#those were hundreds of dollars each though. unfortunately.

[orcelito]

Also here are the throwing stars I inadvisably bought today

They were pretty cheap and they are So Cool 🥺

Spike pile lol

[thoughtportal]

Opinion Here’s how to get free Paxlovid as many times as you need it

When the public health emergency around covid-19 ended, vaccines and treatments became commercial products, meaning companies could charge for them as they do other pharmaceuticals. Paxlovid, the highly effective antiviral pill that can prevent covid from becoming severe, now has a list price of nearly $1,400 for a five-day treatment course.

Thanks to an innovative agreement between the Biden administration and the drug’s manufacturer, Pfizer, Americans can still access the medication free or at very low cost through a program called Paxcess. The problem is that too few people — including pharmacists — are aware of it.

I learned of Paxcess only after readers wrote that pharmacies were charging them hundreds of dollars — or even the full list price — to fill their Paxlovid prescription. This shouldn’t be happening. A representative from Pfizer, which runs the program, explained to me that patients on Medicare and Medicaid or who are uninsured should get free Paxlovid. They need to sign up by going to paxlovid.iassist.com or by calling 877-219-7225. “We wanted to make enrollment as easy and as quick as possible,” the representative said.

Indeed, the process is straightforward. I clicked through the web form myself, and there are only three sets of information required. Patients first enter their name, date of birth and address. They then input their prescriber’s name and address and select their insurance type.

All this should take less than five minutes and can be done at home or at the pharmacy. A physician or pharmacist can fill it out on behalf of the patient, too. Importantly, this form does not ask for medical history, proof of a positive coronavirus test, income verification, citizenship status or other potentially sensitive and time-consuming information.

But there is one key requirement people need to be aware of: Patients must have a prescription for Paxlovid to start the enrollment process. It is not possible to pre-enroll. (Though, in a sense, people on Medicare or Medicaid are already pre-enrolled.)

Once the questionnaire is complete, the website generates a voucher within seconds. People can print it or email it themselves, and then they can exchange it for a free course of Paxlovid at most pharmacies.

Pfizer’s representative tells me that more than 57,000 pharmacies are contracted to participate in this program, including major chain drugstores such as CVS and Walgreens and large retail chains such as Walmart, Kroger and Costco. For those unable to go in person, a mail-order option is available, too.

The program works a little differently for patients with commercial insurance. Some insurance plans already cover Paxlovid without a co-pay. Anyone who is told there will be a charge should sign up for Paxcess, which would further bring down their co-pay and might even cover the entire cost.

Several readers have attested that Paxcess’s process was fast and seamless. I was also glad to learn that there is basically no limit to the number of times someone could use it. A person who contracts the coronavirus three times in a year could access Paxlovid free or at low cost each time.

Unfortunately, readers informed me of one major glitch: Though the Paxcess voucher is honored when presented, some pharmacies are not offering the program proactively. As a result, many patients are still being charged high co-pays even if they could have gotten the medication at no cost.

This is incredibly frustrating. However, after interviewing multiple people involved in the process, including representatives of major pharmacy chains and Biden administration officials, I believe everyone is sincere in trying to make things right. As we saw in the early days of the coronavirus vaccine rollout, it’s hard to get a new program off the ground. Policies that look good on paper run into multiple barriers during implementation.

Those involved are actively identifying and addressing these problems. For instance, a Walgreens representative explained to me that in addition to educating pharmacists and pharmacy techs about the program, the company learned it also had to make system changes to account for a different workflow. Normally, when pharmacists process a prescription, they inform patients of the co-pay and dispense the medication. But with Paxlovid, the system needs to stop them if there is a co-pay, so they can prompt patients to sign up for Paxcess.

Here is where patients and consumers must take a proactive role. That might not feel fair; after all, if someone is ill, people expect that the system will work to help them. But that’s not our reality. While pharmacies work to fix their system glitches, patients need to be their own best advocates. That means signing up for Paxcess as soon as they receive a Paxlovid prescription and helping spread the word so that others can get the antiviral at little or no cost, too.

{source}

[pinkvenomsstuff]

Friends don't kiss friends. part 1

You and Carl have been best friends since childhood, when you were still terribly messy kids. You practically grew up at the Gallagher's, you were next-door neighbors, and when you weren't there, you were at Alibi's with your parents, Veronica and Kevin. You were with him at all times, at least the most important ones. And some it was you who made them come true, like his first French kiss behind school.

You were the first one Carl liked, that's why you were such friends, he really liked you a lot. You were the first one who aroused something in him, sexual or not. And for that, you were the one chosen for his first kiss, his first dance performance at school, the first one he ran to with a can of vegetables with a hundred thousand dollars in it, and you buried yourself in some wild terror. Your favorite weapon was delivered to you in the school bathroom. And the first woman, except Fiona, who saw him when she got back from juvie.

You guys had some disagreements when he came back saying he was black and forcing a ridiculous black accent, acting like a sick gangster. The braids in his hair almost made you kill him. His mother scolded him immediately. He was someone else, not the Carl you knew but who knew he was there, somewhere, but he was. But you couldn't stay away from him long, and within two weeks you were talking normally.

Or the first person he asked for love advice when he started to have feelings for Dominic, he did everything for her, but unfortunately it wasn't enough. She betrayed him and contracted gonorrhea, the sages say: karma is like a kick in the ass. You were the one who took him in, and then went with him to take a test, where he discovered that he didn't have the disease, and the certainty that she betrayed him.

You were the first one he ever told about his shitty parents, not that you didn't know, you lived with him. But it went deeper, he told you how he felt about Monia's death and how he felt like a failure for years, especially after what happened to G-Dog, but you brought him back to who he always was.

And shit, those damn words almost made you choke on the beer you were drinking. "Back to life," what did he mean by that? What were you to him anyway? That was a question you didn't mean to ask. You two have always been best friends, both of you have always prioritized friendship above anything else, you didn't want to risk it and end up losing your love.

You were at his house now, lying on his couch missing him. It's been almost five days since you've seen each other, even though you lived within meters of each other. "Hey Mom. I'm going to Gallagher's!" you yell, she yells back saying it's okay and that she's going to be on Alibi. You leave the house wrapping your headset around your cell phone, shoving your hands in your sweatshirt pocket.

You look around and see no cars, it was a cloudy and relatively cold day. You walk down the sidewalk taking the few steps to Gallagher's house, and surprisingly you still haven't heard any screams, groans or anything breaking. You jump the playpen at the house, sell a Frank passed out - or not, sleeping or dead on one of the stairs. You ignore that old junkie shit and head upstairs ringing the doorbell.

The door is almost always open, but you don't think it's polite to walk in without knocking, especially not to find someone fucking on the couch or in the kitchen. The door is quickly opened by Lip, who has wide blue eyes, but he relaxes as he recognizes you. "Fuck, I thought it was the social worker." she whispers in relief "Hey girl. What are you doing here?" he asks giving you space to enter, so you do.

"I came to torment C-Dog." you say smiling, he laughs with a cigarette stuck to his lips. "Right." he sits on the sofa. "Where are the rest of the staff? This house is insanely quiet and it makes me wonder if no one is drugged or dead." you say, Lip laughs puffing out his cigarette. "No, no. Debbies is out with Franny, Fiona is at the diner, Ian is probably fucking some gay guy and Liam is in school."

"Uh…I thought things between Ian and Mickey were serious." you talk, Lip shrugs. "They're coming and going because of their bipolarity." "Got it. I'm going up." you say starting up the living room stairs, Lip nods turning on the television. You walk down the hall really seeing the empty rooms, you go to Carl's and give a few rings, nobody comes to open it and you don't hear anything.

Then, slowly you pull the doorknob covering his eyes, an immediate action upon entering his room since you found out he slept naked sometimes. You enter the room one finger at a time until you are sure there is no one in the room. "Y/N?" a hoarse voice comes from behind you, and you jump in fright. "Oh shit Carl. You scared me!" you gasp putting your hand on your chest, he laughs walking into the room.

He rummages through your clothes thrown across the bed so you don't know which ones are dirty or clean, and just then you notice a white towel drapes around your hips. Leaving his luscious abs showing, it was a fact that Gallagher came back a hundred times hotter from jail, you'd admit that yourself.

You grab a random playboy magazine from under his bed, throwing his body on the bed you cross your legs opening the magazine as he changes. Even though you've seen each other almost naked a few times, or else in your underwear and panties and bra several times, you respected your privacy. You flip through the pages of magazines, naked women posing or wearing costumes.

"Wow, that's hot." you say smiling, Carl looks at you without understanding. You turn the magazine over to him "Oh, she is." you notice that he has his legs covered by sweatpants, my biceps are still uncovered. You return to the magazine, pushing away any inappropriate thoughts. "I'm dressed. What are you doing here?" he asks sitting next to her on the bed. "I was bored and I have a best friend living next door to me so…" he laughs, pinching her ear. "I understand. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know, man. We can do whatever you want but I'm honestly really hungry so I'd like to stop by Paty's first." you say closing the magazine. "Right." he smiles, you roll your eyes around his extremely disorganized room. "God, Carl. Did you know Fi has a laundry basket in the hallway? Or you could start washing them then." you turn up your nose when you smell one of his shirts.

"Ah... mind your own business girl!" he exclaims smiling and ruffling your hair, you shake your head. "Fuck, let's go to Paty's before I end up eating you." you sigh, feeling a knot in your stomach, Carl looks at you slyly "Oh no! Shit no! Carl fuck you!" you exclaim, closing your eyes tightly, denying it, but - I would like to - was what crossed your mind.

"Wow, ok. I thought you thought I was super hot and all..." he laments pretending to be offended, putting his hand to his chest. "Oh yes- yes you are. I just-" You can't find the words, he laughs with his total fishy face, not even able to think. "I understood. I'm just playing with you. Come on babe." he says laughing and pulling your shoulders to walk with him, you laugh but you're still extremely embarrassed by it.

"Hey, Ian!" Carl walks past him, Ian ruffles his hair. "Hi guys, and hi Y/N. I haven't seen you in like a week?" Ian says it more like a question, you nod. "And Kevin, have you recovered from your vasectomy?" "Yeah, I had to take some time off after I saw Frank fuck a homeless girl in the kitchen." Ian laughs loudly, throwing his head back in the chair. "I swear, it was 'fucking traumatizing!' you laugh along with him, Carl laughs at both of you. "Where are you going?" Ian asks with a beer in his hand. "Paty's, and then some Chicago alley." Carl responds. "beauty." Lip goes upstairs.

Carl walks to the front door, you stop him. "I think we'd better go around the back. There's a Frank passed out in your driveway." you say sarcastically, Carl rolls his eyes. "Fuck that old man." he says walking to the kitchen door, you follow him with a smile on your face.

You walk in front of your house, the truck is still in the driveway. "Do your parents really let you drive?" Carl asks as you turn the keys in the door. "Hm, no. Ve says I might get hurt, but Kev doesn't care. He thinks it's radical!" you say excitedly, Carl smirks at you.

"Too badass. I drive Fiona's car sometimes, it's nice." he comments, you two get in the car sitting on the seats. "Yes, it is. When I get my license, I'm going out at dawn with you to all the car races." you say smiling, which makes Carl smile as he remembers the things you guys did to make it to the city limits for the damn clandestine races. "Uh, great. I really don't want to have to bike to the end of Chicago."

"Right, right." you chuckle at it "Just a year to go or maybe two..." "Sixteen is the new seventeen." he says, you nod turning on the radio. "Birthday Sex" blasts through the loudspeakers, you and Carl singing the lyrics perfectly as if you were at a live show. In fifteen minutes you were already in Paty's, you park the car just before the entrance to the store. Carl walks out the door normally and you jump out of the truck, the two of you enter the diner.

You move to one of the tables facing the street, Carl follows you and you sit opposite each other. A knowledgeable attendant comes to you. "Hey guys, can I take your order?" she asks smiling, you take a good look at the menu even though you know it like the back of her hand. "Hey fely! An x-bacon with double fries and a coke. Please" Carl says, Felicity writes it down on paper. "What about you, Y/N? The same as always?" she asks still with a smile on her face, you think for a moment. "Hm... Same as him. And pancakes. With honey, lots of whipped cream and strawberries. Please." she notes. "Yes, someone had come to serve them." "Thanks." you both say thanks, she leaves to take more orders.

You two look at each other but don't say anything. You start snapping your fingers. "So…what have you been doing?" Carl asks breaking the silence. "The usual. Taking care of the bar, the twins, studying and sleeping. No big deal." you shrug your shoulders. "And have you been seeing anyone? Like a hookup?" you shake your head "No. Nobody. And you?" "Nobody either. But I like a girl." he says low, you're a little surprised. "Oh good Carl. Who is it?" "A girl over there, you don't know..." "Okay. Can you tell me about her?"

"Well, she's quite outgoing. She likes games and has questionable taste in music. She loves riding her old skateboard." he tells you the details, you laugh at the last remark. " She's a good girl so then. I'm happy for you, asshole." you run your hands through his hair, ruffling his strands. "Yeah, she is. She's pretty pretty too, like, awesome." You nod, seeing one of the waiters come with their orders. He puts it on the table, you thank him with smiles. You quickly pick up your burger and bring it to your mouth, taking a big bite.

The incredible taste of the fried bancon, the melted cheese and the grilled meat had you moaning in satisfaction. "Oh, God. This is fucking better than a blowjob!" you exclaim, Carl raises an eyebrow at you. "Have you ever gotten a blowjob in your life?" "No. But I got blown, and I'm sure I say this is way better." he shakes his head laughing, you notice the little bag of ketchup being poured into his burger, you frown at that sinful act. "Bro, are you really using that red sauce in a x-bacon? That's like a crime in Italy, man." you say taking another bite of yours, Carl throws the empty ketchup bag at you.

"Fuck Italy and its pizzas without ketchup! We're in America." he grumbles, you laugh. "That fucking is a godsend honey, there's no reason not to use it." "Uh, ok. At least you know Italy is not an American country." you mock him, Carl looks at you like you've said the most shocking thing in the world, the boy throws two potato in your face. "Hey you shit! Don't throw that at me." you exclaim, an elderly couple next to you complains about the noise. "Can you guys not scream or throw your cockroaches? Shitty ghetto teenagers. They don't know how to behave anywhere." the old woman mumbles the last sentence.

"I'm sorry gentlemen." you smile falsely at they, looking at Carl who was laughing hysterically. You shoot him a death glare. "Old bastards. I'm going to make these fags eat dust." you claim looking at your delicious pancakes. "But I'll get this over with first" "Yes you will." Cal says still laughing.

You finish quickly and compete with Carl to see who eats the most pancakes in the least amount of time, you obviously win with 7 pancakes in two minutes, but Carl is a good competitor with five. You both laugh when you notice that his lips are full of whipped cream, and so is the tip of his nose. The old people from before complain again, saying that you are noises. "Enough. I'm going to make this old woman hear some truths. Shitty South Zone bitch!" You get up from your desk, reaching into one of the pockets of your shorts, placing some bills on the table.

Carl too, with his wallet in his hands. "I pay." you two say together, laughing then. "Hey big boy, I pay. I brought you here, it's ok but next time it's you." you threaten with your lower finger pointed at him. "Right." "Now C-Dog, stand there and watch me fuck these old men." you tell him you're close to the exit. "Oh, go for it girl." he whispers to you, who gestures with your hands to him following you to the elderly couple's table.

"Hey good afternoon." you smile sympathetically sitting next to them. "What you want?" the woman asks arrogantly, looking you up and down. "Ah...no big deal. It's just that I actually heard you complain about me and the boy with me, I had to come here." you say sadist, eating a potato of them. "So what, girl?" She rolls her eyes. "It's just that I was a little hurt, you know? I thought you were pretty, that's fine for such an old age. But then you opened your little shit mouth, saying really prejudiced things. And I thought, I should punch some respect in this bitch." you wink at her, the lady looks at you with a hateful expression. "So, here's my darling lesson."

You pick up your glass of soda, you take a few sips, and then you spit the drink back into the glass. You smile at her before slowly pouring the coke under her head. She starts screaming getting the attention of customers calling you a ghetto rat. "Go back to the south side, motherfucker!" you exclaim, spitting in your food, standing up and feeling Carl proud stares at you. Fiona comes up to you, you think she's going to scold you but you're surprised when she applauds you. "Aren't you angry? Those customers with money never came back here." she denies smiling. "No, really. You did me a damn favor, I hate those old men, they always come here and complain about the food or my people."

"Oh, that's great then!" you smile, she nods throwing a cloth over her shoulders. "We left the money on the table, Bye Fi!" Carl yells opening the front door, she yells back an "ok" you walk out of there with you feeling insanely good. "Girl, I fucking worship you! You fucked with them." Carl exclaims jumping up and down, you laugh at him. "It's no big deal. It was deserved." you get in the car, and you start it. "Certainly." he says putting on his seat belt.

You start the pickup. Carl doesn't stop looking at you for a second, especially his hair flying in the wind invading the car through the windows. He's totally mesmerized by you, and seeing you defend him in a way has only made him more in love with you than he is. He was sure you were an amazing woman when you told him you faced men who were harassing you, but he was even more sure now, seeing your enviable posture up close.

That was the thing you loved most about Carl and that he admired most about you. You two wouldn't let anyone say shit about you, or whoever was important to you. It could be the biggest truth in the world, but the Gallagher's don't let anything go unnoticed. You had a trust that he sincerely always wanted to have for him, Carl was always a bully, stealing food and hitting some carusos when necessary. But you did even worse as a kid, and it's not something you're proud of, but you were just a kid angry about not being adopted.

And when Kevin and Veronica adopted you and welcomed you into their home, things changed, but there are things that don't change. "Where you want to go?" you ask, Carl blinks a few times. "I don't know... maybe in that abandoned terrano of the Díaz's? I heard that there are some people from our school going there to smoke and skip class."

"So that's where we're going, bro." you turn the car around the corner, turning onto the avenue. "Do you have cigarettes there? My dad never leaves them in the car because of the twins." he nods pulling a box out of his pants pocket. "Here." he hands you a pack, you hold it to your lips, Carl takes your lit lighter to the end of his cigarette, lighting it, you thank him.

