#Memory Care Assisted Living New York

[ambercourt]

Elevate their quality of life with our affordable senior assisted living services in New York & North Jersey. Discover comfort, care, and community. Contact us today!

[hislop3]

Iowa Lawsuit = More Bad News for Assisted Living

In January of 2022, a resident with dementia wandered out of her Assisted Living Memory Care facility in Iowa and ultimately, froze to death. The State of Iowa investigation uncovered that the resident wandered outside of the building at 9:30 p.m. the previous night. Her absence went unnoticed for eight hours plus even though the alarm system for the facility used to deter or prevent wandering,…

[cup1drul3z]

★ — That's MY girl | CH 2

5.5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie

A/N : guys im working on the stalker fic trust

The train ride home feels longer than it should.

You sit near the back, the car mostly empty, lights flickering overhead like they can’t decide whether to stay on or just give up. Your reflection stares back at you in the darkened window—smudged lipstick, swollen lips, collar slightly crooked, and that unmistakable shadow just below your jawline.

You touch it.

The spot Sevika’s mouth lingered.

Your stomach twists.

You shouldn’t have done it. You knew that the second you left the bar. But it doesn’t erase the memory of her hands on your body. The way your name sounded in her mouth. The way you wanted it. Craved it.

You close your eyes and grip the subway pole tighter. It doesn't help. The shame is thick and sour, crawling over your skin like something alive.

By the time you get to your stop, the guilt is louder than your footsteps.

Your apartment is dark when you unlock the door. One flickering lamp lights the living room, the faint buzz of the TV still running. Your boyfriend is half-asleep on the couch, blanket around his legs, a takeout box resting on the armrest beside him.

He stirs when the door clicks shut.

“Where the hell were you?” he mumbles, rubbing his face. “You said you were going for drinks. That was, like, four hours ago.”

Your heart skips. “Sorry. I lost track of time. First day stuff... they wanted to celebrate.”

He stares at you for a second too long, and your pulse races. You shift your hair slightly, trying to angle it over the mark Sevika left.

But he doesn’t notice.

Instead, he sits up, arms outstretched with a sleepy groan. “Come here.”

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then you cross the room and let him pull you into his arms, the warmth of his chest unfamiliar tonight. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. It’s slow. Familiar. Comfortable in a way that used to feel like love.

But now?

Now it just feels like lying.

“You smell good,” he mumbles into your hair. “Glad you had fun.”

You force a small laugh. “Yeah... me too.”

You close your eyes and let him hold you like nothing’s changed.

But everything has.

And deep down, you know it’s only a matter of time before this cracks wide open.

You woke up early.

Too early.

The kind of early where the light coming in through your blinds made everything look soft and blue, and the guilt still sat heavy in your chest like you'd swallowed a stone. But instead of spiraling, you did something else—rummaged through your closet.

You wanted to feel like you today.

So you slipped into a soft grey vest, something a little snug across the chest but not suffocating. The short-sleeved collared shirt underneath is crisp, clean. Paired with your flowy black maxi skirt, it moves with you—comfortable, confident, a little vintage librarian if you squint.

You check the mirror once, twice. It doesn’t scream “corporate,” but you don’t care.

For once, you feel good. Or at least better.

The train is less crowded this morning. You grab a seat near the back, setting your bag down beside you. You're flipping through your phone when someone plops down across from you with zero warning.

“Damn, girl. You look adorable.”

You glance up—Jinx.

Same wild blue braids, oversized bomber jacket, mismatched socks in loafers. She’s sipping an iced coffee the size of her head and looks like she hasn’t slept but somehow still radiates energy.

You smile. “Thanks. Closet panic. I didn’t want to pop a button again.”

Jinx snorts. “Honestly? Respect. You survived a boardroom and Sevika’s death stare. You deserve a little wardrobe crisis.”

You laugh, and she leans in like she’s about to let you in on a secret.

“Okay, so—there’s this cocktail thing in a few days. Fancy company event. Everyone’s invited, assistants too.”

You nod, eyebrows raised. “That sounds... terrifying.”

“Oh, it is.” she grins. “Dress code, open bar, people trying to pretend they’re more important than they are—it’s a blast. You coming?”

“I guess I have to now,” you say with a smile, then add, “Do we bring plus-ones?”

Jinx nods. “Yeah. They want it to feel ‘socially enriched’ or whatever PR bullshit they said in the email. You bringing your guy?”

Your stomach flips.

You hesitate just long enough for her to notice, but not long enough for her to comment.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Probably.”

Jinx sips her coffee, watching you. “Cool. We’ll all be there, and a few other people aswell”

You nod slowly 

She leans back. “And Sevika usually shows up late. Quiet. Broody. Like Batman if Batman was hotter and more emotionally repressed.”

You choke on your breath a little, but cover it with a laugh.

Jinx just grins at you.

“See you in the office, cutie.”

She gets off at the next stop, waving as she goes. 

You sit back in your seat, suddenly very aware of what this cocktail party could mean.

And how complicated things are about to get.

You spend most of the morning pretending to work while actively avoiding eye contact with Sevika’s closed office door.

Every time you glance that way, your stomach flips. You’re sure she’s stewing in there—probably plotting your firing or worse, treating you like you’re invisible. That would almost be easier.

So when your desk phone buzzes with a message: “Come in.” —your blood turns to ice.

You stand, straighten your vest, and try to breathe like a normal human as you push open the door.

Sevika’s at her desk, sleeves rolled, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show that same stretch of ink. She’s leaning back in her chair, boots crossed at the ankle, like nothing in the world could touch her.

Except her eyes are locked on you the second you step inside.

You swallow. “You wanted to see me?”

She nods toward the door behind you. “Close it.”

Your hand hovers on the knob for a second too long, but you do it.

The soft click feels like a trap.

“I figured you’d be crawling out of your skin all day,” she says, tone casual, almost amused. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

You blink. “You’re not?”

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Why would I be mad? You practically came all over my hand last night.”

You flinch. “Sevika—”

“No one made you moan my name,” she continues, rising from her chair. “Don’t act like it wasn’t the best part of your week.”

She’s in front of you now, close again—too close. You take a step back, but she follows, always one breath away from pinning you to the wall.

“I told you I shouldn’t have,” you say, voice tight. “It was a mistake. I was drunk.”

“You were wet,” she counters, low and dangerous. “There’s a difference.”

Your mouth opens—no words. Just heat crawling up your throat.

“I can give you better,” she murmurs, eyes dark and slow-burning. “You don’t owe him loyalty just because you’re scared of being alone.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that.”

Sevika scoffs. “You keep saying that. But you don’t look convinced.”

Then, before you can stop her, she drops to her knees.

Right there.

Her hands find your hips, grip firm and sure through the fabric of your skirt. She looks up at you, and something in your chest stutters.

“Tell me to stop,” she says, voice husky, lips inches from your waistband. “Mean it.”

You should. You really should.

