#look I can do research future employers--

[notmyneighbor]

r&d | yog sothoth x female reader

part 1/?

words | 2.8k

tnmn nightmare mode, human experimentation, science fiction, human/vampire relationship, evil dr. w. afton, eventual explicit content, none in this chapter

ao3 link

When you first hear about the new program being offered by your employer, you’re more than a little hesitant.

It’s marketed as a way to help door guardians like yourself decompress after the rigors of screening so many doppelgangers, but you’re wary of the attached disclaimer that your sessions will be monitored and recorded ‘to further aid future candidates.’ It all feels a little too intrusive and boundary crossing for your liking, so it’s a fast decline from you—until you’re offered the extra incentive of a bonus check to sweeten the deal. Money talks, and the promised amount is practically screaming your name. In the end, you volunteer to be one of the pioneers in the study.

That’s how you find yourself in a room that looks more like a doctor’s office than the therapist’s cozy space you’d been expecting, the comfortable couch you’d imagined replaced with a chair that bears a resemblance to a dentist’s contraption more than anything else. Those misgivings and doubts are kicking in again, but then your mind argues back that there’s a good chunk of funds waiting for you at the end of this, so surely it’s not too much of a hardship to bear.

You’re more than a little surprised to see a familiar face after the receptionist guides you to the chair and leaves you to your fate. It’s one of the residents of the building you guard. That engaged physicist that lives on the third floor, W. Afton. You’ve always thought it odd that his first name isn’t revealed on any of his identification paperwork—everything on file only had his first initial listed.

He enters the room briskly, carrying a clipboard and a black case. He closes the door and sets the latter item down on the counter, then settles onto the wheeled stool nearby. You suddenly have the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that this is more of a medical program than a psychiatric one.

You lean forward, your bare arms sticking unpleasantly to the vinyl cushioning beneath you. “Dr. Afton? I think there’s been some misunderstanding. I’m going to just—”

He waves a hand in the air to interrupt you, scrawling something on the clipboard resting on his thighs before his head lifts. The way the fluorescent lighting touches his glasses temporarily obscures his eyes from sight. “Nonsense. You’ve agreed to participate. This is where you’re meant to be.”

“Um, with all due respect, I was led to believe this was a psychiatric program? Aren’t you a physicist?”

“My expertise lies in research, and that’s precisely what you’ve agreed to help the DDD with. You might as well sit back and get comfortable. I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability. The truth, mind you; not what you think you should say or what you think I want to hear.”

You shift in your seat, glancing at the closed door and licking your lips nervously. “Are we being monitored? The literature said we would be.”

He lifts a finger and points to the corner of two intersecting walls and you realize there is a camera there. “Visual only, no audio. As promised, this is being kept confidential to assure accuracy and no bias. You can confide in me with confidence.” His lips twitch in an almost smile. His eyeglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly and you see slate gray eyes regarding you, until he shoves them back into place and rakes back a tendril of dark hair that’s fallen across his forehead.

“Um…” Something about this is definitely off. A lot of somethings. “Would you mind showing me your documents first, so I can verify it’s really you?”

“Of course it’s really me. How else do you think I got inside this facility? This isn’t one of those wretched downtown apartments,” he says. You’re living in one of those so called wretched downtown apartments, you want to retort, but you bite your tongue. “Still, I suppose that’s what you’re accustomed to. A lingering sort of paranoia about verifying human identity,” he mumbles to himself, writing on the paper in his lap again. “Fine. I’ll humor you, just this once. Just to make you feel a little more comfortable.” He sets the pen and clipboard down and walks to your seat, digging in his pants pocket for a leather billfold. The doctor extracts his identification card and hands it to you. “I trust I don’t need to submit an entry request as well?”

You’d never spoken much to the man, in your tenure as doorman, and you’re beginning to see why. He’s unfriendly and borderline rude. You can feel the impatience and irritation wafting from him. What did Mia, the schoolteacher he is engaged to, see in him? She’s so cheerful and kind. Opposites attract, maybe.

“It looks okay,” you mumble, handing the card back to Afton. He tucks it inside his wallet and the accessory vanishes back into his pocket. “I trust you’re satisfied? Or is there some other protocol you feel you need to follow?”

“No, you’re fine.” You feel your cheeks flushing at his condescending demeanor.

“As I’ve said already.” The soles of his polished dress shoes click loudly on the linoleum as he returns to his seat, retrieving the clipboard and writing utensil again. “Now then, shall we begin? We’re wasting valuable company time.”

“Yes.”

“Good. First question. Have you ever mistakenly misidentified a doppelganger? Or a human?”

“No to both.” It was true. Your track record, thus far, has been impeccable.

A grunt and another mark on the paper. “Have any of the doppelgangers ever threatened violence?”

“A few. Mainly once they’ve been called out.”

“Did any of them ever try to bribe you to gain entry?”

“No. I did have one promise to fully reveal himself if I let him in, and he also stated I must not like my neighbors that much, so it wouldn’t matter if I let him in anyway.”

Afton pauses, his pen freezing mid stroke. “How do you think he arrived at that conclusion? That you did not care for your neighbors? Did you have much discourse with him prior to this?”

“No. No more than the usual standard greeting. He remembered to show his card and his entry request, and they were a perfect forgery, but he wasn’t on the day’s list of expected entrants.”

“Is that when the doppel revealed himself?”

“Yes.”

“Were you frightened?”

“Of course. But the barrier is there as soon as I sound the alarm. And the DDD cleaners always come right away.”

Some more writing follows this. Afton presses on the metal at the top of the board to release the pages and turns the top one over, releasing the spring and snapping the holder back into place. “Do you ever have trouble sleeping at night?”

You shrug. “Sometimes.”

“Do you find yourself thinking about your job, even when you are off duty?”

“I guess so.”

The physicist’s lips press in a thin line. “Keep your responses to definitive yes or no answers, please.” He jerks on the tail end of his necktie to straighten it. It is a deep shade of eggplant today.

“Yes,” you say, knowing your tone is definitely a little sharp, but you’re unable to help it. You’ve been on edge ever since the man walked into the room.

“What sorts of things do you think about?”

“Wondering if I made all the right decisions. What the next day will bring. What would happen if the doppels got better at disguising themselves and blending in. Where they come from in the first place.”

Afton taps the end of the pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Do you think that will happen? That they’ll eventually be successful? That you’ll make the wrong decision?”

“I hope not. But yes, it’s a concern of mine.”

“A fear, too, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose so.” He glares at you. “Yes,” you clarify, gritting your teeth.

“I see.” He writes briefly and then sets the items back on the counter, this time reaching for the black case as he rises. His back blocks the contents from view.

“So now what happens?”

“You’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain, so now it’s time we fulfilled ours. Providing an outlet for these pent up fears of yours.”

“Which means?”

Lightning fast, Afton slips something into his lab coat pocket. He turns to face you, and the smile he has is nothing short of sinister, a kind of rictus, as if he is one of the doppels, trying the motion out without understanding its purpose.

“You’re finally going to get caught up on some of that sleep you’ve been missing. You know, because you’ve been so worried about the doppelgangers.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Now, now. None of that. It’s too late to change your answers. It’s all been documented.” Almost casually he reaches out to rest a hand on the arm of your chair and you hear a clicking sound. In the blink of an eye twin metal bands snap over your wrists.

“What the fuck?!” You struggle against the restraints, your heels flailing and digging in uselessly as your squirm, trying to escape. “Let me go!”

“You agreed to this, remember?”

“To be restrained? No way. Get me out of this thing right now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet. One more step to go.” His voice is so calm, so placid. He’s making it sound as if this is the most normal thing in the world. His hand disappears into his coat pocket and you finally see what he’d hidden there earlier: a syringe with some eerie glowing fluid. “You’re going to want to hold still for this. It would be so unfortunate if I missed and had to puncture your skin more than once.” He does not look the least bit remorseful. Instead, there is a look of almost glee on his normally solemn features. Excitement. He’s enjoying this.

“You can’t inject me with that! I don’t consent! Help!”

“You’re wasting your breath. Sound proof room. Confidential, remember? As I told you earlier. And you did consent. We have your signature on file. A legally binding contract.” His fingers curl around your elbow, turning the joint slightly so he has access to the larger vein in the hollow of your upper extremity,

“This can’t possibly be legal. You’re not a medical doctor! You don’t even know how to give an injection!

”Do you think the doppels are the only ones who know how to forge an ID?” His voice is a low, sultry rasp. Gloating, now.

You gape at him. “What the…who are you?”

“The name is real enough. I suppose we’re better acquainted now, so you can learn my first name. Not that you’ll remember any of this later. It’s William.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s what I do. My job. Seeing this through. Experimenting. Research. Enough chatter.” You feel the tip of the needle laid against your skin and you instantly freeze, holding your breath.

“Please, stop, William,” you implore gently, hoping this approach might prove more effective than yelling and struggling, knowing all the same it’s a futile attempt.

Afton’s gray eyes meet yours. “Sweet dreams. See you when you get back.” Pain. Heat inside your arm, then liquid ice.

Darkness.

***

The first thing you smell is brimstone.

You’re not even sure how you recognize that scent. Your eyes open and you find yourself in the security booth you work in every day.

But it’s different.

Four eyes, one at each corner of the window, stare back at you, following your hand movements. The walls are spattered with blood. The papers and files are crumpled and stained. There’s an ominous looking fluid dripping from the air vent. The handle of the phone looks like it’s coated in some unpleasant substance. There are holes in the plaster and some of the wiring for the door panel control is exposed, the ends fraying. You shudder and the eyes follow this motion too, ever attentive.

A tapping sound draws your attention back to the window.

You have a prospective entrant outside the glass, their hand resting on that clear panel, which has several spidery cracks, you notice with a growing sense of alarm. There are claws clicking on that smudged surface that needed to be wiped down with ammonia desperately, the owner bearing a strong resemblance to the man you know as Francis Mosses.

Alike in some ways, such as the general build and facial structure, but different, too. These eyes are golden and red rimmed. He has pierced ears, silver spikes driven into each. A gold nose ring. A choker with spikes to match the earrings, with a padlock dangling from his throat. Whereas the milkman always wears a white uniform, this figure is clad in a black dress shirt with some suspicious stains on his left chest. There are also a pair of fangs poking from the barrier of his lips, and your first immediate thought is that this pale figure is a vampire.

Ludicrous, right? But then again, is it any more wild than the eyes that are watching you from the window frame, the obviously trippy effects of whatever junk Afton has injected you with taking hold, making you have this strange nightmare?

The figure slides an ID card and entry request into the slot and you want to laugh at that mundane formality. As if you’re going to let a bloodsucker in. Yes, see, it says it right there on his paperwork. He went out to suck blood. Vampire.

“You’re new, human.”

Your eyes flick up to the creature’s face. “Have there been many others here?”

“A few.” He nods towards the room you’re standing inside. “You gonna hit the buzzer and let me in?”

“I…” You glance down at his name. Yog Sothoth. He lives in a different apartment than Francis. A different floor entirely, if these documents are accurate. “This is just a bad dream. It has to be. None of this is real.”

“It’s real. That DDD from your world found a way to create a portal here. Drugged you and sent you through it, just like the others.”

You frown. “It says here astral plane? What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it says on the label. You’re in an alternate realm that can only be reached through spiritual transcendence. In short, your mind is here, your body elsewhere. At least, I think that’s how it works.”

“This is crazy.” You pause. “What happened to the others? The humans who got here before me?”

“I couldn’t tell you. They disappear fairly quickly. Not sure who’s responsible. It wasn’t me,” he adds quickly. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I just take a little at a time. And I don’t discriminate. Blood is blood, though I must say your species is a lot cleaner than some of the other riffraff around here.”

“If it’s only your mind that’s here, why do you need to feed at all?”

“Mmm, doesn’t work that way. Me and the other residents, we are actually, physically here. It’s just you humans that are straddling both worlds.”

“I do have a physical form here, though. I can interact with things.” You lift up Yog’s entry request to demonstrate. “This makes no sense.”

The vampire shrugs. “I don’t make the rules, I just exist by them. So, am I good to come in?”

“There are really doppels here, too?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“How do I get back home?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Maybe the DDD will bring you back when the experiment or whatever the hell they’re doing is over? The other humans I spoke with seemed as in the dark about it as you are.”

“The DDD,” you murmur darkly. You’ve been proud to work for them. Glad to be able to help your fellow neighbors. Now, though? You hardly know what to think.

“Not sure which is worse, to be honest.”

