I’m messing with you. Chill.”

She eyes his winter clothing.

“Or maybe don’t. Looks like you’re chill enough already. Sorry for being born during a blizzard. My dad told me he and my mom barely got to the hospital in time for me to not be born in the car, the roads were so bad.”

Peter appraises her right back.

“Sorry for being born during a heatwave. I wish I could ask my mom what that was like, but you already know about my parents.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to start comparing…”

“No, I know,” Peter says. “I miss her, but it’s not always the worst, having a certain moment make me notice that I could’ve learned something from her here. It’s actually easier to appreciate than forget, even if it’s sad for a little while.”

“If I promise to try it, will you cut it out with the insightful bullshit?”

Instead of answering that question, he springs something else on her.

“For the record, I know the only reason you didn’t smile at me is because you were trying so hard not to.”

Immediately, MJ turns her back on him and smirks as she heads for the far exit.

―

Peter’s seen a lot of snow. Almost all the weather he’s ever seen is snow, and even at the point in his day when the snowfall takes its lunchbreak, there’s over a foot on the ground and dense grey clouds up above. He thinks it’s crazy how snow fills people with wonder―mainly in Christmas movies and holiday episodes of TV shows. The way he feels about snow is probably how people living in late-spring-to-early-fall weather feel about grass. It’s just there, the base layer of their environment.

Except tonight Peter has his blind up, watching the thin sprinkle the blizzard has slowed into catch the light from other people’s apartments, a clean, meltable glitter. He’s tired and can’t sleep, but it’s a quiet comfort of sleeplessness, not the kind where he stresses and twists around between his sheets. The weight of the day keeps him flat on his back in bed as he thinks it all over. His feelings, MJ’s, the satisfaction of finally having a long talk with her, the biting pain of seeing her cry. In his mind, since he first guessed it might be her who’s his soulmate, he’s been tailoring their love. Their potential love. He didn’t know what it would look like before having her to mould a concept around. Learning that she was probably his soulmate, studying her, Peter decided they were meant for a slow love. Love would be something that slipped gradually across them, like pulling up the sheet on a bed or stepping into a long summertime shadow.

He’s surprised at the kind of love MJ envisioned; from the berth she gave it when she talked that afternoon, it sounded big and powerful and immediate. Faster than an avalanche, ringing through their lives louder than a thunderclap. He wanted them to confirm their bond soon so that unhurried love could begin to develop and she was afraid that the second they started would be the second they were swept away. No wonder she avoided him, Peter thinks. The love she anticipated would equal an act of god and he isn’t ready for that either. He turns his face away from the direction of the window and stares at his dark ceiling.

Peter has plenty of forceful love in his life―he can’t consider it enough forceful love, because there’s no such thing as enough love, is there?―thanks to May. She took on the mom-ish role of caring for him after his parents were gone, then the single-mom-ish role of raising him into approaching adulthood without Uncle Ben. While her aura is soft, her whole attitude has been very roll-up-your-sleeves where he’s concerned. May faced down his extreme need for parental TLC like it was a battle and continues to love him fiercely, even if his steadily increasing age and Happy’s calming presence temper her a little these days. So Peter’s covered in the department of that kind of love. He hopes his forever person doesn’t feel the need to bombard him with a truckload of love from the start; it would make him feel pitied, somehow, like they were putting all their effort into making up for the fact that he doesn’t have parents anymore. Peter knows he doesn’t have parents, he doesn’t want or need to be smothered to make up for their absence.

This chance (it still isn’t a solid thing) with MJ could let him grow into devotion. He’s kinda longing to know what that feels like. The theoretical adjective he’d attach to it is normal. Whatever the universe’s input here, Peter really believes the most normal thing after confirming their bond would be to allow things to develop however felt right. And with the bond backing them, technically anything they do would be right, right? He wants them to grow up together and grow into each other. He doesn’t want MJ to be the bond or a love lightning bolt, zipping down to fry him. The assurance that they’ll fall in love is enough to start. It’s an invaluable forecast, as dependable as the weather he’s been experiencing all his life.

When his phone buzzes on his nightstand, Peter feels as though he’s being retracted like a telescope―thoughts way far out in space drawing back to his building, his bedroom, his body. He rubs his eyes with his knuckle as he looks at the screen.

So… you were unexpectedly deep today, MJ’s text reads.

They never exactly exchanged numbers, but he got hers from Betty one time and saved it just in case. His heart beats faster at the thought that maybe MJ did the same.

And you’re still mad about it? Peter guesses, tapping out his reply.

Oh, you are up.

There was a lot to think about, he tells her honestly. Why are you still awake?

Because the day you were born must have been the most humid day of the year. It’s too hot to sleep.

Also, MJ tags on, that crap you said about thinking.

―

She lets her phone drop onto the thin cotton sheet of the mattress and uses its light to help her see as she rips nervously at the skin around her fingernail. Texting Peter wasn’t even really a thought―she just found herself doing it, surprised by how natural the instinct felt and despite the fact that she really doesn’t reach out to people. That she would reach out to the one person she was utterly vulnerable in front of less than 12 hours ago is something MJ would never have expected of herself. But she’s let him in this far.

And you decided to talk to me about it? Peter finally responds, postponing further anxiety.

I know. My boundaries are completely fucked after this afternoon. I might never be able to bottle up my feelings again. Hope you’re happy, loser.

Well, Peter texts, you don’t have to do that. If you need to empty the bottle every once in a while, I get it. I can be your glass. Or your straw?

You want to suck up my feelings? Like some kind of feelings-vampire?

God, she is fucking this up so severely. He’s going to wish she’d just kept ignoring him instead of caving to his persistent friendliness and that look he gets that’s all eyes, totally impossible to say no to. Amazingly, her last stupid text isn’t enough to make him say he’s going to sleep now, or worse, not respond at all.

Just a feelings-relief, he corrects. Unless you like the idea of the feelings-vampire better.

You don’t need to bend to my will like that, Parker. Suddenly, MJ’s kind of angry.

Don’t give me what you think I want just because you feel bad about seeing me cry, she continues. Or because you think you can make this work by doing whatever I want. Never appease me.

I care, he says simply.

Wow, she feels like a jerk.

Because destiny told you that you could take that care and trade up for the promise of eternal love? she snarks back, apparently not quite done with the jerk thing.

I had no idea texting you would be even more fun than talking in person.

Is he… is he being sarcastic with her? MJ smiles at her phone. Incredible.

I’m fun in all mediums, she says, not having a clear idea of what she means and looking forward to Peter trying really hard to interpret it.

Knock knock, is his response.

Who’s there?

Ummmm idk.

‘Ummmm idk’ who?

No, I seriously don’t know, he says.

MJ snorts in confused laughter and shifts around to find a cool spot on her sheet; she wasn’t lying about the heat.

Why would you send me the beginning of a knock-knock joke with no joke? she asks.

I thought I’d think of the rest of it in the moment. I know that’s dumb. It just felt like we were maybe in a zone there and I wanted to keep it going.

Relax. I’m not going to strike you out for one ill-conceived knock-knock joke.

What about two?

I wouldn’t test your luck, MJ counsels, still smiling.

She can see that he’s composing a reply, but she beats him to it: I was thinking about what you said about destiny. Actually, what you said about the opposite of destiny, the thing about the human element.

And?

She can practically sense his tension as she holds her phone in her hand.

I think it’s a good thought. That two people can still make a relationship theirs.

Ned said something to me today.

How unusual.

Shut up, Peter quips back. He said that confirming you’re somebody’s soulmate is like the last big step.

Oh?

Yeah, I think he’s totally wrong.

So do I.

Replying that way felt like a huge leap and yet, MJ took it. It doesn’t take long after that for her to start getting tired, blinking long and slow until she’s only opening her eyes when her phone vibrates against her fingers. Peter says he’s tired too and they wrap the conversation up. There’s a suggestion of seeing each other at school the next day. It shouldn’t have any special meaning―it’s a throwaway farewell, less than a promise―but she reacts to it with her last bit of focus. See you in the morning, are her exact words.

She cranes her phone out over the side of her bed with her arm, then lets it go just a little too far from the floor. Probably fine, though it clatters against the surface. Protected by the night and her closed eyes, MJ feels around inside her mind, looking for the taut tug-of-war rope that should be telling her that, one, she doesn’t want to meet with Peter because he’s probably her soulmate and soulmates are a lie and a scam, and two, that she does want to meet with Peter because he has a cute smile that he shows her even when she doesn’t give him much reason to. Then she thinks about how much she prefers first steps to last steps.

―

He could be a clone. He could be a clone in a programmed world, living his programmed life the same every day, but with, like, fake memories that fool him into believing in variety. Because he does believe in it. Today, Peter wakes up and change seems possible.

There’s snow on the ground outside and he has to get his socks on before putting his feet on the floor and he’s eating his breakfast too slowly and the way his aunt and Happy are dressed says it’s still spring. Peter asks about rain. May says, “Any time now,” and keeps reading the paperwork she has folded open on the table as she scratches absently at her arm.

“Amazing,” Peter replies, meaning it, as he picks up his bowl and slurps the rest of his cereal until milk runs down his chin.

His aunt glances up to give him a funny look. He’s pretty sure it’s not about the milk, but there’s no time to ask. If he hurries, he’ll leave ahead of his usual schedule, thanks to this new breakfast hack. He wants to get to school. School is such a great place to be.

Peter races out of the apartment and down the stairs like he’s 10 minutes late instead of 3 minutes early. It’s in the building’s entryway that he gets a feeling. Four feet from the glass door that he sees her standing on the sidewalk, snow she can’t feel partway up her mostly-bare legs. Pushing the door open when she quits looking away down the street and stares straight back at him instead. When MJ smiles, Peter smiles back. It could be a life-changing moment, or it might just be a reflex. Because they started to let each other in, he’ll probably never know the answer. Anyway, why does there only have to be one?

“I’ve been waiting,” she says. “I thought you’d be down sooner.”

He laughs self-deprecatingly.

“I tend to cut my timing kinda close in the morning. You wanna get going?” Peter jerks his head to the side.

“Yeah, we should. You’re probably getting cold just standing there.”

With his timing slightly off, they’re ahead of schedule for the bus he’s usually running to catch, so they decide to walk up to the next stop. As they approach the intersection, the light changes to yellow.

“We can beat it if we run,” Peter suggests, trying not to strangle himself by catching his scarf as he hikes his backpack higher on his shoulders.

But MJ goes, “Wait,” so urgently that he stops at the corner.

“What is it?”

“I thought I just…” With a puzzled expression, she extends her hand, palm up. Not towards Peter, but away from him. “…felt a raindrop.”

They lock eyes.

“You want my coat?” he offers. MJ smiles again.

“I’ll let you know.”