But your hands stay at your sides, frozen.

You don’t push her away.

You don’t even move.

Then—

“Sevika, do you—”

The door opens.

Mel freezes in the doorway, one brow raised, her perfect blazer catching the light. Her eyes flick from Sevika on her knees to you, cheeks flushed, mouth parted.

Sevika doesn’t flinch.

Mel slowly, slowly shuts the door behind her without looking away.

The second Mel shuts the door, Sevika finally rises to her feet—slowly, deliberately, like she’s still not embarrassed. You’re the one left trembling.

But you don’t stay.

You don’t even think. You just move.

You throw open the office door and bolt into the hallway, nearly running over someone from accounting. Your skirt swishes around your ankles as you spot Mel turning the corner toward the elevators.

“Mel! Mel, wait—”

She doesn’t stop immediately, but you catch up, heels clicking against the tile in rapid panic.

“Please,” you gasp, breath catching as you reach her. “Please don’t tell anyone. It wasn’t—nothing even happened—”

Mel finally stops and turns, folding her arms across her chest. Her expression isn’t cold. It isn’t angry either. It’s… tired. Complicated.

“I won’t say anything,” she says, voice soft. “You have my word.”

You breathe out a shaky sigh, your shoulders sagging with relief.

“But,” she continues, “you should know... people already talk.”

Your blood chills. “What do you mean?”

Mel looks at you with something like pity. “This office? It's a glass box. Everyone sees everything. You think they didn’t notice Sevika acting different yesterday? You leaving early? That mark on your neck?”

Your hand instinctively rises to cover it.

“I didn’t mean for anything to happen—” you start, voice cracking.

“I know,” Mel cuts in gently. “But it doesn’t matter. In a place like this, rumors grow faster than promotions. All it takes is one glance. One smirk. One flushed face in the hallway.”

You look down, shame crawling up your spine.

Mel sighs and softens, placing a hand on your arm. “You’re not the first. And you’re not stupid. But Sevika… she’s not simple. Being close to her never is.”

You swallow hard. “So what do I do?”

Mel lets her hand fall back to her side.

“Be careful,” she says. “With her. With you. Because whether you meant to or not… you're in it now.”

Then the elevator dings, and she steps inside, leaving you standing in the hallway alone, the weight of your choices settling in your bones like concrete.

And for the first time, you’re not sure if you’re more afraid of losing your job—

—or losing yourself to Sevika again.

You wait outside her office for a long time.

Long enough that your nerves start to feel less like panic and more like a low, buzzing ache under your skin. The adrenaline is gone. All that’s left is the shame. The guilt. And the heat of her touch still ghosting your hips.

You finally knock, just once.

“Come in.”

Sevika’s voice is calm. Cool. Like nothing happened.

You step in slowly, shutting the door behind you. She’s at her desk, one arm resting lazily on the surface, the other tapping a pen against a manila folder. Her eyes flick up when you enter but don’t linger.

“I talked to Mel.”

“Obviously,” she mutters.

You take a few steps closer, but not too close.

“I’m serious this time,” you say, voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “You have to stop. No more flirting. No more… whatever that was. I made a mistake, and I’m staying with my boyfriend. I’m not doing this again.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. She just leans back in her chair, gaze unreadable. “Fine.”

You blink. “...Seriously?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “You’re not the first girl to pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

Your stomach sinks. “That’s not what I—”

She cuts you off by opening a drawer and sliding a white envelope across the desk toward you.

You eye it like it might bite you.

“What’s that?”

“For the tights,” she says dryly. “You ripped them last night. And your blouse looked like it was about to quit during the meeting.”

You don’t move. “I don’t need pity money.”

Sevika sighs through her nose, annoyed. “It’s not pity, sweetheart. It’s compensation. You work for me. You’re supposed to look like you belong here.”

You hesitate. Then pick up the envelope and peek inside.

Cash.

Too much. Way too much.

This is not “replace your tights” money. This is “rent for two months” money. Or “disappear into another city and start over” money.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “This is insane.”

Sevika stands slowly, pushing her chair back as she walks around the desk—measured, controlled, still a storm beneath her skin.

“I don’t give people what they deserve,” she says, voice low, “I give them what I want to give. And I want you dressed like someone who knows her worth.”

You meet her eyes, and for a split second, you almost say something.

But you just nod. “Thanks.”

She nods back, then gestures toward the door. “You should get back to your desk.”

You turn to leave—but her voice stops you just before you open the door.

“You looked good today,” she murmurs, softer this time. “Comfort suits you.”

You don’t look back.

You just walk out, envelope clutched in your hand like a secret you’re not sure what to do with.

It’s your day off.

For once, you’re not rushing to get dressed or worrying about whether your shirt will survive a full workday. You're in comfy leggings, a tank top and a black jacket, your hair is messy and you look like you just rolled out of bed even if you did try to brush it a little. No makeup, no heels, just you and a half-empty shopping cart that doesn’t squeak when you push it.

For the first time in a long time, grocery shopping feels... nice.

You grab the name-brand mac and cheese without flinching. The good almond milk. Even a little candle from the home aisle, because screw it—you deserve soft lighting and lavender.

You’re halfway through comparing peanut butter prices when you feel it.

That shift in the air. That weird, subtle gravity that tugs at you, makes the back of your neck prickle.

You glance up.

And there she is.

Sevika.

In Target.

Wearing a long, wool coat that probably costs more than everything in your cart. Her hair’s tied back again, sunglasses pushed up onto her head, dark slacks and a fitted top that absolutely do not belong between rows of laundry detergent and Pop-Tarts. She’s pushing a red basket like it personally offended her.

You blink. Once. Twice.

She spots you.

And smirks.

You panic and pretend to read the back of a Nutella jar. Real smooth.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she drawls as she approaches, voice low and vaguely amused.

You force a smile, pushing your cart an inch forward. “I could say the same. You don’t really strike me as the ‘bullseye deals’ type.”

She glances into your cart. “Treating yourself?”

You shrug. “Using my pity money wisely.”

That earns a sharp laugh from her—short, real.

“Still mad?”

“No,” you admit. “Just trying to feel normal for a minute.”

Sevika’s eyes linger on you. The oversized hoodie. The way your hair’s all loose and soft and you. Not Corporate You. Just You.

“I like this version,” she says, voice softer now. “You’re real like this.”

You hesitate, cart between you like a shield. “You stalking me?”

“Coincidence,” she shrugs. “Or fate, if you're feeling dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half a smile. “You here for snacks or a personality transplant?”

“Neither,” she says, grabbing a box of granola bars and tossing them into her basket like it’s a power move. “Just needed trash bags.”

You stare at her.

“You’re too rich to take out your own trash.”

“I didn’t say they were for me,” she says, already turning toward the next aisle. “See you Friday, sweetheart.”

She disappears between frozen pizzas and Lean Cuisines, and you’re left standing there, heart weirdly fast, fingers gripping the handle of your cart a little too tight.