[lucidfallacy]

Spencer Reid x Reader 18+ (Part One)

If there's one thing that pisses me off, more than absolutely anything, it's chasing after an uninterested man. Actually, uninterested is an understatement, I think he straight up hates my fucking guts. I suck my teeth, precisely painting on the last flick of eyeliner in my tiny apartment's bathroom mirror. Out of Control by She Wants Revenge echoes down the hall from my living room speakers, filling in the silence. Well, that concludes my spooky bops playlist I so perfectly curated. The chill bohemian vibe of my place and the three-wick bergamot candle burning on the coffee table are doing little to calm my nerves as I prepare for the annual BAU Halloween party. This is my favorite time of the year, my favorite holiday and I refuse to let boy genius ruin it for me.

The whole aesthetic of fall is right up my alley. The crimson and gold leaves line the city's parks, haunted houses, flannels, and cozy coffee dates. When was the last time I even went on a 'cozy' coffee date? I roll my eyes, open the cabinet mirror, and begin deciding on which perfume to waste tonight. Why do I even care if I smell good? My fingers instinctively land on my one hundred dollar bottle of YSL's Black Opium that I only save for special occasions. It works well with my skin chemistry, what can I say? I spritz myself across my neck, hair, and wrists.

As I close the mirror, I give myself one final look over. I'm wearing a long white bloodied dress with a black bow tied at the waist. I thrifted a matching black choker and long white satin gloves. My long raven hair is slicked back to give a wet illusion. I even have the whole sultry but natural makeup look going on and honestly some killer eyebrows. I've been dying to dress up as Jennifer from Jennifer's body since I was a teenager. Being a horror buff, I always find myself leaning toward the cult classics when it comes time to dress up each year for All Hallows Eve. I can only imagine what everyone else on the team is wearing. Penelope is going to show out for sure. She's the one who suggested we go bar hopping before the actual party, after all, so she must have something to show off. Spencer will probably dress up as Edgar Allen Poe with a stuffed crow perched on his shoulder, or some goofy shit. I think it's going to be just us girls bar crawling tonight though. JJ, Emily, Penelope, and I. The four musketeers. I've become endearingly close to each of them over the past year and it's insane how much they've taught me as a special agent. Penelope even threw some coding into my training for good measure.

Spencer likes to call it a fluke because I may be only 24, but I personally worked my ass off to get here. I have my Masters in criminal justice from the University of Pennsylvania and I minored in sociology, so I definitely fit the bill. What does his overqualified ass have? Like 4 bachelor's degrees and a Ph. Ds in math, science... blah blah fuck you, Dr. Reid. In my opinion, the testing speaks for itself. I scored only a point below his entry test scores with everything considered, but thanks to my physical capabilities I at least one-upped him there. There's plenty of room at work to be the 'smart kid' in class but for some reason, my presence and opinions only bother him. I had an idyllic impression of Spencer before joining the force after reading about him, thinking we were going to be besties. I even attended one of his psychology lectures a couple of years ago at my campus. But unfortunately, we are both participating in this never-ending game of cat and mouse, enjoying pissing each other off. And I hate to say it, but I really do love to see him mad. Some sort of weird switch flips in me when I get under his skin. The way his pupils dilate in those alluringly tired brown eyes. I mean, even Morgan calls him 'pretty boy.'

My phone buzzes around on my cluttered bathroom countertop with text messages from our girl's group chat. I catch it before it falls off.

Group Chat: Coffee Whores

Penelope: C'mon bitches lets go! Meet you at the Tipsy Pumpkin in 30min~

JJ: Just dropped off Henry and Michael, headed over in a bit :) <3

Emily: The Tipsy Pumpkin has a margarita flight I've been dying to try. Good pick girly ;)

Me: * Sends bathroom mirror selfie *

Me: What's the verdict ladies? Too much or not enough?

Penelope: ANNND you look hot. Next question-

Emily: I fear I am underdressed lol

I smile at my phone as I exit the bathroom continuing down the short corridor to make a pit stop by the living room, but I quicky forget why. Out on the balcony, my plants are flourishing, but I'll have to bring them in soon. I can feel the chill of October and the unmistakably smoky scent of an Autumn's night filtering in through the cracked sliding door. Below, downtown Washington's bustling streets are filled with more eccentric nightlife than usual. Trick or treating ended around 8 pm, so it's the adult's turn to have a little fun. It's nice to have nights like these with the team, I mean we pull almost 80-hour work weeks constantly if not traveling. But they all have families, children, and people who miss them when they're gone. And the only 'person' I have is my father, who was put away for a long time, hopefully forever. I would even testify for it. I may have inherited his love of horror movies and tattoos, but thankfully not his sick proclivities for slaughtering women. The case is still ongoing, so I'm trying to butt out of it until the Pennsylvania FBI unit needs my input.

My phone rings, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts over family drama. No caller ID? Usually, I decline these types of calls, but the FBI loves to keep their privacy. Maybe it's them.

Me: This is special agent L/N how can I help you?

Caller: Ah, special agent L/N... I like that

Me: Um, yes, and who might I be speaking to?

Caller: Miss L/N do you like scary movies?

Me: I'm sorry- what

Caller: Jennifer's body huh? You're really pushin' it. Going out looking like that-

My rapidly beating heart jumps up into my throat as I smash the big red hang up button. I stare at the black screen, wide-eyed. What. The. Fuck. I can't even block them because it's an unknown number. His voice was characteristically deep and gravelly like they were purposely concealing their true self. Take a deep breath L/N. In... out. I know I'm a profiler and this is a stupid, stupid decision, but I'm considering this a prank call. I giggle nervously to myself. Yeah how many other women are dressed up as Megan Fox tonight I mean come on, she's hot. Dude thinks he's Ghostface or some shit, ha. If he really wanted to scare me the fucker should've hidden in my closet with a pair of my pink panties on his head. I slide my hands over the sides of my dress as I collect myself. I'm not going to let Spencer OR some weird coincidence ruin my perfect night. Looking over at my kitchen stove, I see the time is now 8:32 pm. Oh shit, everyone is waiting on me. Walking over to my entryway I slip on a pair of black kitten heels before slipping my phone inside my stitched satchel bag and heading out the front door. Still, I can't help but double-check my deadbolt.

"You're fine, everything is fine," I remind myself under my breath as I walk towards the elevator and press the glowing call button.

The wait feels excruciatingly long as the elevator ascends to the 5th floor. My building is old, still carpeted with 80s-styled red stained rugs and peeling wallpaper. I never thought of it as eerie until this moment. The metal doors slide apart with a ding and as I step onto the lift, my anxieties don't settle. My mind is still plagued by impending doom, but I'm sure that's just the three cups of coffee I sucked down earlier talking. Yeah, I pre-gamed the pre-game. Caffeine makes the alcohol hit harder, studies show. It wouldn't be a good night unless I wake up tomorrow with a torrential hang-over. Wrestling with embarrassing memories of puking in Penelope's toilet before being tucked into a makeshift bed on her couch. The elevator doors squeak open to reveal the lobby and I practically skip out, excited for the comfort of being around friendly strangers in the street.

[chibisquirt]

Unfortunately, I appear to be getting into tufting.

I haven't gone off the deep end yet. I did buy a latchhook and some grid cloth so I can paddle my feet in the rug-like waters, but I haven't bought anything else, not even any yarn for it! (I'm so virtuous.) (I actually am so virtuous; I'm severely weak to yarn.)

But I have been watching rug tufting videos... and looking up tufting guns online... and plotting how I'm going to go about this...

It's a problem.

The fact that, if I get good at it, this could become a viable side-hustle... is not, actually, any less of a problem.

Anyway here's all the shit I'd need to buy to actually get started with it, along with long-range plans for equivalent pieces. Under a cut for the sake of all y'all's humanity:

Tufting gun

This is the big one, and I find myself in a bit of a dilemma on it: you can get them for cheap of aliexpress, but like... do I really wanna trust something that came off aliexpress? I have not gotten anything off there, and while I have no evidence it's any worse than amazon, I have no reason to think it's any better, either. (Actually, I'm pretty sure some of the amazon listings at least *are* the aliexpress listings, being re-sold. So, avoid that one, at least.)

So anyway the tufting gun everyone says is the best runs about $250.

2. Frame

You tuft by shooting fibers into a grid made of fabric; in order to do that, you have to have the grid solidly suspended in the air. This requires a frame.

Price varies by size.

3. Tufting fabric (or equivalent)

This is the fabric that you shoot the fibers into. You can also use monks cloth or burlap, apparently. (Not to be confused with the other fabric, backing fabric, which goes on after everything else, and is what the rug actually sits on.) Not too bad, not too bad, monks cloth is about $15/yard.

4. Yarn

Not my *immediate* starting cost, just because oh god oh god I will be swimming in vanna's choice until I die, but yarn is also not the cheapest thing in the world. You can get two skeins of red heart super savor for about $15-$20, and it goes up from there.

5. Glue

Once the fibers are in the monks cloth, there's nothing really holding them there. That's why you have to glue the shit out of them! Recommended glue is carpet glue, Roberts 3000 or 3085 or something. A gallon of that is $25, or 4 for $50 at Home Depot.

6. More glue!

Yeah, you didn't think we were done, did you? Once you've glued all your fibers in place, you cut out the rug from the grid fabric and glue the edges down, this time with a different type of adhesive. Tutorial I saw recommended hot glue and spray adhesive, which, since I don't have a glue gun, means I'd be looking about $25 all together for them.

Once you've got that done, you can add your...

7. Backing fabric!

Non-slip is good if it's going on the floor... you can do a 6' by 6' square of this for $35.

8. Trimmers

Teeeechnically, I already have some trimmers, but if I'm gonna do this with any seriousness, I don't want to use those for it, because they're designed for human hair and rugs are made with sheep hair (or hair from the noble acryligoat). You can get trimmers that come with a little guide, too, which is super handy if you don't want a giant gouge down the middle of your rug. Call these $40-50.

9. Scissors

Once you've gotten your rug shaved--not a euphemism--you want to go in and outline each color with scissors to give it definition.

So all of that comes to about $500 if you're thrifty. 😬 And then you consider the costs that repeat, like the next batch of tufting fabric and yarn, and the costs that add on as not-essential-but-nice-to-have, like yarn cones, extra frames, labels... It is Yikes.

Buuuuuut... If I were to start selling them... I mean, you can get hundreds of dollars per rug. Per small rug. A thousand plus for a big one! So I do kind of think it might be financially viable.

Better to start it as a hobby first, though. And maybe be prepared to have a pretty big initial layout. :(

[thehavenatwesson]

Carnival Time

TL; DR Miss Mardi Gal's Guide to a Semi Civilized Carnival

I had a hard time getting into Mardi Gras this year.  I usually go to a lot of parades, somewhere around 20 per year.  This year I went to 12.  This doesn’t count the one I was in or the marching krewes downtownish.  (I am from Broadmoor/Uptown.  Anything on the other side of Canal is downtown.)  It may be that I am getting old but I am seriously feeling over Mardi Gras, particularly the big parades which are becoming downright unpleasant.

First there is the problem of the stuff.  Crowds are becoming seriously entitled.  No one wants beads.  People don’t even pick cups up off the ground.  During Muses I saw really nice throws like tea towels and notebooks get left in the mud.  The demand for the specialty throws, to the exclusion of everything else, has gotten out of hand.  People act like they deserve a shoe (or whatever the parade has that they want) and can get quite angry when denied.  And the begging is pathetic.  As we roll down the avenue I hear constant cries of “I need a shoe!” and I mumble to myself “No one needs a shoe.”  Sometimes I wish I could stop the parade and give my Sunday school lecture I used to call “The Greedy Gimmes” (after the Berenstain bears book) in which I differentiated wants from needs.  (In a sing song voice) “I know you want a shoe.  Everyone wants a shoe.  But do you really need a shoe?  Sit down for a minute and think about that.”

The waste after each parade is sickening.  I appreciate the work that is being done to recirculate throws and I try to participate in this effort.  Unfortunately, we are reusing stuff no one wants.  This year I only bought one bag of generic, prethrown beads onto the float and tossed them at the end, after I’d run out of everything else.  I generally watched them fall to the ground as people dodged out of the way as if I was giving them cooties.  Sometimes, up there on the float, I feel like I’m littering.

Krewes need to throw more useful reusable stuff.  They need to throw more locally made stuff.  But mostly they need to throw less stuff.  This is supply and demand and I’m tired of spending many hundreds of dollars on crap that no one wants.  (I hate to think about how much I have spent.  It’s stupid.)  The supply is too great.  The masses are spoiled.  It’s fun to enjoy shiny trinkets raining from the sky but the next day they’re mostly just laying there on the ground.  And people are so desperate to get something special, that rare thing that will make them the envy of others (and that they can later sell on ebay), that no one appreciates the parade.  Lots of artists spend much of the year thinking of ideas for, designing, and creating these floats.  School bands practice year round.  Yet at the end of the evening all you can think of is whether you got a shoe, and if so how many, and was it more than others.

Our world is being buried in plastic and we are a big part of the problem.  I’ve known this for a long time but it’s finally really getting to me.  But the problem with throwing less is none of the krewes want to be first to do it because it will garner bad reviews.  We aren’t getting paid for this.  We are in it for the kudos.  So, if we throw less, people say things like “They hardly throw anything” and “They were really stingy this year.”  If we throw cheap we also hear about it.  Even though people don’t pick up most of it, they want to see it fall.

Then there are the crowds in general.  Yes, I am getting old, but I am weary of how increasingly uncivilized we are becoming: as a world, as a country, and as a city.  At one of the schools where I teach they give the students a lecture each year on Mardi Gras safety (which I think is great.)  I think all the local high schools and universities should give an annual lecture on Mardi Gras etiquette (and send a summary home to the parents.)  Perhaps we should have a citywide guide to Mardi Gras manners published, maybe as an addition to those Arthur Hardy guides, Miss Mardi Gal’s Guide to a Civilized Carnival.  Yes, carnival isn’t really supposed to be civilized.  Not entirely.  This was started as our last frolic before the pious days of Lent.  (Of course, most of the revelers don’t participate in Lent.)  I’m not trying to be a killjoy.  I love the general frivolity of Mardi Gras.  My favorite thing about being in Muses is the weeks and sometimes months of decorating used shoes with random shiny crap just to hand them to strangers off a moving platform.  Some of my favorite parade memories include watching in the pouring rain as old men cling to the floats, occasionally tossing us things.  Because it’s bizarre and ridiculous and pointless and fun.  (I am a huge fan of random acts of frivolity.)  But there have to be ways for us all to have chaotic, weird fun while allowing others to do the same and respecting the fact that some people live there year round (and need to have big fences installed just to keep you from pissing on their petunias.)  I think that’s the biggest thing that needs to be said to university students.  You are just visiting (except for the locals.)  You will probably leave us in less than 4 years.  We live here.

Other things that should be included in Miss Mardi Gal’s Guide to a Semi Civilized Carnival.  Don’t believe Benny Grunch when he says “There ain’t no place to pee on Mardi Gras day.”  There are, however, many places not to pee during carnival season (or anytime really.)  Do not pee on people’s houses.  Do not pee on people’s cars.  Do not pee on private property.  Do not pee on public property.  Do not pee in a bucket in a tent in the middle of the crowded neutral ground.

There are many port-o-lets along the route.  A few are public.  The rest may involve a nominal fee.  This is the greatest free show on Earth so set aside some of the money you are saving on entertainment and keep them on hand for your toileting needs.  Many churches, other businesses, and a few entrepreneurial homeowners have port-o-lets available along the route.  For $3 to $5 you can relieve yourself without pissing off (so to speak) the locals.  And some places will let you use the restroom if you buy a drink (and drinking probably got you in this conundrum to begin with.)  Offhand I can tell you five places you can pee for a fee between Napoleon and Amelia along St Charles, a distance of half a mile.  (That may be more restrooms than Disney World.)  And I’m not even looking for them.  They’re just that obvious.  Have some dignity.

Pace yourselves.  It is a cliche but this is a marathon, not a sprint.  Carnival officially begins on Twelfth Night (January 6) and ends on Mardi Gras day, which is a moving target that can occur any Tuesday from February 3 to March 9.  The first parades (other than a couple on Twelfth Night) occur three weeks before Fat Tuesday but they are the smaller marching krewes (my favorites.)  The ones on St Charles that draw the big crowds (and the mobs of college students) begin 11 days before Mardi Gras.  During those eleven days, 32 parades will roll down St Charles.  This doesn’t include Endymion which is in an entirely different area of town and which you should all focus on.  Really.  Just camp out over there.  It’ll be awesome.  I heard a rumor that next year they will be handing out the latest iphones and Taylor Swift concert tickets.  But only if you camp out there for all of carnival season.  And then, you know, stay there.  (Sorry.)

Back to St Charles.  We locals think you are absolute idiots when you’re passed out during the day on Muses Thursday, before any of that day’s 3 parades have rolled.  Little old ladies will shake their heads and call you a lightweight as the EMTs load you into the ambulance, muttering under their breath about how, in their day, people could hold their liquor. 

Next, don’t be a space hog.  We all like an area for our friends to gather and hang out.  Most of us take this a bit too far.  Some of us take this way too far.  You may not claim an entire city block.  I don’t care how big your fraternity is, three pledges can’t just skip classes and rope off the entire neutral ground.  And don’t put stadium seats or platforms right on the curb.  People need to be able to move back and forth.  Also, having platforms right at the front means that not only do you have front row seats but now no one else can see anything.  (But perhaps that was your intent.)  Ladders should be for children and they should have space for an adult to stand in front, if only to protect little ones from being pummeled or toppled over.  And owners of St Charles mansions, we see you lining the curb along the front of your houses with ladders, most of which nobody will sit on.  We know you spent a lot of money on that house (or maybe your great grandparents did.)  We know you pay a lot in taxes (or at least you are supposed to.)  That still doesn’t mean you own the street.

Stop with the amplified music, at last during the parade.  Some of us like to hear the bands.  Some of us like to hear each other speak.  And some of you are now competing with each other to see who can blast their music the loudest.  No one wins.

Be nice to those around you.  Locals often have route neighbors who we see every year.  We may not know each other’s names but we recognize each other with a smile or a nod.  Spaces can blur and that’s OK (to a point.)  There are lots of norms around all of this.  We watch out for all little children and make sure their corresponding adults can see them.  If you know somebody on a float, you say to those in front “I know someone on Float ___.”  They then let you move forward for that float.  It is also customary for them to say “What’s your friend’s name?  We’ll help you get their attention.”  You then wait, try to get your friend to see you, and afterward retreat back into the crowd.  It is a particularly nice gesture, if you got a lot of stuff from your friend, to give some to those who helped you.  (And really, any time you get a pack of nice throws, it is considered polite to pass some out to your neighbors.)  If you see a rider trying to throw to a particular person (which is often obvious either because they point, yell, make eye contact, etc.) you do not block.  You move aside.  And if they don’t catch it and you do, you give it to them.  (A personal rule of mine is also that if it hits me, it’s mine.  I have been known to declare this to others.  “That hit me.  Give it!”  This is not a norm.  This is Rachel’s rule.)