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #spideychelle fic #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones #May Parker #happy hogan #may parker x happy hogan #ned leeds #betty brant #ned leeds x betty brant #nettypot

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

Yule Shoot Your Eyes Out

Ficmas day 6 aka Christmas Eve!!!!

A/N: everything after that one use of “fuck” was written while I was drunk so if my grammar flew out of the window, I’m so sorry but I had no idea what I was doing.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x reader

Description: You had no idea how you were supposed to face your once best friend who you grew apart from after growing up.

Word count: 3193

FOB! FOB! FOB!

‘Don’t come home for Christmas.’

You could feel the dread pending up as you stood outside the large house. You had been staring at the building by the pavement for at least 15 minutes yet you kept finding more excuses for you to do anything but walk up.

You did not want to be here. You did not want to be here at all.

You had protested when your mother asked you to take the stuff she had bought for Mitsuki to her house, saying that it could be a good chance for you to catch up with the woman who watched you grew into who you were.

“Perhaps Katsuki would be there too! You two could hang out, it’s been a while.” Your mother said with a wide smile as she shooed you out of the front door and slammed it in your face despite your whines and groans. She thought that she found a good reason to convince you that the task was not as bad as you painted it out to be, completely unaware that what she thought was a selling point was exactly why you were so hell bent on refusing in the first place.

You had no idea what you would do if you see him. You sighed, feeling the torment in your heart boiling up as you remembered how there was a time when you would have felt the exact opposite to reluctance when your mother told you that you would be going to your childhood friend’s house.

Considering how your respective mothers were best friends since high school, it was only natural that you would grow up around Bakugou Katsuki starting from a young age that you could barely remember exactly when. He was, for a long while, your best friend and you were certain that you were his as well. Back then when there was nothing more to the world than the tiny neighbourhood you lived in, the few hours per week that you got to spend with him was the happiest times your young self could experience.

He was never an easy child to be around, always so quick to act on whatever he deemed as appropriate and getting you into trouble as he dragged you along with his plans. You were always yelled at for being slow or not being strong enough to completely follow his lead during the games of pretend you would play together but despite the harsh tone of the child, he had never left you behind even once, always waiting on you with a sneer while you ran to his side with a grin. Although there really wasn’t much things of importance that went through your mind at that age, you had always seen Katsuki as someone you could rely on.

There was this time when you were both five and your parents decided that it would be cute to go out and have dinner together during Christmas break. After the meal, you took a stroll on the busy streets. It had been a while since your mom last meet up with her friend and she was overjoyed to be reunited with Mitsuki again. Your mother was happy talking to her friend, unaware as you were trailing behind her. But you didn’t mind, you were ecstatic that you got to spend time with your friend as well.

“Oh Katsuki look!” You pointed to the side of the road excitedly. There was a street performer setting up right by the street. “Look at that!”

He let out a soft “Tch” as you tugged at his sleeve to go closer. He was not like you, he had no interest in theses stupid performances. At least that was what he said as he “unwillingly” stayed with you so you could watch the magic tricks by the street performer. He felt like there was something the both of you had forgotten about, but he could not exactly pinpoint what it was.

“That was so cool! Right, Katsuki?” You said to your friend but he didn’t seem to hear what you said as he looked around with slight worry in his eyes. You tilted your head, confused as to what got him like this. Did he not enjoy the performance?

You followed his gaze around and froze in place when you realised that all of the tall figures that blocked your view were of people you did not know, your mom nowhere to be seen. As people come and go on the bustling street that was starting to dim, the darkness only added to the panic you were feeling.

You shouldn’t have been distracted, now you couldn’t find your mom anywhere. What if she didn’t notice? What if you never find your way home? What if you never see your parents again?

As your young feasible mind travelled down and down the worst possible scenarios there could be, you felt a burning at the back of your throat. Katsuki immediately snapped his head towards you when the first choked back sniffle got to his ears. “Don’t... don’t cry you idiot!”

He was never the comforting type, and the sight of his best friend tearing up only messed up his best attempt at being logical even more. Was he not scared? Of course he was, the many people walking past where the two of you were standing made him feel a bit dizzy almost. But you were already on the verge of crying, and as the strong one in this friendship, it was his responsibility to protect you at a time like this.

The sob came out as a hiccup when you felt Katsuki gripping tightly onto your hand and started walking. Getting pulled to go along, you had forgotten about the discomfort at the tip of your nose that made you want to tear up as you were too shocked by his tight hold on your hand.

If you had been a little bit more observant, you would know that he was just as nervous and unsure of the whole situation as you were. He was holding onto your hand just a bit too tightly and sweat was starting to form on his palm. You took his action as a way to comfort you but little did you know that it was his clumsy way of trying to be braver himself. He had to look brave in front of you, he took on the role to look after you even when he could practically feel his own hand shaking.

You did not say a word, only trying to keep up with your friend who was marching forward, the small figure of the blond leading the way through the crowd of people forever engraved into your mind even years after that.

Bakugou Katsuki did not say anything as his mother fumed, yelling at him for not staying close to the adults. You watched as he bit on his lips, trying to stay silent as he took all the blame for what was necessarily your fault.

You had decided that he was the most heroic person you would ever know right then and there, even though you were merely a child who had no idea what a hero was.

And you grew up.

You should have known better than to think that nothing would change. He changed, you changed.

For you, the turning point was when his quirk started to manifest. When he got the first grasp of his own explosion, you were the first person he rushed to. “I’m showing this to you before I show anyone else!” He had proudly said to you when you watched in awe of his powerful quirk. Yours was nowhere near as flashy as his and although it was hidden under his usual facade of mean words and rude tone, he had guaranteed you that you would always be a part of his team no matter what you quirk was.

Imagine the hurt and betrayal you felt when you went up to him like usual that day, excitedly wanting to show him a new trick you had discovered you could do with your quirk only to have him tell you that he did not have time. With the wolf whistles of his new group of friends from afar that made you unease, he raised his voice at you for the first time ever and told you to leave him alone. When he walked away without doing so much as sparing one glance your way, the dull ache in your chest as simply too much to bare.

You did not see your friend stopping in his tracks as he heard a familiar sob passing through his ears. You did not see his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists, biting the inside of his cheeks so hard that he could almost taste a metallic tang.

You only knew that he had left you behind. All you could hold onto was the faint memory of him gripping your hand tightly in the crowd. And like that, the boy who you once trusted with all your heart was gone forever.

He apologized to you the next day, his head dropping low and his eyes avoiding yours. The void in your heart was still there, tearing it open by the seams. But still you smiled at him and said that you didn’t mind, hoping that you could latch onto whatever false hope that you could find for yourself that he was still the same person you grew up with. The same person who was grumpy, impulsive, and even offensive sometimes but you had come to love even when there was only so much you know about that feeling at that age.

But you knew that no matter how hard you tried to pretend that it didn’t bother you, that thorn that was stabbed onto your heart would never truly be removed. Not while the two of you pretended that nothing happened.

No words could be used to explain that odd mix of emotions in your mind as you noticed that you now had to look up to meet the eyes of your friend. You watched as the softness of his cheeks faded, replaced by the rounded edges that would soon turn into the sharp angles of a young man. You watched as he got more and more powerful each day. You watched as he slowly stopped coming over to your place with his mom. You watched as Mitsuki apologetically say to you that her son was out with some friends whenever you swung by in hopes of catching up with him. You watched as the image you had of Katsuki in your head slowly started to mismatch the boy in reality.

You watched as the distance between you and your once best friend grew further and further apart, until that was all you could do, watch. Until the day finally comes when you stopped missing the warmth of his hand on yours.

That was what hurt you the most to think of. There was no fight, no big moment that made you stopped talking to him. Only time, time and the painful truth of knowing that nothing stayed the same forever.

It had been years since you last talked to Katsuki, you realised as you remained still in front of the gates of his house. You had been here multiple times even after he moved into the dorms of his school, so why were you so nervous this time round?

It was winter break, you smacked your own face as you remembered, he might be there, that’s why.

You would never admit it out loud, but you always paid extra attention to the news whenever the famous academy that you knew you friend were at was mentioned.

You should go in. You had to at some point, why not get it done and over with? You thought to yourself as you lifted a finger to press onto the doorbell only to have it froze in place midair as all the worries in your head rushed through once more.

Please don’t be at home, please don’t be at home, please don’t be-

‘You’re the last thing I want to see underneath the tree.’

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Fuck.

“Oh, Ka-” You paused as the name that was once so familiar to you stopped at the tip of your tongue. That name was not yours to call anymore. “Bakugou.”

His eyebrows twitched at how stiff you sounded. It did not sound right, but he let it slide. “Are you gonna go in or what?”

Gingerly following him in, you stood behind him as he twisted the key and flicked the lights on. The house was the same as how you remembered it to be, it was nice to see that at least something didn’t change. “It’s just me, the stupid parents are out.”

You nodded, trying to hide the drop in your stomach as you heard that it was just him. You were here for a reason, just put down whatever you mom wanted you to get to Mitsuki and leave. “I’m just gonna-”

“Do you want anything?” Bakugou asked as he motioned to the kitchen at the other end of the hallway. Why couldn’t you act all formal and find a proper respond like normal humans do when you were with him? Perhaps it was because you would always remember how there was a time when formalities were non-existent between the two of you and now you felt like you were talking to a stranger, a stranger that you knew so so well.

“Water would be fine.” You forced out a polite smile as he huffed and the blonde’s figure disappeared into the kitchen. With a deep sigh, you sat down onto the couch and wondered what you were supposed to do under this worst case scenario you had thought of.

It was awkward. It was really awkward.

Taking a huge gulp of the cold water, you tried to distract yourself from the sheer torture that was sitting next to Bakugou while neither of you say a word. In all honesty, there were many things that you would like to say to him but you were not brave enough to say any of them out loud. Instead, you watched him in the most discrete way you could manage.

Yes, you watched. It seemed like you spent most of your time with him watching his every move while he enjoyed being watched.

He had grown a lot since you last saw him, that was a given. You had been shocked when you watched the live stream of the UA sports festival and saw the way your friend fought. It was still the same cut throat, ruthless way you had known but only more skillful. The arms that were once lanky now adorned with muscles that came from pure hard work. The line of his jaw now so sharp that the last hint of boyishness in his features were threatening to slowly fade away.

Bakugou got hot. Was that inappropriate to say about your childhood friend?

“What are you staring at?”

“What?” You tensed up when you were suddenly met with the direct glare of those crimson eyes.

“You’re staring at me.” You immediately backed away when he stood up and looked right at you, only there was nowhere to hide as your back hit the couch.

You held your breath as he just stayed there, standing right in front of you with his hand at the side of head, his legs trapping you in between them. What the fuck was this? Your eyes widened at the realisation of how close he was to you. You went so long without even talking to him and all of a sudden you were faced with this?