You grunt in agreement. Afton had said something about seeing you when you got back, so you have to believe that there will actually be a return trip. There didn’t seem to be much purpose behind just sending you along one way and then not gaining any knowledge from that venture. He’d also mentioned you wouldn't remember what had happened in the office with him, which also makes you wonder: are you doomed to just keep repeating this experiment? Unwittingly participating because you’ll have no recollection of the DDD’s seeming betrayal? What was the point of any of this? You slide Yog’s things back to him, forcing yourself to focus on the creature standing across from you. “You’re chattier than Francis.”

“Francis?”

“The human that looks like you in my world. You seem like you’re a good person like he is. Maybe that’s the same in every universe.” You push the button to release the lock on the door. “I guess I might as well let you in.”

The bloodsucker hesitates. “I hope you make it back home safely. If I don’t see you tomorrow, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

You lock the door behind him.

[tarotchariotpickyourcard]

PAC: Why you didn't get the job/placement

Wondering why you were turned away or didn't receive the call? It's natural to wonder, even if people tell you to just move on. Here is an attempt to understand.

Group 1 is a ring. Group 2 is a pink flower, Group 3 is a plant.

GROUP 1

THE EMPEROR -  TEMPERANCE - KING OF PENTACLES

Immediate impression is that the employer directly thought perhaps you as an applicant were not ready or prepared for the stress or situations that the placement might bring. They potentially would have wanted an applicant that was more ready to step quickly into the role, rather than someone they would have to spend more time/money training up or paying more attention to. This isn’t to say you’re not actually qualified, it’s more that this person just made their mind up and that was that. With king of pentacles this is more money oriented, more thinking on profit long term. They may have thought that you didn’t connect with them in terms of the long term impacts of the business/studies. If this was regarding specifically studies this could be that they saw it as a lack of foresight or big picture thinking. (Again, not saying this is actually true, if you feel that it’s an incorrect representation). 

I asked what the employer, or teacher or leader or whoever was in charge, was looking for that you may have missed in communicating or showing. The card is Drive. It says “No matter what my energy level is, today I’m lighting my motivational furnace and burning with drive. Starting now, I’m the reigning badass of productivity and I’m about to blaze through my entire to-do list and then some.” So if you were to apply again or with the same people, you may want to show examples of how you have been assertive, or a self teacher, or someone who has initiative in their work.

Now we have ‘Tijme to move on’ and ‘Stay optimistic’.It says “don’t quit right before the miracle occurs.” If this is something that crops up as a yearly opportunity or something to that effect, then stay optimistic that you can get a chance next time. If you are really interested in the role or type of opportunity, stay optimistic that you can get something similar in nature. 

If you are applying for roles or studies while you’re already in something, time to move on suggests letting go of where you are mentally and emotionally first. That will energetically open you up to more opportunities. Stay optimistic suggests holding on for a bit longer and trying to visualize positive outcomes that make you feel happy, like something has happened.

I drew a card as something that you can show off about yourself and it is imagination. It says “I treasure my imagination, and I can conjure it at any time. My imagination helps me dream up creative solutions to complex problems that I wouldn’t have thought of from inside this same-old box.” So you are someone who can think up some helpful solutions, even if they seem a bit different or strange. You can think differently and really add to research, work and teams.

I’m sorry that you were turned away, but it’s looking positive for you in the future so good luck.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

GROUP 2

So we have the 8 of swords and the king of swords. We also have time to move on and blessed change. This was not the job or placement for you anyway, I see really strongly it wouldn’t have been beneficial for you in the long run. There is something more unexpected for you down the line.

The reasoning seems more based on how you appeared as a person?  I feel like the ones who interviewed were people who saw themselves as logical, down to business and they may have seen you as an applicant who was more in their head in an inefficient way? I just don’t think you were a fit, on either side. So the course, or the workplace, or the environment, wouldn’t have really gelled. I’m sorry I can’t see any more than that to be honest. 10 of swords as an extra is hinting to me that maybe you said something that put them off and that was the nail in the coffin. I’m not saying you said anything drastic, it could have just been something that made them think attitudes were different, or values weren’t aligned. For example, I know someone who wasn’t taken on because they said they were a direct person in the workplace. Imagine not wanting someone who is direct. So please don’t take it personally, I just don’t think you were for each other.

I asked what they were looking for that you may have missed, or didn’t show. The card is prep work. “I make friends with the quiet loners, organization and planning. And I suddenly realize how cool they are! I start hanging out with them, and I bend to their influence. I even allow them to give my daily habits a makeover. Normally I wouldn’t succumb to peer pressure, but isn’t efficiency the best?”

Yeah, definitely seems like they were looking for someone like themselves (in their opinion). Now, let’s have a card showing what you can show off about yourself that you have. Self Reliance (ah, so you can be a one man band at times). It says: “I am a confident, capable, walking, talking, learning machine - and I practice total self reliance every chance I get. Even if something’s tough, I can probably do it. Even if something is new to me, I can probably figure it out. Or maybe just google it.” Whether you think you’re confident or not, you have a quiet type in work where you know you will manage things. This is a self starter energy that doesn’t run away. Do you know some people get afraid at the idea of working at a different branch or with a team that isn’t their usual? I feel like you would walk in there and introduce yourself and get on with it. You can walk into a job needing to learn on the go, and you wouldn’t bother colleagues as much as they think a new hire would.

Good luck, I see a positive unexpected opportunity that you will be able to go for because you’re still freed up. It’s going to make you grin.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

GROUP 3

10 of pentacles, The world. Empowerment, Wait, Let yourself receive.

There’s something here regarding timing or travel. Maybe they needed someone asap, but you had a 6 week wait to go. Timing could have just been off. Perhaps there was time between jobs or roles that they didn’t like. Maybe there was a need to travel when you were asking for remote work and they weren’t willing to give it. Another possibility is you didn’t seem enthusiastic about their desire to hop from site to site, or travel for a longer period of time for a project or course.

Empowerment makes me think you told them about a boundary or limit, but they weren’t willing to shift, compromise or allow. I get a very stubborn energy from the employer/interviewers side. If they were really immature, they could have noticed if you weren’t very early. Maybe you were right on time or a little bit late for the interview. I feel like you had a lot of good qualities that they were looking for, but it was more the practical aspects of things that got in the way.

I honestly don’t see anything too deep. I think you did a very good job in the interview or discussions you had. I think you’re able to stand up for yourself and refuse to give more than you can. I think you have a good head on your shoulders. You deserve a better role or placement that gives you more in return for what you do.

The cards that you have on your side to show next time in an opportunity are risks, and enthusiasm.

Risks says “ I take big risks and leap into the unknown with fearless abandon, knowing that the best surprises and richest experiences come from bold choices. Worst case scenario? The unknown is filled with spiders and they swarm me and eat me and decorate their spider cave with my bones. But what are the chances.”

Enthusiasm says “When I have to make a spreadsheet, sit in a long meeting with no coffee, or do anything else I don’t like, I dig deep and find a way to be enthusiastic about it. The difference between having to do something and getting to do something is all in my perspective.”

So the cards are overall saying bide your time for better results, the right place will accept what limits you genuinely have, and there can definitely be a fair give and take for you. There is patience needed though.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Hope it made sense have a good one.

[heartfullofleeches]

Spill

Immortal Male Yan + G.N Criminal Reader

Summary: You kidnapped him to get some information about a shared friend, but he won't give in so easily

Warnings: Sadomasochism themes, violence, slightly suggestive scene

Good little Silas.

Always keeps every word someone says to him.

It's his job afterall - one no-one else in the entire world could full. You see, Silas knew the secrets of a lot of dangerous people. The type of series others would die, or even kill for. Why would these people trust a scrawny, pathetic looking guy like him? It's simple really. He has a bigger secret than all of them combined.

He couldn't die.

It was really hard to convince his boss of his usefulness at first. His buddies put a bullet through his skull and tossed him into the trash out back before he could demonstrate himself. Didn't even buy him dinner before hand. Assholes. Coming back after having his brains splattered on his soon to be employer's did wonders for his credibility. He was mostly used as a living meat shield early on, but with his resilience to wounds and the pain they may cause his boss become more relaxed around him. He had proven worth plus is anyone ever caught wind of their ties and kidnapped him Silas would never saw a thing. He was the perfect lapdog.

After that he pretty much became an outlet for everyone's tales. From little white lights to infidelity, murder, and every other sin in the book. Sweet Silas would do his to lean an ear and give input when requested. By the end of the year Silas had enough information to get everyone involved arrested, murdered, or whatever else might happen if he let any details slip. He could easily save the lives of innocent people, but he had a bigger prey to catch than the fleeting high of justice.

After all, a good boy might go to the police, and he was no good boy.

-

Silas greedily gulps down tablespoons of water as the glass clacks against his teeth.

"Feeling better?"

"Mhm..."

A backhand soars across his face.

"Good."

Silas' head hangs at an awkward angle from the force, red stained saliva dribbling down his lips. He bite into the lower one to avoid making a sound. Normally he'd hold his captor to the same standards as his friends in regards to filling his stomach with something other than water before smacking him around, but this was no ordinary kidnapper. They were intoxicating, threatening, the exact type of person he'd love to...

Ugh, he's getting carried away again.

Best not to do that while he's still playing an innocent victim, especially in front of his Doll. Just a single week before his employment, Silas fell in love. The culprit of his stolen heart was a crook committing another robbery that night, the two's paths crossed in an alley behind the bank. No questions asked, his future spouse stabbed him directly in his chest before they fled the scene. That boldness almost made them an optional playmate, but that hint of guilt in their eyes swept him off his feet. Researching them only made him fall madder in love. He would do anything to have them.

"I don't want to hurt you. Just tell me code to his safe and I'll let you go.

Facing away, Silas is fully able to roll his eyes. At least threaten his life if he speaks while you're at it.

"Please... I really don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a waiter!" He fights in his restraints and sobs with wide eyes, hoping to sell the act anc draw attention away from his lower body. Pitching a tent right in front of his doll on their first meeting was rather embarrassing. You snarl as you pick up your knife.

"Just tell me what I want to know!"

You're so pretty when you scream. Silas can't wait for his turn to play. He holds it isn't too long so he can take a picture of his wounds and mirror them on you so you'll have matching scars. Sure he'll have to redo his now and then, but the photos you take at your wedding won't know that.

You ghost the blade down along his neck. Silas swallows to feel its point and prevent himself from choking on the blood collecting in his mouth. He wants to act just a little longer - but you're making it so hard teasing him like that. He repeats his scripted moto in his head like a pray as you drag the knife down his chest.

Scream. Cry. Scream. Cry. Ah-

Your eyes grow to the size of dinner plates as the tiny moan sounds within the empty room. It's not a whimper you're used to, but one of pure unadulterated lust. "Did.. you just."

No going back now. So much for that.

"Guess I just can't help it, Dolly. You're too fucking irresponsible. I know you wanna hurt me, but since I love you so much I wanna let you in on a little secret. You can hurt me, but you can't kill me. Break me apart if you don't believe me. I'll be back tomorrow to take what's mine."

You step back as he erupts into a fit of shrill laughter. "That bastard- Always hiring the freaks. I can't believe he ditch me for someone like you."

His laughter stops. That's a secret his boss never shared with him. That old fuck would've been dead long before then if he had.

"Ohh, did he do something to hurt you? That changes everything. I'll give you whatever you want to know down to his house code if you let me have first cut."

"Why would you help me?"

"I already told you, Doll." Silas stands up and drops the cuffs to the ground, dislocated bones bopping back into place as he flexes. "I love ya, and I'm gonna make sure whoever's hurt you pays. Got this job just to help you out anyway. Issue is if you want me to spill the beans without a few dates first you gotta spilling my guts on the floor as my spit spills down your pretty throat."

[dessarious]

Personal Update

First, I am still working on all my stories, however...

Finding full-time employment that can pay all my bills is looking less and less likely. We have a bit of a cushion right now, but it won't last. That being the case I've decided to throw my energy into creating a World of Warcraft Twitch stream. I'll be spending most of my waking hours for the foreseeable future streaming, researching, and learning things like video editing for cross posting content.

So, writing will definitely be on the back burner.

If any of you are into World of Warcraft, or just want to stop by and say hi feel free. Right now I'm streaming at least 6 hours a day (not necessarily all at once) 7 days a week. Still trying to settle into myself on stream and decide what I want everything to look like. I would like to have community participation once I get going to pick what content they'd like to see. For now, it's always fun to watch me die and get distracted by shiny objects.