You sigh.

Of course Sevika looks good at Target.

You drop your groceries off at the apartment, still feeling Sevika’s smirk lingering somewhere in your ribs. Your boyfriend’s out—left a note about going to a friend’s place. You don’t think twice about it. You text Caitlyn.

You still down for coffee? I need your face and your moral compass. Bad.

She texts back almost immediately.

On my way. My treat. You’re getting the giant muffin too.

The café is cozy, tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore that’s always closed for “inventory.” The barista already knows your order—large iced caramel something, extra whipped cream—and Caitlyn’s sipping black coffee like her soul depends on it.

You take the first sip and finally exhale like you haven’t all day.

“So,” Caitlyn says, crossing her legs. “What’s this about a moral crisis?”

You bite your straw, unsure how to even begin.

“I… did something stupid.”

Her brows lift just slightly. “Define ‘stupid.’ Like, crash-your-ex’s-wedding stupid, or get-back-with-your-ex stupid?”

You look down at your drink.

Then say it.

“I slept with my boss.”

Caitlyn blinks. Slowly. Then takes the most dramatic sip of coffee you’ve ever seen.

You brace for it. The judgment. The disappointment. Anything.

But all she says is, “Well. That’s very ‘HBO original series’ of you.”

You stare. “Caitlyn—”

“I mean, I knew your life was messy,” she adds, leaning back. “But this is next level. I’m impressed.”

“Caitlyn.”

She softens immediately, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

“Hey. I’m on your side, remember? Always.”

Your throat tightens. “Even if I’m a home-wrecking, morally compromised disaster?”

“Especially then,” she says, giving you that rare smile—the real one, not the sarcastic smirk she gives annoying people at parties. “You needed something. You got it. And now we figure out what you’re gonna do next.”

“I’m staying with him,” you say quietly. “My boyfriend. I told her it was a mistake.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flick down. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t say what you already know she’s thinking.

Instead: “Do you want to stay with him?”

You don’t answer right away.

She doesn’t push.

She just leans back, sipping her coffee again, eyes soft.

“Whatever you decide,” she says, “I’ll be here. To support you.”

You laugh—sharp and real and just a little broken.

She clinks her coffee cup against your plastic lid. “You’re not alone in this.”

The boutique Caitlyn drags you to is one of those clean, Pinterest-board-looking places with neutral walls, racks spaced perfectly apart, and a woman at the front desk who gives you complimentary cucumber water just for walking in.

You’re overwhelmed within five seconds.

Caitlyn, of course, is thriving.

“Okay,” she says, already flipping through hangers like a pro. “We want business casual, but comfy. Professional, but still you. So no more button-downs that look like they’re losing a fight with your chest, got it?”

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Deal.”

She hands you a soft sage green blouse with fluttery sleeves and a pair of black wide-leg pants that feel like pajamas but somehow look expensive.

You try them on.

You twirl a little in the mirror.

You look… good.

“You look hot,” Caitlyn says from outside the changing room, leaning dramatically against the door. “Hot and employed.”

You snort. “High praise.”

You walk out and grab another outfit—a soft cream cardigan, a fitted tank underneath, and a midi skirt with a tiny floral pattern. Comfortable. Confident. Something you can actually breathe in.

“Perfect,” Caitlyn says, nodding like a fashion judge. “Now…”

She pulls a black dress from the rack like a magician revealing her final trick.

It’s sleek. Short. A body-con that hugs all the right places with subtle ruching at the waist and a square neckline that’s flirty but still tasteful.

“This,” she says, “is the dress. Cocktail party. Show up. Make Your mark on that place..i mean if you haven't already for disappearing into the bathroom with the ceo”

You take it from her carefully, the fabric silky between your fingers.

“Cait,” you say, holding it up. “It’s… tight.”

She smirks. “And you’ve got a body worth showing off. Let her choke on it.”

You laugh, pressing the dress to your chest. “Okay, fine. This is the one.”

You don’t tell her how your heart races imagining Sevika seeing you in it.

You don’t have to.

Caitlyn sees the look in your eyes and just nods.

“You’ve got this.”

The suit hangs on the back of the bedroom door, still in its garment bag, untouched.

You’d picked it out yesterday. A simple black two-piece, nothing too flashy. Just… clean. Respectable. It felt like the least you could do—if you were dragging him into this cocktail party, you might as well make sure he looked like he belonged.

He didn’t even say thank you.

Now it’s the morning before the event. You’re moving around the apartment, folding laundry, fixing your hair into a loose ponytail, pretending everything is fine.

He leans in the doorway, yawning. Shirtless. Watching you with that sleepy grin he used to wear back when things felt simple.

“You know,” he says, walking over and sliding his hands around your waist, “we’ve got a little time before you head out for that pre-party work stuff…”

His lips brush your neck, warm and familiar. One hand starts to slip beneath your shirt.

Your stomach drops.

The familiar twist of guilt and disinterest coils tight in your gut. His touch feels wrong now—not cruel, not mean… just wrong.

You grab his hand gently and pull it away. “Not right now. I’m—uh—cramping.”

He pauses, eyes narrowing for a second. Then he sighs and steps back, not pushing, but clearly annoyed.

“Figures,” he mutters. “You’ve been weird lately.”

You force a tight smile. “I’ve just been tired. Work's been a lot.”

He shrugs and grabs his phone off the nightstand. “Alright, whatever. Just don’t forget we’ve got that thing tonight.”

“I won’t,” you say, already turning back to fold the same T-shirt you’ve touched three times.

He leaves the room.

You exhale slowly, your hands trembling just slightly.

The suit still hangs untouched.

And the black dress waits folded in tissue paper inside a boutique bag.

The venue is stunning—soft golden lighting, live jazz humming in the background, servers floating past with sparkling flutes and tiny hors d'oeuvres that look like food for rich fairies.

You walk in on your boyfriend’s arm, your black body-con dress hugging you just right. You feel the eyes on you as you enter—and for once, you don’t shrink under them.

You own it.

Your boyfriend doesn’t comment on the way heads turn. Doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy adjusting his tie and checking his reflection in every polished surface like he invented being mediocre in a suit.

You’re halfway into your second awkward sip of chardonnay when you feel her.

Sevika.

She walks in like the floor was laid out for her—broad shoulders in a dark tailored suit, black dress shirt unbuttoned just low enough to border indecent, no tie. Her hair’s slicked back, jaw set, eyes already scanning the room.

And then they land on you.

Her gaze lingers, intense and unreadable, before sliding to your boyfriend.

You swear the temperature drops.

She stares at him like she’s already picked out the weakest spot to punch first. Her mouth presses into a line. Her jaw ticks.

Your boyfriend, completely oblivious, is in the middle of bragging to Ekko about how he hit diamond rank in some online shooter. Ekko’s politely nodding, clearly dying inside.