He sighed, slightly backing away at your startled expression. “You’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you had no sense of danger towards anyone.” He hissed, “Like you would just be nice to anyone. Like you would not say anything if someone pick on you. Like you would cry, but not fight back if something goes wrong. Like anyone could get close to you and you would accept them. Like if it was someone else, you would still not back away when they trap you in between their arms like I do now.”

“Oh no,” you whispered, “only you.”

He bit his lips, lowering his head as his eyebrows knotted together. That was all he wanted to say to you, all the things that he did not have the guts to say when you were still somewhere within his reach. Only him, that was all he wanted to hear for so long and he had no clue that you could still tug at his heart strings with those words he had only heard in his wildest fantasies even after so long.

You had changed so much, and he could not hold it back after seeing you like this.

“Then what about this? Would you let other people do this to you?” He growled before dipping down, capturing you in a sudden kiss that sent your entire body into a frenzy. It was not pretty, he barely moved at all as his mind was overwhelmed by the fact that you were actually there, letting him kiss you without even protesting a bit. Closing his eyes shut, he almost started to think that you might be enjoying it as well.

When he pulled away, your brain was still foggy from what just happened. That was the boy you were in love with, with his eyes closed and his face just mere breaths away from yours. The same person who torn you apart. Bakugou Katsuki. That Bakugou Katsuki, and he just kissed you.

“I missed you.” The Katsuki you knew had never been a soft person but at least for now, he sounded almost tender, like he was afraid of what you were going to say next.

“You fucking leave me behind.” You said, and the way you clenched your jaw made his heart ache.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled and looked away, the way he lowered his head reminded you an awful lot of the time when he shielded you from the blame that you should have took.

You sighed and reached out to touch his face, he immediately snapped up to look at you at the tender touch. You could never truly stay mad at him. “If you do that to me again, I swear to god I’ll cry right in front of you.”

He did not let you go on as he placed another chaste kiss on your lips. Never, he would never make that same mistake again. He had went through way too many nights wondering what you were doing, cursing himself for pushing you away to hurt you like that all over again.

Never, he was not letting go again. After all, he had failed his role as the one who was supposed to protect you for far too long.

‘Merry Christmas, I could care less.’

#bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagine #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki imagine #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha imagines #mha x reader #mha imagine

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everythingoesnk · 4 years

Text

1957

summary; you come to john’s rescue so he doesn’t fail his test. conversation takes a turn :p

word count; 2 283

warnings; flufliness 🤗🤗

********

On Wednesdays, your older sister was in charge of doing the shopping, but fever had confined her to her bed. By strict orders of your mother, the responsibility was now yours.

That’s why you ran late to meet Mrs Smith and her nephew.

As you stood alone in the hallway, awkward and reluctant, you wished your arrival at 251 Menlon Avenue had been interrupted by the stupidest distraction. Or that you’d have declined to come when you had the opportunity to.

Hearing them arguing upstairs wasn’t what you wanted to do with your evening. Neither was helping John to study for the math test he had the morning after. You couldn’t work miracles, and with this transparency you explained it to your grandma when she compelled you to lend him a hand.

She and Mimi had been good friends for years, and when they were together drinking tea last week, Mimi vented to her how John would distress her in the school field. Music, the young lad was only interested in music. His grades were pitiful, and she found herself running out of stratagems to incite John to get back on track. The guy managed to pass the rest of the subjects, but mathematics were an ordeal for him.

He despised numbers just as he despised having to waste time restricting his Gallotone when he could be rehearsing instead.

“Give me back the guitar, Mimi. Where do you have it?”

“You won’t see it until I hear from the test’s result”

“I’m trying my best!”

“Try harder”

There was a truculent silence that wasn’t a silence per se. They stopped talking, but John’s frantic steps as he paced around the room rummaging around and removing furniture from its place hoping the guitar would be hiding behind were unmistakable.

“It’s not there,” she said, nuisance reflected in her tone, expression inexpressive.

“Unless you ate it it must be somewhere in the house”

Mimi didn’t answer.

“Because it’s in the house, correct?”

Mimi exhaled, giving him a hostile glare. They weren’t in a state where she could throw money around like it was nothing. If she bought him the guitar, it wasn’t to resell it or dispose of it afterwards.

“Of course it is in the house. I’ll return it if you comply with our deal”

After Mimi drew the line, you heard the woman walking down the stairs.

Straightening up, you clasped nervously your fingers around your schoolbag’s strap.

She placed her peculiar hat on top of her hair and covered her figure with a long winter coat. Its corseted structure in the middle cinched in around her already lean frame.

“Do your best” she told you, making sure that she had everything she needed on her. “If you feel like hitting him, you have my permission”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have errands to run”

When Mimi walked over to you, she stopped by your side and looked you up and down.

“The shoes. You dirtied my carpet”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Smith”

You intended to offer cleaning it up yourself until it looked like it did before, but she had other plans.

“When you’re gone I’ll tell John to handle it, the boy lacks discipline. Anyone would think he’s being raised in a jungle rather than a humble home in the northwestern of England and I wouldn’t be able to contradict them”

You had nothing to respond her with, but she didn’t look like she was interested in hearing an answer.

She rekindled her step and marched out the house, half with hurry half slipping away in case John reappeared to keep niggling over how unfair she was.

You’d been in their home previously. Once.

John had been the sergeant who lead the army, devising a prank which sloshed over onto you. Army because his two friends were the ones to set the trap, John keeping his hands clean as the commander and mastermind he thought was. They put a paint bucket on top of the classroom door frame, and the three patiently waited to see who the victim would be.

You spent hours in the shower scraping the tacky liquid off your skin.

That same day, your grandma and you showed up at their doorstep because she wanted him to apologize.

The incident was the reason why you knew where he lived.

You eased down into one of the chairs in the kitchen and dropped your bag onto the table.

John knew you were there, you wouldn’t go searching for him.

Thing is, time went on, and he wouldn’t make an appearance. You checked your wristwatch and cursed. Almost fifteen minutes had ticked by and you were waiting like an idiot for someone who clearly did not care enough.

“Am I dreaming or did I just hear (Y/N) (Y/L/N) saying a bad word?”

You flinched and brought a hand up to your chest.

Looking to the left, you saw him standing barefoot in the doorway with his arms stretched upwards, gripping at the doorframe. Legs crossed at the ankles, a wicked grin curved his lips. He was wearing a white cotton tee and denim trousers that fit him tight in the thighs.

Once recovered from the shock, you shot him a bitter look.

“You’re wasting my time, you know that? The longer you delay it, the worse”

“I’ve had better,” he said, walking over to the sink where two large vertical windows on the wall displayed a perfect view of the back porch.

He closed them, grabbed a plain black sweatshirt that hung from the chair opposite you and put it over his head, messing up even more his already tousled humid hair. It was clear that he had a shower before you showed up. If he hadn’t had, it would be replicating Presley’s.

Until then you didn’t realise that the room was indeed chilly.

“Better what?”

“Better days. Thank you for asking and showing interest” he said, waving vaguely a hand.

He slumped in that same chair and glanced across at you.

“How are you, by the way?”

“Fed up. Tell me what you don’t understand and we’ll practice” you said, pulling out of the schoolbag the book and your pencil case.

John calmly watched you prepare everything. “Geometry, algebraic equations… The entire book, if you will”

“If that’s the case, I see logic in noting down formulas first, that way you can try and memorize them too” you lifted your gaze and saw him with both hands plunged in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, shoulders relaxed. “Hello? Aren’t you getting something to write on?”

He let silence reign for a moment.

“Out of all the people in class, it had to be you,” he grumbled. You didn’t have a clue about what that was supposed to mean, but now his eyes were piercing into yours to the point where you felt very small very quick. He bounced to his feet with a huff. “I’ll be right back”

Upon his return, he carried with him a notebook with doodlings drawn by him on the cover and a pencil hanging loose between his teeth. Along the way, at some point, he tugged the hood over his face, so now you couldn’t see the top half of it.

He took the seat again and with an unfriendly look began copying the theory.

“If you’d paid attention from the beginning perhaps you wouldn’t be against the clock now”

“I can’t focus if you speak,” he grunted.

“You’re just copying” you said, raising your left eyebrow. “But alright, I’ll shut it”

When he was done, he tossed the pencil and dragged his hands down his face, pulling at the skin under the eyes.

“I hate this” he condemned.

“You hate everything that doesn’t involve music” you clarified, no malice in your statement.

“That’s not true” he scowled, pushing the hood back, actually feeling insulted.

“Alright, tell me something you don’t hate,” you propped your elbows onto the table, laced your fingers and rested your chin there.

“I don’t hate the singing of birds waking me up in the morning, and I don’t hate hanging out with you”

As much as you tried to hide it, John saw how your lips tipped up.

“Am I supposed to feel touched?”

“I’d be really sad if you didn’t. That was smooth”

“Oh wow yes, so smooth, the smoothest” you sneered, taking his notebook to write down a few problems for him to resolve.

“Smoothest” he echoed. “Is that a word?”

“It is” you weren’t sure if he was serious.

“Sounds strange to me, never used it before”

“Venustraphobia sounds awful as well and it’s a real term”

“What does it mean?”

“Fear of attractive women”

“Holy shit, is that true?” he asked, fiddling now with his pencil.

“Yeah”

“So that’s a thing. Does the phobia exist the other way around? Women fearing handsome men?”

“I guess?”

He nodded, amused. “It must be hard for you”

Confused, you raised your eyes and cocked your head with an inquisitive frown.

“Collecting yourself, I mean” he explained, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re doing a terrific job pretending you’re not suffering. As you might know, I’m quite charming myself”

You just stared back for some time, holding back a laugh until it became impossible to restrain.

John was so much fun when he didn’t behave like a dick, you hated to admit, which only happened when his macho friends were around. He was the leader of the group, sure, but it seemed that all he wanted was acceptance from them, to belong somewhere. Pretty much he let them change him. Although when he wasn’t near them, the carefree happy bouncy John you knew returned each time.

Abs burning from laughing, you doubled over as you hugged your abdomen. This bitch, you thought. Your shoulders kept shaking as you tried to subside your chuckles, but you couldn’t stop.

John observed your reaction placidly.

Bright with delight, his eyes gleamed when you kept patting your thigh as a conduit for the laughter.

“My God” you breathed, fanning yourself.

“It’s rude using my name in vain,” he teased, wagging the accusatory finger in your direction.

“You’re far from being God” you retorted, your chuckles fading. You gave him back his notebook. “Enough chitchat. Do these exercises and I’ll correct them”

You waited then, keeping an eye on him as well as inspecting your nails to pass the time.

He raked a hand through his hair and kept it there, closing it in a fist at the top of his head.