Unused chairs should be openly shared with those in need.  Likewise unused ladders.  Don’t taunt the horses.  Don’t touch the band members or their instruments.  Don’t throw beads into the tubas.  (I’ve seen it happen.)  And don’t throw anything back at the floats except for the few that are designed for this  (Bacchus’ King and Queen Kong, Tucks’ toilet, etc.)  When you must cross between encampments, do so quickly with an apologetic nod and wave.  And don’t do this as a float is passing.  Any distraction from watching the floats can cause someone to get a pack of beads to the head.  And don’t cross the street in the middle of the band.  This is actually relatively well enforced.  I have seen officers who have ignored people dashing in front of floats to get something, reprimanding someone for “breaking up the band.”

For my women, watch yourselves.  It terrifies me to watch young women getting absolutely blasted on the parade route then wandering off down a side street to find a lawn to pee on.  Seriously, y’all.  The buddy system and/or safety in numbers doesn’t work when everyone is just short of passing out and can’t keep track of each other.  Take care of yourselves (and each other)!  And, speaking of safety issues, look out for the damned floats!  It amazes me that more people don’t get killed every year.

And now we need to talk about the people who are there to keep us safe.  I brag about the NOPD’s  ability to handle Mardi Gras all the time.  The rest of the year they can be hit or miss but during carnival our officers have a reputation for greatness.  They know how to pick their battles.  (Not everything that is illegal can be enforced on the route or in the Quarter.  Safety issues have to come first.)  They know how to move swiftly, manage the problem, and move along.  I once ended up in the mob of people by Superior Grill during Bacchus (a long story involving Jensen Ackles and a quest which I can tell another time.)  I was on the other side of the neutral ground from the parade and could barely move.  Suddenly, a pair of cops on horseback cut through the crowd to a spot about 10 feet away from me, where they reached down, grabbed two guys who had apparently been fighting, and frog marched them away.  It was an impressive bit of choreography.  No one was hurt.  It all happened quite swiftly and was over.

I had a problem with the police this year.  It has been suggested to me that what I witnessed may have been forces borrowed from other parishes or the state police because we were shorthanded.  I hope so.  During Muses a fair number of police officers were begging for (and sometimes receiving) shoes.  (I saw online a comment that a cop near her got 8 shoes!)  There are times when the street is barricaded to keep spectators back as the floats are turning corners.  Generally a few people slip past the barricades and then get sent back.  This year there were lots of people right next to police officers, begging for stuff, as the tractor drivers were trying to turn the corner without killing anyone.  I tried to throw a pack of napkins to someone and it was intercepted by a cop who then kept it!  Y’all are there for a reason and your purpose is vital.  You need to protect the people from each other and from the floats and you need to protect me from them.  I would gladly be willing to donate a few nice shoes to a cache to be distributed to the NOPD crew that work our route LATER.  Where are they even putting the shoes?  Do they run back to their cars every time?  This really doesn’t belong in Miss Mardi Gal’s Guide to a Semi Civilized Carnival.  This should be part of the police briefing.  Don’t sweat the small stuff but do keep a keen eye out for the other stuff.  And keep your hands free. It is hard to protect and serve with a shoe in each hand.

And lastly, keep the intersections free from structures!  During the parades this year, people had put up canopies, stands, grills, and all sorts of stuff in the intersections.  In case of emergency, first responders need to be able to drive through there.  They also can be a convenient place for people to cross being that you can’t get past all the ladders, etc elsewhere.  Intersections should be standing room only!  I propose that fire trucks should randomly drive through intersections during parades, just coasting, foot off the brake, so people can scatter out of the way but not be able to rescue their huge LSU tent.  Of course, the fire trucks don’t even follow the parades anymore so we’d have to mend some relationships first.

I realize all of the problems listed have to do with the big parades.  I should focus more on the marching krewes.  It would certainly help to regenerate my love of the carnival season.  There are lots that I never see.  And coming home with my little handful of handmade doo dads is so much more fun than lugging home a sack of crap that I have to sort through later and bring most of to the ARC.  But being on the route could be fun again if some people, you know who you are, could just go enjoy Endymion.  Seriously, I just heard that next year they’ll be throwing hundred dollar bills and keys to their Saabs.  But only to people who are truly there for the whole season.  And they can tell.  Go check it out.

[thistleandthorn-rpg]

Name: Ryan Li Designation: Switch Age: 25 Birthdate: June 24, 1998 Faceclaim: Derek Luh Orientation: Bisexual Kinks: Sensation Play, Pain Play, Bondage, Breath Play, Impact Play, Body Worship Anti-Kinks: Scat, Degradation, Age Play, Pet Play

Key Points: 

Resourceful

Friendly but guarded

Distrustful of authority but won’t openly defy it

Self-conscience about academic ability/performance

BIO:

While Ryan knew that happy and successful claims obviously existed, growing up with a front row seat to his parents’ toxic and abusive claim caused him to view the whole system as a way to force people to stay trapped in horrible situations. Even though neither of his parents physically abused him, they were always more focused on making each other miserable to pay any attention to him. The neglect caused him to miss a lot of school as a child, which in turn caused his dyslexia to go undiagnosed for much longer than normal. By the time he finally understood what was ‘wrong’ with him, he was already way behind other kids his age and had convinced himself that his problem was that he was just too stupid to learn anything. When he turned 16, Ryan decided to drop out of high school and preferred to couch surf, with the occasional bout of living on the streets of Cleveland, over spending another second in his childhood home. 

  Even though the government would like people to think they are in control of everything, it was impossible for them to keep track of everyone. Ryan found out quickly that if you managed to stay on the outskirts of society, you could basically become invisible to most of the world. However, even if you wanted to stay hidden, you still needed food and water, which meant that you also needed money. Since Ryan wasn’t able to get a normal job, he had to resort to illegal means of acquiring it. While he wasn’t necessarily proud of it, he did what he had to do to survive and at least tried to make sure not to physically harm anyone. For several years, this method worked for him until he was finally arrested for theft. Fortunately, he was caught with only a few hundred dollars of stolen property on him and since it was his first time being caught, they only charged him with a misdemeanor. Unfortunately, getting caught meant that he was now back under the watchful eyes of the authority. To avoid any jail time, Ryan made a deal to finally receive his designation and attend an institution. While there were several schools in Cleveland that he could have gone to, it was decided for him to attend the one at Lima since his mother had some family in the area, and it distanced him from his friends that were deemed to be a bad influence. While he wasn’t excited in any way to be forced to finally find a claim, he was hopeful that he could at the very least find one that wasn’t as toxic as his parents. 

  BIO QUESTIONS:

  What are your feelings about the mark you have received? 

Even though I don’t really enjoy the thought of being forced into any kind of role, I think being a Switch is the best outcome I could have received. I’m honestly not sure which side I lean towards more, so at least it feels like I have a bit more control over my life then if I received the Dominant or submissive role. 

  How do your feelings on the system compare to your parents’ feelings on it?

I mean… I’m never going to be thrilled about a system that forces people into roles and relationships. However, there’s nothing much that I can do since I’m not going to change the world or anything. Sadly, it’s pretty much a ‘can’t beat them, then I sadly have to join them’ situation. My parents are miserable together and have always been that way as long as I can remember, so I’m going to assume that they aren’t big fans of the system either. 

  Where do you see yourself after you graduate? 

Well, it’s pretty much either I’m in a claim or I’m a slave. Out of those two options, obviously I’d choose the claim and can only hope that I won’t end up stuck in a miserable relationship for the rest of my life. As for a career, beats the fuck out of me. I don’t even have a high school diploma, so I’m obviously not going to be anything that requires any kind of education.  

  How do you feel about authority?

I think it’s pretty clear with my prior answers how I feel about it, but just in case you couldn’t tell, I’m not a fan. I think people should be able to control their own lives, but that’s not the world that we live in. Since that’s the case, I just plan to keep my head down and hopefully not cause any waves. 

[j-graysonlibrary]

Silverfalls Court Chapter 17

Title: Silverfalls Court

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 50K

Genres: drama, suspense, who-done-it, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: A young girl, lost in the bliss of her first relationship, will do anything in the pursuit of what she believes is true love—even sneaking out of her house in the dead of night. Unfortunately, she is met by someone she didn’t quite expect. Her fight or flight instincts kick in but she in no match for the killer in the woods.

And her death won’t be the only one.

The once peaceful and quaint neighborhood of Silverfalls Court is thrown into chaos and upheaval when bodies keep showing up in the woods. When it becomes apparent that the murderer must be one of them, suspicions grow thick and trust is shattered.

Some, like Lisa-Marie Castel, want to play detective and solve the case on their own while others, like Dominique Pulmer, want to keep their heads down and wait for things to return to normal. Some might even wish to capitalize on the bizarre nature of the story while those who have been personally affected are left to pick up the broken pieces of their lives amidst the chaos.

Full chapter 17 under the cut:

17. Freedom and Doubt

The boards on the window blocked out most light from the outside so, if it weren’t for the alarm clock on her bedside table, Victoria wouldn’t have been able to tell what time it was. Even being able to see the number on the digital display, she doubted the validity of it.

It had been a few days, so she’d been told, but it felt like a month—easily. She’d tried keeping proper track of the time on her own by keeping count of her meals but that stopped being reliable very quickly. According to the clock, her meal times would range—sometimes by hours.

Most of the time, she tried sleeping. Surely, that would cut down on the anxiety that swelled in her, she thought.

Victoria quickly learned, however, that didn’t help. In fact, taking long naps seemed to mess with her already deteriorating sense of time and her sanity.

She wasn’t sure when it happened but she guessed somewhere around day two, she began to see the thin outline of Leigh in her room. When she appeared to come from inside of her closet, Victoria even let out a laugh. She didn’t attempt to talk to her though since she knew she must have been a hallucination.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen something that wasn’t supposed to be there. All throughout her previous year of high school, she’d sometimes see figures in the corner of her eyes or hear her name being whispered when it wasn’t. She’d just never seen anything so solid looking before witnessing Leigh.

But, Victoria supposed, her brain had nothing else to do so it must have been trying to entertain itself. Only, in the most harmful way possible.

Knowing Leigh was a hallucination, knowing she wasn’t real, Victoria still broke down into tears. She recalled when she first met her at the beginning of the school year and how quickly they became close.

Her memories of her started to cause the hallucination to become even more lifelike. Each detail about her face that she remembered was filled in or added to the image before her. Her dark brown eyes with the mole at the corner of her left eye, her faint scar across her forehead from a childhood accident, her painted nails and patented three hundred dollar pair of boots that she begged her parents for.

Victoria smiled through her tears. She remembered first talking to Leigh and how shy she was. Victoria wasn’t used to being the one who had to initiate conversations but, with her, she was the one always talking. Leigh just smiled and nodded, occasionally commenting how cool she thought Victoria was.

There wasn’t anything particularly spectacular Victoria did around her—she didn’t think anyway. Leigh came from a state over so she was new to the school and didn’t know anyone. All she heard about Victoria were the nasty rumors that she beat other kids up and threatened to stab the principal. Those things were all, technically, true but hugely exaggerated.

Leigh found those stories cool instead of shrinking away from her. She immediately believed that whoever it was that Victoria “beat up” must have deserved it. The same sentiment was shared when it came to the stabbing comment.

In all of her life, Victoria had never met someone who looked at her the way Leigh did. Her eyes lit up and sparkled when she regarded her and something about that made Victoria’s heart feel incredibly…heavy. She liked the attention, obviously, and she found Leigh to be very pretty as well as funny and interesting—even if she didn’t talk about herself much. There was an invisible string that pulled them closer and while she didn’t want to fight it, Victoria knew how much trouble they’d be in if they just went with the flow of things.

There was no future where they could just date and everything would work out. Other students would come after them, teachers would come after them, their parents…

She didn’t even want to think about what would happen if her father found out.

So, Victoria suggested they only meet up in private—out in the woods at night where no one would find them. It was a bit awkward to arrange but they found a place that worked for the both of them. There, they had their first date at midnight, under a new moon where neither could see the other well at all.

On the second date, they wised up and brought a flashlight.

But the night Leigh died, Victoria was supposed to meet with her. She, instead, got in trouble for failing a test and had to stay in her room to study. Her phone was taken from her and, quite like her present predicament, she was locked in her room for the night. Granted, there were no boards on her window or padlock on her door but she still felt like a prisoner.

She never got a chance to call Leigh and tell her that the date was off. But Leigh had clearly met with someone…someone in the neighborhood who would go on to kill others.

It wasn’t her though. Victoria stared at the hallucination of Leigh while tears streamed down her face. “It wasn’t me,” she whispered for what felt like the millionth time, “You know it, right? It wasn’t…me…”

The unmistakable sound of the padlock being removed from her door made the image of Leigh start to vanish. Victoria frowned and looked to the side, expecting one of her daily meals.

Instead, her father walked in without any food in his hands. He looked at her for a long moment before sighing. “Victoria…”

She scooted away from him, unsure she liked where he was going with the tone in his voice. He was always so difficult to read—even after eighteen years of knowing him.

“There was another murder,” he said after another too long pause. In his hand, he held the padlock from the door. “You’ve been officially cleared. I’m sorry about locking you in here. I really am.”

Victoria wanted to default to yelling and rubbing the truth in his face but she didn’t have the energy for it. “Who died?” she asked instead.

Her father kneeled down beside her and took a moment before looking her in the eye. They shared the same color irises—while Victoria’s mother and sister both had blue eyes, she and her father’s were dark green.

“Brandon.” He sighed again. “It seems he and Lisa-Marie were behind everything. But…Brandon felt too guilty and he confessed to killing Lamar. Lisa-Marie had to kill him to shut him up but the police found Lamar’s body so she was taken away. Everything should go back to normal now…”

Victoria frowned. Maybe some of them could get back to normal but Serena wouldn’t get her little brother back. No one would be able to look at the Vick’s or Mrs. Winter’s empty houses without remembering what happened. And she certainly wasn’t going to forget any time soon what days of being locked in her room was like—or how her family had turned their backs on her so quickly.

“…So can I leave?”

Her father nodded. “You’re free to go. I’ll take the boards off your window too. Just…” He paused and stared at her for a long beat, “Don’t tell anyone at school or outside of the neighborhood what happened, okay?”

Victoria stood up from the ground and grumbled, “Wasn’t gonna.”

“I know,” her father said and followed her up, “Your mother was just worried about it. I know you understand things much more than she gives you credit for.”

“And Madison?” she decided to ask, “Is she still terrified of me?”

He smiled a little but it dropped in an instant. “Maybe give her some time. She’s still young and confused about everything.”

“Not that young,” Victoria muttered. Her little sister had probably had a great time with her locked away. She bet she pretended she was an only child.

“Well…still. Just, let her be for now.” Her father patted her on the back as they left the room.

She always hated when he made physical contact with her. There was no particular reason and she didn’t especially love when her mom touched her either but there was something about her father’s touch that made her skin crawl. Especially lately. As if, the older she got, the more he expected her to just be alright with him being an active part in her life when he’d all but ignored her in her earlier years.

“So if I’m leaving Madison alone,” Victoria said and walked faster to get away from his hand, “Then I’m going across the street.”

Her father started to grimace but then responded, “Going to see your friends?”

“Yeah. Miss Rosello won’t let me get into any trouble.”

Thankfully, he didn’t call after her or grab her so she was able to flee the damned house.

The fresh air was powerful though filled with pollen. Even the tears that prickled her eyes from her allergies were, somehow, a nice feeling. The sun bore down on her and she could hear birds chirping in the distance. Victoria had never been one for the outdoors but now she almost wanted to stay outside all day.

After soaking in the rays for a few minutes, she continued on to her planned destination. She knocked on the Rosello’s door and waited, excited to see anyone who wasn’t a part of her family.

Miss Rosello opened the door and her eyes widened immediately. “Victoria…are you okay?”

She let her into the house and placed an arm around her. Somehow, her touch didn’t bother Victoria in the least.

They moved to the living room where they were immediately joined by Claire and Miguel. Both looked surprised to see her but neither seemed scared.

“Do you need something to eat? Somewhere to sleep for tonight?” Polly asked as she scanned over Victoria’s face, searching for signs of illness or wear.

“If I could stay here tonight and have dinner with you, that’d be great.”

Footsteps hurried down the stairs and, before Victoria could even brace herself for it, Serena was in her arms. “I’m so happy you’re okay. I was starting to worry what they’d done to you!”

“Did you guys think they killed me or something?” Victoria asked, genuinely curious.

“We weren’t sure,” Claire answered, “We didn’t think we could trust anyone.”

“Plus we knew Brandon had been going over to your house so we were worried he’d done something to you before Lisa-Marie killed him,” Serena explained and finally put some distance between them.

“Brandon was at my house?” Victoria tilted her head to the side.

“That’s what we saw,” Miguel said.

“Did you not see anyone?” Miss Rosello asked with a frown.

“My father. That’s it. He brought me food.”

“…I should call Jumin,” Serena muttered before walking off.

Victoria looked to the two youngest Rosellos and asked, “You said you saw Mr. Castel go to my house?”

Miguel nodded. “A few days ago I watched him as he walked over there. I told Claire and Miss Conner…we assumed he was asking you questions for Lisa-Marie.”

The idea was so bizarre, she almost couldn’t believe it. But Miguel and Claire wouldn’t be saying it unless they’d actually seen it. Unlike her own younger sibling, they were actually reliable.

But her father never mentioned Brandon coming by so either he also didn’t know or he was keeping something secret. The thought of her mother and Brandon having an affair came to mind but it made no sense so she disregarded it. Her mother was no Lisa-Marie in terms of looks and Brandon always struck her as a bit on the shallow side.

So it had to have been her father that he was coming over to see. But what had they spoken about if it had nothing to do with her?

“Perhaps he was just getting a status report from your father about you,” Polly offered, almost as if she’d been reading her mind.

