talesfromcallcenters: "I'm totally not a sex-offender. Oh, my social is [social.] What do you mean, you found my profile and you know I'm a sex offender?"
(*During my job at 211, I worked with a few sex offenders who were homeless and needed a place to stay. There are three different types of sex offenders in Ohio, tier 1, tier 2, and tier 3. The gentlemen in the story was a tier 3 sex offender.)
Me: “Thanks for calling [agency] how can I help you today?”
Man: “I need a place to stay.”
Me: “OK, what’s your full name please?”
Man: “It’s [not his name.]”
Me: “OK.” Not knowing the man, I pull up nothing in the database. Me: “Sorry, I’m not finding you. Can I have you repeat the spelling of your last name?”
Man: “Sure, it’s [still not his last name.]”
Me: “OK, let me check one more thing. Can I have your social please?”
Man: “Sure, it’s [number.]” Pulls up profile
Me: Reads profile: all info is erased but social and name, and all information is replaced with: TIER 3 SEX OFFENDER, BANNED FROM ALL SHELTERS. He would still be allowed at the winter shelter, but that was not yet open.
Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that we don’t have any shelters open that you can attend—”
Man: “I’m NOT a sex offender!”
Me: Blinks “I’m sorry?”
Man: “I’m not a sex offender! I need a place to stay. I’ve stayed at name of shelter before.”
Me: “Just a moment.” I put him on hold and called the shelter he’d stayed at before. It had just been a day. It turns out he’d lied to the first rep who had gotten him, but the shelter had somehow found out the truth and immediately evicted him, as the *shelter was near a school.**
Me: “I’m sorry, but we can’t serve you at any of our current locations, and our winter shelter won’t open for several more months now. I can try and—”
Man: “No! I need a SHELTER! I am not a sex offender. She deserved it!”
If it had hit me with what he’d said, I’d have terminated the call there, but at that point I was used to strangeness, so nothing phased me for good and bad. Me: “I understand that, sir, but we don’t have any options HERE–”
[He called back several times, getting multiple people. Each time he would refuse any other resources, swear he was someone else, and would give his correct social. He always seemed amazed when we found him in our database.]
first of all, yes I like that omega tony too, but can you imagine bucky being vaguely aware of the fact his alter ego has kidnapped tony? like, his bf has been taken by the murder dude he shares a brain with??
Yeah. I can also imagine Bucky trying to converse with the Winter Soldier (lmao murder dude I’m crying).
“You have to be gentle with him. You’ve got the serum and therefore Tony is delicate. DELICATE, I SAID.”
‘He’s biting me,’ the Winter Soldier responds. ‘And it actually hurts.’
“Yeah he’s a biter. …DON’T GET SO INTERESTED IN MY BOYFRIEND YOU WEIRDO. I should have known that biting did it for you Jesus Christ.”
But the Winter Soldier obediently begins treating Tony more gently, to the omega’s suspicious confusion. He doesn’t grip as tightly when he is forcing the omega to be still, and he tries to usher Tony places instead of dragging him around. Tony… appreciates this, in a weird way. And when the baby kicks hard enough to make him go “oof!” he allows the Winter Soldier to place a hand on his swollen belly to feel it too. (If he’s hoping that maybe Bucky’s in there and can feel his baby moving around in there too, well, that’s his secret.)
‘We need more of these.’
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees proudly. “Tony and I were thinking at least two–”
‘I need a dozen.’
“WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED A DOZEN KIDS?!” Bucky feels the edges of shame curling where he ends and the Winter Soldier begins. “What is that?!”
‘They will be good soldiers.’
“Whoa whoa whoa. None of my kids are gonna be soldiers! What the fuck!? Tony’s gonna kick your ass.” He senses something else curling at the divide. “…And what the fuck is this now?”
The Winter Soldier leans over Tony, who is napping, and places his hand gently on the omega’s round stomach. ‘He’s good like this. Glowing. Beautiful. He should always be with pup.’
Bucky viciously informs the Winter Soldier that it’s no longer acceptable for omegas to be considered nothing but baby farms, even though he agrees that his mate looks beautiful when he’s with child. And he can’t help but picture it, his omega and a gaggle of children that look just like him.
“I will kill any of our pups’ potential suitors,” the Winter Soldier decides.
