#part time accounting jobs sydney

[opposums-love-arson]

Scream Queen Book 1: Conventional Final Girl

Chapter 4

Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

Stu Macher x Reader x Billy Loomis

 “Did you find them?” Sid asked, referring to mom and Neil who were supposed to have arrived at the expo today, like they told us. 

“Are you sure it was the Hilton?” Dewey asked, looking between us two. 

“Mhm,” She said and we both nodded to him. 

“They’re not registered there.” Dewey looked at us sympathetically, “Could they have stayed somewhere else?” 

“I don’t know, I guess.” Sid said as she rubbed her head for the millionth time. I pulled her hand away from her face and held it in mine. 

“Don’t worry girls, we’ll find them, okay?” Dewey reassured us as he put his hand on Sid’s knee. 

An officer walked by placing a paper on Dewey;s desk and saying something about the mask. Dewey said he’ll “Be right back” as he pushed in his chair and walked off. “(Y/n), what if they can’t find (m/n) and dad?” Sid asked in a sad and quiet tone with little sniffles. Smiling up at her the best I could right now I said, “Hey, just like Dewey said, they’ll find them Sid. I bet mom and  Neil are okay wherever they are.” Pushing her hair back from her face she responded, “Wouldn’t he want us to know that though?” At this point I just looked away. I didn’t know what to tell her. Right when I turned my head is when I made direct eye contact with Billy, a chill ran down my spine and all over my arms. He was pleading to me with a silent voice. “Hey tell em, Sidney, come one, (y/n), tell em!” Billy finally shouted as they led him out of the room. Sid refused to look and see but me? I had a clear view of his pleas for help, part of me felt bad. Right when Billy was dragged out Tatum walked in and right to us. She rushed right to Sid’s side holding her close saying, “Oh Sid, I’m gonna getcha out of here. Okay?” Nodding in response, Sid just sniffled and cried a little. 

  Watching these two in front of me made me realise just how much of a family we really… aren’t. I mean the way Sidney might view it yeah for sure, we talk to each other and spend time together but when it comes down to it they’ll leave me in the background while they huddle to protect her. If this were a horror movie I know I wouldn’t be the final girl, Sidney would. I was pulled out of my thoughts when I overheard Dewey and Sheriff Burke. They’re talking about how it’s hard to track the buyer for the costume and they won’t be able to access the phone account until tomorrow. I couldn’t hear anymore after Tatum just groaned, “Ugh come on,” as she stood by Sid. I’m really hoping it wasn’t Billy, I care about him a lot even if he can be a little… menacing at times. He does his best for Sid and that’s all that matters.

 “Hey Dewey, can we go now?” Tatum asked her older brother, impatience written all over her face. 

“Hold on a second,” He said, pointing his forefinger up in our direction. 

“What did mom tell ya? When I wear this badge you treat me like a man of the law,” Dewey basically whined out to Tatum. 

“I’m sorry deputy Dewey boy but we’re ready to go!” Tatum shouted in a huff as she gathered her things, “Now, okay?!” 

“Uh take ‘em out the back way, avoid that circus.” Burke said as he patted Dewey’s back and pointed towards the back door. 

The whole station was laughing at Dewey and Tatum’s bickering as we rushed for the doors. 

“There she is, Sydney!” Oh well I guess the Devil will always seek you out when you least expect it. “Hi, some night, what happened, are you alright?” Gale asked, shoving the microphone in Sid’s face. 

“She’s not answering any questions alright? Just leave us alone,” Tatum said in a tired-of-this-shit tone. 

“No no, Tatum it’s okay she’s just doing her job, right Gale?” Sid smiled and lightly pushed Tatum back towards me. 

Judging by her voice, Sidney is about to throw down. 

“Yes that right,” Gale nodded, still shoving the microphone in Sid’s face. 

“So how’s the book?” Sid asked, a sarcastic and scorch sound to her voice. 

“Well, it’ll be out later this year.” 

“Oh, I’ll look for it.” Sid said, he voice cracking for the tears and sobs trying to escape. 

I whispered over to Tatum, “Grab Sid. Now.” Tatum did exactly as I said. 

Just in time too since Gale said, “I’ll send you a copy!” 

Sid went to turn around and punch her but Tatum held her back with all her strength. This allowed me to take her place and land a clean right hook to Gale’s left cheek pushing her back and down into her camera man. Words could be heard from all the people behind her but I wasn’t listening. 

Dewey ran up to us and escorted Tatum, Sid, and I to his patrol car. 

“Where’d you learn to punch like that?” Dewey asked as he held onto my arm. 

“Mom was a boxer before she got with Neil,” I said as I slammed the car door. 

“(Y/n) why did you do that?” Sidney asked me, looking in confusion. 

“What, you think I’m going to risk my sister facing legal action in the middle of this shit show? I’d rather land in the slammer than you Sid,” I said as I placed my head on her shoulder. 

“See Tatum why can’t you be like that?” Dewey whined from the front seat. 

“Because you’re my big brother Dewey you’re supposed to defend me!” And so the sibling bickery ensued once again. 

  Once we made it to Tatum’s we got dressed in our pajamas and just lounged around Tatum’s room. I guess my clothes weren’t up-to-par with the latest fashion because right when I walked in I earned an “ugh” from Tatum. “What?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning on the doorway with a goofy grin. “Well one, you always wear those ridiculous shirts, and two, change whatever you’re doing.” Standing up straight I tug down at my shirt, it was just a Pet Sematary shirt, I guess I do wear a lot of horror stuff. “I get why you don’t like the shirt but what’s wrong with what I was doing?” I asked in a genuinely confused tone. Tatum got up to cup my face and squeeze it. “You’ve been spending too much time with Billy and Stu, we need to re-acclimate you to society.” She said and she pouted her lip, feigning pity for my accidental new traits. While Tatum was shuffling through her drawers I looked over at Sid. I mouthed, “Aren’t you going to do something?” Sid shrugged and mouthed back, “What am I supposed to do?” I tossed my arms up in the arm and mouthed, “Anything.”

   Tatum then threw something purple and soft right at my face. “There, go put those on then come back so I can braid your hair!” Tatum excitedly squealed. “We’re going to take cute pictures so hurry!” She shouted down the hall. Rushing to the bathroom I turned on the light, releasing a breath I held in… I’m just a little scared after tonight, I don’t know what’s lurking in the dark places anymore. I examined the set of small shorts and a smooth satin sleeping hirt. I quickly threw them on before heading back to Tatum’s room. When I came back I heard Tatum laughing. 

“God I loved it! I’ll send you a copy, BAM, bitch went down!” Tatum imitated the event. Punching her stuffed rabbit. 

Moving to sit up she again said, “I’ll send you a copy, bam! (Y/n), super bitch!” Tatum exclaimed shoving her arms out to the side. “She is so cool.” 

I moved over to her vanity, careful not to make any noise because I wanted to bask in the fame. 

Dewey walked in saying, “Thought (y/n) might want some ice for that right hook” Just had to run it Dewey. 

“Over here Dewey,” I said as I sat at the end closest to the door. 

Dewey tossed me the greenish ice pouch before I said, “Thanks.” 

“I’ll be right next door, try to get some sleep.” Dewey said as Tatum waved him off. 

I hopped onto the same bed as Tatum, I wanted to give Sid her space since she’s going through a lot right now. 

Turning to me Tatum asked, “Do you really think Billy did it?” 

My heart was telling me to say no but all that came out of my mouth was, “He was there Tatum…” 

“He was destined to have a flaw, I knew he was too perfect.” Tatum said as she bobbed her head. 

Hearing the phone ring in the other room just gave me instant chills, so did the knock at Tatum’s door right after. 

“Telephone honey,” Tate’s mom walked in.

“Who is it?” Tatum asked as we turned to look at Mrs. Riley. 

“It’s for the girls,” She said, making Sid turn her entire body. 

“Is it my dad?” Her question was eager with hope in her voice. 

“I don’t think so,” Tatum’s mom said as she gave a sympathetic smile. 

Sid turned back over, having no interest in the matter anymore. 

“Take a message,” Tatum said, leaning back against the headboard. 

Getting up I said, “No it’s okay, I’ll answer it.” It might be something important, even if it isn’t our parents. 

As I walked out I could hear the pitter-patter of Sid’s sock covered footsteps follow me to the phone. 

“Hello?” I asked, crossing my fear arm over my chest. 

“Hello, (y/n).” Oh no, the voice was obviously the ghost masked man from just hours ago. His words were drawn out just hoping for a reaction. 

I gave him exactly what he wanted, “No! Stop, stop this now!” I wailed out.

Sidney came to my side, along with Tatum and her family. 

“Poor Sidney’s Billy boyfriend, that guy doesn’t stand a chance with her.” This Ghostface said in mock gossip as if he were one of the girls. 

“Leave me and my sister alone! You Jack Torrance sounding creep!” I exclaimed, shaking from the pure rage and fear that swam through my body. 

“Looks like your sister fingered the wrong guy, again!” The masked murderer snarled on the other side of the line. 

“What are you talking about? Who are you?” I asked in complete confusion by his words. Tatum and Sidney were begging me to hang up the phone. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough, I promise.” He said before letting his line go dead. 

“What?!” Dewey exclaimed as he rushed out to us a little too late. We were already walking back to the room 

  I couldn’t sleep for the entire night, neither could Sid and Tatum. We tried keeping our minds off of things by doing light hearted girly stuff like braiding each other's hair, painting our nails, taking cute pictures with Tatum’s instant camera. I just wasn’t ready to leave the warm security of our friend’s home tomorrow morning. 

#scream 1996 #scream fanfic #billy loomis x reader #ghostface x reader #stu macher x reader #billy x reader #scream #scream x yn #stu x reader

[risu5waffles]

Who, or What, is a risuko?

Tagged by@candybagcj , transfemme Alan Wake. Alaina? Would that be Alaina?

Who were you named after?

Like most trans gals, i'm named after myself. i honestly didn't realize it would work out to be squirrel girl until it was far too late. i was just thinking i was being clever wiv bilingual numbers puns.

Last time you cried?

i don't remember, and this is honestly a bit of a problem for me. i kinda feel like it would be a healthier if i could just have a good, honest cry for once. Oh! Wait, i do remember! But it's not really a public consumption story, sorry.

Do you have kids?

No. Steps were taken. There are a few folx in my community young enough to be my kids, and i only hope i have been a positive parental-adjacent person in their lives. That's an honest hope, they're good kids (tho', i think the youngest of that lot is a whole-ass adult now. How time flies).

What sports do you play/did you play?

Zilch, nada, none. Not very sporty, me. i tried a couple when i was a real wee squirrel, but none of them really stuck. i do like biking around and walking, so i'm not completely inactive.

Do you use Sarcasm?

Not as much as i used to, honestly. i've made an effort to get out of the habit. Partly because it doesn't really track well in Japanese, and partly because i think Whedon-esque/mst3k-style 90's snark is a bane. i'm well tired of social masks, and happy to be quit of them (medical masks, tho', those are great).

First thing you notice about people?

Fashion and ink, how they hold their bodies. My aversion to looking at people's faces has only gotten worse as i've gotten older.

Do you have any talents?

i was a dab hand at embalming way back in the day, and i can still walk through all the steps in my head.