You’re barely hearing them. Your attention is locked on Sevika, and she’s watching you right back.

You quickly look away and take a bigger sip of wine than intended.

“Damn, babe, slow down,” your boyfriend says, laughing as he slings an arm around your waist.

You flinch, just slightly.

He doesn’t notice that, either.

You glance across the room again. Sevika’s talking to Mel now—but her eyes keep drifting back to you.

Watching.

Measuring.

Waiting.

You adjust the neckline of your dress, trying not to think about her hands. About her mouth. About the last time you were alone together.

You drain the rest of your chardonnay.

A few hours later and the music’s too loud. The lights are too warm. The voices blur together like you’re underwater.

You laugh when you’re supposed to, nod when your boyfriend talks, sip your wine just to keep your mouth busy—but your chest is tight, your throat’s dry, and your ears are ringing.

And then he says something.

You don’t even catch it, really—some offhand comment about calories or how much you’re drinking.

It hits the same nerve anyway.

You excuse yourself without thinking, barely muttering something about needing air.

The balcony is massive, lined with plants that have no business looking that elegant. The night air is cool, crisp against your skin, and the city glows below like a reflection of the stars. No one’s out here. Just silence, finally.

You dig into your purse and pull out the cigarette you swore you weren’t keeping anymore.

You light it with shaking hands.

The first inhale hits hard. Not smooth, not pleasant—but grounding.

You breathe out slowly, leaning back in one of the sleek patio chairs, staring at the skyline like it might give you answers.

The door clicks behind you.

You don’t need to look.

You know it’s her.

Sevika steps out onto the balcony like she owns it—of course she does. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks over and nods toward your cigarette.

“Got another?”

You pause. Then reach into your bag and hand one over.

She lights it from yours, the flame flickering between you. Her fingers brush yours, just barely.

You don’t say anything.

She exhales, then glances over. “Didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say quietly. “Not really.”

She nods once. Like she gets it.

The silence hangs there, warm with shared breath, smoke curling between you.

“I didn’t hit him,” she says eventually.

You laugh—just a small, exhausted huff. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“He deserves worse,” she adds, taking another drag. “You looked miserable.”

You look at her. The city lights reflect in her eyes.

“I was.”

She turns to face you fully now, stepping closer, close enough that you can smell the smoke on her lips, the soft scent of whatever expensive cologne clings to her collar.

“I can’t stop thinking about that night,” she admits, voice low, dangerous with honesty.

You swallow. “I said it was a mistake.”

“Then why’d you light that cigarette like you were waiting for me?”

Your lips part, but no words come.

She reaches out, fingers brushing the side of your face, then trailing down your arm. Her hand rests gently on your waist, not demanding—just there. Her cigarette burns low between her fingers, forgotten.

You don’t pull away.

When she leans in, you meet her halfway.

The kiss is soft at first—surprisingly so. All breath and hesitation, like she’s asking for permission with her mouth. But then it deepens. Her hand grips your waist tighter. Your fingers curl in the lapel of her suit jacket.

The smoke, the night air, the tension—it all wraps around you, blurring out everything else.

Until—

“Are you serious?”

You both freeze.

Mel’s voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

You turn your head slowly, lips still kiss-swollen, Sevika’s hand still on your waist.

Mel’s standing in the open balcony door, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but her eyebrow is doing the absolute most.

“Is this, like, a kink?” she says flatly. “You two only hook up when I’m about to walk in?”

You pull away from Sevika like you’ve just woken up mid-dream, breath still shaky, heart thudding in your ears. Her hand lingers on your waist for half a second before you step out of her reach completely.

You don’t meet her eyes.

You just walk.

Your heels click softly against the stone balcony floor as you move past the potted plants and melting ashtray, toward the glowing doorway where Mel’s still standing—expression unreadable, lips pursed, arms crossed like she’s both exhausted and waiting for a good reason not to slap someone.

You reach her side.

You pause.

Your lips part.

“Um—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says, eyes still on the skyline. Not unkind. Just resigned.

You nod. You don't say thank you. You don't have it in you.

You slip past her into the party, leaving the smell of smoke and regret behind you.

Back on the balcony, Sevika exhales hard through her nose, turning away from the city like she could punch the moon if she tried hard enough.

“You have the worst timing,” she mutters.

Mel doesn’t flinch. She finally steps out onto the balcony, letting the door close gently behind her.

“No,” she says. “You have the worst impulse control.”

Sevika shoots her a glare, sharp and tired. “Do you enjoy walking in every time I’m with her?”

“You’re not supposed to be ‘with her’ at all,” Mel snaps, lowering her voice. “She’s your employee. This is your job. You're not supposed to be sneaking off to make out with the assistant like you're in some—some corporate fanfiction!”

Sevika scoffs. “This isn’t just some fling.”

“Then it’s worse.”

Mel’s voice softens just slightly.

“She doesn’t know what she wants yet. And you're not helping.”

Sevika doesn’t respond at first. Her jaw flexes. She crushes the stub of her cigarette into the stone railing, the ember dying with a hiss.

“She was happy with me,” Sevika mutters. “For a second. She looked at me like—like I meant something.”

“And then she walked away,” Mel says gently. “Again.”

That one lands.

Mel sighs, placing a hand on the railing. “You can’t be the person she runs to and the reason she has to run from at the same time.”

Sevika doesn’t say anything.

Mel doesn’t press.

They just stand there—two tired women on a balcony full of secondhand smoke, watching the city sparkle like it’s mocking them.

The night hums quietly around them now, all the chaos and chatter muffled behind thick glass. The city blinks below like it’s listening in.

Mel doesn’t leave.

She just exhales slowly, watching Sevika’s clenched fists, the way her knuckles stay white even though the cigarette’s long dead.

“I thought you said you were fine,” Mel says, her voice not accusatory—just... tired. Familiar.

Sevika doesn’t answer right away. Just stares straight ahead, jaw tight.

Mel turns slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is this about her or is this about samantha?”

A beat.

Two.

Then Sevika scoffs, low and bitter. “Dont say her name like that.”

Mel sighs.  “You’ve been a wreck since she left.” she tried to say as gently as possible 

Sevika’s shoulders tense. “She didn’t leave. She traded up. Found someone who could give her the picture-perfect shit she wanted. I was just... temporary.”

Mel’s face softens.

“And then you met someone who looked at you like you were more than temporary,” she says, quietly. “And now you’re trying to make that mean something.”

Sevika doesn’t deny it.

She leans on the railing, both arms braced like she’s holding herself up.

“I didn’t even get time to be angry,” she mutters. “It was like—one minute we were fighting, and the next she was engaged. Just done. Like I was some phase.”

Mel tilts her head. “You weren’t.”

Sevika laughs bitterly. “Sure as hell felt like I was.”

She looks up at the sky—like maybe it’ll swallow the lump forming in her throat.

“I’m not used to being the one left behind.”

Mel watches her carefully. Then steps closer, just enough to be beside her, not in front of her.

