#then insurance called and I had to get three calls from three different fucking departments all saying 'WE'RE SO SORRY DON'T COME IN.'

[pigeonfancier]

Heart updates! Finally got the heart monitor off a week or so ago, which was great, because first set of adhesives were melting my fucking skin. The company were sweethearts and sent me new adhesives, which.. were fine for the first week, and then started doing the same, because adhesives are just fucking hell. Thankfully, it’s all healed over well, haha, and it was kind of worth it.

I am perpetually in a state of mild suspicion towards my own experiences, because - am I genuinely uncomfortable, or am I just easily bothered? Am I in pain, or am I just wallowing? But now I have ~*official results*~, and validation that my heart does not like filling up properly, that does hurt like hell, and the wiring is kind of fucked for reasons that I’m going to have to do more tests for. And the wiring is fucked in a way that does not, remarkably~!, resolve itself by “growing out of it” (at 30, somehow). Validation of the issue.. and validation that a lot of doctors are fucking assholesss.

Also, confirmation that I probably do nooot have any of the “you will drop dead” issues from this gene, so woo (knock on wood). It’s progressive, so I have to keep coming in for fucking ever, I guess, but like a lot of things, it’s just a case of monitoring, and slapping on some duct tape as soon as problems present. So that’s nice.

But: more tests! Once my insurance approves them, anyway, because they’re generally fairly great, but they’ve got a bee up their ass over wanting the tests done in a specific order. This wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact my cardio wants it all done at a specific hospital, and the waitlist for that.. already has the most accessible test scheduled for the end of April. And it wouldn’t be a problem if they didn’t decide they only wanted tests in a specific order twenty four hours before I went in for a test.

I was kind of banking on the idea I’d have all of these tests done by July, and either have a pacemaker or medication to knock out this issue, whichever fucking one, but. I refuse to be stressed over this, haha. It’ll get resolved, they’ll fix this up, and then I guess.. they’ll test me for POTS, because my view of that remains “this is irrelevant to the greater issue and idgaf”, but they really want to. So at this point, I will roll with what-the-fuck-ever they want if they can fix the overall issue, tbhhh.

In related news:  my mother remains batshit, which I generally expect, but I am still a little mystified by. Cutting this section, because She Is A Lot.

She’s spent my entire life arguing that I do not have any cardiac problems! Several family members and myself remember that I went to a cardiologist as a kid, but it’s about 25/75 on if she’ll actually admit that, and her stories do not stay consistent. When I got the genetic test saying, hey, heart issue!, she was dismissive of it, and the past year or so has been her consistently trying to pick fights with people who mentioned it, arguing that everyone has heart issues and I should get over mine because it was getting very inconvenient, and occasionally inpromptu informing me that, actually, this is all caused by a lack of exercise, or some other spontaneous decision she pulled out of her ass. Or from not eating enough, because I have chronic pancreatitis.. but perhaps I don’t actually have that, and I’m just food-averse?

Ignore the hundreds of dollars of cooking supplies and huge chunks of time just fucking around and experimenting with recipes, I suppose.

It’s been whatever! I am long, long past the point where her opinions hold weight for me, beyond occasional fits of outrage. But once my sister got confirmed as having the same heart issue on a different scale, and once tests started coming in for me, she has switched tracks.. to saying that she has a heart issue, too, and it’s like mine, but with higher spikes! And she just never noticed it, because it just happens, and it’s really quite easy to ignore, but she guesses she’ll go to a cardiologist, just to see --

We inherited the problem gene from her, and her entire family does have severe heart issues - and she herself has aneurysm issues - but I’m unimpressed. Between that and her flipflopping from “you don’t have allergies!” to “well, if you have allergies, then I probably have allergies, so I should ALSO start telling people I should avoid your allergens (of the food that I do not like, do not eat, and do not have any desire to eat)” this year, I’m just lifting my hands from that entire topic. When she brings it up, I’ve been just telling her to go talk to her doctor, get tests, and then disengaging from the topic, because.. man, haha. There’s a lot going on there, and I do not have the psychiatric degree nor the inclination to really dig into this beyond the side-long “huh, these problems really are only relevant when they can impact her, huh?”.

My dad is a little better, at least! He had a panic attack when I told him about all of this, haha, which was.. something, but now he’s taken up just consistently texting me reminders on everything. Have I eaten recently? Have I gotten electrolytes? I should go drink some Gatoraid. Have I taken my meds? GO TAKE MY MEDS. Remember if I’m going out to drink some electrolytes!

He’s kind of a pain in a different sort of way about all of this health shit, but I do appreciate the fact I don’t have to really second-guess him much - when he’s being an asshole, it’s pretty on the nose. And he’s being genuinely helpful, because I do forget shit a lot on bad days, so. #okay!

#the mysterious fainting waif disease #the last-minute insurance shit was so fucking tedious yesterday #at one point I was on the phone with two different people from the same hospital trying to get it sorted #then insurance called and I had to get three calls from three different fucking departments all saying 'WE'RE SO SORRY DON'T COME IN.' #but you know what #my customer service voice is GREAT and everyone was very sweet #and I am always mildly amused by my ability to switch mental tracks #start of the call: internal shrieking because I'm stressed the fuck out at this point #thirty seconds into the call: oh no! this OTHER person is stressed out! #initiate soothing protocols! remind them that all issues are transient and don't worry we will figure this out as a TEAM #and there is NO NEED to be STRESSED 💖 because we are all ~DOING OUR BEST~ #five minutes after the call: external shrieking because I'm stressed the fuck out #thankfully my soothing protocols also work on me. mostly. BUT WHAT A DAY.

[katy-l-wood]

It was exactly two years ago that the East Troublesome Fire made its big run towards Grand Lake Colorado. And I have. Feelings.

That fire was so different from all the others. That whole summer was. I had been interested in natural disasters before, been pretty well educated on them, but that summer really kicked it into high gear. I was surrounded by fire. There's three access points to where I live if you're coming in from the east (not counting backroads) and all but one, the one most out of the way, was shut down.

I watched the ETF roll over the ridge across the valley. I listened on the emergency radios to the evacuees and fire fighters running out of gas. I watched the planes dip out of the reservoir where my sister and I always go kayaking. I read the Facebook posts of people begging for help evacuating their horses even though they'd already evacuated once and thought they were safe, but then things got worse and they had to evacuate a second time. I listened to calls for food and water for the firefighters because the fire had run so hard, so fast, they didn't have time to figure out supplies. I brought hygiene supplies to the local fire departments, because their crews were running out and it was the height of COVID and no one had soap. I listened as they found a man who was on his tractor protecting his fields and tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn't go. I listened to everyone trying to rationalize how the fire had jumped the divide, something no fire had ever done, not like this. I watched as people panicked that all of Grand Lake had been lost, because we just didn't know. I listened as people panicked as they realized that even if their home survived the fire, they might lose it to burst pipes because a blizzard had rolled in on top of the fire. I listened as they found the two victims of the fire.

I walked around our house and photographed everything we owned. Generations of family heirlooms, made an updated plan with my dad of what to grab in what order. The lovely pastel dishes my grandparents were gifted on their wedding. My great-grandfather's guns. The dishes cabinet that has been passed between a dozen family members over a hundred years; I'd just repainted it a soft yellow color the summer before. The mounted deer antlers from deer my grandfather had shot. The little bunny picture that had hung in my room since I was a child. The footprints in the concrete from generations of babies.

But, at the same time, as dark as those days were, the way people came together was amazing. The horses all got evacuated. The man on the tractor managed to save his fields. The firefighters got fed (regulations be damned, they were getting some fucking sandwiches). Gas got trucked in over the pass. Plumbers from all over the county teamed up with firefighters to go into the burn zone and get people's water turned off so their pipes wouldn't burst. Everyone traded information on what had burned and what hadn't. A whole new law office was formed to help people navigate insurance and rebuilding.

As for myself, well. There's a reason I own a truck. Yeah, I use it to haul firewood, or convention supplies. But mostly? I own it because I know damn well that one day I am going to have to run. That I am going to have to pack up as much as I can carry of my family's legacy, and drive away from the rest. I'd prefer for "the rest" to be as little as possible, so I will always keep the truck, stereotypes be damned.

#Wildfire #East Troublesome Fire #Natural Disaster #HMM EMOTIONS

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

Alright.

A list of things I need or need to do over the next week:

1. Somehow come up with $400 in the next three days to pay the phone bill. (THIS IS URGENT? I CAN'T DOORDASH ENOUGH TO MAKE THIS.)

2. Organize a fundraiser to cremate Raven's wife. I wanna go with the Neptune Society because even though they're a little more expensive, they just take care of everything, and they also offer grief counseling.

3. Use the little money I have to buy cat food. (Thank you to the person who sent me a lil' something bc that paid for cat food and toilet paper. I had to get a used tire and spent $50 for it - super cheap, but not $50 I could really spare. Fuck people who leave screws laying in the roadway.)

4. Somehow come up with $70 to pay my car insurance.

5. Get a power of attorney notarized and faxed to like seven different places. If anyone knows a cheap or free notary in Carson City or Reno, let me know, because my usual guy is on vacation.

6. File said power of attorney with the Carson City records department. (This apparently costs money and doesn't mean shit.)

7. Write letters to a judge.

8. Request records from a DA.

9. Request records from four different schools.

10. Take Raven to get their final VA disability assessment.

11. File paperwork for backdated pay from the VA based on the reason Raven was discharged (honorably).

12. Call Raven's therapist and have her call Raven to schedule a session before she leaves on vacation.

13. Call my therapist for same.

14. Call my doctor to get a refill on my migraine prevention meds.

15. Go through a fuckload of legal documents and create a timeline.

16. Call a jail and get visitor records logs.

17. Order urns and urn jewelry and somehow come up with the money for that.

18. Potentially plan for a relocation to the east coast.

19. Haggle with a judge about settling a warrant with out-of-state jail time, or a reduced sentence of some sort.

20. Organize a pay schedule for something owed.

21. Devise a potential parenting plan.

22. Acquire some CPS reports.

23. Acquire some records in Washington and Oregon.

24. Find Southwest Airline points or fundraise to get my daughter to Oregon to help a friend who's pro-choice overall but not for abortion for herself, get an abortion because of circumstance. :(

25. I guess sleep and eat somewhere in between this all.

I'm so tired.

Uh if you can help with any of this my PayPal is tashabot at gmail dot com and my. Cashapp is $tashabot. I'm so tired. I work two jobs and I'm still broke. I need a nap. I cannot nap, I need to go to work in a few hours.

[hackedintucson]

AT&T…

Good ol Blue Bell, ever watchful and listening. Company dates all the way back to the invention of the telephone in 1877 by Alexander Graham Bell. I wonder what he would make of it today. I wonder if hacking and harassing people ever entered his mind.

Anyways, three years ago I was developing my first webcam model website and had a AT&T business account when I had 4 iPhones and a Nighthawk hotspot go missing. I had Assurion as well as Apple One insurance coverage on all devices. Did you know there are two different kinds of AT&T retail stores; corporate and non-corporate. After my devices were stolen I went to a AT&T corporate store and was told my bill had been run up to $5,000. They promised me that they would help me but there’s was a catch I had to pay them $5,000. WTF. I will add more details here later but I finally reached the right department at AT&T. They told me there would be no insurance coverage because the policy was only active for 30 days after the loss had occurred. But what they will provide me is all of the transactional level detail from all the devices on my account. This will include incoming and outgoing telephone calls (with numbers) as well as data usage by device. I think it should be very interesting to review these details and see what shakes out.

Here is the thing picture rock hacking crew, I paid a shit ton of money to all these communications, internet and housing companies. Now I have some time where I will not be homeless and feel sort of safe. I know I am still being hacked but I have power, food, shelter and can even brush my teeth and take a daily shower. We are going to see how much of the past I can piece together. It will all be documented.

02-02-2024

Made appointment to go to AT&T corporate store to get printout of all my account details including device / phone number level phone calls, data usage, etc.. Unfortunately Yavapai is “short staffed” for the third time this week where I have done everything which is required of me during the day and have repeatedly went to the office at 4pm to ask for a ride to At&T. I have not gotten upset but it is ridiculous. Just saw the dosing van zoom off. So if I am a junkie and need my methadonf or sub box on I can get a ride. If I am trying to go collect evidence on people who stole from me I am fucked. Makes perfect sense to me doesn’t it you. What I have a little trouble with is the short staffing a term you will hear all the time in Tucson? Arizona especially in places like the county jail, community college, DES office; essentially any entity which receives some kind of government money. The place I am at is required to take me places on the first 30 days I am here, period. I also asked if I could get a set appointment, nope the advice I received is to keep checking back at 4pm everyday. What kind of fucked up place are they running here exactly. It isn’t any kind of place I would recommend that is if you are looking for something which is reliable and you can depend on. So really it is no different dealing with the staff here or the junkies on the street. All are unreliable. No matter what kind of fucked up shit they pull on me I will not get upset, I’m going to document it as best and as soon as I can. One day I’m going to fully understand WTF is going on in this gangstalking community of mind readers and spirits. And when that day comes and they put a microscope on this community and start turning over every blade of scamming, stealing and fraudulent bullshit that goes on down here your going to wish you had left me alone and not hacked me.

[ceruleanwhore]

I got rammed by a dump truck recently, so I want to talk about insurance since it’s all new to me and my company told me jack fucking shit.

First off, the second they tell you your vehicle is totaled, return the plates to the RMV. You can do this online and don’t actually have to go fuck around at the RMV but what that does is make it so your car is officially gone so you can cr cell your policy and not be out here making insurance payments on a car that doesn’t exist. No one told me this, so I actually made a payment after my car was totaled and now I’m waiting on a refund.

Second thing is that, if you take time off from work to heal, you can put in to get your lost wages, but it takes fucking forever. My biggest problem with the aftermath of the accident was being broke and then (still) not having lost wages and, when I returned to work, not making money fast enough to stop being broke. If I had the money from that insurance payment or my lost wages, it would be different, but this shit takes forever.

Third is that they will tell you fucking nothing. You’ll make a million calls with a million questions and the super simple ones will be answered while anything they don’t like will get you bounced around between departments until you give up. That’s the other thing is you’re just supposed to magically know what to ask and which department to ask it of, or else you get fucked over. You’ll probably have one person who’s just there for your medical billing and then another person who’s assigned to your case, but pay attention to names on the stuff they send in the mail.

There are some things you can answer for yourself without calling your company, like if you live in a no-fault state or not. My dad found a helpful list of car insurance faq’s for my state and I’m sure they’re out there for the other 49 too. This actually is how we learned about canceling the plates.