Scary Movies or Happy Endings?

Or, hear me out, scary movies wiv happy endings. i'm not against a total party wipe, and can appreciate them when they're done well. But i do like it when we can over come the metaphorical horrors, it happens so seldom in meatspace, you know? Also, i am morally obligated to mention here that the 1988 version of The Blob is one of the best movies ever, and is both scary and has a happy ending.

Where were you born?

i'm adopted, so i couldn't tell you wiv any real granularity. Blacksburg Virginia, US is as close as i can get you. Not a big city, tho', can't be that many hospitals. Unless i was born in a ditch. i'd honestly like it if i were a ditchwater baby.

What are your hobbies?

Creating in LittleBigPlanet (full series); wiv the official servers for 3 being down i've gone back to 1 & 2 to see how well i can do in those Create Modes; it's been fun. Trying to work up the courage to jailbreak my ps3 to get on the private servers, but fucking up my console or account isn't an expense i can really afford at the mo.

Do you have any pets?

i have a rat skeleton named Sydney who i rescued from a school i was demolishing (as part of a job, mind you. i didn't just rock up to some random school and start wailing away wiv a crowbar). i love her dearly, and have only fed her blood the couple of times.

How tall are you?

Oh! i just had a medical checkup, so i know this one; i am officially 178cm and some change.

What was your favourite subject in school?

Forensic Science in uni. We got to handle bones. i got to read through Spitz & Fisher's Medicolegal Investigation of Death. My prof had an entirely healthy fascination wiv kaiju (this was prior to coming to Japan, and in the 90's, so a bit more unusual than if i'd gone to school here).

Dream Job?

Embalming. Or at least something involving corpses. i get the dead way better than i get the living. And no corpse has ever called me fag (pejorative).

Who to tag, who to tag. Hrmm @soupum & @jacechaotic , but only to the extent you want to answer any of this, of course!

#risuko talks squirrel

[sydsrichie]

salt fat acid heat

continuation of spearmint and nicotine

sydney/richie [Ao3]

word count: 2,473

rating: gen

summary: Sydney reflects on the people who made her.

warnings: post Season 2, angst, referenced child abuse, mental illness, grief

Sydney picked up a copy of Salt Fat Acid Heat when she was 22, fresh out of school and still with a firm residence on the bottom rung of the culinary ladder. The smell of thyme had become a stink to her, so pervasive in the way it clung to her hair and underneath her fingernails as she spent hours everyday just stripping the leaves off their little branches, forming one part of many in the marinade for jerk chicken.

Whatever. She’d kind of prepared herself for this. Kept her head down and showed the sous that she could do what she was told and do it well, so that next week or next month she could be upgraded to scotch bonnets.

It was on a day off, when her mind had somewhat recovered from the numbing activity of stripping thyme leaves, that she picked up the book. Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking. It was for home cooks, really, and didn’t contain much technical learning that hadn’t already been drilled into her in school, but inso never went wrong, a fresh way of looking at something she’d already considered a thousand times before. A new philosophy and, if she was being honest, something to remind herself that she loved food, loved cooking, which had more to it than prepping herbs.

Besides, it put a warm feeling in her to see someone from outside the major European culinary traditions - Samin Nosrat, the cover stated - making a name for herself. Honestly, if Sydney had to listen to one more Italian guy act like his connection to and understanding of cooking was just so much more in-depth and spiritual than hers because of his heritage, her knife was going to slip and remove a finger. Good luck carrying on Nonna’s legacy with only half your right hand, you pretentious dick.

The book followed her after that, from restaurant to restaurant, from her own place and her own business back to her childhood bedroom, never straying far from her bedside table. Part of a stack of inspiration and a stack of resilience. Keep going, it said, keep going. You were made for this. It’s not supposed to be easy. Keep going.

At a certain point, those words - salt, fat, acid, heat - became ubiquitous in her life. All day, every day, variations fell from her mouth at different volumes and levels of urgency. They followed her out of the kitchen, coming home with her like the carefully wrapped and lovingly sharpened blades in her bag. They were everywhere, just like food, service, love was everywhere.

And they became a part of her philosophy, the fabric of her life.

salt

Sydney’s dad was salt.

Emmanuel Adamu was a good man, a kind man, a steady man. He paid for their beautiful apartment with his steady, well-paid job in an accountancy firm that required him to wear a tie and not utter any of the curses that fell from his daughter’s lips on a daily basis.

Emmanuel didn’t drink alcohol because his father - Sydney’s grandfather - did, and got mad and beat his eldest son when he was intoxicated. Sydney could understand being angry at an unfair world - sometimes she struggled with it herself - but she never figured out how it helped you feel better to take it out on a child. Fucking stupid. That was also why Emmanuel didn’t like the taste of cherry, because his sobbing mother used to spoon cherry-flavoured Tylenol into his mouth after the beatings, instead of being allowed to take her boy to the emergency room.

It was through learning of her father’s dislike for cherry that Sydney first started to piece together why food was so important, and how it gave meaning. Cooking was about the senses, and senses were memory, and memories are us. A person’s consciousness was little more than the cumulation of their memories, and that was the key to it. Flavours and smells and textures cut straight through every artifice to the very core of a person’s being, and that was what it was all about. Saying something, leaving your mark on someone.

So, her dad was salt, Sydney’s grounding element. The frame of reference that gave the rest of the world its meaning. He raised her, so gentle and kind where his own father had been cruel and angry, and gave her her footing. He brought out the colour in everything. Just like salt in caramel could take off the edge of the sweetness and let you taste the complexity of browned sugar and butter, Emmanuel tempered her anxiousness, slowed her worst tendencies, and helped her see that whilst all this might be fucking difficult, it was also beautiful. And it was worth the fight.

(n.b. Emmanuel Adamu was also salt because he cried. Sometimes with Sydney, sometimes without. Usually about his wife. About every step Sydney took that her mother didn’t get to see.)

fat

Sydney wasn’t clear on what made her mother the fat in this pretentious extended cooking metaphor she used to explain her life to herself. Partly because her mother actually grew her, with her own body. Sydney would literally not be here if not for the bones grown, muscles fashioned, fat and skin and organs added by her mother. Without her milk, her love, her hugs, Sydney wouldn’t be here.

And that line of thinking brought up the other reason why her mother was the fat. It was the part of the cut of meat that spoiled it for many people. The part you either hacked off or endured with a grimace, rubbery and chewy and greasy.

That’s kinda what losing a parent as a kid felt like.

You could either just… refuse to think about it. Hack it off at the source. Resolutely not imagine baking sessions and kisses after school and a comb sliding through your hair, all the things that you only got half your fair allotment of.

And when not thinking about it failed miserably, you could endure it. Think about how the world would have been, how you would have been if they’d lived. Sydney imagined herself calmer and more level-headed, with an actual normal way of thinking. It’s kinda hard to develop a normal way of thinking when your formative years are disrupted by the realisation that everyone leaves, everyone dies. You start living your life with one eye on the clock, except the clock is a fucking Doomsday clock counting down to the day you finally implode and people will make sympathetic faces and say its such a shame, she had a hard start at life, she never stood a chance, really. Part of Sydney thinks that’s why her catering company failed, because she couldn’t even look at the name - Sheridan Catering - without feeling a twist in her stomach.

Fat could be things other than a strip of grizzle on the side of a steak, though, and Sydney tried to remind herself that. You can’t cook anything worth eating without fat - rich olive oil, creamy butter, adding flavour and indulgence and energy your body needed to keep going. She wouldn’t be here without her mother, and she wouldn’t be Sydney if her mother hadn’t died of Lupus when she was four years old. Her drive, her wit, her passion, her appreciation for how fucking short life really is and how you need to make it count - she would have been different if Sheridan Adamu hadn’t died young.

She would like to meet the Sydney she would have been if her innocence had hung around longer.

But that was impossible.

So instead, she kept moving, and fat was as ever-present in her cooking as grief was in her life, like the Three of Swords inked on her shoulder blade.

She tried every day to see the positives in that, she really did.

acid

Acid, without a doubt, was Carmen Berzatto.

One of the greatest chefs living, definitely the best chef Sydney had ever had the privilege of working with, Carmy was the fucking zing that Sydney needed to get out of bed before the sun had risen and the frost had thawed.

Carmy was citrus - so lively was his cooking, his tattoos, the way he moved around a kitchen like his pants were on fire. He was the lemon to Sydney’s lime and there was some deep understanding between them that made Sydney sorry she’d ever hated on Italian guys, because this one was clearly her soulmate, her blood brother.

Carmy was also vinegar. He was sour and tangy, the clear result of leaving some nasty shit to fester for too long. In some ways, she knew Carmy was her if her dad hadn’t been so steady. If she’d had a brother who shot himself. So she tried to cut him slack where she could, but sometimes… sometimes the kindest thing you could do for a person who was a bit fucked in the head was tell them they were acting like they’re fucked in the head. As a victim of her own poisonous thoughts and nerves that ricocheted through her body like a nuclear chain reaction, Sydney knew sometimes you needed to put your foot down and tell people they’re not grounded in reality right now. She knew Carmen appreciated it.

He was sharp. Sometimes, that was a good thing, and he cut through the bullshit and found the heart of an issue like a little acid could lift an entire dish out of complicated mediocrity. Sometimes, it was a bad thing, though. Carmen could cut deep when he wanted to. His own close alignment with his biggest insecurities, the wounds he picked at, gave him a peculiar affinity for working out the weak spots in others.

She loved Carmy - he was ingenious, disciplined, creative, sweet, original. But when he was sour, it was overpowering. And maybe that was just his way of protecting himself, of claiming control. He pushed people away so they wouldn’t have the chance to reject him first. He said and did shitty things because being on the offence was familiar territory, family territory even, and the runt of the litter always had to bark twice as loud and snap twice as hard just to get his share of the meal. Didn’t make it okay, but she did understand it. Somewhat.

He could still be a little bitch though.

heat

For the longest time, Richie was heat just because being around him boiled Sydney’s blood. The person who got her back up by being so obstinate and infuriating that she was left wondering how he’d lived so long without walking off a cliff like a damn lemming.

They yelled and screamed at each other about God only knows what. Richie was a bitch about caulk. Sydney stabbed Richie. They were basically even, right?

But then, Richie changed.

The Bear changed them all. It was a call to arms, to a higher purpose, and they had all had to pull up their big girl pants and figure some shit out. Richie most of all, as it seemed that he was every bit as lost and drifting with the tide as Sydney had always thought him to be.

But then, by opening night, he was this guy in a suit who smelled good and who ran the front of house like a track star.

There was the minor issue of Carmy screaming some truly obscene things through the walk-in door, and the few days where they’d all but accepted that Richie was gone, sick of this shit and realising his own worth for the first time in his life. But then, Carmy had dislodged his head from his own rectum and made amends. Richie forgave him like he’d forgiven Sydney for stabbing him in the ass - that is, with remarkable ease - and came back to The Bear, as stubbornly committed to the Berzattos as ever.

That was something she learned the soft way about Richie - if you were loyal to him, he’d pay you back tenfold.