“You don’t have to bury yourself in someone new to prove you still matter.”

“I’m not,” Sevika says automatically.

“You are,” Mel says gently. “And it’s not fair to either of you.”

Silence falls between them again—heavy, but not hostile. The kind of silence that only happens between people who’ve known each other too long, seen too much.

After a minute, Sevika mutters, “She makes it so fucking hard not to care.”

Mel nods slowly.

“I know.”

You’re standing near the hallway now, away from the main buzz of the party, one hand still loosely cradling your wine glass, the other clutching your little clutch bag like it’s going to keep you grounded.

But you never stopped watching the balcony doors.

And then, there they are.

Sevika and Mel walk in together, side by side.

They aren’t touching.

They aren’t even smiling.

But they’re… close. In that quiet, easy kind of way that doesn’t need words. The kind that says they’ve been through some things. That they know each other.

You notice the way Sevika looks at her. Not intense like how she looked at you on the balcony. But steady. Familiar. Like maybe she’s looked at Mel like that before. Like maybe she still does.

Mel leans in to say something low near Sevika’s ear, and Sevika gives her a tired smirk in return.

It guts you.

You feel ridiculous. And stupid. And young. Like this was never anything to her. Just a new game. A project. Maybe it was never about you at all.

Maybe you were just a stand-in.

Just the next girl who would look at her like she meant something.

Your throat tightens, the party sounds warping around you, distant and unimportant.

You set your wine glass on a table you pass and slip out the side entrance with your boyfriend without saying goodbye. Not to Caitlyn. Not to Ekko. Not to anyone.

You don’t look back.

And Sevika?

She doesn’t see you leave.

comment to be added to the taglist!

@gaptoothedlesbo @magnificentmilkshakearbiter @half-of-a-gay

[myalgicencephalomyelitiscfstom]

Dismissed and Disbelieved, Some Long COVID Patients Are Pushed Into Psychiatric Wards

There is some discussion of ME/CFS also

Some extracts:

"Such experiences fit into a long, troubling tradition in medicine. Because there often aren’t conclusive tests for these types of complex chronic conditions, and because many patients do not outwardly appear unwell, they’re frequently told that they aren’t physically sick at all—that symptoms are all in their heads. “Mainstream medicine really isn’t geared toward treating conditions and diseases that it cannot see under a microscope,” says Larry Au, an assistant professor of sociology at the City College of New York who has studied one of the consequences of that disconnect: medical gaslighting of Long COVID patients." -- "The experience made things worse. She was given numerous medications to which she had bad reactions and went through electroconvulsive therapy, which she says damaged her memory to the point that she had to relearn how to talk and navigate her hometown. “Nobody was listening to me, and people were not informed enough to make a correct diagnosis,” she says. “I was being misdiagnosed and treated for something that I didn’t have.”" -- Without the backing of a doctor or diagnosis, patients often find that other people in their lives don’t believe them, either. Doug Gross, chair of the department of physical therapy at the University of Alberta, has studied how hard it is for Long COVID patients to find medical care. He says patients often talk about “disbelief from not only the health care system...but more broadly in their social sphere: family members, employers, supervisors at work.”

--

Rivka Solomon, a longtime ME/CFS patient advocate, says she hears this story a couple times a year: a patient, like Knights, has been wrongly admitted to or threatened with inpatient psychiatric care. And those are just the instances she learns about. “I worry about who is, right now, lying in a bed in a psych ward, too sick to function, left with no one to properly care for them, left with no one to advocate for them,” she says.

--

Some clinicians, however, fail to differentiate between side effects and root causes, or use screening techniques that aren’t well suited for people with chronic conditions, Verduzco-Gutierrez says. For example, asking someone whether they struggle to get out of bed in the morning—a common question when screening for depression—isn’t all that useful if the clinician doesn’t differentiate between physical and mental exhaustion. “The only way to solve this is more education,” Putrino says, “so the next generation of clinicians are not looking at these patients and saying, ‘A couple of antidepressants and a day off will fix you.’” --

Science for ME update describes it as: “Good article on the negative outcomes for patients when Long Covid and ME are psychologised. Comments from among others researcher/clinician David Putrino and patient advocate Rivka Solomon.”

[tomhardystories]

Part 9

Jules sat at the counter in her kitchen, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar. Her phone lit up with an unfamiliar number. Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered answering (she had an ongoing rivalry with telemarketers), but she was feeling unusually curious. She hesitated, then answered with her mouth half-full.

“Hello?” she said, wiping at her lips with the back of her hand, already half-prepared to launch into a very specific rant about how she didn’t need life insurance.

“Hi, Jules? This is Leo DiCaprio.”

Jules blinked. She stared at the phone as if it had just sprouted legs and tap-danced across her kitchen.

“Sorry, who?” she said, her voice rising in that specific way reserved for both disbelief and spotting a spider.

“Leonardo DiCaprio” the voice repeated, smooth and velvety, like it had just stepped out of a luxury cologne commercial.

Jules paused, her brain scrambling to process. She had two options: either she was being pranked, or Leonardo DiCaprio had accidentally dialed the wrong number while trying to reach his assistant. 

“Right,” she said, her tone deliberately dry. “And I’m Julia Roberts. What can I do for you?” 

There was a low chuckle on the other end. “I promise, it’s really me. I got your number through, uh… let’s say mutual friend.”

Ah. Right. The memory of Tom’s warning flickered into her mind like a distant echo: “If he calls, just, uh, be careful.” Jules shook her head slightly. Yup, that’s him. 

“Alright” she said, crossing her arms, adopting the tone of someone who definitely didn’t believe a word of it. “Let’s say I believe you. Why are you calling me?”

“Well,” Leo began, his voice dripping with the kind of effortless charm that probably made roses bloom spontaneously wherever he walked “I’m in New York for a few more days before heading back to California. I thought it’d be nice to grab a coffee with you.”

Jules froze. Not because she was swooning, but because this was so absurd she half-expected Ashton Kutcher to pop out of a closet and yell, “You’ve been Punk’d!”

“Coffee,” she repeated, like she was tasting the word for the first time. “You, Leonardo DiCaprio, want to get coffee. With me. A person who, just this morning, spilled yogurt down her blouse in a meeting.”

“That’s right” Leo said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Okay” she said slowly, still suspicious. “Just to clarify, this isn’t some elaborate prank, right? You’re not about to ask me for my social security number, or if I’d like to buy a lifetime supply of essential oils?”

Leo laughed again. “I promise, no pranks. Just coffee. You seem like good company.”

Jules snorted before she could stop herself. “Good company? Oh, wow. Someone didn’t do their homework. I’m the kind of person who accidentally orders decaf and then spends the next hour wondering why I’m so tired.”

“I think I can handle that” he replied smoothly.

“Oh, can you?” she shot back, leaning into her usual brand of chaotic humor. “Because I also talk a lot, use way too much sugar, and have a habit of knocking things over. It’s basically a talent.”