A sappy feeling settled in your stomach. Seeing him saturated after half an hour trying to get something done softened your heart.

He suddenly looked up, but when he caught you looking too, John quickly dropped his head.

Five more minutes and he passed you the notebook.

“Voilà. Now you can laugh at me”

“I’m not gonna laugh at you. No one is born knowing” you responded quietly.

Silently revising his answers, you got distracted remembering one thing he said earlier.

Rosiness present in your cheeks, your gaze settled cautiously upon him. “You don’t like me?”

His brows drew together in deep puzzlement.

“What?”

“‘Out of all the people in class, it had to be you’” you quoted him, your heart beating erratically. You were worried that its pumps would tear a hole in your chest. “I wanna know why you said that. Is it because you don’t like me?”

A muscle tickled in his jaw, but his expression was humourless.

“That’s not it”

You hoped his response would bloom into something more specific, but he remained with his mouth shut, tension building up between the two.

“What’s it?” you pressed.

Darkness igniting his eyes, he leaned back in his chair.

“Answering your previous question, I do. A lot, actually. That’s my issue”

Petrified, your pulse shot to the sky.

“Why is it an issue?”

“We both know why”

Was John Lennon telling you with all his chest that he was interested in dating you but that he’d never acted upon it ‘cause he assumed you were out of his league?

“You didn’t ask me about my feelings, not once”

“Why would I? You’re sweet and smart. I’m none of that”

Oh, Johnny boy. His words cracked your heart. Lies, they were cruel lies.

“What are you doing this Friday?” you inquired. “I don’t know if you know, but I really like painting. I held an exhibition at school—”

“I’m aware. I was there”

Warmth radiating up your body, you fought back a stunned gasp. “You went?”

He never mentioned it before.

Gazing in each other’s eyes longingly, a goofy side smile fleetingly graced his lips.

Electric tingles spread through your nervous system. You composed yourself with a toss of the head. And he dared to say he wasn’t sweet? You were drowning in diabetes.

“My point is, the school’s newspaper asked me to present something new, and I have yet to finish my piece. Maybe, if you want, you could join me and we make each other company. You can bring your guitar and play some music”

You’re adorable, he wanted to interrupt, mouth twitching.

“I guess I could do that” he said instead.

“Awesome” you bit on your bottom lip, thrilled.

“I’m concerned, though”

“Concerned?” your eyebrows snapped together. Was he having second thoughts? “About what?”

“Concerned that I will start developing venustraphobia now that I’m gonna spend more time with you”

Your laughter hugged his soul.

John contemplated stupefied how easy you made it to fall in love.

Just hearing your giggles was enough for him to understand he could never compose a melody more lovely and magical than that.

#john lennon x reader #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #the beatles #john lennon imagine #john lennon fanfic #john lennon fanfiction #fluffy #john lennon #tayloredstarr

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yogaposesfortwo · 4 years

Text

The Future of Yoga: The Change We Need

We look at diversity, equity, job security, and online teaching during a post-COVID era. This story is a component of a series covering the longer term of yoga during and after the coronavirus pandemic. Here, we take a glance at the challenging issues the yoga industry faces. Read more about the role unionization may play in addressing those challenges in our first story: As COVID-19 Reveals the Cracks within the Yoga Industry, Could a Universal Teachers’ Union Help Reshape Our Community? One month before the announcement of the permanent closures of the YogaWorks ny studios that were announced in April, I spoke with the changemakers on the front lines of unionization efforts on a Zoom call; a couple of YogaWorks NY teachers who formed the collective, Unionize Yoga—a first-ever yoga teachers’ union to become certified by the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB). Accompanied by a politician from the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers (IAMAW), the union that represents them, the teachers discussed the important issues that were plaguing our industry long before the coronavirus pandemic had arrived, including a scarcity of diversity, job security, and benefits like insurance and paid leave . It was the first days of COVID-19. Social distancing measures and sanitization protocols were mounting because the word “quarantine” quickly became the new normal. Industry-wide shutdowns of yoga studios and cancelations of retreats and festivals soon rippled throughout the country and round the world, ny City prepared to shelter-in-place. Here’s what I asked them—and what I learned about what the longer term of yoga could appear as if during a post-pandemic world.

Is Industry-Wide Diversity and Equity Even Possible?

One of the most important problems perpetuated by the yoga and wellness industry is its homogeneity and reinforcement of said that folks like male teachers, but I’ve said, how does one know that folks don’t like black teachers—or any teacher of color?” It’s already hard enough for white individuals to form a living as yoga teachers—there aren’t enough jobs; we’re only too conversant in the unsettling statistic that for each one yoga teacher there are two more in training. during a market that’s already oversaturated with teachers who can afford the prices of teacher training—ranging anywhere from a fast-track online program for $500 to an in-depth offering with a renowned yogalebrity for $10,000—imagine what it’s like for minority groups vying for teaching positions who are, by the sheer demographics of the industry, outnumbered by the white majority. Demens says she’s looking forward to what a possible teachers’ union could mean for diversity within the industry at large. She’s looked to history for inspiration, and learned about the black sanitation workers in Memphis, TN, who had formed a union back within the 1960s. She says they too faced problems with unfair pay, and a scarcity of job security and safety. At the time, she says, black people weren't allowed to organize—but following two deaths from a dustcart malfunction and therefore the city’s refusal to exchange the defective equipment, the workers went on strike. “They went through such a lot , but they never gave up,” Demens said. “They fought hard and that they eventually won—and not only for themselves; what they did impacted the civil rights movement and therefore the fight for labor rights.” Demens points out how the win in Memphis helped many black people shift into the center class. “I think many of us , myself included, often feel overlooked—and that I even have no voice or say in what goes on during this industry or how I’m viewed within the community,” she said. While Demens doesn’t know whether a yoga union might be as powerful or effective as what had happened in Memphis, she acknowledges how unions can help people feel supported and of significance, and empower them to face up for what they believe . “Diversity is a problem everywhere—and it’s not really seen as something that’s missing. generally , we check a box if we've one person of color on a teaching schedule. It’s not fair to not even be considered. It’s not fair that even when I’m given an opportunity , it’s Monday at 2:30 within the afternoon. Who’s gonna come thereto class? My goal has been to try to to what I can to form yoga available to the folks that I know—people that appear as if me—and understanding the way to meet those people where they're . i feel that a yoga union would help make yoga classes available to more people. I’ve seen efforts toward this—my teachers offer scholarships to women of color. It’s healing to ascertain those shifts which thought and energy . I once taught a restorative class in Crown Heights at 4 p.m., to those women who were total BFFs; these old black women who looked a bit like my grandmother. The way they checked out me it had been like they were pleased with me, and once I checked out them I saw my grandmother. So once I teach now, I act as if I were teaching my grandmother. I’m not getting to shout at at her; I’m getting to set her up within the pose. As an Iyengar teacher all I can do is give commands—so it made me believe how could get more women like my grandmother to return to my class; more women like this. Whats missing is we'd like more stories like that. i would like to assist get these conversations going. one among my students recently reached bent me and asked me to start out teaching online classes. So I began to build a schedule that works on behalf of me . Before I had to require what I could get. Now I can run my classes the way i would like and provides my students what they have . An Asian women came to at least one of my classes to “rest her brain”—she said she was hurt by the toll the pandemic had taken on China, so I offered her restorative and pranayama. I wouldn’t are ready to do this before because i used to be always told I had to urge people moving. Now I can help people and provides them what they really need. With numerous people laid off and knowing that there’s some benefit they will get from class, I aks myself how do I make my clases more available and accessible to them.” –Deidra Demens, 500-hour Certified Yoga Teacher, Level 1 Iyengar Teacher

What Does Job Security Look Like in An Uncertain Future?

Some teachers may say they’re paid a good wage, but there are countless others who would argue they’re not. There are other teachers who would probably say that they've never been purchased their classes in the least . In my personal experience as an educator , I’ve made anywhere from $5 to $150 for one hour session, counting on whether i used to be paid per head ($5 = 1 student came) or a flat rate (corporate yoga or a yoga festival appearance). In most cases, yoga teachers work as independent contractors instead of as part-time employees of a studio, which, because the union points out, can save the studio money on unemployment insurance and workers compensation. YogaWorks has been an anomaly therein regard, since its teachers are employed either part- or full-time, and also are eligible surely benefits. But YogaWorks teachers need to work on least 10 hours per week to be eligible surely benefits—and Unionize Yoga believes that those benefits should be available to all or any . Still, generally speaking, yoga teachers rarely have job security, nor can most of them make an inexpensive living by teaching alone. There are many teachers who make it work by piecing together income from multiple studios, while others may rely solely on one because they’ve signed a non-compete clause. What happens when alittle , independent studio is struggling and has got to suddenly close, then those teachers are out of work? Or what happens when the economy reopens and we’re on the opposite side of the pandemic—how many studios will even survive and, what percentage teachers will still be out of work? very similar to the industry and aspects of the gig economy, the shortage of job security within the yoga world is being illuminated by the present depression . During quarantine and in survival mode, teachers have begun to understand the potential for generating revenue streams online without a brick-and-mortar studio. An unprecedented number of studios and teachers alike have migrated to measure stream classes and joined the Zoom boom, which, counting on time of day, scale of online and social media presence, and whether or not they’re giving content away for free of charge , may or not be understanding . There are teachers who’ve had upwards of 100 students during a single class, while others may even see just a couple in less desirable timeslot (what is that the new “prime time” for quarantine practice, anyway?). Other teachers, meanwhile, have expressed worry about those who’ve been giving their content away for free of charge , explaining that it devalues their expertise. Veronica Perretti, a former YogaWorks teacher and former NY teacher manager for YogaWorks, started her own online platform outside of the corporate mid-March, just following the announcement of the initial temporary studio closures. Though she had voted against the NY teachers’ union last fall, she’s still an advocate for teacher-owned businesses and believes that teachers should charge what they’re worth. “I replaced my monthly YogaWorks income within the matter of 1 week with my new online membership program,” Perretti said. “I think this is often subsequent frontier of teaching yoga.” She says this is often a flash for teachers to require ownership of their business outside of the studio and make a community that knows no bounds. “I don’t need YogaWorks to offer me a platform to show ,” she says. “I’m creating it for myself.” Just before the arrival of the coronavirus within the us , Unionize Yoga founding member Markella Los, gave up her group classes at YogaWorks and her position as an educator trainer, and subsequently, her involvement with the YogaWorks NY union. Her shift to specialise in one-on-one instruction and online community building was a timely one, and now, Los is committed to assist ing other teachers outside of YogaWorks mobilize and make solutions to help make the profession more sustainable. In May, Los launched The Connective, a web “teacher-powered” collective that aims to diversify the yoga industry and lift its standards. How The Connective holds up during a post-coronavirus world remains to be seen, since running your own business equates to even less protection when it involves job security, but Los seems optimistic, despite that the traditional could potentially pose more risk for teachers. “The current crisis is highlighting issues and insecurities of what it means to be an educator that tons folks already knew were there. Who gets to make a decision what the yoga industry seems like and who’s in it? What I could see happening is that inequities are further perpetuated, but in a web forum. I could see a direction during which business continues as was common , but within the ‘wild west.’ But what I also can see is a chance to course-correct; to arrange and have conversations around online teacher-owned businesses. There’s multiple ways for people to organize—it’s only limited by your collective creativity. Teachers are talking for therefore long about the thought or need for a yoga teachers’ union, and it never happened. It felt love it couldn’t be done. the very fact that we’ve shown it are often done shifts the scope of what is possible. Teachers reach bent us to seek out out what we did and the way to start out something on their own. we've a voice, we’re starting conversations, we’re connecting and being honest with what we’re all handling . Our goal has always been to boost industry standards overall—and for the profession to become more sustainable for anyone who wants to be in it. for much longer than I even have been teaching, people have talked about the thought or need for a yoga teachers’ union. They talked about it for therefore long and it never happened; it felt love it couldn’t be done. the very fact that we showed that it might be done shifts the scope of what is possible. It’s been a tremendous facilitator for conversation—teachers reach bent determine what we did and the way to start out something on their own. We’re starting important conversations; we’re connecting and being honest with what we are all handling . That’s been a hugely important profound shift. –Markella Los, 500-hour Certified Yoga Teacher; Yoga Tune Up YogaWorks, Trauma-Conscious Yoga Method, FRC Mobility Specialist