For anyone who does know the game, I play mostly solo PvE content. I am not in any way a hardcore player. I do a lot of older content for pets, mounts, achievements, etc... Since the new expansion came out I'll be doing some of that, but the focus will be on 'All the Things' completion in older content and events. I have drops enabled on my stream so it will count towards any rewards (right now there's a mount drop).

Constructive criticism is welcome, but as with writing, simply telling me I suck is not. Like anything else there's going to be a steep learning curve and I do appreciate useful feedback.

So, if you want to stop by feel free.

Dessarious - Twitch

All support is welcome. (Having someone to talk to on stream that isn't trying to scam me or sell me art for my channel will be a welcome reprieve)

Thank you all for your continued patience and support of my writing.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

The Blue Eyed Bandit

When a wanna-be cowboy rides in all the way from Tennessee, he’s laughed out of town, but Y/N can see something in him that others can’t, especially when their town becomes the target of ruthless gang of bandits.

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader

(Cowboy!Au, Angst, Fluff)

5.9k Words

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, prostitution, flirting, drinking, bar fights, guns, stalking, blood, wound care, knives, makeouts, hickeys, description of injury, gun sucking, degredation, groping, (attempted) kidnapping

An: I’ve wanted to write a story about Johnny as a cowboy for a while XD This was inspired by a lot of things, but especially the Mexico episode of Viva la Bam! I specificly wrote this story to be set in the ‘1850s, though it’s not explicitly stated. I did more research for this fic than any other I’ve written before, on topics from wound care to desert fruits and breeds of horses! It was super fun to write so please let me know if you would be interested in something similar to this in the future!!

You were lucky. It’s odd to say that working as a prostitute in a parlor house would be the luckier of any number of options, but it was. Leaning against the dry, rotting wooden post that held up the roofed porch of Madame Evette’s Gentleman Parlor, your current place of board and employment, you rolled this idea of luck around your mind. There’s always worse options, like that brothel up the road that had half its staff wiped out in the last smallpox outbreak. Working here, you always had a hot meal, warm baths, proper living quarters, health insurance, and much more reputable clients. In fact, you had started to get familiar with your regulars because nobody new ever seemed to come there. Looking out at the high, sandy bluffs that framed the desolate, arid New Mexico landscape, you realized that this was a town that new people didn't want to come to, but whose citizens seemed to want to leave by any means.

Lost in thought, you hardly noticed when a man walked up to the creaky railing you were leaning against until he tipped his hat at you with a warm, half smile, “Howdy, ma’am.” It shocked you how cordial he acted to you of all people. Still, you met his eyes. “Hi.” You recognized him- one week ago, this wanna-be cowboy from out east rode into here of all places to pursue his wild west fantasy, and he was already the laughingstock of the town. Still, you humored him a little, “What can I do ya for?” While he was a little dorky, you recognized the charming air he had about him that none of your other clients seemed to possess as he made conversation, “Well, I was under the assumption that this is the place for a gentleman like myself to find some company and,” Holding out his palm flat to take yours, he spoke low and with an accent you couldn’t quite place, “I would be delighted to be graced with yours.” Part of you assumed this was some sort of cruel trick he was pulling, treating a woman like you as a common lady, but you gave him your hand anyways.

Just then, the Madame caught sight of this through the window and swiftly came storming outside with a broom, “Keep those dirty paws away from my girls!” The commotion seemed to draw a good deal of attention as some of the girls inside peered out the door in various states of undress to giggle at the spectacle going down on the porch, and then there was you, caught in the middle of all this. “This is a proper establishment! You can take those dusty boots of yours down to the whorehouse across the street!” She chased him out into the streets, and there went the cowboy, ducking down an alleyway, laughing to himself.

You and the rest of the girls spent the evening lounging about the well furnished parlor, drinking wine in your garters and stockings while you entertained tonight’s men. Despite what people may think, your interactions with patrons didn’t start in the bedroom- there’s some drinking and singing and fraternizing one would usually have to get past before the fun stuff started. But the whole time you were chatting up the fat cat town banker while he puffed away at his cigar, you couldn’t help but think back to your interaction with that cowboy from earlier. There was something different in the way he treated you- how he saw you compared to how the rest of the town did. Most of the men you tended to wouldn’t be caught dead in your presence outside of this place, but he felt no shame in the slightest to interact with you. In fact, he seemed to have taken a liking to you. The thought made your chest feel warm.

Then, out of the blue, there was this great commotion outside, loud enough to rattle the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Oh. This couldn’t be an earthquake- earthquakes aren’t usually accompanied by the whip cracking sounds of gunfire. Oh. This had to be a saloon fight gone bad. You nearly fell to the ground as everyone in the parlor flooded out the front door for a chance to bear witness to this spectacle, and of course you followed shortly behind because while you were a lady, you were never one to miss a good fight. There was always something or other going on in this town, whether it be a shootout or a bank robbery, so most people were sort of desensitized to it at this point. Dashing out onto the dusty streets, all indigo from the night, so many people crowded into the little tavern next door that you would’ve thought the cheap wooden floors would’ve given out from sheer weight. The place was buzzing. You weaseled in, squirming past people. At first, all you could see over the heads of those in front of her was the town bartender Steve, the one with the shaved head, cautiously emerging from where he had ducked behind the counter, all pale under yellow lamplight. The bar in front of him was completely splintered and half of the bottles that sat behind it were shattered, sticky amber liquid draining down the walls and to the floor. The whole thing was pretty damn tragic- you knew Steve, and by extension knew how he had been busting his behind, having practically built this place from the ground up and kept it running with only a couple saloon girls for help. It was his way of fulfilling a passion you always found to be pretty selfless: making people happy. Albeit, it was through alcohol and cheap bar tricks, he still took it seriously, like it was his baby, and in one moment it was destroyed.

As you squirmed closer to the front of the crowd, that’s when you caught it. A blur of mauve then step on a chair, step on a table- crash! A man leapt out of a window with an armful of cash, green bills fluttering in the air with the sparkling shower of glass. Immediately, you recognized him, but anyone in town could with one look at that purple mink duster with the strange heart symbol on the back that hung from his shoulders or with a glance at that face that was just made for wanted posters. But just like that, he disappeared into the night. And there, on the floor at the feet of the people who had front row seats to all this, was the cowboy from earlier, and he did not look good. Well, he looked good, but he looked unwell, especially with the slowly growing red stain on his shirtfront. “My, my, my…you gotta deathwish, boy? Or are you just plain stupid?” A man standing at the front of the crowd glowered down at him like he was horseshit on his shoe, “Ana’body five miles round’d know not to mess with them bandits.” If it wasn't bad enough, he had picked a fight with the leader of the meanest gang of ruffians in the west, this ruthless fellow that went by the name Bam on account of all the chaos he caused wherever he set foot and that subtleness wasn't necessarily his style. Of course he didn’t know what he was getting into, but the bandit king was gone, and everyone had forgotten about the cowboy that was still bleeding on the hardwood, so you ran over to the bar for a wet towel. Still shaken up, Steve handed you the bar cloth he was unconsciously gripping and, as the townspeople filtered out, you went to tend to the man in the ground.

“Whats’re name, cowboy?” It was pity that urged you to help him, surely. As you peeled away the dark cloth that stuck to his skin, his chest rose with heavy breaths. He watched with half lidded eyes as you dabbed away the blood that was steadily trickling from where he was grazed with a bullet, swallowing as your hands ghosted over a faded tattoo of a woman’s name on his chest before he murmured in a voice still hoarse, “Johnny.” Smiling softly, you finished up cleaning his wound, “Well, what you did back there was mighty brave, Johnny.” Now that you got a look at him, you couldn’t deny that he was a pretty well shaped young man. Cracking an exhausted grin, he let out a labored chuckle, still polite despite the circumstances, “Well thank’y, ma’am.” Gazing up at you with those blood loss dazed eyes, Johnny murmured, a little embarrassed, “I’d invite you back to mine, but I don't think it’d be your style, considering. I, uh- I’ve been sleepin’ in the horse stables for the past week…” There was something undeniably endearing about that fact. You helped him to stand as you went to pull yourself up, “Well, what about tomorrow? We could have lunch together.” Stumbling to his feet, Johnny drawled, “That sounds like a fine idea.”

So you dressed up nice that Sunday in a dress you “borrowed” from one of the other girls that worked at the parlor with you- this vibrant pink dress, the color of ripe red pitaya fruit. The usually lively streets of the town were deserted on Sunday mornings, and since you avoided leaving the parlor during the day due to the looks you got on the street, Sundays were the only day you really went out for fresh air. Johnny was already waiting for you in front of the bar, still in the same clothes as yesterday, bloodstains and all. Seeing you fully dressed for the first time in a sort of ‘you clean up well’ moment, he looked you up and down before a smile crept onto his lips, “Why aren’t you at church?” You shrugged, “I ain’t exactly the churchgoing type, and if I was, they don’t take too well to my kind. You?” The two of you began to walk down the dusty streets, the midday sun beating down and warming your skin. Johnny walked in step with you, inching a little closer, “Well, neither am I.”

You ended up at this little oasis up on a hill at the outskirts of town- one of the few green places left in this god forsaken place. Sitting down on the grass under a Blue Jacaranda tree, you set your woven basket that you carried the food in down and you caught Johnny nearly drooling as you opened it. It was all food you found lying around the parlor- fluffy pink and white conchas, warm boiled esquites, and a package of salt pork wrapped in brown paper and twine. Handing him one of the pastries, he tore into it like a starved man. Noticing your surprise at his eagerness, Johnny stopped himself and added bashfully, “Sorry…In- In all truth, ma’am, I’ve been livin’ off’a bar peanuts for the past few days…” It was believable- that cowboy was looking mighty thin. Of course, he went right back to eating.

The two of you talked for a while. He told you all about the mishaps that happened to him on his journey there all the way from Tennessee, a part of the old Southwest territory, and about how before he realized he wanted to move out west to pursue his cowboy dreams, he was a writer for his town’s newspaper. There was no shortage of stories with this man, and you couldn’t complain because he spoke with this vividness to his words that just captivated you. Johnny asked you about what it’s like in your line of work. You told him that you grew up on a farm and came here for a better life, some life that turned out to be. But as long as you had a clean bed to sleep in and warm meals, you’d be pretty content.

“So,” You started after a silence, “How’s that wound healin’ up?” Swallowing what was in his mouth, Johnny loostend the top few buttons of his shirt and pulled the collar to the side over his bicep, exposing the half scabbed over pink flesh. Maybe it was just an excuse to touch his chest, the intimacy made more so that you were leaning over his body as he sat up on his elbows, looking down at you. Fighting back a blush from creeping onto your cheeks, you blinked and met his eyes, “It, uh…doesn’t look infected, no.” As you pulled away, your gaze lingered on his still open shirt, “Is that your woman’s name- on your chest?” Johnny glanced down at the name scrawled on his tan skin, “Nah. S’my daughter’s.” Never in your days could you imagine a man as young as him a father. Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “So she’s waitin’ for you with your lady back home?” Shaking his head, he smiled gently as if remembering something fondly, “Oh, no- my little girl’s all grown up. And my wife,” he wiped some crumbs off of the side of his mouth, his voice falling a little serious, “well, she left me ‘bout a year ago this November.” You asked for an inch and he gave you a mile. At this point, you couldn’t deny that you were interested in him, but you still maintained your stuff demeanor, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Glancing up at the sky, you shielded your eyes with your hand, “S’noon. Church should be letting out soon.”

Conversation was light as you walked back in town and he dropped you off at the parlor like a gentleman. You made a resolution that this would be routine- outcasts like you needed to stick together after all, or at least that was what Johnny said. It was cute, in a way, all this wisdom he had. As the two of you were chatting as you passed an alleyway, you saw something out of the corner of your eyes- this dark figure and a glint of something diamond blue that sent chills down your spine. But when you turned to take a second look, the shadow disappeared.

That next morning, you and some of the other girls were relaxing on the porch in your frilly underclothes and chatting because you had no clients and, in your line of work, that is what you call advertising. Every now and then a man passing by would whistle at you and you’d have to go up to the rail and flirt with them a little, standing just where you did on that day you first ran into Johnny. His plight still occupied your mind. Poor guy- his daughter left him and so did his wife. He’s probably a very lonely man. Before you could get to thinking about how you would be more than happy to help him out a little with that loneliness, your attention was drawn elsewhere. It seemed that you were too slow to notice the panicked looks and the people starting to make themselves scarce until a hush fell over the street and the air was so tense you could cut it with a knife. Just as you could’ve sworn you could hear yourself sweat, that’s when you saw him.