“Well, now I’m even more intrigued” Leo said, and Jules could practically hear his grin through the phone.

“Fine,” she said, waving her hand in the air as if he could see it. “Let’s do coffee. But fair warning: if you’re expecting someone glamorous or mysterious, you’re gonna be very disappointed.”

“Noted” he replied, unfazed. “I’ll text you the details.”

Jules hung up and stared at her phone for a moment, then burst out laughing. 

“He wants coffee” she muttered to herself. “Sure. And next week I’ll probably get a call from Beyoncé asking me to babysit her twins.”

She shook her head, because, honestly, what else can you do when Leonardo DiCaprio just casually asks you out for coffee?

She didn’t consider herself the kind of person who had to share every detail of her life, but this? This was too good to keep to herself. She paced her living room, phone in hand. There was only one person who could fully appreciate the absurdity of this situation. She hit the speed dial for Miranda. She picked up on the third ring. “This better be good. I just paid $14 for a kale salad, and I’m already regretting it.”

“Oh, it’s good” Jules replied, her voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Guess who called me today?”

“Your dermatologist, finally letting you book that appointment you’ve been avoiding?” Miranda deadpanned.

“Leonardo DiCaprio.”

There was a long pause. Then Miranda burst out laughing. “Yes, Jules. Of course.”

“He just said he’s in New York for a few more days and thought I’d be, and I quote, good company.”

“Good company?” Miranda echoed. “Oh, sure. Because you weren’t already great company when you were hanging out with him and Tom and, what was it, Cillian Murphy at that bar?”

Jules waved her hand, even though Miranda couldn’t see it. “That doesn’t count. That was a group thing. This is… more personal.”

“Personal...” Miranda repeated, clearly savoring the word. “First Tom Hardy, now Leonardo DiCaprio. How many Hollywood favorites are planning to invite you out for coffee? Should I book an intervention before or after Jude Law calls?”

Jules snorted. “Well, here’s the real question: do I tell Tom about it?”

There was a pause. Jules could practically hear Miranda narrowing her eyes through the phone.

“No” Miranda said firmly.

“No?” Jules repeated. She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Why not?”

“Because” Miranda said, launching into what could only be described as a dramatic lawyer monologue “You said it yourself - Tom’s been overworked, stressed, and calling you at ungodly hours talking about yachts, puppies, and Malibu mansions. Do you really think this man, who can barely hold it together as it is, needs to hear about it?” 

Jules hesitated. “Okay, fair point.”

“And another thing,” Miranda continued, her voice rising “why is this even Tom’s business? With all due respect to his very charming neuroses, why should he care who you get coffee with? You’re not his life coach or his therapist - or his girlfriend, for that matter.”

“You’re not wrong” Jules admitted, sinking back into her couch.

“Of course I’m not wrong” Miranda said, sounding smug. “Let me tell you something: you are Jules. You’re smart, funny, and somehow magnetic enough to attract men who live on IMDB’s Top 100 Stars list. You don’t need to justify having coffee with Leo to anyone, least of all Tom.”

Jules grinned, feeling a warm rush of affection for Miranda’s relentless practicality. “Okay, okay, I won’t tell him. Happy?”

“Ecstatic” Miranda replied. “Now, go enjoy your coffee date with Hollywood’s golden boy. And for God’s sake, don’t spill sugar all over him.”

“Too late to make promises” Jules quipped, hanging up.

She set the phone down, already bracing herself for whatever chaos Leo’s coffee plans might bring. But Miranda was right.. what business did anyone else have in her life? She wasn’t moving to Malibu, spilling her secrets, or swooning over a movie star.

Probably.

Jules arrived at the café precisely three minutes early, a feat of punctuality that had her feeling smug - until she caught sight of her reflection in the café window. Her hair, which she’d spent a solid twenty minutes taming, now looked like she’d just dismounted a roller coaster.

“No big deal” she muttered to herself, fluffing it in the least subtle way possible as she pushed through the door.

Leo DiCaprio was already there, sitting at a corner table with sunglasses on and a baseball cap pulled low. He looked casual, effortless - basically the polar opposite of how Jules felt in her carefully chosen "relaxed yet sophisticated" outfit that now seemed to scream trying too hard.

“Jules” he said, standing up as she approached. “Good to see you.”

“You too” she replied, shaking his hand before realizing she was holding her bag in the same hand. The result was an awkward juggle that ended with her bag smacking the table, nearly toppling the salt shaker.

Leo’s lips twitched, but he said nothing. Gentleman, clearly.

The waiter came over, and Jules was determined to play it cool. “I’ll have a flat white” she said with the air of someone who definitely knew what a flat white was and had not, in fact, googled it.

Leo ordered a black coffee, because of course he did.

As the coffee arrived, the conversation began to flow. Jules was determined to keep things casual, which meant saying absolutely the first thing that popped into her head.

“So, you wear sunglasses indoors. That’s… bold.”

Leo smiled, adjusting them slightly. “Hazard of the job, I guess. Keeps people from staring.”

“Does it, though?” Jules teased, raising an eyebrow. “Because I feel like it might just make you more noticeable.”

He laughed, and she felt herself relax.

They talked about travel (he loved Italy, she once got stuck in a revolving door in Paris), work (he told a funny story about filming a scene with a baby goat, she countered with the time she accidentally emailed a meme of a screaming cat to her client), and the absurdity of New York traffic.

“I once got stuck in a cab for so long” she said “that I considered getting out and just living on the sidewalk.”

Leo laughed again, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you guys do it here.”

“Pure spite” Jules replied. “It’s the New York way.”

Just as Jules was starting to think she might survive this meeting without embarrassing herself further, Leo leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting.

“Jules..” he began “I want to ask you something.”

Her stomach flipped. Oh God, was there spinach in her teeth?

“I think you’re amazing” he said, catching her completely off guard. “You’re funny, smart, and I don’t meet people like you often. So, I just have to ask... are you and Tom… together?”

For a moment, Jules just stared at him. And then, without warning, she burst into laughter. Not a polite chuckle. Not a soft, feminine giggle. But a full-on, uncontrollable cackle that echoed through the cafe. Heads turned. The barista paused mid-latte art.

“W-what?” she managed to wheeze between gasps for air. “No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Definitely NOT. A million times no!!”

Leo raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a grin. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“God, sorry” Jules said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “It’s just - me and Tom? That’s hilarious. No, absolutely not.”

“Good to know” Leo said smoothly. “Because I was hoping you’d let me show you Malibu.”

Jules froze, her brain grinding to a halt. “Malibu?”

“Yeah” he said, leaning back casually. “Take a week off. Come to California. We’ll hang out, explore, get some sun, maybe spend some time on the yacht. I think you’d love it.”

The words yacht and California had barely registered in her mind when a flashback hit her like a freight train.