“What the fuck,” Tony mumbles, trying to roll over. “You most definitely will not!”
The Winter Soldier obediently helps the omega roll over. “I will,” he insists, safe in the knowledge that Bucky is not actually opposed to this decision. “They will be kept safe.”
“Oh my God,” Tony sighs angrily, rolling his eyes. “You’re impossible. And also I’m turned, you can stop fondling my ass!”
The Winter Soldier finds it hard to oblige, but he manages.
(Bucky continues coaching the Winter Soldier to be kinder to his mate. The Winter Soldier has no idea why Bucky insists on him going out of his way to interact kindly with Tony but he quickly agrees to it when Bucky quietly projects the mental image of a heavily-pregnant Tony putting their first child down in the crib for the night. “How do you expect to convince Tony he needs a dozen kids if he doesn’t like you?” The Winter Soldier has to admit that the idea of impregnating the omega again would be a whole lot easier if Tony liked him.)
Spring comes slowly and quietly
to allow Winter to withdraw
slowly and quietly.
The color of the mountain afternoon
is tinged with nostalgia.
The terrible war flower
has left her footprints-
countless petals of separation and death
in white and violet.
Very tenderly, the wound opens itself in the depths of my heart.
Its color is the color of blood,
its nature the nature of separation.
The beauty of Spring blocks my way.
How could I find another path up the mountain?
I suffer so. My soul is frozen.
My heart vibrates like the fragile string of a lute
left out in a stormy night.
Yes, it is really there. Spring has really come.
But the mourning is heard
in the wonderful sounds of the birds.
The morning mist is already born.
The breeze of Spring in its song
expresses both my love and my despair.
The cosmos is so indifferent. Why?
To the harbor, I came alone,
and now I leave alone.
There are so many paths leading to the homeland.
They all talk to me in silence. I invoke the Absolute.
Spring has come
to every corner of the ten directions.
Its, alas, is only the song
Credit again to @pixierox101 for the idea, because I’d never have thought of it.
He was all she had, and she was all he had, and she was always torn by
her need to help him, and to keep him.
As his memories returned, piece by agonising piece, he was desperate to
fit them together, to remember who he was, to have her help him hold on to
himself, before he was lost again. He was so afraid to rediscover his identity,
to remember a past before all the pain he’d felt, and the pain he’d caused, but
he needed to. The more fragments reappeared, the more he wanted to know. Each
time they used his trigger words and he lost himself for a little while, she
knew how much it hurt, that when the memories returned they would be tinged
with the sorrow of what he had done. Although his actions were out of his
control, although he was a victim of the most horrific abuse, she knew that
each memory was a stain of guilt that no one could remove, but all the more
reason for him to want to find who he was, to be more than the killer they’d
There’s a lot of interest at the moment on who exactly these mysterious 10 MPs are that the Conservatives have teamed up with to get their majority. A lot of misinformation is spreading, so here’s a quick run-down of the Democratic Unionist Party of Northern Ireland.
The DUP were established in 1971 by Ian Paisley, the leading figure for loyalism during the Troubles. Although he would later be instrumental in the peace process in Northern Ireland, in 1971 he was involved with paramilitary groups fighting to keep NI under British rule.
They opposed the Good Friday Agreement due in party to the allowance for Sinn Fein to hold government. Other reasons included clauses for the early release of paramilitary political prisoners and lack of accountability of the Northern Ireland Executive and the North/South Ministerial Council.
The majority of their support is in the North of Northern Ireland, with border constituencies voting in Sinn Fein MPs in the 2017 general election.
Their leader is Arlene Foster, who serves as the First Minister of Northern Ireland.
They advocate for the union of Northern Ireland with the UK. Arlene Foster said during the 2017 election campaign that she does not intend for NI to have a border poll (a referendum on reunification of Ireland) in her life-time.
The DUP were at the centre of the Renewable Heating Incentives scandal. Arlene Foster, as Minister for the department in charge of the scheme, was heavily implicated. The poorly worded RHI scheme went over budget by £400m and the poor structure of the scheme made it prime fodder for fraudsters. Foster personally campaigned to keep the scheme open even after experts pointed out its flaws.
In 1977 the DUP campaigned against the decriminalisation of homosexuality in Northern Ireland. They no longer follow this policy, although many DUP members still see homosexuality as a sin due to strong religious ties.