The fourth thing is that, if your car is totaled, they’ll send an adjuster out to the tow yard it’s being kept in and then they’ll give you whatever they determine its value to be. For myself, I got a COVID car that was fucking $20k for a fucking three year old Corolla, but they valued it at $17k so now I still have to pay the remaining $2,000 (I’ve already paid off so the loan’s down to $19,000, not 20.) This is super fun because I don’t have a fucking car so I’m staying with my grandma and she’s driving me to and from work and now I have to pay off this $2,000 before I can even think about getting another vehicle.

That being said, apparently your insurance has ways of providing things like rental cars, which is my fifth point. Given that I haven’t actually procured this mythical thing and no one would ever rent to me without insurance providing this, I’m not 100% sure how this works. However, even in a no-fault state like mine, they can look at the situation and see that an old couple ran a stop sign and hit me with a fucking dump truck and now I can’t go anywhere and then get me some transportation.

The last thing I’ll say is to expect any and all phone calls to be intensely frustrating, confusing, and unhelpful. I was hardly able to do fucking anything on my own even though I fought tooth and nail but when my mom started making calls for me, stuff finally started moving. However, my mom literally built a file for me and took so much time out of her work days for this shit that she also wants to put in for lost wages because that’s how long you have to spend on the fucking phone. Oh and they’ll only be open 8-4:30 so good luck navigating around any work or school schedule at all to do that. They’ll also do fun things like wait a whole week to return a call or call your mom’s phone instead of yours for a callback, even though she said 3 times in the voicemail to call your number.

Now, if you’re neurodivergent, you’re kinda just screwed. I’m autistic and this whole thing makes me want to vomit and then stab like five people including myself. It’s deeply, deeply, painfully uncomfortable for anyone, but especially anyone who isn’t neurotypical.

#insurance #car insurance #car crash

[medical-gal]

Death by a thousand cuts

I have been thinking about writing this for months now. Even before I decided to quit the residency at my previous job.

COVID has been kicking our ass, true, but that was (is) true for most healthcare providers all around the world.

No, my struggle started a bit before that actually.

First some background, I have been working at one of the biggest most famous ID clinics in central Europe. The clinic is in a different country than I am originally from so there was a bit of cultural accommodating at the begging. But we were a big group of ID interns/residents/fellows and specialists.

I don't actually remember that much from my first year working there. And I couldn't figure out why, but then I read in some study that when u experience a high dose of stress and/or sleep deprivation for a long time, your brain kinda stopps being able to transcribe short term memory into a long term.

I was working 100hours/week, sometimes less, sometimes more. After a year and a half, when the last half I worked in the ID ER for five months, I always stayed after working 24 hours, sometimes over 36hours, and I would see and treat 70ish patients. Nobody from the older docs would help me out, nobody from other interns either bc usually they would have their own kind of hell to take care of.

The fact that basically, inexperienced doctors are taking care of patients never really phased my ex-boss. Her mantra was that if there was a problem that you cannot resolve, you can call her and she would advise you. Which most of the time was true, I must say that.

But we all have been young docs, barely out of our medical school garments, and sometimes as it happened, we could not recognize there IS a problem that maybe needs a more experienced opinion.

I am often confronted with this idea or more like a culture, of pretending that once you are an MD you don't need help and asking for it is a kind of weakness and that then you are forever on the list of WEAKLINGS.

And let me say this only once.

That's absolute bullshit.

Anyway, the first time I decided to quit I worked there for about a year and a half, I went for a long-expected holiday, I took three weeks off, had interviews and talked with my bf about my options.

Second thing...my man, bless his beard, would support me no matter what. He is almost 10 years older than me, so he has more work experience and I find it reassuring to discuss stuff like this with him bc I know he will not sugarcoat it. He said that I should dig my heels in and last at least one more year till the end of my "internship". As a "resident" who worked at this specific department, I wouldn't have a problem finding another job. We r basically the equivalent of a french legion of medical professionals (when u work in this specific department and everyone knows it, I will come back to that later).

So I took his advice. Thankfully as a part of our training, one of those parts is a year-long internship at the internal medicine department, which I did shortly after we had that conversation and guys, that was a revelation of how medicine and just...work and life can be experienced. There were enough docs for a floor, an attending who had the time to manage and advise us. I´ve grown that year as a doc so much. Other internships were mandatory so I could have become (equivalent of) a resident, and it was a general surgery, anesthesiology, radiology, microbiology etc. But I did them all and became a resident.

The moment I came back to our clinic, my boss would put me in our outpatient department. Which I have never worked on before. The head of the department has quit a few months before, and I had no idea what to do there, bc it's a very different type work. The only thing my boss told me when I spoke of my concerns were "you will learn".

Thankfully the previous head of the department was a good friend of mine and she would always answer my questions and requests. Suddenly I no longer had to deal with the hectic life of an ID floor or ER, no sepsis, meningitis, etc.

Most of my patients were the chronic type...Lyme, chlamydia, mycoplasma... let's say it literally drained the life out of me. But I managed. Also, I started to work for their outpatient office which takes care of patients with chronic hepatatis. That I enjoyed more.

I also started to dip my toes in vaccinology, either planned like for travel but I started to be more interested in preventive care in the immunocompromised and my own phantasmagoria was to make a palliative care team in our hospital. Bc, we had none. And then a wonderful thing happened, other docs, older experienced, great at their work, started to refer their patients to me specifically.

There were more examples of the utter a complete FUCK U(s) which were kindly provided either by the system or by the head of the department or the hospital.

Then covid hit and the shit hit the interstellar space.

I still can't make myself remember the first few months bc it actually causes me to go into a rage fit, and honestly, I am done with that kind of negativity.

I hold out for a year. Year of such shitty treatment from the chief and our hospital head. No thank you- s or you are doing a good job or we r all on the same ship.

No.

People will say that I quit bc of the money. And that's not true, tho it did irk me a bit. All the other ID specialists working at different hospitals would get covid bonuses every month. We got jack shit. Again, the best biggest most know ID clinic. We were the first and oftern the ONLY ones who would test for/diagnose/hospitalize/treat a patient who had covid FOR MONTHS in the beginning.

I mean, the medical community is small, the ID community even smaller so yes, we were able to compare and contrast the work at different ID departments in other hospitals bc our friends worked there. And all of them would go speechless when they would hear from us what we were living thru.

At one point at the beginning of the pandemic, ALL the ambulances would go thru our ER department and we were supposed to decide where the patient should go.

AN EXAMPLE

Ambulance with a woman who has known colon cancer, had a fever, stomach as a rock and is projectile vomiting. I was supposed to decide where she should go and the surgeon would be super pissed when I said that I don't think she has COVID but without PCR I can't be sure but I think there is a bigger pressing issue. I remember him saying:

"well if anyone else gets infected at our department and dies, it's on you."

fun.

There were other examples of seriously stressful episodes which I and my coworkers lived thru, for which we were not trained for, advised, or properly supervised. At a certain point, I started to take anxiolytics before and during my all-nighters bc I didn't know what I would do with all that stress which was so callously shat on me and my coworkers.

For a few months, I stopped working nights, only thru the mercy of my coworkers who saw how exhausted I was and would take my shifts.

Anyway, after only two months I had to start working nights bc I needed the money. The basic pay for docs was just not enough without the extra from night shifts. Talk about exploiting.

The moment however when I decided to QUIT, when I was DONE, when I actually heard my heart break, was the moment at the end of the previous year. They decided to start vaccinating in our tiny small vaccination centre. Let's say a "shit storm" brewing is the light version of events that ensued.

But basically, as I was trying to discuss with my boss that we are all exhausted, that this wave is not slowing down and that throwing more work at us, the docs and nurses and other staff, who are overworked, is not a good idea,

What she basically said to me is that who says things like that is lazy and that if she can handle it everyone must be also.

The thing is..most of us were at the bring. Some would handle it with casual and calous sex, drugs (legal or not), a bottle of wine before sleep. A coworker ended up with antipsychotics.

But u know,

we were all lazy apperently.

I realized there is no way out of this other than quitting. I could not continue being so tired and sad all the time. I took two weeks off, really thought about it. Had diarrhoea and nausea for a week as I realized I will have to quit :D

On a Monday I came back, handed in my notice. Basically what she told me and how she reacted made me realized how right the decision was.

I had to stay there for another three months bc that's the law, but my mood changed significantly.

I got another job in a smaller ID department, working with amazingly kind people, but that's another story.

But that was the only interview I actually looked for and did. I, however, did get several job offers from different types of medicine. From heads of different departments in my old hospital to smaller general medicine chain offices who are looking for ID specialists, to insurance companies.

Like I said, french legion.

Or Runway and your boss is Miranda Pristley. Once u survive that, u survive anything.

But at my old work they would keep hitting you with wave after wave of passive agressive comments about how if u quit, u wont be able to find anything as"prestigious" as this.

There were many other exmaples of a shitty and questionable situations which were treated as "normal" but there is not point on getting on that rage train.

Contrary as it might seem, I am greatful I got to live thru this, good and bad, bc now I know what I am and am not willing to sacrifice for a job. No matter how much I might love it.

#sorry this is long #but goddammit it needed to be said #suzy's adventures in id

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

Fever {2}

Jacob/Bella Twilight Fix-It Fic

Series Masterlist

A/N: Bella acquires some self-awareness. Team let all these characters say fuck. Again, if you don’t like it, don’t read it, this is just me screaming into the void.

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Abandonment

Summary: Months passed since Edward left and Bella has finally reentered the real world, maybe Forks will be normal.

Rating: M

Word Count: 2,478

Walking into school when I was aware of my surroundings was jarring after months of floating in existence. I muddled through classes, thankful that as a senior, most of my teachers taught in a lecture format and I could lose myself while they instructed, by now most had given up calling on me for answers. As I was packing my bag from English I heard a voice call my name. I snapped my head up, Mike stood in front of me. “What? Sorry, did you need something?” I asked.

“Are you working tomorrow?” He asked anxiously, every week he had asked this question. I had been answering on autopilot.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” I said with a shrug, I always showed up. Maybe in zombie mode, but I was there. And that paycheck was what would be filling my college fund. Or at least giving me a starting point for it.

“It is.” He nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer before he left the room. I finished packing up and wandered into the hallway. My first exchange with someone wasn’t horrible, but I dreaded the next with Jessica. She had been like a fly buzzing in my ear, but something told me that today, I would not be able to just tune her out.

I walked to my seat and glanced over at her. “Hi.” I said awkwardly with a small wave.

Her eyes widened for a moment. “Hello, Bella.” She stated in short accented bursts, but today, she didn’t give me a mindless deluge of her life. She remained silent, she stared at Mr. Varner as he lectured Calculus methods, but her eyes kept flitting over to me curiously. When class had winded down she turned to me. “Do you need help with calc?”

I gave her what I thought was a hopeful expression, “I need so much help.” Then froze, “With calculus, well with other things too, but that’s not your department.”

She chuckled. “I think I can handle calculus. I’m free tomorrow.”

I grimaced. “I work tomorrow.”

She nodded, “Mike had said you were working at Newton’s.” She tapped her pencil on her chin. “We’ll figure it out, we can always stay late sometime to work on calc. The library is open until 4:30.”

I smiled, then the bell rang, the day was over, I had two conversations with classmates who probably thought I was possessed after the past few months, but it was progress. Maybe if I shared it with Dad, he’d feel hopeful. I drove home, the constant weight that had made a home in my chest had lightened. I was surprised to come home and see Dad’s squad car parked out front, he had been working later, I was used to being home alone until he came back from work.

He was sitting in his recliner when I walked through the door, his eyes closed and a quiet snore escaping his lips. I tried to tiptoe in, to let him get a half-decent nap in, but his eyes opened when I closed the door.

“Good day at school?” He asked groggily.

“It was a day, at school.” I shrugged, setting my backpack down and sitting on the couch.

He nodded, “I got ahold of the therapist, Dr. Theresa Gilbert. She said she can see you on Monday after school. We can drive up, we’ll get there by 4 and she said you could start with a session, see how you feel. If you don’t get along she can refer you to another.”

I nodded, one session to start, I could handle that. “Are you sure we can do this?”

Dad quirked an eyebrow. “Your mother and I talked it over, we can swing it, you’re on my insurance plan, it’s not the best, but it will be fine.”

“So I’ll just leave school Monday and drive up to Port Angeles?”

“I’ll drive you.” Dad stated, I started to protest, but he cut me off. “Bells, I want to support you, you can go in yourself, I can sit in the car and wait. I won’t go in unless you want me to.”

“Okay.” I murmured, sensing there was something more to his wanting to go. Not a ‘I’m going to ensure you go’ but more of a ‘I have to be there.’

“You have work tomorrow?” He asked.

“Yeah, Saturdays are my day.” I nodded.

He let out a hum and stood up. “I’ll get dinner started. Let you know when it’s ready.”

I nodded and opened my backpack. I wasn’t worried about English or Social Studies, those two classes I could muddle through. But Calculus was going to be the bane of my existence. I continued working until Dad called me into the kitchen, it was spaghetti, a staple meal for him. Which, the past few months, I didn’t really notice how many times we ate it, but I imagine he did. “Dad, do you want me to start helping cook again?” I asked as I took a helping of pasta and sauce.

“Getting tired of spaghetti?” He teased, but added. “Only if you want to, you don’t have to take over. I can… get adventurous.”

I laughed. “I’ll start doing some meals, get some change in our diet.” I said taking a bite.

He smiled at me and we ate in silence. I washed the dishes before going up to bed, he turned on the TV to watch some game that was important to him. I closed my bedroom door behind me and took a deep breath. The throbbing in my chest was present again, my knees felt weak. It had been a good day, why now? I curled into a ball on my bed and willed myself to sleep. The dull throbbing lulled me to sleep as I counted my heartbeats.

Breakfast the next morning was silent, Dad had left a note on the fridge that he had to go to the station early. Forks barely ever had need of him this early, but after spending a year with vampires, I don’t know how much would surprise me anymore. I put my empty bowl in the sink and walked out to my truck. I let the engine sputter for a moment before it started, rap music started blaring through the stereo and I flinched back. When did I start listening to rap?

Mike was at the counter when I clocked in, “Hey, Bella.” He greeted.

“Hey, Mike.” I returned, putting on my vest and taking a seat next to him. “Busy morning.” I joked, gesturing at the empty store.

He glanced up at me, eyebrows almost in his hairline. “Yeah, busy.” He let out a small laugh. “How are you?”

“I’m here.” I answered, grateful for the bell to sound as a few customers entered. Mike nodded and went to help them. Early on, we learned that I was best at the cash register, and Mike was best with helping customers. Maybe that was just because I had been off this plane of existence for so long. But I was pretty hopeless when it came to the outdoorsy needs.

It must have been at least two hours that he spent going over different items with them before they finally checked out.

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t a grizzly, that thing was bigger than any grizzlies I’ve seen.” The first one, a big burly man with an unkempt beard started, tossing his items on the counter.