This hulking, dark mass looked like a vulture on the prowl as he sulked past a roadside fruit stand. There was no question who this was. Your blood ran cold at the dark chuckle that reverberated through the bandit king’s throat at the poor, shivering man who owned the stand as Bam snatched something out of one of the baskets full of fruit, not bothering to pay for it. He was subtle and silent there, something nobody had ever known him to be. Flicking his Bowie knife out of its leather sheath, the silver blade glimmered under the hot southwestern sun like sparkling hot oil as he wasted no time carving the skin off of that pitaya fruit. Though his eyes were concealed under the shadow of the brim of his hat, you felt Bam’s chilling gaze on you from that predatory grin he wore as sticky, red juices bubbled up around the Damascus steel, smearing across his blade and dribbling down his fingers. As if to emphasize a point, he dropped the now discarded peel to the ground and brought the knife to his lips, a serpent-like tongue flicking out to lap at the last traces of sweet nectar from the sharp, glinting edge.

And he smiled at you.

A cool wind blew through the air as you and Johnny sat down at the top of the hill that Sunday. “You know, ma’am,” Sitting with his legs out, cowhide boots stretched out in front of him on the grass, he turned to you, “I never caught your name- your real one, I mean.” Glancing up from the basket, you shook yourself from your thoughts of your encounter with Bam that last week, swallowing before you replied, “It’s, uh- it’s Y/N.” A warm smile spread across his face as you spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Y/N. That is a mighty beautiful name.” That warm feeling- that same feeling as before, swelled up in your chest as you stared out onto the golden desert that seemed to stretch on for miles in the early morning sun. “Johnny.” You cleared your throat, “Is this how you expected it to go? Life, I mean.” God knows that you didn’t. You came here looking for a better life. What a sham that was. It was rare that you really got to feeling sorry for yourself, but sometimes, and especially after what happened, it was hard. Feeling nauseated, you hadn’t touched a crumb of the food you brought for the both of you, while Johnny had eagerly gotten through more than half the basket by the time you spoke up. “If you’re askin’ me if I thought I’d end up a cowboy, traveling the land and rightin’ wrongs, I would say yes.” He added hurriedly, a little embarrassed, “But, so far in this town, that ain’t exactly what I’ve been doin’...”

“So, you’re not gonna stay?” Unconsciously, you had inched just a little closer to him, nearly laying your head on his shoulder as the two of you talked. This clearly didn’t pass under Johnny’s notice as his voice fell sweet like honey against your ears, “Well, I didn’t say that. What I mean is, “ He turned toward you slightly, so close to your face that his lips nearly brushed against your cheek as he spoke in a low, slow voice, “all I’d need is a reason to stay.” You only then just noticed how, with the way your face was tilted towards his, your lips were nearly, almost touching. And then they did. But it felt nice- different from the sloppy men who had stolen kisses from you before. It felt soft, and natural. Almost upon contact, Johnny sat back with wide eyes, surprised at his own impulsive actions, “O-Oh lord…” His voice got real quiet, nearly wavering, as he blushed softly, “That may’ve been the least gentlemanly thing I’ve ever done.“

You stopped him, placing a hand against the soft fabric of his dark, half unbuttoned shirt front and leaning back in to gently press your lips to his, your eyelashes fluttering shut. Johnny’s warm muscles were initially tense under your touch but as he relaxed into the kiss, so did his body, letting out a soft groan against your lips. You had never made a man blush before, much less react so earnestly. Reaching out to you, the cowboy’s hands found purchase in your clothing, calloused fingers tangling into your calico dress as he hurriedly undid the brass buttons. Your heart fluttered in your chest and your head swam from the passion and desert heat as you started to think that this was maybe what love was supposed to be. Johnny’s breath came out in hot pants against your newly exposed skin as he hungrily sucked mauve blotches onto your neck and chest, his facial scruff tickling a little as he practically devoured you. But he was gentle with it. So sweet and gentle.

Nothing could have pulled Johnny away from you then, not even the gunshot that cracked out loud in the town below while the two of you were still caught up in the heat of the moment, so you were the one who had to pull his face away from your bosom by his hair. You could feel his breath fanning out against your skin as you sat up to get a better look at the commotion. Howling and cackling like twin coyotes, off rode the bandit king away with his fair haired cohort, arms full of loot from their latest hit- the town general store. They had swiped a small fortune in gunpowder, dynamite, and tobacco. Of course, this drew the townspeople away from church early, especially when one of the two young men who owned the store ran out, shouting and brandishing a shotgun. He fired three or four shells in their general direction, but his shots didn’t come near the hides of the bay mustangs nor the bandits that rode away on them, kicking up dust.

Johnny went back to the horse stables that night and realized just how much everything was looking up for him. He had a roof over his head, the favor of a lovely woman he would quite frankly lay down his life for, and hot meals every night courtesy of the man who owned the stable, a fellow by the name of Chris who he had gotten to know pretty well. In fact, besides the town bartender Steve, he was his only friend, but it was hard to count Steve as a friend because he was always tacking extra tequila shots onto Johnny’s tab while he distracted him with some trick he picked up in the circus. Still, he could let that slide because business was business. Chris, on the other hand, was just a sweet guy who loved horses, and he had taken such a liking to Johnny’s horse, Noami, that he let him sleep in her horse stall there free of charge.

So that explained why he was in the stables in the middle of the night, laying back against her shiny, chestnut coat as she slept with her head against his chest, snoring softly. Funnily enough, it was the horse sleeping against him that woke up first when a dark figure hopped the front gates into the stables. Blinking awake after she stood up, Johnny sat up curiously to catch sight of the silhouette opening stall doors. He thought about Chris- all those nights of charity and companionship, just for him to let some two bit their run off with his buddy’s pride and joy? Oh, no way in hell he was going to let that happen. A flash of emotions went through his mind as he threw himself to his feet and stood up to block the front gate. Johnny’s voice was nearly a growl as he gazed across at the bandit who was currently trying to make off with Jezebel, Chris’ prized palomino mare. “Y’aint leavin’ with her.” Though he didn’t initially recognize him, Johnny put two and two together quickly.

Bam was dead quiet, only visible as the tombstone shape he made in the darkness as he got low, light glinting off of the silver spurs affixed to his heels. Then, all at once it was as if the cowboy had taken a steam engine to the solar plexus, while in actuality it was a black suede wrapped fist that had knocked the air from his lungs. Still, Johnny stayed on his feet, coughing hard and hitting him with a poorly placed uppercut that knocked that hat clean off of his head. Bam sputtered, his mouth now bloodied and dripping onto the sand as he ducked down, taking a step to the side as his right hand reached for the gun afixed to his hip. It was no wonder the bandit king would fight dirty. Before Johnny could duck away, cold steel collided with his orbital bone in a skillfully placed pistol whip and he was knocked out cold. As the cowboy’s body fell limp to the ground, Bam huffed and spun his trusty piece around a finger before slotting it back in its leather holster, shooting a look at the man below him that spelled out that his resistance would not go unpunished.

When Johnny woke up, the first person to come to his aid was the stable owner himself. Chris picked him up under the armpits, lugging his half awake self over to a wooden chair in a corner and leaving him there as he went to fetch some medical supplies from his home next door, leaving the door open as midday sun flooded in. Blinking awake, the first thing Johnny did was look around to see if maybe what had happened last night was a bad dream and that the horse was still waiting in her stable, which was especially hard given the purple swelling around his left eye, but her stall door was wide open from the previous night. As Chris returned with a leather medical bag, Johnny coughed, his voice gravelly, “He- he got away with Jezebel…” This was a low point for him. It seemed that no matter how or when he tried to intervene, there was nothing this cowboy could do, even for the man who had shown him such charity. Kneeling down and threading catgut sutures onto the curved needle, Chris seemed forlorn, yes, but there was an appreciative inflection to his voice as he stitched up the split in Johnny’s cheek, “But he could’ve gotten away with a lot more if you weren't here. I’d say that makes you a hero in my book!” Turning it over in his head, he decided that maybe he had a point with that, but he still wasn't going to tell Y/N. She didn’t need to know. As the needle pierced the cowboy’s skin, he winced, sucking a breath in through his teeth. As Johnny peered down at the dried blood that certainly wasn't his that still remained on his knuckles, he swallowed hard, his voice still tense and very grave, “I’ll get’re back for you. Promise.”

So you heard no word of the stolen horses the next morning and went about your day without a care in the world, tending to clients as usual. You were especially busy that night, feverishly going from man to man, doing your thing and racking up quite a sum in commissions from all the whiskey you pawned off. In fact, you were so focused that you nearly jumped when you heard your name, “Y/N.” Madame Evette tapped you on the shoulder, drawing your attention away from the client you were currently entertaining, “Room seven. There’s a gentleman waitin’ for you upstairs.” It struck you as odd because while men who wanted to skip all the fluff wasn't that uncommon, it didn’t happen every night. Apologizing to the fellow you were talking to with a red lipsticked kiss on the cheek, you turned to hurry up the creaky staircase, making clicky noises against the wood in your little heeled boots.

Wandering down the hall of rooms upstairs, you cracked open the door of room seven to darkness inside from a put out lantern. Oh, poor guy- he must be shy. That makes the whole no canoodling thing make more sense. As you closed the door behind you, you noticed that there was just enough light from the moon trickling in the open window that you could still see a general outline of the man sitting in the wooden chair at the far corner of the room with his knees about a mile apart as you approached him, doing your little flirty routine, “So, what can I do ya’ for, handsome?” Wordlessly, the figure gestured down with two fingers and you knew what he was asking for, especially after he shifted his hips to sit lower in the chair with a huff. Getting onto your knees, you positioned yourself between his thighs, the floor chilling the skin of your bare legs. Reaching out, you started to undo his pants, and while the downstairs parlor was consistently noisy, the soft metallic clinking of a belt buckle was the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Your lips fell open and your eyes suddenly went wide at the sudden, unmistakable ice cold feeling against your forehead.

It was the muzzle of a revolver. The voice that rumbled out of the man above you was nearly a snarl as he spoke through his teeth, “You make one peep an’ I swear to god,” he pressed the tip harder against your head for emphasis and you could swear you heard a smirk in his voice, “I’m puttin’ this bullet in your fuckin’ skull.” Your heartbeat pounded in your ribcage as you felt your head swim and you thought that this is what it feels like to be a jackrabbit caught in the jaws of a coyote. Quivering, your gaze nervously trailed up his body, and you could feel the color drain from your face when your sight fell upon his glinting, all too familiar vulture eyes, flickering like blue hot steel. Click. The bandit king slowly pulled back on the hammer, his hand so close to your face you could see his fingers curl around the mother of pearl handle and read the words etched into the barrel as he tightened his grip with his finger on the trigger. And he chuckled this deep, predatory laugh, grinning down at you with a mouth full of fangs as he spoke slow, deliberately, “Now you’re gonna stand up nice n’ slow with those hands b’hind yer back- and you are gonna be real quiet.” Frozen in fear, you couldn’t move under the shadow that looked over you even if you wanted to keep your brain inside your skull, which you really, really did. “Y’takin’ me fr’a fool, whore?” Bam’s thick accent deepened with agitation as he spit his words, nearly barking, “I said,”

“Stand. Up.” A gloved hand roughly tangled in your hair and yanked you up on shaky deer legs, forcing you to weakly comply much to his satisfaction with the gun still snugly pressed against your forehead. Standing maybe six inches away from you, you picked up on the distinct scent of alcohol and tobacco on his breath. With how his gaze lingered at your lips, you could tell he was getting an idea of something else he could do with that gun, but he just nodded, relenting just slightly at your compliance, “That’s it, girl. Now turn around.” Standing up after you, Bam jabbed the revolver between your shoulder blades making you arch your back as he harshly grabbed your wrists and deftly bound them with the red bandana he wore around his neck. Pulling the gun away from your spine for a second, a warning shot cracked out through the ceiling that made you jump, your eyes nearly bugging out of your skull in fear as you yelped. But your terror was funny- so damn funny to Bam as he pushed you along, the burning hot muzzle returning to where it once was.