Heat became warmth. Warmth became a flame kindled between them. Fragile and flickering at first, then steady and strong. He brushed the back of her hand with his when they passed each other during prep. He reminded her to eat and drink. He asked questions. Where do you get your hair done? How long have you known you wanted to be a chef? What was your mom like?

Was he closer to her dad’s age than hers? Yeah, and she could tell it bothered him. Constantly asking in the early days why someone like her was hanging around with someone like him. The answer was simple, really. Because the more she worked with him, the more she realised he was only ever territorial. Trying to protect the last piece of Michael he had, no matter how much of a fucking nightmare it was. The second they realised they weren’t a threat to each other, that they could be friends, it was game over for Sydney. His laugh, his eyes, his voice, his heart. The way he was dragging himself out of his rut, hand over hand, fighting for himself tooth and nail. Made her realise maybe she could do it too, if she just followed his example. It was never too late.

He was so tender with her. He was the heat that kept her at a steady simmer, the warmth that stopped her from going cold in a world that had only ever been hard on her. He kissed her collarbones like they were precious, folded her washed bandanas into neat little triangles, told her she was beautiful at the most random moments, like he thought about it all the time.

She found herself cooking for him more and more as his palate and curiosity developed. Started listening to Taylor Swift, because Eva loved her, and Richie loved Eva. Started asking him questions. What was Michael like? Does Eva prefer school or sports? Had you been stabbed before or was I your first?

She’d long accepted that, for a man who had lived an entire life before she’d even met him, she’d never be the first anything. And she was happy with that. She didn’t think she could have hacked Richie the 22 year old at a tailgate party, draped drunkenly over Mikey Bear’s shoulders. She liked Richie the dad, the divorcee who still fixed Tiffany’s leaky kitchen sink on the weekends, the uncle who could bounce and quiet the baby when Nat was ready to cry herself.

So it was a surprise when, one morning in bed, he kissed her bare shoulder and told her, “You’re the first person it’s ever felt easy with.”

Ease had never been her thing, but she was finding it now.

Thanks to some good people, she was finding it.

all likes, reblogs, comments massively appreciated ❤️

#sydrichie #sydney x richie #the bear #the bear season 2 #sydney adamu #richie jerimovich

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Job Hunt

Sydney and Vanessa look for jobs to build up money to open a diner, but as Vanessa starts losing hope, Sydney contemplates going down a path he had hoped to never do again.

Time Frame: Post Security Breach, simultaneous with Help Wanted 2, Pre Ruin, Sydney POV

------------------------------

.

Running the household was a new experience. There were faint impressions of memories about running a base of operations as a mercenary, maintaining weapons of all sorts, keeping contact with people in similar lines of work to make sure there were clients and contracts to be had, that money flowed to where it was supposed to go, and targets were hit if a double cross happened. Nothing concrete to grab onto and ‘see’ clearly, just fragments of visions of the past and faint recollections of similarities to things he did now while helping Vanessa.

“Gregory! Don’t be late for the bus!” Vanessa called out from the kitchen as she put together a meal to pack up in a Glamrock Freddy Fazbear lunch box, “If you miss it, you’re riding with Sydney while he takes Alex to work!”

“If he rides with me, I’m drilling him on functions in C#!” Alex declared, walking in while straightening his tie as part of his uniform as a security guard. Sydney poured out a cup of coffee for him while Vanessa slid a plate of eggs and toast in his general direction. His brother had offered to return his position of day guard to him once they had all pretty much settled into routine in their shared house. Sydney had considered it for a while before passing on it; Alex had gained a lot more independence and power of choice when he took over as the day guard at Circus Baby’s Pizza and Parties. He wasn’t going to take that from his little brother.

That left the problem of getting new jobs up to him and Vanessa. Their savings would last a few months more, but after that it would become a strain on Alex to carry them through if they didn’t find something soon.

Probably why he’d caught Alex snooping through familiar dark web channels and only barely stopped himself from ripping the computer out of his hands. The amount of money the two of them had stashed away in accounts for their previous lives would have comfortably handled everything and even funded Gregory’s idea of opening their own restaurant. Despite his discomfort at going near anything related to their past identities, Sydney did lament the missed opportunity of using that blood money for a better cause. Wouldn’t make up for the shit he pulled back then but seeing less stress on Vanessa’s face before she finally fell asleep would go a long way to making him feel less crap about the situation.

Alex said the accounts were frozen, no way of getting that money, and their stashes of liquid assets had been destroyed long ago, so they should pretty much give up that avenue and just focus on local work. Sydney had agreed… on the surface.

The loophole he’d worked out by reversing the flaws and mistakes that got him killed in the first place seemed to be accepted by the deal Alex had made. So if he just continued operating under that loophole then there was still a path he could take. If they absolutely had no other choice….

Gregory scurried into the kitchen while Freddy followed at a slower, more cautious pace. The animatronic worried over accidentally damaging the stairs and upstairs floor with his weight so he tended to deliberate over his steps. Maybe he’ll get used to the place with more time. Still, Gregory was in a much better mood since Freddy was able to move in.

Sydney just found himself more on edge, internally screaming any time Freddy was in the same room as him. Whoever said exposure therapy was one good way to get over someone’s fear of something should be dragged into an alley and shot, years being stuck around some form of Freddy didn’t have him get over it. Just made him split between resigned acceptance of future death and frustrated tears that he was still tangled up in Afton’s shit. At least Glamrock Freddy maintained as much distance as he could and seemed aware that Sydney got tense if he couldn’t see where the bear animatronic stood.

“Can I come home if school gets sucky?” Gregory asked between mouthfuls of eggs and hashbrowns.

“You’re just gonna have to put up with it,” Vanessa sighed, already looking over the help wanted section of a newspaper, marker in hand to circle prospective jobs, “We can’t just keep you out of school or we’ll get in trouble. Maybe try and make some friends?”

“Only if I see anyone I recognize from the Pizzaplex,” Gregory muttered and scarfed down the rest of his breakfast before grabbing his lunchbox and bolting again, “Thanks! Bye, Vanessa! Bye, Freddy! See you after school!”

“I always get nervous sending someone to school,” Freddy mumbled, tapping a pair of claws together before looking at Vanessa, “I will get started on cleaning. Good luck in your job-hunting!” She nodded with a smile at him and he wandered off, which finally let Sydney relax.

“Guess he escaped getting drilled for now,” Alex grumbled into his coffee cup, “But I’m gonna get him to sit and study it sooner or later.” He checked the time and sighed, “Right, we’d better leave now if I wanna make it in before the asshole can have an excuse to get on my case about being late.”

“He doesn’t seem that bad,” Sydney carefully signed out, fingers and hands bending awkwardly into unfamiliar positions. Alex squinted at him and he sighed and wrote the message out.

“Oh, well yeah, compared to Master File, he’s a fucking sweetheart to you,” his brother scoffed, “But he bitches me out if I even look at my phone on the job. And don’t even get me started on how he’s still a diva on stage. Fucking embarrassing.” He pointed between Sydney and the paper, “You’re still learning that sign language stuff? Guess I should work on my app to translate it so you don’t have to keep writing everything.”

“Shouldn’t be on your phone if you’re on the clock as security,” Vanessa pointed out, circling a job listing, “It’s in the manual.” Alex hummed, shrugging as he set his cup down. “Well, if everyone’s ready, let’s go. Got some potential places to check for work.”

.

------------------------

.

Dropping off Alex meant getting to see his old place of work and how much it had changed since he last spent time there. Sydney looked over the new decorations, added services, and the change in people. Meera had grown older in her gaze while her features still retained some of her youthfulness from years ago. She still greeted him warmly, hugged him happily, and gushed about her joy in being able to help rescue him from Afton’s clutches.

Circus Baby watched from where she walked the floor, greeting customers. She only waved at him and Vanessa while Alex promptly ignored the animatronic in favor of making his rounds. The pizzeria had changed some, but Sydney still remembered days of making sure Alex ate regularly to gain healthy weight, keeping teenagers in check so they didn’t bully younger kids, and being a lot more carefree. He kinda missed those days.

From there he and Vanessa drove around town to search out all the places she’d circled. Supermarkets, gas stations, convenience stores, restaurants and bars; they filled out applications until Sydney’s eyes crossed at having to spell his name over and over and over.

“Wrong name,” Vanessa whispered under her breath at one stop and he blinked, rubbing his eyes before glaring down at the paper. He’d put his last name as ‘Michaels’ and scowled. The admittedly bad idea he’d been poking at in the back of his mind must have been taking more of his attention than he thought. Correcting the name was easy enough but now that he was aware of what he was considering, it was harder to shove it back down.

He still had his old skills after all, Afton made sure to use him to that extent whenever she needed people gone. And he remembered how much money there was to be made in those circles.

“This burger place is asking for night guards, wanna try applying here?” Vanessa asked during a stop to eat lunch. She pointed at the sign on the ordering counter with her fries and Sydney turned in his seat to look it over and check out the surroundings more carefully. The place had its own animatronics but the building felt… wrong. Nice enough in the day for a visit, but definitely not a place to be in at night.

“No,” he both signed and shook his head at her. Instinct was now screaming at him to leave, pick Vanessa up bodily if need be and just get out. She gave him a puzzled look, then shrugged and went back to eating her burger so he had to push the reaction down, grimacing a bit. Definitely didn’t make it easy to guard her.

They didn’t apply at the burger place and Vanessa decided they should walk around in a mall as compensation. There were more places to apply at inside, but they drifted from shop to shop, gazing through the storefront windows, more than browse inside them. Just a relaxing walk, side by side, while Vanessa scrolled her phone for messages from Gregory.

“Seems like he found a friend,” she said at last, looking up at him with a grin, “It’s cute. He ran into a girl he met at the Pizzaplex during her birthday party and they reconnected.” She waggled the phone, mischievous smile on her face. “Teasing material~!” she declared in a sing-song tone, “Revenge for how he keeps thinking we’re dating or something.”

Sydney rolled his eyes and Vanessa just laughed, bumping him with her shoulder. That was something they both found a little funny. It wasn’t like Gregory or Alex made much effort to hide how they kept sneaking around the house to ‘spy’ on them, like they were trying to catch the two of them at something incriminating. At first it had been kind of annoying -there were only so many times they both could insist they were just friends before it sounded like denial-, but then they turned it into a game of how long they could waste time before those two gave up out of boredom.

Sometimes Vanessa got a bit of a mean streak and would grab the headboard of their bed to slam against the wall a few times, smiling wide and toothy at the mad scramble down the stairs they both could hear through the closed bedroom door. Those moments had Sydney laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

“We should be getting back now. School will be out in another hour and if we’re not home to let him in, Freddy will do it and we don’t need the neighborhood figuring out we have an animatronic at home,” Vanessa said, looking at the time on her phone. “We’ve pretty much hit every place we could to look for work. Something’s bound to come through for us.”

And if not, well… there was still a little money squirreled away for a plane ticket to Nebraska.

.

-------------------

.

Alex and Gregory sat in the living room, various parts and a laptop spread on the coffee table. Freddy sat on the floor near them, watching curiously as they worked on the components together. The pieces were scraps from Fitzgerald’s workshop, leftover animatronic parts that the two of them used for practice in making upgrades for Freddy. Sydney watched them for a moment before turning his attention back to dinner prep in the kitchen.

