#to perform well in school while being able to pay my way without debt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sluttyminghao · 3 years

Text

Part 1/?

✧ pairing: wen junhui x gender neutral!reader ✧ word count: 2k ✧ genre: smut ✧ warnings in this chapter: camboy!jun, masturbation, masturbating on camera, camboy!minghao makes an appearance ✧notes for this chapter: reader only makes an appearance at the end of the installment, i hope it makes sense as you read it! ✧ a/n: you asked, and i delivered! this is the first installment of going live! a series about camboy jun and his adventures! i hope you all enjoy, and if you would like to be added to a taglist pls inbox me! feedback is appreciated! ✧ synopsis: he’s a shy college boy who is stuck in financial difficulty, and his best friends gives him a suggestion that may or may not be a good idea.

A slight glance at the clock on his nightstand indicated that it was 10:49 pm, and he knew that within a matter of minutes he’d be doing the exact thing he said he would never do. His palms had grown sweaty and he felt his heart rate quicken at the thought, and all he could think to do was wipe his palms on his sweats. He remembers the conversation he had about his thoughts with Minghao vividly, even though it had happened months before his current situation.

“I just don’t see how you can do it, how do you not get embarrassed? Aren’t you being watched by...god knows how many people?” Junhui spoke between mouthfuls of ramen, immense heat rising in his cheeks at the nature of the conversation that had come up when talking about Junhui’s increasing level of financial difficulties. Minghao raised a brow at the older, before erupting into a fit of giggles and making Junhui cock one of his brows in confusion. Did he say something funny?

“Why would I be embarrassed about my livelihood?” Minghao began, wrapping some noodles around his chopsticks expertly and blowing them lightly to cool them down. “I make so much profit off of doing camming and making videos, that I’ve been able to pay my rent and amenities for the next six months, as well as keeping on top of all my art school debts,” he continued, an amused smirk finding its way onto his face at Junhui’s shocked facial features.

“Six months? That’s crazy... I’m basically living paycheck to paycheck at the minute,” he mumbled and let out a small sigh, picking at the small pieces of meat left within his ramen bowl with his chopsticks. “Well, that’s kinda what you get for working at a small and dingy diner run by a bunch of college students,” Minghao quipped while giving him a pointed look, letting his napkin fall to the table to signify he had finished his meal.

Junhui sighed. He knew Minghao was right, 99% of the time he generally was, but this was one thing he really didn’t want to admit to him. “But...would people recognise me? That’s one thing I really don’t want,” Junhui spoke shyly, and Minghao’s face softened towards his elder, before shaking his head slightly. “You can use blurring filters or wear items on your face so people won’t recognise you, that’s what I do, and no one knows who I am to this day.”

He thought a little more about it, and Minghao could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, deciding to offer a piece of advice to his struggling long-time friend. “Hey,” he spoke, gaining Junhui’s attention, “you should really think about it, especially if you need the money. With a face and a body like yours, I’m sure you’ll have thousands of subscribers in no time.”

Well, what did he have to lose? He sure didn’t have any shreds of dignity left, may as well give it a shot.

In all his years of living, he had been very well off financially, but in recent months his rent had become increasingly more expensive and the cost of living had jumped up exponentially. To his dismay, he found himself without a choice, needing the money as soon as possible so he would still have a roof over his head and the bare minimum of food.

He had been staring at the webpage for the camming website for the past 45 minutes, trying to hype himself up, but he had just become increasingly nervous as the time had passed. Minghao had explained to him countless times that this website was very reputable and a great starting point for beginners going into camming, and he knew that he could trust the words of his younger friend.

But even still, the nerves would not stop pouring over him, almost acting like a cascading effect, flowing down his back like a waterfall and seeping into every crevice of his body.

He sucked in a breath before exhaling shakily and picking up his phone to call Minghao. He knew that if anyone was able to calm his nerves, it would be his long-time friend. He tapped on Minghao’s contact before placing the phone to his ear, listening to the phone ring a few times before he was met with Minghao’s groggy voice.

“Were you sleeping?” Junhui’s voice is quiet as he speaks into the receiver, awaiting his companion’s response even though he was almost sure he knew the answer already. “No, I was out feeding the ducks, of course, I was sleeping,” Minghao sighed sarcastically, and Junhui suddenly felt a pang of guilt for the late-night call to his friend. “What did you need, ‘Hui?” Minghao continued, sleep laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry for waking you up...I’m so nervous...I don’t even know how to start the camming videos…do you have any...pointers, maybe...” Junhui trailed off, and he could hear Minghao hum from the other end of the phone. He remained silent for a few beats, only further amplifying Junhui’s nerves to the point where his leg had begun to bounce incessantly.

“I think you just need to relax a little, maybe have a drink or two to settle your nerves,” he replied smoothly, wanting to end the conversation so that he could get back to sleep. “If you’re really worried, why don’t you just show everything from the neck down when you’re recording?” He continued, waiting for his older friend’s reply.

Junhui was contemplating the options laid out to him and decided to combine both, deciding he didn’t have anything to lose. “Thanks, Hao, I owe you,” he rushed, hanging up and throwing his phone on his desk and standing up to get himself a bottle of alcohol. He assured himself that he was only going to have a few sips to loosen himself up, but he figured that he may need to down the whole bottle by the night’s end.

A few swigs of his precious alcohol later, and he had finally built up the courage to remove his shirt but left his sweats on as a safety measure. Minghao was right, the alcohol definitely loosened him up, and before he had even realised what he was doing, he had pressed the record button and had started his live stream.

He didn’t know what he was doing, not a single clue. His mind was fuzzy and his last shreds of dignity left him the moment his pants were pulled down and thrown haphazardly to the side. The only thought that was now running rampant through his mind was how much he wanted to cum. He wasn’t even focused on the live video anymore, only focused on his hardening cock and the way his hand wrapped around it.

Normally when he got himself off, he would take his time and relish in the sensations, not wanting to rush. In his nervous and alcohol-fueled state, however, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush like he would if he was sober. His hand moved up and down the length of his cock rapidly, small whimpers eliciting from the man’s lips as he pleasured himself.

Junhui could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge the faster he pumped his cock, but he knew he didn’t want to cum just yet. He slowed his hand significantly to a steady pace, almost feather-like touches, and moved his free hand up to flick at his nipple, sighing at the sensation.

Not that he would ever admit to anyone, but his nipples had always been extra sensitive and even just the slightest feather touch would have him reeling and wanting more.

The whines poured endlessly from his mouth, even as he built up his orgasm for a second time. He kept one hand on his cock, pumping up and down swiftly and gaining speed, while the other pinched at his nipples. It was getting harder for him to hold himself back, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the position he was in.

Before he could even think about stopping himself from cumming again, he felt the string snap in his abdomen and felt the hot streaks of white land on his stomach. He gasped at the feeling and let his hand continue to move steadily, letting the white streaks hit his chest. His head had grown fuzzy from the sheer intensity of his orgasm, and he could feel his hips lightly bucking up into his still closed fist.

When he was sure his orgasm had ebbed away, he removed his hand from his softening cock and sighed, leaning back in his computer chair. After a moment of stillness, his eyes widened upon seeing the small red recording dot on his computer, reminding him of the act he had just performed.

He clicked the stop button hurriedly and closed all his tabs before slamming the lid of his laptop shut. He couldn’t believe what he had just done; his mind was whirring with a thousand and one thoughts, his heart was about to leap right out of his chest, and he knew that there was no going back from the acts he had just performed.

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed towards his bathroom, showering in an attempt to get the cum off his body and somehow trying to scrub off the gross feeling he had from his lewd behaviour. It wouldn’t come off that easily, however, so all he could do was face the consequences of his actions and own them as Minghao told him to.

After a hot shower and a whole lot of contemplation later, Junhui knew that he would have to use his laptop again and see the damage that he had caused, so he decided to simply bite the bullet and take a look back at his video and see if anyone had commented or liked it. It didn’t seem likely in his opinion, since it was his first video and he had no subscribers, but there was a small glimmer of hope buried deep within him.

His eyes widened at the results in front of him. He truly could not believe the sight he saw when he clicked back on to his video to check for feedback.

200 new subscribers, 800 stars and 27 comments

He blinked rapidly, thinking it was all a hallucination. How could this be? He only sat in front of his computer for roughly 10 minutes jacking himself off and had garnered a huge response to it. He clicked the refresh button, thinking that it was simply a mistake on the website’s part. Surely he, a newbie to camming, did not just rack up over a thousand notifications from a ten-minute video.

When the page refreshed he saw the same notifications, except for one new comment that had caught his attention. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to look at just one comment and then head to bed, so he let his mouse hover over the little star-shaped notification icon and pressed on it. His eyes moved across the screen quickly, and he couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to his cheeks at the comment he had seen.

angelbaby96: you’ve got such a nice cock, and such pretty noises too. I would love to hear more of them sometime <3

228 notes · View notes

notasiren21 · 4 years

Note

#40 from the prompt list please and thank you!!!

I’m so sorry this took so long!!!

Someone You Loved

Rating: Mature for some themes

Pairing: fuckin’ Lukanette boi

Word count: 4,665

Prompt: (40) “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”

Description:

Well, Luka sings a song and I pissed @macaknight off with this when I asked her to beta read the start of it. It helps if you listen to the song in the story, Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi. Enjoy lmao

She was around by his side long enough to engrave the little things into his mind.

He knew how it felt to have the soft strands of midnight blues through his fingers as he tangled them in her hair. To have her legs settle on either side of his as he trailed his hand up her small back and waist under her soft cotton shirts. The cheeky grin he grew to love baring up at him when his arms bracketed with her in between he picked her up at home.

How he didn't care for sweets but loved the way blueberry muffins tasted on her tongue and the taste of her mixed with raspberry jelly when it leaked from the corner of her pouty lips.

How the Liberty swayed under his feet against the small currents the wind brought on as they danced in the rain. The feel of his converse bracing both their weights as her drenched skirt blew in harsh waves between them. The first lightning strike reflecting off an anchor necklace he gave her on their first date.

When she kissed his cheek when he started humming absently with frustration as he tried to figure out the melody he wrote. Her small fingers pulling the pencil out of his death grip as she lent her forehead against his to calm him and decipher the jumbled notes he had in his head.

The way her face lit up when he played it back to her.

The way her face fell when she told him she loved him but they couldn't be together.

How her arms stiffly pulled away from his hug and the red of her eyes she showed up with.

How the airy taste of salt from the water didn't compare to the salt of his tears that trailed to his lips as he grounded the palm of his hands to his eyes roughy as sobs racked through his body when he collapsed to the wood of the ship.

The way it left him numb with hurt and he became too compliant with his happenings, too accepting.

Defeated.

Music was harder to hear and enjoy, he couldn't compose anything more than a haunting melody that brought any stranger to tears.

He wasn't sure he even felt the burn to his tongue when he drank his hot coffee as soon as it was handed to him. Or the rough jerk of his shoulder to turn him around as his guitar bounced off his back.

"Hey man, you look worse for wear." Théo, a former classmate of his that now ran the coffee shop, spoke as he eyed him critically. Luka shifted his thick blacks squared rimmed sunglasses up higher to cover his dark circles better. "I'd say it's great to see you, but..."

“Yeah, I’m just tired.” He offered the excuse at the ready, hating how well lying came with sadness.

“Ah, life of a famous rockstar.” Théo teased with a smirk. “No wondering you’re wearing a hat like that backwards to cover your hair and shades for those ‘oh so sexy’ blue eyes of yours.”

“Not famous,” Luka cringed at Théo’s words. “Just well known on the internet I guess.”

“Sorry for overplaying your popular cover videos man.” His old school mate laughed.

"It's fine. What's up?" He forced a smile that came across as genuine despite what he felt.

Théo crossed his arms and made a jerk with his head in the direction of the shop across the street, "New place has been stealing some of our loyal customers." Luka scratched under the brim of his black baseball cap he had on backwards as he followed the movement. "Lunch hour is about to hit and you know much we moved to stop by this part of town for break."

"Yeah, your aunt made good scones." He supplied.

He grunted in response, "Yeah. Well, girls frequent here more from school, and they keep going there," he roughly jerked his chin to the place again, "Just because there's an older guy who takes their order who is attractive, I guess. Or so I'm told."

Luka blinked at the shop before turning to his old friend, "What do you need from me then?"

"Observant as always, Couffaine." He snorted with a shake of his head. "I wanted to see if you -an attractive older guy- would give a small performance just as the girls come."

"What? Why?"

"Are you dense? With your face and body, and that 'sinful voice' of yours the girls cooed about back then and from your YouTube covers, I'm guaranteed to bring in more customers for today."

Luka tossed his half full coffee cup to the trash next to him. His own arms crossing as he wished he was in his cabin instead, laying on his bed while he stared up at the ceiling and trying to not feel the clench of his arm when he smelled Marinette's hibiscus shampoo and berry scented perfume on his pillows.

"I don't know."

His friend clasped onto his shoulder again, "Please man, you can keep 40% of the money you help bring in, I don't care. That shop is a dick and acting like we're not its competition."

“Man, you really don’t have to, I’ll just take a free coffee if you really need this.” Anything seemed better than just wallowing at home at this point, despite the incredible want to do so that swelled within him as he stood on the block he and Ladybug often frequented to patrol. “I mean it.”

Théo smiled, guiding him to a spot that he started clearing out near the cafe’s short fence that caged the outdoor tables and chairs.