Are Yoga Teachers Entitled to Healthcare, Regardless of Hours Worked?

As London-based teacher Norman Blair wrote in his blog, “How can we stay well when working within the wellness industry?” Whenever an educator gets sick, they'll ‘power through’ and teach anyway (it’s only an hour, right?), putting the health of their students in danger also as their own. the choice , of course, is to seek out a sub. Either way, the teachers who are independent contractors don’t get paid once they don’t teach. Worse, when an educator is injured and out of labor , how can they still make ends meet? The COVID-19 pandemic has revealed how easily anyone can become ill, no matter their physical health. It’s a deadly reminder of the very fact that many Americans still live without insurance . Unionize Yoga believes that, like all trained worker , yoga teachers need and deserve benefits like healthcare. YogaWorks teachers, unlike most teachers at independent studios, are regular employees of the corporate , not independent contractors, which is why they’re eligible for perks like wage and which is additionally why they might legally form a union within the corporate . And though YogaWorks employees who work 10 classes per week (or equivalent) are considered full-time, consistent with Unionize Yoga, no teacher at YogaWorks NY had worked that a lot of hours. the amount of hours worked, of course, doesn't include the countless ‘invisible hours’ (class prep, travel, training, etc.), involved in teaching a category . Unionize Yoga says that healthcare benefits should be made available to all or any teachers, no matter hours worked. The common practice, a minimum of within the U.S., is that insurance usually applies only to those that work full-time, or part-time at a particular number of hours. But Unionize Yoga says that there’s no reason why a part-time teacher can’t be entitled thereto same fundamental right. YogaWorks, however, states otherwise, citing the company’s already existing benefits package as a rare exception within the yoga world—and the sole company within the industry to supply a leave policy. "YogaWorks is that the winner within the industry in providing benefits like health care coverage and 401k plans to full-time teachers, while also ensuring that each one among our teachers is an employee with all applicable benefits, including wage and hour protection, unemployment insurance, leave pay, family leave, and workers compensation,” a spokesperson from YogaWorks told me in an email. “We believe our extraordinary retention among our teachers, many spending decades with the corporate , may be a testament to our commitment to them and to the above market wages we offer altogether of our markets.” David DiMaria, a representative of the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers’ (IAMAW) Eastern territory, works with new groups who’ve organized to make a union. He explains that independent contractors aren't covered by the National Labor Relations Act (NLRA), which allows unions to legally form within companies. However, very similar to Uber drivers did in ny , independent contractors can still organize—just not within an equivalent legal framework of a formally recognized union that gives workers with additional rights. DiMaria understands the political and financial challenges that accompany fighting for healthcare, but believes that if yoga teachers were to arrange in greater numbers across different employers, that it’s doable within the future . very similar to actors’ unions, which believe contributions made by multiple employers, he says that following an identical model could mean that nobody employer would need to bear the high cost of insurance for his or her employees alone, which teachers could qualify for benefits no matter the amount of hours worked. “It’s a very tough issue due to the character of labor . Some teachers teach one class every week and a few teach five. We are watching ways to supply some level of advantages for everybody , but we are so early within the process that it’s timely to inform . We are bargaining over different issues and it’s all contingent agreeing to the entire contract, we won’t have an agreement until each side ratify. But once we last met with the corporate there was movement on their end. consider it sort of a junior high school dance, it begins with people on opposite sides of the space , but eventually everyone starts dancing.” –David DiMaria, Eastern Territory Organizing Lead, IAMAW

Should Studios Prioritize Teachers’ Pay Over Student Numbers?

Yoga studios, regardless of what size, exist due to yoga teachers. and lots of teachers have said that enormous companies like YogaWorks and CorePower, which are owned by private equity firms, could compensate their teachers with better living wages (the teacher-led lawsuit against CorePower in 2019 cited underpaid wages). Unionize Yoga says that a good wage is one that increases over time with experience, and considers other factors like the rising costs of living. (A quick disclosure: As a former YogaWorks NY teacher, my flat rate, when averaged over time, was still superior in comparison with the smaller studios that had paid me per head.) the matter with YogaWorks’ pay scale, however, as some YogaWorks NY teachers have said, had been the shortage of transparency about its pay system. Christine Festa, a yoga teacher and coach in Southeast Florida who completed her 200- and 300-hour teacher trainings at YogaWorks NY and NJ, agrees, and says it’s the massive companies who should be leading the industry by example. “There shouldn’t be of these different teachers at different pay rates,” she told me, flagging nepotism together potential issue. “There should be a group structure that's shared among teachers in order that all teachers understand where they substitute the combination of things; in order that they know where they’ll go as they progress in their career.” Festa is notoriously outspoken on social media about problems within the industry at large, and coaches yoga teachers on the way to become more self-sufficient by generating new revenue streams outside of studios. Tamar Samir, another founding member of Unionize Yoga and a YogaWorks NY teacher since 2010, says she’s an advocate for teachers. She’s argued for transparency around pay, and for various ‘pay bands,’ or layers of pay, that increase supported experience (Samir has completed over 1,500 hours of training). She suggests that there has got to be how for both the studio and teacher to financially flourish together. Yet as an accomplished creative director and professor of design at Parsons School of Design and Pratt in ny , Samir doesn’t necessarily believe teaching yoga to pay her bills. But when YogaWorks announced that it might close its Westside studio in late-2018 with only three weeks' notice, she realized just how fragile the industry are often for the typical teacher. Though the corporate took measures to reassign teachers elsewhere, the relationships between those teachers and therefore the students who’d been coming to their classes were broken—an entire community dissolved almost in a moment . “One of the items i assumed about after being during this industry for 10 plus years was that I even have tons less to lose than people . It became very clear there have been inequities, and that i have seen an equivalent patterns repeat over and once again . There’s a dichotomy between how yoga is presented publicly and what teaching yoga is really like behind-the-scenes. We see Instagram posts where teachers look beautiful, healthy, and peaceful, but all folks know that that's not actually the case in the least . Many teachers live in small apartments and earning under the poverty level . So maybe they’re accomplished on Instagram, but they’re also doing a waitressing or bartending job that they are not telling the planet about. there is a quite hypocrisy that’s built into the profession; you've got to present yourself as a picture of health and prosperity. It makes it harder for people to advocate for themselves. That’s why we’re the reality tellers—we’re telling people what a yoga teacher’s life is basically like. Yoga is about solidarity and connectedness—which should be a no brainer for yogis. –Tamar Samir, Creative Director and Yoga Teacher

Should Seniority and Experience Be Rewarded?

In most other professions, a worker receives a raise in their salary supported their performance, whether by appointment to a higher-level position supported seniority or through adequate compensation supported experience. The yoga industry, at large, has no such pay structure. In most cases, an educator just out of teacher training could also be paid an equivalent interest rate that increases per student as an educator with 10 years or more of experience. this suggests that a lot of teachers are rewarded for his or her personality and following, versus experience, while others may simply get lucky and secure lucrative time slots for his or her classes. When compared with the restaurant industry, for instance , a server with more seniority often gets the higher section, and walks away with 3 times the maximum amount take advantage their pocket on any given night as a less experienced server in another section. But many restaurants now have mandatory tip pooling systems in an effort to be more fair to their employees across the board. While pooled class earnings for yoga teachers might not be the foremost practical solution, Unionize Yoga is lobbying for a transparent pay structure that rewards teachers supported their skills and knowledge , instead of leaving it up to the luck of the draw or a robust personality with an outsized social media presence to urge ahead. German-born Nora Heillman, a performance artist turned yoga teacher, moved to ny from Amsterdam in 2013 where she met her wife, Samir. She recalls the first days as an immigrant in ny when she took whatever work she could get, teaching very early or late in the dark for little or no money. But after five years, exhausted and depleted, she found herself wondering how she’d be ready to continue—or what would happen if she got sick or ever wanted to retire at some point. As a yoga and meditation teacher with 13 years of experience and quite 1,600 hours of coaching , Heillman says she’s cycled through 12 studios in 5 years, many of which have closed, including 3 YogaWorks locations at the time of this interview (Heillman had been an educator at YogaWorks since 2014). She recalls the frustration of going to an area where she finally felt financially secure enough to pay her bills, just in time for an additional studio to shut its doors. Heillman recalls the sense of urgency that followed the closure of the YogaWorks Westside location in 2018; the belief of the shortage of sustainability within the profession— even as sustainability was becoming a buzzword, she says. That’s when she, Samir, and Los began their initial discussions that led to the first formation of the Teachers’ Initiative. “There are teachers at YogaWorks who are teaching for 25 years. We don’t have regular raises or evaluation meetings per annum like other jobs, since that’s not a typical within the yoga world. Teachers need to fight for a raise or salary that they might wish to see themselves at. And sometimes, after a few years of teaching, maybe they’ll have an honest salary, on the other hand a studio starts to limit classes and convey in new teachers at a lower rate who’ve just begin of coaching , because it’s less costly for the studio. There’s no financial security for teachers with more experience. That’s why we’re advocating for teachers with the foremost experience, especially those who’ve been at an equivalent studio for several years. They’re those who should have first access to classes opening up. There must be some career path for growth; knowing that your salary will go up if you persist with the corporate . Some teachers’ salaries haven’t gone up in 15 years at YogaWorks and at other studios, when now we pay $1,000 more dollars in rent per month than we did years ago. It’s a pity when a studio loses a highly qualified teacher because they’re burned-out and throwing in the towel of the profession. I just take what's offered to me, but i do know it’s the louder personalities who get $30 more per class. If you are not a fighter, you would possibly be teaching for low pay your whole life. How would any folks have navigated the present crisis without having had the community we’ve created through the union? we actually do support one another through all of this.” –Nora Heillmann, Yoga Teacher