Vanessa had gotten a cookbook during their mall outing and peered at one page, knife in one hand and onion in the other. “Restaurants make onion rings look so easy,” she complained to him as he drew closer to look over the recipe himself, “Should we just chop it up instead and mix it into a meatloaf?”

“Do we have everything for a meatloaf?” Sydney signed, the positioning of his hands growing more fluid with practice over time. Following along with the videos online helped a lot, and Vanessa would sit in with him to learn how to read this new way of communicating. She was still good at understanding him, with or without his signing. Just a side effect of them having spent so long together under Afton’s control.

“Pretty sure we do. We stocked up on staple supplies during our last grocery run,” she replied, slicing the onion in half on the cutting board and wrinkling her nose, “If this makes me cry, we’re never getting onions again.” Sydney huffed a laugh at her, walking away to change ingredients from making onion rings and dip to meatloaf.

Whatever investigations were going on with the Pizzaplex had long ago fizzled out, to no one’s surprise. The place was still cordoned off, with construction equipment surrounding the building to attempt repairs where the sinkhole under Roxy Raceway started destabilizing the foundation. Freddy watched the news about it with a sad expression and Gregory started making suggestions to sneak into the building and see if the other Glamrocks could be salvaged.

“Their programming chips, I mean,” he had amended when Vanessa and Sydney had both stared at him in alarm, “Mr. Woods said he could build them new endos and shells, but we need the chips so that Freddy gets his friends back and not just Fazbear Entertainment copies.” They didn’t really address it, but then they really didn’t want to step back inside the building. Felt too much like a trap, waiting to ensnare them if they dared to cross the threshold again. Safer to stay outside the building.

Or so they had thought. Vanessa suddenly went silent, cutting herself off from her string of complaints about the onion smell, standing in place with her head in an odd tilt, as though listening to something only she could hear. Sydney watched her warily, alarm building up as she continued to stare with empty eyes into the distance, her grip still on the knife. Finally, she turned her attention to him, gaze still vacant as her hand twirled the knife around into a tighter grip, raising it up while she moved towards him in a semi-drunken shuffle.

He moved to intercept, grabbing her wrist to keep the knife up and away, other arm wrapping around her shoulders to limit her rotation force, then spinning them both around together to sandwich her between himself and the kitchen wall. Pinned like that she wouldn’t be able to leverage enough space to free her arm or move the knife. All that was left was to wait and hope Vanessa snapped out of this state before Gregory wandered into the kitchen and panicked.

“...Wh-,” she breathed after a moment, blinking in confusion, “What just…?” Her eyes scanned over him and then herself and then up at the knife in her hand, her face going ashy in realization. Sydney watched her intently, questioning expression on his face. Vanessa swallowed hard, trying to get herself to relax. “I’m okay. I’m… me again,” she whispered and glanced up at her hand, “Could you… take the knife from me? Please?”

He could smell the fear drifting around her, but he pulled away carefully and reached up to slide the knife handle from her loosened grip. While she hugged herself tightly, he finished chopping up the onion, cleaned the knife, then put it away, leaning back against the drawer it was stored in to block access to it. Vanessa flashed him a quick smile of gratitude, shaky as it was, before returning to her efforts of pulling herself together.

“Been a while since that happened,” she finally muttered, moving carefully to his side and leaning in for support, “Only time I felt shut into my own head like that was just before Gregory shut down the system that was making me into Glitchtrap’s puppet.” She shivered, rubbing her arms down. “We had the implants removed, so what set that off now?”

Sydney didn’t have an answer for that, just a suspicion that the activity of repair around the Pizzaplex was yet another front for something more happening there. Even with the implants gone, the scars of what they’d been through in there still lingered, planted traps that could go off if they weren’t vigilant about finding and disarming them. He pulled Vanessa into a hug, tucking her head under his chin and letting them both listen to the innocent bickering in the next room over what went into a good battery upgrade for Freddy. The sounds kept the chill at bay, reminded them both that they were still in light, even if shadows tried to drag them back in.

“Don’t tell Gregory,” Vanessa murmured, “I don’t want him to think he didn’t actually free me. It’ll just make him want to go back in there even more, on some wild goose chase of finding another arcade machine.”

Sydney pulled one hand away. “Okay,” he signed, blinking when she reached out and wove her fingers with his, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

“You’re the best friend a formerly brainwashed amnesiac mom could ever ask for,” she joked weakly, laughing when Sydney chuckled over her head. “Let’s get back to making dinner, before the boys walk in here and think they’ve scored a point in our game.” Her smile grew more genuine and relaxed when he stuck his tongue out at her.

The things he did to help his friends. Worth it every time.

.

--------------------------

.

The admittedly bad idea rose up again when Vanessa didn’t stop frowning at the screen of her laptop, a spare one Alex had cleaned up and secured before passing it to her as a ‘welcome to freedom’ gift. Gregory was upstairs in his room with Freddy and her phone, talking to his friend from school for however long he could stall doing his homework. Alex himself was at work, and that left Sydney to hold down the fort while Vanessa oversaw the managing of household duties.

Usually that meant she got to boss him around into doing more manual chores and he indulged her because it both made her happy and kept his mind trained to work around his fatal flaw. Give up power in exchange for self-control; the deal remained intact and he didn’t feel as suffocated.

Today, she didn’t even crack a smile at having him haul out the garbage to the curb. Just stayed staring at the screen with that tense frown and fearful eyes.

“If your faces freezes like that, I’ll get the blame,” Sydney signed in front of her so she’d have to see his hands. Vanessa glanced up at the motions, attention diverted, then flashed him a tight smile.

“Sorry, just… looking at our savings again,” she apologized and gestured at the screen. “With what we have, even if we rented space for a tiny diner, we won’t have the money to secure restaurant equipment to actually do business.” She twisted a few strands of her hair around her fingers unhappily. “I could try to get a loan, but we’d have to put the house up for collateral. If the business fails, we lose the house. And we won’t even have this much savings for very long. Bills to pay, household expenses… you know how it is,” she added. Sydney nodded in agreement. Those were all things he had to manage when it was just him and Alex living in a meager little apartment to get away from their parents and he was the one working to bring in money for them to live on.

“If only we had, like, a million dollars just drop into our laps,” Vanessa sighed and snapped her fingers, “Like that. It’d solve this diner issue pretty fast. Too bad the lump sum payout I got from fighting with Fazbear Entertainment was eaten up by our hospital bills and this house.”

Sydney grimaced a little at her words. Money was an issue, always was, and that stupidly bad idea was all but whispering more enticement to him. One job. He could probably do one high value job and solve the problem. Only issue was what to do about the fact that he was going to have to be away from them for however long it took to do that job. He couldn’t just up and say, ‘Hey, I’m going to be gone for maybe a month to do something illegal to get us money. See you later!’

Right?

.

.

In retrospect, while sitting in a plane bound for Nebraska, maybe leaving a note on the bed beside a sleeping Vanessa wasn’t his smartest idea. But at least he wasn’t there for her to yell at him. He’ll just get an earful once he was home with the money. Who knows? Maybe he’ll have enough money that she’ll be so happy with it she’d forget to yell at him.

“Someone looks like they’re in the doghouse with the missus,” the passenger beside him muttered as they read their newspaper.

Sydney sighed, shoulders slumping as he lamely signed, “Just friends.” The passenger scoffed and turned a page, resuming their silence. Technically, she was his boss, so the disbelief was understandable.

She was totally going to yell at him once he got back.

#fnaf fanfiction #fnaf au #fnaf vanessa #fnaf gregory #herrera brothers #sydney herrera #alex herrera #slice of life #parlourverse au

[ncisfranchise-source]

NCIS: Sydney 1×03 “Brothers in Arms” is about Blue, but it’s mostly about what this team is – or about what it’s shaping up to be. It’s early yet, and not all dynamics have been fully established, and even the ones that have aren’t really entrenched. These are people who liked each other, at best. People who are learning to trust each other. We have a long way to go for more.

But they are people who have recognized what works, and the team does just that. It works. They complement each other really well, and ever since those first dark days at the beginning of “Gone Fission,” they haven’t even clashed all that much, other than good-naturedly. Instead, the NCIS: Sydney team is a pretty well-oiled machine, all things considered. And Blue, even though she had a hard time seeing it, was – is – an essential part of that.

Anxiety Is A Bad Advisor

Blue spends the entire episode putting herself down, second-guessing not just her place – albeit temporary – on the team, but whether the people around her like her enough to even share a drink with her as a farewell. Considering that, everyone should have been a bit nicer and put her out of her misery before, but what Blue was feeling isn’t something that can be fixed by external validation. Not fully.

Whatever her place is, or will end up being, at NCIS: Sydney, Blue is going to have to figure that out on her own, and once she does, she’s going to have to own it. Not because it’s what Mackey would want, or because JD was nice about it, but because of herself. NCIS: Sydney 1×03 “Brothers in Arms” is very early on, of course. We cannot expect the show to fix every character issue, and in fact, we wouldn’t want it to.

Instead, we want this. Setup for the journeys each character has to take, internally. The rest is just in delivering, but when you do such a good job in setting up the characterization, the rest is very, very easy.

Politics is A Game (We Now Play Together)

Perhaps the most interesting part about the political aspect of NCIS: Sydney 1×03 “Brothers in Arms” is how Mackey and JD handle everything together, in sync. Not just that, but how they do so without the need for a long conversation or a back and forth about who’s in charge or if they should even be trusting each other. They didn’t pick each other, or the jobs they now have. But they are where they are, and they don’t seem the kind of people who are going to pretend to be antagonistic just for the sake of it.

They might not be besties (yet), but it’s clear they work well together, they respect each other and they are going to have each other’s backs. That’s just a given. There doesn’t need to be drama about that.

In that respect, there’s a lot of maturity about the way NCIS: Sydney has handled their relationship. (This is also an 8-episode season, so let’s take that into account as we consider pacing). Sometimes TV dumbs down adult relationships for the sake of showing viewers the tiny little moments. But more often than not, functional adults will just skip those, and if anything, stop at the big ones. We might have to wait a little bit longer for Mackey and JD to get to those, but that’s okay. We can be patient when everything else is working as well as it is on NCIS: Sydney.

Things I think I think:

She looked. What? You looked, Mackey. We saw you look! Hell, the picture is literally of you looking. JD knows you looked, too.

Evie, stop pretending you don’t like the dude. We can all see through you.

The whole thing with Blue was CRUEL. You are all bad, bad people.

I don’t actually hate the higher-ups being the antagonists.

Please tell me this show will go on long enough that I get a crossover with Mackey and Tennant?

#ncis sydney

[aromanticbuck]

Mouse, the travel blogger

It’s hard to stop doing something once you start. Old habits die hard, and all that. And the habit of running when he got scared was something that Mouse started doing when he was young.

The first time he ran was when he was fifteen, when he realized exactly what the feelings in his chest meant, when he kissed a boy in the back of the library and realized he could never tell anyone about it. Running away was easier than trying to understand it, easier than trying to explain it to his parents, and teenage rebellion would be easier to sell to the media when he was caught than the scandal of a member of Chicago royalty being queer. It was a solution that only took a few hours to execute. He packed a bag and simply left without saying goodbye, not that he would have really been stopped if he had. The only person he had to put up a fight against was the officer who found him trespassing on the other side of the city, the one who asked him for his name for the report she had to file.