“That’s okay, I feel bad to make you work without pay.” He straightened his back that had been bent forwards as he pushed tables, “Consider it repayment for that time you paid for my lunch.”

Luka stopped, “Lunch? When did I-,” he grunted. “Théo, that was four years ago.”

“Well, last Saturday had me thinking about all my debts and regrets when I thought I was gonna die. You came up.”

He flinched at mention of Saturday.

Saturday, the final fight against Hawkmoth who showed up in person with a struggling Mayura and an akumatized sentimonster of Lila. The combination of their powers as well as the wickedness that resided in the girl proving to be a difficult fight for them all when Ladybug and Chat pulled the entire team in.

Including a Chloé Bourgeois who was more than ready to help.

He could’ve sworn he heard Marinette screaming his name in worry when Hawkmoth closed in on him and hit into his side with his cane full force. But that was ridiculous. Because Marinette was Ladybug and Ladybug was Marinette. And Marinette wanted nothing to do with Luka since they had broken up without reason beyond her excuse of not being able to be with him.

He was a bit bitter about the whole ordeal.

Okay, he was more so lovesick and depressed, but his negative energy still stood.

“Yeah,” he flinched again when he heard his voice crack and he thumbed his bracelet -once silver, now a metallic black to hide better, “At least they finally caught Hawkmoth for good.”

“No kidding, now we can just focus on the heroes and the gossip your little girlfriend’s bestie posts.”

A knife. Through his heart. Twisting and gutting.

“Gossip?” He chose the safer option of the sentence, ignoring the onslaught of pitying questions and half-assed supportive promises that correcting Théo would bring.

“Yeah, like how that Ryuuko dragon girl and Chat are definitely dating and that Viperion and Ladybug totally have the hots for one another and the soft looks they give during patrols.”

A chainsaw. Just shredding his heart to pieces.

Luka Couffaine once thought he was a smart kid who made the right decisions.

How wrong he had been.

“Right.” He bit out, gripping the strap of his guitar case and scratching his baseball cap.

Théo shot up and loudly clapped with a whoop, “There we go! Now, I should grab the mic stand from open mic nights and just plug that in and some speakers, then we’ll be good to go.” Maybe Luka should’ve just left. “I’ll get ‘er done in five minutes, tops.”

Luka only nodded, watching as he ran around and set things up, then proudly presented Luka with the lone table he left set up to sit on.

He eyed his skeptically behind his sunglasses before hopping up, testing his weight on the surface before he crossed one ankle across his thigh and took his guitar from Théo who unzipped it for him. Théo pushed the mic stand closer to Luka and adjusted when he peered up at him.

“What do you want me to sing?”

His old friend shrugged with an easy smile, “Anything that comes to mind and draws that big crowd of hungry girls over.” Luka bobbed his head in response and tuned his acoustic guitar as Théo began backing up to inside the store and cheered, “Show off that sinful voice of yours, man! Woo!”

He let out a short chuckle and emptied his mind completely as he shut down, letting his fingers strum a few notes to a song that he began to resonate deeply with.

“I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me,” he closed his eyes and mentally chastised himself for being so open with his feelings as they poured out of him through a popular song. “This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy.”

He could see Théo looking at him carefully when he opened before squeezing his eyes shut in pain. He hated that look of pity, but he already started singing this song and he knew he would have to see it through given that the customers at the shop had already turned their attention to him.

“I need somebody to heal

Somebody to know

Somebody to have

Somebody to hold,”

Did he growl at the end of that last line? He wasn’t sure but the audience seemed moved by it and how he didn’t go weak on the verbs. Maybe he could please someone for once by just following with what worked for him.

“It's easy to say

But it's never the same

I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain.”

He thought he saw the familiar flash of black with red accents that everyone knew as Ladybug’s new suit for a second up on the rooftops. The rooftops that she danced with Viperion on and let her laugh rang over the quiet town under the stars. He wasn’t sure if he was just hopelessly imagining her or if she was there, but he felt the pain bite all at once and his voice became wobbly in a way that the crowd seemed touched by. You’re kidding me.

“Now the day bleeds

Into nightfall

And you're not here

To get me through it all

I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.”

Weak. He felt weak and it wasn’t the kind where he felt weak at the knees like when Marinette smiled up at him or her nose scrunched in thought.

He always thought he could be emotionally strong to handle whatever came his way. He was so sure of it.

“I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to turn to,” Guess he was weak for Marinette in every way possible after all, “This all or nothing way of loving got me sleeping without you.

“Now, I need somebody to know

Somebody to heal

Somebody to have

Just to know how it feels

It's easy to say but it's never the same

I guess I kinda liked the way you helped me escape.”

There was no blame to place, he knew that. It didn’t make it better or let him throw his anger at her to get it out, but he couldn’t keep punishing himself either.

He felt his eyes sting, shutting them as one tear slipped through and feeling grateful for both his dark shades and the sun beating down on his face past the patio table umbrella, hiding the evidence of his heartbreak.

“Now the day bleeds

Into nightfall

And you're not here

To get me through it all

I let my guard down,”

Who was he kidding? The heartbreak was the clearest part about him as he let the rough notes chip away at his throat and the growls making his voice artistically raw that he would have to worry about later.

His heart stopped painfully when he remembered the way Marinette’s face flushed all smitten like with a wondering look when Luka growled while singing and shot her winks, knowing how flustered it made her to see her calm and collective boyfriend with a soft and careful voice sounding so tortured for certain songs.

“And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.

How that came back to bite him in the ass.

He glanced up to blink away the tears and avoid the view of the large growing audience he couldn’t see from the sun.

He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of black and flecks of red again.

Fingers strummed harder and with more purpose and he let his soft voice fall back as the pain ripped through him and out in his voice.

“And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes

I fall into your arms

I'll be safe in your sound 'til I come back around.”

Fuck. He missed her. He missed her a fuck ton and wanted to hold her again and hear her whisper his nicknames of “Love”, “baby”, “handsome”, “Vipey”, whatever the hell she wanted to call him.

Even his damn name would be enough to sedate him for a year.

“For now the day bleeds

Into nightfall”

Dancing with her into the beginnings of a bad storm on the deck of the Liberty as they belted Cheap Thrills amist her giggles and his laughs he choked down to keep her beautiful voice going with his.

“And you're not here

To get me through it all”

Being curled up on her living room couch the next day with her cuddled into his side. Both sick with the cold, but unable to wipe the weak grins from their faces as Sabine amusingly disapproved of their actions the night before.

“I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug”

Their first kiss when she got flustered at their first date and told him she wouldn’t read too much into it despite wanting to, and him effectively shutting her up for the first time ever with the crash of his lips to hers and hands tilting her head up to meet him in reassurance.

“I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.”

The first time she called him her boyfriend and the pleased giggle she let out when he gave a startled and flustered noise, his snack flying out of the package he ripped open before he blinked and asked her to repeat what she said as a toothy grin broke his shocked face.

“But now the day bleeds

Into nightfall

And you're not here

To get me through it all”

Did a camera just flash at him? Hard to tell with the sun in his eyes and the dark lenses of his shades. He couldn’t find himself to care either.

“I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.”

He tried not to think about the fact that he forced himself to change his phone backgrounds to black, tried not to think if she deleted her phone screens of them napping together or the wallpaper of them dancing in the rain Juleka got of them as Luka dipped her over the edge of the stage they always practiced on.

The complete trust in her eyes and smile always made him melt in that picture. Her hands loosely holding her arms as her head titled back in a deep bellied laugh while he held onto her waist tightly with one arm and had the other behind him, the biggest smile that was only found on his face when Marinette was around.

“I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.”

Luka still fucking loved her more than anything.

His drive, his inspiration, his happiness and safe space. His melody that always rang loudly in his ears.

Now it sounded just as it did when they were younger.

The numbness took over as he looked up, face contorted into a forced happy expression as he dipped his head in gratitude to see the very big crowd that gathered and was clapping with tears in their eyes. He excused himself to find Théo who ignored how exposed the song made his old friend, conversing with him briefly as he counted the amount of customers before Luka left and promised to give him the 40% the next visit he came and a free coffee.

He put up his guitar, tugging the case back over his shoulder as he headed back to the Liberty and tossed the faux leather casing to the bed, tossing his sunglasses to the the bed as well before heading to the deck and off to take a lap to clear his break up riddled mind.

The third block was a close achievement, before he felt the petite body rush into him and the all too familiar wrap of small and strong legs wrap about his waist with a black latex suit arm winding around his neck. He subconsciously fell back into habit as one of his own dropped to hold under her thighs and one around her own waist as black fielded his vision.

He barely got a curse out before the all too telling sound of a spiritually powered string to the famous yo-yo pinned against restraint and shot them upwards, his unmasked face burying itself in the crook of her neck from the force rush of air to his eyes.

His chest tightened to the smell of hibiscus flowers and berries, clutching her tighter for the first time in a long while. Half aware he shifted her higher against him to have her bring them closer.

Well fuck if he wasn’t the most touch starved and needy ex ever.

The familiar sound of a specific metal railing being bounded by the yo-yo was the only warning he got before the touched surface with his feet and she loosened her grip.

He barely heard the words of her detransformation before he could see the flash of pink through black and pulled back from her neck.

Terror shook through him, and his hands and body trembled against her as he couldn’t force himself to look up. Staring intently at the silver anchor necklace he gave her, bounded in a rope of small teal jewels.

Luka couldn’t look at her face, couldn’t look away from the necklace she still wore. He couldn’t let her go or put her down either.

“Breathe love,” her quiet voice spoke, soft and hesitant, breaking Luka as he dropped them to his knees and brought her closer than before.

An audible sob he hadn’t heard since she walked away from him escaped his lips and heaved for air as his chin rested over her head and he looked frantically in front of him. At her balcony, the plants that littered the space and the wood paneling they rested on, the little ladybug statue he bought her as a cute joke.

Seeing none of it through blurry eyes, forcing himself to drop his head to her shoulder as she quaked with tears and ran a soothing hand through his hair.

“I’m so sorry, love.” He couldn’t get words out as he just grounded his face into her. “I thought I was protecting you, I didn’t realize how wrong I was.”

She pulled his face up, ceruleans magnified as his pupils dilated to the sight of her in front of him once again and the tips of his ears flaring just by her touch for the first time in forever. She caught a steam of tears with her thumb, giving him a tight smile.

“My miraculous gave me the intuition that Hawkmoth would make his final move.” She paused for a second, closing her eyes and she breathed deeply. “I thought for sure I would die when he did. Either by his winning, or ours but I would end up a casualty or sacrifice. You guys weren’t even supposed to be there, but Adrien insisted for backup and I just...”

“You left me because you thought you were going to be killed?” Voice gravelly and sore from the coffee shop, he pressed on, fingers twitching at her back. “Why didn’t you tell me? Even if you had to strap me down just to bench me from the fight, you should’ve told me.”

“You’re right,” she rushed. “Absolutely right, and it was pure hell to leave to that day or say what I did. I’ve never been more miserable with my life than I’ve been since we’ve broke up. I hate it, I hate being away from you so much, Luka.”

“Be mine again.”

“What?” She blinked, choking on air.

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into her touch when she held his face. “I don’t, I don’t fucking care if I’m being selfish anymore. It’s so hard not to be when it comes to you, Marinette. All these small details engraved to my mind, committed to memory and nothing to do with it.

“I keep leaving hoodies I casually wear on my amp for you to take, I keep putting that soft blanket you’re obsessed with folded on the edge of my bed for you to yank off and curl into as soon as you step into my room.” He forced his eyes not to open as he kept going, following the rhythm she provided and he struggled to find words for. “The minute I wake up, before I even open my eyes to see for the first time of the day, my phone is already in my hand with your contact open and a good morning text at the ready for you. Even good night texts when I reset my alarms. I keep leaving your spot open on my bed in case you visit while I’m asleep. Your favorite part on the couch for you. The last cherry popsicle of the package, and the cookie dough ice cream I bought out of habit are still in the freezer waiting for you to find them.

“I’m fucking broken without you.” He rasped, ceruleans meeting baby blues, “I’m missing you emotionally, figuratively, mentally, physically. How the hell am I supposed to be okay when you’ve become such a big part of me? When you’re my literal other half?”

She nudged his button nose with her small one, “I,” she gave a dark laugh that he felt in his core. “I keep airing out my room whenever my sewing machine leaves behind that electrical smell your nose scrunches at so much.” She giggled when she felt him do it at the mention of the scent. “I let the popcorn cook for half a minute longer to get it a little burnt like how you like. I sleep in your hoodies to leave behind the smell of my perfume and shampoo the way you said you like your hoodies to smell when I give them back. I play with my necklace when I grow nervous and can’t talk to you. I can’t go more than five hours without hovering over your contact name or looking at our pictures.”

He sat back on his knees, letting her adjust herself out of habit and moving her hair away from her face. The smile he gave was tight but reassuring.

“I missed you, doll.”

“I missed you too, Luka.” She paused for a second, “Hey,” she started cautiously.

“Hm,”

“Luka, you know I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you, right?”

The glint that quickly came to his eyes didn’t waver like his abused voice did, “I kinda figured from all the times you’ve blushed and stuttered. The times you tripped when I caught you off guard with a flirtatious comment or wink. And the times you kissed me like it was the end of the world.”

He looked up to see her set a false murderous glare above him as he ran his thumb over the teal gems in the rope around the anchor of her necklace, a smirk he hadn’t felt making way to his face as one of his naturally slightly pointer canines became visible to express his pure happiness.