The Next Step for Yoga

We have found ourselves during a moment where everything is changing and nobody really knows what the post-COVID yoga world are going to be like—with or without a union. Digital platforms could morph into an amplified version of a contest , rewarding only those that are highly skilled at self-promotion and social media marketing. Many studios will close and businesses will inevitably fail. For people who survive and remain open, the longer term of yoga—at least the foreseeable one—is a special place then once we left it. A future that limits in-studio class offerings, ushers students into a building one-by-one to require their temperatures, then caps the space at 6 to eight students. A world where students are inhaling and exhaling into their face masks with their mats strategically placed six feet apart. a wierd new reality where fears of germs are but a continuing , where extreme disinfectant and sanitization measures put anyone who’s willing to steer into a studio jittery . In some ways, it might appear to be going back to the way things were is like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. Maybe there's no going back. Maybe this this is often our moment, as an industry, to change, collaborate, create, and innovate—to transcend beyond studio walls. As we glance toward the longer term , as uncertain because it could seem at the present , perhaps we might all enjoy identifying what we don’t want the industry to seem like by acknowledging what it isn’t. It’s never the past neither is it our attachments thereto . The solutions aren't getting to be found by forcing things to be as they once were. As my teacher and studio owner, Jill Sockman, said during a virtual government building meeting on concentrate May as she announced the closure of her brick-and-mortar space in Raleigh, Blue Lotus, (where I had taught and practiced before the pandemic), “We’re not getting to find ‘the yoga’ by fighting what is; we can’t avoid doing the hard thing because it’s uncomfortable.” Author: Andrea Rice Source: https://www.yogajournal.com/teach/future-of-yoga-post-covid Discover more info about Yoga Poses for Two People here: Yoga Poses for Two Read the full article

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thegoldenlily3 · 5 years

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Part 1of 2

Trigger warning! Graphic photos in this post.

4-6-17 In the very first photo, I have a horrible tooth ache and had no idea the pain and agony it was going to bring. It ultimately changed my life and for a very long time it was changed for the worse. In the photos following, you’ll see me change and look like death and then recover. You’ll see me living life to the fullest but behind closed doors or under my shirt rather, you’ll see how much I’ve had to overcome. This is my story.

On October 30th 2013, I had a colonoscopy and was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis(UC) which is a chronic inflammatory bowel disease(IBD) and an autoimmune disease. I was prescribed Canasa suppositories and my symptoms when away for about a year or so and then came back. I had to get a new Gastroenterologist doctor because my previous one had retired. He wasn’t much help anyway. My new GI doctor was amazing and caring and she saved my life. She prescribed me Lialda(NSAID) and Uceris(steroid).

At the end of March 2017, I had horrible tooth pain and called my dentist and they prescribed me Tramadol and Augmentin. The Tramadol made me sick so I called and had them switch the med and they gave me Clindamycin and that made me sick too. They gave me Hydrocodone and that also made me sick so they just had me taking Ibuprofen and Augmentin. I started to have a bad reaction to the Augmentin and got sores all in my throat and mouth and was throwing up and had severe diarrhea. I finished the antibiotic but went to the er because of the pain in my mouth and the vomiting. Mary’s magic mouthwash was prescribed to me to help with the sores and also nausea meds. The only time I was able to get any sleep was when this mouthwash numbed my mouth and throat. For weeks, I was unable to eat or drink anything nor was I able to take my UC meds and my heart rate was high. I went to the er multiple times during this whole ordeal because I couldn’t stop throwing up and all they would do is give me fluids and nausea meds then send me home. I went to an er and waited for 3 hours all the while throwing up with no end in sight and ended up leaving to go to a different hospital. On April 15th, I was pacing the house back and forth because I was miserable and didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to go to the er yet again for them to just send me right back home. I remember I was pacing by the front door and my husband Issaac went to check the mail. I watched him and then started to say his name over and over because I felt like something was really wrong. Next thing I remember is Issaac kneeling over me and having shoes stabbing me in the back. I had passed out and my eyes were open the whole time but I was unresponsive. Issaac had ran in and thought I was dead. He called 911 and they wouldn’t answer. He used my finger to unlock my phone and dialed 911 and had both phones ringing and finally got an answer. (Fun fact for iPhones: if you press the big button on the side it will call 911 and they can track your location. Dialing 911 will not allow them to track your location.) The ambulance took me to the er and they did 2 EKG’s, CT scan(only after Issaac asked them to because I hit my head when I fell.), chest X-ray, and blood work. I was also tested for CDiff many times but it was always negative. Again, I was given fluids and sent home. They said it was normal for a lot of people to live with an elevated heart rate so they weren’t concerned. A couple days later I went to my primary care doctors office. My doctor was on maternity leave so I saw a different doctor. He did blood work and then wanted me to take depression meds. That was a hard NO! He said I wasn’t getting better because I was depressed about being sick. Yes, I was absolutely miserable and sad about it. BUT, there was something more going on. I wasn’t getting better and I knew it wasn’t my fault. I had to keep advocating for myself because I wasn’t getting help from any of these doctors I’ve seen. I think I went to the er again at some point and was sent home. Then they called me and said my potassium levels were too low and they didn’t think I’d be able to get down the prescribed potassium drink. So we went back to the er. Again. The er wouldn’t take the word of the doctor from another hospital so they did blood work again. We went to a different hospital because the wait at the previous one was way too long. So I received potassium through an iv and that is not comfortable. It burned as it went through my arm. I was also given Magnesium. I was sent home the next day.

Even though the sores were finally gone from my mouth, I was still struggling to swallow. I had my GI doctor schedule an upper Endoscopy which I had done on April 20th. My esophagus had no damage and there wasn’t anything stuck in there. While I was under anesthesia, my GI doctor did a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy. This a colonoscopy but only through a small portion of the colon. It was then that I finally, FINALLY after a month of being so sick that I was admitted to the hospital. My doctor said I looked like I was going to die. She said my colon was so severely inflamed that she couldn’t let me go home even though a patient being admitted after a procedure being done by her makes her look bad. She saved my life and I’m eternally grateful. I had 10 er visits and a scheduled dr visit and none of these doctors thought to have my colon checked knowing that I had UC and continued to show anemia in the blood tests they all ran. It all finally made sense. I wasn’t able to take my UC meds and I was taking 800mg of Ibuprofen for the tooth ache I had. This is what caused my UC to flare up. Why couldn’t 11 doctors put that together?

While I was in the hospital, I received 3 Iron infusions to raise my hemoglobin. I also had a speech therapist come in and she helped me with my throat issue. I was still struggling to swallow and she said that I was protecting my self subconsciously. She worked with me and I was finally able to swallow normally. I was so happy to finally eat a meal without a struggle. I was released 5 days later on April 25th even though I felt I should have stayed. The very next day I woke Issaac up because I was shivering and my teeth were rattling like crazy. My heart rate was 145. Issaac called 911 and we went to the er for the 11th time within a months time. I was put in the observation unit at Methodist which was in the basement because they didn’t have any rooms in the er available. I remember telling a nurse that I needed to go to the bathroom and I wasn’t allowed to get up on my own. She said ok and that she’d be back but when she got back, it was too late...She was gone for a long time. I at least was wearing a hospital gown. I was later put into constant care in the er. My heart rate had gone up to 180 and I was shivering and rattling teeth again. It was uncontrollable and the nurses looked at me like I was faking it. They hooked a heart monitor onto me and suddenly changed their tune because my heart rate was at 200. I believe they gave me aspirin and eventually I was transferred to another room where I waited for a permanent room because I was being admitted again. On April 28, I was admitted and I had another night of the shivering episode with my heart rate at 190. I’m trying to remember what this felt like but I can’t. I was so out of it and not even aware of my surroundings. It was on this day that our grass had been cut and it turned out to be our next door neighbor. We were very thankful for that.

A few days later, my heart rate was around 100 and my hemoglobin was much better. The diarrhea had slowed down so I wasn’t losing as much blood(because of UC) but I wasn’t eating either. I had iv fluids and they wanted me to drink Gatorade but my body was retaining fluids and I was swollen. That was a very weird experience. They did an Echo Cardiogram which turned out to be normal. My ejection fraction was 65% and 55% or above is considered normal. I know this is what they said but I don’t really know what that means. On April 30th, I received a blood transfusion because the retest of my hemoglobin showed 6.6 grams per deciliter and it should be for women between 12-15.5. A blood transfusion is scary. For the first 15 minutes, the nurse has to stay and watch me as I receive the blood to make sure I don’t have any adverse reactions and reject the blood. It turned out to be fine and I received at least a pint of blood. I feel I received another pint but I can’t remember. So I’ve been in the hospital for 10 days so far and I’ve been taking a steroid called Prednisone this whole time to treat my UC. I was also on morphine for the pain. I received physical therapy to help me walk but they were 3 days late. It turned out that there wasn’t an order for pt even though the doctors mentioned it every time they visited. On May 2nd, I was in severe pain and I went about 4 hours or longer without pain meds. The doctor was supposed to call them in and ended up leaving for the day without doing it. The next day, my bloodwork still showed inflammation so my colon wasn’t responding to the Prednisone. All the Prednisone did was make my head hurt sooo bad. I was taking Tylenol for it and it did nothing. My head hurt non stop for many days. I had warned them that Prednisone wouldn’t treat me right. I had taken it before and it made me so dizzy I had to have Issaac drive me home from work. This time it was just the severe head pain.