But Gregory Gerwitz would cause too much trouble, and draw too much attention, and facing his mother after less than six hours on his own wasn’t something he wanted to do. So he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, and maybe liked being just Mouse a lot more than he ever liked trying to live up to some family reputation.

He knew he was lying, and so did the officer, because she didn’t get her job by being unobservant. But it was late, and calling family services over a runaway would have just meant more paperwork, and offering him a bed and food for a night or two was a lot easier. And he was more than a little grateful that he wasn’t just being sent back to his parents. So one night turned into a week, and then six months, and then a year, and then two, and then... he was almost eighteen anyway, so a few more months until his birthday wasn’t that much of a stretch.

Going back to school was out of the question from the moment he left home, Mouse always knew that, so he didn’t even try. He found things to keep himself busy - everything from helping Trudy with the community garden, to a part time job at the shop across the corner from her district, to babysitting for a few hours every weekend to make some extra cash.

And, the day he turned eighteen, he could access the accounts that were still in his name, and then he ran again.

Instead of running across the city, he ran across the world. He ran to Paris, and Athens, and Sydney, and anywhere else a plane would take him. He took pictures, and posted them on a tiny blog that was just for him. Even if he didn’t stay in one place for very long, he liked to remember it all. He wanted to look back and see all the things in his life that he’d enjoyed, instead of just the memories that hurt.

They were supposed to be like journal entries, his personal thoughts and feelings about each new city and each new experience, but it took off. His website was getting more popular, and he started to actually make money off of it, and a few entries were featured on bigger travel websites... and he didn’t want to stop.

Mouse returned to Chicago whenever he needed to - he got the email with the invitation to Trudy’s wedding, and made sure he was in the city to attend it - but he always went back to his same old routine. No matter how long he lingered anywhere, no matter what connections he might be able to make, he always ran away again.

[ request a moodboard ]

#one chicago #mouse gerwitz #greg gerwitz #greg mouse gerwitz #cpd #chicago pd #alex does moodboards #one chicago au #cpd au

[renaissanceclassics]

A Tale of Two Cities - Book 3: Part 39

In 45 parts.

The Game Made

CHAPTER IX. The Game Made

While Sydney Carton and the Sheep of the prisons were in the adjoining dark room, speaking so low that not a sound was heard, Mr. Lorry looked at Jerry in considerable doubt and mistrust.

That honest tradesman’s manner of receiving the look, did not inspire confidence; he changed the leg on which he rested, as often as if he had fifty of those limbs, and were trying them all; he examined his finger-nails with a very questionable closeness of attention; and whenever Mr. Lorry’s eye caught his, he was taken with that peculiar kind of short cough requiring the hollow of a hand before it, which is seldom, if ever, known to be an infirmity attendant on perfect openness of character.

“Jerry,” said Mr. Lorry. “Come here.”

Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his shoulders in advance of him.

“What have you been, besides a messenger?”

After some cogitation, accompanied with an intent look at his patron, Mr. Cruncher conceived the luminous idea of replying, “Agicultooral character.”

“My mind misgives me much,” said Mr. Lorry, angrily shaking a forefinger at him, “that you have used the respectable and great house of Tellson’s as a blind, and that you have had an unlawful occupation of an infamous description. If you have, don’t expect me to befriend you when you get back to England. If you have, don’t expect me to keep your secret. Tellson’s shall not be imposed upon.”

“I hope, sir,” pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, “that a gentleman like yourself wot I’ve had the honour of odd jobbing till I’m grey at it, would think twice about harming of me, even if it wos so—I don’t say it is, but even if it wos. And which it is to be took into account that if it wos, it wouldn’t, even then, be all o’ one side. There’d be two sides to it. There might be medical doctors at the present hour, a picking up their guineas where a honest tradesman don’t pick up his fardens—fardens! no, nor yet his half fardens—half fardens! no, nor yet his quarter—a banking away like smoke at Tellson’s, and a cocking their medical eyes at that tradesman on the sly, a going in and going out to their own carriages—ah! equally like smoke, if not more so. Well, that ’ud be imposing, too, on Tellson’s. For you cannot sarse the goose and not the gander. And here’s Mrs. Cruncher, or leastways wos in the Old England times, and would be to-morrow, if cause given, a floppin’ again the business to that degree as is ruinating—stark ruinating! Whereas them medical doctors’ wives don’t flop—catch ’em at it! Or, if they flop, their floppings goes in favour of more patients, and how can you rightly have one without t’other? Then, wot with undertakers, and wot with parish clerks, and wot with sextons, and wot with private watchmen (all awaricious and all in it), a man wouldn’t get much by it, even if it wos so. And wot little a man did get, would never prosper with him, Mr. Lorry. He’d never have no good of it; he’d want all along to be out of the line, if he, could see his way out, being once in—even if it wos so.”

“Ugh!” cried Mr. Lorry, rather relenting, nevertheless, “I am shocked at the sight of you.”

“Now, what I would humbly offer to you, sir,” pursued Mr. Cruncher, “even if it wos so, which I don’t say it is—”

“Don’t prevaricate,” said Mr. Lorry.

“No, I will not, sir,” returned Mr. Crunches as if nothing were further from his thoughts or practice—“which I don’t say it is—wot I would humbly offer to you, sir, would be this. Upon that there stool, at that there Bar, sets that there boy of mine, brought up and growed up to be a man, wot will errand you, message you, general-light-job you, till your heels is where your head is, if such should be your wishes. If it wos so, which I still don’t say it is (for I will not prewaricate to you, sir), let that there boy keep his father’s place, and take care of his mother; don’t blow upon that boy’s father—do not do it, sir—and let that father go into the line of the reg’lar diggin’, and make amends for what he would have undug—if it wos so—by diggin’ of ’em in with a will, and with conwictions respectin’ the futur’ keepin’ of ’em safe. That, Mr. Lorry,” said Mr. Cruncher, wiping his forehead with his arm, as an announcement that he had arrived at the peroration of his discourse, “is wot I would respectfully offer to you, sir. A man don’t see all this here a goin’ on dreadful round him, in the way of Subjects without heads, dear me, plentiful enough fur to bring the price down to porterage and hardly that, without havin’ his serious thoughts of things. And these here would be mine, if it wos so, entreatin’ of you fur to bear in mind that wot I said just now, I up and said in the good cause when I might have kep’ it back.”

“That at least is true,” said Mr. Lorry. “Say no more now. It may be that I shall yet stand your friend, if you deserve it, and repent in action—not in words. I want no more words.”

Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spy returned from the dark room. “Adieu, Mr. Barsad,” said the former; “our arrangement thus made, you have nothing to fear from me.”

He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr. Lorry. When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had done?

“Not much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have ensured access to him, once.”

Mr. Lorry’s countenance fell.

“It is all I could do,” said Carton. “To propose too much, would be to put this man’s head under the axe, and, as he himself said, nothing worse could happen to him if he were denounced. It was obviously the weakness of the position. There is no help for it.”

“But access to him,” said Mr. Lorry, “if it should go ill before the Tribunal, will not save him.”

“I never said it would.”

Mr. Lorry’s eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy with his darling, and the heavy disappointment of his second arrest, gradually weakened them; he was an old man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and his tears fell.

“You are a good man and a true friend,” said Carton, in an altered voice. “Forgive me if I notice that you are affected. I could not see my father weep, and sit by, careless. And I could not respect your sorrow more, if you were my father. You are free from that misfortune, however.”

Though he said the last words, with a slip into his usual manner, there was a true feeling and respect both in his tone and in his touch, that Mr. Lorry, who had never seen the better side of him, was wholly unprepared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently pressed it.

“To return to poor Darnay,” said Carton. “Don’t tell Her of this interview, or this arrangement. It would not enable Her to go to see him. She might think it was contrived, in case of the worse, to convey to him the means of anticipating the sentence.”

Mr. Lorry had not thought of that, and he looked quickly at Carton to see if it were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and evidently understood it.

“She might think a thousand things,” Carton said, “and any of them would only add to her trouble. Don’t speak of me to her. As I said to you when I first came, I had better not see her. I can put my hand out, to do any little helpful work for her that my hand can find to do, without that. You are going to her, I hope? She must be very desolate to-night.”

“I am going now, directly.”

“I am glad of that. She has such a strong attachment to you and reliance on you. How does she look?”

“Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.”

“Ah!”

It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh—almost like a sob. It attracted Mr. Lorry’s eyes to Carton’s face, which was turned to the fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat and top-boots, then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire was sufficiently remarkable to elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had broken under the weight of his foot.

“I forgot it,” he said.

Mr. Lorry’s eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of the wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features, and having the expression of prisoners’ faces fresh in his mind, he was strongly reminded of that expression.

“And your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?” said Carton, turning to him.

“Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so unexpectedly, I have at length done all that I can do here. I hoped to have left them in perfect safety, and then to have quitted Paris. I have my Leave to Pass. I was ready to go.”

They were both silent.

“Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir?” said Carton, wistfully.

“I am in my seventy-eighth year.”

“You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to?”

“I have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man. Indeed, I may say that I was a man of business when a boy.”

“See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people will miss you when you leave it empty!”

“A solitary old bachelor,” answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his head. “There is nobody to weep for me.”

“How can you say that? Wouldn’t She weep for you? Wouldn’t her child?”

“Yes, yes, thank God. I didn’t quite mean what I said.”

“It is a thing to thank God for; is it not?”

“Surely, surely.”

“If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, ‘I have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect, of no human creature; I have won myself a tender place in no regard; I have done nothing good or serviceable to be remembered by!’ your seventy-eight years would be seventy-eight heavy curses; would they not?”

“You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be.”

Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence of a few moments, said:

“I should like to ask you:—Does your childhood seem far off? Do the days when you sat at your mother’s knee, seem days of very long ago?”

Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered:

“Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by many associations of the days when what we call the World was not so real with me, and my faults were not confirmed in me.”

“I understand the feeling!” exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. “And you are the better for it?”

“I hope so.”

Carton terminated the conversation here, by rising to help him on with his outer coat; “But you,” said Mr. Lorry, reverting to the theme, “you are young.”

“Yes,” said Carton. “I am not old, but my young way was never the way to age. Enough of me.”

“And of me, I am sure,” said Mr. Lorry. “Are you going out?”

“I’ll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don’t be uneasy; I shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?”

“Yes, unhappily.”

“I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.”

Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry’s destination. Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. “She came out here,” he said, looking about him, “turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps.”

It was ten o’clock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door.

“Good night, citizen,” said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the man eyed him inquisitively.

“Good night, citizen.”

“How goes the Republic?”

“You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount to a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!”

“Do you often go to see him—”

“Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at work?”

“Never.”

“Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself, citizen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less than two pipes. Word of honour!”

As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to explain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire to strike the life out of him, that he turned away.

“But you are not English,” said the wood-sawyer, “though you wear English dress?”

“Yes,” said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder.

“You speak like a Frenchman.”

“I am an old student here.”

“Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.”

“Good night, citizen.”

“But go and see that droll dog,” the little man persisted, calling after him. “And take a pipe with you!”

Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle of the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a scrap of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, several dark and dirty streets—much dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terror—he stopped at a chemist’s shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfare, by a small, dim, crooked man.

Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. “Whew!” the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. “Hi! hi! hi!”

Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said:

“For you, citizen?”

“For me.”

“You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?”

“Perfectly.”

Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. “There is nothing more to do,” said he, glancing upward at the moon, “until to-morrow. I can’t sleep.”

It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.

Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at his father’s grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high above him. “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”

In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow’s victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow’s and to-morrow’s, the chain of association that brought the words home, like a rusty old ship’s anchor from the deep, might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on.

With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.

Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to be suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss.

“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”

Now, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.

The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death’s dominion.

But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.

The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial friend, in the morning stillness. He walked by the stream, far from the houses, and in the light and warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea.—“Like me.”

A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in the words, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to surmise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh himself, went out to the place of trial.

The court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheep—whom many fell away from in dread—pressed him into an obscure corner among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor Manette was there. She was there, sitting beside her father.

When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, so sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love and pitying tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy blood into his face, brightened his glance, and animated his heart. If there had been any eyes to notice the influence of her look, on Sydney Carton, it would have been seen to be the same influence exactly.

Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure, ensuring to any accused person any reasonable hearing. There could have been no such Revolution, if all laws, forms, and ceremonies, had not first been so monstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was to scatter them all to the winds.

Every eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots and good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and to-morrow and the day after. Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving face, and his fingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appearance gave great satisfaction to the spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal-looking, bloody-minded juryman, the Jacques Three of St. Antoine. The whole jury, as a jury of dogs empannelled to try the deer.

Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. No favourable leaning in that quarter to-day. A fell, uncompromising, murderous business-meaning there. Every eye then sought some other eye in the crowd, and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at one another, before bending forward with a strained attention.

Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Reaccused and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected and Denounced enemy of the Republic, Aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, one of a race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, in right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law.

To this effect, in as few or fewer words, the Public Prosecutor.

The President asked, was the Accused openly denounced or secretly?

“Openly, President.”

“By whom?”

“Three voices. Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor of St. Antoine.”

“Good.”

“Thérèse Defarge, his wife.”

“Good.”

“Alexandre Manette, physician.”

A great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, Doctor Manette was seen, pale and trembling, standing where he had been seated.

“President, I indignantly protest to you that this is a forgery and a fraud. You know the accused to be the husband of my daughter. My daughter, and those dear to her, are far dearer to me than my life. Who and where is the false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband of my child!”

“Citizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission to the authority of the Tribunal would be to put yourself out of Law. As to what is dearer to you than life, nothing can be so dear to a good citizen as the Republic.”

Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, and with warmth resumed.

“If the Republic should demand of you the sacrifice of your child herself, you would have no duty but to sacrifice her. Listen to what is to follow. In the meanwhile, be silent!”

Frantic acclamations were again raised. Doctor Manette sat down, with his eyes looking around, and his lips trembling; his daughter drew closer to him. The craving man on the jury rubbed his hands together, and restored the usual hand to his mouth.

Defarge was produced, when the court was quiet enough to admit of his being heard, and rapidly expounded the story of the imprisonment, and of his having been a mere boy in the Doctor’s service, and of the release, and of the state of the prisoner when released and delivered to him. This short examination followed, for the court was quick with its work.

“You did good service at the taking of the Bastille, citizen?”

“I believe so.”

Here, an excited woman screeched from the crowd: “You were one of the best patriots there. Why not say so? You were a cannonier that day there, and you were among the first to enter the accursed fortress when it fell. Patriots, I speak the truth!”

It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commendations of the audience, thus assisted the proceedings. The President rang his bell; but, The Vengeance, warming with encouragement, shrieked, “I defy that bell!” wherein she was likewise much commended.

“Inform the Tribunal of what you did that day within the Bastille, citizen.”

“I knew,” said Defarge, looking down at his wife, who stood at the bottom of the steps on which he was raised, looking steadily up at him; “I knew that this prisoner, of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell known as One Hundred and Five, North Tower. I knew it from himself. He knew himself by no other name than One Hundred and Five, North Tower, when he made shoes under my care. As I serve my gun that day, I resolve, when the place shall fall, to examine that cell. It falls. I mount to the cell, with a fellow-citizen who is one of the Jury, directed by a gaoler. I examine it, very closely. In a hole in the chimney, where a stone has been worked out and replaced, I find a written paper. This is that written paper. I have made it my business to examine some specimens of the writing of Doctor Manette. This is the writing of Doctor Manette. I confide this paper, in the writing of Doctor Manette, to the hands of the President.”

“Let it be read.”

In a dead silence and stillness—the prisoner under trial looking lovingly at his wife, his wife only looking from him to look with solicitude at her father, Doctor Manette keeping his eyes fixed on the reader, Madame Defarge never taking hers from the prisoner, Defarge never taking his from his feasting wife, and all the other eyes there intent upon the Doctor, who saw none of them—the paper was read, as follows.

[corporateaccountant]

Navigating Bookkeeping Jobs in Sydney: A Comprehensive Guide

Bookkeeping is the backbone of any successful business, and in a bustling city like Sydney, the demand for skilled bookkeepers is ever-present. Whether you're an aspiring professional seeking opportunities or a business owner looking to hire the right talent, understanding the landscape of bookkeeping jobs in Sydney is crucial. In this guide, we'll explore the intricacies of bookkeeping roles in Sydney, the skills required, where to find opportunities, and how to excel in this dynamic field.

The Demand for Bookkeepers in Sydney

Sydney, as one of Australia's economic powerhouses, hosts a myriad of businesses across various industries. From startups to multinational corporations, every business requires accurate financial records to thrive. As such, the demand for skilled bookkeepers remains consistently high.

Skills and Qualifications

While formal education in accounting or bookkeeping is beneficial, practical experience and a strong skill set are equally important in securing bookkeeping jobs in Sydney. Employers typically look for candidates proficient in financial software such as MYOB or Xero, adept at reconciliations, payroll processing, and possessing a keen eye for detail. Additionally, strong communication skills and the ability to work independently or as part of a team are highly valued in this profession.

Where to Find Bookkeeping Jobs

Sydney offers a plethora of avenues for finding bookkeeping opportunities. Online job portals like Seek, Indeed, and LinkedIn are excellent starting points. Networking events, industry seminars, and professional associations such as the Institute of Certified Bookkeepers (ICB) can also provide valuable leads. Moreover, leveraging personal connections and reaching out to local businesses directly can often uncover hidden job openings.

Freelancing and Remote Work

The rise of remote work has opened up new possibilities for bookkeepers in Sydney. Many businesses, especially startups and small enterprises, are outsourcing their bookkeeping needs to freelancers or remote professionals. Platforms like Upwork and Freelancer.com offer a wealth of freelance opportunities, allowing bookkeepers to work flexibly and remotely while serving clients in Sydney and beyond.

Tips for Success:

To stand out in the competitive landscape of bookkeeping jobs in Sydney, consider the following tips:

Continuously upgrade your skills: Stay updated with the latest accounting software and industry trends to remain competitive.

Network actively: Attend industry events, join professional associations, and connect with fellow bookkeepers and potential clients.

Showcase your expertise: Build a strong online presence through LinkedIn profiles, personal websites, or professional portfolios to highlight your skills and experience.

Provide exceptional service: Deliver accurate, timely, and reliable bookkeeping services to build trust and rapport with clients or employers.

Seek feedback and learn from it: Solicit feedback from clients or supervisors to identify areas for improvement and refine your skills accordingly.

[eminentoverseas]

The Ultimate Guide To Study In Australia

Overview Of The Australian Educational System

One of the best places for students who want to further their education overseas is Australia. Australia offers a fantastic academic environment and has eight universities ranked among the top 100 worldwide.

International students are increasingly choosing Australia as their study abroad location. More than 6 million foreign students attended Australian institutions in May of this year, according to data published by the Department of Education of the Australian government.

The Group Of Eight (Go8) Comprises Australia’s Eight Most Prestigious Research-Intensive Universities:

• The University of Melbourne

• The Australian National University

• The University of Sydney

• The University of Queensland

• The University of Western Australia

• The University of Adelaide

• Monash University

• UNSW Sydney

In comparison to the same time last year, there was a 12% increase in this. These five countries—China, India, Nepal, Brazil, and Vietnam—accounted for 58% of the students.

Due to the fact that a student can take multiple courses in a calendar year, there were more enrollments than students.

Benefits Of Studying In Australia:

• It is the next "hot" destination after the USA considering the numbers, quality, and living circumstances.

• The cost of pursuing education and living in Australia is 40 to 60 percent less than that of the USA or UK, depending on the selected area. Every year, over a thousand students from India and other countries travel to Australia to pursue their studies.

• Australia's internationally renowned universities, which offer a wide range of courses with up-to-date curricula and infrastructure and result-oriented professors, are another major advantage of studying there.

• International students can work a part-time job to get experience and earn money while they are in school.

• Australia is always open to hiring students who graduate from their universities because they are trained to be work-ready, and thus, job opportunities are widely available in the public and private sectors.

• This helps in making new connections at the base level and also helps in networking at a higher level.

• Australia is one of the most popular study-abroad locations for students from India due to the country's high standard of instruction, extensive course selection, and employment chances upon graduation.

• Many students choose to study in Australia because of its expanding economy, which guarantees decent career possibilities after students complete their coursework.

• Australian institutions are strong in research, excelling in fields like the arts and humanities, education, and sciences.

Top Most Courses In Australia

Below Are A Few Top Courses For Students In Australia:

• Architecture

• Engineering

• Earth Sciences

• Business Management

• Agricultural Sciences

• Computer Science and Information technology

• Accountancy

• Tourism and Hospitality Management

Scholarship In Australia

• Australia Awards Scholarships (AAS)

• Research Training Program (RTP)

• Australia APEC Women in Research Fellowship

• International Postgraduate Research Scholarships

• University Scholarships

For more information, please contact us on 8920523087/9540566315 or email us at [email protected]

#alberta pnp #british columbia pnp #study permit #study in australia

[dreamsandroots]

The Freud-Hole, and Bernays' Extimate Space

There’s possibly no greater malady for a writer, in our day and age, than to be stuck in the Freud-hole, and yet here eye am. My former friends (please note here the playful melodrama) are glad to have escaped the event horizon of my eternally unsatisfied, ouroborean questing. Truly, they’d have rathered gouge out their eyes in favour of reading anything written by the hand of such a swollen-footed, motherfucking dreamer, affixed only to the chase of his own tail. The teaching staff where I study smile politely but you can see the apprehension in their Is. What’s he gonna do next?, I hear them thinking, what might he be projecting onto me at this very moment? Into what kind of strange, subconscious streamscape has he lost himself this time? What monstrous slips of the tongue? In truth, my close reading of Freud has been minimal over the years, though to admit this might only make things worse. 