“I forgot how much of a jerk you could be,” she huffed, looking away and sniffing.

“I’m sorry, doll.” He made her look at him, eyes still shining with unshed tears as the stared into hers. His grin was pure radiance, “I love you.”

She let him pull her down to a kiss, feeling those soft pouty lips he loved so much back on his again. “I know,” she replied between kisses, causing him to huff and pull away with his own pout. She held alone his jawline, “I’m kidding, kinda. But, I love you too.”

Her giggle when he let out a happy and short hum was pure music to his ears as her melody finally fell back into the correct time signature and key. Even as he parted with a pant and hugged her close, stroking her hair.

“Just, don’t leave me in the dark again.” He started, seeing her phone that fell out of her back pocket light up with a text from Alya.

Alya: So did you kiss and makeup, or not? I have Nino on the edge of his seat.

Alya: no really, he keeps asking and refuses to do ANYTHING until he finds out.

Alya: for fuck’s sake, answer and let me get laid

He hid his smile in her shoulder from the texts and the fact that she never changed her screens from them. Letting him see her cheek smushed up against his chest and her arm lazily thrown around his waist while his held her close.

“Never, not again. I’m not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice like I once was.” He snorted at the reference to her old crush on Adrien years ago. “But we do have something to talk about.”

He pulled back, eyeing her cautiously. “Did I do something?”

“Yes,” his heart fell and he was ready to beg for her forgiveness. “You know how many girls have your picture now? Videos of you singing a song in such a beautifully tortured way with those growls, and the rough notes and the, stop laughing Couffaine!”

“I’m sorry,” he muffled his laughs behind his hand. “I forgot how much fun I had just by talking with you and your small bouts of jealousy.”

“Oh, I’m bad? Says the boy who sang a song that people keep covering for heartbreak.”

“I’m getting paid for doing it.”

“How much?”

“40% of the customers I brought in by drawing a crowd and a coffee on the house,” he let a smile spread across his face. “You know, I might be able to change it. Can I treat you to a free mint hot chocolate, a date as well maybe?”

She considered him for a second.

“With whipped cream,” he added for extra measure to his small sweet’s addict. He dimpled up at her with a scrunch when she kissed his button nose.

“God, I love you, Luka.”

“I love you too,” he kissed her slowly, “Mari, just don’t let me sing like that again, my voice is killing me.”

“Got it, never leave you again.”

“Pretty much.”

“Hey, you look cute with your baseball cap backwards like this.” She winked, pulling his black hat from the balcony floor where it fell off and back on his head.

“I’d respond with a witty comment, but it hurts to talk now.”

She grinned, “Hm, I love you.”

Luka still smiled despite flinching from the rawness of his throat, “I love you.”

95 notes · View notes

greenwaterskeeter · 4 years

Text

i finally have a coherent personal narrative, and here it is. It’s quite long, but i think of some interest, and might be encouraging!

-Mentions of suicidal ideation, emotional and financial abuse, emotional incest, fatphobia, misogyny, capitalism. Whatever the qpr equivalent of romance is. Ends happily-

I felt for a long time that i should have died when i was 20. Not in the sense that i deserved to, but in the sense that by then i’d accomplished as much as i ever would and was therefore obsolete– taking up resources unnecessarily.

When i was 13, i felt forced to choose between my parents. My bus driver/karate teacher, a kind person who i very much admired, advised me to flip a coin and then, if i didn’t like the result, pick the other. I chose my mother and (privately) pledged absolute loyalty to her (I was obsessed with LOTR at the time and felt that it was the purpose of my life to be a Sam for somebody).

While she was single and struggling to keep the farm and raise my brother (a toddler then), that devotion was used and rewarded. There were times i thought with satisfaction that i might as well be her husband, as well as a parent to my beloved brother. I was proud. I felt righteous. The joy of supporting and protecting her was real. The intermittent anguish of being a minor who could legally only do so much to help was also real. (I believed in laws then).

When I was 17, she remarried (a perfectly nice, wealthy man, as devoted as me and much more powerful) and i went to college. I slowly imploded across all four years, though I didn’t realize that until nearly the end. I think now it was because nothing i could offer her was needed anymore. Every time she treated me like a child instead of the valued partner i had been, i was crushed. Emasculated. i began to feel positively Tortured without understanding why. It sounds like a villain’s origin story, doesn’t it?

When it started affecting my performance, i could only think the trouble was that i was pining for a married professor, as you do. I had fallen in love with him, and made myself his best student (and then his TA, and then began to feel gross about it, quit, and started avoiding where i knew he’d be, all without telling anyone). Once my decline became known and answers were demanded, this was all i could offer in explanation.

I didn’t blame anyone consciously then, but i think now i felt betrayed by how my friends and family reacted. They all thought i must have seduced him (or vice versa if they were generous) to be so torn up. It was too foolish to become suicidal over a crush. They didn’t believe me, or accused me of grandiosity, when i said the professor didn’t even know how i felt. I have always struggled to keep in touch with people, and once my oldest friends gave me the Adultery is Bad talk, it was hard to keep trying.

Everyone did their best and we were all very young. I didn’t understand any more than they did. But still, i can acknowledge now what it would have meant to have just one person who believed in me regardless of understanding. On a deeply hidden level, i felt that my mother, at least, owed me that, after years of faithful service.

But horribly, once it became clear my suicidality was almost entirely passive, she turned on me. She was very frightened. I guess she had also been thanking her lucky stars all that time that i wasn’t turning out like my dad, but here i revealed myself at last to be a freeloader, just like him. I was supposed to go to medical school. I had been the pride of the extended family, the eldest and purest of my generation, a marvel of the local intelligentsia, and i wound up dragging myself back home inept, directionless, cringing, the same as so many unfortunate young cousins and neighbors who’d used to have me pointed out to them as an example. Who would my brothers look up to now?

I endured living at home for a few years. My mom couldn’t keep up the punishment constantly, so although there was no telling when she would start in on me again, or whether she might finally go through with evicting me, there were beautiful things too.

I worked for her husband’s business for no pay, which i understand now was abusive, but i have always enjoyed working with my hands, and when they left me to it, it felt like the old days, like i had a use, even if it was now peripheral. My brothers weren’t sure what to do with me, but we still had fun when we could. The animals comforted me, and it’s special to be able to give affection and gentleness to a creature who depends on you. The woods and mists and early mornings and silent moonlights were still beautiful, and gradually i could appreciate them again. When i was with people, i felt my disgrace abjectly. But on the farm there were many chores to be done alone.

The more i recovered, the more trapped i felt. I even, very alarmingly, spent about two hours one afternoon silently consumed with resentful feelings towards my mother (this hadn’t happened since i was 10). I began to be afraid of losing control and doing something desperate (I totaled two different trucks during this time, on roads i knew well, for no apparent reason). I had given up my spot at a medical school i would not get into twice, and the obvious escape was to reapply elsewhere. I attempted this, and sabotaged it, multiple times.

I got a job at a nursing home, which was hard on my back but full of wonderful people, and was forced to quit when it made me late to my shift at my stepfather’s business too many times. By this i understood that a local job was not getting me out of there. I asked for money to get an EMT certification and was refused. I applied to many online jobs, none of which i had enough time to make money from. I called up one or two branches of the military, and was rejected for being too fat, thank God. I applied to medical school again, and managed to not sabotage it enough that i was accepted into a master’s program instead. It was across the state, five hundred miles away.

And still it might have come to nothing, as i had no conscious plans, actually, of staying away once i was done with this master’s program. The expected thing would be to go on to medical school, but i was only anticipating the first day of being free and couldn’t imagine anything more than a week in the future. I looked at the amount of debt i was taking on for this, knowing in my heart that i would not get a job that could pay it back, and was only relieved that they hadn’t caught onto me and i could still get loans.

There are a lot of things in my story that aren’t what they say is healthy or proper. I shouldn’t have romanticized my own parentification, i should not have had feelings for a 50 year old man, i should have kept trying with my friends, who have good hearts and only made one mistake before i ghosted them, i should have kept telling the truth, i shouldn’t have taken moral injury from things that weren’t my fault, i should have been properly angry with my mother at some point, i should not be grateful that my tendency is to harm myself rather than others.

One person alone should not have been able to save me.

In the second month of my year away, i was in a study group with my roommates and some of their acquaintances, and i laughingly shared some anecdote or other that i thought was harmless. I don’t remember whether anyone else laughed, but one person said: “That sounds kind of fucked up.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed. “Eh, well.”

Nothing more was made of it, and we went on studying. Later, this same person saw me sitting in the cafeteria alone and came to sit with me. We met to study again, just us two, and they showed me a video about white tears and watched me closely for my reaction. We compared ideals and found them the same. We came up with a project to collectivize flashcard-making for our class and had to meet frequently to carry it out. “We’re colleagues,” my new friend said, firmly, when people asked if we were together. We discovered ethical problems with the program and protested them, formally and informally. We were accused of being too insular. We talked about our families, and they said things like: “That’s not okay, you realize that, right” and “I think if more people loved the way you do, I’d have a reason to smile in the morning.” It became normal for my eyes to be sore from crying.

Neither of us got into medical school that year. We got an apartment together after graduation, and worked together too until i was fired (I was new to challenging authority and not very subtle in my distaste for our bosses). My friend’s parents wanted them to quit too, to come home while they reapplied, but they said: “Not without Autumn.” So after some negotiating, we went to live with their folks for a while…

We’ve been together for 5 years now. At first I did the same as I’d always done, but my partner made it clear they don’t want self-abnegation from me. I started trying to have boundaries, paradoxically, to make them happy. I’ve dipped into therapy as money allows. I’ve been reading and thinking and writing. Above all, I’ve been loved.

And all this time, I’ve still been deeply ashamed. I’ve spent the last ten years in some degree of emotional pain 24/7. But somehow, two weeks ago, another thing happened that shouldn’t, and i suddenly knew that i was a human being like any other.

I still feel that I should have died when I was 20, but now it’s in the sense that people say, “You shouldn’t have survived that! What a miracle!” Still existing feels like a bonus. I might live a long time from now and i might not. Either way, I’m incredibly lucky to turn my face to the world and know that i am a creature in it, like other creatures. I am well. It’s good that I’m alive.

#by auti #hopefully this is something good for someone :)#long post #yikes i hope this isn't just me rubbing it in that i hit the jackpot #idk i feel good about it so i'm posting it #please watch dr. gabor mate btw #that's part of this #and the untamed is part of it too #i still have problems lol don't get the wrong idea #but still everything's different now #the euphoria has worn off a bit but #it's like... it's like i'm meditating all the time?#it's not painful to be present is what i mean #i have the distinct feeling of being un-nerfed #feel free to rb!#although adding commentary might be weird #still i can imagine certain kinds that might not be so. your call!

7 notes · View notes

chyrstis · 4 years

Text

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 7/10

Sorry Sharky. It gets better, I promise.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 2.5K

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

—

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

———–

The first time Sharky worked up the nerve to kiss someone, he figured his luck was golden. Kristi, middle school, cool even with the braces, he’d impressed her with a few spare action figures and some of the extra snacks from his lunch. Talked her ear off more than once, and even had her respond with more than a nod, and an ‘uh huh’ or ‘okay’ to it too.

He had the moment planned out from the start, working up his nerve to pull it off only to get half a sandwich tossed at him mid-go. That, and some applesauce, and having to sit through the rest of the day with stained and sticky clothes had been the cherry on top of the shit sundae he’d made.

He’d thought the situation had been read right. Thought she’d been into him even if he was just a dumbass kid in bad need of a word (or five) breaking down why assuming that was bad – makes you less of an ass that way – and tried not to feel too broken up about it at the time. He could always pick himself back up and try again later.

Now, was no exception. He thought he had the situation down. Had everything sorted right from the start even if he didn’t have all of the pieces set in place yet, only for it all to snarl into a giant knot.

Because of course he’d want to see just what it’d take to get another smile from John, no matter how much he kept his mouth running to do so. To have John seek him out to talk, not just because he was there, but because he wanted to. To share more about himself, what he liked, what he loved. What mattered.

He wanted those things; liked earning them, knowing he’d been the one to make him smile like that. Laugh like that. Wanted to tap into the warm feeling he’d finally linked to it, flowing through him again and again.

So maybe it shouldn’t have been a shock when the other urge hit, saying to kiss the hell out of him. To do it as many times as John would let him, just to hear him react to it. To hold him close, and feel it too.

To earn that. To know he had.

That was an idea he could be okay with. He might’ve even let himself think he’d earned it that day, long enough to see what it tasted like.

And yeah, he did like it. He liked it a whole hell of a lot. Liked it, and John, and was full-on content to keep on kissing him even with the twig under him jabbing him in the ass.

But it wasn’t his call to make. Not alone, and when John pulled back he’d known on some level he’d fucked up.

Enough to know a sad 2 AM text wasn’t going to cut it, but he sent it. Still tried calling at least once as well, even if stammering out an apology wasn’t much better, but he got nothing. No response, no real acknowledgment, just radio silence.

Maybe he’d earned that too.

That, and the news that Joseph slapped him with when he'd finally kicked himself in the ass hard enough to head over and fess up directly. John wasn’t even there for one, and wouldn’t be for the next two weeks.

Two weeks.

Most of his work was usually done at his ranch or around the county, but they’d needed him to fly out for once; all for a few meetings that couldn’t be handled otherwise.