Victoria shrugged. It was possible but something still felt wrong when she lingered on the thought. She needed to discuss things with Serena and Jumin. It had been too long since they’d gotten to go over the facts of the case and now there were a lot more to review.

Jumin walked in with Serena and he had Suri at his side. Both of them looked to Victoria with relief clear on their faces.

She smiled a little, feeling some level of release as well. She hadn’t expected her friends to be so worried about her and she was glad to see that some of her assumptions were, in fact, wrong. They did care—really care.

“Let’s talk outback,” she suggested and they nodded.

Claire and Miguel stayed inside to help their mother with something while the rest of them walked out and close by Miss Conner’s fence. She was a smart woman who would be a great option to bounce ideas off of so they kept within range of her backdoor in hopes of flagging her over.

But, until that opportunity came upon them, they laid out what they knew already.

“The first victim was Leigh,” Victoria said with a heavy sigh, “She was killed in the woods when she was coming to try and meet with me…”

“Madison was right then…” Jumin frowned. “You were sneaking out to meet her…”

“Why?” Suri followed up and cocked her head to the side.

Victoria hadn’t said it aloud to anyone but she knew she needed to. “Leigh and I were dating. We were…keeping it secret.”

Serena rested her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Vicky…”

“I had no idea…” Jumin mumbled. “You really like girls?”

“Jumin!” Serena scolded.

“Sorry…” He raised his hands up but continued on, “So, either Lisa-Marie or Brandon…maybe even both…met Leigh in the woods and killed her.”

“After her was Peter…” Serena said solemnly, “I still don’t know how it happened. We were all together and we went home as a group.”

“He had to have gone back out,” Suri stated, “And he was met in the woods by the Castels. They usually stay out after their parties to clean up anyway so they would have been around.”

“True,” Victoria replied, “But why was Susan Vick next?”

“Jealousy maybe?” Jumin suggested and shrugged. “Lisa-Marie was used to being the pretty, young, weird girl and Susan was kind of taking some of that attention away from her.”

“That’s petty but not impossible.” Serena rubbed her chin. “And we know a man was seen around the Vick’s house so Brandon clearly did that one. We also know what happened with Lamar.”

“They could have ended it there though,” Jumin pointed out, “But I guess they didn’t want to risk Mrs. Winter telling everyone about the man she saw?”

“I don’t know how that information even got to them though,” Serena responded, “I didn’t tell anyone…”

Victoria’s shoulder’s sagged and she sighed. “I…told Madison. I didn’t think she’d blab it to anyone but clearly I was wrong.”

“Oh so the tattle-tell told Lisa-Marie,” Suri said with a frown. “This is why I don’t talk to her at school.”

They all shared a chuckle but quickly got back to business. “Then, after Mrs. Winter, you were blamed,” Serena said and pointed to Victoria, “but thank God Mr. Pulmer decided to push the Castel’s on the Lamar issue.”

“And Lisa-Marie killed her husband before he could confess to the other murders,” Jumin attempted to wrap it up.

Victoria still frowned and didn’t believe the pieces fell into place. Logically, she could follow everything and it seemed correct but her gut told her otherwise. “Let’s just…go over things again and more slowly. And with as much detail as we can remember.”

The others looked at her and silently nodded. They’d be at it for a while but all of them were determined. After what had happened, it wasn’t safe to just accept that the killer was caught and that peace had been restored. Especially not when some of their neighbors had died because of premature relief already.

No, they had to be certain.

[ttullp]

isn’t being a wicked woman much better? ,, chapter 001.  cr: starlitnovels, link.

When did I start being seen as a total pushover?

“Do-hee, I really need one hundred dollars. My aunt suddenly passed away. She’s been taking care of me since I was young, you know? I’m really sad right now.”

“Oh no. What do you need?” In my past life, I’d always felt bad for Han-joo because his relatives kept dropping like flies each week.

“I’m sorry Do-hee. I’ll pay you back as soon as I’ve earned enough money.”

I even told him that he didn’t need to pay me back as a way to cheer him up. Somehow, whenever he says that he likes me, my wallet gets emptier. Well, it’s alright because I have enough food and coffee. I can always get a third part-time job. I lifted my heavy school bag and headed to the library.

“I’m sleepy…” I was tired even before starting my assignments. A sweet latte should help keep me up. Oh, but I’m out of money. Now that I calculated it, it seems that Han-joo owed me almost five hundred dollars.

Should I ask him to pay me back? But… I felt sorry for him who was in despair due to the recent spate of tragedies. I nervously bit my nails as the laptop turned on. Logging on, I typed into the group chat.

[Everyone, please send me your organized data by the end of the day.]

Though the number of people who’d read the message kept increasing, there was no immediate reply.

[I’m sorry, Do-hee. I have a cold.]

[I have club activities today. Can I send it tomorrow?]

While most of my group mates ignored my message, there were at least two replies. Otherwise, I might have seriously lost it. It might be because I’d been through a lot lately, but my brain was fogged over. I couldn’t think of anything to say that would make them cooperate.

In the end, I just gave them a mild warning: [You know, tuition here is quite expensive. You guys should focus on your schoolwork a bit more.]

It was late at night by the time I finished all my assignments. Not only was I tired, but hungry. I managed to drag myself to the nearby convenience store but stopped walking when I heard a familiar voice and the smell of cigarettes nearby.

“Hey, these are new. Don’t step on them!” Kim Han-joo, who was supposed to be at a funeral right now, was smoking with his friends. Next to him was my group mate who was supposedly busy with club activities.

“Aren’t those the limited edition N-brand shoes? How’d you get a hold of them? I heard they were sold out in seconds.”

“I bought a re-sold pair, so seriously, don’t step on them.”

“Must have been expensive if it was a resale. Where’d you find the money for that?”

“Oh, I have my ways.” Han-joo’s triumphant answer made my head hurt.

Pushover, pushover, pushover.

The word kept repeating in my mind.

“Who would be dumb enough to give you that much money?”

“Yoon Do-hee.”

“Ah, Yoon Do-hee.” My groupmate nodded in understanding. Wow, my name is all that it took for him to believe it? “I’m in the same group as her for a project. If I asked her for some money, you think she’d give it to me?”

“I asked under the guise of funeral expenses, but I didn’t really think that she’d be fooled each and every time.”

“Wow, Han-joo, you’re a total asshole.”

“I’m not. It’s just, people like her, who get so happy at just the slightest bit of kindness, are too stupid.” It was too hard for me to keep listening to him, so I stalked towards the bastard. Unfortunately, he disappeared before I could give him a piece of my mind. Damn it, I should have stepped on those stupid sneakers.

“Do-hee, I like you because you’re kind.”

His words kept ringing in my head, but instead of being sad I just felt furious.

“Do-hee, you’re just in time. Do the dishes.” As soon as I got home, my mother pointed toward a sink full of dirty plates. The one who ate dinner was my younger brother, so why did washing up fall on me?

I’m hungry too…

As I searched through the near-empty refrigerator, I listened to the conversation between my mother and brother.

“Mom, get me a tutor. All my friends are preparing for early admissions these days, so they all have cram school or private tutors to help them. I’m the only one who doesn’t have one, you know?”

“Is that so? I’ll try to find you one.” My mother’s unhesitant reply made the milk carton in my hands shake violently. I felt nauseous. Forget a private tutor, wasn’t it my parents who’d been against me taking online tutoring as it was expensive? Due to that, I thought that my family’s financial situation wasn’t great.

Now that I thought about it, though, my father was a rather skilled craftsman who’d been Managing his department for years. He had three children, but only I wasn’t given any assistance because they had no intention of investing in me.

“Yoon Do-hee! Where do you think you’re going? Did you wash the dishes?” It made me more miserable that all I could do was leave without fighting back. I should have yelled at them. Asked them why they discriminated only against me. Did I seem that useless to them?

Sorrow washed over me as I stood on the sidewalk with a runny nose.

“Miss, I have to go back home, but I’ve lost my transportation card. Could you please lend me thirty dollars?”

I rubbed my eyes and let out a hollow sigh. I couldn’t believe that she was trying to fool me again. I’d been tricked by this lady and paid for her fees about three times now. Han-joo takes money under the guise of funeral expenses and this woman takes transportation fees.

I was even kind enough to take you to the bus station, yet…

Damn it, all of them must think I’m a real pushover.

Well, it is amazing how many times I fell for it.

It was only now that I realized that this homeless woman was deceiving me. It was just as Han-joo said. I was “stupid nice.” All those times people called me “nice,” I now knew that all they meant was that I was a pushover.

“Give me thirty dollars!” The old lady furiously grabbed my arm. As she pulled me, I saw the money in her pocket and my anger soared sky high.

“I don’t have a damn penny, now let me go!”

“Then ten—even ten dollars is enough!”

As we fought, we gradually got closer to the road. It was this ridiculous fight—or rather the fact it distracted me from the motorcycle going frighteningly fast—that got me killed. I died over nothing, but when I woke up again, I’d become the villainess of a reverse harem novel.

[nnfrerking]

The Rock Painting 

The knowledge that I gained from my first meeting with the artist Cecilia Smith gave me the chance to do something incredibly effective yet equally dangerous. Considering Ms. Smith's standing, I am certain that this gift will bring me the artistic success I am so desperate for. Yet, if I do something incorrectly, I could bring about the destruction of myself and thousands if not millions of others. 

As the months wear on, I find that my desperation has been growing far stronger than my fear or guilt. I have been passively gathering all the pieces for the ritual whenever and wherever I happen to find them. Every time I find another ritual ingredient, I remember the day when I was partially awakened to the truth about everything.  

I was in my sophomore year when I met Cecelia Smith. She was going to give a lecture at the art museum a few blocks away from my college. I probably would have gone to the event anyway, but Mr. Boone, my art professor, made it even more tempting. He said he would give extra credit to anyone in the class that attended the event. 

Mr. Boone's reasons for creating the event were not purely academic, as he would later admit to us. He and Cecelia had been friends ever since college. He wanted to lend her some friendly support. 

Eventually, the day and time of the event arrived. Unfortunately, regret flooded my body the instant I stepped into that museum. It was immediately clear to me that most of the people in attendance were wealthy patrons of the museum and/or collectors of fine art. 

Though I am a tall woman, I felt as though these people towered over me. Each dress or suit they wore had to cost at least twice my monthly rent. Likely, they had also spent more than my monthly salary to get their hair and/or makeup done. In comparison, I had spent ten dollars at the thrift store to buy the dress I was currently wearing and had fixed up my hair and makeup by using discount store products and video tutorials. 

I was so certain that this mere mortal could not be safe standing within one hundred feet of these gods and goddesses, let alone five feet. My mind soon flooded with a daymare about them simultaneously turning to look at me and walking over until they surrounded me and then mocking and laughing at my lowly appearance and then throwing the drinks and appetizers they were holding at me and then picking me up and throwing me out onto the street. 

This imaginary situation repeated itself and eventually caused my body to break out in shivers. Yet, I managed to fight against the compulsion I had to rush out of those museum doors at once. My desire to see Cecelia Smith's paintings, which an online article I read had called "signs of the beginning of a new age of art", was far stronger than any of my fears. 

My shaking body was hard to control, but I didn't let that stop me from easing myself around the rich people's conversation circles and towards the hallway just beyond the reception desk. New daymares spawned that depicted a few of them turning from their cheerful chatter and telling me how ugly I looked. Others portrayed me bumping into a rich person and causing him or her to spill their food or drink on their expensive clothing and then they would grab me and shake me violently, demanding amounts of money that I couldn't even dream of affording. 

Things got worse as I entered the hallway. It was rather narrow and that made many of the conversation circles seem huge. The new daymares became more dramatic as they repeated. I imagined a few of my rich victim's friends shaking me, surrounding me, and ripping off pieces of my dress and clumps of my hair. 

I took deep breaths through my nose and diverted my thoughts by theorizing how paintings that were "signs of the beginning of a new age of art" would look. Perhaps she had added clay to a canvas to make pieces of art that were both a sculpture and a painting. Or maybe she had layered different-sized canvases on top of each other to create a kind of 3D effect. However, as creative as I got, even a person five times more creative than myself could never imagine what Cecelia Smith's paintings would truly be like. 

Finally, I exited the hallway and entered the gallery which was, much to my relief, far more spacious than the hallway had been. There were also far fewer people here, and the individuals that were here did not appear rich. They had gathered around in small groups around paintings and chattering in voices so hushed that they may have thought loudness could cause the paintings' color to fade. 

I took some deep breaths and performed mindfulness exercises until my body stopped shaking. Then I hesitantly approached one of the currently solitary paintings but looked away from it as I walked. In truth, I felt afraid that the paintings wouldn't live up to the expectations that I had built up in my mind. I desperately wanted them to make the stress of walking through all those rich strangers worth it. 

When there was a certain distance between me and the painting, I stopped and waited until I felt ready to see anything in that frame. But then I realized that I would probably never be ready. So I looked up at it and felt immediately confused as the painting seemed to depict the surface of an ordinary rock. 

Sure, there was enough high-quality detail that I could see every bump, valley, and scratch along the surface of the rock, but this couldn't be something worthy of that 'new age of art' quote. Feeling like I was about to drown in disappointment, I forcefully leaned in closer until my nose was a few inches from the painting and tried to take in every little detail. As I look back, I think I wanted to do this not just because I needed there to be something I was missing. I also wanted to flee this museum and its scary inhabitants and bury myself in the colors, strokes, and lines.

It turned out that I would escape the museum in another way. After a mere three seconds of staring at the painting this way, my senses started picking up things that couldn't have been there. If they were, then I would have been impossibly transported to a pine forest within the space of a few seconds. 

My ears were picking up the near and distant sounds of animals and the wind rustling through the trees. I could feel this same wind giving me cold kisses on the cheek as well as the muddy ground below my feet. There was also the mud and a previous rainstorm, the smell of which filled my nostrils. The only sense that wasn't picking up the forest was my sight. My eyes were still focused on the surface of that rock. 

My response to these sensations was delayed, but when my mind eventually picked up what was happening, I shut my eyes and let out a loud gasp. Luckily I managed to muffle it with my hand and avoided bringing unwanted attention to myself. 

As soon as I warded off the shock, I realized that in closing my eyes I had transported my other senses back to the museum. I heard that quiet chatter of voices and the clacking of someone's high heels as they walked across the floor. I felt the warmth that the museum's HVAC system was blowing into the room. The smell of someone's flowery perfume and the lemony freshness of the museum cleaning staff's supplies also surrounded me. 

I took in these sensations until I found the courage to open my eyes again. I was back in that forest. I closed my eyes again, and I found myself back in the museum. I had to open and close my eyes a few more times to try and convince myself that my senses were experiencing what they were experiencing. 

Even after that, I still had trouble convincing myself that the whole situation was real. Some of the facts just didn't add up. Yes, this type of effect did live up to the description that the article had given it, but why wasn't there more? The discovery of a revolutionary effect like this should've caused a pervasive media sensation. 

And then there were the other people in the gallery. Why weren't they more excited? They should've been smiling, giggling, and/or even shaking with delight at the new sensations. Even if they had experienced such sensations before, they should have still been jabbering loudly with each other and trying to figure out how the whole thing worked. 

How DID it work? What in the world could be the mechanism that caused such a sensation? I theorized that maybe the arrangement of the markings on the rock paintings had created some hypnotic effect. Or maybe there was some kind of beam in the frame of the painting that could transmit these sensory images right into my mind. 

Unfortunately, that last guess turned my thoughts into ones of extreme paranoia. If there was a beam that could do that, what else could it do? Could they tell people what to think or erase their memories? Were such beams now hidden in different areas and being used to control the populace? Perhaps, if there was a beam in the frame of this painting, it had already transmitted thoughts that weren't my own into my mind. I shivered at the thought as I moved my eyes over the frame of the painting but failed to spot any noticeable holes.

I glanced over at the other paintings and the walls, trying to see if I could spot any of these strange theoretical mechanisms. I couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Feeling overwhelmed, I decided to walk over to and sit down on a nearby bench I had spotted. Then I put my hands in my lap, closed my eyes, and performed some light meditation to help myself calm down. 

Once my mind was clear, it pointed out to me that an opportunity may have fallen into my lap. Since I knew Mr. Boone and he knew Cecelia Smith, perhaps he could convince her to give me an apprenticeship. During that, she could teach me how she created those revolutionary paintings and then I could make them myself and be a key part of this new art revolution that the article had predicted was coming. Then I would be just as good if not greater than all of the people here.

What would it be like if I returned to this museum after I had achieved this status? Perhaps they would open a gallery that held my works alone. And then they would have a party at the opening. I wouldn't be dressed in thrift store rags and using discount beauty products then. I would instead have a dress like the one I admired in that discount store which was blue and had thousands of sequins that shimmered like glints of sunshine in water. And I would hire the best hair stylist in the city to tie up part of my hair in a braid that even the greatest basket weavers couldn't achieve. And instead of tiptoeing around all the rich people, I'd be talking straight to them because my success would have given me the confidence that I always wanted. 

But wait, would Cecelia Smith even take me on as an apprentice? I had been struggling with getting good grades in Mr. Boone's class because my artwork had been, as he had written, "too pedestrian" and I needed to "be more confident and experimental" with my artistic ideas. Perhaps Cecelia and Mr. Boone would only stand there laughing at me and saying how terrible I was at art and that it was stupid for me to believe I even had a chance at getting an apprenticeship. And then Cecelia's bodyguards would pick me up and throw me out of the museum. 

Wait…that wasn't right. What sort of visual artist has bodyguards? Yes, the worse that they could do was laugh at me and put me down. But I knew Mr. Boone and while he could be critical he was never outright mean. I didn't know what Cecelia was like, but Mr. Boone probably wouldn't let her be too mean to me. They'd probably just stare at me awkwardly and make some excuse on why Cecelia couldn't take on an apprentice. 

Still, there was the possibility that Cecelia could see something in me that others hadn't. Didn't that make it worth trying, especially because the consequences couldn't be too severe? It seemed that way to me. 

I got up and immediately started walking as fast as I could in the direction of the presentation room, where I suspected Cecelia and Mr. Boone would be. Luckily, the lecture was about to begin, so I could just follow along with the wave of people and avoid bumping into anyone or having to dart around them. For a moment, I felt like I was part of an army marching into battle. This made me smile. 