“I doubt it, there’s only black bear up here, and they don’t get that big. You’ve probably only seen young grizzlies.” The other, taller and lean with tan skin stated, throwing his items next to the first man’s.

“I’ve seen a full grown grizzly, and whatever was in those woods had at least three feet on a grizzly.” The first retorted, handing me cash when I gave him his total.

“Bullshit, you’re acting like you saw Sasquatch. Probably just your eyes playing tricks on you. You haven’t been the same since you stared into the sun.” The second teased, handing me his cash, a smirk on his face.

“That was years ago, and my eye sight is just fine. There’s a big ass bear in these woods.” Beardy grumbled, stomping out of the store to their truck.

“Don’t mind him, he always gets grumpy when we start trips.” The taller man said, taking his items and following the other out.

I glanced over at Mike who watched them leave then flipped the open sign to closed. He shrugged at me. “What? It’s not like there’s going to be a sudden raid for hiking equipment, especially with those two as our only customers. I can close up.”

“I’ll help, no reason for you to be stuck with the grunt work.” I stood from my stool and grabbed the broom. I started sweeping, I could feel Mike’s eyes on me. “You need something?”

He froze, his hand going behind his neck and he looked a little guilty. “We’ve missed you, Ang, Ben, even Jess, she won’t admit it.”

I felt a blush creep up my neck. “I guess I’ve been a bit of a hermit.”

“Yeah, just a bit.” Mike chuckled. “We’re here if you need us.”

I paused, taking in that statement. I had been so absorbed in myself the past few months, I honestly had forgotten what it was like having friends that weren’t…..them. I know last year I had been consumed by being a part of them that I had forgotten the people who were there for me first when I moved to Forks. “Thanks, Mike.” I continued to sweep, feeling a bit ashamed of the tunnel vision I had been in for the past year. The day I stepped onto the Forks campus I had been obsessed with him. And he didn’t want me, he left me, who was I without him? I finished up and gave Mike a quick goodbye, walking to my car faster than normal. I slammed the door and sped, well, moved as fast as my old girl would, and drove home. I made it halfway there before the tears started to fall. I pulled to the side of the road and threw the truck in park.

I pressed my head against the steering wheel as the sobs continued to tear through my body. I had given an entire year to him, lost myself in the fantasy of being his for eternity. I had been obsessed with immortality, the promise of never aging, never dying. And he didn’t want me, I was just a toy. I had served my purpose of amusement for a fleeting moment of his life, then I was thrown to the wolves. I almost died for him.

I froze when that thought appeared. I almost died…. For him. I put myself into danger for him. My blood was boiling, I had gone to that dance studio and been prepared to sacrifice my life. For what? A year, one fucking year and a few kisses. Kisses that were so controlled and choreographed they might has well have been a peck on the cheek. My radio broke me from my thoughts as a loud, angry song started. I looked over at my passenger seat, the old wrench sat there. Jacob had left it there, “Just in case the hood refuses to go back down, give it a good whack with this and it’ll be good as new.”

Jacob, I hadn’t seen him in a while… I shook my head and grabbed the wrench and slammed it into the radio. I kept going until the sound stopped, the radio that they had installed for my birthday was in pieces. I dropped the wrench onto the truck bench, I stared at the bent and broken plastic. The tears had stopped, the dull pain in my chest was back. I groaned, not sure how I was going to explain the mess I had made to Dad. A twig snapped in the woods to my right. I swore that I saw a flash of movement from the woods as I put the truck into gear. The two hikers had been talking about bears, maybe it was just a bear. Yeah, just a bear.

I tried to quiet my mind as I drove home, I thought today had been a good day, but breaking down in my truck and destroying the radio probably didn’t fit the definition of a good day. I had felt something though, months of floating in a void and I had felt guilty and angry. I pulled into the driveway, Dad still wasn’t home. I checked the messages on the phone, “I’ll be late tonight Bells, there’s leftovers in the fridge. Don’t worry about me. I’ll grab something when I’m home. Love you.”

That was something that had become more common in the past few months, Dad letting me know he loved me. He was always saying, love you, I love you. And I had started calling him Dad, not Charlie. Sure, it seemed like something that would be part of a normal father-daughter relationship. We weren’t normal, or weren’t, and now…. I might have been in another headspace, but somehow we grew closer. I walked up to my room, took a shower and crawled under my covers. “Please, just let me have a normal night.” I mumbled, and closed my eyes.

I was driving through the forest again. It was dark, the trees all looked the same. Every turn, it was the same trees. I glanced at the dashboard, the radio was back in place and the first verse of the song from earlier was blaring on repeat. The trees were a labyrinth, there was no way out. I slammed on the brakes, skidding on the wet pavement. Then I heard a branch snap and turned my head. And he was there, eyes crimson.

“Hello, Bella.” He sneered, I caught my reflection in the window. It was Grandma Marie’s face again. Blood dripped from his fangs. “I told you my world wasn’t for you.” He lunged and I woke up, my heart racing as I tried to catch my breath. I heard Dad shuffling by the door.

“Bella? You okay?” He called, he must have just gotten home, I glanced at my alarm clock, it blinked a one at me.

“Yeah, Dad, sorry, nightmare.” I called back. “Go to bed, I’m alright.”

He grunted, but I heard him shuffle to his room. What was he doing until 1AM? He used to work late when I was younger, I remember a few nights when he was home by ten, but this, something was going on. I laid on my back and closed my eyes. I just hoped that what was keeping him at work late wasn’t of the same nature as that keeping me awake.

#jacob/bella #jacob black/bella swan #team jacob #fever #twilight fic #twilight #new moon fic #what the hell are tags #what is this

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: None

A/N:  Enter Marcus Pike, stage right

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer​ , @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse​ , @the-feckless-wonder​ , @pascalisthepunkest​ , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501​ , @fioccodineveautunnale​  , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ , @lilkermit14​ , @tortles   [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]

Part 6 – Step Forward, Step Back, Find Your Partner Quick

Helen tried her best to console a distraught Rosemary as Officer Garcia spoke to several of his colleagues in the hallway.  Her screams had startled the director, who was already on edge due to the break-in and if the circumstances had been different, the look of surprise and horror on the officer’s face would have reduced Helen to peals of laughter.  But all the situation did was add worry to her shoulders.

For nearly two hours, the officers questioned Rosemary about the break-in, about the missing piece, and they kept asking if the museum had any enemies. As much as she wanted to say Fred Breyers out of pure spite, Rosemary kept her mouth shut – sure some people weren’t always pleased with some of their program or exhibit topics, but nothing that would result in the theft of an artifact or the physical beating of a staff member.  The two women were exhausted by the time the three cops left the building.  Rosemary laid on the couch in her office, a wet cloth over her eyes as the lingering headache from the attack ramped up under this new stress.

“Rose, are you going to be okay?”  Helen’s voice was soft, but unable to keep the worried tone at bay.

“I honestly don’t know.  That statue was the only thing missing.  I don’t know if I’m upset because I promised Robert we’d care for it or mad as hell that accepting that ugly ass hunk of bronze led to all of this and possibly hurt the museum’s reputation.”  She sighed heavily, the now cool cloth doing little to help her.  She slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the sofa’s edge.

“I wouldn’t worry about our reputation.  I’m already working with Marquetta on a press release to get ahead of the game.  Louis over at the Caller always does right by us, I’ll give him the scoop first and he’ll spin it in our favor.”  Helen leaned back.  “I’ll also call major donors today to inform them of the situation.”

“I’m sorry, Helen.  I never thought this would have happened!”  The younger woman groaned heavily as she tried to stand, but the director held out her hand to keep her from getting up.  The body stilled.

“Did Francois’ report show anything differently than what Robert had given you?”  Before Robert’s health worsened, Rosemary contacted an old friend of hers to appraise the piece as Helen wanted a second opinion for the insurance company.  The in-depth discussion about the findings with Helen was moved back first by Robert’s death and then the attack.  “Are we still looking at the same value?”

“I reread it the day before the attack to prep for the meeting that never obviously happened, and he seems to agree with the assessment Robert gave us. The statue was processed into the collections several months ago and I put in Robert’s information, but never got around to putting in Francois’ report.”

“Well, so long as the original value was imputed into the report, it’ll give us something for the insurance company.”

“Are we going to report it lost?  What if they recover it?”

“Rose, I don’t mean to sound mean, but I doubt these officers are going to find the piece.  Whoever has it is probably long gone by now.”  Helen glanced over at her.  “Unless a miracle happens.”

“Well good thing I believe in manifestation and miracles.”  For the first time in what seemed like a long while, Rosemary smiled as her old humor began to shine through.  The director smiled back, unable to let the infectious comment not affect her.

“We’ll see.”

---***---

Two Weeks Later

“Pike!  Get in here!” Carmichael’s voice carried through the small cluster of offices their department occupied.  “Pike!”

“I’m coming!  Damn, give me a second!”  Pike grumbled as he scurried from his office and across to hers.  She wasn’t a loud person, so the excited shout she gave had everyone around her curious.  As Pike entered the room, he could see his partner standing behind her desk, doing a little hop-dance.  He raised an eyebrow.

“You need to look at this!”  She pointed at the computer, her smile so big it nearly took over her face. He stopped because she was giggling, Carmichael never giggled.  Whatever this was, it had to been good.  Pike came around the desk and bent down to see what she was looking at and when his eyes landed on the screen, his eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped.

“This is one of them, isn’t it?”  Carmichael asked, her voice quivering in excitement.  He ran out of the office to the command center for the cold cases, his presence startling his crew.  He looked over at the evidence board and ripped off a picture hanging in the middle before rifling through one of the boxes to find the corresponding file. He ran back to the office.

The picture in his hand was faded with time, that grainy look of age that pictures older pictures were taking on, but despite those flaws, the sculpture in the photo matched the one in the new alert in the NSAF database.  The Cornucopia had always been breathtaking.

And it’s been missing since 1993.

The agents glanced over the dossier, reviewing the piece to try and discover how this priceless Russian artifact made its way to what looks like a small museum in Western Michigan.  Neither had reviewed the original case file closely and both felt their jaws dropping as they read further and further into its history:

A rare example of the early Ukrainian Avant Garde art movement, The Cornucopia was created by Artem Chumak, a well-known artist from Odessa. Commissioned by the then-governor of the country as a gift to Czar Nicolas II in 1907, the piece was designed to showcase the entirety of the Ukraine in a single moment.  Because the country was known for its agriculture, Chumak chose to use the image of the cornucopia as his inspiration.

The piece is made of bronze and inlaid with the following precious gemstones:

               Siberian diamond

               Ural sapphire

               Ural ruby

               Ural jade

               Russian emerald

               Russian opal

               Ukrainian pearl

Upon the fall of the Russian empire in 1917, Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna Romanov took the piece along with several others from the royal art collection when she fled Russia.  She remained owner of the piece until 1920, when she sold it to the Grand Duke of Luxembourg.

In turn, the Grand Duke loaned the piece to the National Museum of History and Art and it remained with the museum until the outbreak of World War II. The ducal family took the piece back, along with several others to protect the collection from the advancement of the Nazis.

Unfortunately, the move did little good and much of the museum’s collection, including the pieces stored in the ducal family home, were taken by the Nazis, with intention of destroying them as part of the Germanization of the annexed country.

The pieces remained missing until 1949, when a team from the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program (a.k.a. the Monument Men), recovered the stolen collections in a cellar in Hamburg and returned them to their respective homes.  The Cornucopia was returned to the museum and was on display until the ducal family attempted to sell the piece in 1965.  The sale failed and the family remained owners until the piece was loaned to the Luxembourg-American Cultural Museum in the U.S. in 1992.

In 1993, the piece was stolen from the museum and reported to the FBI’s Art Theft Squad days later.  The piece has yet to be recovered despite the best attempts of the team.

Pike looked at Carmichael and they grinned at each other.  While it being reported as missing didn’t mean that they had found it, it did mean that this cold case was heating up.

“Do you think we found our key?”  He didn’t want to sound hopeful, but he had to admit he was optimistic that they were much closer to solving this case.  The evidence they had been sifting through meticulously was painting a picture, but like a jigsaw puzzle, they were still missing pieces that brought it all together.

“I think we have.”  Carmichael replied.  They grinned at each other.

“Whose turn is it to go and do the interview?”  

“Mine, but could you do it?  Marty is out of town on business this week and I can’t leave Dinah alone.”  She rarely asked to trade like this, but Pike held up his hands in understanding.  They smiled, grateful they were partnered up, their work relationship had always been a smooth one.

“Sure, what could possibly happen in Michigan?”

They laughed as they started to walk to the command center.

---***---

Rosemary and Banana walked into the house, both exhausted from the day, the museum’s annual fall field trip event a cacophony of noise and excitement. The program had been exactly what Rosemary needed – something that distracted her from everything that had happened over the last month.  Her stomach hurt all day from her laughter as young kids swarmed the museum in their Halloween costumes.

As she hung up her coat, she caught something out of the corner of her eye on the kitchen table.  Walking over, Rosemary immediately recognized Fern’s loopy handwriting.

Hey sweetie, probate hasn’t cleared yet, but I heard word it should within the month.  Not to jinx it, but welcome to Saugatuck – its’ about time!  I’m also including some keys to Robert’s safety deposit boxes for safekeeping.  You can’t open them until the probate has cleared, so don’t get ahead of yourself! Love you, ae-in.  Always.  -F

“Oh, thank god.”  She huffed as she opened the bulky envelope, dumping out various keys and paperwork, including the deed to the house and the store.  She had an underlying fear that something would happen, and Robert’s wishes would have been overturned and she would get nothing.  “Looks like we’re here for the time being, Baba!”

Rosemary read through the papers and picked up her phone to call Fern. For the next hour, the two women chatted about the changes, what she needed to do to register ownership with the state, and more.  After they said their good-byes, Rosemary pulled her jacket on and patted Banana on the head as she left the house.  It was dark now, but she knew the path through the cemetery and trudged up the hill towards Robert’s grave with no problem.

“You know, I’m certain you chose this spot for some reason or another, but I think it’s to punish me for not getting enough exercise.”  She groused at the polished granite, wondering how she made this walk as often as she did, and it still robbed her of her breath. She was out of shape.  

Robert’s cheeky grin beamed from the porcelain cameo embedded into the stone.  She had never seen anything like it, but he had told her it was common among Eastern European communities.  He described how they used this horribly unflattering photo for his aunt Ionna’s cameo and that he vowed he’d choose his own rather than leave it to his relatives to decide.

She sat down on the damp ground and settle in.  She was still visiting the cemetery daily and while she didn’t cry as much as she had in the beginning, her throat always felt painful after she left.  Wrapping the coat around her tightly she sighed.