Joe wasn’t rude about it. He even welcomed him warmly once Sharky got through the whole shuffling and awkward rambling on the doorstep bit, half-launching into a speech that he was able to cut off before it got too personal too fast. But Joseph still had to tell him the news at least two more times for it to finally sink in, and the reassuring tone he used didn’t help one bit.

Because he knew what it was like to be avoided, to know that his piss-poor attempts at apologies really had to have fallen flat for John to cut out without any notice like that. And maybe he’d had a delay in replacing his phone – another thing of his he’d managed to wreck – but there were other ways he could’ve reached out to him.

With nothing to go off of, guessing was all he had left. So, with his thoughts pinging back and forth with a vengeance, he did the only thing he could do at the moment.

Work.

Pitching the schedule completely, he came by when he wanted, aware that the days were passing, but tried not to consciously tick them down while doing so. He worked his ass off, and turned the whole thing into the riverside discotheque he'd wanted since this whole mess had started. Had his top one-hundred greatest hits of all time on hand, wore his best headphones, and blared enough music into his eardrums to ensure nothing else could get through.

That’s how he started off this particular day, at least. Singing along loudly, throwing more paint up in lines that would’ve had John complaining next to him and pointing out what to do as he ‘helped’, and the pang he felt from it wasn’t funny at all.

Because it meant he missed that shit too, and that? That was bad.

“This fucking sucks,” he muttered, and brought the roller down only to squeeze his eyes shut before the splatter hit. “Fucking sucks.”

Lowering his headphones, Sharky grabbed for the rag hanging out of his back pocket, and tried to wipe the paint off of his face. It was during this that he caught movement in the distance. Coming down the path, the sunlight shone off of the spotless paint of the car, not a single scratch or dent on it in sight, and his heart jumped straight into his throat.

Scrubbing at the paint on him harder, he stashed the rag and wasn’t sure what the hell he was going for as he shuffled in place, but settled for staring thoughtfully at the wall in front of him. Wiped his hands on his shirt as he heard the door to the car open and close, and had no idea what the first word out of his mouth was going to be.

As it turns out, he didn’t say a thing. Just looked over at John as he walked up, dressed like a damn model himself, suit on with nowhere to go, and felt his face go a full three shades darker in color.

“Hmm.” John studied the building carefully, and tapped a finger on his chin. “You’ve been busy.”

“Uh, yeah.” That came out a little breathier than he would’ve liked, so Sharky cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, dude. You’ve been gone for what, two weeks now? What did you think I was gonna do during that? Take a holiday?”

“Maybe,” John replied. “I’d have considered it. No responsibilities, no oversight. Not a care in the world.”

He hadn’t looked his way yet, focusing on the boathouse instead. Sharky folded his arms just to keep his hands still, and rocked back and forth on his feet, all while the music kept on playing by his ear. He also tried not to read too much into the whole ‘lack of oversight’ part, but failed.

John did turn after a few more minutes, his examination finally over, and walked up to him. His face neutral, everything perfectly in place, and Sharky couldn’t help but stare at him.

“That settles it then,” John said.

“Settles what?”

“You’re done,” he replied coolly. “With the work you’ve put in, and the progress you’ve made, I believe your debt to me has been repaid.”

Everything screeched to a halt. His thoughts, the tapping he’d settled into, and his breath as he held it. “I don’t…you wanna say that again, amigo?”

John didn’t even bat an eye, “You’re free to go. Your help is no longer needed.”

That wasn’t right. The roof still needed work done, the paint was barely starting to dry, and he knew for a fact that this wasn’t finished. He’d stared at all of this with him long enough to know he had maybe a week and a half left, max.

But fine. Maybe he wanted him in another area. To switch to another project, and he latched right onto it.

“Well, you got anything else that you need help with? Think I told Joe I was going to-”

“No. I can manage it from here.”

That idea hadn’t even lasted a minute before John shot it dead.

And there it was, the feeling he'd braced for. The hurt that dug right into his chest, sinking in deep, and he let out a shaky breath as he worked around it.

“Guess I’ll just…” Sharky gestured behind him, attention locked on John as his throat grew tight. “Just start grabbing and loading this up then. Just grab all of this and be on my way.”

Nodding to himself as John stared back, unblinking, his shoulders sagged. Everything else sinking right with him, as a weight settled heavy in his gut.

He knew he wasn’t always going to be around here, but being cut loose like this hadn’t been a possibility he’d considered. Having John all but throw him out mid-job, due to screwing up along the line? Sure. Hell, he would’ve added time due to piss-poor performance, and all that talk of standards months back.

But having him pull this now? After working together so well, for so long?

It stunned him bad enough to keep him from arguing it. He dragged his feet as he gathered up his things, loading them all into the trunk of his car one by one as his disappointment started to hang over him like a cloud.

Sharky shut the trunk and gave John a tentative glance. He didn’t know if he should’ve been looking his way at all, but did it in the hopes he’d get something out of him.

But John wasn’t fazed. Didn’t react, or say anything as he watched him go about his business, somehow even colder than when they’d first started working together. Not angry, annoyed, happy, or anything.

Just nothing. Nothing at all.

Rounding the car, Sharky tugged down on the brim of his hat and hoped it’d stay there. “Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Perhaps. Provided you don’t torch another portion of my property.”

He stopped. Felt the comment dig in a little more than it should’ve, and turned to look at John. Saw the hint of a smirk that lingered there only for it to drop completely.

It hadn’t been a kind thing for John to say, but that John realized it only after looking right at him hurt even more.

Sharky couldn’t hold his tongue any longer at that.

“You know, people talk around here. Have been for years, and will keep on doing that come tomorrow, next week, next year, whenever. I know you’ve heard more than half of what goes on about you here. What they say, and just how they feel about you. Hell, I’ve talked shit plenty about you. Had no real reason to think you weren’t the county’s largest asshole based on the like, ten things we’ve said to each other before the last couple of months. But in some ways you’re an okay guy. Maybe even a great one once you get past the bullshit, and I, uh, like you.”

I like you.

He said it, actually got the words out of his mouth, and didn’t know how he could feel lighter and heavier all at once.

“Yeah, I like you. Didn’t think I’d ever say that and mean it. Probably tell the person claiming it they had a screw loose or something, but I do. And I liked being here. Working with you, being around you, and I don’t…”

Sharky bit the last part of the sentence off, because he knew what he did. He knew exactly what he’d done, and hated that this was the result.

“I, uh, don’t think it really matters what I say at this point, huh?” he muttered, looking John’s way. “Not anymore, at least.”

John’s jaw had tensed sometime in the last minute or so, but he held his tongue. Said nothing, and Sharky had let himself ramble on in spite of it. Had done anything to cover up whatever else he’d try.

Since this really was it, wasn’t it? The last time he was going to be here, talking to him, and he was wasting his time talking about anything other than the way he’d made him feel that day.

He’d never had the best of luck with shit like this anyway.

Giving John a grin, one that he wanted to muster up and mean, he held out his hand to him. “Guess this is where we part ways, amigo, and uh, don’t worry. Don’t think I’ll be taking a joyride in your boat twice.”

Not dropping his stare for a second, John shifted towards him and took his hand. Squeezed it as he shook it, and Sharky felt his grin finally wane as he forced himself to let go.

With one last slap to John’s shoulder, he headed towards his car.

“Charlemagne,” John called after him, but he didn’t slow down. “Charle-Sharky, wait.”

“Just save it, okay?” he snapped, pouring all of his frustration into it. “Don’t bother with the names, the pleading, or whatever this is you’re trying! Persuading me? Now? The fuck’s up with that? Not like you wanted me here to begin with, but it is what it is. I wrecked your shit, I came here to fix it, thinking that was going to be all of it, but this?”

He gestured between them, and let too much show on his face while saying it.

“This on top of everything else? Fucking blows, man. It fucking blows.”

Seeing John’s calm crack wasn’t satisfying. Having to force it to begin with, even less so.

“So just…let it go, huh? Save us both more trouble in the long run.”

Sharky turned, his feet carrying him to his car, and after slamming the door shut behind him, left.

On autopilot, he gunned the engine, not thinking about where the road was winding to. Just away. Far, far, away as he passed each of the signs dotting the valley. Following the road, he revved more than the car liked, content to keep listening to the roar of the motor until it shuddered. Something kicked around outside, pulling his attention straight to it, and he pulled in to a nearby gas station as he caught the familiar smell of burnt rubber.

He idled by the pump. Listened to the engine as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel, and turned the keys to shut it all off. Only then did the silence really hit; leaving him alone with only his heavy, uneven breathing to listen to.

That’s when the blue caught his eye.

Right on the dash sat the sunglasses. Blue, almost as blue as his eyes.

Punching the steering wheel, Sharky swallowed the rest of his feelings down and got out.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #fanfiction #FC5 fanfiction #fic: I won't ask for much #fic series: we could make a home out of this

3 notes · View notes

cjdemooi · 4 years

Text

The problem with performing

When I told a few friends in the entertainment industry I was going to write this piece, they begged me not to post it. They all agreed with what I wanted to say but desperately tried to persuade me I had to ‘play the game’ and under no circumstances criticise those who might be in a position to give me a job.

However, I found myself in an unfortunate yet unique position. After the last 4 years and through no fault of my own, I’m utterly toxic so can speak out with no consequences. After all, I can’t get more unemployable! If I was willing to play tedious games, I’d still be on television, have regular auditions and a career. Now I’ve been permanently deprived of those and am no longer willing to work with people I don’t trust, there’s nothing to keep me quiet or compliant. That rules out large swathes of opportunities but so what?

Smiling sweetly while being dismissed as a worthless commodity is something performers endure every day. The simple fact is, if you’re not willing to toe the line and do what’s expected, there are countless others who will. My response is, and always has been, screw that! The performance arts aren’t jobs, they’re callings. From a very early age, we all knew what we wanted to be and that fire only grew more intense. Of course there are sacrifices to be made but a line has to be drawn somewhere. I personally don’t believe that integrity and personal ethics are worth giving up for a dream.

Please understand that is only my view and I don’t in any way diminish those who strive tirelessly to succeed. Decisions have to be made and weighed up against such incredibly fine margins that distinctions become blurred. I’ve made my choices but each to his or her own.

I spoke out and criticised the BBC for the lack of same sex representation and racism. I lost my job because of it and was subjected to a smear campaign of lies in the national press. The implicit threat was, we pay you so do as you’re told. That’s a price very few people would be able or willing to pay and ultimately, I couldn’t afford it either. I lost everything because I didn’t shut up as was demanded of me. Honestly though, I don’t regret it.

Actors are treated with utter disdain. The recent interview with Mena Massoud in which he revealed he hadn’t had a single audition since Aladdin is a case in point. If the lead in a billion dollar movie is struggling to be seen, what chance does anyone else have? I have an impressive and award nominated CV but 4 auditions in 5 years speak for themselves and yet I’m still relatively lucky. Thousands of others are in far worse positions.

Recently there has been a campaign to persuade casting directors and producers to let auditioning performers know if they haven’t been successful. Hanging around, waiting and hoping to hear about a role is not only frustrating, it causes people to miss out on other opportunities. A bulk email would take 5 minutes and allay a lot of fears but such a simple courtesy seems beneath a lot of people. We don’t need an apology or meticulous dissection of our technique. Just a quick ‘Sorry, not this time’ is all that’s required!

My worst experience, and there have been more than I care to remember, was a few years ago when I was called in for the national tour of Rent. I was sent 3 songs and dialogue for an audition 4 days later. I worked hard and managed to learn it all, travelling to London the night before to prepare. The next morning I had a singing lesson to warm up and set off up Tottenham Court Road. Literally as I was about to knock on the door, I received a text saying the producer had changed his mind and didn’t think I was right for the role. After all that effort, they wouldn’t even allow me 5 minutes to show what I could do. I was incensed so emailed him back expressing my disappointment and asking where I should send the invoice for my time and expenditure. He replied with indignant pomposity saying that was the way things were and if that’s how I was going to be, he was glad he didn’t have to work with me but I sent him the bill anyway.

Of course this damaged my reputation with him and many others he spoke to but the fact he considered it completely acceptable to treat hard working professionals in such a manner was unforgivable. You may not want to work with me but I assure you, the feeling’s more than mutual. As actors, all we want is a chance. If we’re not good enough, fine but at least give us a few moments to try and impress you.

I’ve burnt my bridges with a lot of industry professionals because I’m strong willed (or arrogant, depending on which side of the desk you’re sitting) but I’ve never once wished I’d kept my mouth tightly closed and my opinions to myself. I’m nothing if not brutally honest and direct. No doubt that attitude has cost me a lot of roles.

A casting director who’d rather give a job to someone who’s become available from another production rather than sit through 3 days of auditions because the pay’s the same either way. A producer who consistently advertises jobs without pay because he’ll still be inundated with eager young things desperate for their break. A director who rehearses for 10 days then cuts your role to the bare minimum in order to give himself a big scene (and yes, this happened to me in panto in Clacton) Playwrights who promise you a script then go back on their word expecting you’ll bend over backwards to assure them it’s all fine. If nobody has to face any consequences, where is the incentive to change?

Too often, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. Although thankfully no longer as common as it once was, it’s also not what you know but who you’re willing to sleep with. I wish that this wasn’t true but I can say from personal experience and stories from others that it most certainly is.