When I made it to the presentation room, I immediately spotted Mr. Boone and Cecelia Smith on the right side of the theater. I gently made my way through the crowd and called out to Mr. Boone as soon as I got close. This caused him to turn, see me, smile, and wave. In a few moments, I was right next to him. Unfortunately, though, I was so enthusiastic about my plan that I skipped over greeting him and went right over to Cecelia. I said hello to her, introduced myself, stuck out my hand, and looked her in the eyes. 

 

My anxiety flooded back the instant that Cecelia grabbed my hand. That caused me to shake her hand and look her in the eyes for what was, I assume, a longer time than normal. While I was doing this, much to my shock, my senses were spirited away again. 

However, the place this time was different and I could take it in with my eyes as well as with my other senses. I was in a room in a seemingly abandoned house somewhere. I could hear a rainstorm outside, smell a musty odor, and see an old wooden floor on which several seemingly random items had been carefully placed. Hovering above this ritual arrangement was a portal. Looking through it, I could see what I somehow knew was the structure of the universe. Through studying this, I just knew I could learn exactly how the universe worked. Then I could manipulate it to my will and make paintings like the ones Cecelia had made. 

Before I could get a full understanding, however, I ended up fainting clean away and missed the lecture. I felt disappointed, but in retrospect, could Cecelia have given me any knowledge that was better than what I had received? 

Also, I probably wouldn't have paid much attention anyways. My new knowledge hijacked most of my attention for the next few months. I did my best to try and forget it and kept telling myself to not do anything about it. I could tell it was dangerous and I swore that I could forge an artistic career of my own without any shortcuts. 

Yet, it kept coming up in my mind with every bad grade I received and every time I lost inspiration. And no matter how hard I tried, these incidents kept happening. I was soon thinking about what I'd switch my major to and trying to picture a happy future for myself. 

However, all that I could see was me sitting in an office job in a sundown office building with half the lights gone and several dozen missing ceiling tiles. I'd be wearing a dress covered in holes and stains because I couldn't afford any new clothes. I also wouldn't bother with making my hair and makeup extra pretty or try to start up conversations with my coworkers at the water cooler because I'd be so depressed. 

So you see, I have to gather the ritual items, open the portal, and study the structure of the universe enough to understand how to make the painting, no matter how dangerous it is.  I've been trying to hold back the temptation for as long as I can, but I don't think I will last much longer. I am truly sorry. 

[mariacallous]

As Russian troops have flooded into Ukraine’s borders for the past eight months—and with an ongoing mobilization of hundreds of thousands more underway—the Western world has taken drastic measures to cut the economic ties that fuel Russia’s invasion and occupation. But even as those global sanctions have carefully excised Russia from global commerce, millions of dollars have continued to flow directly to Russian military and paramilitary groups in a form that’s proven harder to control: cryptocurrency.

Since Russia launched its full-blown invasion of Ukraine in February, at least $4 million worth of cryptocurrency has been collected by groups supporting Russia’s military in Ukraine, researchers have found. According to analyses by cryptocurrency-tracing firms Chainalysis, Elliptic, and TRM Labs, as well as investigators at Binance, the world’s largest cryptocurrency exchange, recipients include paramilitary groups offering ammunition and equipment, military contractors, and weapons manufacturers. That flow of funds, often to officially sanctioned groups, shows no sign of abating and may even be accelerating: Chainalysis traced roughly $1.8 million in funding to the Russian military groups in just the past two months, nearly matching the $2.2 million it found the groups received in the five months prior. And despite the ability to trace those funds, freezing or blocking them has proven difficult, due largely to unregulated or sanctioned cryptocurrency exchanges—most of them based in Russia—cashing out millions in donations earmarked for invaders.

“Our aim is to identify all the crypto wallets being used by Russian military groups and the people helping them; to find, seize and block all this activity that is helping to buy the bullets, the ammunition of this occupation,” says Serhii Kropyva, who until recently served as deputy of Ukraine’s Cyber Police and advisor to the country’s prosecutor general. “With the close cooperation of companies like Chainalysis and Binance, we can see all the wallets involved in this criminal activity, these money flows of millions of dollars. But we can, unfortunately, see that the transfer is continuing all the time.”

In separate reports, the cryptocurrency-tracing firms and Binance’s investigations team each tracked donations to the Russian war effort that very often began with public posts on the messaging app Telegram soliciting crowdfunded donations. Chainalysis, for instance, found Telegram posts from organizations including the pro-Russian media sites Rybar and Southfront, as well as the paramilitary group Rusich—which has ties to the notorious Wagner mercenary group—all posting cryptocurrency donation addresses to Telegram. These posts told followers that the money raised there would be used for everything from weaponized drones to radios, rifle accessories, and body armor. In another instance, Chainalysis points to a fundraiser by a group called Project Terricon that attempted to auction NFTs to support pro-Russian militia groups in Eastern Ukraine, though the NFTs were removed from the marketplace they were hosted on before any bids were placed.

Binance’s investigations team, in its own report, found that a total of $4.2 million in crypto had been funneled to Russian military groups since February. The groups named in its research didn’t entirely overlap with those named in Chainalysis’ report, suggesting that the overall funding could be far greater than either Binance’s or Chainalysis’ total. Binance, for instance, points to a pro-Russian “cultural heritage” group known as MOO Veche that has carried out fundraisers for military equipment similar to the kinds funded by the groups Chainalysis flagged. While Binance, TRM Labs, and Elliptic all name MOO Veche as a major fundraiser, Elliptic traced $1.7 million in crypto donations to the group, far more than the other researchers.

Other organizations that Binance spotted raising money through cryptocurrency crowdfunding on Telegram include the pro-Russian nationalist groups Save Donbas and REAR, as well as the Russian arms manufacturer Lobaev, which it saw directly soliciting donations on the platform. Yet another group, known as Romanov Light, whose fundraising was spotted by TRM Labs and Elliptic, claimed to be collecting crypto for Russian special forces. Romanov Light raised as much as $330,000 worth of donations, according to Elliptic, which it told donors it spent on military equipment like weapon accessories, flashlights, and armor plates.

Despite the relative clarity of all that financial tracing, preventing cryptocurrency from continuing to bolster Russia’s unprovoked incursion into Ukraine hasn’t been simple. Exchanges can block or freeze funds at the points where they’re exchanged for traditional currency. But according to Chainalysis, the majority of the crypto funds the groups have raised have been cashed out through what the company calls "high-risk" Russian exchanges with little to no precautions against criminal money-laundering. In previous reports, Chainalysis has named Chatex, Suex, and Garantex as examples of those Russia-based rogue exchanges—all of which have already been targeted with Western sanctions for their extensive use by criminals. Chatex and Garantex did not respond to WIRED’s request for comment. Suex no longer appears to have a public website, and no contact information for the exchange could be found.

Not every exchange that has served as an ATM for Russian military crypto crowdfunding is hosted in Russia, however. Blockchain analysts who spoke to WIRED pointed to seven other exchange services, some hosted in India and China, that have received funds from the pro-Russian groups they tracked, though they declined to name them on the record, in part because the amounts of those funds in most cases were in the single-digit thousands or less.

In one telling example of how hard it is to prevent these cash-outs, however, analysts saw MOO Veche send more than $150,000 worth of bitcoin to an exchange hosted on the infrastructure of the Chinese cryptocurrency exchange Huobi—a “nested” exchange that essentially uses Huobi as its trading platform. But any responsibility that Huobi might have for blocking or freezing those funds was complicated by another unknown intermediary service that analysts saw the money travel through before entering the Huobi-hosted service. When WIRED reached out to Huobi for comment, it wrote in a statement that it has a “know-your-customer” process “which ensures to the best of our ability that our clients’ source of funds are above board.”

Binance, for its part, says its exchange accounts were also used by four of the groups it tracked and received more than $208,000 worth of cryptocurrencies. It tells WIRED that it froze all four accounts it discovered. “We’re making sure that no harm comes to civilians as a result of the fundraising that happens in these extremist spaces,” says Jennifer Hicks, who manages Binance’s intelligence and investigations team. “When cryptocurrency exchanges know that something illicit is happening that will end in real-world, kinetic effects like this, it’s the exchange’s responsibility to put a stop to it as fast as possible.”

Even when exchanges do monitor for crypto sent from sanctioned groups like these pro-Russian fundraisers, that dirty money won’t always be straightforward to detect, warns Thibaud Madelin, who leads research at Elliptic. He says he’s increasingly seeing Russian sources of illicit funds use “bridges” or “coin swaps”—services that allow easy trading of one cryptocurrency for another, often without offering any identifying information—as money-laundering techniques. He’s watched those tools grow in popularity among dark-web black markets and cybercriminal users and expects the same will happen with those seeking to launder illicit arms funding. “It’s a bit early to say definitively. But what we’re seeing is that it’s likely to become a bigger problem,” says Madelin. “They’re likely to mirror the methodologies seen across dark net services users, enabling large-scale money laundering and potentially sanctions evasion.”

Millions of dollars in cryptocurrency funding to Russian troops may be the least of Ukraine’s problems in a war where Russia has thrown billions into its invasion force. Ukraine, it’s worth noting, has also vastly out-raised Russia in cryptocurrency: By Elliptic’s count, the Ukrainian government has collected more than $77 million in crypto donations since the war began. But that is to be expected, given the West’s broad support of Ukraine following Russia’s unprovoked aggression and the global sanctions placed on Russia. And even the smaller amount of cryptocurrency Russian forces have raised demonstrates cryptocurrency’s ongoing potential to circumvent those sanctions and offer another financial lifeline to Russia’s war machine.

“It’s not like Russia is buying new tanks with this money. They’re paying for thermal imaging scopes and UAVs,” says Andrew Fierman, a sanctions-focused Chainalysis researcher. “But for grassroots facilitation of these militia efforts, any amount of money that they receive to bolster their gear is going to have an impact.” And despite all the light that cryptocurrency tracers can shine on that funding—and the West’s best efforts to stop it—the crypto flow into Russia’s war chest continues.

Update 10-7-22, at 9:40 am: We’ve updated the story to clarify that Chainalysis says the crypto donations to Russian groups went to “high risk” Russian exchanges. Chainalysis has named Suex, Chatex, and Garantex as examples of such exchanges in the past, but did not directly name them in its most recent report.

[mionemymind]

Chapter 3: The Harsh Treatment

Fake Memories

Series Summary: After Y/n is caught cheating on Wanda with Carol, Y/n would do just about anything to get Wanda back into her life. But was it even Y/n’s fault that she cheated? Or was it the new enemy set on revenge?

Chapter Summary: What will happen to Y/n as the team pushes her past her limits? 

A/n: I lied, I decided to be nice and post it now. Honestly, the amount of support that I’m receiving from this fanfic has literally made me smile so much. I really love all of you who read and/or comment. You mean the world to me. Let me know what you think. :) (Not my GIF)

Warnings: Starvation, harmful thoughts, curse words, self-doubt, mentions of blood, injuries, angst

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 |

Y/n abruptly woke up at the feeling of pressurized gas coursing through her body. She quickly sat up, unable to see anything in the white fog. The cold feeling only lasted a couple seconds before F.R.I.D.A.Y stated, “Fire has been contained.” Y/n hugged herself for warmth as she waited for the fog to disappear. This was the 13th time this month that she was woken up with pressurized gas. At first, it was foam but someone in maintenance had changed the system after the 5th time she woke up. 

Y/n looked at her surroundings and sighed at the damages to her sheets. There were burn marks along with small amounts of frostbite from the gas. “At this rate, I won’t have money for food.” With a grim face, Y/n got up from her bed and proceeded with taking everything off her bed, a routine she unfortunately started to learn. 

Y/n didn’t know when things got worse. If she had to guess, maybe it was after the whole fiasco with Wanda. The team had been on edge ever since then. “They probably thought I hurt her,” Y/n thought at the time, but it was far from the truth. She had wanted to explain herself to the team but dismissed those thoughts with, “What’s the point in trying? I’ll always be guilty to them.” 

As for Wanda, the still heartbroken girl didn’t dare to speak to the team about that night. Even she didn’t quite know what happened. Since that night, she only lied to herself stating that maybe Y/n had done something. It would probably remove the guilt she had when she thought of the blood running down Y/n’s face. But even the lie couldn’t repress the truth from her thoughts. 

After she collected her bedding, she threw it away in the trash can along with the other damaged beddings. Y/n grabbed her wallet off her night stand and opened it. She couldn’t feel it, but her heart dropped at the sight of the lack of money she had. Only a $20 dollar bill as well as a couple ones were left. She closed her eyes and tried her best to keep herself calm, to try and act like the world wasn’t closing in on her. It was a couple minutes later when she opened her eyes and looked at her wallet again. “This was supposed to last me for the rest of the month.” Y/n rubbed her forehead, feeling the overwhelming stress from her lack of funds. 

One might ask, “Aren’t you an Avenger? Shouldn’t you make a shit ton of money.” And at one point, Y/n would say yes, she did. But it all came back to that night. A week after, she had overheard a conversation that went…

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this to her.” Y/n was about to go around the corner, but decided to wait at the sound of Steve’s voice. “It’s simple Rodgers - unless I have to remind you why we needed to redo the glass in the conference room.” Steve sighed at Tony’s simple minded actions. Y/n could practically feel him crossing his arms in a disapproving manner. 

“Well she did work fair and hard for her money Tony - this just feels wrong.” Y/n heard a couple clicks before Tony replied with, “This is for Wanda. Anything to get Y/n out of here by her own means is worth it. If you have a problem with this, you must not care as much for Wanda as I thought.” Steve sighed again seeing as he was morally put in an awkward position. It was either care for Y/n or care for Wanda. “That’s what I thought.” Tony left with a smug look on his face as he clicked more on the screen in front of him. 

It didn’t take long for Y/n to see the effects of Tony’s decision. Her pay day was the following day and the overwhelming sense of panic and anxiety rose up within her as she only had $400 to survive until the next pay day, which was a month later. Since then, her food portions have been small to say the least. Y/n learned that she only had enough money for the month to eat at least once a day and even that was cutting it. The dramatic changes to her diet had slowly affected her powers but it recently had an exponential increase. 

This was her fourth month of hardly eating when her powers started to flare at night. It has gotten to the point that Y/n couldn’t control them in her sleep leading to F.R.I.D.A.Y having to deal with her fireside. But her powers weren’t the only thing that has changed. If anyone were to actually look, they would see that Y/n had gotten skinnier. Her literal glow was getting duller and duller the more time passed.  

However, Y/n refused to feel sorry for herself. The sentence “I deserve this” was burned into her head. The brain tricks she puts herself through even allowed her to convince that Tony's decision was right. That Wanda didn’t need to tell the truth to the team. That Steve didn’t need to defend her. And that the team certainly was allowed to make her feel like nothing. Because to Y/n, if she didn’t deserve this, then why would you possibly treat a person like this? Just why? 

Of course, Wanda didn’t notice these changes at all. The girl was trying her best to avoid Y/n as much as possible. She always had exit strategies in place in case she were to be in the same vicinity as Y/n. However, Wanda also didn’t notice that lack of Y/n’s presence. Much to her dismay, Y/n’s efforts were the reason they didn’t see each other much. 

What Wanda did notice though was the slow and gradual decline of snacks in her cubby. It left her to question whether Natasha was done doing these small favors for her. But her reports were still getting done. 

The red head didn’t have much room to think though as she got slammed down on the mat from the other red head. “Take a ten - you’re distracted and we can’t keep going like this.” Wanda grumbled at another failed attempt to flip Natasha over. Hand to hand combat was one of the few subjects that Wanda hated the most. With the help of Natasha, Wanda got up and walked over to the waters on the other side of the room. She was gulping down the remaining when Natasha’s words caught her off guard. “What happened?” 

Wanda cocked an eyebrow while still drinking her bottle, needing more elaboration. Natasha faced Wanda while hundreds of thoughts racked her mind. Luckily for her, Wanda had trained her on how to make them quiet enough that Wanda wouldn’t be able to hear. When Natasha found the right words, she said, “I am not doubting you. I am doubting her…” Wanda closed the bottle and looked around the room to avoid Natasha’s eyes. This had been the first time that anyone from the team had remotely even asked her about that night. To be frank, she hadn’t expected Natasha to be the one to break the ice. Usually it was Steve that would act like the team’s counselor. Guess things change. 

Wanda sighed and recollected her memory for the night that continued to haunt her. “One minute, I left to get a drink from the bar. - she said that she needed to go to the bathroom. The next minute, I come back to see her all over blondie.” Wanda’s grip on the bottle tightened at the words she was going to say next. “I thought it was a mistake - that she could have been too drunk that night - b-but her thoughts were so - loud.” Wanda slammed her fist at the table in front of her, tears already falling down her cheeks. “A-a-and I saw everything-” 

The broken hearted girl didn’t have much energy left in her to continue. She dropped to her knees and sobbed into her hands. Natasha kneeled beside Wanda. She pulled the poor girl into her arms, trying her best to physically comfort her. But nothing could really make Wanda feel better. What could you say to a girl that saw every moment where her girlfriend has cheated on her? Nothing - you say nothing. 

“It’s quite pathetic actually,” Tony said as he spun the rod, causing his player to score in foosball. He was currently versing Steve as the two decided to quietly speak about Y/n’s actions for the past couple weeks. Going on the defense again, Steve shot back but Tony was quick to block. “She’s probably just trying to get her money back.” Steve huffed from the sudden slap shot as well as Tony’s rude words. 

For the past couple weeks, Y/n had gone from trying to win Wanda back to trying to win the whole team back. The first thing they noticed was all the completed mission reports and the continuation of it. Clint was the first to jokingly comment, “Bruce must really love mission reports.” But the genius bore a confused look before replying with, “It wasn’t me. Even I haven’t had anything to do in my stack for a couple days.” Bruce had a displeasured look on his face. Clint just assumed it was either he wanted to do his stack of reports or the comment was actually true...or maybe both. 

When it was time for the meeting, Clint had asked everyone in the room, minus Y/n, on who was completing the mission reports for everyone. “Well, I’m doing Wanda’s and mine,” Natasha claimed as she sat in her usual spot. No one was able to detect her lie, but then again, Natasha was always good at lying. 

Clint was quick to figure out that the only person remaining must have been the person responsible. With a straight forward voice, he explained to the team that Y/n had been completing everyones, besides Wanda’s and Natasha’s, reports. Still, Natasha sat there, copying the confused looks on everyone’s faces. She didn’t care to tell them the truth, it wasn’t worth it. However, the meeting proceeded with little comment on Y/n’s actions. She wasn’t worth the mention. 