“You missed our field trip day.  I know you loved volunteering for it and the kids who remembered you from last year asked where you were.”  She smiled. “I told them you were attending as a ghost and that they couldn’t see you.  I think they believed me.

“I don’t know what strings you pulled up on that cloud of yours, but Fern thinks the probate will clear next month.  I’m glad, this whole process has been a pain and thank you for not making me go through it.  I’d give up and just die if Fern weren’t in charge.  My landlord was mad I’m breaking my lease, but I know you’re excited, you always hated that place.”  She sighed as a wave of sadness washed over her.

“I miss you.”  Her voice crackled with tears.  “I miss you so much, Robert!  I hate that you’re gone.  I hate that! I hate this!  And I failed you!  They still haven’t found the statue and I contacted the FBI and I haven’t heard anything, and I don’t know what to do!”

She cried harder, her ribs hurting as if the pain she experienced weeks ago was still fresh.  She gripped her sides as she continued to sob.   She was tired and everything that had happen in the month and a half since Robert died was catching up with her.  Rosemary sat in the cold evening for hours and let her sadness out.  When she finally left, the exhaustion she felt forced her straight to bed when she arrived at the house.  In a bit of mercy, she slept a dreamless sleep for once.

---***---

“Good morning.”  The deep voice caused Marquetta to turn from the display case she was working on.  A tall man with brown hair and a kind smile stood at the front desk.  She watched as Bob ambled over to welcome him.  She couldn’t hear their conversation after that, but she kept a subtle watch on the interaction as the two men talked.  The stranger smiled again and walked past her towards the stairs and she watched up trudge up each step until he was out of sight.

“You aren’t being very subtle.”  Bob’s voice sounded behind her and Marquetta jumped at the noise.  She felt herself grow hot, grateful her dark skin hid the blush rushing across her cheeks.  She turned to look at Bob, who was grinning at her.

“Who was that?”  She tried to keep her voice steady.

“Some FBI agent wanting to talk to Rosemary.”

“FBI?”  Marquette frowned before her eyebrows shot up.  “FBI!  Oh my god! They’re here!”

“Don’t shout.  It’s rude.”

“No, Bob!  Rosemary reported that statue that got stolen to the FBI!  That means they know about it!  They’re here for that!”

“Does that mean they’ll find the men who hurt her?”  He sounded hopeful at the idea.  Even if he thought her manners were lacking, Bob was deeply upset that Rosemary had been hurt the way she had been.  If this young agent can help find her attackers, he was all for it.

“I bet they do if they find the statue.”  The two stopped talking when Rosemary and Banana entered the building. She looked up and felt awkward when she realized they were staring at her.

“Um, is something wrong?”  She sounded unsure of herself and Bob got angry, realizing that these men didn’t just rob the museum of this ugly statue, it robbed Rosemary of her self-assurance.

“Never, Rose.  There is an agent from the FBI in your office.  Marquetta says you contacted them.”  She startled, not believing that her reporting the stolen item would bring them to her front door.  They were just a small history museum in Michigan, not the Detroit Institute of Art or the Smithsonian.  She figured she’d get an email or a call, but never a real agent.

“They’re here?  Really?” Her eyes lit up when Bob nodded. She started to laugh because she didn’t know what else to do.  Marquetta walked over to hug her and the physical contact help to ground her.

“He’s good looking, too.”  Marquetta whispered in her ear.  Rosemary pulled back at the comment. “Like really good looking.  His butt is cute.”

The two women giggled at the comment and hugged again.  Picking up the leash she dropped, the curator and her furry companion went towards the stairs, hope beginning to bubble in her chest. Maybe she hadn’t failed Robert after all, she thought.  When she reached the third floor, she stopped to catch her breath before walking down to her office.

When she stepped into the doorway, she saw him standing there, looking at her walls.  She couldn’t see his face, but everything about his presence radiated kindness – something she hadn’t expected from an FBI agent.  When he turned to look at her as she cleared her throat, his face lit up in a smile and she couldn’t help but smile back.  For the first time in weeks, she felt safe.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike.”  He held out his hand to her.  She took it with her customary firm grip.

“I’m Rosemary Carter.  Welcome to Fort Jamison.”

#marcus pike #Agent Marcus Pike #marcus pike x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #the mentalist

[1989dreamer]

Chapter 21 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Still not editing before posting.

Still on AO3.

Thanks for reading

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek wakes up screaming.

He’d been dreaming that he was back in New York and that she—that Kate—had been torturing him again.

He can still feel the glide of her knife as it skimmed him, the skin peeling back, exposing his twitching muscles.

Without realizing it, Derek shifts into his delta form, scrambling off the bed and under it. He whines high in his throat, more human than wolf.

The lights come on almost immediately, and Laura and Cora crawl under the bed with him while Isaac tries to explain what happened to Boyd and Erica.

With his sisters by his side, Derek shifts back. “Just a nightmare,” he tells them.

Erica sits next to him and pats his back. “That’s okay. You’re okay. We won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.”

Boyd nods his head in agreement, and Derek wonders at the contentment he smells on him.

“You’re safe here,” Erica continues. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”

Derek looks at his sisters. “No. Not really.”

“That’s okay too.” Erica lets Derek burrow against her side, seeking comfort. He’s glad that she’s staying behind with him and Cora while Laura, Boyd, and John go to New York.

He is also grateful for the small mercy that he isn’t going with them. He isn’t sure that he would be of any help to them. He wasn’t kept in the same compound. The hunters he ran away from are not the same ones that abused his sisters.

Erica is a solid weight beside him, her arm around his shoulder, the chemical smell of her medication as comforting as her warmth. Secretly he hopes that she and Boyd decide to keep them, even if Laura is technically old enough to be his and Cora’s guardian.

He wants the stability that will come from living in a house, from having actual meals, and if Erica has her way, school. Derek wants all those things, but above all, he wants Laura to find her daughter. He wants to put their damaged pack together, like a puzzle with missing pieces. They’ll be stronger together. Even with Peter—if Peter can escape the murder charges.

“Think you can go back to sleep now?” Erica asks. Derek realizes that everyone else has gone back to bed now. Even Isaac is tucked in, his blanket pulled over his head.

Even though he doesn’t quite feel ready, Derek nods. Erica kisses his forehead.

“I’ll check on you in a bit,” she promises. “Do you want me to leave the door open?”

There is a nightlight in the hallway. She’s offering him a source of light so that he can still see. Except she’s forgot that he is a werewolf and doesn’t need the nightlight.

He nods anyway.

Isaac is already blocking the light from the overhead. He won’t mind the nightlight.

Derek watches as Erica switches off the room’s light and leaves the door wide open as she heads back to her room. Then, he climbs off the bed and pads across the hall to his sisters’ room. Laura lifts the blanket and he crawls between them.

In the three years that Kate had him, there was nothing Derek missed as much as his family. He’s glad that he still has his sisters. And if Peter gets away with the murder he’s committed, then he’ll have Peter too.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Ramirez slams her head down on the table, the third time in an hour. Kincaid startles awake from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. Kincaid grunts, moving to sit next to her.

Stiles spares them a brief glance before turning back to his work.

The list they’ve been studying isn’t long—only about seventy names—but they’ve been researching each one, trying to match faces with names. So far, they’ve made it through about fifty-five names and all they have is a tree of the deceased, all Hales in some way, and a few of the arson investigators. Most of the paperwork has been signed off by either Stiles’ dad, early in the investigation, or Sheriff Lahey.

The difference is marked.

Where his dad made little tick marks and initialed on every line, Lahey only signed at the bottom of the reports.

“Deputy Stilinski, sir,” Ramirez says, and Stiles lifts his tired eyes to her. “Look at this.”

She thrusts a stack of papers under his nose. Kincaid snores gently, leaning on Ramirez, while Stiles flicks through the papers.

“This is an insurance investigation.” He checks it against the arson investigative report and then checks the signatures on both. The arson investigation has been signed by the fire chief and his dad while the insurance investigation has been signed by Lahey and a new name, Garrison Myers. “Is Myers listed anywhere else?”

Ramirez points at to his name on the manifest. Number seventy himself. “It looks like he joined late.”

Stiles finds Myers’ card tucked away in a box of evidence. “He’s an insurance fraud investigator.” There’s only a number and a slogan on the card. Stiles makes a note to call the number in the morning. For now, he knows they need to call it a night and pack it up.

“Up to driving home?” he asks Ramirez. Kincaid is definitely down for the count, slumbering still. She shakes her head. “Neither am I. We can bunk here for the night and resume the search tomorrow.”

And tomorrow, he fully plans on meeting with the Hale children to see what they know.

Stiles puts the evidence back in its boxes and shoves them onto the shelves while Ramirez gently wakes up Kincaid. They head for the bunk room, and Stiles locks the evidence room behind them.

The bunk room is barely used, many of the deputies preferring to head home after their shifts, so it’s a little musty, but Stiles doesn’t care. He crawls onto the top bunk, Kincaid face-plants on the lower one, and Ramirez flops on the only cot.

Stiles is so tired that he hopes to drift off quickly, but his mind keeps buzzing, zipping from thought to thought in a way he hasn’t had to deal with since college.

Great. Looks like no sleep. He rolls onto his side and tries, unsuccessfully, to organize his thoughts.

Myers was investigating the fire for potential insurance fraud, which makes sense since the arson investigators determined the cause to be unnatural. But, the house was supposedly abandoned, so who would be collecting insurance on it? And how did they link the burned house with the murdered Hales? Why did they think Derek, long thought to be the only survivor, had set the fire and-slash-or murdered his family?

Before his untimely passing, Lahey had implied that he had evidence that Derek was involved. Why? Was he trying to cover something up? Is that why he’d brought in Myers to look into it?

Hopefully Myers will be able to shed some light when Stiles talks to him tomorrow.

And they still need to locate Deaton.

Stiles isn’t holding his breath that the former veterinarian is still alive. Peter Hale is an efficient killer. He’s already proved it three times. What’s a fourth?

When sleep won’t come even after breathing deeply and clearing his mind, Stiles climbs down and heads to his desk. He might as well research Garrison Myers and see if he’s investigated any other cases in Beacon County.

The night shift desk officer, Myrna Walsh, a deputy even greener than Kincaid, nods at him when he drops into his seat and he nods back at her. When his computer is fully booted, he enters Myers’ name and phone number into the Sheriff Department’s search log.

Six cases come back. Four closed and two on-going. The house out in the preserve is closed with a verdict of arson. Guess when the cops find the bodies of ten people with obvious non-fire related wounds, there’s no way to call it an accident, and Myers agreed by closing the insurance fraud investigation in favor of the insurance company not paying out.

There’s a photo attached to the Hale file, and Stiles downloads it, tapping his fingers as he feels an energy spike cresting in his veins.

He opens it and freezes. It’s Lahey in his Sheriff’s uniform, talking to a man. Stiles zooms in on the other man’s face.

It’s definitely his John Doe.

And if the picture is correct, then his dead John Doe is Garrison Myers.

It’s… Stiles doesn’t actually know how to feel about it because on one hand, now he knows who Peter Hale killed, but on the other, more pressing hand, valuable information regarding the Hale murders likely died with Myers.

Stiles saves the picture, labeling the people in it for Ramirez and Kincaid to look at tomorrow. They’ll have to looking into Garrison Myers and if he’s been reported missing yet.

He scrubs at his face, tugging at his hair. “Crap.” He can’t tell if the investigation is going well or not anymore.

It doesn’t feel like it is. It actually feels like Stiles is playing with half of a deck of cards that keeps exploding every time he thinks he makes progress.

“Fuck this,” he decides out loud, muttering angrily to himself. He needs sleep desperately.

Myrna waves him over as he stumbles back to the bunkroom. “Deputy Stilinski?”

“Yeah, Myrna?”

“This came for you today.” She hands him a thick envelope encased in an evidence bag. It doesn’t have a return address, and the flap is already neatly slit.

“Been examined?” He can see where it was dusted for fingerprints. He’s not holding his breath for evidence. It’s been that kind of case.

“Yeah. Nothing useful.”

“Contents?”

“Coded letter. For your eyes only, but I’m sure whoever sent it realized that more than you would see it.”

Hence the code. “Obviously.” Stiles weighs the envelope, the kind important ‘do not bend’ documents are sent in. He shakes his head, heading for the evidence room. He puts on a pair of gloves, grabs some evidence bags, and sits down at the table, spreading out the contents of the envelope.

There are seven pages, written back and front in code, all sealed in Beacon County Sheriff’s Evidence bags and initialed by Detective Benjamin Votsky, the only California state detective who lived in Beacon Hills and operated out of the Sheriff’s Department.

There is also a bagged single sheet of notebook paper with his name on it. Stiles picks it up first.

Deputy Stilinski, it reads, I am writing to you to confess my perceived involvement in a homicide. I want to make it perfectly clear that I knew nothing of what was going to happen nor how my knowledge would be applied to this heinous crime.

It has only recently come to my attention that someone I spoke with nearly five years ago used my answers to her simply fascinating questions in order to perform that most horrible task.

I am not stupid, Deputy. I know I will likely be charged with accessory to murder even though the things we talked about were purely hypothetical—until she went and proved my hypothesis into a theory. Therefore, I have opted to 1) encode the information I am revealing and 2) not reveal myself until I can be guaranteed that I will not be charged with any crimes. The key to the code is simple, Deputy. It’s Mischief in its true form.

Stiles sets aside the page. He has a feeling he knows this person if “Mischief in its true form” is the key. Stiles assumes that the anonymous letter-sender means that the key is actually his birth name.

He finds a piece of paper and writes down in block letters his full birth name, shoving it into an evidence bag and sealing it, scribbling his initials on the seal. He then carefully puts all the pages back into the envelope in its evidence bag and carries it all back to the front desk.

He hands it to Myrna, along with the paper with his name. “Give that to Detective Votsky. That word,” Stiles points at his name, “is the key. Tell him to find me when he’s done.”

Votsky used to be a deputy under Stiles’ dad’s terms as sheriff. He’d made detective right before the shake up, so he’d managed to skirt the firing. He also has a specialty in codes, which is probably why he was given the evidence first.

“Will do. Hey, Stiles?”

Stiles pauses. “Yeah?”

Myrna looks at him kindly. “Get some rest. The case won’t get solved any faster if you’re not able to see something because you’re too tired.”

“Sure,” Stiles says. What else is he supposed to say? He knows he needs sleep. He’s just having trouble shutting off his brain. “Thanks.”

He walks away before Myrna can give him any more futile advice. He knows she means well, but there’s a reason she’s on the front desk now instead of Kincaid.

He climbs back into his chosen bed in the bunkroom, cramming his head under his pillow to block out the snores of Ramirez and Kincaid. Surprisingly, he manages to fall asleep in minutes.