Potentially the most harmful barrier is the competition, very little of it healthy, between artists themselves. This rarely produces a buoyant environment of support for each other. It’s always been a case of how can I knock the other person down rather than raising myself up? I can reluctantly understand why this would be the case when trying to secure an audition but it happens all too frequently when there’s no direct or obvious rivalry. The whole industry seems to be predicated on survival of the fittest, so talent and kindness are often reduced to irrelevancies. I truly believe most performers are caring and encouraging but they’re battered down by a system that’s relentless and ruthless. The fact may very well be that I’m not good or obedient enough to succeed as an actor and those who are clever and subtle enough manipulate the system to their own advantage are the ones who will make it big. I honestly congratulate them as they’re better and more skilled than I ever will be.

We are taught there are standards to be upheld such as unrealistic body image or heteronormativity and these have been immensely damaging in the past. Fortunately, at least in this aspect, times are changing. I’ve been honoured to work with some amazing and nurturing people who’ve actively fostered workplaces of support and inclusivity. I hope these very positive models will soon represent the rule over the above examples rather than the exception.

The problem is, drama schools are churning out increased numbers of students every year. They’re not taught how to cope in the outside world and find themselves ill equipped to vie for a finite number of jobs. The vast majority hold down multiple jobs just for a brief glimpse of their dreams. The time between sinking into debt during drama school and having to give it all up in order to live is probably only 3 or 4 years. That’s an cruelly narrow window to achieve something they’ve been yearning after for decades. The harsh reality is, most will never have a professional contract and will all too soon have to give up in order to survive. Surely casting directors and producers can appreciate that and at least give a few more chances to a few more desperate people?

I know these aren’t popular opinions but I believe them to be the truth. I refuse to play those ridiculous games pretending everything’s fine and not making waves with anyone with the power to employ me. I’m under no illusion that this article will obliterate any slim chance I had of ever working again so that gives me a free pass to call out what I believe to be wrong with the industry I love. Only when we come together in respect will we move forward in solidarity and strength. Performing is one of the very toughest communities to be a part of so I beg you, please, treat everyone in it with consideration and they’ll do the same in return.

We all deserve that.

3 notes · View notes

gremlinsae · 5 years

Text

My Story + Current Situation

I don't know how to begin this post. To be honest, what I'm about to tell y'all may not help me out in any way other than giving me an outlet to vent. Fair warning, this is going to be a long post and I may ramble a bit but I'll add a tldr; at the end.

Sigh.

Let me start from the beginning.

My name is Stacey. I turn 25 years old on April 24th, 2019.

My story begins when I was 19 years old - a freshman at my local university. I was finishing up my first year of my undergraduate program in Biology, aiming to get a Masters or PhD in Genetics. I had many accomplishments; I was awarded a scholarship because of my GPA, a group project I was a part of won 1st place in a writing competition because our independent research paper was the best, and I was just living life and working on my future. I had to take the bus everywhere, I was moving around a lot, and I was working out regularly at my university's gym. One day, as I'm walking to the bus stop, it felt like my right hip popped out of place and then slammed back in.

At the time, it was a minor inconvenience. It hurt, yes, but it mostly just left me sore and it went away with some rest so I didn't think much about it.

I started questioning it more when it happened again over summer break. I was at a friend's house playing D&D when I felt an acute grinding sensation in my right hip joint as I stood up to get me a soda. This time, the pain was significantly worse - sharp and it took longer to go away. I started thinking that I was developing arthritis as my dad also got it young.

It took a while to happen again...but when it did, it got to a point where I couldn't ignore it at all.

I had picked up a seasonal job at Macy's. My first day on the sale's floor was Thanksgiving night going into Black Friday. We were understaffed and it was hell, but I made it through my shift which ended at 2:00 AM. A co-worker came to me and asked if I could pick up her shift the following morning and I took it because I wanted to work. On Black Friday, I started feeling that grinding sensation in my hip again but I worked through it - blowing it off as simple arthritis. I believed rest would help.

That following Saturday, I had another 8 hour shift but this time it was in juniors which was the busiest area. I was moving around a lot, had to bend over to pick things up off the floor, and I'm not even going to get into the mess left in the dressing rooms. Towards the end of my shift, I was limping. The grinding sensation only got worse and suddenly my hip was locked up. I could barely move and when I did I experienced sharp intense pain. I left an hour early because I could no longer do my job. I thought maybe I just picked up too many hours, so I decided to take the rest of the weekend to rest.

But the pain didn't go away with rest. I was in pain for 2 weeks straight, hardly able to walk, before I finally went to see a doctor. I limped my way to the university health center and scheduled an appointment. The lady who saw me performed a simple hip exam. I wasn't able to walk much, so she mostly checked my hip flexion. Off the bat, I knew that I had lost some range of motion as we could barely bring my knee to my chest without pain. The fun part happened as she was guiding my leg back down.

My femoral head caught on my hip bone. It was audible, and yes it hurt.

She had a look of shock as she said, "You are way too young for this."

I was prescribed diclofenac for the inflammation and cyclobenzaprine (flexeril) to relax my muscles and help me sleep through the pain. That same night, my mom took me to the ER and I had a x-ray done on my hip. The radiologist said that there was a slight chance I had femoroacetabular impingement (FAI) (in layman's terms: the bones are misshapen) on both hips, but would need more imaging to truly determine a diagnosis. I was prescribed hydrocodone (vicodin) for about a week to try and manage the pain until I could get insurance and see a specialist.

That's where the fun part started.

Since I turned 19 that year, I was no longer covered under CHIPS Medicaid. I applied again, but was told that I do not qualify because I didn't have any children.

Yeah...you read that right. The state of Texas does not extend benefits to anyone over 19 without children.

My only choice was a county program that helps low income people get medications and treatment so they can get back to work. I wasn't able to apply until months later (a combination of not having my own transportation, busy schedules, and my mom trying to convince me that I would be denied.)

I was 20 years old when I finally found a doctor (we'll call him Dr. D) that could help me figure out what was going on in my hip joint. He took it seriously - performed another hip exam and ordered several lab tests. We checked everything under the sun: cancer, rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, etc. He got me on physical therapy, changed out my diclofenac to meloxicam (mobic), ordered me an MRI, and referred me to an orthopedic specialist to determine how we needed to move forward.

The MRI I had was without contrast. The result was greater trochanter bursitis, or inflammation of the bursa which are sacs filled with synovial fluid that help cushion joint movement.

When I saw the specialist in November of 2014, the chronic bursitis was the sign that something was definitely wrong with my hip. I was only 20 years old with no traumatic injury. Chronic bursitis is not common in someone that young, so he ordered me an MRI with contrast so that they could have better imaging of my joint. My husband's grandparents paid the $932 to get it done in December and it was honestly one of the worst things I had ever gone through. When they injected the dye into my hip, the numbing agent didn't work and it hit a nerve HARD and my entire body convulsed. They injected more of the numbing agent, but that also didn't work so again my entire body convulsed as they tried to get the dye in. The third time worked because they decided to give me a stronger numbing agent...but it messed my hip up. I walked funny for three days.

When I finally saw the specialist again about the results (several months later because of an issue with scheduling), not only did I have bursitis but they also confirmed that I had cam type FAI (layman's terms: the deformity is on the femoral head) and a 9mm labral tear.

Since the condition was causing joint damage, the answer was surgery.

I was sent back to my primary care physician's office, but unfortunately Dr. D wasn't available so I saw a different doctor. (This may seem irrelevant, but it is actually very important.) I told her EXACTLY what the specialist told me, which was that I needed to get sent to San Antonio or Galveston in order to get treatment.

The referral was denied.

I was assigned a new doctor. We'll call him Dr. S. He told me about the denial when I had asked about it during an appointment for a different issue. I remember crying because I had no idea what to do. I was only 21 years old - I didn't know how to navigate the medical system! Plus, I was very very broke. I won't go into too much detail, but I was forced to move out of my parent's because my dad is irresponsible and I was put in a massive amount of credit card debt because my own mother stole my identity and I ended up having to pay the bill for it because my mom was diagnosed with cancer and couldn't work anymore.

(This is only surface level by the way. The last 5-6 years have been absolute hell.)

That summer I was working two jobs. I had a GoFundMe page and I was just trying to save up enough money to possibly get me on an insurance plan to cover the surgery. I came home every night limping and crying, my husband having to half carry me and help me get into a hot bath just to try and bring the pain down enough so that I could do it all again the next day. School was rough as well and my grades were dropping.

I was destroying my body so much that it got to a point where I could no longer do my job as a sale's associate at Macy's. My managers were amazing and they did everything they could to help accommodate me, but it got to a point where I was unable to finish shifts due to pain and I was calling out often. I was running low on my attendance credits and I didn't want to be fired for absenteeism.

I go back to see Dr. S and I tell him I really need something, anything. What I was doing wasn't getting me anywhere and my condition was getting worse due to the progressive joint damage. He didn't really know what to do...saying things like "I can' believe they denied you - the whole point of the program is to help people get their treatment and yet they're denying you." I told him I had heard something about an orthopedic program at one of the hospitals in network and he put in a request for me to see one of their surgeons.

I never got a response.

At the time, I really couldn't pursue the issue - I changed from a sale's associate to a wedding gift registry advisor at Macy's. It was a desk job which really helped keep my hip under control, but the problem was that my hours were reduced and I had no way of picking up more like I did with my previous position. I was having to donate plasma so often just to have food money that I actually have a permanent scar on my left arm.

I loved that job, but it barely paid the bills. I took a semester off of school so I could focus on working and babysitting my nephew due to a family emergency. Thankfully my in-laws paid me. Even though it was something I would have done for free, it really helped out.

But then Macy's had a huge company layoff in January 2017...and I was affected. The position I had was being removed from my local store, so I was without a job. My depression took a big hit and it almost ruined my relationship with my husband. I wasn't taking care of myself, I wasn't doing my responsibilities that were required for my unemployment benefits and my insurance, and I basically became extremely dependent on my husband to a point that our relationship became unhealthy. It took a while to get me out of that rut. I started applying for jobs and I ended up getting hired by Aflac around the end of April, but I had to get my driver's license before I could be officially on board.

I understand that the above may not seem relevant, but...that summer was when things got even worse.

I wasn't able to get my license in time to take the position, but that was only a part of the issue. In July, I was helping my husband's business at a convention when I had one of the worst flares I've ever had. I had twisted the wrong way, causing my femur to catch on my hip bone, and I ended up on the floor in fetal position.

At best, the pain felt like I was being stabbed with an ice pick. At worst, it felt like every tiny movement I made was splintering my hip bone. The splintering sensation I had felt before, but not to this degree. My hip was locked and it felt like I was stuck in a vice. On the pain scale, I was around a 9. It was unbearable. I ended up in the ER where the only thing they could do was give me a shot and a prescription for Tylenol 3 (acetaminophen + codeine) to help me get through it...

Neither the shot or the medicine worked. While my hip was unlocked, I was still experiencing sharp pain that was so deep in my hip bone that none of the medications touched it.

It hurt...it hurt intensely and consistently.

It got to a point where I had to borrow flexeril and tramadolfrom someone while I was trying to renew my insurance. Yes, I'm aware that this is illegal - but I was out of flexeril and the meloxicam wasn't working so we were trying to get me through the MULTIPLE flares I was having even when I didn't do anything to aggravate my hip. The end of 2017 was exhausting for multiple reasons.

Once I got back on the county program, I had an appointment scheduled with a new doctor (we'll call her Dr. P) because Dr. S was no longer working in network.

The week of my appointment...was really rough. We had to put our dog down at 2 years old because he had severe chylothorax and we didn't have the money or the means to seek treatment (plus it was so severe that seeking treatment could have killed him.) A few days later, Hurricane Harvey hit and my area was badly affected. My appointment had to be rescheduled.

I saw several different doctors in the following months because Dr. P never had an opening available. I ended up needing a wheelchair to get around because my standing/walking limit was drastically reduced. I'm lucky to be able to stand for 10-15 minutes now compared to the 1.5 - 2 hours it used to be. I tried to apply for medicaid again, but was denied and advised to try and apply for disability. I didn't have enough credits to apply through social security so I found an attorney and just gave it a shot. However, I got a rejection letter for representation due to the information that they received from my doctor's office.

I start questioning things at this point. What did they tell the disability attorney? We knew I needed surgery and that my condition was getting worse. What could my doctor have told the attorney that resulted in a denial?

I didn't see Dr. P until May of 2018 and apparently, she had no record of my diagnosis and my need for surgery. The only imaging she could find on file was my very first MRI (without contrast) and so she was under the impression that the only issue was mild inflammation in my right hip.

I was pissed.

I ended up having to redo the entire process. I see the very same specialist again and he didn't remember me. I had to get another MRI done and he requested an x-ray right before my appointment, but he never went over the results with me. He basically told me I need to "put up with it" and ordered me a fluoroscopy guided injection.

I get the injection in October and literally minutes afterward I start crying because of how overwhelmed I was at no longer being in pain. To give y'all an idea, chronic pain isn't always intense pain 24/7. For me, it feels like my hip is constantly bruised. I usually hover around a 2-3 on the pain scale and the more I move the higher it gets. IT IS EXHAUSTING. To finally feel "normal" again was so overwhelming for me that I was a sobbing mess as we walked back to the car.

That week I was so happy. My mental health immediately improved. I was able to walk around, go up and down stairs, even go on a camping trip with my ecology class and go hiking! All these things that I wanted to do I could finally do again with only minimal and MANAGEABLE pain. I still took it easy, but I was finally able to enjoy my life again.

...

The following Monday, a week after the injection, I woke up in severe pain. I had felt the familiar twinge the night before, resulting in an anxiety attack because of the fear my hip pain was returning...and unfortunately my fear came true. The injection normally lasts a few months...for me, it lasted one week.