“What if she actually is trying to say sorry to us?” Steve couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for Y/n, but Tony’s words made the guilt go all away. “Oh - so miss Hydra over here actually wants to apologize - hilarious Steve.” With that, Tony quickly spun the rod and scored the final point, making him win the game. What the two failed to realize was the fact that Y/n had overheard their conversation. She no longer felt hungry for the day and had retreated back to her room, feeling overwhelmingly numb from the confession she heard.

It was a new and different day for Wanda. She had managed to want to try and sit in the common room with her team seeing as sitting in her room no longer gave her the same satisfaction anymore. Scrolling through the tv, she was about to pull up Bewitched when the following words appeared on the screen:

Bewitched is longer provided on Netflix. Please see related tv shows. 

“What do you mean it’s no longer available?” Wanda frustratedly questioned. And here she was trying to have a good day. “Sorry kid, I guess Netflix took it off their streaming service,” Clint said as he leaned over the couch. “No why would they do that?!” Wanda said with an exasperated look. Clint simply shrugged, Netflix did have an awful reputation for getting favorites removed or canceled. “No clue, but you could try other shows.” Wanda crossed her arms and huffed at his suggestion. “I was really feeling Bewitched today.” Ruffling her hair, Clint left after saying, “Try to feel for something else.” 

However, Wanda had failed to feel anything but angry for the remaining of the day. It wasn’t until she sat in her room for the night, aimlessly finding shows in her room when she noticed Bewitched on her home screen. She quickly clicked on it noticing that all eight seasons are there for her own viewing. Her mood immensely increased for the night as she fell asleep in the middle of season two. 

Outside of her room, Y/n had been cleaning up the compound for the night. It was getting harder and harder to clean the kitchen when everything in her wanted to just take a couple of snacks for herself. Her hunger was constantly on her mind as well as the stupid flashes that have sporadically appeared more and more everyday. But she wanted more than anything to prove to the team that she is a good person. Stealing, no matter how minor, was probably the last thing she needed to be labeled as. 

When she completed for the night, she returned to her room but paused outside of her door when she heard the Bewitched theme song loudly play in Wanda’s room. A small smile appeared on her face as she walked back into her room and slept on the floor tonight.

“Did it ever occur to you that I love you - like a lot?” The couple were laying in Carol’s room decorated with punk rock posters and pictures of their team. Small plants were placed around the room while Malcolm in the Middle was used as background noise. 

“Nah. I haven’t heard you say it in approximately - 10 minutes?” Carol laughed as Y/n glanced at her watch. They laid on their sides as they faced each other, their faces being only inches away. “Well I do.” Carol cupped Y/n’s cheek as she soon grew mesmerized. 

There are words to always describe feelings with someone but they all felt overused or incomplete. Because everything felt like this daydream colored borders with warm tones and retro filters as she glanced at Y/n. She felt like she was watching a show that she would never get tired of. Even if the show was in color or black and white, new or old, slow or fast, she would watch just to see her. Just her. 

“You do what?” Carol flicked Y/n’s forehead at her response. “Kidding - kidding.” Y/n said as she rubbed her forehead. Carol rolled her eyes and kissed Y/n’s head as she cuddled into her arms, legs tangled within the sheets. “I do love you.” Y/n kissed her hair as she combed it with her hand. “I know,” she whispered, hoping Carol would pick up on the secret reference. Because to Y/n, yeah, she’s worth a whole galaxy. 

It was the middle of the night when Steve woke up from a nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Rather than staying in bed to force himself to sleep, he got up and headed to the kitchen for a late night snack. 

Heading into the pantry, Steve pursed his lips noticing that Y/n’s cubby had been empty for weeks it seems like. The guilt that was slowly forming inside him kept building and building. Although he knew he could try to do something about it, the loyalty he had to his family - to Wanda. That was something he didn’t want to break. 

The relationship with Wanda and Steve was something similar to a father and daughter relationship. Steve had always wanted a kid of his own and Wanda had lost her father. The irony of it all just happened to work for the two. Even though Wanda nor Steve would admit it out loud, they viewed each other as the roles that needed to be filled in their lives. They needed each other regardless of titles.

But then there was Y/n. The troubled girl that made Steve absolutely nervous with how quick her and Wanda seemed to like each other. It absolutely didn’t help Steve’s case when the whole team found out about Y/n’s past. His anxiety had practically skyrocketed. It eventually led to a one on one talk with Wanda about how sometimes we need to protect ourselves before letting people in. 

But Y/n was still there. Breaking down Wanda’s walls. So just like any Dad would, Steve watched over. Making sure his girl was always happy and safe. So while Natasha may have refilled Wanda’ cubby and did her reports, Steve had carried Wanda to bed during nights she couldn’t sleep. He made her tea for times that she didn’t want to talk, which was often. He tucked her in at night and cuddled with her when she needed a shoulder to cry on. He was just there. 

But so was she. She was there whenever Wanda cried at night. She was there when Wanda would sometimes forget to eat after busying herself all day. She was there to take care of Wanda. She was there when Steve wasn’t. And that meant everything to Steve. So why couldn’t Steve be there for Y/n? 

There were a lot of unanswered questions roaming around Steve’s head. Rather than pondering more about them, he walked around the tower, eating a pack of cookies for himself. Just as he was turning the corner, he glanced towards the conference room to see Wanda asleep in front of her reports. However, the more alarming part was the girl that happened to be right in front of Wanda. Steve quickly grew on high alert and observed Y/n’s actions. However, after a couple minutes of harmless actions, Steve forced his shoulders to relax. “She’s just doing reports - calm down,” Steve thought. 

But he couldn’t calm down. The guilt had maneuvered it’s way back up to his throat as he actually noticed the pale state of the once bright girl. For someone that had literal fire abilities, she lacked the glow of any raging fire. Feeling nothing but guilt all over, Steve felt compelled to say something - anything. But he froze. He didn’t know what to say. 

However, the opportunity soon was lost as Y/n finished everyone’s stack of reports. Steve hid around the corner as Y/n passed him. Hearing a door close was when Steve stepped out of hiding. He glanced towards the direction of Y/n’s room, feeling every need to go to her. But his footsteps led him to Wanda. He picked her up and carried her to her room. Wanda will always be first in Steve’s heart. And nothing could change that. 

“We have to stop this treatment Tony.” Steve waltzed into Tony’s lab the very next day. For once, he couldn’t sleep for the remainder of the night. Y/n was all over his mind. The guilt was practically eating him alive. 

Tony rolled his eyes at Steve’s dramatic fashion for entrances. “Oh - good morning Tony - how are you - I’m actually pretty good.” Steve rolled his eyes as he stood in front of Tony, a hologram in between the two. 

“Cut the crap Tony - I’m being serious.” Steve crossed his arms. This needed to end. “And you think I’m not Rodgers?” Tony was quick to respond, already growing irritated by the conversation. 

“This isn’t right - none of this right.” Steve wiped the hologram to finally get a clear view of Tony as he grew frustrated by the second. Tony simply swiped it back, not wanting to deal with the issue. “Well maybe if she just quit - we wouldn’t need to worry about anything. It’s not my fault Fury hired Ms. Hydra - and if he finds out I fired her, he would not allow it at all.” 

“But can’t you see that your stupid plan isn’t working? All we’re doing is abusing the girl.” Steve wiped the hologram again but Tony simply walked to a different station and continued his work. Angry with his response, Steve walked around the table and stood beside Tony. 

“This needs to end Tony,” Steve said through his gritted teeth. The man was clenching his jaw so hard, it almost looked as if he was going to break his teeth. However, Tony quickly glared at Steve at the mention of his threat. 

“Don’t you fucking dare. Can’t you actually see that I’m trying to protect Wanda.” Steve tilted his head at the awful reasoning for his actions. “How is this protecting Wanda? Why are you even trying to protect her?” 

Tony slammed his fist into the table, feeling his anger rising by the second. “We - no - I need to protect her Steve!”

“Why Tony? Why?” 

“Because I’m the goddamn reason her parents and her country is dead. I’m the reason that everything she ever loved is gone. I’m the reason for her sadness. She, of all people, deserves happiness. And I sure as hell won’t let anyone else hurt her anymore - no more Steve.” Tony didn’t give Steve a chance as he walked out the facility needing a day drink more than ever. 

It was lunch time and all Wanda could think about was the need to cook paprikash. She didn’t know when the last time she had actually cooked. And seeing as the majority of the team was on missions, she could actually cook without interruptions or lingering eyes. 

Walking into the kitchen, Wanda tied her hair up and started to take out the necessary ingredients for the meal. It was when she was talking the spices out when Vision had appeared out of nowhere, nearly scaring the girl. “Vision!” 

Sensing a slight rise in her heart rate and anger, Vision had quickly apologized. “Sorry Wanda.” Wanda shook her head and quickly resumed prepping. “I will try to work on making my presence known. If I may ask, what is it that you’re doing?” 

“I’m making paprikash.” Vision’s mind grew curious at the word and quickly searched his database for it. “I see. A traditional Sokovian food.” Wanda didn’t realize it, but she had felt a little annoyed at the synthezoid’s presence. It wasn’t anything he did, but Wanda desperately wanted alone time for herself. 

Before she could ask, Vision had said, “Good morning Y/n.” Wanda’s quickly grew wide as she avoided glancing in Y/n’s direction. She hadn’t stayed in the tense position though as Vision announced, “Oh - it seems she had left before saying hi back.” 

Feeling ever more frustrated with people’s presence, Wanda was about to ask him to leave but noticed the confusion written all over his face and didn’t hesitate to ask, “What is it Vision?” Vision pursed his lips and contemplated his words. It was visibly obvious to see that he was trying to wrack up what to say. “I think...it’s just…” He sighed knowing that this was going to be a sensitive subject to the witch but knowing everything she's been through, lying was not the best option. “It’s just that Y/n-” Wanda quickly cut Vision off in desperation to know what Y/n had done to Vision. If the girl were to even lay a finger on him, she was sure to deal with it herself.  “What did she do? Did she hurt you? I swear-” Seeing her eyes turn red, Vision immediately explained himself. “-No no no. It’s not that, the complete opposite actually.” Wanda’s eyes slowly turned back to normal. When Vision saw that her heart rate was close to normal, he continued. “It’s just that...Y/n’s vitals have been decreasing in a fluctuating matter. Some days it would be a small decrease, but some days it would be a big decrease. Overall, her health has been poor.” Vision looked back at where Y/n once stood. If he hadn’t quickly analyzed her, he wouldn’t have noticed that today’s vitals was record worst. “Although she does have physical injuries, she seems to continue to radiate pain throughout her body even when those injuries have healed. It starts through her head and it spreads like a radio wave through her nervous system. I’ve done my calculations and the leading cause could be migraines...” Vision soon was in deep thought, trying to recalculate just to make sure what he was about to say was correct. “...but it doesn’t make sense.” 

Wanda tilted her head. Processing this information was hard seeing as at her darkest moments, she wanted nothing but Y/n to be hurt. She deserved it for all the pain she caused her to go through. But hearing it now? That was a different story. It was like an internal conflict was going through her. Should she even care about Y/n’s health? “What doesn’t make sense?” Vision looked hard into Wanda’s eyes as he said, “Migraines shouldn’t cause her heart to stop multiple times.” 

Wanda stared at Vision, processing the information that the love of her life is practically dying. “A-are you sure?” Vision slowly nodded. “However, after some calculations, I do believe she will be okay. She only needs a good source of food for her healing regeneration to fully heal this.” Wanda relaxed at Vision’s words. Although she has been through immense pain through these past couple months, having Y/n gone from her life like that would hurt more than anything. 

Before Vision could continue his explanation, F.R.I.D.A.Y stated, “Emergency alert. All available Avengers please head to the quinjet per the request of Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers.” Quickly, the two headed to the plane as the important part of Vision’s explanation was missed. Little did Wanda know, Y/n would not heal any time soon. 

The trio arrived on the quinjet and wasted no time trying to figure out the mission that was ahead of them. There was a serious feel in the atmosphere sensing that this had to be bad. There was no way that it couldn’t have been. Because if it wasn’t, they certainly wouldn’t have invited Y/n to this mission. 

Lately, the girl has been assigned to only solo missions. Y/n couldn’t quite remember the last time that she was on a mission with any team member nevermind the fact with the whole team. 

“Backup is needed immediately after touch down. Vision and Wanda, meet up with Steve and Sam at the Northeast corridor. Y/n, you are assigned to the entrance,” Tony stated through the intercom. 

The feeling in Y/n’s stomach worsened. Not only was she hungry and sleep deprived, she didn’t also have a partner with her. It also didn’t help the fact that the flashes have gotten worse. Y/n couldn’t help but pray for a miracle. After all, they were dealing with the very people Y/n hated - Hydra. 

Y/n couldn’t quite tell when things on the mission got to shit. Maybe it was the fact that as soon as they touched down and went to their assigned positions, Y/n received a massive swarm of Hydra agents. It didn’t help that her health regeneration was not at its peak or these agents actually were decently trained. Or was it during the third wave, that was currently happening, where Y/n tested the limits of her body. 

Seeing the onslaught of agents coming her way, Y/n decided it was time to test out her new ability. She rapidly swung her right arm, building momentum as the fire within her right side blazed. As soon as the enemies were close, she released a fire tornado in their path. It had managed to take out at least half of the wave, but more and more kept coming. 

Pressing her comms, Y/n said, “Can someone send back up my way?! There’s too many for me to handle.” Y/n kicked back the agent that was about to stab her in the back, but was too distracted to the point a different agent was able to cut her leg. “Fuck.” 

Y/n quickly released an ice wall that at first glance, appeared to be the same height as the Great Wall of China. She hoped the barrier would give her enough time for her backup to appear. Focusing all her energy on her fireside, Y/n aimed at any agent near her, using her arm as a flamethrower. 

However, worry immediately grew when no one had responded to her call within a couple minutes. Before she could request again, Nat had spoken bitterly in the comms, “On my way.” Sighing in relief, Y/n continued to fight off the agents the best she could. 

But no matter how hard she tried to buy herself time, it seemed that Natasha was taking forever to come. It had gotten to the point that multiple lashes already appeared. Her healing regeneration couldn’t keep up at all. Not only that, but her body was either giving up from exhaustion or blood loss. It was only during the last couple agents when Natasha had shown up and quickly killed the remainder. 

Y/n glanced at the assassin and noticed the lack of any injuries on her and it was as if she barely broke a sweat. “What happened? I almost got killed.” 

Natasha glared at Y/n as she responded with, “I helped Bucky and Rhodey on the way, they needed it.” Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat knowing the redhead in front of her had practically lied. If backup was needed, it was always voiced through comms. 

Even if Y/n had wanted to confront Natasha about it, she couldn’t. Natasha had already left to head to the quinjet. Y/n simply limped a couple feet from her. When Y/n arrived, it seemed that everyone else was already prepared for take off. Feeling ever more guilty, Y/n simply sat at the closet seat to the entrance that was away from the team. But something inside her broke even more noticing the lack of any questions or concerns from the team in regards to her injuries. 

Not even bothering to buckle up, Y/n sulked in her thoughts when she realized, “Why doesn’t anyone care about me?” 

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[oreoambitions]

Would love to see supercorp “I’ve never been festive”! Glad to see you back on my dashboard!

The thing about Lena, Kara thinks to herself as she strolls down Main Street with her hands shoved in her pockets, is that she wants to seem tough. That's the problem in a nutshell. And anyone else here in Midvale would tell you that it's just a city thing, that all the city kids want to seem tough, that Lena is no exception, but Kara doesn't think that's true. Well, okay, she knows it's true. But with Lena, it's something else. Something deeper. Something maybe related to the way that Lena has withdrawn into herself day by day as Midvale has begun to dress itself up for the holidays.

But Kara can do I'm-so-tough. She can do I-hate-Christmas, and she can do I-don't-believe-in-fun because at this time of the year she can do anything and get through to anyone. A little bit of light, a little bit of magic... maybe a little bit of love. That's how Christmas goes, right? Especially in a place like Midvale.

Kara likes to think of Midvale as a postcard town: the kind of town folks are only ever passing through on their way up and down the coast, a scenic detour, a cozy place to spend the night or just the afternoon before you move along. It's a place where time seems to have come to a standstill or at least a crawl, where it was a big deal when the first (and only) Starbucks opened, where nothing at all is open after 8pm, and you'd be hard pressed to run any errands on a Sunday, and you'd better not let Mrs. Nal catch you doing anything untoward or you can expect you'll be the topic of every conversation in or out of church for the next week or so at least. Kara would know; she's been the talk of the town on more than one occasion.

But these last several weeks the talk of the town has been the young woman who pulled up one evening in a car worth probably more than every vehicle on Main Street put together and strolled into the aforementioned Starbucks in a beat up hoodie sporting red rimmed eyes and trembling hands to ask the barista whether possibly anyone had a spare phone cable. She didn't want to bother anyone, only she'd left Metropolis in a hurry and forgotten hers and without GPS she didn't have any idea where she might stop to purchase one. She'd slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter as payment for the manager's beat up old charger and rolled right back out of town before anyone could tell her just how far from home she was.

Only then she'd rolled back into town some six hours later and booked herself into the bed and breakfast. And then she hadn't left.

The Danvers have assured Kara that in all the years Eliza and Jeremiah have run the bed and breakfast, and all the years Jeremiah's parents ran it before that, stretching back all the dusty decades since Midvale was founded, they have never had a longterm guest, no sir. It has simply never happened before. Kara doubts the veracity of such a statement but it has been delivered to her with all the solemn weight of sacred fact, and so she's taken it in stride - something which Alex seems to have found suspicious. And, true, on another occasion Kara might have been found elbow deep in records on a personal mission to prove that Jeremiah has pulled this particular historical "factoid" from some place the sun don't shine, but, well, she's been a little distracted these past weeks. Distracted by sad green eyes and coy smiles and the overwhelmingly mysterious circumstances that have delivered Lena directly into Kara's home.

Unfortunately Eliza has strictly forbidden Kara from asking the hundred and one questions perpetually on the tip of her tongue, and Kara's objections that she's twenty four now and she'll ask her questions if she so pleases haven't actually outweighed the sense that, at least where Eliza is concerned, she ought to do as she's told. So she's restrained herself. And as the weeks have gone by, she and Lena have fallen into an amicable, if not entirely comfortable, routine.