In terms of Brexit, the DUP oppose a hard Irish border and support a soft-Brexit.
The DUP support triple-lock pensions and the Winter Fuel Allowance, in direct opposition to current Conservative policies.
They have vetoed same-sex marriage in Northern Ireland since 2015, despite its legalisation in the rest of the UK and in the Republic.
The DUP are strongly ‘pro-life’, and unanimously voted against a proposal by Labour to protect women from prosecution who abort their foetuses using pills bought online. Their stance on abortion also led to opposition to extra funding for international family planning programmes.
tl;dr The DUP are social (very) conservatives but will not support the Tories in every vote.
Attention UK Labour voters! Heed well the following message from Owen Jones!
Theresa May is taking the elderly vote for granted at this election. Old
age pensioners always vote Conservative, she thinks, so the Tories can
do what they like. The Tory manifesto promises to attack hard-up older
people by abandoning the triple-lock on pensions, means testing the
winter fuel allowance and introducing a ‘dementia tax’. Jeremy Corbyn’s
Labour manifesto offers a better deal for pensioners and will guarantee
security for your grandparents and your own future’s too. So pick up
your phone, call your grandparents and ask them to vote for your future.
Please if you can please call your grandparents #callyourgrandfolks
a flower bed for skin, how do you turn in sleep dreaming in warm hibernation through seasons of winter? allow my callused fingers trace long prayers onto the petals of your eyelids; perhaps, in full faith, i shall hum your eyes into closing—
oh my dearly beloved, don’t we all collapse into heaven, blooming?
Author’s choice! 21. Author’s choice! 21. Author’s choice!” (Fenris & Hawke as winter and spring respectively.)
He pulls her up from deeply
rooted vines, from leaves and moss, a grave of rock and earth. She is lavender
and petals, warmth as her hand wraps around his. All sculpted and crafted, warm
clay and bright stone. Eyes slowly open as he lifts her from where she lays. There
are buds beginning to green on the tree that marks her burial. She steps
towards him and flowers bloom in her footprints. She keeps her hand in his,
holds him tightly. Her other hand on his neck, his nape, warm breath on his
cheek as she embraces him.
She smells of the earth after
rain, all lushness and dew. “I’ve missed you,” she says with birds in her
voice. Running a hand through his hair, softly chuckling as she tweaks his ear
between her fingers, presses her forehead against his. There is frost in his
touch but she doesn’t seem to mind. His arms wrap around her waist as her arms
drape over his shoulders. Leaning her weight against him, laughing as he
peppers her face in kisses.
“I missed you as well,” he tells
her. Cupping his face in her hands, smiling as she kisses him gently. She
tastes of berries and low herbs, while he is the coolness of mint, the bite of
ice. She plants her love deeply, and he feels it take shape inside him. Spring
allows winter to lead, and she wraps her arms around his chest, puts her chin
on his shoulder. Laughing as they stumble together, errant foot against clumsy
steps. He misses her secret smile as she presses her head against his back.
They walk the earth together.
She melts away his snow, comes bearing the seeds of a new earth. She kneels
down, kneads her hand into dirt. Tulips spring forth at her command. Hidden
mushrooms in the shadow of a tree. All the deep things begin to awaken, brought
to life by her presence. Fingertips on icicles, warm water that drips down her
arm. He presses his hand against the drops, and the ice sparkles on her skin.
She smiles in delight.
He makes it snow for her one
last time. They sit underneath moonlight, her head on his shoulder. It falls
softly, sparkling in the light. It melts when it finds grass, green leaves.
Hand in hand, they need no words. Not as her fingers trace circles over the
back of his hand. Not as he kisses the crown of her head. In the morning light,
birds upon branch, she leads him to a grave of his own.
It is the lake by her tree, the
water that nourishes earth, both feeding upon the other. She wades in with him,
wraps her arms around him. “I don’t want you to go,” she says.
“I have to,” he tells her and
yet he does not let go. Tracing the lines of her back, every bump and ridge,
running his fingers through her hair. She is so bright and he is so tired. He
can barely keep his eyes open. They kneel down together, and he rests his head
upon her lap. She tucks white locks of hair behind his ears, brushes her hand
over his cheek. He closes his eyes as she leans over him, kisses him softly.