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #My Story/My Writing #LfaPtCH

[purplesurveys]

1041

survey by chasingghosts

What is the age gap between you and your parents? 27 for both. Technically, 26 years with my mom since she had yet to celebrate her birthday when she had me, but she was going to turn 27 all the same. Guh. I can’t believe I’m just five years away from that and I’m still nowhere near building my own family.

How many bathrooms does your house have? Is this enough? Two. I’d say it’s enough. Two people in the family rarely have to go to the bathroom at the same time so it works out for us.

Have you sent a letter to anyone in the past year? Yeah. I used to give Gabie a handwritten letter every Christmas along with her gifts. I still plan on writing her one, but obviously the content will be vastly different now.

Have you ever video chatted with someone you met online? I did this with Carley a handful of times; we’d video chat when I came home from school which was around the time she would get ready for school. She was such an extrovert who was so lovely and bubbly around me, and I’ve always felt bad that she had to contend with my shy ass with my mic always muted lol.

Are you hungry or thirsty right now? I’m neither but I can go for a light meal right now, which is great because I got myself a chicken barbecue sandwich and a caramel macchiato from Starbucks as a treat for myself tonight :) I went through five video call meetings just for today alone, went through several breakdowns while at work, and am also on my period, so I thought I deserved a break.

When was the last time you ate something, and what did you eat? Literally just had a bite from my sandwich.

Have you ever seen the film Boondock Saints? Nope. Sounds nothing like my type of film.

Do you own a pair of gumboots? Nah. I don’t like walking in floods anyway, so I don’t plan on getting a pair.

What colour is your favourite mug? Copper.

How far away from your town/city is your state's capital city? I already live in my province’s capital.

Have you ever worked somewhere where you had to clean the toilets? I haven’t.

Do you know anyone named Doug? No, not really a common name here.

What cut of jeans is your favourite and why? Do mom jeans count as a cut? I’ve been all over those throughout 2020. They’re stylish and yet so comfy, which are two words that seldom go together.

Do you rate people's attractiveness on a scale of 1-10? Uhhhhhhhh unless a friend asked me to rate someone they know, I don’t really think in these terms.

Name a few of your favourite actors. Kate freaking Winslet. Also Kristen Stewart, Emma Stone, Audrey Hepburn, Brie Larson, Florence Pugh, and Eddie Redmayne. I’d name Timothée Chalamet but I have yet to see a work of his.

Do you collect anything, or have you ever? The first item I ever collected was notebooks. In my past relationship (is it obvious I’m not over it yet and probably never will be? Ha) I initially liked to collect receipts from places we went to and ate at. I’d also like to be able to grow a collection of wrestling memorabilia, particularly action figures and belts. It’s not really a life goal of mine but it’d still be a cool thing to achieve.

So, how has your week been so far? I mean it’s only Monday, so nothing much. I cried and broke down a lot today which wasn’t a good start, but tomorrow’s a holiday so no work; and for Thursday I was invited to the Christmas party of the department I initially interned at and apparently they’ll be sending over a Christmas kit over to my place so I’m looking forward to these! It’s super touching they remembered and still invited me even though I’m not a part of the team anymore, so I wouldn’t have missed the party for the world.

Is there anything that you could cry about right now? Definitely, and being on my period at the moment makes it so much easier to cry. But I already cried too much and too hard earlier today and it felt exhausting, so I’m trying to avoid it tonight.

How old were you when you learned how to tie your shoelaces? I was five. I probably would’ve made myself learn later but one of our ‘exams’ in kindergarten was to show that you know how to tie your shoelaces, so I had to ask my grandma to give me a crash course.

Have you ever slept in a car overnight? Why did you have to? Yeah. I had to pull several all-nighters in college and work at 24/7 coffee shops, but I usually gave up by around 2-3 AM and would sleep in the car by then.

When was the last time you used Facebook? Earlier this evening, but I couldn’t scroll too much because spoilers for Start Up are everyyyyyyfuckingwhere and I’m still several episodes away from the finale, which aired last night.

Do you have a PO Box or does your mail get sent straight to your house? Our mails and parcels get sent straight to our door.

Are you interested in entomology? Do you know what that is? Never been. I think it’s great that insects have a lot of capabilities and contributions that we often take for granted; but I personally find a great deal of them icky as well lol so I wouldn’t say I’m interested in this branch.

Have you ever had to claim insurance? What for? Hmm I don’t think so. Not my own nor my parents’. Do you like to listen to albums start-finish without skipping or shuffling? I’ll do this sometimes with my favorite albums, yes. Fuck knows how many times I listened to After Laughter from start to finish with no skips; it was my favorite for a while.

Do you have any unspoken enemies, or maybe frenemies? I’m not the biggest fan of Patrice, but it’s not something I broadcast to people because why would I? I’m sure she slightly does not like me too, so we’re even.

What was the last thing you broke? That would be my last phone charger cord. I’ve since had it replaced though.

Do you have a favourite state/province/territory in your country? Not necessarily an overall favorite but I do have a favorite place I’ve traveled to, which is Sagada. I need a second vacation to see if it still lives up to my expectations and if it would still be able to give me an experience as cathartic and therapeutic as my first trip there, but for the last five years it has sat on the throne.

How many vowels are in your street name? Is this question too mundane? Three. I mean I’ve never been asked this on a survey before, so I wouldn’t call it that.

What are your three top favourite flavours of ice cream? Cookies and cream, chocolate chip cookie dough, coffee.

How far away is the nearest Target? At least a couple thousand miles away.

Do you prefer Target, Kmart or Walmart? Idk and idc.

Have you ever farted in class or somewhere else you shouldn't have? No. I suppress my farts, even when I’m alone haha it’s just my least favorite bodily function.

What's your middle name? Would you change it? I’m not giving it away. I wouldn’t change it and I’m definitely not giving it up even if I get married. I’m keeping my middle name then just hyphenate my surname so that I get to keep all three names.

When was the last tie you wore heels? What was the occasion? September. Job interview for a position I didn’t really want but still chose to undergo because it was still an interview.

Do you find yourself lost for words often? I guess yeah, depression does tend to do that to me.

Did you share baths with your siblings/cousins when you were a child? Yep, I remember sharing the shower with my sister as late as when I was 10. Then puberty happened to me and I did not want to continue the practice anymore, haha.

Have you ever been a member of an online dating site? How did it go? I joined Tinder while I was in a relationship (she made an account as well at the time so it was fair game) literally just to people-watch. I wasn’t interested in cheating; I was just genuinely curious to see how the app worked. I put on a fake name, age, location and my profile photo was of a cat I saw in school so it was impossible to tell it was me.

Do you know what your neighbours even look like? I would not be able to recognize them if you lined them up with a bunch of other strangers, to tell you the truth. I’d probably be able to recognize the carpenters working on the house currently being constructed in front of ours though; they’re super nice and they’re crazy over Cooper haha.

How many siblings does your best friend have? Angela is an only child.

Do you put ketchup on your fries? No. Ketchup does not go anywhere near my fries.

Have you been lucky enough to make out with anyone in the past week? LOL lucky enough...but no, I haven’t done that in a while.

Have your parents ever worked in the agriculture business etc. on a farm? Neither have.

Do you have an ex that makes you angry with literally everything they do? No.

Are you easily susceptible to brain freeze? No but tooth sensitivity, yes. I have a certain tooth that acts up whenever I eat ice cream, and it can get soooo inconvenient and uncomfortable for a few seconds.

#survey #surveys

[meflemming]

The dEtEcTiVe and the vAmPiRe || Agatha and Miriam

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Flemming’s Leather

 PARTIES: @detective-keen & @meflemming

SUMMARY: Miriam’s store gets robbed. Agatha’s on the case.

The store had been broken into. The store had been broken into, and Miriam was seething. No one, not once, had ever broken into her family's store in all their years of owning it. Yet she comes back from the dead for only a few months, and a break in happens. She arrived at the store a little before daw, planning on spending her day inside to do paperwork, when she found the door cracked open. The cash register had been broken into, but, more importantly, some of the handcrafted pieces that she’d made were stolen. Miriam spent hours at least once a month counting her inventory and keeping track of prices. She knew each piece that had been stolen as well as its value. Which is why she called the police department immediately, requesting an officer on the scene to take her statement and begin hunting down the criminal that had stolen from her to the fullest extent of the law. She leaned against the cashier’s counter, angling herself away from the rising sun as she waited. The bell on the door rang, and her head shot up. “I do hope you’re an officer?” she asked, quinting towards the door.

“Mrs. Flemming?” Agatha gestured at a policeman to get closer and have a look at the inside of the store while she spoke to the owner. “I’m Detective Keen,” she took out a notepad from her jacket and flipped it open. Had she spent hours and hours practicing that move ever since she was a child ? You bet she did. Was it worth it ? You bet it was. Her eyes wandered toward the busted register. She had taken notes of the state of the front door as she got in, and the more she looked around, the more she saw the damage inflicted to this shop owner’s finances. “If you have any sort of surveillance footage, we’re going to have to have a look at it,” otherwise, the bank on the other side of the street had an ATM that might have caught something. There were ways to get an idea of who was responsible for this. “Can you give me a rough idea of when this could have happened?” She looked up from her notes and paused, to have a look at her face. “Would you like to discuss it elsewhere?”

“It’s Miss, actually,” Miriam said, her smile a bit tight. “I haven’t been Mrs for quite some time.” She looked the young woman, Detective Keen, over. She was young. It was hard for Miriam to believe that she was a detective, being someone so young, but she’d take what she was given. “Thank you for coming out, Detective, especially at such an,” she looked outside at the sun barely coming up, “early hour.” She looked around the store, the damages, the loss of property. She was furious. She hoped they found the bastard that had the audacity to rob from her, and soon. She had some words for them, among other things. “Surveillance?” Miriam pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ve been meaning to get something installed but haven’t gotten around to it. One doesn’t expect this kind of thing to happen in such a small town.” She sighed. The sun was steadily rising. “We can go back to my office.” She started walking down the hallway, assuming the detective would follow. “It would have had to happen between midnight and 5:30 this morning. Probably earlier than that.”

If Agatha’s eyebrow raised, she did not say a thing. One of the reasons why she called women Mrs was because she did not like how they made a difference for them depending on their marital status, when the same could not be said about men. It felt archaic, and she did not care for this. She unbuttoned her blazer and started pacing around the shop, having a look at the mess the thieves had made. “There’s nothing more cowardly and lazy than theft,” she commented. She was mostly speaking to herself, as she doubted anyone cared about her stream of consciousness. She hated this. B&E was terrible, because it left people living in fear for a long, long time. Fear that it will happen again, fear that they won’t be safe anywhere. “I’m sorry that you have to go through this,” the detective turned on her heels to face Ms.Flemming. The look in her eyes had not soften. She had not come here to make friends, after all. Still, you could see that her apology was genuine. Following the woman behind, she took a seat in her office, glancing around the room. It was nicely decorated, and it certainly looked more tidy and comfortable than hers. “I’ll get the surveillance footage from the street. The cameras out there might have caught something,” she explained, writing down the approximate time given to her. “That’s actually quite precise. It will save us a lot of time, thank you,” she couldn’t help but think that this was quite a short time for someone to leave and come back to work. The woman must have been quite hardworking. “Everything here is handmade?”

Allowing the woman to look around the room, Miriam herself took it in, wondering if her superior vision could pick out something that the detective might have missed. She’d already scanned the place over first, but the thief had left nothing around the shop that could help with identification. Just a mess and a distinct lack in some of her more expensive merchandise. “Thank you, Detective.” Though it didn’t do anything to help the situation, Miriam could, at least, appreciate the detective’s apology. She sat at her desk chair, drumming her fingers against her knee. The surveillance would help, certainly. She wondered if she could convince someone from the bank to give her the information. Part of her wanted to take matters into her own hands. She could. She should. Revenge was kind of what she lived for. “I like to come by the shop sometimes at night, even when I’m not working, just to check on things.” She was out and about anyway. “All handmade, yes. Mostly by myself and two other employees, though I also sell products from other crafters. My family kept up a lot of contacts. But I have a hand in most of what’s been stolen. I should be able to get you a comprehensible list soon, should you need it.” Or even if she didn’t.

“This place is your baby,” Agatha absentmindedly said, sitting done on the other side of the desk. Her elbows on her thighs, she wrote done a few things in her notebook again, mentioning among other things, that Ms.Flemming spent a lot of time here. Clearly whoever had broken in here had been watching her for a while. Fucking creep, she thought to herself. She decided not to tell her that. Clearly, if whoever had done this wanted to hurt Miriam, they wouldn’t have picked a time where she was absent. “Have you noticed anything lately? Seeing the same person in the street quite often?” Hard to notice, but she couldn’t leave this question unanswered. “I will obviously need the name of your employees, but if there are perhaps people you know that might want to harm your business, I will need their names too,” she nodded, “I will need that list. You will have to contact your insurance company, you can copy me on this email, I’ll be able to confirm the robbery directly.” She sat up, and looked Miriam in the eyes. She could not quite get a read of her, and that bugged him more than she let show. “Since when have you been owning this shop?”

“It is,” Miriam said quietly. She put almost all of her time and effort and energy into this store. That and hunting was what kept her going. The store was a service to people that they could see and appreciate. She made art. She made things she could be proud of. She tried to think back to her week, to anyone being overly suspicious around her store, but she was drawing a blank. She couldn’t be on the main floor all day, and when she came by to check on the place at night, she hadn’t noticed anyone. “I haven’t noticed anything,” she said, feeling frustrated, “and I tend to be quite aware of my environment.” Came with being a hunter (a predator, really) she supposed. “I would have noticed someone if they’d attempted to stalk my business with me around.” She sighed, running a hand over her eyes. God, she felt tired. She wished she could sleep, really sleep, like a normal person. Instead, she jotted down a list of her employees, only six names total. “I have three clerks, two other leatherworkers besides myself, and my assistant, Elle.” There were plenty of people that wanted to harm her, the witch hunter. They wouldn’t target her business, though. At least, she didn’t think so. She handed the list over. “As soon as she gets in contact with the insurance company, I’ll make sure she gets you the information you need. I’m terrible with computers, I fear.” In fact, most of what the detective said about email went right over her head. She leaned back in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. This was a story she knew. “It’s been in my family for as long as I can remember. My cousins owned it before me. They had a tragedy in the family about thirty years ago, never really recovered. It’s always been a dream of mine to own the place and, well, here we are.”