Tom’s voice, panicked and slightly too high-pitched: “Promise me you’ll never move to Malibu. Or anywhere tropical where you’ll forget me!”

She stared at Leo, unsure whether to laugh or cry. This was it. This was literally the exact nightmare Tom had rambled about during his 3 am phone call.

“Oh my God” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked, concerned.

Jules waved her hand dismissively, her mind racing. Should she tell him? Could she explain the sheer absurdity of Tom calling her in the middle of the night to rant about hypothetical yachts? No. No, she could not.

“Nothing” she said quickly. “It’s just… I’m flattered. Really. But I’m not looking for anything right now.”

Leo nodded, his expression completely understanding. “I get it. No pressure. I just wanted to ask.”

“Thank you..” she said, relaxing slightly. “And for the record, I think we’d make excellent friends. You’re very… cool.”

Leo smiled. “Friends it is. I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too,” she said, genuinely meaning it.

The rest of the meeting went without incident, the two of them chatting like old friends. By the time they said goodbye, Jules felt oddly proud of herself. Sure, she’d laughed so hard the entire café stared at her, but she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself. Mostly.

As she stepped out into the crisp New York air, she couldn’t help but laugh. Malibu? Yachts? Tom would lose his mind if he ever found out.

And then it hit her: Tom. Sweet, neurotic Tom, who had practically sworn her to a blood pact never to set foot in Malibu because of his bizarre nightmares. She grinned like the Cheshire Cat. 

Oh, this was going to be fun.

She dialed his number, and Tom picked up almost immediately.

“Tom” she began, calm and measured, like she was reading him a eulogy. “Remember that midnight phone call? You, ranting about the inherent evil of Malibu and how I was never, under any circumstances, to set foot there?”

A wary pause. “…yes?”

“Well” she said, dragging out the word like she was savoring it, “Funny story. I just had coffee with Leo. And he invited me to Malibu. We’re flying out tomorrow morning.”

The silence on the line stretched so long she thought he’d fainted. 

“…what.” Tom’s voice finally came through, high-pitched and slightly strangled.

“Yeah, he said he wanted to show me the sights. You know, the beach, the yacht, maybe even some dolphins. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Tom inhaled sharply. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Jules, listen to me. You can’t go. Malibu changes people. You’ll start drinking green juice out of a mason jar and calling it a detox elixir. You’ll buy a caftan. A CAFTAN, Jules. Do you even know what a caftan is?!”

“I feel like you’ve got a lot of feelings about caftans” she observed, biting back laughter.

“You don’t understand" he continued, spiraling faster than a toilet flush. “You’re not even packed! Do you have Malibu clothes? Do you own linen?!”

“I have linen napkins.”

“Not the same thing, Jules! They’ll know. Malibu people can smell fear and polyester blends!”

At that, she completely lost it, doubling over as a laugh tore out of her. “Tom! Oh my God, stop. I’m dying.”

“No!” he said, dead serious. “You’re going to get on that yacht, and they’re going to feed you champagne and caviar until you forget who you are. I’m telling you, Jules, you’ll become one of them.”

“One of who, exactly?”

“California people!” His voice cracked on the last syllable. “The kind who text you, ‘Sorry, babe, I can’t make it, I’m on my third cleanse of the month.”

“Wow...” she said, grinning. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“I’ve SEEN THINGS, Jules!” Tom practically yelled. “People don’t come back from Malibu the same. Or worse, they don’t come back at all. They just vanish into infinity pools and Instagram stories.”

“Uh-huh” Jules said, deadpan. “And you know what, Tom? I think you might be psychic. I mean, how else could you have known this would happen?”

“Jules” Tom said, his tone urgent. “Listen to me. If you go to Malibu, it’s over. That’s where people disappear. They stop answering texts. They start… wearing sunglasses indoors! You’ll come back and tell me I should do yoga on the beach at sunrise. Jules, I can’t lose you to that lifestyle!”

“Wow” she said, trying her hardest to sound serious. “You’re really spiraling here.”

“Of course I’m spiraling!” Tom snapped. 

At that, Jules finally lost it. She burst out laughing, so loudly that a passing dog walker gave her a curious look. “Tom, oh my God, relax. I’m not going to Malibu.”

There was another pause. “…what?”

“I’m not going” she repeated, wiping a tear from her eye. “I turned him down. I just wanted to mess with you.”

“You...” His breath caught audibly. “You evil, soulless troll. I hate you.”

“It was worth it” she said, her grin practically audible. “Admit it” she said “you were picturing me on a yacht, weren’t you? All tan and glamorous, sipping champagne and tossing my phone into the Pacific?”

“I’m hanging up now. You’re a monster” he muttered.

“And you’re the best” she said, still grinning. “Never change.”

“I’m putting a tracking app on your phone” he grumbled.

“Bye, Tom” she said sweetly. “Don’t have nightmares about designer caftans, okay?”

As she hung up, Jules leaned against the nearest lamppost, laughing to herself.

 

Tom was still nursing his post-Jules call anxiety when his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, groaned, and answered.

“Leo, what do you want? Whatever it is, the answer is no.” 

“Hey, man” Leo’s smooth voice came through, cheerful and unbothered. “Just thought I’d call. So… about Jules.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh no. No, no, no. Don’t even start. I’m already regretting giving you her number.”

Leo chuckled on the other end. “Relax, bro. I just wanted to tell you how it went.”

“Oh, great” Tom muttered. “Did she roast you alive, or are you calling from the ashes of your self-esteem?”

“She’s… amazing” Leo said, clearly trying to find the right words.

Tom barked a laugh. “Oh, she’s amazing, all right. Let me guess, she gave you the Jules Special: one compliment wrapped in three layers of insults, just to keep you humble.”

“Actually....” Leo began, but Tom cut him off.

“No, no, don’t tell me. Let me do the honors” Tom said, sitting up. “First, she showed up ten minutes late, claiming ‘fashionably’ but really because she forgot what time she said. Then, she immediately made fun of whatever you were wearing. Something like, "Oh, nice shirt. Did they run out of the expensive ones?”

There was a long pause.

“…okay, that last part is accurate” Leo admitted.

“Of course it is” Tom said, triumphant. “I know Jules, and let me tell you, she is not girlfriend material. She’s, like, chaos incarnate. She’ll drink all your coffee, borrow your hoodie, and then insult you while wearing it.”

Leo chuckled. “You make her sound horrible.”

“She’s not horrible,” Tom corrected. “She’s Jules. Which means she’s impossible, infuriating, and more stubborn than a mule wearing noise-canceling headphones. I’ve seen her make a personal trainer cry.”

“Okay, but that’s kind of admirable,” Leo said.

“No, it’s concerning!” Tom exclaimed. “She’s the human version of a hurricane. Except hurricanes eventually pass, and Jules? Jules lingers. You’ll be lying in bed at night, and suddenly, you’ll remember something she said three weeks ago and start questioning your life choices.”