On May 5th 2017, I’m still in the hospital but I’m about to be released. For some reason my doctor was switched to a different doctor. This doctor decided to schedule for a colonoscopy. They gave me the bowel prep to drink with some clear Gatorade. This stuff was horrible. I’m supposed to drink it all within an hour and every minute of it sucked. I somehow managed to get it all down at the end of the hour. But then...I adjusted my body very slightly, and I threw it all up! I didn’t know it was coming and I had zero time to prepare for it. I just threw it all up all over my gown and in my gown and all over the blankets. I said to them, “I don’t understand why I have to do this. I have had severe diarrhea and I can’t even eat. There’s nothing in my stomach.” But they made me do the prep again... This time I drank it over the course of like 4 hours and managed to get it down without throwing up. I had the colonoscopy which they said went fine...I was still severely inflamed and they wanted to start me on a biological medicine called Humira and continue the steroids. During a colonoscopy, they insert a colonoscope into your bottom that transmits an image of the lining of the colon. The scope blows air to expand the colon so the doctor can see better. Well, after the procedure I was actually feeling alright but I had so much pressure in my belly and I felt like I needed to poop. I tried over and over to go on the toilet and it just wasn’t happening. But finally, it happened. And I was in bed...The nurses hadn’t been in for a long time and didn’t plan to be in for awhile. I was so embarrassed that I had Issaac clean me before they came in. Imagine a father changing a dirty diaper and gagging the whole time. This was Issaac and he kept running to the toilet afraid he was going to puke. To this day, we still laugh about it. It doesn’t matter how horrible the whole experience was, I can still laugh about it. Later that day, I was feeling a lot of pain and they had moved me to a different room with closer care. I remember this floor had some of the best nurses I’d ever had. Hospital policy was that a patient was to be bathed when changing floors. Issaac stood out in the hall as they transferred me from one bed to the other. This was an out of body experience and I can remember it so vividly. As they raised me off the bed, I started screaming in pain and continued to moan in pain after they transferred me to the new bed. I didn’t have any pain meds but I shouldn’t have been in pain. They were ordered not to give me pain meds because the doctor wanted me to be clear headed when they talked to me. I could tell the nurses felt so badly for me because of how much pain I was in. Issaac could hear me screaming down the hall. i was finally given multiple doses of morphine but it didn’t really touch the pain. I then had a CT scan done to see why I was in so much pain. The CT showed air outside of my colon which meant that the doctor had perforated my bowel during the colonoscopy. They started me on antibiotics and said a surgeon would be in to speak with me about possibly removing my entire colon. The surgeon came in and discussed my options. I either stuck with the antibiotics and steroids to see if I heal or I have the surgery. They said it was very unlikely that my colon would recover because there wasn’t any good colon left. I would have had to take a biological medicine for my UC which meant that my immune system would be even weaker and I wouldn’t be able to work in the Microbiology lab where I was currently employed. Even then, there was a slim chance of recovery. She said that even if I didn’t have a perforation, that this surgery was inevitable in my case. I cried and cried and cried. I asked her if I would still be able to have children and she said yes and that she would put extra tissue around my ovaries to protect them. A lot of people said I should get a second opinion but I wasn’t in that state of mind. All I could think about was being able to have children. I also did not want to be on medicine for the rest of my life.

On May 6th 2017, I decided to have the surgery. I had a total abdominal colectomy and an ileostomy surgery. My entire larger intestines was removed and they pulled my small intestines outside my stomach wall and created what’s called a stoma. The stoma is covered with a bag that has adhesive on it to stick to my skin. I essentially poop in a bag. I wish I remember more from this time. I can’t remember what it was like waking up to this. I do remember emptying my bag into the toilet though when I was finally able to walk. I couldn’t go alone though. I had to call the nurse every time I wanted to use the bathroom and there was an alarm on the bed if I tried to get up. One time I let it go off and went anyway because I had called them saying I need to go to the bathroom and they took too long. I don’t blame them. Each nurse had way too many patients to care for. At this point, my arms were completely black from all of the blood draws and IVs I received. Each nurse that came to draw my blood was so confident that they could get it even though I told them they wouldn’t be able to without the ultra sound machine. I had a nurse poke me 3 times and one of those times was in my thumb. Every time, they always had to call the team with the ultra sound to draw my blood. I had a Russian nurse for a few days and she was really hard to understand as her accent was strong. My issue with her was that she wouldn’t listen to me and would disagree with everything I said. I had been in the hospital for a few weeks so I knew what to do and I knew what my body could handle. I also had a male nurse who led me to ask my case manager if I could only have female nurses. I didn’t have a problem with the fact that he was a man. My problem was that he was too rough and he probably didn’t know it. I didn’t blame him for that but it was hurting me unnecessarily. He also forced me to walk to the bathroom on my own without help when I wasn’t supposed to be alone. I started taking walks with a walker through the halls after getting pt. Everyone who passed me cheered me on. It was extremely hard. They say every day you spend in bed is 3 days off of your life expectancy. I had been in bed for basically a month or so. After this surgery, I was on a morphine pump which I controlled and Oxycodone. The oxy kept me loopy. I was on 15 mg every dose. I hated taking it. I didn’t worry as much with the morphine as it didn’t really work for me. It helped give me relief for a few minutes but then faded. I pushed that pump button every time I was able to though. It was every 15 minutes. On May 12th, I finally went home.

Through the next couple of weeks, I had follow up appointments with my GI doctor and my surgeon. When I went to see my GI doctor, I told her about some pain I was having on my bottom. The pain from it made it very hard to walk or move or even sleep. She said it looked like an abscess but to confirm with my surgeon. So I went to see my surgeon and for some reason on that day I was pain free and happy so she didn’t think it was concerning. On May 26th I went to the er for the 12th time. I had a fever and was in so much pain. The er took me back immediately since I had just had surgery and they feared I was septic. It turned out to be an abscess and they took me into surgery to drain it. I was given anesthesia because of how much pain I was in. Thankfully I wasn’t septic and this turned out better than they originally thought. I guess since I was on steroids for so long, my body wasn’t able to fight off an infection so the abscess was very large and inflamed. I received another unit of blood and I still had a fever for a few days. The antibiotics were making me sick and I was really struggling to eat. Between the beginning of April and it now being the end of May, I had lost 30 pounds unintentionally. May 31 2017, I was released from the hospital for the third and final time.

Over the next few weeks, I was walking around the neighborhood and family and friends were coming to help care for me so Issaac could go back to work. I started to taper off the Oxy and that was not fun. I was taking such a high dose that I would nod off mid conversation. When I would wake, I would feel like I slept for hours when it was really only minutes and I would get upset because I was so tired and never really got rest. Even though I was high, I remember how I felt and the things I did. I remember trying to dance with Issaac in the kitchen when he was walking me through the house. I remember contacting people on fb that I hadn’t talked to in a long time. All I wanted to do was talk. I was oddly cheerful and accepted my situation. Anyone who really knows me knows that I am a half glass empty kind of person so this was unusual for me. I didn’t realize all of this until after I tapered off the oxy. My Dad was the only person who told me he was worried that when I came down, I would not feel the same. He knew that it wasn’t really me. I remember going to the ball park to watch a softball game with family and I ended up having to leave because I was in pain and I didn’t bring the Oxy with me. I started to cry because I was so embarrassed and sad that I wasn’t strong enough yet to be at one of my favorite places in the world. On June 18th, I was tapering and I had to have Issaac come home because I was feeling horrible and I couldn’t stop crying about it. I called him because I was home alone at this point because I could finally walk to the bathroom alone and make my own food. So I had to call in another order of Oxy to taper down slower because I was trying to go too fast and I was having withdrawal symptoms. I really don’t know why anyone would want to go through that. Eventually, I was completely off the Oxy and I was so happy to not have any withdrawal symptoms.

So Issaac went back to work after spending every single day with me in the hospital. I didn’t have short term disability because there was some confusion when we signed up for insurance together. I tried to appeal and it was denied Mid June, people from work hosted a bake sale at work to raise money for me. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I never felt that I had people in my life who cared enough to do something like this. Someone also created a go fund me page as well. I was overcome with shame, shock, and most importantly gratitude for such amazing acts of kindness. Issaac handed me the money that was raised and I just lost it. I was so emotional and just couldn’t believe that this was real life. I feel like this whole ordeal is something you hear about happening but never think that it’ll happen to you. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who contributed to raising money and helping me get better and for all of the continuous prayers during this time.

July 4th 2017, I finally returned to work. You can see through all of the photos around this time and the rest of the year that I was enjoying life the best I could. In October 2017, I started to have issues with my skin under my bag. This became an issue off and on for over a year. I had been using the same brand of products since surgery for a year and then all of a sudden I couldn’t use it anymore without having an allergic reaction. My skin would start weeping and oozing and was extremely itchy. It also burned badly which over powered the itchiness. Throughout the year of 2018 I struggled with this a lot but I still went on living. The photos I provided are to show how one day I’m very low spirited and the next day I’m blissful. And I was. I was very blessed to enjoy time with family and to go on vacation with Issaac to the Niagara Falls and to go Gen Con. Gen Con was really hard. There was so much walking and I was so weak and still hadn’t built muscles back up. If I stood on my tippy toes, I would fall over from the pain in my calves. Standing outside in the food truck lines was the worst. The heat was making me sweat and interfering with the adhesive of my ostomy bag. Little did I know that this incident would make my skin worse than it ever was before. The photos are a reminder to me of what I’ve overcome. I wanted to create a timeline and show myself how strong our bodies really are. If you’ve read this far, thank you. Part 2 will be posted soon.

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jackwanchor · 4 years

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Boomer vs Millennial Lifestyles While Growing Up

As a Boomer it's hard for me to understand the lifestyles of my parents. They grew up in a global situation where there was still the remnants of political morality, at least at the public image level.

As a Boomer, born in the late 1940's, I too experienced this during my early years.

As a blue collar tradesman, my income was slightly higher than the minimum wage level. I could afford to work without the need for my wife to work outside the home. This one item saved a lot of stress, as there was no childcare to pay for, or arrange.

Most jobs were day jobs, only jobs such as policeman or glass factory would involve shift work. In event of shift work being required, it was generally a smaller staff drawn from the existing dayshift voluntarily. The shift premium was either time plus a third, or time plus a quarter. Being a trade job the conditions were determined by the involvement of a union.

But above all, there was little need to be worried about the future. The computer age was just starting, and the work week in the UK had been reduced from 48 hours, first to 44 hours, to a 40 hour week, less for white collar workers, I seem to remember that they would do a 7 and a half hour day, and 7 on Fridays.

The presumption was made that by the time I would be middle aged, the work week might well be down as low as 32 hours, with the hourly rate increased enough to maintain the same income as for the then current 40 hour week. It was presumed that it might well be that there would at some point a need for two dayshifts of three days per week each.

This was because of computers.

What actually happened was that the computers were of course in the hands of the management. They grew to be used as tracking devices, first of all legitimately, then by the time that the 1980's came, more as a way of controlling the workers.

Washroom breaks became a fixed time item, just as coffee and lunch breaks had always been. But above all this was happening in subtle ways.

The culture of the post war years was that most people would work for the same company until they retired. This attitude was present because that's the way things had been for years. The workers were cocooned in their workplace with little knowledge of what was developing within other workplaces. There was no real need to change jobs, because working life was a routine. The income was sufficient to pay the bills and to save money as well, or to spend it on holidays if that was preferred.

One factor that is not often given publicity is the effect of women entering the workforce.