I go see the specialist for the follow up appointment regarding the injection. He seemed kind of confused, saying things like "At least now we know the problem is your hip." I was beyond frustrated because WE KNEW FOR YEARS THE PROBLEM WAS MY HIP. He wasn't listening to me! He even asked me if he had talked about surgery the last time I saw him and I told him YES. So to wrap up the appointment, he gives me a half-assed hip exam and requests that my PCP put in a referral for orthopedic surgery...again. My depression hits its lowest point. I even contemplated suicide and had to start therapy. Overall, I was not in a good place.

I don't hear anything about the referral for months so I call and they tell me there are no orthopedic surgeons at the moment. So I make another appointment but this time I see a different doctor that we will call Dr. I because she was the one who put in the request for the referral. She was amazing! She listened to me, didn't interrupt me, and she worked to make sure we got details regarding any hold ups so I wasn't left in the dark. She even performed a standard hip exam on me to measure how bad my hip got. Anyway, she finds out that yes - everyone with the clinic card does not currently have an orthopedic surgeon because the contract with the previous one ended and was not being renewed. She encouraged me to keep calling, at least once at month, to check on the status of their hiring.

My first call was in February of 2019 and not only was I told that there still wasn't any orthopedic surgeons...the county had also decided to no longer cover hip surgery as of this year.

I was LIVID.

I made an appointment with Dr. P and was seen literally the next day because I was DONE. We gathered all the info we could to prove to them that I had been seeking treatment for years. She listened and she took me seriously. She put in a new referral that aimed to get me a one time approval, ordered physical therapy, and referred me back to the specialist so we could get this done. She also prescribed me gabapentin to help me out with some of the nerve pain I was experiencing because as of the end of 2018, my hip pain was causing issues with my knee. As of 2019, my ankle and foot started being affected as well. She theorized it was due to nerve damage and so she put a note on my referral for it to get done ASAP.

Which brings us to the present. I went to physical therapy and it caused me to flare up...repeatedly. I ended up having to resign from my job (that I only had for a month) because my absences were atrocious and I was constantly having to update my accommodations just so we can attempt to have my absenteeism reduced. (In the end, I had to chose between voluntarily resigning and be eligible for rehire in 30 days or risk being terminated and not being eligible for 3 years.) My last physical therapy appointment was Friday, April 12th because during my exercises my femur caught on my hip bone and caused a severe flare. The physical therapist put a stop on my therapy until after I saw the specialist because it was only causing me more trauma.

Today, April 17th, I saw the specialist and we finally figured out why I never received the treatment I needed. To reiterate, we are on year 5since I first got on the county aid and started seeking help from them.

It turns out, all of my referrals were done incorrectly.

I was being referred to the local orthopedic department which can not do the procedure I need. On top of that, the specialist was trying to order me an arthroscopy for DIAGNOSTIC purposes - not an arthroscopic surgery. Somewhere in the mix there was massive miscommunication and things were not being documented correctly. My PCPs had no idea how to handle my case so it ended up being mishandled entirely.

Essentially, the specialist brought in someone from an internal department and they are now taking over my case because this is grounds for a class action law suit and they want to avoid that at all costs. She explained to me where the block happened and that they were no longer going through my primary care physician for referrals because it would risk continued miscommunication.

They admitted that the fault was on them. I understand why this happened because the hospital I go through is in a major transitional phase and they've been tearing down the trauma center and relocating, building new clinics, updating, etc. I even told her and the specialist that I am not mad at any one person, that I do understand - but they have to understand that I was a victim of this. I experienced YEARS of suffering that affected my physical and mental health, my education, and my ability to work. My condition has devolved to a point it never should have and it may have permanent life altering repercussions. My surgery may go from a simple fix to needing a replacement which would result in at least 2 more replacements later on in my life since they do have an expiration date and I am only 24 going on 25.

TLDR; because of the transitional state my hospital is in plus the fact that I was jumping between multiple doctors, there was miscommunication regarding the treatment for my FAI and it led to my referrals being done incorrectly...and I suffered for it. I am now waiting on a referral that will send me up to San Antonio where they will be taking arthroscopic images of my hip joint so that we can further determine how to proceed with treatment. I may pursue legal action, but ultimately I just want something done so I can get on with my life.

⬇️

So why am I posting all of this information here?

Because of the fact that I am now out of a job again, plus everything that I had explained above, I am opening up EMERGENCY commissions. We have bills to pay and we also need to be able to pay for this trip to San Antonio and unfortunately, my husband (who is currently employed by my previous employer, go figure) is not making enough to keep us afloat. We are in the red and will not make it through May at this point so we are already working on selling some extra stuff and getting ready to make some major sacrifices.

I mostly write Victuuri but am willing to discuss other pairings. If you have any questions regarding what I will or will not write, just shoot me a message on twitter and we can discuss it.

Commissions will be pay what you want - no minimum. I'll literally take anything at this point. I know my writing can be a bit inconsistent so I don't feel right setting a price. Here's the link to my ko-fi page.

All I ask is to please understand if the commission takes a while to get out. I have real life things to take care of and sometimes my medicine makes it hard for me to stare at my computer screen. Just trust that I will get it done.

I'm currently working on a piece for hentipie. I'm hoping to have it out this weekend so prepare to see that soon! It won't be posted here due to the rating though, so you'll have to look for it on AO3.

Anyway, for those of you who took the time to read this ridiculous chunk of text, thank you. If you can't help me out financially that is perfectly fine. I know and understand the struggle so don't feel bad by my sob story. I just needed to get this out.

Talk to y'all again soon! <3

-Sae

36 notes · View notes

gettingvetted · 6 years

Note

why does it have to be a one-upmanship though? I've never heard people say doctors are better than vets, and even if some do, surely smugly saying 'we know so much more' makes you just as bad? Can't we accept that they are both very demanding, difficult jobs in their own ways? There are so many differences I think it's hard to even compare them.

Mk, I told you I wasn’t going to discuss this anymore unless you came off anon, but I think this is important because I know I have a few medblr followers and a lot of not-medical-at-all followers.

This is not one-upsmanship. “Real doctors treat more than one species” is a joke - in response to being treated like we’re not as good as MD’s. You can literally buy T-shirts and bumper stickers with that on them. As I stated when I responded to your original ask, all of us in the veterinary profession have respect for doctors. Another common saying in the field is “I’m in vet med because humans are gross.” But somebody has to treat them, and we’re glad it’s not us. Many of us would prefer that animals come in sans owners. During the rest of this post, keep in mind that I (and the vast majority of vets) respect MD’s because we need them just as much as they need us. But that doesn’t make us any less than them.

You say it’s hard to compare them - you must be on the human medical side. Want to know some similarities?- We go to school for the same amount of time.- The prerequisite courses for getting into school are nearly identical.- We accumulate approximately the same amount of debt from our schooling.- We learn much of the same material. Anatomy, histology, general/systemic pathology, clinical pathology, physiology, neurology, pharmacology, immunology, toxicology, bacteriology, virology, radiology, theriogenology (aka veterinary gynecology), ethics, business, medicine/treatment, surgery, public health, nutrition, epidemiology… except we learn it for every species, not just one. More on that later.- Vets have to learn about humans too, because we have to know how animals can infect humans. For example, we have to know how every single veterinary parasite in our 3-credit, semester-long parasitology class can potentially affect/not affect humans. Med students spend one or two lectures on parasites.

But you’re right, there’s a lot of differences.- Vet schools are 3-4x harder to get into than medical schools.- Vet school is harder, full stop. Not only are we learning the same things as med students, we have to learn it for every animal species plus some human stuff, and we have to be prepared to actually practice after four years of education without an internship or residency to catch us after school is over. Yes, some students will choose to go the internship/residency route, but the majority will not. Another common joke in vet school, which my professors have literally said to my entire class more than once, is “if you wanted it to be easy you should have gone to medical school.”- An MD is unlikely to be injured by their patients on an average day. A vet is.- When I graduate, I will have performed upwards of 50 surgeries on at least 4 species of animals, despite the fact that I have no intention of specializing in surgery. A human medical doctor has to wait until their residency to do even one surgery, and that’s only if they’re specializing in a field that requires surgery on a routine basis.- Upon graduation, for any given patient I may have to be a general practitioner, gastroenterologist, dermatologist, cardiologist, pediatrician, emergency doctor, radiologist, orthopedist, oncologist, behaviorist, endocrinologist, surgeon, dentist, neurologist, internist, pathologist, pharmacologist, pulmonologist, anesthesiologist, OB/GYN, physical therapist, opthalmologist, and more during their lifetime. Medical doctors have to specialize in a single one of these things. Lucky me, I don’t have to choose. Poor me, I have to know every single one of these specialties for every single animal. Hence, knowing more and doing more than MD’s.- Show me a human general practice clinic (or even hospital) where I can come in with a bellyache, vaginal discharge, and diarrhea and have an exam, bloodwork, x-rays, ultrasound, and emergency hysterectomy all in the same department, within 2-3 hours of arrival, and go home the same day if absolutely necessary or at least the next day. Yeah, not gonna happen.- Vets have to pay for equipment/supplies, building expenses/upkeep, and staff salaries in addition to their own salaries, and this is incorporated in the cost of vet care. Human clinics are subsidized so they don’t have to worry about this…- … and still charge upwards of 5-10x as much for the same procedure that a vet does. Here’s a total hip replacement comparison, for example.- Because of the two above points, if a client stiffs a doctor, it’s not a big deal - the government and the practice insurance will cover it. The lights will not go off. If a client stiffs a vet… well that one client might not make the lights go off, but now the vet isn’t going to be able to offer clinic-based payment plans because they simply can’t afford to be stiffed anymore. Some practices won’t even send a bill and instead require payment up front, because collections cost more than the bill is worth (that’s how low veterinary bills tend to be, comparatively), and these clinics will still get slammed on Facebook/Yelp/Google for “only caring about money and forcing me to pay upfront when my puppy was dying.”- Humans are required to have insurance, but pets are not. This leads to a lot of emotionally demanding decisions for both the vet and owner (I can’t afford his care - do I put him down? surrender him to the clinic if they’re able to take him? bring him home and let him die? toss him to a shelter and let him suffer?) and a lot of emotionally demanding owners ( “If you really loved animals you would treat him for free” - well yes Becky, but I have to eat and pay my student loans/mortgage too…)- Despite our similar educational debt load, my average salary will be less than half of an MD’s. And people still think we charge too much and make too much and try to guilt us into performing services or giving items at a discount or for free.- Vets can put patients down. While this is usually a blessing, it does mean that patients we’ve treated since they were babies are now dying because we can’t do anything to save them, whether due to owner finances or inability to cure a terminal illness. That’s hard enough as it is, but then you get clients who are moving, had a baby, don’t want the pet for whatever reason, and demand you put the animal down instead of doing something else to try to rehome it - “convenience euthanasias.” Both types take an emotional toll on vets, and euthanasias happen every day, usually multiple times.- A vet’s work-life balance is notoriously terrible. Non-ER MD’s can turn away people who walk in at 4:55 when the practice closes at 5. Vets often can’t (or don’t). Because our patient care is so much more involved, it’s rare for vets or vet staff to be able to leave on time even from general practice, and that says nothing for emergency care or the many vets who are on call nights, weekends, holidays… At the first practice I worked at, staff members got to choose one (1) holiday PER YEAR to get off, and were expected to work every weekend.- Due to the previous 5 points, suicide and mental illness in the veterinary field is at an all-time high. Vets are twice as likely to commit suicide than an MD. It’s alarming, and the field is working to change it, but not much can be done on a national scale.

In fact, maybe you’re right. Maybe there really is no comparison. If you read all that, I think you’ll understand that vets have earned a little bit of wiggle room to poke some harmless fun at their “real doctor” colleagues.

Oh, and not to mention the biggest difference between MD’s and DVM’s, but...

#ask #anon #vet med #vet school #vet

1K notes · View notes

blackinmotionpictures · 6 years

Link

The star of the upcoming film “Widows” needed to know what kind of wig or extensions she should wear to play Veronica Rawlins, the leader of an unlikely band of robbers scrambling to pull off a dangerous heist. Director Steve McQueen’s answer shocked the Emmy-, Tony- and Oscar-winning actress.

“I said, ‘Your own hair is beautiful — just wear it that way,’” recalls McQueen. “Veronica is a wash-and-go kind of girl.”

For Davis, the decision to appear on-screen in close-cropped, curly hair was liberating and represented an important social statement.

“You’re always taught as a person of color to not like your hair,” she says. “The kinkier it is, the so-called nappier it is, the uglier it is.”

McQueen stressed that he was interested in reflecting reality. More women looked like her, he told the actress, than like the artificial and idealized images of female beauty that Hollywood frequently projects.

“We’re into a zeitgeist where people are fighting for their space to be seen,” says Davis. “People have to know that there are different types of women of color. We’re not all Foxy Brown. We’re not all brown or light-skinned beauties with a big Afro. We have the girl next door. We have the older, dark-skinned, natural-haired woman.”

If “Widows” succeeds, it can help ensure funding for several Davis-led passion projects, ranging from a biopic about Texas congresswoman Barbara Jordan to a drama about an all-female military unit from the Kingdom of Dahomey. It will mean that an actress known for her volcanic intensity and commanding presence will finally get the roles she deserves. For too long, Tennon notes, his wife has had to make do with supporting turns, often playing maids or mothers, while ceding the limelight to white actresses. Davis may have scored raves and award nominations for “Doubt” and “Solaris,” but often she had only a few minutes of screen time to create a fully fleshed-out performance.