The scene downstairs was absolute chaos after that bullet went through the ceiling. Startled patrons and half clothed women scrambled outside, flooding into the streets and attracting quite a bit of attention, especially from the cowboy that was lingering outside the horse stables before he was set to retire for the night. Even though every instinct in him told him to stay away based on the outcome of his previous heroic efforts, Johnny’s body lurched forward almost involuntarily, dashing towards the chaos that Madame Evette’s Gentleman Parlor had become. Pushing past frightened patrons, he stormed in right as Bam was walking you down the staircase as you stumbled in front of him. Your panic-stricken eyes met Johnny’s (or at least, the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut) as he stared at the scene in front of him, his tone stern but his fear giving way to a trace of vulnerability in his voice after he swallowed hard, “Let her go.” The man behind you tugged you back hard by your bound wrists as the gun relocated to your temple, wedging you in place between the weapon and where the bandit king rested his head on your shoulder, nuzzling against your cheek. “Oh, no way…” Bam held eye contact with Johnny as purred into your ear, speaking melodically as he taunted both you and him, “I gotch’re woman…an’ I don’t feel like givin’ her back.” Adding insult to injury, with his torso pressed snug against your back in a crude imitation of intimacy, his free hand, which was sitting on your hip, slid up your body posessively, reaching to roughly fondle your chest as he let out a low, predatory growl, his gaze challenging the cowboy across from him.

If you could’ve seen the white hot fury in Johnny’s eyes. Blinded by rage, he didn’t even consider using the pistol tucked into his holster, instead lunging to tackle Bam to the ground. You slipped out of his tight grasp just in time, clamoring to safety on your hands and knees on the hardwood floor as the cowboy just wailed on the guy. The struggle between the two was like watching two bighorn sheep with their horns locked in conflict, a blur of instinct and emotion, all rabid and teeth and fists. Letting out shuddering breaths, all you could do was watch the violent scene in front of you with your heart pounding out of your chest, not daring to move an inch. The only thing that could’ve pulled Johnny off of the man beneath him was when the town sheriff stormed in, grabbing him by the back of his shirt collar and throwing him off of the bandit king, or what was left of him as he lay limp on the ground. He was beaten to a pulp, almost literally- just a wheezing, bubbling mess of blood and bruising with a few teeth missing. Pulling Bam up by his sweat soaked black curls, Sheriff Tremaine held him to dangle in the air, glaring at the man in his hand with unadulterated disgust, “You’n you’re little gang’re goin’ away for a while.” There was no doubt that he had witnessed the brutality the cowboy inflicted, especially with the blood still dripping off of his still raw knuckles, but it seemed that he would let it slide this time, glancing to you and Johnny and tipping his hat, “We’re gonna get to roundin’ up the rest’a these bandits.”

Without a proper leader, the most fearsome gang of criminals in the west were left with nothing to hold them together, letting the sheriff's men easily pick them off and throw them in the slammer where they rightfully belonged. Life, for once in that godforsaken town, was peaceful. And Johnny? Well, after he was credited as the man who took down the bandits, he was hailed as the town hero, especially after he helped rebuild the bar and returned Jezebel to her stall at the town stables. Even Madame Evette had taken a liking to him, permitting him to come and go to the parlor whenever he felt the need to visit you- on the condition that he got a new pair of boots.

[dreadfutures]

University Workers on Strike.

Hi there!

TLDR: My union has called for a strike, starting Monday, Nov 14.

I am not an official representative of the union but these are my personal thoughts, and my reasons for striking, with links to our official UAW platform.

Graduate students, postdocs, and other academic student employees are essential to the teaching and research mission of the University of California, especially as undergraduate enrollments rise. But as greater and greater demands are placed on our work as researchers and educators, we are falling into rent burden and poverty, and suffer unjust treatment by our employers.

We cannot provide the level of research and quality of education that WE WANT to offer our colleagues and our students in these conditions.

Therefore we are demanding:

Wages and raises that meet or beat inflation.

Making the University-owned housing AFFORDABLE.

Increasing access too and affordability of sustainable transit options for commuters

Enshrining protections for workers against bullying and harassment from their supervisors

Among other demands, which can be found here.

What can you do to help?

Undergraduates at the University of California can help us out! Check out @ undergradsforCOLA on Instagram 

Community members can donate to the Strike Pay Fund. As we strike, the university is allowed to withhold our pay for work we are refusing to perform. The Union provides a small stipend to striking workers who are actively supporting the picket line (as I will be).

Keep up on social media and amplify the voices of our union (Santa Barbara’s is included here but there are others, and I do not attend the SB campus personally)

Write to (YOUR PERSONAL) representatives in the California Legislature, as well as the leadership of the University of California, in support of the strike and our demands.

IF YOU DONT LIVE IN CALIFORNIA: In addition to donating and amplifying the movement on social media, look at universities in your state. They’re looking at us right now. Many academic workers have unionized, following our example, over the past YEAR. This is a young movement that will live or die in the near future... and your support--even if it’s just encouragement--can give it power! Contact the local unions for workers like me and voice your support. Contact University administration and local political leaders to encourage them to support academic workers’ rights and compensation. And when academic workers go on strike, show your support with donations, vocal encouragement, and even volunteer on the picket line.

Please reblog this! Talk to people about it.

Below the cut, some more personal explanations.

Some of you may know that I am a graduate student, or more accurately, I am “pursuing my PhD in chemistry.” There is nothing “student” about my situation. I do not take classes. Instead, I perform highly trained laboratory work for the University of California along with countless other Postdoctoral scholars, technicians, and so on. Though the word research might conjure just pictures of me, a scientist in a lab, there is invaluable work being done in Humanities and Social Sciences that take on many different shapes and forms. All of it is done under the auspice of the University of California, and it is THIS that gives the university its prestige worldwide.

When I receive my “degree” I will continue doing the same work I am doing--currently on a $30k stipend--but the jobs I will be looking at pay $90k or much, much higher.

As a researcher, the work I do is severely underpaid in this university setting. It is something that we all DO agree to and put up with for the sake of having this “apprenticeship” time with prestigious professors and older researchers, at institutions that have technology, equipment, and libraries we need for our work.

HOWEVER, in agreeing to this severely underpaid work, we are offered things like guaranteed housing in the local community--communities like Berkely, Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara, Irvine, and San Diego, that are INCREDIBLY EXPENSIVE for people to live in otherwise. Or...some of us are guaranteed. Because EVEN in the University-owned housing, there are:

housing shortages

lack of significant subsidies

rent burden

More than 37% of my income goes to rent every month, and I live in the cheapest possible apartment from University-owned housing. Many academic workers are not even OFFERED the cheaper options, instead being given the “take it, or lose your housing guarantee on campus and fend for yourself in the outer community” treatment...but their offers are for apartments that cost 55% of their income or more. The university is paying us. The university is also charging us through the nose for housing we desperately need and can neither find nor afford elsewhere.

In addition to the insane rent burden we undertake, there are inadequate legal protections from overworking us (our reputations and references entirely depend on our advisors and supervisors Approving, and many of them expect 7am-midnight-or-late work days, 7 days a week), bullying us, harassing us or otherwise abusing us. International workers--drawn here, again, by the prestige of the University’s research efforts--are most at risk, and most unprotected.

There are other issues of equality and fairness at stake here: child support and paid leave, affordable transportation (hey, if we can’t afford to live in Santa Barbara, we will need to commute from somewhere else. Right now there are few options that are affordable, let alone sustainable, to do so), just to name a few examples.

The University also claims to be a leader in labor equality, fairness, and movements. We are among the historical faces of the Free Speech Movement and Vietnam War protests. We are the faces of labor rights research and progressive policy development and sustainable energy research. We are where the Earth Day movement started!

AND YET the University has antagonized union-forming efforts, incentivized anti-union sentiment, threatened and implied retribution for union activities, spends insane amounts of money trying to quash the union and send counter messaging, and seems to want to do ANYTHING other than pay us well.

Here’s an example of one of the latest offers and how insulting it is.

And it’s not just us. Food service workers on campus, custodians, and many others on campus who make things RUN, have gone on strike in the past and showed us how utterly hypocritical our sterling, utopic University is.

It’s just a corporation.

And so we are treating it like one, by going on strike.

I love what I do. I love science, and the research I do is focused on issues related to our energy crisis. The training I’ve received has prepared me to take jobs with IMPACT, that will shape our green energy future.

And I am a passionate educator. Right now I am responsible for ~ 250 students (a portion of our 900 students taking Chem1A right now), with classrooms of 50 students each. These are not ideal teaching conditions and yet I am DEDICATED to using the best pedagogy I have learned to help our most at-risk students succeed in this class. I have a history as a TA of improving student outcomes for underrepresented minority, low-income, and first-generation students who disproportionately fail our classes due to poor preparation at their local high schools, feelings of alienation, and the likelihood that they are working multiple jobs through college while more privileged students focus on classes. I have shown that I care about my students, in ways that even many professors do not.

That is why it is a heartbreaking and infuriating decision to go on strike, but I believe there is no alternative way to make the University improve our situation. We do it for other UC workers who are not compensated as well as we are, and we do it for future graduate student researchers, TAs, and postdocs–some of whom we hope are in Chem 1A right now--and we do it for the students who are not being best-served by graduate students sleeping out of cars, forgoing meals, and suffering from abusive supervisors.

Thank you for your support in whatever form it takes. it has been really encouraging to have friends, family (my REPUBLICAN CONSERVATIVE FAMILY SUPPORTS THE STRIKE), students, strangers, and even my supervisor (again, a red Ohio man lol) supporting this exercise of our legal right to protest, and the demands we are standing behind.

Talking to my advisor was a terrifying ordeal, especially when the other members of my lab were too scared to do it and risk his ire. We have a good relationship with him, but the fact is that he is our supervisor, and his reputation depends on our hours worked, and he could be frustrated. But I couldn’t sleep well if I didn’t participate in this strike, so I resolved to sit in front of my advisor face-to-face, alone, and tell him I was joining the strike.

My advisor isn’t the problem, the structure of the university is. But it was still the most terrifying conversation I’ve ever prepared for. And it went...so well. So, so well.

Our faculty understand that we are under a worse rent burden than they have ever seen or experienced themselves (they weren’t, and aren’t, paid super well either!), and they understand that we care about our work and don’t WANT to stop.

So it’s with great relief, and fervent hope, that I will be joining the strike. I hope whoever is reading this feels INVIGORATED by this movement, no matter the outcome. We are a new generation that is saying enough is enough. We will not tolerate mistreatment. We will work together to make sure we are all uplifted.

My department treats its chem students better than MAYBE any other chem department at the UC. We have it REALLY GOOD. My primary reason for striking is:

Sure. I can put up with some things. It’ll be tight, but I can afford it. Barely.

But I know many, many others can’t. They are my friends and colleagues. They were my mentors in the past. They are who I might be in the future!

Doing it for them is right.

[thesargasmicgoddess]

Saw your post saying that OnlyFans does not come up under employment background and nothing came up for your PhD submission (this scenario has a lot of nervous humor to it - thanks for sharing it)

It did however, make me think about the following questions… since most PhD programs tend to ask a person to read a book or two …

Have there been any books that you have read that helped you have enlightenment about your sexuality or made you have more conviction about exploring your true self or this journey you are is just that a self embraced journey.

Thanks for always being so authentic and good look with your future studies.

There is so much nervous nerdy energy in my type of irreverent humor, because they all dawn on me as unsolicited epiphanies. And then I'm like....

"how the fuck did I get to this point in my life where I'm actually asking myself these questions?"

"Do normal people wonder what commencement speech givers wear underneath their professional clothes?"

"Do normal people wonder if their Ph.D. mentor will see OF on a background check?"

"Do normal people wonder if it's normal for cats to chase after dildos....while they're being used?"

But, I digress 🤣🤣.

Clearly, normal is WAY overrated because I'm having way more laughs not being "all there" 🤣🎉

To answer your question, I credit Brene Brown and her research on play, vulnerability, shame, and authenticity for my hoe-explorations. I fully intend to tell her that one day if I run into her at a conference 🤣

Her research on the role of play reminded me that I CAN be an accomplished professional, societal figure, parent, friend, etc., And STILL be the goof that I am. That was what my tumblr was about....play. Not just sexual play, but an exploration into the entire spectrum of what play means for me (hence my blog title).

However, being a naturally sexual & playful person, playful sexuality comes out a lot in my posts. This blog has also been an exploration of the professional/play dichotomy of personas so many of us wear...and peeling back what's underneath the "put-together" people you may see everyday.

Case in point.....I like to go braless under some professional wear because:

1. Easy access

2. Otherwise, my boobs won't fit 🤣

Thanks for this great and fun question!

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Hello, I’m coming to you in search of some advice. I’m a recent university graduate with a BA in anthropology and a strong focus in archaeology. I’ve got three years experience in my field in both CRM and collections management in museums. I’ve recently moved to a small town and having the hardest time finding a job. I’m either told that they’ll hold my application for “future jobs,” or I’m told to volunteer.