Because it could be reasoned that the only sin greater than the writer who finds himself stuck in the sinkhole of Freudian thought is the sin of finding one’s way there unwittingly. A few chapters of The Interpretation of Dreams, maybe a few chapters of The Wolf Man, and at one point, on the edges of memory, Civilization and its Discontents and besides these some sections of papers: Beyond the Pleasure Principle, The Uncanny. If anything, based purely on reading I’m probably more of a Jungian. I said earlier that there’s nothing so frowned upon than a writer who has become affixed in the threads of Freud’s various orbits, but within academia this is perhaps not quite accurate: to be an open Jungian might give your peers the impression that at any moment, you’re likely to begin spouting Swedenborg, or quoting lines of William Blake’s obscurant poetry, or pontificating on the profundity of the writings of Aleister Crowley in relation to man’s collective unconscious. Of course, I’ve probably read more Nietzsche than either of them, but there are some things you dare not admit. In his biography Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Carl Jung writes, of reading Nietzsche:

I felt like the old peasant who discovered that two of his cows had evidently been bewitched and got their heads in the same halter. “how did that happen?” asked his small son. “Boy, one doesn’t talk about such things,” replied his father.

Recently a team of students from Western Sydney University (WSU) were provided the opportunity to visit New York as part of their training in Digital Communications. One photo, dated 16.07.23 depicts the gang visiting the Museum of Public Relations to learn about “the history and evolution of American public relations.” As part of this tour, the students got the chance to observe and interact with original materials from the offices of Ivy Lee, Arthur Page, and Edward Bernays himself, who, the poster points out in what she describes as a ‘fun fact’ was the double-nephew of none other than the father of psychoanalysis himself. It’s certainly not my intention to grate on the team or the poster here, I’m sure they’re doing a fine job in their role as students, but I can’t help but feel as if this connection may be somewhat understated in contemporary society. That he was Freud’s nephew was certainly never understated by Bernays himself. By all accounts, he used every opportunity to prop up his own reputation by reference to the relation. There is also widespread evidence that many of Freud’s ideas formed a central core of tenets for Bernays’ ongoing practice, his upbringing in Austria putting him in close proximity to his uncle’s rising notoriety.

I bring this up, not just to be a stickler, or as some kind of Freudian knight errant who demands recognition of his Lord. But personally, I can think of no better tale of history to illuminate more succinctly the particular kind of media PR hell we experience today, than that of the application of Freudean theory by Mr. Edward Bernays. Freud’s theories arose from his experience as a medical doctor, beginning with his fellowship with Jean-Martin Charcot, a French neurologist who had developed treatments for hysteria based on hypnosis. Freud developed his ‘talking cure’ as a method to uncover and shed light on strange behaviours in patients, often women, which, to his view, had no seeming basis in objective reality. Freud posited that such behaviours, often otherwise labelled simply as ‘hysteria’ (and perhaps, by a retrospective extrapolation, we might notice the historical proximity of madness with the ‘feminine’ within medical discourse, not to mention the witch-burnings) were in fact victims of psychical events which had played out at some point during their personal history (and in most cases, as he would discover, at various points) beneath conscious awareness, and well beyond the ability to articulate such wounds into language. Noting his uncle’s work in uncovering the power of psychic phenomenon that seemed to operate beneath the active purview of consciousness, Bernays developed his theory of propaganda as “the mechanism by which ideas are disseminated on a large scale.” As a practice, Bernays posits propaganda to be a kind of philosophical art-tool grounded in a teleological ends-based politics, utilised best by an ‘invisible government’ for the good of the people. Such an overbearing, yet shadowy agency, according to Bernays, seemed the only way to bring about a socially cohesive zeitgeist, something which could ensure the election of the right candidate (the one funding Bernays, that is) and the dissemination of the right kinds of products (those who hired Bernays as consultant). All for the good of the people. At the time of the publication of his seminal text, Propaganda (1928) Bernays had already forged a reputation for himself, being instrumental in shaping international views regarding America leading up to and during their intervention in WWI. One fan of Bernays’ assertions that “only through the active energy of the intelligent few can the public at large become aware of and act upon new ideas” was Joseph Goebbles, who utilised this vision to construct the Nazi propaganda machine that would sell the population of Germany a concentrated and clearly exaggerated vision of the anti-semitism that had been festering throughout Europe during the 18th Century and beyond. Freud would flee Austria 04.06.38 despite reluctance to do so, even after Hitler, on the 15th of March that same year, had been welcomed by the state leading to an extreme escalation of violence towards the Jewish population. Bernays would move away from the term ‘propaganda’, declaring loudly that any tool, psychological or otherwise, can be utilised for good or evil, depending on the ones that wield it. The new term he coined was ‘Public Relations’. Consulting with Austrian-US psychoanalyst A.A. Brill, Bernays would go on to popularise smoking for women in the adult population of The United States by organising groups of (paid) women to march while smoking cigarettes in the Easter Sunday Parade of 1929, as a way to battle against taboos relating to women smoking, being some considerable market restriction for those paying Bernays. Despite the organisation of these spectacles, Bernays vehemently opposed his wife’s smoking, indicating that he knew at least some of the dangers involved in this.

Of course, one could write an entire thesis on this relationship. The trajectory we see forming here is undoubtedly more complicated than simply asserting that Freud = Bernays (propaganda) = modern advertising. I’m not out here demanding we hold a parade for Freud and throw Bernays in the trash can, but I would be open to the idea of a world in which I could admit freely that I found value in Freud’s endeavour, notwithstanding the many things I found disagreeable and short-sighted about the man. If I’m to accept (as some of my colleagues keep telling me) that Freud’s legacy is just another ghostly voice of the old dead white hegemony, well then at least I’d like them to recognise that same undead ghost in their freedom torches, their 3am tik-tok deep dive eyes and their Barbie ads.

#writing #creative writing #psychoanalysis #freud #public relations #propaganda #bernays #writers on tumblr

[visagurukul012]

Canada vs. Australia for Students: Where Should You Study in 2024?

As the academic landscape continues to evolve, choosing the right destination for your studies becomes a critical decision. In 2024, two prominent contenders for international students are Canada and Australia. Both countries boast world-class education systems, stunning landscapes, and diverse cultures. This article aims to help you navigate the decision-making process, weighing the pros and cons of studying in Canada versus Australia.

Academic Excellence

Canada vs Australia For Students are home to some of the finest universities globally, each with its unique strengths. Canada is renowned for institutions like the University of Toronto and McGill University, while Australia boasts academic giants such as the University of Melbourne and the Australian National University. When deciding where to study, consider the specific programs, faculty, and research opportunities that align with your academic goals.

Cost of Education and Living

The financial aspect of studying abroad is a crucial consideration. In terms of tuition fees, both Canada and Australia offer competitive rates. However, when factoring in living expenses, a nuanced picture emerges. Canada generally has a slightly lower cost of living than Australia, which can impact your overall budget significantly. Take into account accommodation, transportation, and daily expenses to make an informed decision based on your financial capacity.

Work Opportunities

For many international students, part-time work is a vital component of their overseas experience. Both Canada and Australia permit students to work part-time during their studies. Canada allows up to 20 hours per week during the academic session and full-time during scheduled breaks. Australia follows a similar structure, allowing part-time work during the academic session and unrestricted hours during semester breaks. Research the job market in your field of study and the availability of part-time opportunities when evaluating potential study destinations.

Post-Graduation Work Opportunities

Considering the post-graduation scenario is essential for planning your future. Canada's Post-Graduation Work Permit (PGWP) enables graduates to work in the country for up to three years after completing a program of study. This serves as a valuable pathway to gaining Canadian work experience and, in some cases, permanent residency. Australia, too, offers post-graduation work options through the Temporary Graduate visa (subclass 485), allowing graduates to work and live in the country temporarily. Understanding the post-graduation work policies in both countries is crucial for aligning your academic journey with your career aspirations.

Quality of Life and Cultural Experience

Beyond academics and work opportunities, the quality of life and cultural experience are integral aspects of your decision. Canada and Australia, while sharing a commitment to diversity and inclusivity, differ in terms of climate, lifestyle, and cultural nuances. Canada's cities like Toronto and Montreal offer a vibrant urban lifestyle, while Australia's Sydney and Melbourne blend urban sophistication with a laid-back atmosphere. Consider the lifestyle that resonates with you and the cultural experiences you hope to encounter during your time abroad.

Language and Communication

Language plays a pivotal role in your overseas experience. English is the primary language in both Canada and Australia, but nuances in accents and colloquialisms exist. Consider which accent and communication style you find more comfortable and conducive to your learning experience. Both countries' diverse populations provide opportunities to engage with people from various cultural backgrounds, enriching your language skills and cross-cultural understanding.

Conclusion

Choosing between Canada vs Australia For Students in 2024 is a significant decision that requires thoughtful consideration. Both countries offer exceptional educational opportunities, diverse cultures, and pathways to post-graduation success. Your decision should align with your academic goals, budget, work opportunities, and the type of lifestyle and cultural experiences you desire. By weighing these factors, you can embark on a fulfilling academic journey that not only enriches your education but also broadens your horizons in a global context.

#Canada #australia #indian students #india #students #education #international students

[theworldgrad]

What you need to know before studying computer science in Australia

Australia has some of the world's best-ranked universities, such as the University of Melbourne, University of Wollongong, University of Sydney, University of Queensland, Deakin University, Griffith University, Monash University, The University of Adelaide, and The University of Western Australia, according to World QS Rankings.

Australia stands out as one of the few countries with institutions that offer an education in IT to non-science students. This makes Australia a top choice for non-STEM students who want to pursue an IT degree and career.

In Australia, Computer Science programs offer numerous career options. These universities partner with IT industry companies for placements, which will account for over 1.2 million jobs by 2027, according to Australia’s digital pulse 2021

What is the eligibility for studying for a Bachelor's in Computer Science in Australia?

To pursue a bachelor's degree in Computer Science in Australia, you need your 12th-grade certificate and marksheet, as well as proof of English proficiency through IELTS or TOEFL. A great LOR and official proof of finances are also necessary, especially for scholarship and financial aid applications. 

The WorldGrad can help you create a strong SOP and advise you on how to waive off SOR and LOR requirements to get into a top Australian university.

The best universities in Australia for computer science

1. University of Wollongong

The University of Wollongong, located in the coastal city of Wollongong, is a top 10 Australian research-oriented university with high student satisfaction ratings. It has awarded over 120,000 degrees and is ranked in the top 1% of universities globally.

2. The University of Adelaide

The University of Adelaide, Australia's third oldest and prestigious institution, is part of the esteemed Group of Eight, recognized for its excellence in mathematical sciences, engineering, and arts. It is ranked 109th in QS and 88th in Times Higher Education World University rankings.

3. University of Melbourne

The University of Melbourne, with over 50 years of experience, has consistently ranked as the top university for computer science. Its world-class teaching and research programs include a range of options, such as a Master’s in Data Science, Computer Science, Information Systems, IT Management, as well as a Graduate Certificate and a Diploma in Computing. Tuition fees average INR 45 lakhs (approx. 85K AUD).

4. University of Sydney

The University of Sydney is a renowned public research institution with excellent computer science courses. Tuition fees for these programs typically range from INR 55 to 60 lakhs (103K to 113K AUD).

5. Australian National University

The Australian National University in Canberra is a prestigious university with seven colleges and departments. It offers courses in Bioinformatics, Data Analytics, Quantitative biology, Parallel Computation, and Programming languages for around INR 35-40 Lakhs (approx. 66K to 75k AUD) amidst lush greenery.