“She specialized in taking a piece of chicken and turning it into filet mignon,” says Tennon.

John Patrick Shanley, the writer and director of “Doubt,” the 2008 film that put Davis on the map after years of character work, knows firsthand about the paucity of roles available to African-Americans. He says every black actress of a certain age was up for Davis’ role because, though the part lasted only eight minutes, the aria of maternal love that the character was asked to deliver presented an important opportunity.

“This kind of role isn’t usually out there for a woman of color,” says Davis. “Widows” is a female-driven enterprise, offering up meaty roles for Michelle Rodriguez, Cynthia Erivo and Elizabeth Debicki, who play the other members of a gang of widows who must pull off a heist in order to pay their husbands’ debts to a drug dealer.

Women of color don’t get paid less than just male actors — their salaries pale in comparison with those of white women.

“There are no percentages to show the difference,” says Davis. “It’s vast. Hispanic women, Asian women, black women, we don’t get paid what Caucasian women get paid. We just don’t. … We have the talent. It’s the opportunity that we’re lacking.”

The movie business is outwardly liberal, but the mostly white men who run the major studios tend to cling to certain prejudices when greenlighting projects. In particular, there is a belief that films with people of color in the leads don’t do as well internationally.

That logic is being challenged. The blockbuster success of movies with women of color, such as “Crazy Rich Asians,” “Girls Trip” and “Breaking In,” may be softening old stigmas. Yet a recent survey by the USC Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism shows that the number of speaking roles for women has been virtually unchanged over the past decade. It gets worse when it comes to women of color. In 2017, 43 of the top 100 films lacked any black female characters, 65 were absent Asian or Asian-American female characters and 64 did not depict a single Latina character.

Davis doesn’t think change is possible unless executive suites across Los Angeles become more inclusive. “We’re not even invited to the table,” she says. “I go to a lot of women’s events here in Hollywood, and they’re filled with female CEOs, producers and executives, but I’m one of maybe five or six people of color in the room.”

“Widows” is a heist film anchored in grief. Unlike in “Ocean’s 11” or “The Thomas Crown Affair,” where the criminality is portrayed as a lark, Davis and her accomplices break the law because they have no choice and because they have troubled home lives.

“I have issues with stories of people who just get out of bed and start robbing banks,” she says. “As an actor, I needed to know what would drive a seemingly together woman to do this, and it always starts with someone reaching bottom.”

The film is as interested in painting a sprawling portrait of urban corruption as it is in laying the groundwork for the final caper. It touches on police shootings, political back-scratching, domestic violence and economic despair.

Davis says that wrestling with demons on-screen can be “torturous,” and she’s built a career by being able to radiate a kind of operatic fury and anguish. In “Fences,” for instance, her character Rose doubles over into a snot-dripping, tear-streaming state of indignation and regret after learning that her husband has cheated on her. And while her character in “Widows” is more tightly controlled, she has moments where her eyes reveal the deadness of a crippling depression. Yet those who work with Davis say she’s able to access this well of emotion without relying on a kind of Method acting intensity.

For Davis, film provided an important escape hatch at a key moment as she was growing up. At the age of 11 or 12, she remembers sitting around her family’s dilapidated television, which rested on top of another broken set and had an antenna caked in aluminum foil to get a stronger signal. She was watching “The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman.” Witnessing Cicely Tyson, an acclaimed black actress playing a defining role, age from 23 to 110 had an electrifying effect on the young woman from Central Falls.

“This beautiful, magical transformation happened in the midst of all that poverty,” recalls Davis. “It elevated me out of my situation and stimulated my imagination. I knew I needed to make a life doing this.”

A very condensed version of Viola’s interview with Variety. Try to check the full one if can.

#actress: viola davis #director: steve mcqueen #article

98 notes · View notes

orribuontheinternet · 6 years

Text

Depression and Drawing.

When I was a young lass (I want to say around 7-8 years old), I saw my biological father drawing something while he sat on the porch. The details are fuzzy, but I do remember it being an equine of some sort. He was working in ink. Watching him was so fascinating that I decided that I too wanted to be an artist. To be able to imagine something and put it to paper was a foreign concept to me, one that I was excited about. Oddly enough, my first ever drawing was of an intangible concept: an emotion. I forgot why little me was so knee-deep in sadness at the time, but I remember doodling a self-portrait of a sad, crying baby Olive while holding back my tears. Underneath (or around, I can't recall) was a caption that kind of stated the obvious: "Olivia is sad." When I think about that moment, I wonder if that was a form of foreshadowing since I suffer from...well, Major Depression. But we'll get back to that later. I think this drawing was spawned from a conflict with my siblings, but I can't rightly recall. I do, however, remember that someone tore the picture to pieces. Then came the waterworks.

I want to pause for a second and let you know that I'm going to try not to throw a pity party. I'm not going to whine and stuff this note with melodramatic hyperbole. If you can stomach an emotional artist digging deep into her head and making her introspection tangible, I encourage you to keep reading. If not, I respect your decision to stop.

To segue on to a brighter note, I started drawing in elementary school. I remember the exhilarating feeling of finishing my work. My proudest moment, aside from a (not) Sonic-themed powerpoint, was a storybook I made in fifth grade. It was a flip book of some sort, and very colorful. I think it had something to do with James and the Giant Peach considering it was a book report. But that was an impression I left. Olive, the artist. This carried on into middle school, where I first discovered anime thanks to an art teacher who had the magic VCR/TV cart we 90s kids remember fondly. He showed us Princess Mononoke, one of Hayao Miyazaki's well-renowned works. It was um...horrifying. The film scared the everloving shit out of me, but I was intrigued by it. There was something really cool about the way the people looked, far different from the Ms. Frizzles and Rugrats I came to know. It captivated me, and when I got over the stomach-churning blood and guts the movie presented, I strove to attain that cool aesthetic. I was always doodling during my classes and lunchtime and recess. People came to know me as that kid that draws. Some of them flocked to me and asked me to doodle something for them. It was annoying in hindsight, but at the time it brought me immense pride. People were interested in something I was doing! This development boosted my motivation; I drew picture after picture, happily sharing it with anyone who was interested. It was invigorating! Then high school happened, and I realized I wasn't as amazing as I initially thought I was. In 2006 I was accepted into the prestigious Philadelphia Highschool of Creative and Performing Arts (henceforth shortened to "CAPA," as to avoid the apparent mouthful of syllables). I attended with a major in visual arts, which I took alongside my core classes, i.e., math, science, and English. The first few months were humbling, to say the least. I took ceramics, graphic art, and observational drawing. During this year, I also discovered the magic (to a 15-year-old anyway) of Naruto. That was my biggest obsession since the Dragonball Z/Rurouni Kenshin/Outlaw Star/Big O/etcetera days. Where I used to make "Dark Sonic" characters and the like, I made a step towards creating a world of my own. Thus, after a painful defeat in an original character tournament, I decided it was time to start harnessing my writing and narrative skills, as well as my drawing skills. And so I strove to improve, even with those dents in my pride. It became something I was proud of, almost an obsession. I wanted to share it with the rest of the world, so I went for it.

(The first piece I’ve shared with the internet via deviantART.)

This is where my real artistic journey began. When I started, I had no idea of how mentally, physically, and emotionally tolling this would be. Half the time I've made things way more difficult than they've needed to be: sleepless nights, crouching over a desk, risky investments that granted little to no return and thus resulted in me digging myself into a deeper hole of debt, periods of psychological agony–I've experienced a great deal since I started creating these...things. In my naivety, I envisioned making money off of my creativity, having fun, meeting fans around the world, and hitting up cons like those really cool people I follow on the internet. I started comparing myself to more celebrated, experienced artists, to the point where I'd cry out of eye and earshot and wonder why I can't be as good as them. Why can't I be as skilled, or successful, I'd ask myself. This is when I should have realized that the Depression I suffer from has a voice. It'd tell me that I'd never amount to anything, let alone reach that level of expertise and fame. It was painfully merciless and cruel, and I was its punching bag. I'd start wondering what the point was and why I should even try to engage in this creative expression. Then, something tragic happened:

I realized I was falling out of love with it.

I didn't feel the same exhilaration I'd get when I finished something as simple as a little scribble. I didn't feel the warm burst of energy that I felt when I'd make a breakthrough. I desperately scrambled for something–anything–that would rekindle my love for creating again. Then, after some introspection, I decided that I wanted to try for animation. It had always fascinated me during my time in grade school, so I did some research and even wrote a thesis about animation and why it inspired me. To an extent, the passion I have for the arts did come back a little, but it was just a spark. When I started college, I was reluctantly proud of myself. I started dreaming big again, thinking about how amazing it would be if I could create my own animated series and bring my narratives to life. And so, the dreams of being able to support myself and my family returned to the forefront of my mind, again. While I hopped and skipped through my first year at uni, I built a lot of friendships I never thought I'd have after a painful summer season. I thought back to how I tried and failed to start an art team and decided to go for it again. And thus, after planning gatherings and messing around with my friends, Exploding Fairies was born!

(Old Exploding Fairies logo.)

The Depression and my wounded confidence, however, wouldn't allow for anything to go past casual hangouts and being a nuisance to my teammates. Everything boiled down to three things:

1) I was unwilling to relinquish control of any of the facets of the alliance and our stories. To me, the story we worked on was my baby, and only I would have a say in whatever developments occurred. 2) I lacked the leadership and communication skills to collaborate with my partners effectively. 3) Considering the nature of my requests, I SHOULD have been paying my partners as an incentive. I lacked the money to compensate them for their time and talent adequately. I could very well be painting myself in a horrible light considering how terribly influential my depression is to my self-esteem.

(The image above is by @cucoo.)

(Concept drawings of Dan’s actual identity.)

However, exposure and companionship don't necessarily pay the bills. Besides, I was still a "nobody on the internet!" I may as well have kicked sand in their faces. At least, that's what the disease told me. I grew bitter towards the world when Homestuck and a traumatizing anime gained the admiration of my friends. I became green with envy, wondering why my work didn't win such affection. That summer, I went into overdrive. I started an original character tournament of my own and gained a considerable following. I even found love again!

After a busy three months, I jumped into my second year of college. This is when I finally collapsed under the weight of my mental ailments. Week after week, I stressed almost hyperbolically to the point where a single mistake could mean the end of the world to me. I officially started as an animation student (the first year was mostly core studies with elective and liberal arts on the side), and I wanted to bring my A-game to the forefront. I was going to wow everyone with my knowledge of technology while I navigated through the hills and valleys of my second year. I got to take a course in digital 2D animation, the media I've had my eyes on since I started my college career. Everything just hinged on whether I could manage my workload (I took 18 credits). Apart from the building stress, financial troubles, and impaired health, everything seemed fine. That notion, however, was shattered when I lost my progress on a 2D animation assignment. It was all over. All of that hard work that I put in (without saving, no less) was destroyed by a corrupted file. I didn't have a backup file ready for such an occasion. Admittedly, it was my fault for letting my guard down. I should have known better as a geeky artist! To me, there was no way I could ever recover from that. I was an idiot and a crappy artist anyway! I was a failure! I was nothing! All of the horrible thoughts that my sickness cataloged was thrust into my conscious mind, impairing my ability to reason. Devastated and afraid, I called my crush and opened up about what happened. The pressure finally cracked me, and she had to talk me down from attempting suicide.

The turn of events affected everything, from my focus to my ability to complete my assignments. My crush advised me on what steps I should take while moving forward. I was hospitalized to prevent any harm I could bring to myself. I really DID want to escape from the unbearable pain my sick mind caused me. Eventually, I had to contact the dean of students and was referred to an affiliated therapist. After conversing with him and the dean, we all decided that it'd be best if I were committed to an outpatient program to start on the road to recovery. Fast forward to 2012 or 2013, when I completely lost faith in myself as an artist, and thus, my love for art. I didn't think it'd happen, but I hit what I conceived as rock bottom. I swore off drawing. It didn't bring me joy anymore, and why continue dabbling in something that I'd never be good at?

Unfortunately, the resulting slump turned out to be thicker than I'd imagine and I entered a state of deep depression. I rarely got out of bed, I overate and sometimes didn't eat at all, I never picked up a pencil or opened photoshop, never reached out to the people who I knew and who loved me...I was virtually dead to the world. Some good things happened that, in hindsight, I should have cherished. For starters, my crush became my girlfriend, and we lived together in an apartment in Center City. I was too smothered in the fog to show my appreciation and love for her adequately. She loved me and loved my work, which in turn brought back my passion for creating. If I couldn't financially support myself with my art, the least I could do is bring her joy and feed her imagination.

(We both love semi-horror and anime, so our roleplays took that direction.)

Sadly, thanks to the disease even something as precious as her happiness wasn't enough. When I look back, I can see the hurt in her eyes, but during the time I had such horrible tunnel vision and was so disappointed about things not working out with my art that I couldn't sense that. Me, a self-proclaimed empath! My desperate greed and envy were my downfall, and I limped my way down the artsy-fartsy road. I'd draw fan art and create fan comics, only to become bitter about either the lack of replies or patrons on Patreon or the perceived disregard for any personal ventures I took.

I did my first convention at Anime Impulse back in 2015, and after a pretty bad time in the artist alley, I swore off drawing again. I remember nights of staring blankly at the computer screen, smashing Command or Control +Z and ultimately throwing my stylus down, closing photoshop, and crying out of frustration. I remember pulling my hair and sobbing when I faced rejection. It was an incredibly painful time for me. That's not to say I still don't experience that now as I totally do, but something happened this year that strengthened my stride.