I know that this is a bit of a broad question, but I thought that I’d might ask. What would you do if you were in my situation? What would be the best way to find a job and research jobs for small/rural communities?

Hi anon, I'm going to apologize in advance, because the answer I have probably isn't the answer you want to hear. But I'm going to be honest with you about the job market because it seems like maybe you didn't get this message during your education or work experience.

If you want a job in anthropology/archaeology beyond shovel bumming or interning, you pretty much need to go to grad school. The vast majority of positions at museums, collections, archives, etc. will require a Master's degree at the very least. With any of those "future jobs" organizations are telling you about, you'll have to compete with people who do have that degree, and while it's great that you have the work experience you do, that's not going to be enough.

Additionally, if you want a job in anthropology/archaeology, you need to be willing to move for the job. I'm not surprised to hear that you're having trouble finding a job in a small town—most opportunities are going to be in cities with facilities that have the resources to hire people to process collections. I would advise you to cast a wider net.

If I was in your situation, I would:

Start googling for archaeology jobs in [broad geographic area] and in [subject of interest] and see what requirements they're looking for

Start looking into graduate programs for the coming year that will help you eventually meet those requirements

Find a local historical society to volunteer at in the meantime

Consider going back to CRM short term or look for employment outside of anthropology for the near future.

I know this is probably discouraging to hear, especially if no one has ever given this talk to you before. I want to emphasize that it is still totally possible for you to find a job in this field, it's just going to require some recalculation on your part. This is totally doable.

But it's also completely fine if you decide that's not the right path for you right now or ever. An anthropology degree can be used for lots of things besides working in anthropology itself. You should be able to apply yourself to anything broadly people/culture/social dynamics.

-Reid

[teathattast]

Here are a few things I've learned over the years looking for jobs:

LinkedIn can help you find more serious job offers given many companies post jobs there. You can search for your ideal place of employment this way and find related companies in that field if there aren't any opportunities available. Many companies also ask for your LinkedIn profile, so having a nice profile can improve your chances of getting hired

Indeed and Glassdoor are mostly aggregate compilations of 3rd party recruiter submissions. There are many other sites that even cater to remote work. Do your research and check all links with VirusTotal if you feel the need to be cautious with an unknown site. If still unsure, research " [website] safe reddit"

Research ex/current employee stories of the company/position. This'll give you a good idea of whether you feel this position will be a good fit for you

If in doubt, always go to the company's Career/Job section on their website because the offer found on a 3rd party site may not be listed or accurate

Send out 2-3 applications per day with a catered resume and cover letter for each, only including information related to the job posting (mirror their qualifications but don't lie). You can use Google Suite to find a template to use for free. Just make sure you cater each resume/cover letter for each job that requires it

My method is 1 application for an ideal/possibly under qualified job (i.e. dream job/really good job vibes) and 1-2 realistic jobs (i.e. retail, food service, entry level stuff, etc). This is mostly if you're in dire need of work and need something to tie you over until something better comes through

Don't be afraid to apply to jobs you're under qualified for! Some companies may overlook certain requirements if you have unconventional experience that relates to the position. Just be ready to answer questions about this experience and be sure to relate it to the position in question. Experience is often an acceptable replacement for lack of a degree

Have a clear idea of where you see yourself in the next 5-10 years. If the field you're applying to doesn't align with your goals, either be sure to factor that into your search or research what positions yield mobility towards your end goal. If you're building your own business, don't shy away from doing something you don't want to do. Remember why you're doing it and that the job won't be permanent. It'll provide you with solid life skills that you can apply to your business or future endeavors

I could always go on, but that's really all I got for now. Feel free to drop any advice you've learned to help those entering the workforce :)

[about27th]

job hunt tipssssss (and lessons learnt..)

tailor your resume to each position you apply

(1) always make your employers' job easier

include only the relevant experience and keep the descriptions straightforward.. recruiters are basically just ticking boxes, make it easy for them to do so or expect them to bin your CV after a quick glance

(2) have too many part-time/work gaps?

i highly recommend using a skill-based CV than a chronological CV for this case; not only is it waaaaaaaaaay easier to prepare but also makes your experience look more put-together since you can mix & match your relevant skills.. give it a shot if you've inconsistent work history or want to have a career change; i should mention it's also a game changer for people whom English isn't the first language

(3) review your cover letter before heading to an interview

i mean you've already explained why you're a great fit for the job in the application, just take advantage of that effort and reiterate everything during the interview --- preparation done!

dont use the same answer for interviews

.. it'll definitely make you come across as average

there are 3 key and frequently asked questions you should be ready for:

(1) tell me about yourself

start with a basic introduction, followed by your previous work experience (again, making them relevant to the job) and wrap up with a glimpse of your personality -- for instance, say something like.. I see myself as an ambitious and self-motivated person (.. and how these qualities fit the job profile!)

(2) what do you know about us/ why do you want to work for us

always research the company; mention its values or services, and how they resonate with you

(3) what can you offer us/ why do you think you suit this job

highlight how your experience aligns with the job requirements; this demonstrates your dedication and preparation.. and also shows the employer what they can expect from you

i hate interviews (who doesnt?).. i believe many of us are very qualified for jobs we're interested in but often struggle to demonstrate our competence effectively; my way to make the process less agitating is to view it as a cool opportunity for employers to learn about us: it's not an exam.. rather, it's a level playing field where two or more strangers come together to mutually explore each other.

This is your chance (after putting so much effort into preparing the application) to shine and let them know you're the perfect fit for the job they're offering!

never trust the reaction of the interviewer!

some interviewers acted super affirmative to each of my responses, making me feel like i was nailing the interview.. but then i ended up getting no job; i understand the intention is to encourage interviewees during the process, but pls dont take them too seriously and get carried away

stay focused and humble instead

always reflect after each experience (exactly what i'm doing now)

it's important to reflect on your performance and seek improvement for future applications

i always discover areas that could be done better while preparing for new job applications, even though i felt that i'd already given my best for the last one

the competition is fierce but dont worry about competing with others (what you cant control); instead, concentrate on what you can control --- demonstrating how you're the best candidate!

always put yourself in your employer's shoes and do the homework; focus on the good and keep trying, one day all your hard work will pay off and get the job you deserve

.

(i regret so much that i didnt perform better during my interview���i dont want the same to happen to you, pls take my tips and prepare as much as you cn💔)

[donnerpartyofone]

I feel like there's an epidemic of businesses trying to make customers and applicants do free data entry for them and it's driving me crazy.

I have complained many times about how seeing a doctor now involves checking in online, and then entering duplicate information into something else when you check in physically, and then answering duplicate questions once you're actually inside the exam room. Sometimes somebody addresses this in a humane way: "Sorry, we're using a new CMS and we have to do all this stuff from scratch," or "Sorry, we have to use these three different systems and they don't communicate with each other." Last time I went I did all this like research into my past appointments because I never ever remember off the cuff exactly what day I had this or that procedure, and I had every impression that the clinic was dependent on me to have all my medical records memorized...so I got in there and started rattling off information, and the nurse asked "When was your last mammogram?", and I gave her the date, and she looked at her monitor and said, "...yup, there it is!" Like WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, IF IT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU WHY ARE YOU QUIZZING ME ABOUT THIS, WHY IS THIS A TEST???

I actually asked about redundant check-in procedures on Quora of all places, figuring there had to be a few cantankerous cranks on there who could at least try to explain this to me, but there were absolutely no takers at all. As far as I can see, literally no one knows why this is happening, it's just The Way It Is.

But anyway. Now I'm having this experience with job applications where they request that you upload files for your resume and cover letter in specific formats...and then they direct you to this interface where you are made to transcribe every detail from the resume you just provided by hand, one field at a time. I've been confronted with this insanity when applying for jobs whose wages weren't even worth the mind-numbing exercise of the application process. And actually this is part of my point: Data entry is a JOB. I have had this job. I was paid to examine, reformat, and transcribe data, and upload it to a database for my company to search and cross-reference in the future. If you are an employer and you absolutely require BOTH a pdf of my resume and cover letter that a human being can read and evaluate, AND each piece of data from those documents individually entered into your database for some other form of storage and review, then it is seriously fucking Up to You to pay some wage slave to enter the data. I'm looking for a job. I'm not going to do a job for you for fucking free, in order to become eligible for a job that you might consider paying me for later. Like please don't call me a fucking idiot to my face--or at least, if it's the database part that's the most important thing to you, do not also require me to create a nicely-formatted document containing my history and intentions. Let's just get right to the forced data entry part, let's start this awful relationship from a place of honesty at the very fucking least.

N.B. I realize that there are multiple reasons an employer would do this to a person, ranging from algorithmic candidate-sorting to just having outdated-ass job site shit in place that they don't feel like reviewing or revising. I don't really care why it's happening, I just hate that it is. Recently I tried to apply for some $15/hr part-time job at a local museum that a caveman could do, and I stopped cold when I realized I had to transcribe every detail of the documents I just gave them into this bullshit backend website that looked like it was about a thousand years old. No Thank You. Currently I'm all worked up because I just applied to work at a hip, culty, local theater, and I was shocked that after completing the totally normal application routine, I received an automated email directing me to "complete your profile" as "an important part of the hiring process" on the website of the company they're outsourcing all their HR and billing stuff to. And I go look at the profile thingy, and of course it's just this needlessly complicated interface where I can individually enter each and every piece of information that I just provided in my resume--no more, no less. The theater has exactly two locations and is kind of a niche operation and it is absolutely crazy to me that they think they need to pay for this extra layer of stupidly bloated and redundant "talent acquisition" processing when they're hiring for like two or three basic ass hourly roles where half the question is going to be "have you done this normal shit before" and half will be "can we stand your personality". Nobody needs this garbage at all, least of all ME.

[drdemonprince]

Doing career path research. It's so frustrating to have social/communication and processing difficulties, combined with a lack of talent in engineering or computers. It limits my job options so much.

on a slightly good note, all of this has helped my mom realize that I actually am disabled in some ways. yay for recognition.

It really is tough. Knowing very little about your situation, I'd recommend things you are almost certainly already doing: leaning into remote work, asking potential employers to see job interview questions in advance, and recognizing the red flags that company might place a ton of emphasis on symbolic, high-context social expectations that don't actually map onto the job at all. If you aren't math/science/engineering minded, you may still be able to break into fields that skew a bit more accepting by developing a knack for some kind of technical writing. Or some other systematized informational skillset like instructional design. But you're probably doing a lot on your own to figure this out already, and I'm sure it's still really fucking hard.

I'm glad your mom is starting to see your struggles are legitimate instead of blaming you for all of it. I hope this can continue to develop into an ongoing conversation with her about why things are this way and what a future that is healthy for you might look like.

[starset21]

Disclaimer: I only own my original characters, I've done some research but there will likely be Navy/military inaccuracies, and I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under @.itswildflower

A/N: This story is heavily inspired by the hallmark movie of the same title and is very self-indulgent. I'm also trying a different format than I'm used to using so it may change in the future chapters. Hope everyone is having good winter holidays!

Looking for the other chapters? U.S.S. Christmas Masterlist 

Summary:  Kate and Jake take on New York City

Chapter 5: New York

“Oh! Look at this! Oh, I can't wait to see the rockettes and the the rockefeller Christmas tree, the decorations on fifth Avenue, but first, we gotta get New York pizza!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“Okay, she's gonna wear me out. Now, the ship leaves at 8 P.M. on the dot. Don't be late,” Jackson reminded them.

“2000 hours. Roger that. I think the historical building is right up here,” Jake told Kate, taking her hand in his.

“Do you keep records of all the performances?” Kate asked the lady at the front desk.

“We sure do. The older ones haven't been transferred to the computer, though. We've had all kinds of personalities to perform for the troops. You said 1965?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jake nodded.

“The Polaris, right?” she asked again and Kate nodded.

“Do you see a Dorothy in there?” she asked.

“Oh! Here it is. It looks like Dorothy Milne. It lists her employment as a dance instructor,” the lady told them.

“Just like the journal says,” Kate whispered to Jake.

“She actually worked at the ovation dance studio right here in the city,” the lady told them.

“I could hug you right now,” Kate grinned and they headed out.

“We might just solve this Christmas mystery after all,” Jake told her, nudging her shoulder. 

“I can't believe it! The ovation dance studio is actually still around! Wonder if Jonah tracked her down there. I remember the last passage in his journal said…” 

"I saw Dorothy perform last night with the uso. She's breathtaking. It was like she was floating on air. I got to talk to her again after the show, and she's truly everything I imagined. Sweet, smart… But when I went to find her this morning, her brother said Dorothy left on the cargo plane. It's crazy, but I feel like I've known her forever. I have to find her after we dock in Norfolk."