I tend to be quite aware of my environment. Agatha wouldn’t have been able to tell why, but those words sent a shiver down her spine. Maybe it was how Ms.Flemming had enunciated them, but she found it quite a weird thing to say for a shop owner who sold jackets and shoes. She tried not to show it, and cleared her throat. Her pen still in hand, she wrote down the number of her employees, and took the list handed to her with a polite smile. Another thing bothered him. That woman looked about the same age as Agatha, she must have grown up around computers, just like herself, and yet, she claimed to be so bad with computers, she could not send an email. Now Agatha, she knew people bad with computers, but they were her mother’s age. In fact, she had to do most of her paperwork these days, as everything was informatized. And so, she wondered why the hell someone like Miriam could not just do it herself. It took her a lot not to comment on it, but she managed. Instead, she listened to the shop owner as she went on, explaining that this was a family business, and that her family had gone through a tragedy. Obviously, this couldn’t have been the woman’s plan, but stories like that could only remind Agatha of her own family, and her father’s tragic death. “You should always try to pursue your dreams, no matter what hardships are on your path,” she commented with a sigh. It seemed like she would not learn a lot more here. “I’ll see what they found,” she stood up from her chair and put away her notepad. “Maybe you could go for a walk, it’s such a nice day today,” she offered, referring to the fantastic sunny day they had been blessed with.

As the detective wrote everything down, Miriam watched the other woman. She was about the age Miriam had been when she was turned, though it was hard for Miriam to tell. She’d never been good with ages. For all she knew, the detective could be years older or years younger, though she had a sort of youthfulness to her that Miriam hadn’t recognized in herself in a very long time. Far before she was turned, maybe even before she married. Miriam could not remember the last time she felt young. “I agree completely,” she told the detective. “Dreams are meant to be followed.” She believed that wholeheartedly. And owning the leather shop had always been her dream, though perhaps the company had been forced upon her when she was little. It became her dream, and she’d grown to love it more than anything else in the world. Miriam stood up along with the detective, giving her a bright smile. “Thank you so much for all of your help, and do keep me updated on what you find.” She walked Detective Keen as far as the main floor to the shop, but stayed in the hallway to the back rooms, avoiding the sunlight. “I’d love nothing more than to take a walk, but, unfortunately, I told my assistant I’d wait her in my office once you all were finished. My work doesn’t stop, I’m afraid, even for crime.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in response. It was not often that you saw people so passionate about their jobs. Some didn’t get to pick, and some others picked it for the money. “Thank you for your time and your answers,” she replied, courteous but curt. If she had not expected that the woman would stop in her tracks, she expected her to stay in here instead of enjoying the sun. Agatha would have never said this to her face, but this woman looked as if she did not see much of the sun, although, considering how good her skin looked, she could not blame her for that. Damn porcelain. However, the detective wondered why she couldn’t at least go get some fresh air, change her mind, instead of staying stuck in her office to work. Clearly she could have used a break. Agatha held back her frown, and instead smiled at Miriam. “Then I suppose I’ll see you in a few.” And with those words, she walked away from the woman, and up to the officer in charge of evidence, who looked as if he was almost done.

#chatzy: agatha keen

[fuck-customers]

Fuck my old company basically

TW for homophobia/transphobia, I don’t know for sure if what I’m going to mention will be considered either of those, but I want to make sure just in case

Gotta give some background first: I used to work for a big lab company, lets call it West Diagnostics, for two and a half years. I wasn’t super special, just a specimen tech, and I basically helped make sure the doctor’s test orders were input correctly and that the patient samples matched with what was needed. There were about 150 of us total I think, and that was just for our department during night shift. The lab itself had a bunch more departments and employees, but that’s not super important. But most of these people are very cliquey and treat you differently if you don’t fit in with them in any way, and they all get away with whatever they want while the rest of us who are more like outsiders would constantly be reprimanded for not “following the rules”. For example, there weren’t any explicit rules about not talking quietly to those sitting next to you during work as long as you got shit done, and all of the people who fit in with the clique and the managers/supervisors would be extremely loud all night and barely meet their quotas for what their production should be, but if myself or my friends were talking at all we would get told we weren’t allowed to talk during work and that we needed to focus on what we were doing, even though our production never slipped (and if I may brag for a second, my production was typically in the top 3 for how much I could get done in a single night, consistently for the entire time I worked there, so talking didn’t have any negative affects on me whatsoever).

This company also fired me under wrongful termination. I told them when I was hired that I sometimes got gout attacks, and usually I would still hobble in to work even though I was in agony and could barely walk, but on a few occasions the attacks were so horrible that I had to go to the ER, and then had to call out for a few days per doctor orders. My managers refused to look at my doctor notes, saying I had to file a claim through the third party insurance company and get my medical leave time approved through them for it to be taken off my record and not seen as an absence. I did that but the third party denied my claim anyway, even with the proof I’d literally been in the hospital. These happened three times over the course of a year, and even when I tried to get FMLA paperwork through my doctor to show that I had medical needs in which I might have to call off here and there, they still denied my claims and wouldn’t take the first-hand documents, so I ended up getting fired on “attendance issues” even though I had a disability and a medical reason for not showing up to work during those times. They fired me two days before the Christmas party, and they said that my friend, who had offered to pay for my ticket so I could go with her while I was still working there, didn’t put any money in for me, so I couldn’t even go to the party to say goodbye to my other friends.

In summary: I hate this place and almost everyone who works there. Most of them treated me like shit anyway, even though I did more work than them. They made it clear I wasn’t part of the clique, and neither were my other friends, and they shut us out of pretty much everything and made us feel very awkward.

Anyway, the first year and a half I’d been there is when they started doing Christmas parties, so I was able to go to that one. It was at a really nice place with a big banquet hall and everyone dressed up really fancy, but things got really weird when they started playing sexually suggestive games (male employees held a large cucumber between their legs to mime an erect penis and then female employees would walk in a circle around them while music played, and when the music would stop they’d have to grab a guy’s cucumber to move on to the next round; think musical chairs but with more sexual harassment), and there were even small children there, since people could bring their families. It was just plain inappropriate.

Fast forward to now. I still have a few friends from there that I’m connected with on Facebook, and one of them was tagged in pictures from this year’s Christmas party. It was in another nice banquet hall and things looked nice, right up until everyone collectively decided that it was totally okay and appropriate for the male employees to have a drag contest as entertainment. I’m not kidding when I say that all of the guys did it, and there are even pictures of their girlfriends/wives/other female friends doing their makeup and helping them put on dresses in the middle of the dining hall.

Now I have no problem with people who like to wear drag if they want to, but what I do have a problem with is putting it on display like this, at a company party, as if it’s all a huge joke they can laugh about. I’m sure they weren’t doing it for any of the wrong reasons and were just stupid. But still, what if someone at the party were transgender? What if someone were queer and used dressing in drag as a way to express themselves and their label? To make a joke out of something people do to express their identities is rude, to say the least, and also not appropriate for a company party! The managers and supervisors were there! Everyone’s families were there! Who thought that was okay??!!

Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing, especially after all the shit I went through at that company and what happened to me, but the whole thing just doesn’t sit right. There are so many other activities they could do that would have been way less embarrassing.

#fuck co-workers #cashier problems #happy ending #submissions #retail law #server problems #fuck customers #trigger warning #embarrassing #call center problems #fuck coworkers #fuck managers #fuck retail #tw #retail justice #submission

[kevinsovaries]

Insurance- the long journey, pt. 1

After my consultation for top-surgery the nurse in the plastic surgeons office came back into the exam room with a piece of paper and estimated that the cost of the operation before insurance would be $8,000. My mother and I had expected such a large cost and we were thankful to the surgeons office for being so transparent about the price but we were also anxiously aware of how expensive it was. We had had difficulty with out insurance in the past, none of my visits to the endocrinologist had been covered, or my blood-tests, or a single cent of my actual testosterone prescription. But one or two blood tests was one thing, an $8,000 surgery was another. This was also the summer preceding my very first semester of college for which I had received almost no financial aid. The heft of the financial burden weighed on us for about a week before we heard back from the surgeons office. My surgery wouldn’t be covered. 

Upon investigation it was discovered by my mother that her health insurance contract, which was negotiated with her school district, contained a specific contractual exclusion that barred coverage for any care that was in treatment of gender dysphoria. This was confusing and disheartening, “why would they even have that exclusion?” I wondered, I felt targeted and unworthy of care. After my parents very generously paid for my top surgery (we had to take out a lot of money in student loans for school) I put the idea of bottom surgery out of mind. I couldn’t put my parents in that financial situation again. Compared to top surgery the cost of bottom surgery is almost astronomical especially because it is typically more than one operation. Asking my parents to pay out of pocket for phalloplasty or metoidioplasty was unthinkable.

For two years I thought bitterly about my insurance plan and resented that they would deny me care because I was transgender. Bottom surgery felt like an impossibility or at best a very far of reality. For me phalloplasty was always an inevitability but one that was a long ways away. Something that would happen eventually when I was a thirty-something. It wasn’t until fall semester of 2020 that something changed. 

For as long as I could remember my testosterone was never covered by insurance. At the university it was about $60-$70  for a 3 month supply so I didn’t really mind paying for it. At the beginning of this semester when I went to pick up my prescription I was informed that I had a copay and I thought this was very unusual as my payments where usually entirely out of pocket. I wondered why my testosterone would suddenly be covered now after all this time. It was irrational to assume that anything in my insurance contract had changed and I understand this now but at the time there was this spark of hope. Maybe something was different now! I wanted to believe that my care would be covered, I wanted to believe that bottom surgery was possible. I wanted to believe this so bad that I didn’t even try checking my contract I just scheduled a consultation for  hysterectomy with a local surgeon. This is a crazy way to go about doing things but once the door of possibility had been opened I just couldn’t bear to shut it on myself again.

The possibility of my insurance paying for my hysterectomy hung in my mind as an enigma a big question mark and that was far more pleasurable than a solid “No”.

After my consultation for a hysterectomy the lack of information I had about my insurance plan was starting to become a problem. I simply couldn’t move forward anymore without knowing whether or not my care would be covered. The illusion of hope had carried me this far I had come to the end of my rope. I had spent several days in a state of abject anxiety not necessarily about insurance but about my sudden fear of being sterilized, I had had trouble sleeping and spent every other minute of my day brainstorming and research all the ways I could preserve my ability to be a father. This anxiety was predicated on the idea that I would be able to afford a hysterectomy in the first place and came from a place of hope. I got on the phone with my insurance company at 7 PM on a weeknight. I asked the representative if a hysterectomy would be covered if it was in treatment for gender dysphoria, I waited while he typed. 

“Specifically for gender dysphoria?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Your plan doesn’t cover anything related to gender dysphoria,”

I was stunned silent for a moment, this had been the only logical outcome and yet I was still so shocked that this could be the reality of the situation, that I could still have no access to care. I asked who I could talk to about this and the representative told me to contact my employee benefit’s department. I took note of this but I didn’t feel any better about the phone call. I was absolutely crushed. I felt that there was nothing I could do. I made dinner for my sister and burned everything, we ate the gross food I had made and I sat in the living room listening to her talk, but I was completely non-present. Finally I told her about the phone call and she let me ramble about how it made me feel and about how I couldn’t get the care I needed. It was cold in the house and I felt physically ill. It had been a long time since I had felt depression like this, since I had felt this hopeless. Not since high school, not since before hormones. 

My sister took a shower and I went and sat in my bed, and for the first time in the past couple of hectic days I started to cry. Being denied coverage was a rejection of my humanity and my identity, a statement that I wasn’t worth existing. I recognize this is privilege because the American healthcare system is so incredibly fucked up that people sometimes have to choose between paying for care or dying whereas I can technically choose whether or not to receive care. But gender affirming care IS lifesaving healthcare. 

I had a strange moment of clarity as I sat there in tears, a moment that I realized I would one day look back on. I had been through this all before, there were moments years ago when I had sat in my bed and cried because I didn’t see a reality where I could get on testosterone. But here I was, three and a half years on T. I had thought my transition and happiness where impossible and I was now living proof that it wasn’t. I sat in my bed almost startled with the resilience I had uncovered, I was either going to make my transition happen or I was going to die. There were no other options. My wholeness is inevitable because it is what drives me. I was going to finish my transition or die trying. This inevitability gave me hope and it was uplifted by another surge of resilience, “trans life is resistance” I told myself. The denial of trans care is an agenda to either discourage us from transitioning or encourage us to stop existing, by continuing to exist and be a proud trans-man I was resisting that agenda. “I deserve to exist” I told myself and that was the end of the discussion.

#insurance #transgender #transition #Transman #ftm #ftm hysto #trans lives matter

[chyrstis]

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 2/10

Updates for this’ll probably come every couple of days or so, and I’m already bracing myself for a third wave of edits to come. But here’s the next part, and Sharky, I’m sorry about the skunk, but you were the one to mention it to begin with. ...And the resulting idea was too entertaining to pass up.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 4.3K  

Link to AO3!

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

—

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

———–

It took two and a half days to tear the old boathouse down.

John hadn’t lied when he mentioned wanting him to get in there and take it apart piece by piece, and hovered over him the entire time.

The whole monitoring bit was easily the part that annoyed him the most. Like he was waiting for him to screw up. To somehow find a way to take the already burnt building and set it on fire again through force of will alone. Which, while badass, was well out of his means, all the wishing and praying he’d sometimes do to monkey Jesus aside.

But that didn’t stop John from acting like he had the ability. Riding him further during smoke breaks, or barking order after order at him from the sidelines.

Every other word out of his mouth was a correction. To tell him to go back to read the blueprints again. To check his measurements. To put out that cigarette, pry out that misplaced nail, and to use some of that delicacy he kept on going back to, making Sharky’s eyes want to roll back into his head.

And music? The one time he’d tried to bring any levity to the situation with the soothing sounds of disco, John put an end to it immediately. Really just made it clear how much of a drag he wanted to be, and only wanted to push the point home.

Seeing as John was some big-shot lawyer, he really expected him to have more to do than nitpick and lord this whole thing over him. Like he’d stick around for a few weeks, use the time to get off on whatever power trip he was having over this, and then go back to bugging the department, the local businesses, Nick, shit, anyone.

But John Seed was also petty as fuck.

Local gossip hadn’t painted the guy as a kind or forgiving figure, and while the Seeds as a whole were alright at best and fucking weird at worst, over the past couple of years John had picked up a rep as a colossal asshole all on his own.

Tickets? Contested. Special orders down at the store or for parts? Made with specific instructions that needed to be followed to the letter. If not, he’d demand and get his money back, damning everyone with the fine print others would skim over.

Hell, Sid, one of the guys that worked down at the cattle ranch, had traded paint with him once. He’d done so while stopping at the general store, and hadn’t paid much mind to the fancy car parked in the lot, getting just close enough to leave a small scuff on the rear bumper.

In those cases, a person would trade numbers, or see what they could buff off before moving on, 'cause insurance claims were a pain in the ass, and half of the cars in the county were a little late on renewing registrations anyway. Shit, he was coming up on a year, and hoping to see how much longer he could go before any of the Deps cottoned on to it.