“I’ll be here when you wake,”
Fall takes him by the arm, hauls him to his
feet. Water turns to ice, snow on his skin, and there’s frost under his feet. He
stops by the tree. She rests underneath, sleeping peacefully, a smile on her
face. He’ll let her sleep just a little longer.
Jeremy Corbyn to take Labour’s message of hope for the many not the few across the UK on the final day of campaigning
Jeremy Corbyn will speak at six rallies across England, Scotland
and Wales on Wednesday 7 June 2017, the final day before polling day.
On Tuesday, 6 June, Jeremy addressed thousands at six simultaneous
events - and watched by 1.5 million people on Facebook live.
On the final day of campaigning, Jeremy will begin the day in
Glasgow Central and travel to Weaver Vale, Clwyd West, Watford, Harrow East,
until he reaches the final rally in Islington South.
He will set out Labour’s plans to transform Britain for the many,
not the few, including:
No tax rises for 95 percent of people and asking the top 5 percent
and big businesses to pay a bit more to fund our schools, hospitals, social
care and invest in our economy
Protecting pensioners incomes with the triple lock and
guaranteeing winter fuel payments
Providing an extra £37 billion for the NHS and £8 billion for
Raising the minimum wage to £10 an hour, ending the public sector
pay cap and bringing in workers’ rights from day one of any job
Scrapping university tuition fees and bringing back education
Cutting class sizes in schools and bringing in free school meals
for all primary school children
Building a million new homes
Bringing rail, water, parts of the energy system and post back
into public ownership to cut bills and improve in services
Commenting on Labour’s last day of campaigning, Jeremy Corbyn,
Leader of the Labour Party said:
“I am incredibly proud of Labour’s manifesto to transform Britain
for the many not the few.
“On the last day before people go to the polls, we will be
campaigning in towns and cities across England, Scotland and Wales with our
message that change can come.
“Our campaign has been about the kind of country we want to live
in, one in which the wealth creators - that means all of us - share in that
wealth, and everyone has the opportunity to succeed.
“Tomorrow, the British people will be able to vote for a government
that will put an end to the rigged system that benefits the super-rich. Every
vote for Labour will be a vote to put power, wealth and opportunity back in the
hands of the many, not the few.”
Speaking at Glasgow Central, Jeremy Corbyn will say:
“Older people have given us so much but they are being held back
by a Conservative government that is refusing to protect their incomes through
the pensions triple lock, is taking away the winter fuel allowance from
millions of pensioners and demanding people pay for social care with their
“Labour will do things differently. We won’t take older people for
granted like the Tories, we will treat them with the respect they deserve and
have earned. We will guarantee the triple lock, keep the winter fuel allowance
and invest in social care to provide security and dignity for the many not the
Speaking at Weaver Vale, Jeremy Corbyn will say:
“Our NHS is the nation’s pride and joy, and our greatest
achievement but it is under threat from underfunding and privatisation after
seven years of the Conservatives. We can’t afford another five years of the
“The election on Thursday is an opportunity to say enough is
enough. We have had enough of our NHS being undermined, we’ve had enough of NHS
services being sold off for profit, and we’ve had enough of our brilliant NHS
staff being treated with contempt.
“Labour will end the Conservatives’ plans for more privatisation,
give our NHS the funding it needs, and scrap the pay cap and give health workers
the pay rise they have needed for years.”
Speaking at Clywd West, Jeremy Corbyn will say:
“When police officers warned Theresa May as Home Secretary about
the damaging effect of cuts, she accused them of ‘scaremongering’ and ‘crying
wolf’. What a disgraceful way to treat those brave officers who keep us safe
“Labour will never take for granted those who keep us safe. We
will invest to reverse years of Tory cuts, and employ 10,000 more police
officers, 3,000 firefighters, 3,000 prison officers, 1,000 intelligence staff
and 500 border guards. We will do whatever it takes to keep our people safe.”
Speaking at Watford, Jeremy Corbyn will say:
“The Conservatives have held students back for too long, saddling
them with massive debts by trebling tuition fees. Labour will lift this cloud
of debt - now an average of £45,000 - and scrap tuition fees as part of
our plan to transform Britain for the many not the few.
“We believe everyone should have the chance to study, not
just those that can afford it, and we will restore the principle that education
is free. No one should be put off from getting an education through a lack of
money or fear of debt.”