“We might just solve this Christmas mystery after all,” Jake told her, nudging her shoulder as they headed into the dance studio. There were little ballerina’s dancing around the room.

“They are so sweet,” Kate couldn’t help commenting.

“Aren't they? Today's the dress rehearsal for our big Christmas show. Can I help you with something?” the instructor asked.

“Yes. Hi, I'm Kayleigh Wells of the Norfolk register newspaper. This is Lieutenant Seresin,” Kate introduced.

“Nice to meet you both. What's this about?” she asked.

“We're looking for a woman who might be a military spouse. Her name is Dorothy Milne. Apparently she worked here years ago,” Kate told her.

“Yes. Dorothy was my teacher as a girl. I eventually bought the studio from the owner,” she crossed her arms.

“Could you tell us more about her?” Kate asked.

“She, uh, moved to New York to be a rockette, but her dreams never quite panned out, so she worked here instead, and would sometimes perform for the troops with the USO,” the woman told them.

“Any idea where she was from?” Kate asked.

“Kansas City, I believe,” she told them.

“Do you have any idea if she was married to a pilot named Jonah?” Jake asked.

“I remember there was a pilot she met on an aircraft carrier. He came to find her after the ship docked. Surprised her with roses right here in the studio in the middle of class! But she had a boyfriend at the time who she said was planning to propose, so I'm not sure who she ended up with,” she told them.

“Any idea what Jonah’s last name is?” Kate asked.

“It was so long ago. After that Christmas, we were told Dorothy moved to California. But that's all I know. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help.”

“Thank you,” Kate gave her an appreciative smile.

“I think we could use a snack right now, have you ever had roasted chestnuts?” Kate asked Jake.

“No, actually,” Jake told her. Kate smiled and went up to a cart selling them.

“We'll take two,” she told the man and went to pull out some money.

“I got this,” Jake told her, handing the man money.

“Thank you. All right. Let's see what this is,” Jake said as they began their walk again.

“Mmm! Lot sweeter than I thought,” he told her after having one.

“Hmm. Kinda how I feel about you,” Kate teased.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Jake laughed.

“So, have you ever been to New York before?” Kate asked him.

“When I was six my parents brought me here for Christmas,” he told her.

“Before the divorce?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. It was our last Christmas as a family together,” he bit his lip and looked down.

“That's bittersweet.” Jake nodded.

“Yeah, but it was the best Christmas I ever had,” he looked at her.

“Well, I think it's nice that you have those memories. Whenever my dad would be home for Christmas, we'd always go to Picasso’s diner and we would get semi crispy bacon. It was kind of our thing. Semi crispy is the only way to go,” Kate told him.

“I know, right?” Jake asked and Kate laughed.

“That looks really familiar. New York model train museum annual Christmas show! I went there when I was here with my dad,” Jake pointed out.

“Yeah? Come on, you wanna go? It'd be fun!” Kate exclaimed.

“Uhh... I don't know…” he trailed off.

“Oh, come on! You said it yourself, best Christmas you ever had,” Kate taunted.

“All right, yeah. Let's do it,” Jake smiled.

“Okay. Perfect,” Kate smiles, taking his hand and pulling him along. 

“This really brings me back,” Jake says as they wander through the train exhibits. “You okay?” Kate asks.

“Yeah, it's just, uh… I remember my dad taught me how trains worked when we were here. And after the divorce, that's pretty much all we talked about trains, planes… Pretty much anything with a motor. You know, we never went too deep. Stiff upper lip, you know?”

Kate nodded. “My mom was the complete opposite. I think after my dad died she was just so heartbroken all she wanted to do was talk about him, but… I couldn't do it,” she told him.

“Why not?” he asked.

“It was too painful,” Kate shrugged.

“I'm sorry. He died from an accident, right?” Jake asked and Kate nodded.

“I was 16… The day everything changed,” she told him.

“My dad says he was a great man,” he told her.

“He was. And he loved us very, very much. So all the times he invited me to go on the Christmas tiger cruise, I should have,” Kate sighed.

“Well, I'm sure he understood. It's not easy being a Navy brat,” Jake tells her.

“Yeah, well, it's something I still regret to this day.”

“Look, don't beat yourself up over it. Believe me, I get it. All the moving around, the uncertainty… Our dads were gone for months at a time,” Jake told her, nudging her shoulder.

“Well, you're lucky yours is still around. You should cherish that,” Kate told him.

“I do. You know, he… He bought me this little red train…” Jake trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“At the gift shop here. Ahh. I drove that thing around on every surface of our house until the wheels fell off,” he told her.

“That's really sweet,” Kate smiled.

“I'll never forget that moment we picked it out together. Cost five dollars, but… Nothin' meant more to me than that train.”

Kate paused at one of the displays. “Do you still have it?” she asked.

“Got lost in one of the moves,” Jake shrugged.

“I'm sorry,” Kate apologized, she knew the feeling of losing something in a move fairly well.

“It's the memory that matters, right?” Jake asked. Kate nodded.

“Hey. Let's go check out the north pole train!” Jake exclaimed.

“You know what? I'm gonna get us some hot chocolate, but I'll meet you over there?” Kate asked.

“All right,” he smiled and headed over to the display. 

“This is flight 747 to JFK tower, comin' in for a landing,” a little boy is flying a toy plane around.

“Copy, flight 747. Proceed to runway one-zero-niner and wait for clearance. Psst!” Jake pretended like he was a tower operator.

“Psst! Copy,” the little boy responded.

“I brought Teddy here for the trains, but he's obsessed with flying,” the dad laughed.

“Smart kid. You know, Jake is actually a fighter pilot in the Navy,” Kate told them, walking up with two hot chocolates.

“Whoa,” the kid marveled.

“At your service,” Jake tipped his imaginary hat.

“Do you fly off aircraft carriers?” the boy asked.

“Sure do. But flying off the carrier is the easy part. Landing, that's the hard part,” Jake told him.

“That's so cool! I want to be a Navy pilot!” the kid exclaimed.

“Well, you certainly can if you put the work in. Here. This…” He pulls out a pair of wings that they give to the kids on the cruises from his pocket. “Is for you, eh?” he offered with a smile.

“Whoa! No take-backs?” the kid asked.

“No take-backs, buddy. Promise,” Jake smiled.

“You just made his Christmas. Thank you so much. Have a great holiday,” the dad told him.

“Merry Christmas,” Jake told them as they walked away.

“You know, you were really good with him. And did I just hear you say, "merry Christmas"?” Kate asked.

“Yeah, well, don't tell my shipmates,” Jake told her.

“Oh, no, they'd never believe me. Hey, we should probably go get something to eat, and I know a place that's gonna actually change the way you see Christmas forever,” Kate grinned.

“Mind games, huh?” Jake asked.

“It'll definitely mess with your brain. Come on,” Kate laughed and took his hand in hers. 

Christmas music played quietly in the background.

“Brain freeze!” Jake groaned.

“They don't call it the colossal Christmas cocoa for nothing,” Kate laughed.

“We don't mess around here. We take Christmas very seriously. Two burgers coming up,” the waitress told them.

“Thank you. I feel like I don't have a care in the world right now. Honestly, that's not happened very often,” she told Jake.

“That's how I feel when I'm flying my jet over the ocean, those moments when I'm at total peace. Until I realize I have to land on a ship that feels like it's the size of a postage stamp,” Jake laughed.

“Does that ever scare you?” Kate asked and Jake shook his head.

“I love every second of what I do. The adrenaline and the rush… I don't think I'm scared of anything,” he told her.

“Not even Christmas?”

Jake raised a brow. “Christmas? Why would I be scared of Christmas?” he asked.

“I'm just sayin', it… Kind of seems like you've been running away from it,” she told him.

“What do you mean?”

“Based on what you told me earlier, it seemed like maybe your parents got divorced shortly after your trip here,” she said simply.

“Yeah, well, after that, it was mostly mom and me at Christmas. Just wasn't the same without my family together. Just couldn't really see the magic in the holiday anymore,” Jake shrugged.

“I'm sorry.”

Jake waved her off.

“And I'm also sorry 'cause I totally judged you,” Kate apologized.

“It's okay. I know I can be a bit of a Christmas curmudgeon,” Jake nodded.

“A bit?” Kate teased.

“Mmhmm,” Jake laughed.

“Well, it's okay. If I wave my merry magic wand, maybe you'd think about embracing some new Christmas memories,” Kate tried.

“Hmm? Like what?” he asked.

“Like, you know, today, we… You made the little boy smile at the train show, right?” Jake hummed in response.

“He met his hero. And we saw the world's most adorable dance troupe, and I wasn't gonna say anything, but it appears that you actually took a bite of your candy cane,” Kate told him.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jake hid the candy cane.

 “I haven't had this much fun in a long time,” he told her.

“Good!” Kate smiled.

“You're amazing.”

Kate tilted her head questioningly.

“The way you made me imagine our day like a living scrapbook. You really have a way with words,” Jake clarified.

“Well, I'm a writer. So…”

“You're much more than that,” Jake told her, and it felt like he was looking into her soul.

Her phone started buzzing and Kate smiled apologetically before reading the text messages.

“It's my mom. Oh, my gosh, we have to go. It's 7:30!” Jake’s eyes widened and then they were both collecting their jackets.

“Uh, sorry! Forget the burgers!” Kate called to the server.

“Sorry. Here you go! Merry Christmas,” Jake added, placing money down on the table.

“Yeah, merry Christmas! Sorry!” The two of them ran out.

“Taxi! Taxi!” Kate yelled and it only took a moment before one pulled up and they got in.

“Pier 90,” Jake told the driver.

“We're almost there,” Kate groaned as they got stuck in traffic with 10 minutes till the ship left.

“We're never gonna make it. Maybe we should run,” Jake suggested.

“Run?!”

“Yeah. We can do it. Come on!”

Jake was handing the driver money and climbing out of the taxi. He took Kate’s hand and they began running.

“Go, go, go, go!” he encouraged.

“You're crazy! Whoa! Excuse us! Sorry!” Kate yelled as they ran by people.

“It's this way! Hi, Santa! Oh, wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Jake had to stop and put some bills in the santa’s bucket.

“Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed as they took off running again.

“You barely made it, Lieutenant,” one of the sailors greeted them as they climbed aboard the ship.

“I can't believe we just ran 15 blocks,” Kate panted, trying to catch her breath.

“I know,” Jake laughed.

“Thank you for today. You know, for all the memories. The new ones.”

Kate smiled.

“You're welcome, Jake.”

[beardedmrbean]

Jacqueline Addo remembers the time two years ago when her husband Joshua confided to her that the stress of adjusting to life in Canada from Ghana was proving too much for him to bear.

He had reached a breaking point, and her own mental health wasn't great.

"I was just a shadow of myself, basically," she said.

Joshua was struggling to find a job in his field as a financial adviser, and had instead worked stints at a courier company and at Costco.

With Jacqueline looking after their children, they were unable to make ends meet on one salary and had to borrow money from family and friends every month to survive.

While Joshua has an administrative job with Nova Scotia Power today, and the couple is finally able to rest a little easier and plan for the future, not all immigrants fare as well.

The stresses caused by the upheaval of moving to a new country — and the often huge chasm between what immigrants are led to expect about life in Canada and the reality — can lead to depression, frustration and a loss of self-esteem, according to experts.

A study released in December by Mental Health Research Canada found that new Canadians are almost twice as likely to express concerns about feeding their families as people born in Canada.

It said food insecurity and isolation from a family and friends support network have been tied to higher incidences of mental health challenges.

In 2022, more than 437,000 immigrants moved to Canada. A record 12,500 of those arrivals came to Nova Scotia, according to a survey commissioned by the province — and that figure could rise, with Ottawa hoping to attract 500,000 newcomers a year by 2026.

The stress of acculturation

Iqbal Chowdhury is a PhD candidate at Dalhousie University whose doctoral research focuses on the mental health condition of immigrants moving to Canada.

Chowdhury, who is from Bangladesh, said his research indicates immigrants tend to have better mental health than their Canadian-born counterparts.

Other research suggests people who successfully navigate Canada's immigration system, particularly in the economic class, are healthier because they are well educated, slightly younger than average Canadians and must go through medical screening.

But over time, he said, the mental health of immigrants deteriorates until it matches that of the general population — a phenomenon described as the healthy immigrant effect, or the immigrant paradox. One of the potential causes, he said, is stress associated with the acculturation process.