But no, the minute John caught on, Sid recalled the glint he got in his eye. Then told him he’d slap him with the largest fine possible for both the damage and the late reg. All over trading paint. Not major damage, not even a busted tire.

Just paint.

Sid was still spitting mad about it, months after the fact.

He’d even pulled a fast one when it came to setting up big bro Joe’s compound. Digging up some obscure property laws all but guaranteeing the land could be sold to them.

No, no one earned the title of mega-dick by being sweet and accommodating. His bro had smoothed over a lot of ruffled feathers by being pretty okay after that, even with all of the converts chilling the fuck out on his property, but John was still John.

And now he personally had that shit to deal with. Today, two days from now, and who knew how many weeks or months after that.

So much for those chicks wanting and keeping his number too. Hurk told him he’d snagged at least one number on the way back to their drop off, but when he’d tried to call them back the other day he got no answer. Ghosted him like it was nothing, and he guessed he deserved that.

What with getting himself caught and left to doing whatever the hell John wanted for as long as John wanted.

“As per our agreement,” John would remind him, whenever he felt the point needed pushing.

And he pushed.

Whenever Sharky would drop something, whenever he let his feet drag, whenever he cut something and John was ready to whip out his tape measure.

He pushed, and Sharky shot another prayer up to monkey Jesus, hoping that maybe this would be the day to go Human Torch on the situation. Or at the very least a little Cyclops.

Not today, but he’d try again tomorrow.

But on the days when Sharky was working, it wasn’t always just the two of them. He’d full on expected this whole thing to go on in its own little pocket, with Hurk eventually crashing the party due to a need to bust him out or worse.

The day that Joseph first showed up stood out, for one.

Joseph Seed was kind of like Pastor Jerome. Not his first pick to hang out with, considering they were both on opposite sides here. Of the whole preaching and managing earthly temptations, while not super indulging in the kind of shit that he knew he wanted in his life, period.

It came with the territory, being religious leaders and all that, but when Joseph first rolled in to the county, he’d brought his people with him.

And they were an interesting bunch. The People of Eden’s Gate were some kind of holistic commune where it was pretty hunky-dory roughly ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent was wondering just what to do about the men and women that wanted the simple life. Living humbly while offering help wherever needed.

While their hearts were in the right place, it was pretty boring stuff otherwise, Sharky decided. He’d even considered joining up for the hell of it only until Hurk reminded him that there wasn’t much fucking to be found there. Pretty women, sure, but the kind more focused on spirituality, and less on how many ways they could Clutch Nixon-ify their daily lives.

But Joseph on his own was a different story.

Watching John go from calmly sipping his drink, doubling-down on just how refreshing it was when Sharky happened to push the wheelbarrow past him, to spitting half of it out when Joseph materialized next to him was fucking priceless.

Greeting him warmly, Joseph pulled a sputtering John into a kind-of half-hug gesture, but John’s cool had already been lost, and in front of his entourage too.

Joe’s wife was with him, plus kiddo number one of a baker’s dozen, carrying them up and on her hip as they talked. With them was also a woman dressed in the modest clothes the Peggies stuck to. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but he didn’t need sharp eyes to see how damn pretty she was.

It had to have been a brother thing, Sharky gathered. Embarrassing the shit out of younger siblings seemed almost natural to Joseph, and it might’ve been petty of him too, but watching John try to get his shit back in line in front of all of them was like hitting the jackpot.

So, Sharky kept on working, sneaking looks over at the group every now and then, and at one point gave an awkward wave back whenever they tried acknowledging him. But whenever John glanced his way, Sharky didn’t hide his shit-eating grin. No, it stayed put for the rest of the day.

The next time Joseph came over, however, he didn’t stop by just to say hi. He approached Sharky, ignoring John’s loud protests, and insisted on helping.

He’d get water, and help with any items that needed anchoring, stepping in whenever it looked like Sharky needed another hand. It was the most contact he’d had with the guy outside of the times he’d tried preaching at the Eagle, and outside of that? He was actually pretty okay to be around.

Well, he personally didn’t have a problem with Joe, at least. John’s irritation skyrocketed with every suggestion, especially when Joseph did the impossible. Told him that with a three-person job, you needed three people, and John? John was capable.

“You sure are,” Sharky added, giving him a wicked grin, and John looked mad enough to spit.

But he didn’t say no. Didn’t even try, or attempt it.

Did more than his fair share under the loving supervision of his older bro, and come nightfall, Sharky realized he’d had a damn good day. It was the lightest he’d felt in weeks, and wasn’t about to turn that down. Not when it helped him jump back into things with some extra pep, and the progress was a boost too.

With the actual frame up and the panels and exterior being added piece by piece, Sharky was starting to feel pretty accomplished. Proud even, because he built this. Yeah, he was being needled at every step of the way, but he used his own two hands to get this set up, no one else’s, and at the end of the day could actually see more of this coming together.

If he kept this up, he’d also have some extra skills to add to his repertoire. Might even get a chance to twist Hurk’s arm into trying out that whole ‘building and flipping’ thing that seemed to be hot at the moment, provided he wasn’t here for the next ten years.

But goals. He had goals to work towards and something to show for it, and it was pretty damn nice in the grand scheme of things.

Today, however, John had a guest again. The same Peggie woman as before, holding a basket, flanked by a few other converts.

Full on expecting to see Joe with her, Sharky wondered if he was waiting out in the woods again. Hell, even John was checking the path back up towards his house, looking past her every now and then to see if he’d catch him.

But as the minutes ticked by, and Sharky kept on working, nothing happened. And long after the other Eden’s Gate members had left, the two kept on talking, having what seemed to be a hell of a time going off of the signals they were giving off.

Smiling, laughing. Facing each other directly as they spoke, Sharky had John’s back to him almost completely, which had his eyebrows climbing up.

And judging by the way she was reacting to John in turn, he had to have been turning on the charm. Smiling shyly, twirling her hair around her finger, hell, he’d put money on her being a two-word question away from dropping everything to get a piece of that.

It was annoying as fuck, really. Dry spell or not, watching John pull it off with minimal effort sucked.

Sure, he had a lot of things working for him. The guy was loaded, for one. Had more than enough money to net himself a fancy car, his large-ass ranch, and a plane. He’d also had a boat up until Sharky had wrecked it, but that was beside the point. Man had more money than sense, and worked the slick lawyer angle for all it was worth. He’d listened in on enough convos to know just how many women in the county dug it. Shit, men too.

Plus the whole property on the water was a real panty dropper. At least going off of what his Auntie had said shortly after John had first bought it, gossiping with Sharky about the costs and expenses that came with it.

Then she promptly turned the talk on its head by launching into talking about John’s ass instead.

His drink hadn’t stayed in his mouth for long, and she’d dropped her forlorn sighing long enough to tell him not to stain the carpet. That he had to hear and think about John’s ass at all wasn’t fucking fair, especially since he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t that much of a draw to begin with. He’d checked.

Whenever John’s back was turned towards him, he’d sneak a look to see what the deal was only to be disappointed. Better asses were walking around Hope County right this moment, his included, but good luck trying to argue that with her. Or even get three words in edgewise before wanting to slap some sense into himself.

Besides, John’s eyes were better. Hands down, Sharky knew they’d been his ticket to pound town on more than one occasion, needing only to show them off and say a few fancy words to seal any kind of deal.

Dropping the wood onto the ground, he crouched down low. Stared at the wood grain of the plank to clear his mind a little before shifting his attention back towards John.

Shit, were they still talking?

He rolled his eyes. Whatever John was saying couldn’t have been that good, and any joke? Nowhere near funny enough to get a giggle like that.

At that time, John turned, giving him a look over his shoulder as Sharky became well aware of two sets of eyes on him. The woman for one, and the pretty boy lawyer that had been eating up every last shred of her attention until now.

A cross between smug and expectant, John gestured towards him.

Well?

Sharky knew three ways to tell someone to get fucked, but picked the least subtle one just in case.

Shocked for a second, John closed his mouth. But soon after, he pressed a hand to his chest, looking hurt. It was pretty convincing, making Sharky feel for a moment that he’d done something shitty like kicked a puppy.

Shame it didn’t reach his eyes. Or match the sharp smile that crept in.

“Smug-ass, smirking fuckface,” Sharky muttered, throwing the wooden plank to the side.

But not even that stuck around either. No, John flashed his pearly whites at the woman with him too, making her melt right in front of them.

Salt in the motherfucking wound. That’s what it all was, but lucky for him he only had a few more hours left to go. Then he could go home, get in a kickass shower and see what Hurk was doing.

Standing up, he wiped his face down with his handkerchief. If this had been anytime during the summer he would’ve been dying, but at least the weather was working in his favor. The breeze took the edge off just enough, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds to soak it all in.

“Oh, Charlemagne?”

Grating right on his ears, the pitch John used never failed to make him want to grind his teeth together. That, and saying his name. Kept on doing that well after being told he could call him Sharky. Shit, even his grandma used it sparingly.

“What?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing over there-“ John froze, and all smugness vanished.

That put him on edge. “Yo, you wanna expand on that, amigo?”

Slowly turning around, Sharky caught the small creature on the ground and felt every hair on him stand on end. Black and white, and assuming the posture any pissed off animal would, it stood tall for its small size with its tail up, ready and aiming right at him.

Skunks, though, had never liked him. Guess he’d earned that after the whole kissing one bit. So, staring down what he was sure had to be some distant relative out for revenge, he did what came naturally.

Yelled. Loudly, and might’ve sealed his fate right then and there.

Hit, but not in the eyes – thank Hurk’s monkey Jesus for that – he sprinted down towards the river and dove right in.

Grabbing his cap, he kept it in hand as he bobbed back up to the surface. The smell hit as he gulped down air, and he furiously paddled away from the shore when he realized he’d been followed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

This was fucking bonkers, and it was only getting worse.

Could skunks swim? Did they have a sense for it, or was he getting played by the only one able to? Was this the moment some poor guy was going to have to act out in the movie about his life? Swimming out, smelling to high heaven as a rich asshole laughed it up from the shore?

Fuck, he hoped to hell not, 'cause he’d lived an okay life up ‘til now. And having that be the moment he’d be known for immortalized up on the silver screen was just lousy at best.

Looking back, he watched as the skunk gave him the evil eye for a minute, pacing back and forth as it thought about shooting at him again. Little fucker wasn’t done yet, but couldn’t fire another round off from where it was.

John on the other hand, was watching the whole thing develop from a distance. He hadn’t taken off, but wasn’t laughing like he thought he would either. If anything, his gaze was sharp as he aimed it over at the skunk camping him out, and kept it set in place as he approached the boathouse.

Whatever the hell he had in mind, Sharky hoped he’d do it, and do it fast.

Shit, if he ended up zapped too, that’d also make his week, but for now he needed to keep swimming, and tried to see if he could make his way back towards land. His arms and legs weren’t tired, but the water wasn’t getting any warmer, and this was more of a workout than he’d planned for.

The skunk did not let up, following his drift.

“Seriously? Don’t you got something better to get up to?”

No, it didn’t, and he paddled harder hoping to get some kind of a lead on it. Kicked enough with the intent of making a break for it as soon as he hit land.

Maybe he could shimmy up a tree? Nah, he’d be a sitting duck, worse off there than here. Get back to his car on the way? His keys were swimming in his pocket right now, along with-

Aw, dammit. There went that phone. Sputtering into the water, he coughed around the word that would’ve come out otherwise, then gave it up to keep on swimming.

On the edge of the shore, he dragged himself up and out and booked it. Didn’t see anything waiting for him, but didn’t waste time either. Just hit the nearest patch of tall bushes and stayed low.

Waiting was the worst part. Waiting, listening, and trying not to make too much noise on his end. Every branch, twig, and leaf was the enemy now, and he wasn’t about to let that skunk get the drop on him again.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Loud squeaking sounded off in the distance, and he poked his head out from the bush.

Scanning left and right, Sharky checked for black and white. That and movement. When neither seemed to be present, he pushed his way forward and stepped out into the open.

Letting out a slow breath, he shook his hat out and slipped it back on. Then took in a tentative sniff as he raised his arm. The smell hung around him like a cloud, and getting a bigger whiff of it only made him want to gag.

Peeling the shirt off, he wrung it out, and gave it a smell as well. Now that made his eyes water. With his luck his jeans were just as bad, and he didn’t bother checking. Just pulled them off to get some of the water out of them too, and resigned himself to drip-drying the rest of the day outdoors.

“Charlemagne? You can come out now!”

John. Guess he’d found a way to deal with it after all.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Ugh, fucker. Took him long enough.” Groaning to himself, he slung his wet clothes over his shoulder and started heading towards the clearing.

“Well, there you…are?” John gave him a quick once over as he walked past, and pursed his lips. “Hmm.”

The woman with him didn’t even try to make eye contact. Just kept her attention directed elsewhere, her cheeks tinted red.

Great. Not that he was trying, but his odds of getting even a pity look in passing had all but tanked.

“Yo, I don’t wanna know what you did, but after that? My bullshit meter’s maxed, so fuck off.”

Prying his keys out of his pocket, Sharky unlocked the trunk of his car and threw the clothes into the back of it. Between the gas cans and propane tanks he’d thrown back there often enough, skunk wasn’t going to add much to the smell in there.

“Fuck off? That’s not very kind, all things considering.”

The trunk dropped, and he might’ve used more force than necessary. “Kind?”

“Not even a thank you?” John eyed him from a distance, smug, but only for a second. “After chasing off your little tormentor? Such a shame, really.”

“That I ain’t feeling, what? Warm gratitude towards you right now? Like happy and fuzzy shit?”

John scoffed. “Hardly.”

“'Cause you’re making a whole lot of noise for nothing, and I wouldn’t be out here busting my ass at all without you to begin with.”

“Oh, my dear Charlemagne,” he watched as John withdrew a blue handkerchief from his jean pocket, and held it up to his face to cover his nose, “I’m hardly the one at fault here.”

His patience snapped like a brittle twig. Rattling off words as fast as they came to him, Sharky scraped for the bottom, tried actively to come up with the most out of bounds targeted insults he could conjure up just to see if he could wipe what he was sure was a smirk right off of John’s face.

Then nearly crashed into the woman who had stepped into his path. Making full-on eye contact now, she gave him a hesitant, but soft smile. “I think this might help.”

In her hands was a towel. A nice, fluffy one, and she held it out towards him.

The anger drained out of him as he stared at her. Almost as if someone took an ice bucket and dumped it right over his shoulders.

Gingerly taking it, Sharky let it dangle in the air between them. “Uh, thanks?”

“Of course. For anyone in need, and you certainly seemed to be. Considering your lack of…clothing in general right now.”

Still had the underwear on, at least. Blushing five different shades of red, he quickly wrapped the towel around himself. “Yeah, um, thank you again, miss.”