Kara serves Lena breakfast in the dining room with the other guests at precisely 8:15 every morning: two poached eggs with avocado on a thick slice of Winn's sourdough bread, a cup of coffee (black, diluted with hot water), and a side of roasted vegetables (no potatoes). Every morning Lena invites Kara to join her at the table, though Kara only does so when there are no other guests around to serve. They eat - together or not - in a silence broken only by small talk and the occasional lingering gaze when one catches the other looking until, at precisely 9:15, Lena excuses herself to seek out Eliza and enquire after the availability of another night's lodging. She pays in cash, one day at a time, without fail. She and Kara see one another again on the stairs, Kara on her way out to work a shift at the library and Lena on her way back up to her room. A small smile passes between them, affectionate and familiar, and Kara thinks perhaps... But no, the moment has passed and they've gone their separate ways for another day.

Kara has resolved that this pattern will not repeat itself again. Not now, not when Midvale is draped in heavy golds and greens, when the smell of Christmas pastry is wafting through the streets, when the trickle of seasonal tourists is threatening to become a thunder which will by necessity pry Kara's attention away. Not now when Lena is withdrawing further and further, when those lingering glances at breakfast seem to be few and far between, and it seems the onslaught of Christmas cheer is threatening to drive Lena out of Midvale altogether. If Kara is going to get through to her, today is the day.

She swings into J'onn's diner with a determined expression, sidestepping the younger Arias who has eyes these days only for her iphone and not so much for where she's going. J'onn is predictably behind the counter; Kara isn't sure he's taken a day away from the diner in all the time she's known him.

"I need two to go mugs of Bad Day Danvers Brew," she tells him. "It's urgent."

He plops two large paper cups down onto the counter almost before she's done asking. "I thought your sister was on duty tonight."

"She was. Is. It's not- It's for me."

"I don't suppose this has anything to do with a certain green eyed young lady from out of town."

It's not really a question the way J'onn says it but Kara somehow still feels pressured to answer. She flushes, turns away, scans the room. The dinner rush hasn't quite arrived. J'onn bustles about behind the counter without further comment, though he does arch an accusatory brow when Kara meets his eyes again.

"You do know," he says as he slides the drinks across the counter, "She's going to leave this place. She may not be ready yet, but the day is coming."

Kara frowns at him. "Leave is a four letter word."

"L - e - a -"

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe you should consider it too. Whole world out there waiting for you, Little Danvers. Seems a shame not to go out and see it."

Kara thinks for a moment of this world as she saw it first: a little marble hanging in a black sea, so fragile and small, so far away from home. Midvale is home now, and she'll be damned if she's going to leave it behind. She forces a smile for J'onn's sake.

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be," she says. She tries to pay him for the drinks. As he has a hundred times before, he turns her money away. Kara slips the cash into the tip jar on her way out the door.

When she gets home it's to the smell of apple pies bubbling in the oven and the sound of some old 50's Christmas record playing almost too loud for Jeremiah's battered old bluetooth speaker and hardly loud enough to compete with Jeremiah himself. Kara creeps up the stairs two at a time, one Bad Day Danvers Brew clutched in either hand, quiet quiet quiet. If Eliza catches her she'll try to put her to work and Kara isn't sure she can explain exactly what she means when she says she's too "busy" right now to help out.

She occupies herself with that thought, thinking up excuses for Eliza, each one more improbable than the last, and then she finds herself standing in front of Lena's door. She feels suddenly grimy, foolish, clumsy. What she hasn't considered in all her planning for this moment is that with both hands occupied she can hardly knock on Lena's door, and with her heart pounding an urgent rhythm in her chest and her body trembling with something that is distinctly not fatigue Kara doesn't trust herself to tuck one of the drinks into the crook of her arm.

So she does what any sane person would do: she kicks the door. Gently. As gently as she possibly can, but it still feels brutish and Kara winces as the sound of it tumbles down the hall to clash with Jeremiah's crooning and the roar of the vacuum cleaner in the foyer. Grimy, foolish, clumsy. But then the door swings open and all such thoughts fall from Kara's mind.

She has words picked out for this moment but they don't come to her. Lena stands in the doorway in jeans and a cardigan and socks that have bumble bees on them and Kara feels like she needs just a moment but the moment is already passing. Green eyes search hers, curious, bemused. Kara wants to reach out and tuck that stray lock of hair away, but-

The drinks. Right. "I brought refreshments," she says, proferring the paper cups. "For us," she adds, in case it isn't clear.

Lena reaches out for one of the cups, hesitant, then pries the lid off to take a whiff. "Hot chocolate?"

Kara wants to melt on the spot but she sticks to her guns. "It's special hot chocolate," she clarifies. This is not how this conversation was supposed to go. She had this exchange all planned out, there were contingencies, it was all perfect and here she is muddying it all up. "I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight."

"Like on a date?"

Oh, Rao. Kara's eyes drops to Lena's mouth without her say so and then they travel a little further south to the line of that cardigan and she swallows. "No," she forces out, "like on a walk?"

There's a long pause and then Lena laughs. "You're really very charming, Danvers," she says, and Kara feels an unexpected thrill at the sound of her last name in Lena's mouth. "Let me just get my sweater."

"You're already-" Kara starts, but the door clicks shut before she can finish. "Wearing a sweater," she mumbles to herself.

Lena emerges some minutes later, just when Kara is beginning to get fidgety. She's thrown on a hoodie which is perhaps a size too big and a pair of converse rather the worse for wear and Kara isn't sure what she was expecting but it wasn't this. Which is not to say that she doesn't like it. Lena licks her lips and fixes Kara with a pointed look.

"There is whisky in that hot chocolate," she says.

Kara shrugs. "I did say it was special."

They make it down the stairs and out of the bed and breakfast without Eliza noticing, though Kara is all but certain Jeremiah saw them leave together and will have Questions with a capital Q about it later. The sun is just now sinking below the horizon as the two of them turn down Main Street, ducking around Mr. Schott who is occupying most of the sidewalk with a rickety old ladder in an attempt to install another strand of lights above the toy store window. Already the street lamps bear oversized red bows and long, heavy pine garlands, and it will be only a matter of days now before every storefront from here to the edge of town is bright and warm and magical. Kara takes it all in with a growing smile. Lena takes it in with an expression that borders on an outright scowl.

"So are we going anywhere in particular?" Lena asks. They duck around a knot of visitors asking after a table at the brewery and for an instant Kara is almost certain she feels Lena's fingers brush hers.

"We are," Kara admits. And then, because she doesn't want to give away their destination, she adds, "You don't like Christmas."

Lena grimaces and takes a long sip of the Bad Day Danvers Brew. "I wouldn't say that I don't like Christmas."

"But?"

"But I've never been festive. And this year..."

Kara's mind fills in the words that Lena doesn't say: This year it's hard. Hard to see the joy and the magic and the laughter all around when you're alone and far from home. Well, Kara knows a thing or two about that. She takes a sip of her own drink and, resolutely, carefully, looking straight ahead, she reaches out to touch Lena's hand, so gentle it could have been an accident.

"This year you have me," Kara says. She's shocked the line comes out of her mouth as smoothly as it does. Her heart is so far up her throat she almost fears she'll choke on it.

Lena steps in closer until Kara swears she can feel the heat radiating between them even through both of Lena's sweaters and her own Christmas flannel. They walk in silence for a block or so, shoulders bumping once in a while, before Lena asks, "Do you have any favorite holiday traditions?"

Kara shrugs. "I like the carols. Jeremiah and I always go out caroling on Christmas eve. Oh! And the cookies. Pie for breakfast on Christmas morning."

Lena laughs at that. "Pie for breakfast? Lilian - my step mother - she'd have a fit."

"Well you can have pie with us this year if you want; I promise not to tell Lilian a thing. If you're still hanging around."

Lena looks at her sharply and then looks away, leaving Kara to feel silent and small and a little rejected. But Lena touches Kara's wrist as they move through the crowd and then, when Kara doesn't pull away, she takes her hand.

"Christmas is always an important social event for my family," Lena says. She glances at Kara as if to check that she's listening and then away again so quickly that Kara almost wonders if she imagined it. "Everything has to be perfect. The food, the decorations, the music. The family. And it's beautiful, really. Imagine a pine tree towering up to the very rafters, all the ornaments carefully curated and arranged, and a cellist flown in from Italy perches in the corner playing O Come Emmanuel while the city's elite pass through pretending to enjoy bite sized Christmas pastries prepared overnight by a team flown in from France. I suspect it would feel magical if it weren't so much work. It's hard to enjoy the magic when you're a part of it. Especially as a child."

Kara frowns. Her fingers tighten around Lena's, tugging her ever forward towards the Christmas tree in the center of town. She's thinking of Krpyton, of a perfect family, a perfect people, and a perfect world crumbling under the veneer. But she can't say that to Lena, so she flashes her a bright smile instead and says, "In Midvale, everyone who wants to gets to put an ornament on the town tree."

"Everyone? That doesn't seem practical. There have to be, what, at least a thousand people living here."

Kara nods. "Yeah. Not everyone participates, but most people. And of course that means the tree isn't curated like your family's, but it's got a special kind of magic to it. The kind you get when you aren't trying to make magic follow the rules."

It occurs to Kara that there is a sort of comedic timing to this, as this is the moment Kara steps over the low fence with the sign that reads "do not walk on the grass" and tugs a protesting Lena after into the shade - or, in this case, the light - of the Midvale tree.

"Rules," Lena is saying, "Generally exist for a reason, and when you break them willy nilly you don't get magic, you get chaos. It's important to- Wait, is this your Christmas tree?"

"Yep," Kara says. She reaches out to press a hand to the trunk and then stares up at the tiny golden lights wound among the branches with care, ornaments dangling here and there, some homemade and some not. She's definitely not supposed to get this close to it but, well, it's Alex on duty tonight and she doubts her sister is about to arrest her for trying to make a move on a pretty girl. "This is the one."

"But it's an oak tree," Lena observes. She steps up beside Kara to touch the trunk.

"Couple hundred years old, or so they told us in middle school," Kara says. "She's a gorgeous tree, isn't she? Not a pine and not perfect, but. Our own kind of magic." Then she grimaces. "Sorry; I'm being terribly cheesy right-"

"Did you know that mistletoe often grows in the California oak?" Lena interrupts.

Kara falters. She did know that, but this tree is carefully tended. No mistletoe here. She opens her mouth to say so when Lena holds up a finger to stop her again.

"To be perfectly clear I'm suggesting that we kiss here under this tree. Because you're charming and a little over the top and I hate that I love your Christmas flannel and I would very much like to have pie with you on Christmas morning. So if you'd like we can pretend there's mistletoe in the Midvale Christmas tree. It would be a very reasonable mistake; mistletoe really does grow on-"

Kara kisses her. The surprised gasp that falls from Lena's lips almost makes her laugh, but this is a serious moment so she tries to keep it in. She's got only one hand to work with - the other is still hold her Bad Day Danvers Brew - so she slides it around Lena's waist to pull her closer, and it's her turn to gasp when Lena tilts her head to slide her tongue along Kara's bottom lip.

Someone on the sidewalk cheers, and that is when Lena drops her drink. And then they do laugh together there under the tree, spiked hot chocolate splattered over the bottom of Lena's pants, Kara pressing her own drink into Lena's hands, and the sound of Mrs. Nal nearby screeching about public indecency while James tells her to go suck an egg. The two of them will be the talk of the town for weeks. Certainly through New Years. Kara doesn't think she minds.

///

Merry Christmas to everyone celebrating; Happy Holidays and a lovely morning to everyone who is not! Thank you for this prompt! I expected to write a quick 800 words but it got away from me and took all month.

[calpalirwin]

Tranquil Waters

Summary: Bucky finds peace at the aquarium.

A/N: A gift for @jessalyn-jpeg, that was also beta read by her.

Word Count: 1.9k

And away, and away we go!

__

Even with a plain, battered ball cap covering up hair that brushed along the tops of his shoulders, as if he was hoping it would somehow make him inconspicuous, you took notice of him. After all, how many men came alone to an aquarium? How many still could be transfixed by the shark exhibit for hours, sitting on a bench looking up at the tunnel, or leaned against the railing as he peered into the lagoon below? And how many of those men would return day after day, no matter how long he had watched the sharks the day before?

“You know we have a membership,” you told him on his eighth consecutive visit. “Probably cheaper at this point.”

He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly to the side in confusion.

“I mean, if you’re here every day. Might as well. Save yourself a few bucks.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly startled that anyone had picked up on his habit. “Uh…”

“It’s a hundred for the year. Unlimited visits. Come as little as five times a year, and it pays for itself. Come more often than that, and it’s a steal.”

“Is there a payment plan option? I’m uh… it’s weird to explain. I have the money. It’s just a…”

“Budget thing?” you guessed. “Totally get it. Yeah, we have payment options. I can have today’s ticket count towards the pass if you like. Then the bill is monthly, but you can pay it off sooner if you like.”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great,” he said, giving you a small smile, and laying a twenty dollar bill down.

You pulled open the little drawer that held the passes, selecting one that specifically had sharks on it for him, before scanning it into working order. “Here you are,” you said, handing it over along with his receipt.

“Thanks,” he nodded, turning the card over his hand, the smile still rooted in place. “Sharks, cool. Thanks again…” his eyes flickered down to read your name tag, “Y/N.”

“Enjoy your visit.”

It came as no surprise to you that, after he nodded politely at you again, he headed straight to the shark exhibit. It also came as no surprise to you that he was still there when you made your rounds to clear the aquarium of visitors for the night.

“Sir, we’re closing in ten minutes. So if you wouldn’t mind making your way towards the exit.”

“Oh, is it that time already?” he asked, rising slowly from the bench. You took notice as he stretched out his right arm, but didn’t feel the need to do so with his left.

“Unfortunate, I know. See you tomorrow, sir.”

“Bucky,” he said.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Bucky.”

“See you tomorrow, Bucky.”

“See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

~~~

Four more days of visits, each started with Bucky handing you a twenty dollar bill to put towards his pass, and ending with the two of you bidding each other farewell until the morning.

On the fifth day, out of habit, he walked up to your window, the twenty dollar bill already in hand. “Oh, you’re all paid off, Bucky.”

“Oh… Right… Sorry, force of habit.” His cheeks flushed a soft color of pink. “See you later I guess.”

“Send the sharks my love.”

“Will do.”

As you watched him walk off, you caught sight of the stack of flyers beside you. “Wait!” you called out to him, grabbing one of the flyers.

“Hmm?” he asked, coming back to your window.

“Here,” you said, sliding him the flyer. “We’re hosting a lecture on shark migrating habits.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Is it soon? I haven’t seen anything put up about it.”

“No, it’s happening next month. We just got the flyers this morning. Figured you’d want to know though.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Bucky turned to go visit the sharks, but at the last second he turned back around, a shy look on his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be going to this would you?”

“I am, yeah. I got lucky in that they scheduled it after aquarium hours.”

“Cool… Would you maybe want to go together?”

“As a date?” you asked suggestively.

“Or as two people who share an appreciation for sharks? Whichever reason gets you to say yes.”

You gave a small laugh. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

~~~

Even though you’d seen Bucky daily for nearly two months, you still felt shy flutters in your stomach as you raced to change out of your work polo and khakis, and into something that felt more “first date” appropriate.

When you got back to the aquarium, you spotted Bucky outside waiting, sporting a long-sleeved red henley shirt, and surprisingly no baseball cap. “Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, walking up to him.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hand digging into the pocket of his jeans. “I was going to bring you flowers, but I thought that’d be awkward for you to carry around all night. So, I hope this is an okay replacement.” He took his hand out of his pocket, unfurling his hand to reveal a shark pin resting in his palm, no doubt something he picked out in the gift shop.

“It’s perfect,” you laughed, stretching up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the warmth that flooded his face. “Thank you.”

“Course,” he mumbled, trying to undo the pin with only his right hand. But undoing the pin without using his left hand proved to be difficult.

“Um, it might be easier without the gloves?” you suggested. “Or maybe if you used both hands?”

“Oh, to hell with it,” Bucky grumbled, taking the fingers of his left glove into his mouth, tugging it off to reveal a metal hand. Swiftly, he also took off his right glove, and got the pin undone.

“Wh-what happened?” you questioned as he attached the pin to your blouse, paying special care not to knick you with it.

“War accident,” he answered shortly, quickly putting his gloves back on.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could think to say.

“It was years ago,” he offered as a way of explanation, before jerking his chin in the direction of the aquarium doors. “Shall we?”

You linked your arm through his right arm when he offered it to you, walking into the aquarium and following the small crowd to the theater where the lecture was being held.

Quietly, you and Bucky sat side by side, his hand resting on your thigh as you both listened to the lecture. It was easy to tell when the lecturer said something that Bucky found particularly interesting because his fingers would squeeze into your leg. And anytime you stole a glance, his eyes were shining brightly, a soft smile on his lips. And anytime he caught you staring at him, he’d give you a small wink.

“The aquarium is so different after hours,” Bucky commented, making conversation as you walked out, hand-in-hand after the lecture. “More peaceful somehow.”

“Is that why you like the shark exhibit? It’s usually our quietest area. Certainly less crowded.”

“Nah, I like sharks because they’re misunderstood. Everyone thinks they’re killers. But, they’re just doing what they need to do to survive.”

“Something you can relate to?”

“More than I’d like to, that’s for sure.”

You looked around at all the guests flocking for the exits, an idea forming in your head. “You wanna see something really cool?”

“What’s this really cool thing?” he asked as he let you pull him away from the crowd of people and deeper into the aquarium. His excitement however died down significantly when you pulled him into the security office. “This was the really cool thing?” he asked skeptically.

“Shh,” you said, fixing your focus on the cameras, watching the aquarium empty. “Just wait.”

With a sigh, Bucky watched the monitors with you.

“Annnnd, tada!” you announced as there was a loud sound of the lights shutting off in the building with the exclusion of the security room.

“We’re alone in the aquarium?” he questioned with the same note of skepticism as earlier.

You grinned up at him, nodding. “We’re alone in the aquarium.”

“Can’t we get in trouble for trespassing?”

You pulled your work badge out of your purse, along with a set of keys. “Nope!”

Bucky gave a soft chuckle. “You’re a little troublemaker, aren’t you?”

“You wanna go see the sharks or not?”