During the war, women had been employed in manufacturing jobs, because the men were fighting the enemy. When the war ended in 1945 there was a fully trained workforce of women who wanted to work. The extra paycheck would raise the social status of the family, from working class to lower middle-class. Cars could be afforded by some people. The holidays could be taken overseas, away from rain and clouds.

By incrementally reducing the prosperity of the working class, including the white collar workers, the reduction in the payroll costs gave savings that could be given to the top executives, especially seeing as they could make the decision to award themselves the money. Unions were undermined by various ploys, such as offering only part time jobs that the historic contracts did not cover.

Of course, the younger generations were unaware of the changes because the changes were already in place when they entered the workforce.

Jobs became scarcer as women took increased roles in the workplaces, with lower income scales.

Rents and other living expenses increased to levels where it's impossible for a single income to pay the bills.

So yes, I am an OK Boomer, but not by choice, but by being cheated by assuming that corporate morality still existed when in reality it had already been abandoned. The reality is that if you earn a lower income, then the work that you do will be more miserable. That was the case as Boomers grew up, and it's even more so now.

Anyway I could go on but won't. I just wanted the younger generations to know what happened. The Boomers were cheated, leaving a pre-cheated culture that the Millennials are entering.

My thinking is that there's a need once more for solidarity, for national strikes, and for thousands of people to march to city locations and hold peaceful demonstrations outside the offices of government.

There's a need for increased taxes levied upon the only people left who can afford to pay increased taxes, the rich.

And remember that when taxes are levied upon the people, that companies are people too. Big Pharma can afford to pay taxes instead of paying for TV advertising.

The culture has to change.

Have a great day.

#unions #OKBoomer #tax equality

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aceofwhump · 5 years

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shaking and shivering for eliot waugh? i just want this classy, closed-off boy with trauma to be afraid and shaken tbhhhhh (also i havent seen the latest season if that matters)

I am so sorry this took me forever. I really am a slow writer. I hope you like this!! I’m not sure if it’s what you expected but it sort of developed a life of its own and when I tried to change it up I ended up right back where I started lol.

Character: Eliot Waugh

Fandom: The Magicians

Trope: Shaking and Shivering

For @friendlylocalwhumper and my @badthingshappenbingo card

Takes place in between 1x09 the Writers Room and 1x10 Homecoming. Eliot’s “coping” with killing Mike in 1x08 Strangled Hearts. Quentin finds Eliot in the middle of a nightmare one night and helps him through it.

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night. The night he murdered Mike. Eliot had been trying everything he could think of to distract himself from thinking about it. Drinking, drugs, sex. Their “adventure” at the Plover House provided a brief distraction, albeit a horrifying and deeply disturbing one. Honestly it was a terrible distraction. Really fucked up that Fillory guy. But the distractions only last for so long. Eventually he always starts thinking about Mike again.

Mike…He had been so foolish. Of course the one person he had opened up to, whom he shared exactly who he was, was possessed by a magical, murdering dickwad. He wasn’t real. Whoever Mike was, whatever he had felt for Eliot, wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything.

But it had. It had been real for Eliot. He had never felt that way about another person before. Mike was the first person he could truly say he loved. Margo hadn’t understood him when he said he wanted to be with him and only him. No more sleeping around. He loved Mike. He wanted to be with Mike. Margo said he was being stupid and that he didn’t know Mike at all. He’d only just met the guy. In the end, he guessed Margo was right. He didn’t know Mike. Not at all.Eliot downed his glass of whiskey in one swallow and poured himself another glass. He’d lost count of how many glasses he’d had at this point but the thoughts and images kept coming. He kept seeing Mike’s head bent at an unnatural angle. He kept feeling his soft skin, the taste of his lips on his own, the magic sparking in his fingers as he snapped Mike’s neck. He could see Mike’s face covered in blood, smell his cologne and hear his laugh.

Eliot abandoned the glass in favor of drinking straight from the bottle in front of him. Taking a long swallow from one and grabbing two more bottles without looking at what type of alcohol he was taking, he made his way from the bar to his room. He wasn’t in the mood for partying.

——————————-

Quentin returned to the Physical Kids Cottage some time after midnight. After yet another day of trying to figure out what happened to Penny, he was exhausted. As per usual at the cottage, he was greeted by the sounds of raucous laughter and inebriated antics. Normally he’d seek out Eliot and have a drink or three but he was too tired. All he wanted was to go upstairs and collapse on his bed.

Without more than a glance around the room, Quentin trudged upstairs to his room. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

——————————-

Quentin jerked awake to the sound of screaming. It took him a moment to shake the post-sleep disorientation and realize that the screaming was very real and not some sort of lingering effects of a dream he was having. It was coming from down the hall.

Quentin threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. As he threw open his door another scream echoed out. It sounded like it was coming from Eliot’s room.

Quentin felt his heart drop to his stomach in fear. Thinking only of Eliot’s safety, he flew down the hall, barefoot and in his pajamas. Eliot was in danger. Nothing else mattered but getting to his room.

As he approached Eliot’s door the screaming grew louder. Several other students had stumbled out of the room in confusion and fear but Quentin paid them no attention. He tore open Eliot’s door ready to fight but what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

There was no monster. No Beast. No danger. Just Eliot who was in the middle of what seemed to be one horrific nightmare. He was thrashing around on his bed, limbs flailing. When he wasn’t screaming, his voice tampered down to strained whimpers and moans.

Quentin ran to Eliot’s thrashing body and grabbed hold of his flailing arms. He tried to pin him down so he didn’t hurt himself (or accidentally punch him while he tried to wake him up).

Eliot screamed again as Quentin tried to keep him still making Quentin’s heart broke into a million pieces. What the hell was he dreaming about!?

“Eliot, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!” he shouted. “Eliot! Please! Wake up!!”

Suddenly, Eliot’s eyes flew open and he shoved Quentin away from him making them both topple off the bed and crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Quentin groaned and rubbed the back of his head where it had banged against the bed as he fell.

“Oh god, Q. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Oh god, I killed you. No no no no! There’s so much blood. So much blood.”

The frantic sound of Eliot’s voice brought Quentin’s attention back to his friend. He was sitting on the ground where he fell, hunched over and shaking, staring at his hands with a look of complete horror on his face. His eyes were wide and he was chanting under his breath, “it’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.”

“El?” Quentin reached out to comfort him but Eliot flinched away violently and skittered away until he was pressed tightly into the corner of the room staring at Quentin with wide, terror filled eyes. Tremor after tremor coursed through his body. He glanced quickly at something over Quentin’s shoulder before returning to Q’s face.

Turning around, Quentin saw the students who had been woken up by Eliot’s screams also came to investigate. Quentin stood and marched over to the door. “Everything’s fine. Go back to bed,” he said before slamming the door in their faces. Eliot didn’t need them witnessing this.

Eliot brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms underneath his long legs in order to form a tight, protective ball. His face was hidden in his knees and Quentin could see tremors coursing through his body.

“El? It’s okay El, it was just a dream. You’re safe. It wasn’t real,” Quentin tried to reassure Eliot as he reached out and touched his shoulder. His fingers only just grazed Eliot’s shirt before he jerked away from his touch.

Quentin backed up a bit, hands raised in surrender, trying to give Eliot some space, “Easy, El. It’s just me. It’s Quentin. Can you look at me?” Eliot didn’t move. He just continued to shake, violent shivers that coursed through his whole body.

“Eliot?” There was no response from him. “Okay that’s cool. We can uh we can just sit here. Take your time. I’m right here.”

Quentin had never seen him like this before. Eliot was always the strong confident upperclassman. He’d never seen him this terrified before. God, he wished Margo was here. She should be here and not in Ibiza. She’d be able to help him, get through to him somehow.

At a lost for how to help, Quentin did the only thing he could think of. He sat down next to Eliot. Close enough that Eliot knew he was there but far enough that Eliot had the space he desired. And he waited, quietly offering support until Eliot had calmed down.

A few minutes past by, feeling like hours, before Eliot spoke, “You should go back to bed, Q.”

Quentin jumped at the soft sound of his friends ragged voice, “Eliot! Hey. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he said as he uncurled his stiff limbs and rubbed the evidence of tears away from his face, his hand shaking as he did. He was still trembling but it had seemed to calm a bit from earlier.

“Eliot. You are not fine. You were screaming and shaking and…”

“It was just a bad dream, Q. I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

“Just a bad dream. Sure it was. Bad enough it left you a shaking mess. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Eliot rose and stumbled over to the nearest bottle of alcohol he could find. Bringing it to his lips he took a long drink and swayed.

“Come on, El. You can’t just drink it away. Talk to me.”

Eliot paused debating about saying something or taking his drink and going somewhere far away, “It was different this time.”

“What was different?” Quentin said quietly, rising off the floor and moving closer to Eliot.

“The dream. Usually…..usually it’s Mike. Always Mike. But this time,” he paused, hesitant to say more.

“This time?” Quentin encouraged.

Eliot turned slightly and looked at Quentin, turmoil swimming in his eyes. He went to look for a bottle of alcohol, any alcohol. Before he could take a drink, Quentin snatched the bottle out of his hands.

“Hey, no. No more of that Eliot. You’ve had enough. Just talk to me. What was different about this dream?”

“….It was you. I….I killed you, Q.”

Quentin was stunned. Eliot saw the opportunity and took the bottle from Quentin’s stunned hands and took another very long swig.

“Shit. El. I..–”

“It’s always Mike. The situation changes from dream to dream but it’s always Mike and I always snap his neck like a twig. But this time it was you. You were standing there and… and you were going to kill Fogg so I…I killed you.” Emotions overwhelming him, he turned away from Quentin and ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair.

Quentin swore to himself and looked at Eliot’s back, “I’m sorry.”

Eliot huffs out a laugh, “Why the fuck are you sorry Q? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m sorry because you’ve been dealing with this alone and that I hadn’t noticed how bad it’s gotten,” Quentin said, grasping Eliot’s arm before he could take yet another drink. He could feel him shivering still. Slight tremors that made his arm shake slightly.

“You shouldn’t worry about me Quentin. In fact, you should probably stay away from me. It’s safer that way.” Eliot pulled his arm out of Quentin’s grasp and plopped down on the bed dejectedly, a bottle of scotch hanging from his fingertips.

Quentin sat down next to him, “I’m not gonna stay away from my best friend. I know you’re hurting right now Eliot but it’s gonna get better. I promise. How about I stay here tonight? We could just hang out. Talk or whatever.”

Eliot glanced at Quentin and a small smile grew, “No talking. Just drinking.”

Quentin smiled back and took the scotch from him.

#the magicians #the magicians fanfic #eliot waugh #quentin coldwater #queliot #ace writes stuff #bad things happen bingo #friendlylocalwhumper #my writing #filled prompts #nightmares #shaking #shivering #fear #screaming #comfort

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