I posted something on Tumblr earlier this year about my frustration when it comes to creating art. It was specifically about how I get stuck in the "polishing" phase of building a webcomic page, but when I look back, I can actually attribute it to art in general. I became a "perfectionist." Nothing was impressive enough to finish or release, and I'd wind up with more works in progress than finished ones. My morale just kept dipping lower and lower, and finally, when picking up a webcomic project that I started more than a year ago, I vented my frustrations. To this, my crush, who became my fiancé some four years ago, replied with this:

"You polish because you’re not confident with your work because you're in an evolution phase. Fear holds you back. So you go back and edit. And edit. And edit. So stop the cycle. Kill the fear by not letting it have time to take hold."

Her words of encouragement and insight changed my perspective in ways I've never expected. It was almost like it triggered an epiphany or a breakthrough in my mind! I was reminded of her love and faith in me! With that came a ray of hope, that I could try again, and this time, throw my fear-induced caution to the wind! While my depression still has a voice and beats me down from time to time, I realize that it's just scared. I realized that when Brittany and I sat down and played through Celeste together. I related it to my sadness and anxiety surrounding art, and now I'm slowly getting back on my feet. I can't displace the blame and "use" my mental ailments as a scapegoat. I can't come up with excuses to give up on what I do. There is SOMETHING in creating visual media that breathes life into me.

(I started learning to let go.)

Looking towards the future, I hope I can look back on even these trying times and remind myself of where I was and how stronger I've become because of it. I'm still struggling with comparing myself to others and crashing into creative and motivational blocks, but someday I'll rise above it all. Besides, I should be doing it for me, right? The external validation should just be the topping on a sweet sundae.

That's why I keep drawing, in spite of the voice's apprehension. We're going to get through this together, I promise.

#personal #tw: sucide mention #art #mental health #depression

8 notes · View notes

thelordismytreasure · 6 years

Text

The Evidence of Friday, June 15, 2018

In the description of this blog, I state that I find that God defends me from this evil organization that has come to rule the land, the courts and officers that have abandoned the worthy traditions upon which our country was founded and now act with abandon to undermine our civil liberties, divide our country into factions, favor the religion of psychiatry, women over men, the rich over poor, those accused of crime over those accused of mental illness, and, in my case, the government has stolen twelve years of my service by the use of a trick: falsely promising me this reward: money sufficient to pursue a career as a singer or an actor.

And what have been the consequences upon me and my house that were engendered by their abandonment of the common sense guide that a man must be able to confront his accusers in court?

Here follows the tale of how I met my first, and most damaging, accuser.

When I was a young man just starting to make my way in the world, I chanced to meet a woman at a Halloween Dance in Minneapolis, Debbra Myers. She was about five years older than me and not of the type that I would normally desire as a sexual partner, but I was loathe to make the long drive home after the party and She invited me to stay the night with her following the celebration; we slept together.

The following day, I awoke in her bed to find that we were greeted by her three young sons. After breakfast with her sons and her female partner in renting the house, a co-worker from the restaurant where she worked, I jumped in my white Nissan automobile and drove back to my mother’s house in Mankato.

Being young and not established in a career or with sufficient money to afford to rent a room when I traveled or to buy a home of my own, I would stay with Debbra in Minneapolis when I had the occasion to travel there.

After a time, she took the occasion to visit me at my mother’s house in Mankato. In this way she learned that what I had been telling her about myself was true. I was the only son of a doctor and surgeon, had graduated from Harvard, and that my father had left my mother, moving out of his big, fine house, leaving it to her.

She was allowed to stay with me in my bed that night, only this time, her birth control failed and she became pregnant.

She was distraught. How could this have happened? How could she support another child by herself? Abortion seemed to be the right choice for her.

I, too, was distraught. Debbra was my first sexual partner in a long time and the first since I had been tricked by Wendy Gross, a male to female transsexual I had met in New York City. (I had expended my grandfather’s bequest to me to travel there and across the country, learning about the entertainment trade.

It was there, (and when I was on my last dime and most susceptible to an offer of employment,) that Stanley H. Holler III of the British American Petroleum Company made me an offer. I turned it down.

Wendy was his companion. She turned to me when Stanley threw her out of his room at the Hotel Chelsea, she said, and asked to stay with me for the night in room 100.

You can’t imagine the relief I felt when Debbra first took me as her lover.

(The coincidence of the pairing of issues of gender identity with work roles in ’81 revived in me the issues I had discussed with David Swanson on March 3, 1965, and gave rise to my firm belief that “Wendy” was the transsexual reinvention of David, who must have acted on my putative offer of marriage in ’65 and been brought in with Stanley to reinforce the pressure on me to accept his offer.)

Nor could I agree to have my first conceived child aborted.

As Debbra was now seriously interested in me as a husband, partner and support; and I was interested in her as the future mother of my child, partner and support; we moved in together.

It became summer and she left her job on the West Bank area of the city, (also known as Cedar-Riverside,) to take a summer job as a cook for Outward Bound school and camp in Ely, MN. I traveled with her there and we shared a cabin on their grounds for a while. It was in this cabin that the disagreement between us first became physical.

She had long been contemplating driving to Duluth for an abortion, but as she had no car, she needed my cooperation to do it. I wouldn’t lend my cooperation to the arrangement and denied her the use of my car. As she was leaving the cabin after discussing this with me, I saw her grab the keys from the table. I followed her through the door and tackled her, retrieving my keys. I was careful not to let her be injured, as she was carrying my baby, but she was incensed that I would lay hands on her.

She insisted that I get counseling. I maintained that I had acted properly and within my rights, refusing counseling. Nonetheless, management would not countenance a feuding couple on their grounds and we were asked to cohabitate elsewhere.

We moved into a tiny house in town. It was right across from the courthouse. Debbra commuted the short distance to the Outward Bound camp and looked to me to find some kind of work in town to supplement her income.

As for myself, I continued my series of messages to the President of the United States, looking to capitalize on the growing evidence that the Almighty supported me in my contention that the government had stolen twelve years of my service using means both forceful, (under the terms of Minnesota’s Compulsory School Attendance Act, and allowed by the federal government in violation of the 14th Amendment guaranteeing Due Process of Law before an individual’s rights are reduced,) and fraudulent, (under the terms of the instruction that I had received early in my education and presumed to continue throughout the school system, thereafter.)

Debbra had supported me in this endeavor when we lived together in Minneapolis: She had driven with me to Victoria, MN to mail one of my letters from there. I felt that a postage cancelation mark with the Victoria name would symbolically invoke the memory of the recent Victor/Victoria movie, a tale of gender identity woes reminiscent of the issues in my story and related in earlier letters in my series.

I used this tactic to help any one who may have been assigned to open and read my letters recall the foundation of the series without burdening myself or the reader with a re-telling of the entire tale.

It was at this juncture that I sereptitiously took a $20 from Debbra’s wallet to pay for the extra postage required for Registered Mail. I felt that this was justified for two reasons: 1. the information in my letter related to the security of the nation as well as that of the President, himself, justifying the use of the most secure method for sending a letter, and 2. when the Evidence became so great as to become irrefutable, the government would condescend to pay for the lengthy term of service I maintained it had solicited of me through the men and women it had placed over me, and Debbra, who’s interests were now intertwined with mine, would also benefit.

When she discovered the missing bill, however, she was dismissive of my rationale for taking it and very angry.

Not long after that blow-up, however, our entire family stopped at the DQ in Shakopee, for a treat. A light wind was blowing and in it, a twenty dollar bill.

Debbra saw it without anyone else seeing it first and grabbed it. She insisted that it was entirely her luck that had brought her the twenty. I felt that I had used her twenty for God’s business as well as hers and mine, and that He had returned it to her, satisfying the grievance.

She maintained that I still owed her money and required that I make good on the debt.

What a pity that we didn’t see eye to eye on this mystery. It was a difference between us that would shape the rest of our time together and lead to our eventual parting of ways.

As for the Evidence of Friday, June 15th, 2018?

The preferential prosecution of men over women in cases of domestic abuse, the ability of a reporter to lambast a victim without being held to account in probate court, the preference of the courts to award custody of younger children to the mother and also to the stronger provider, combined with the resistance of the government to award me my just due after dozens of years of service to the government, all these have combined to deprive me of the affections of my daughter, felt most acutely this Father’s Day.

On this past Friday, leading into Father’s Day weekend, I spent the day texting my daughter, Cassie. Inviting her to attend a concert at the Dakota Jazz Club that evening. Telling her about how the owner had offered to give the two of us complimentary admission to any performance there, when I told him of how much sorrow I endured because of Cassie’s rejection. Inviting her to call the club to ask the owner if he, indeed, had made that promise. Calling the club to remind the owner of his promise. Calling his sister to help me contact the owner when I couldn’t reach him at the club. Reviewing my available cash to offer the owner as a bribe to let us in if the date was sold out and he didn’t remember his promise. And generally pulling my last hair out in order to bring Cassie and myself together again, which I desire with all my heart.

This is the loss which the enemies of American liberty and justice endured on that day: As reported on page A6 on the Sunday, June 17th edition of the Star Tribune, “Inmate fatally shoots 2 deputies” (Kansas) and on page B3 of the same edition, “Blaine officer, wife killed in motorcycle crash.”

While you may argue that these losses are not extraordinary to the daily occurrence among law enforcement, please allow me to consider them the work of a Divine force of protection afflicting evil-doers.

#family separation #mental health fathers day justice religious freedom

4 notes · View notes

joselmarrero · 3 years

Text

Interview I: A Millennial's Perspective

Interview I: For my first interview I decided to talk to someone I trust dearly. Alexus is a woman who has shown me the value of hard work and dedication. After hearing about how much work she had to go through and seeing her first hand the stress of becoming an attorney I decided to interview her. The format I chose to use was a personal, first person view of her experiences.

Bio: My name is Alexus. I am 27 years old. I studied International Business, Marketing, and Spanish at Grand Valley State University. After Grand Valley, I went to law school at Wayne State University Law School.

Experience with Mental Health in College:

At Grand Valley, I began going to counseling to work through some difficulties that were rooted in my family life. Grand Valley offers free counseling for their students and I wanted to take advantage of that. Other than that, Grand Valley was actually one of the phases in my life where my anxiety was at my lowest. I was studying something that I was interested in and my life was completely in my control.

After Grand Valley, I applied to and subsequently attended Wayne State Law School. Before deciding to attend school there, I talked with family, other lawyers and at one point, I wanted to take a year off to evaluate my options before continuing with my formal education. I think because of my family, and especially my mom, there was never an option in my mind to stop my studies after getting my Bachelor’s degree. Looking back, I wish I had pushed for that time to explore things. I had initially wanted to return to college and get my science credits to allow me to apply to medical school, but my family pushed me towards law school. After a month or two after graduating, I took the LSAT and then applied to Wayne. I got in, and I believe that’s where my mental health started being the most affected by my college life.

Law school is an entirely different beast than undergraduate studies, or that’s how it felt to me. There are pressures all around you to be the best. Not the best you can be, but the best. “If you’re not in the top 10% of the class, you won't get a job.” “If you don’t participate in these activities, you won’t get a job and won’t have a way to pay your school debt.” On top of all these things that we were told day in and day out, we were competing against each other for our grades because everything was graded on a curve. It didn’t matter if you knew it well, if someone knew something better than you did, then you would get the lower grade. There was always pressure to do more. To do better. I would study and work for 14 hours a day, never really taking a day off other than for law school events.

Anxiety for me first manifested as a feeling of tightness in my chest that would come and go. Most of the time it would be fine, but then I’d randomly get that tightness feeling when worrying about how I performed on a test or if I would get a job.

Q/A:

Why did you become an attorney?

My family wanted me to be one.

Why did you want to be in the medical field?

I wanted to help people. I have this memory from when I was younger of memorizing all the bones in the human body and my pure excitement and fascination with how many bones made up our bodies. I was interested in the human body and wanted a job where I wasn't chained to a desk all day just pushing papers.

Do you think your decision to be an attorney in school might have contributed to your anxiety and would it have been different if you chose a different career?

Yes. I very much think that. I think one of the biggest contributing factors to my anxiety now is that I do not enjoy the job. I believe that you handle the pressures of a job differently when it is something that you enjoy.

How do you feel your student loans affect how you live your life as a millennial?

I feel like my student loans are a ball and chain or a cage preventing me from exploring and investing in the world we live in. They hold me back from taking risks that I would take without that additional financial burden.

Do you think school has contributed to the rise in anxiety and depression? How and what do you think is the solution?

Yes. I do think that school has contributed to the rise in anxiety and depression. There are so many pressures out there now and many schools do not do a good job of teaching students about living life after their degrees. They only teach you the curriculum. Never what to do with it or even give you any skills to apply your knowledge to different things outside of your degree. I think schools need to start teaching people that while your studies and your degree are important, they are not what define us and make us who we are. They are just one component that makes us who we are. There are so many different avenues to use the information that schools teach us, but there is not a “right” answer. There is only a right answer for that individual.

Closing Statement: Alexus is a woman whos opinion I value very much. She put herself through fire and flame to get out the other side jaded by the education system. Her decisions remind me of myself, a person who questions what his path should be and the anxiety that carries. My next interview will be my father. Because he has COVID (he is fine), I will not be able to post his interview tonight, but we can expect it tomorrow at the latest. Thank you.

0 notes