“Lead the way.”

~~~

“So,” you started, your voice quiet as you both leaned against the railing, watching the sharks swim in the lagoon below. “Is you liking sharks because you can relate to being misunderstood related to your hand at all?”

“A little. And it’s not my hand. It’s my entire arm.”

“Your entire arm?!” you screeched, turning sideways to look at him fully.

He sighed, turning towards you. He pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow, and pulled at the collar of his shirt to show you how the metal went all the way from fingertips to shoulder. “Yup.”

“Bucky,” you said to yourself. “As in?”

“As in the former Winter Soldier. Yup. Or as in James Buchanan Barnes, but people nowadays tend to not remember that part.”

“Holy shit… Wait. So you’re a fuckin’ Avenger, and you tell me that you spend your free time coming to watch sharks all day?”

“Well, sharks were originally the reason. Now, they’re just an additional perk.”

“I’m not following…”

“Well, I like sharks. Always have even before I could relate to them. But then I got a crush on one of the workers. And as much as I like to think I’m still here for the sharks, I’m also here for her.”

“Oh, you mean me?!”

“I mean I did ask you out on a date.”

“So you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That this is a date.”

“What else would you call it?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe two people who share an appreciation for sharks?” you teased.

Bucky laughed. “Alright. In my defense, I said that to make you not feel bad if you told me no.”

“What made you think I was gonna say no?”

“I’m me. The 100 year old with an extremely complicated past.”

“Mmm, then maybe I should let you in on a secret.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that Miss Troublemaker?”

“I have a soft spot for the misunderstood.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Saying things like that are gonna make me want to kiss you.”

“Saying things like what? Things that suggest I’m just as interested in you as you are in me?”

“Yes.”

“And what if that’s what I wanted? For you to kiss me?”

“Then I’d have to do this.” He stepped forward, his hands gently cradling your face as his head ducked down. You stretched upwards on the tips of your toes, meeting his lips halfway. Underlying the softness of the kiss was a strength you wanted more of. Somehow sensing that want, Bucky deepened the kiss, one hand moving to cup the back of your neck, the other dropping down to rest on the small of your back, pulling you in closer to him.

“That was one hell of a first date kiss,” you gasped when you broke apart, each of you breathless.

“You’re one hell of a girl,” he said, nudging your nose with his and drawing you back in for another kiss.

__

Tag List

@cxddlyash @stanofalotofthings @philthepegacorn @youngblood199456 @binxiboo @creator-appreciator @frontmanash @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @jessalyn-jpeg @lilyoflower @mychemicalimagines @rougese7en @milea​

[peachy-panic]

Only Temporary: Sebastian Tate

Hello. I was completely blown away by the positive response I got on the first piece of Jaime’s story (title under construction). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say about it! You made me really happy I made the mildly frightening choice to post.

In the interest of acclimating to the no-rules, freedom-to-post-out-of-order structure of this community, I wanted to introduce a new piece of the puzzle this time, with a new character that will come into play later.

Also, this piece goes into a little bit of the details, but for frame of reference on the BBU-adjacent thing: this story takes place in a not-so-distant future of the BBU, where WRU has undergone some changes. I look forward to exploring this world building more as I go.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Thanks for reading. Here it is:

WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, talk of institutionalized slavery, classism, and general terribleness of large corporations. Referenced past homophobia and rough parental relationships, briefly implied/referenced non-con.

When Sebastian reflects on the day he graduated from med school, a sort of emptiness is the memory that first bobs to the surface. Among the cheers and camera flashes in the crowd, white coats and proud smiles, what Sebastian recalls most vividly from that day is looking out into the sea of parents and families and people there to support their loved ones on one of the biggest days of their lives, and not seeing a single person that had come for him.

What should have been one of the happiest moments of his life had been quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling that none of it mattered as much as it would have if he had someone to share it with. Like there was something so fundamentally wrong with his life, that even something as objectively good and right and decent as becoming a doctor could be dulled over into a feeling of nothingness.

Perhaps, he thinks in hindsight, that moment had been foreshadowing for the following months ahead of him.

Watching rejection after rejection pour in from his top residency programs had felt like nothing short of his own personalized nightmare. He had spent several nights in a row on the phone with Alex, his undergrad roommate and only friend, clamoring back from the edge of many a panic attack, spiraling into all-out existential dread about the future and the past and what all of it meant for him if he couldn’t land an internship, let alone a real job out of school. To his credit, Alex never gave up hope in his friend. Or at least, he did a decent job hiding it if he did. Which was probably exactly what Sebastian needed to get through that particularly dark time in his life, and a good reminder of what a solid friend he had. Even if it was a party of two.

Unfortunately, Sebastian did not have the same faith in himself.

He was able to keep up some facade of optimism as his top five were picked off one by one. Telling himself, despite his devastation, that they were a pretty far reach, anyway. Even with good academic standing, it was famously no walk in the park to land yourself at John Hopkins or Mayo as a first-year. He even maintained a brave face as his first few safety programs reached capacity and moved forward without his name on the roster.

It wasn’t until he received his final rejection letter from some internal medicine place in Bumfuck, Idaho that he felt himself slip into dangerous territory. Sebastian knew himself well enough to know his own depressive patterns by then, and he knew it was only exponential decay from there.

Rock bottom came, as it did, in the wee hours of the night, after a full bottle of wine. Alone in his small apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes with no destination, Sebastian found himself sprawled out on the floor with his laptop hot against his thighs. He couldn’t have explained why he opted for a privacy browser, but something about it allowed him to justify the words that he typed into the search bar.

It was a new low, and one he had sworn to himself he would never stoop to. Yet there he was.

He gave himself a moment to reconsider, to back out of what was undoubtedly a morally-gray train wreck waiting to happen as his thumb hovered over the enter key. And then the alcohol decided to override his moral compass.

Facility Care is the open secret of the medical profession. It comes with its fair share of stigma, and rightfully so, but it is notoriously easy to break into and pays a decent wage.

There are two types of people who end up stooping to that kind of employment. More often than not, it consists of doctors and nurses who had their licenses revoked or suspended somewhere along the line and needed a way back in. As far as Sebastian understood, they aren’t terribly ridgid about the particulars of each circumstance. After all, in the eyes of the law, the patients they would be treating are a price tag away from being entirely expendable.

The other percentage of Facility Care workers, and the reason Sebastian found himself staring at his too-bright computer screen with a sinking feeling of dread that night, are young medical graduates who find themselves in a tough spot. It isn’t difficult to spell out the logic behind that one when you open the WRU CAREERS tab on the home page and see the bright white words printed across the top of the screen:

LOAN FORGIVENESS.

It is shamelessly predatory and aggressively capitalistic, but Sebastian supposes that particular exploitation is pretty far down on the list of transgressions for an institution of legalized slavery. A few broke and hopeless medical students were hardly going to keep the Powers That Be up at night when they were able to rest easy under the weight of hundreds of thousands of stolen lives.

The whole thing is part of the massive PR overhaul the company did a few years back. In a world that was slowly inching toward civil activism and with the accessibility of platforms like social media to hold them accountable, WRU had to adapt to survive. Adaptation, in this case, took the form of changing the barest of minimums in order to keep themselves above board — to the public eye, anyway. Anyone who dares to take a closer look at the policy changes can see that it’s bullshit.

Changing ownership conditions to a rent-by-contract basis isn’t the humanitarian move they try to paint it as. In the end, it probably just equals out to more money in the company’s pocket when they can get more return on their “investments,” and a larger chance of exploitation for the people being moved around.

Getting rid of the Romantic division is an entirely meaningless gesture when they are still loaning out human beings with no legal rights and the inability to say “no.”

And offering an open job market with good wages and healthcare options to lower class individuals is a pretty convenient way to mute the backlash.

Essentially, you can tie a system of slavery and abuse up in a bow and make it pretty on the outside, but at the end of the day, it’s still fucking slavery.

Not that he has any room to criticize now. Now that he’s one of them.

In the end, Seb tries to justify his decision a few different ways. He is, after all, more or less a young man alone in the world. The odds are stacked against him and have been for a while. With only his own two legs to stand on, the only force stronger than his internal ambition is his instinct for survival, and he’s been running on those fumes for longer than he can count.

He had lasted less than two months under his parents’ roof after he came out of the closet at eighteen. It wasn’t exactly a surprise for anyone involved; Sebastian’s parents had known about (and subsequently bottled) his… urges… since he was in high school. Probably before that, if he is being honest with himself. And Sebastian, for his part, had spent the better part of his teenage years mentally preparing for the inevitable. He can recall long, late nights he had spent crying into his pillow and the perfectly-scripted ‘coming out’ speeches he recited to his mirror when he was one-hundred percent sure his parents were asleep.

Of course, none of the preparation had been anywhere near adequate when he actually found himself wilting beneath the heat of his father’s glare, the weight of his mother’s grief.

But. He had recovered. That is the point he tries to remember when the memories sting fresh beneath his skin, even all these years later. He has more-than proven himself to be a survivor. He has worked harder than anyone he knows for every scholarship, every grant, every dollar to put himself through school. Sacrificed nights out and real relationships for night shifts at shitty diners and long weekends cramming for exams. It hadn’t been easy, but he considers it the price he had to pay for his independence. For freedom, to live the life as the person he is meant to be, despite his unfortunate odds. He spent years telling himself it would be worth it. That one day, his hard work would pay off.

He can’t stop now.

Sebastian doesn’t have the luxury of taking time off to reroute when his navigation has gone amiss. He is walking the precarious line of rapidly accruing interest and student loans and a dwindling savings account, and there is no safety net below him.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and as it turns out, beggars sometimes have to compromise their moral integrity in order to survive.

It’s only temporary.

That is the mantra that gets him through the (half-drunken) application process and the (disturbingly lax) interview process. It is a job. One job. In the medical field, though the details are up for debate, and it is real-life money for rent and food and a savings that will hopefully be sizable enough to get him where he really wanted to be. Which is… really, anywhere else.

He can do ‘temporary.’ And perhaps, some misguided part of him thinks he can do some genuine good from the inside, too. ‘Be the change you want to see’ and all that.

It is a far jump from the floor of his apartment, sloshed and exhausted and desperate, to the cold, sharp reality of walking into his place of employment on his first day of work. Ironically, it feels a lot like an echo of the emptiness from his graduation day.

‘Sterile’ doesn’t quite cover it. ‘Sterile’ is the expectation of any well-respected medical establishment, but the inside of the facility walls has been wiped clean of far more than bacteria and germs. It is completely devoid of humanity. The long corridors that connect the medical wing to the general ward are windowless and dimly lit by flickering fluorescent panels that had make his head pound for the entirety of his first week.

He is given an office, though it is a term he, himself, might use loosely, as it is more akin to what was probably a storage closet before the old prison had been converted into the state’s training headquarters. It leaves him just enough space for a small desk and two chairs. On his first day, he asks if it is okay to bring in some personal items to spruce the place up. The older, balding doctor who had been assigned to show him around merely shrugs, and Sebastian decides to take that as a yes.

The small, pink-framed photo of a six-year-old Sebastian Tate in his grandfather’s white coat and an old-school stethoscope around his neck is hardly enough to make the place cozy from the corner of his desk, but it’s a good enough reminder of why he has to make this work.

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘Be the change you want to see.’

He will do his best.

[mednerds]

Vaccine Refusal Will Come at a Cost—For All of Us

People who refuse to get the COVID-19 vaccine will have higher health-care costs. The rest of us will foot the bill.

Imagine it’s 2026. A man shows up in an emergency room, wheezing. He’s got pneumonia, and it’s hitting him hard. He tells one of the doctors that he had COVID-19 a few years earlier, in late 2021. He had refused to get vaccinated, and ended up contracting the coronavirus months after most people got their shots. Why did he refuse? Something about politics, or pushing back on government control, or a post he saw on Facebook. He doesn’t really remember. His lungs do, though: By the end of the day, he’s on a ventilator.

You’ll pay for that man’s decisions. So will I. We all will—in insurance premiums, if he has a plan with your provider, or in tax dollars, if the emergency room he goes to is in a public hospital. The vaccine refusers could cost us billions. Maybe more, over the next few decades, with all the complications they could develop. And we can’t do anything about it except hope that more people get their shots than those who say they will right now.

If the 30 percent of Americans who are telling pollsters they won’t get vaccinated follow through, the costs of their decisions will pile up. The economy could take longer to get back to full speed, and once it does, it could get shut down again by outbreaks. Variants will continue to spread, and more people will die. Each COVID-19 case requires weeks of costly rehabilitation. Even after the pandemic fades, millions of vaccine refusers could turn into hundreds of thousands of patients who need extra care, should they come down with the disease. Their bet that they’ve outsmarted the coronavirus or their insistence that Anthony Fauci and Bill Gates were trying to trick them will not stop them from going to the doctor when they’re having trouble breathing, dealing with extreme fatigue, or struggling with other lasting effects of COVID-19. (A new study found that 34 percent of COVID-19 survivors are diagnosed with a neurological or psychological condition within six months of recovering from the initial illness.)

The economic costs of vaccine refusal aren’t yet a major part of the political conversation. That’s likely to change as we move past the first year of the pandemic. “You have a liberty right, and that unfortunately is imposing on everyone else and their liberty right not to have to pay for your stubbornness. And that’s what’s maddening,” Jay Inslee, the governor of Washington, told me. Inslee is 70, and fully vaccinated. The three-term Democrat was in a good mood because he was on his way to see his baby granddaughter, whom he hadn’t hugged in a year. But after what he’s gone through since early 2020—the first American COVID-19 outbreak and the first explosion of COVID-denialist demonstrations were both in Washington—he’s angry and sad that so many people are refusing to get their shots.

He had the latest numbers: 15 Washingtonians had died of COVID-19 the day we spoke. More than 300,000 state residents who had been eligible for a vaccine for at least three months still hadn’t gotten one, including 27 percent of those over 65. Some of those people hadn’t been able to get appointments. Some may have been nervous, but would eventually get a vaccine. Some had just refused, and will continue to do so. Those people are “foisting [their] costs on the rest of the community,” Inslee said. “There’s a long, long economic tail of disease prevalence as a result of people who refuse to get vaccinated.” But, he stressed, “it pales in comparison to people losing their lives.”

Inslee read some data he had gotten from the Republican messaging maven Frank Luntz, which the governor said was going to inform new public-awareness campaigns that the state is developing to break through to Republican men, the people most likely to say they won’t get vaccinated, according to polling. Two appeals seem to work best: First, the vaccines are safe, and they’re more effective than the flu vaccine. Second, you deserve this, and getting vaccinated will help preserve your liberty and encourage the government to lift restrictions. (That last idea is what Jerry Falwell Jr. focused on in the vaccination selfie he posted this week, captioned, “Please get vaccinated so our nutcase of a governor will have less reasons for mindless restrictions!”) Inslee hopes that emphasizing those points will persuade more Republican men to get their shots. But he’s not sure it will work.

The prospect of lower health-care costs has led conservatives to back health-related regulations in the past. In 1991, Pete Wilson, then the Republican governor of California, signed a law mandating helmets for motorcyclists, and made a conservative argument for the new regulation. “We don’t know exactly how much money and how many lives will be saved with this legislation,” Wilson said at the signing ceremony, which was held at a hospital in the state capital. “But we do know that the cost of not enacting it is too great for a civilized society to bear.” Then again, President Ronald Reagan was famously resistant to seatbelt and airbag laws, which also reduce health-care spending.

Though there are some notable vaccination holdouts among Republican officials, most in Congress and in state leadership positions have encouraged their constituents to get the shots. “I saw on some program last week that Republican men, curiously enough, might be reluctant to take the vaccine. I’m a Republican man, and I want to say to everyone: We need to take this vaccine,” Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell said at an event in Kentucky this week. Brad Wenstrup, who worked as a podiatrist before becoming a Republican congressman from Ohio, has been so eagerly promoting the vaccines that he got trained to administer them.

Calculating the exact long-term costs is tricky; we have only a year’s worth of data on the lasting health consequences of COVID-19, and even less on the efficacy of the vaccines and Americans’ resistance to getting them. Krutika Amin, who conducts economic and policy research for the Kaiser Family Foundation, tried to sketch out what the taxpayer bill might be. Before the pandemic, about 1 million Americans were diagnosed with pneumonia each year in emergency rooms alone. About 1.5 million were hospitalized for pneumonia annually, at an average cost of $20,000 per stay. COVID-19 has been reliably shown to make pneumonia worse. In April 2020, a Kaiser Family Foundation study projected that the cost of treating just COVID-19 cases for the uninsured would range from $13.9 billion to $41.8 billion. If even close to 30 percent of Americans get COVID-19 because they refused to get vaccinated, Amin told me, you’ll see a massive spike in health-care costs.

Kathleen Sebelius, who spent five years as Barack Obama’s secretary for health and human services, mentioned that about a quarter of Americans are children, and so far, no vaccine has been approved for use in people under 16 years old. If all adults who say they’ll get a vaccine get one, barely more than half of the country will be immunized, which is far short of herd immunity. In kids, “we have a very vulnerable population where we know they may not get as sick and die as much as adults, but they can get sick and die,” Sebelius said. “We have to think about this a little bit like secondhand smoke. By making an adult choice, you’re putting a whole lot of other people at risk in a way that very few other choices do.”

As lockdowns are lifted, Sebelius hopes that vaccine passports will create social pressure, which might wear down hesitancy if unvaccinated people are barred from sports games, concerts, and other public events. But the political divisions on that are already clear, with leaders such as Republican Mississippi Governor Tate Reeves going on CNN to stress that he wants his constituents to get vaccinated, but that he’s opposed to vaccine passports. Texas Governor Greg Abbott on Tuesday signed a preemptive executive order banning them. Although this resistance may halt any federal vaccine-passport efforts, some states and many private companies are independently exploring the idea. So is the Republican National Committee.

Once getting a vaccine appointment is easy and health departments have filled the airwaves with PSAs, will 30 percent of Americans still say they won’t get a shot? Public-health officials and government leaders hope that vaccine hesitancy will drop. Some surveys suggest that could happen. In the meantime, winding down restrictions on gatherings will likely maximize the spread of concerning variants, Sebelius noted. Health complications for vaccine refusers who catch one of the new strains could be even worse than those caused by the original strain, she said. “We are still very vulnerable to things coming our way, and anybody who has not taken at least this preliminary precaution has no idea what’s going to hit them,” Sebelius said. For the unvaccinated, she said, the threat of COVID-19 “is not getting better.”It’s not getting cheaper either.

By Edward-Isaac Dovere (The Atlantic). Illustration: Getty/The Atlantic.