She nodded, and headed back towards John. “We’ll be heading out, but can we expect you at mass later tonight?”

John lowered the handkerchief just enough for Sharky to catch the frown. “If work allows it. There’s still a lot left to do here, but you can let Joseph know I’ll try.”

Sharky pulled up a corner of the towel to wipe his face, no longer able to hear much of what was traded between them. Lady hadn’t even flinched at the smell up close, and the towel was a nice one. Nicer than any of the kind he had at home, and must’ve been in the basket she had with her.

Yeah, got that pity look after all. Great.

Staring down at his feet, he removed his cap to run a hand through his hair. The hushed voices behind him eventually stopped, and by the time John walked over he’d switched to looking out over the water.

“That was interesting.”

“Sure,” Sharky said, tired of arguing with him.

“And there went our progress for the afternoon. At least the morning wasn’t a complete waste, but our guest derailed us thoroughly. And I don’t believe you have a change of clothes, do you?”

Sharky rubbed his shoulder, and felt it twinge in response as he moved it. He badly needed a cigarette, and was desperate enough to see how many times it’d take for a wet one to actually light.

“Do you?”

“Look, I get what you’re asking. And no, I’d have-“ John raised the handkerchief again, and the words died in his mouth. “You know what? Forget it. And if you’re looking to avoid this shit, don’t stand downwind of it. Basic Scouting 101 right there.”

Sharky whipped the towel off and threw it at him.

John snatched it out of the air, keeping it from smacking him in the face. “Leaving?”

Not bothering to check behind him as he approached his car, Sharky flashed him the finger.

“You can take this with you, you know.”

That John didn’t take the bait, or fight him on it, only irritated him further. He also seemed to be following him, and Sharky scowled at him. “Don’t need it.”

John sighed, and put away the cloth. “Charlemagne, it’s a towel, and you’re still soaking wet.”

“And maybe I want the draft to help dry the swamp ass brewing here, okay?” he shot, climbing in behind the wheel. “And if you wanna give me shit for cutting out early, tack on more hours as a penalty, whatever, I’ll deal with that next time. Or, hell, the time after, as long as it doesn’t mean I’m still standing here talking any of this shit with you. That work?”

The thin line John had pressed his lips into told him otherwise, but he said nothing. Just crossed his arms before holding out the towel to him one last time.

Sharky hit the gas and didn’t look back.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #the skunk bit was actually going to be later in the fic in the original planning #but the outline was thankfully a flexible thing #b/c it fit so much better here #FC5 fanfiction #fanfiction #fic: I won't ask for much #fic series: we could make a home out of this

[cassyblue]

I’m just so tired of not having money and always being short for rent. I’ve had such a rough past week that I am behind even more on commissions (I’m so sorry) and I spent money I shouldn’t have on food. Good news, I’m going to the rent assistance place but bad news my meeting is on Thursday and rent is due Saturday. And they scolded me for not using the food bank which is frustrating because everyone is like go to the food bank if you need food!!! But I have food!!! I just don’t have energy to make food!!! Like for two weeks of January I ate raw ramen because I was too tired/depressed to cook. I got myself signed up for intake at a sliding scale therapy clinic today too. But i’m so exhausted. I’m trying to survive and its hard. I wouldn’t be in as bad of shape as I am if I hadn’t had to borrow money from my parents last month to pay rent. I started going back to dance because its good for my mental health but I can’t afford it. I’m taking some of my costumes on Wednesday to see if anyone would buy them because let’s be honest I’m not good enough to dance by myself in restaurants and some of these costumes haven’t been used for a year bc they’re not things you wear to class or to dance with a troupe.  

I have six days to prevent myself from getting dinged with rent late fees or being evicted and homeless. 

And I’m really tired that my parents keep calling my two part time jobs not real jobs because they aren’t full time. I fucking work hard. I fucking work until I physically and mentally fall apart. And yet I’m just so fucked because I hit a parked car in 2018 and couldn’t use my insurance because I was on my parent’s and they freaked out and wouldn’t let me file a claim because it might make their premium go up. So I literally have had a maxed out credit card for a year and half that I have been struggling to pay off and taken out student loans to pay rent. Live within my means they keep telling me but I have no means and sometimes I just fucking want something nice like a coffee. I sold half of my lolita stuff which I had bought when I had a full time job for the summer just so I could pay my bills. I would sell my camera but I would literally not be able to afford a new one for another five years if I did and it’s a tool. 

I might have to move back home with my parents sooner rather than later and I really don’t want to because my mother and I fight whenever I am home. Like our fighting has gotten to the point that my dad has threatened to disown me because I’m the agitator even though its shit that my mom did that I’m upset about. She can’t possibly ever be the bad guy because she was a victim of abuse in her mind. Even though she literally screamed and blamed my sister and I for issues in her marriage when we were in high school and said it would be our fault if she divorced our dad and then left and we didn’t know if she was going to come back and it was so traumatic that I still get upset about it. My parents had a lot of screaming fights when I grew up and stupid shit like slamming cabinet doors trigger me. Like I literally loose it because there’s no fucking way to rationally and calmly talk about shit that’s happened without her loosing it first and it’s not healthy for either of us. My mom’s been upset with me for years about just loosing it. I had a breakdown in undergrad and I don’t fucking remember it all because it was a blur but I basically told her she was a bad parent because of the way she held things over my head and shit’s been tense ever since. It’s not a good excuse for my behavior because yelling and screaming never solves anything. I have such a hard time not loosing it around them because they do things. Like the summer I lived at home before I moved away was hellish because I was so anxious all the time I was going to loose it again and I wasn’t out and I was terrified of what they’d do if they found out. And its frustrating because like she’ll be like oh ill talk to you about stuff and im not ignoring you and then we never do. And she doesn’t like it when I don’t want to talk about things or dont want to explain it. And I honestly can’t live at home because they don’t even fucking try with pronouns. Asked one fucking time and just didn’t try and I don’t correct them because it’ll just turn into another fucking fight. Like I literally do not say anything because I will loose it and get kicked out of the house. My dad was going to kick me out and drive me back to the airport the last time I was home but didn’t ultimately because it was Christmas Eve. Like I literally had my bags packed and ready to go. It all started because I said I was going to go spend the weekend with a friend (who for years my mom has accused me of treating better and loving more than her which is fucking ridiculous) and my mom got all upset and I was like why yes, I didn’t want to visit because this always happens and then it fucking spiraled into a fight. 

And I have been a mess since I found out that the man who scooped my research and fucking sexually harassed me won the most prestigious award at my undergrad university. Like I haven’t slept more than 4 hours for the past three days because I have been so upset and angry and mad. I never reported him because I was scared of loosing both my jobs since the big boss was the same for both even though they were in two different sections of the department. And I fucking should have even if it backfired on me and fucked me over for the rest of my academic career. I almost wrote a long letter to my adviser thanking her for being so good to me but I didn’t because I was too embarrassed because I dont really want her to know about things that happened in the past I can’t change. It was hard enough telling her I have depression. 

#true facts about erin

[thequantumqueer]

hi sorry 2 bother u but would u mind explaining a bit more about how ppl in the military are victims? ofc no pressure only if u wanna I'm just curious to learn wht u mean

yeah definitely!

so it starts with predatory recruitment. military recruiters visit high schools and sometimes even middle schools to normalize the idea that joining the military is no different from going to college. almost none of those kids can actually join, but they try to sell them on it anyway with talk of how cool it’ll be and what a badass it’ll turn you into, and stuff like that. the army even has even put out three T-rated video games about army life since 2007, the most recent in 2015.

it gets even more intense in high school, when they start contacting kids directly. when you take the SAT and ACT, your information automatically gets sent to recruiters and they start sending you recruitment literature that blends in really well with the letters you’re getting from colleges suggesting you apply.

then, once people are old enough to actually join up, the recruitment pitch shifts to more tangible offers with little to no intention of ever following through. one of the biggest selling points is the G.I. Bill, but it comes with a whole host of terms and conditions that no one ever mentions, which often results in the benefits being mostly (or even completely) unusable for a lot of people, with just under half of servicemembers ending up using any of it at all.

they also recruit heavily based on the idea that your time in the military will translate into work experience and make it easier to find a job when you get out, but most military equivalents to civilian jobs deal with highly specialized equipment that makes the experience irrelevant, and you don’t get any certifications or equivalencies.

another big draw is Tricare, which is, quite simply, the best insurance in the world. What they don’t tell you is that your dependents get a shitty knockoff, and you also get kicked over to that shitty knockoff as soon as they determine that whatever’s wrong means you won’t be returning to active duty. they want to protect their investment as long as it can fight for them, but beyond that, you can go fuck yourself. and that’s to say nothing of the nightmare that is the VA, which is infamous for multiple-month wait times for even basic care, which is very often poor quality when you eventually do get it.

once you’ve actually joined, a few things happen that the recruiter never mentioned. first and foremost, you’ve entered into a contract with the united states government, which means that any breach of that contract is a federal felony. in other words, everything in this post from here on out is 100% completely and totally unavoidable without utterly fucking up your life.

the second is that you are now subject to two entire sets of laws that, most likely, you had no idea existed until just now. lots of those laws are standard federal law that only applies to military personnel (title 10, mostly), but the rest are called the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). a lot of the ucmj is pretty straightforward stuff that you’d expect, like “it’s a crime to disobey orders” (Article 92) and the like, but there’s a ton of general conduct laws as well. for example Article 88 - Contempt Toward Officials, which says:

Any commissioned officer who uses contemptuous words against the President, the Vice President, Congress, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of a military department, the Secretary of Transportation, or the Governor or legislature of any State, Territory, Commonwealth, or possession in which he is on duty or present shall be punished as a court-martial may direct.

in other words, if you’re an officer it is literally a crime to criticize the government, even in private and even if you’re not in uniform. more generally, though, all military personnel have their political activity severely restricted by a combination of articles 10, 2, and 18 of us code, DOD directives, and military regulations. from this article, here’s a list of some things that you’re not allowed to do if you’re in the military:

Participate in partisan political fundraising activities, rallies, conventions (including making speeches in the course thereof), management of campaigns, or debates, either on one’s own behalf or on that of another, without respect to uniform or inference or appearance of official sponsorship, approval, or endorsement. Participation includes more than mere attendance as a spectator.

Use official authority or influence to interfere with an election, affect the course or outcome of an election, solicit votes for a particular candidate or issue, or require or solicit political contributions from others.

Allow or cause to be published partisan political articles, letters, or endorsements signed or written by the member that solicits votes for or against a partisan political party, candidate, or cause. However, letters to the editor are allowed.

Serve in any official capacity with or be listed as a sponsor of a partisan political club.

Speak before a partisan political gathering, including any gathering that promotes a partisan political party, candidate, or cause.

Participate in any radio, television, or other program or group discussion as an advocate for or against a partisan political party, candidate, or cause.

Conduct a political opinion survey under the auspices of a partisan political club or group or distribute partisan political literature.

Perform clerical or other duties for a partisan political committee or candidate during a campaign, on an election day, or after an election day during the process of closing out a campaign.

Solicit or otherwise engage in fundraising activities in Federal offices or facilities, including military reservations, for any political cause or candidate.

March or ride in a partisan political parade.

Display a large political sign, banner, or poster (as distinguished from a bumper sticker) on a private vehicle.

Display a partisan political sign, poster, banner, or similar device visible to the public at one’s residence on a military installation, even if that residence is part of a privatized housing development.

Participate in any organized effort to provide voters with transportation to the polls if the effort is organized by or associated with a partisan political party, cause, or candidate.

Sell tickets for or otherwise actively promote partisan political dinners and similar fundraising events.

Attend partisan political events as an official representative of the Armed Forces, except as a member of a joint Armed Forces color guard at the opening ceremonies of the national conventions of the Republican, Democratic, or other political parties recognized by the Federal Elections Committee or as otherwise authorized by the Secretary concerned.

Make a campaign contribution to, or receive or solicit (on one’s own behalf) a campaign contribution from, any other member of the Armed Forces on active duty.

Any activity that may be reasonably viewed as directly or indirectly associating the Department of Defense or the Department of Homeland Security (in the case of the Coast Guard) or any component of these Departments with a partisan political activity or is otherwise contrary to the spirit and intention of this Directive shall be avoided.

most of that list comes from DoD Directive 1344.10 (full text here) and while there’s plenty of stuff you can do, politically, but almost all of it requires you to be either anonymous or passive about it. so now it’s illegal for you to do anything substantial toward changing policy in any way, and possibly also to even so much as complain about the president or call congress incompetent.

so now that you’ve been properly restricted (and remember, the only way out of this without a felony is with a DD214 (discharge paperwork)) you’re put to work. on the surface, it seems like any other job, but there’s subtle differences. for one thing, literally every person who’s gotten more raises than you is your boss and you have to do whatever they tell you unless it conflicts with what someone who’s gotten even more raises than them already told you to do.

your orders can also be literally anything that’s not illegal. if your boss at starbucks tells you to always stand on one foot while you work the register, you might do it for like an hour or two, but then you’d stop bothering and if your boss got upset about it then that would be unreasonable. if your CO tells you to always say the pledge of allegiance in Farsi, then it’s your responsibility to learn how to say it in Farsi and always do so until that CO or someone above them give you permission to say it in english again, and if you don’t, that’s a crime.

what that means is that if you get assigned to recruitment duty, you can and will be ordered to look and sound excited about being in the military as you tell 13 year olds they should join up after high school, and you will legally have to do it.

and all of this is without even mentioning the missions. combat, and the act of killing another human being, are traumatizing even in the most ideal of situations. if someone breaks into your home to attack you and you push them back and something heavy falls on them and kills them, that’s still a traumatic experience for you. even legitimate wars for good reasons against enemies that really do need to be stopped are horrifying experiences for everyone involved.

but when the war is bullshit and most of the casualties are civilians and you know all this and aren’t even allowed to say anything about it, let alone do anything about it? that combines with combat to royally fuck a person up.

this is the part where everyone who’s read this far gets ready to jump down my throat about how the people being bombed are the real victims and not the people dropping the bombs, so let me remind you that this anon was in response to a post i made that started with the words “The US Military is […] evil” and that im not in any way trying to say that the troops get the worst of it, just that they are being used and abused by the system.

because remember, those troops have been groomed to be recruited since they were five years old and asked their parents why they got veterans day off from kindergarten, and have been pursued more and more actively all the way up through high school. the military lured them in, is chewing them up, and will spit them out when it’s done with them without giving one single fuck about them.

and no matter how you cut it, that describes a victim.

#the us military is my culture of origin #military personnel and military brats are my people in a way that no one else is #and for better or for worse nothing can ever change that. not even my realization that #fuck the military tbh #wild doge appeared. much wow