Iqbal Chowdhury is a PhD candidate at Dalhousie University doing doctoral research on the mental health condition of immigrants moving to Canada. (Ira Clarke)

Another is diminishing self-worth. As part of the immigration process, people are considered based on their training and employment history in their country of origin, and they have the expectation of getting a similar job in Canada, Chowdhury said.

But once they arrive, they often find it very hard to use their previous experience and educational credentials, he said.

"It actually affects their aspiration and affects their self-esteem, and I would say that it also prevents them from developing a social network with their community in Canada," he said.

"When they cannot get a job in the labour market, they find it is really a kind of shame to share with people back home, as well as the community living in Canada."

Chowdhury said mental health is one of the important determinants of social and economic development and progress. If Canada wants to build a productive future generation of immigrants, he said, it is important to study the problems faced by immigrants and take a close look at the resources that are available to improve their mental health.

Career setbacks

It can take immigrants years to work their way back up the career ladder, the Conference Board of Canada noted in a September report it prepared for the Institute for Canadian Citizenship.

"While the fairy tale of Canada as a land of opportunity still holds for many newcomers, this study points to burgeoning disillusionment," institute CEO Daniel Bernhard said in the report.

"After giving Canada a try, growing numbers of immigrants are saying 'no thanks,' and moving on."

Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada said in a statement that it offers preventive and non-clinical mental health support to newcomers through third-party settlement organizations.

It also partners with the Canadian Mental Health Association and the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health to help address the mental health needs of newcomers, the statement said.

Unable to find suitable jobs

According to the conference board report, nearly 15 per cent of immigrants left Canada within 15 years of obtaining permanent resident status. But for some who are now hoping to move elsewhere, the process of uprooting again is not a viable option, particularly if they are older.

Manmeet and Randeep Oberoi sold everything they had and moved from the Indian state of Punjab in 2018 with their two children.

The couple, who are in their 50s, have post-graduate degrees from Indian universities.

Manmeet was a principal at a teaching college and Randeep was a credit manager at a bank.

Manmeet got her Nova Scotia teaching certification and now works as a substitute teacher, but has been unable to find a permanent position.

Manmeet and Randeep Oberoi moved to Halifax from India in 2018. (Gagan Oberoi)

Despite taking several banking courses since arriving, Randeep said he is still jobless.

He said they expected it would take some time, maybe up to two years, to find permanent employment.

While the couple are now Canadian citizens, Randeep said he still has no idea how to make inroads in the job market.

Manmeet said the experience has been especially frustrating because she loves teaching and has a wealth of specialized skills.

Manifestations of stress

Carmen Celina Moncayo, a supervisor at Immigrant Services Association of Nova Scotia and a psychologist by training, said the stress caused by the immigration experience can manifest itself in many ways.

"People can develop depression. People can develop anxiety. People can have sleeping problems, eating [problems], irritability," she said.

"Mistrust of themselves, mistrust in the environment … all the ways that our body reflects stress."

Moncayo, who is originally from Colombia, said her association teaches people that what they are experiencing is a completely normal reaction to the feeling of being uprooted.

After more than five years in Nova Scotia, Manmeet Oberoi wonders if the decision to move here was the right one.

"It is very, very stressful," she said.

"Sometimes I don't know how to survive here because, if we don't have the jobs here, then why are so many people coming here?"

[meirimerens]

hi meiri hi hi. love your art, youre such an inspiration to me, and your detail in frames, background paintings, n the like really have me opening my eyes to what's possible in art. and your CHARACTER DESIGNS.. farkhad keeps me up at night (not only me i'm sure... -looks at the twins-) i love the references you used for his vibe and shit. thinking of pursuing an art degree in the future bc seeing what you do with yours makes me so hopeful. anyway sowwy if this is too much lol keep arting queen

o7o7o7 HONORED + OVERJOYED + GIDDY + GIGGLING AS WELL... you flatter me you brush my fur in the direction of the hair...

so giggling and twirling my hair that farkhad Gets you that's how he Gets you that's what he does [getting you]... now let me speak into your ear wrt art degree i have one (a bachelor's) right i have a BA in fine arts and i'll tell you that much i'm going for Anotha one in Art History and i'll tell you how/why.

it is because it is art history (from ye early days to contemporary) that #informs my practice and my images. right. if you go for an art degree (as in fine arts) you have very big chances of getting art history classes. it is within these classes i personally have found inspiration, it is especially within these, and within the discussions made around these, that i have found inspiration(s). it will be doubly true if your art school has foreign students: the art-historical culture of their place and of yours will be different, and art college, at least in my experience, is #That place to see and witness the exchange of ideas. it is a place that will give you an Appetite for #knowledge.

i will be 100% honest in the fact that i am going to pursue an art history degree in no small part because just a fine art bachelor's is not particularly Employable, and my #dreamjob would benefit from me having a AH degree, However i am so so deeply appreciative of all of my years working for this bachelor's because it has truly #opened my eyes to the diversity of art, of art practices, of art history, and it is thanks to that and to the #discussions i've had in college that i now am more confident in looking and searching and researching and trying to see how art Is, what it Can Be

tldr GO FORTH WORK HARD. ATTEND YOUR ART HISTORY CLASSES IF YOU HAVE THEM, AND IF YOU DON'T, MAKE THEM UP YOURSELF. BE OPEN, CURIOUS, AND JUST A LITTLE BIT MAD!

[antaxzantax]

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 42

Summary: Alexia Ashford graduates from university at the age of ten. Alexander Ashford and Anthony Campbell discuss her future job as chief researcher at the Antarctic base.

I

Alexander and Anthony had their third cup of tea.

“Research assistant in Bonn. A renewal of her previous internship contract.” Anthony scribbled on the paper with his platinum pen. “Unless you can think of something better.”

Alexander stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“I'm not going to Raccoon City and I'm not going to Paris.”

“What if they find out? Falsifying an employment contract is easy. But then, how will you justify Alexia's absence? They could call the police.”

Alexander smiled sardonically.

“I've been there.”

Anthony tucked the platinum pen inside his jacket.

“Why are you always so difficult? What are you supposed to do in Antarctica?” Alexander looked sideways at Anthony. “Why don't you stay home?”

“I can't. I can't work anywhere else but Antarctica. That's where the lab is.”

Anthony put his glasses back on. Alexander approached him.

“We must get back to my father's research. We've invested too much money in this, and we've just signed a sales contract with the Department of Defense.” He sounded calm and firm. “I can't give up.”

Anthony sighed in defeat.

“Your father's got us in a lot of trouble. So, what do you propose? What do you want to do?”

“Give me a couple of years. Convene the Circle before I leave at the end of the summer. I'll try an idea.”

Anthony took a sip from his cup.

“What idea?” he asked with interest.

Alexander shifted back in his chair.

“A new virus.”

“Like the Progenitor?”

“Different. And better.”

“And I suppose Alexia will be the one to develop this new virus? And when she does, what happens next?”

Alexander began to swirl his teacup without finishing it.

“I might rethink my partnership with Spencer.” Alexander held Anthony's gaze.

The red-haired man increased his attention.

“You mean leaving Umbrella? I thought you wouldn't say such a thing out of love for your father.”

“My father loved the Progenitor, not the company. The company is nothing more than a front. A means to cover expenses and make a profit. The virus was the only thing that mattered to him; it's the only thing that matters. The plan... If we had this new virus, we could mobilize the Circle to put it into circulation. I own half of the Progenitor. The Stairway of the Sun patent was signed by my father and Spencer. He couldn't sue me. And... I'm sure it would be to his advantage if I left, and he kept the whole company.

“Are you sure? Spencer's good, but he's not as good as we are. We're a dynasty and he's a self-made man with no heirs. Without our support, Spencer will have a hard time getting the company back on its feet, mainly because all the profit from the exit would go to us.”

“It's not about that. It's not about the money.”

“So?”

“Pride.”

Anthony laughed.

“Spencer's not just going to let me walk away,” Alexander continued. “He needs me in front of him to remind himself how good he is. To reassert his power. My father was better than him, and because I'm not the same, he feels powerful. We need a good excuse to break the association with minimal collateral damage. Besides, I'm not leaving Umbrella empty-handed. That would be stupid.”

Anthony finished his tea.

“I understand your position.”

“Tony, I need that employment contract. I'll pay someone to take care of the problem you mention.”

Anthony glanced at the papers on the coffee table.

“What would Alexia's job be?”

“Chief researcher.”

“And will this new virus be public knowledge?”

“Secret, for the moment.”

“Yeah...” He sighed. “I hope your plan really works because, if it fails, you're going to get us all in a lot of trouble. I don't want Alexia to end up like your father.”

“She won't.”

“What about your mother? What does she think about that?”

“She flatly refuses.”

“It's understandable.”

“I'll convince her.”

Anthony stopped fiddling with the papers.

“Great-great-grandfather Rupert was right. Better we wait in the castle than try our luck on the battlefield again. But you're great-great-grandmother Veronica's son. You Ashfords are all about action, aren't you?”

“We're not going to sit around vegetating in a castle while the rest of the world spins endlessly. Without the crown, all we have left is hegemony.”

Anthony shrugged.

II

Flashes. Cheers. Noise. Crowds. She took the podium in a cap and gown. The crowd fell silent. She swallowed, paralyzed with fear. The speech was concise and forceful. The president and professors applauded behind her. Flashes. The reporters repeated the same questions. What do you intend to do after your degree? Are you going to work at Umbrella? What was your secret to graduating so young? She hid her nauseating discomfort with a fake smile and answered with empty words. She satisfied the insistent reporters and they left. Adults milled around her. Despite her short stature, she stood out as an outsider to the natural laws that governed the space. During dinner with university officials, she escaped to the bathroom and vomited. No one noticed. Her father kept smiling and chatting with everyone. But no one talked to her. She didn't exist. In the minds of those old men and women, she didn't exist. She was an award, she thought. An exceptional diploma. A front page in the newspaper. A picture on the wall. She left the dining room pretending to go back to the bathroom and left. She hid in the garden outside. Sitting on the edge of a potted plant, she began to look for a glimmer of joy. And there it was. A row of ants.

She had graduated in physical biology and chemistry with a major in virology. Adults assumed she would be as brilliant a scientist as her grandfather Edward. But she liked insects. During the last two years, she discovered her fascination with entomology. She wanted to specialize in the latter, but her father insisted that she would have time after graduating. However, there was a sudden change of plans. In her scarce leisure time, she discovered an article about a little-documented plant and ant species. For some reason, the two species were living together in symbiosis, and the reason for their coexistence was unknown. At first, she was inclined to take this small discovery as a mere curiosity. Then her perspective changed when she turned to the plant and the ant for one of her experiments. It turned out that the symbiosis between the two species could be due to a parasite or a virus. Alexander bought some samples. A Latin American scientist handed them to him. The possibility of a new project.

At first, she was happy. Seeing all her passions converge into one thing contributed far more to the successful completion of her university degree than the insubstantial encouragement she received from family and acquaintances. So, she focused on what made her happy, which was the first emotion she had experienced since starting university.

Her grandmother noticed. On the few occasions she travelled to the United States, she noticed that Alexia barely made any effort to make an expression. Alexander put it down to her usual expressionlessness, but Elizabeth contradicted him. Her behavior was strange. She spent the day locked in her study or room, always alone, and only spoke when she had to answer a question. She appeared sad and tired. Elizabeth wanted to know the reason for her attitude, but Alexia lied. She didn't want anyone to know how she was really feeling, not even her grandmother. Because no one understood her, and no one would help her. She could only depend on herself.

Elizabeth regretted her obvious change from a lively, energetic child to a listless, withdrawn one. Alexia hid the pain of the comment and locked herself in her room. She opened the first book she could find and began to study.

Senior year was different. Her father and Spencer hired her for six months as a research assistant at Umbrella's headquarters in Bonn. It was there that she rediscovered happiness. She used the six months to formalize her research project and, sure enough, she discovered a retrovirus embedded in the genes of the queen ant. Alexander urged her not to reveal the results. She didn't care about her father's secrecy. She was happy. Happy to research what she liked and happy to work for herself and without constant adult supervision. Although she was not allowed to take on too much responsibility to avoid legal problems, Alexia led her own research team for the short six months. She recounted the experience to her brother, whom she had not seen in person since she started university. She missed him. But they were different, and she could not afford to be emotionally dependent on anyone, not even her brother.

She finished her work as an intern and graduated at the top of her class. A week before the ceremony, Alexander and Anthony met with her to sign a forged employment contract. Research assistant in Bonn. Chief researcher at Umbrella Pharmaceuticals' Antarctic base.