Application procedure- 

To study Computer Science in Australia, first, choose a university based on tuition fees, location, post-study work rights, admissions criteria, campus size, facilities, placements, faculty, and course curriculum. Then, check the admissions requirements, including English Language exam requirements. Prepare for the necessary tests in advance.

Essential documents-

The majority of application processes typically require the following information:

Candidate's personal details

Accredited evidence demonstrating the Candidate's English language proficiency

Academic records, including academic transcripts and letters of recommendation

Statement of Purpose detailing the Candidate's course preferences

Transcripts reflecting any relevant internships or work experience

Research the Visa requirements to ensure the Candidate can procure a Student Visa once they receive an acceptance letter from the university.

Career Opportunities and Internships-

Australia offers a wide range of IT careers, including Software Engineer, Web Designer, Data Analyst, and more. In 2020, jobs in the IT field grew by 17.5% due to Covid-19, and the flexibility and dynamic nature of the industry make it an attractive option for graduates.

Discover a variety of courses by heading to The WorldGrad and find the ideal degree program for your future in your desired area of study. Avail of the Virtual Counselling feature to obtain answers to any of your study abroad queries.

#study abroad #study overseas #education

[proservicensw]

How to Find a House Cleaning Service in North Sydney

A professional house cleaning service can get rid of the grime, dust, and dirt that collects in your home and make it look brand new again. A good cleaning can also sanitise your home and remove bacteria from the air, which helps protect you and your family from germs.

When you need a professional house cleaning North Sydney, there are several ways to find the right person to do it for you. First, you can search for Taskers who live near you and view their profiles to see what kinds of cleaning services they offer.

The next step is to choose the right cleaner for you, and then book them to clean your home. Once they’ve arrived, you can sit back and relax as your home is cleaned by someone who is skilled, experienced, and trustworthy.

Once you’ve selected the ideal person to clean your home, it’s easy to set up a schedule and pay online. Your cleaner will arrive with everything they need to do the job, and you can keep track of your bookings and payments in your account.

You can also request extra tasks to be done as part of the home cleaning, like changing your bed linen or doing laundry. These can save you time and make your home look spotless!

There are many different kinds of house cleaning jobs that can be done by a professional, from vacuuming and mopping the floors to cleaning kitchen appliances and window treatments. It’s important to choose a cleaner who can complete the job quickly and efficiently, as well as in a way that doesn’t harm your belongings.

Most people prefer to hire a professional house cleaner to help them maintain their homes. Not only does it ensure that your home is properly cleaned, but it also gives you more time to focus on other things, including work and family.

It’s a great idea to hire a regular cleaning service that can be done weekly, fortnightly or monthly. These types of cleanings can ensure that your home remains clean and tidy at all times.

A professional home cleaning service will ensure that your home is always clean and smells fresh and lovely. They will also provide you with a free quote for your specific requirements, which means that you can be sure that you are paying the right price for the job.

Whether you need a regular or one off cleaning, you can count on the team at Jim’s Cleaning to provide you with a quality home cleaning service in North Sydney. Their local cleaning experts are fully trained, insured and police checked.

They are also backed by the support and security of a national office, as well as a team of more than 800 specialist cleaning franchisees nationwide.

If you need a professional North Sydney cleaning service, call the team at Jim’s Cleaning and book online or call them on 131 546 to talk with them about your home cleaning needs. They will be able to tailor a cleaning solution to your budget and help you enjoy life again!

Pro Service in NSW is a professional cleaning service. Our fully insured cleaners can assist you with commercial & house cleaning services.

#house cleaning north sydney #house cleaning inner west sydney #house cleaners western sydney #domestic cleaning prices sydney #house maids sydney #house cleaning services sydney australia

[suburbeastern]

The Cost of Bathroom Renovation

If you’re planning on renovating your bathroom, it’s important to understand the cost of the work involved. It can vary greatly depending on the size of your bathroom and how extensive the renovation is.

To stay within your budget, start by prioritising urgent necessities like a new toilet or sink. Once these are done you can add in aesthetic works such as tile replacement or a new vanity. To know more about Cost of Bathroom Renovation Sydney, visit the Eastern Suburbs Bathroom Renovations website or call 0415902838.

The cost of a bathroom renovation depends on how much work needs to be done and what fittings and finishes are desired. A small room will typically cost from $5,000-$15,000, while a larger one will go up to $25,000.

Fixtures and materials play a big part in a renovation. They can account for 40% of the overall costs, so you’ll want to pick high-quality options if you can.

You can also save on the cost of your fixtures by opting for pre-built components like vanity units, basins, and shower panels instead of custom-made ones. These are cheaper and often easier to install, too.

You’ll also need to factor in the cost of a tradie, as they’ll be involved in the installation and construction work. Tradespeople are generally paid by the hour, so you’ll need to budget for the costs of labour for each job.

The cost of a bathroom renovation Sydney depends on the amount of work needed, the type of materials used and how much time the project takes to complete. A bathroom remodel could cost a significant sum, so it is essential to get an accurate estimate and set a budget before beginning the project.

You can use an online calculator to get a rough idea of how much a bathroom renovation might cost. This tool will also provide a list of costs associated with your job, which can help you create a more realistic budget and avoid surprises.

For instance, a tradie laying tiles is likely to charge per square metre, which will vary depending on the type of tile and its quality. The average rate is around $60 per square metre.

A plumber is also a crucial part of the bathroom renovation process, as they will install a toilet, basin, shower and bathtub as well as relocating any pipework if you change the layout or floor plan. Their costs will be hidden behind the walls and floors but they play a vital role in ensuring your new bathroom works properly.

If you're thinking of renovating your bathroom, it's important to understand the cost of the project. It's a big investment, and can have an impact on the value of your home if you plan to sell it in the future.

The cost of a bathroom renovation depends on several factors. The size of the bathroom, the type of work involved and the materials used will all play a part in the final price.

Typical small bathroom renovation costs can range from $8,000 to $15,000 using budget materials and fittings. This is a great option if you're looking to keep the renovation within your budget while making sure it looks and functions well.

One of the most important aspects of a bathroom renovation is plumbing. Plumbers lay down pipes, install toilets, showers, faucets and bathtubs to ensure the bathroom functions properly.

The cost of professional bathroom renovations in Sydney is largely dependent on the type of work and fittings required, as well as on the size of the room. Generally, a small bathroom will cost between $5,000 and $15,000 to renovate, while a medium-sized one will go for up to $25,000.

The labour cost also depends on the number of trades needed to complete the work. These include plumbers for moving or adding plumbing, electricians if you’re installing new lighting, exhaust fans, heated towel rails and hot water heaters, and carpenters if you’re doing a full renovation or any demolitions. To know more about Cost of Bathroom Renovation Sydney, visit the Eastern Suburbs Bathroom Renovations website or call 0415902838.

You should always ensure that the trades you choose have the necessary licenses and insurances to carry out their work on your property. They should also have examples of past work and references to show you.

#cost of bathroom renovation sydney #best bathroom Renovation Sydney #bathroom renovations sutherland shire sydney #bathroom renovations north west sydney #professional bathroom renovations #specialised bathroom renovations #bathroom renovators Sydney #eastern suburbs bathroom renovations #renovating bathroom #bathroom remodeling #bathroom renovation service #bathroom renovation #best bathroom renovations #bathroom remodeling services #bathroom renovation sydney #bathroom renovation sydney cost #bathroom renovation packages sydney #bathroom renovation companies sydney #bathroom renovation Maroubra #bathroom renovation Bondi

[sliderobes]

Custom Built Built in Wardrobes

If you’re looking for a space-saving and convenient storage solution, Sydney built in wardrobes are the answer. They can be custom designed to suit your space and needs.

They can be designed to match the layout of your bedroom, so they’ll appear like an integral part of the room rather than a solitary piece of furniture.

Bespoke

One of the best things about having a well-planned out bedroom or home office is that you have the opportunity to create a highly functional storage centrepiece. That’s where the custom built closet comes in. If you’re looking for the best suited and most stylish wardrobe that your pocketbook can withstand, give us a call. Our professional design consultants will make your dream closet a reality. We are also big on customer service and will go the extra mile to get the job done right. Your new closet will not only be a joy to walk into, but will also be the envy of all your friends and family. Whether you have a small or large space, our clever and innovative solutions are sure to please even the most discriminating of shopper.

Space-saving

If you’re looking to create more space in your home, built in wardrobes can be a great option. They’re typically more spacious than free-standing units and are easy to install.

Besides, you can get them customized to suit your needs and style. They can also improve your resale value and add a luxurious touch to your bedroom.

The best part is that they are available in a variety of sizes and styles, so you can find the right one to fit your space.

They come with a wide range of features, including drawers, shelves and hangers. Some even include a sliding door, which takes up less space than hinged doors and saves you room in your living quarters.

Convenience

Having a dedicated and organised place to put your clothes is one of the most convenient things you can do in your home. A well-designed wardrobe can provide a place to store everything you need, from coats and jackets to dresses and shoes.

If you want to maximise your storage, custom built in wardrobes are a great option. They are made with quality materials and are often more durable than modular units.

You can also personalize the design of your wardrobe and point out the interior compartments that you need. You can choose shelves, drawers, cupboards, stands for sunglasses, and even generous space for hangers.

Design flexibility

Unlike free standing wardrobes, built in closets can be incorporated into any bedroom, regardless of size and style. They also offer an impressive list of functionalities. If you are thinking about installing a custom built robe or looking to upgrade your existing one, get in touch with the experts at Unique Bath and Kitchens for an obligation free measure and quote. They can even assist with a design plan to help you save space, time and money. The team will also help you come up with a plan that works for you and your family. For more details on our top notch services and products, visit us online or give us a call. We look forward to hearing from you. Have a question about the best built in closets in your area?

Customisation

Customisation is a great way to add your own personal touch and make a built in wardrobe fit your space perfectly. At Impressive Wardrobes, we offer a range of custom designs to meet your requirements. We take into account your bedroom layout and provide you with the perfect storage solution for your needs. Our expert team can measure your space and design a built in wardrobe that is just right for you.

Our custom-built fitted wardrobes are made with superior materials and come with a 10-year warranty. We also have a full-time servicing team to help you with any issues that may arise with your new closet after installation. Get in touch with our team today to get started. We look forward to designing your dream wardrobe!

[medusasxworld]

ROLEPLAY ACCOUNTS:

Writer account of #darkandtwistyx and #twistedxmedusa. Goes by Medusa. In early 30's, has a part time job so can't be here 24/7. Also writes on twitter. Been writing since 2014.

Writes in Greys, TWD, Sons, and Crime. Loved Charmed, Bones, Nashville, Scandal, Alias, etc.. Obsessed with MerDer, Rori, Sydney&Vaughn.

GREY'S ANATOMY:

@dirtymistressxx

WALKING DEAD:

@xbeautyissue (Also in the SOA/GREY'S verse)

@issuestaxx

@xxtriggerfinger

REPLIES: 02 STARTERS: 00

MEREDITH GREY: Cristina

ISABELLA ACCETTA: Arizona, Jax

NATALIA HENDRIKS:

LORI GRIMES:

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