Speaking at Harrow East, Jeremy Corbyn will say:
“No child should go hungry at school. The Conservatives are ending
universal free school meals for five, six and seven-year-olds and giving them a
breakfast that costs 6.8 p - that’s barely a thimble of cornflakes.
“By charging VAT on private schools fees, Labour will make sure
all primary school children get a healthy meal at school. We will build a
society for the many not the few, starting with our children eating a healthy
free lunch together.”
Prompt: damen experiencing snow for the first time? bc let's be real akielos is never going to get cold enough for snow, so he and laurent go to arles and its all pretty and frosty and damen is amazed. love your writing!
Damen wakes up with a cold breeze brushing his upper back and bare arms, and absently tugs a blanket into his lap as he sits up in the bed. One of the shutters on the main window has been flung open, allowing the winter air to flood into the room.
There is a cushioned window seat tucked beneath the window; Laurent is resting one foot on it, near a steaming mug, but has seated himself mostly up on the window frame itself. He’s partway dressed, in shirt and trousers, and has another of the bed’s blankets tucked around his shoulders. The daylight has a strange quality to it, bright and washed-out. It makes Laurent’s skin look like porcelain.
“Good morning,” Laurent says, not looking up from the bundle of papers in his lap. “It snowed overnight. I told you it would.”
There’s a fire going, but the room is still cold enough, when Damen climbs out of bed, that Damen hastily throws on some Veretian clothes of his own.
“Dispatches, already?” he says.
“I saved you the boring ones,” Laurent says.
Damen rubs his hands together as he walks over to the window. What Makedon insists on referring to as Damen and Laurent’s cursed restless habits means that the business of the kingdom happens, more often than not, on the move. The Kings’ Messengers are a thriving network, spread from Arles to Ios. Many of them are freedmen. They wear the livery of the kingdom and they are well trained, well guarded, and well paid.
They are also just visible enough that the existence of the unofficial messengers, the ones carrying messages that cannot risk interception, goes largely unnoticed.
“If you–oh,” Damen says, halting.
They are at a country house, one of the many that belongs to Laurent himself, tucked up in the highlands near the border with Vask. On their approach yesterday the ground was littered with patches of dirty grey ice. That’s not real snow, Laurent said, gazing up at the clouds, which were thickly pale and low. Just wait.
The view from the window, this morning, is dazzling. Someone has thrown white paint over the bare branches of some trees and the green-black needles of others, and rolled out across the entirety of the grounds a white carpet set with glass, or diamonds. The sky is a dull blue scattered with ragged puffs of those same clouds, lingering like actors eager to hear the reaction to their performance. There is a small, friendly layer of the white substance scattered on the external ledge of the window. It crunches and melts in Damen’s hands when he picks some up; the air bites at his wet fingertips with numbing teeth.
“We should go riding today,” Laurent says. “I can push you into a whole bank of the stuff, if you like.”
When Damen pulls his gaze away from the snow-covered lawns, Laurent is watching him with one of his rare, soft smiles.
“It’s beautiful,” Damen says.
Laurent’s smile deepens. His hair is falling into his eyes and the very tip of his nose is pink. Damen leans over to kiss him and Laurent’s lips are cool, belying the heat of the mouth beneath. He tastes delicious, like fruit and spices.
“Mulled apple juice,” Laurent says, in answer to what must be the question forming on Damen’s face. “There’s a jug by the fire.”
Damen fetches his own mug. When he returns to the window, Laurent has unfastened the other shutter and pushed it wide open, and Damen climbs to seat himself in the corner, mirroring Laurent.
“Here,” Laurent says, handing a bundle of paper across to him. “Nikandros is frothing about something again. You can summarise it for me.”
“Angry handwriting,” Laurent says, with a quirk of lips.
Damen unfolds the bundle and laughs. It’s true. “The riding is looking more appealing.”
“Work first,” Laurent says, mock-stern, and stretches his leg out on the window frame so he can nudge at Damen with his socked foot.
Damen lifts Laurent’s foot onto his own knee. He rubs at the sole of it with one thumb and holds Nikandros’s dispatch between his fingers, balancing the mug in his other hand. When he inhales deeply, the crisp air pricks at his nostrils, softened by just a hint of cloves rising from the juice.