“You’re really selling her” Leo said, amused.

“I’m not trying to sell her!” Tom snapped. “I’m trying to save you. You don’t need that kind of chaos in your Malibu bubble. Stick to your yoga girls and organic juice queens. Jules is, like, an espresso martini with a splash of existential dread. Don’t come crying to me when she turns your Malibu mansion into her personal comedy club.”

“Sounds intriguing” Leo said.

Tom groaned. “Of course you think that. Look, just promise me you won’t fall for her, okay? I can’t handle the fallout when you realize she’s allergic to feelings.” 

Leo hesitated. “Actually… we decided to just be friends.”

Tom froze. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah..” Leo said casually. “She turned me down. Said I wasn’t her type, but she’d be happy to grab a drink sometime - strictly platonically.”

Tom stared at the wall in disbelief. “She friend-zoned you?”

“Now there's two of us..” Leo said, sounding oddly cheerful.

“Wow.” Tom let out a low whistle. “You’re Leonardo DiCaprio. The Titanic guy. And she said no?”

Leo laughed. “Yep. First time for everything.”

“Unbelievable” Tom muttered, shaking his head. “She’s truly unmatched.”

“Hey, I kind of respect it” Leo said. “Besides, I think we could be great friends. She’s hilarious.”

“You know, talking about Jules earlier... I might have gone a bit overboard. I wasn’t being serious. She’s not that bad.” 

“Well,” Leo said lightly, “thanks for introducing us. I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Tom groaned again. “Great. Fantastic. Now, can both of you please leave me alone? I’m not your therapist, your mediator, or your relationship counselor.”

“You kind of are” Leo teased.

“Just do me a favor and both of you stay out of my life for a week. I’m emotionally spent.” Tom shot back. 

“Sure thing, buddy” Leo said lightly. “Talk soon.”

Tom was sprawled out on the couch, fully immersed in his righteous annoyance, when his phone buzzed again. He groaned, snatched it up, and saw the name on the screen.

“Oh, for the love of... Cillian, if you’re calling to ask Jules out, I swear to God, I’m blocking your number! I’m quitting society and joining a cult!” Tom yelled as soon as he answered.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Cillian’s calm, slightly confused voice came through.

“Uh… what?”

Tom sat up, his rant not losing any steam. “Don’t play coy with me, Murphy. Are you planning some romantic dinner? A walk on the beach? Or maybe you’re thinking of luring her to some broody, dimly-lit jazz club where you can stare at each other in tortured silence?”

Cillian cleared his throat. “Tom, I’m… not calling about Jules.”

Tom froze, his anger deflating slightly. “…you’re not?”

“No?” Cillian said firmly, though his tone now carried a hint of amusement. “I was actually calling to ask if you wanted to join the charity game this weekend. But clearly, you’ve got some... other things going on.”

“Oh” Tom said, blinking. “Right. Of course. Charity game. Makes sense.” Tom replied and hung up, staring at his phone in disbelief. “Unbelievable, he muttered. “I’m the one who needs therapy.”

[thealphashitter]

A Walk In the Park | Five X Male Reader | Chapter Three

"Oh my God, I am so, so sorry are you okay?” A familiar voice said to Five. He opened his with a groan to find the same boy from school sitting on the ground apologizing to him. Five didn't have time for this, he needed some fresh air and he needed it now.

Five quickly spotted an alley 20ft in front of him and swiftly stood up and made his way over there. He turned into the alley and spatial jumped into his secret spot in the New York State Park, a small enclosure in the forest.

Five fell on the ground and groaned, he looked around but felt sharp leaves cut at his face, most of them just grazing but a few got him good. He needed to find a new spot to teleport to.

Five stood up and looked around. One lady with a stroller walking by looked at him and walked faster down the pathway. There wasn't anybody other than him and the lady getting increasingly further away from him. Good. He needed peace and quiet. He made his way out of the bush and made his way down the path opposite to the lady. Humming a little tune as he did so.

Five had many great memories here. He would often escape the house and come here on many occasions when everything became too much for him. Sometimes his mother would take them all down here on the weekend and they'd run around and play like normal children. Sometimes they'd play hide and seek and nobody would be able to find Five until they had to go home, which only then he would reveal himself to the others. He would be very proud of himself for winning the game. Sometimes the others would get fed up with him but they still included him nonetheless. It was also one of the only times they would hang out with Victor –or as you would know as Vanya at the time– and include him in their activities.

He looked at the little pond that younger Five had always wished to fish in. There was a golden retriever with its owner playing with a dog toy by the edge of the pond. It was one of those rope ones with a knot on the ends. He gazed at the dog remembering one of his missions at the commission.

Five had been sent to kill off the father of a family. It was one of his first missions and he was around in his early 20s. He made his way down the streets of New Orleans and found himself at a townhouse. He walked up the steps and hesitated at the door before he heard a dog barking. He took a deep breath and rang the bell. He heard heavy footsteps and the door opened to reveal a very thin man with long brown hair in a white tank top and basketball shorts that looked like they were about to fall off him and reveal his ass to the world. His eyes were bloodshot and he had something rolled in paper in his other hand, probably a blunt.

Five opened his mouth to speak before he was interrupted by an older woman's voice coming from inside the house. “Adam, who is at the door?” The woman said before appearing behind Adam with a dish and a cloth in her hands, a golden retriever following close behind. Adam tossed the blunt to the side and turned around to face what Five assumes is his mother. “I dunno’ Ma, he just showed up here-” “Aidan Fischer ma’am, I was wondering if I could have a word with your husband? I'm an assistant of his boss and I was told to bring these to him immediately.” Five gestured to the briefcase that he used to travel space and time with, a smile feigning innocence on his face.

The woman quickly smiled and put the dish and cloth in one hand while extending her right hand to Five. “Dolly darling, my husband is just in the living room.” Dolly said. She disappeared for a moment and Five heard her say “Hey Pumpkin? One of your boss’s assistants is here with paperwork for you!” Dolly said. Adam stepped to the side and gestured for Five to come in and that's what he did.

Five stepped into the home, Adam closing the door behind him as he went outside, probably to look for his blunt. Five didn't care though, none of that was his concern anyway. All he needed to do was kill the man and be done with this.

Five turned into the living room and put on a smile as he greeted the man who he was about to kill. The golden retriever from earlier had curled itself up on one of the couches next to the father. “Hello there Mr. Pavlinsky, I am here because of our mutual boss, I hope you know that.” Five said to the man, honestly he was just saying random things in hopes he gets it. Luckily Mr. Pavlinsky didn't say anything about it. He seemed to be more upset about the fact he was getting work related stuff after-hours.

Mr. Pavlinsky sighed, he switched the TV off before letting out a groan and turning to face Five. “So, what does the big boss want me to have that requires you to interrupt my wonderful evening?” Mr. Pavlinsky asked, annoyance coating his words. “Well Mr. Pavlinsky, it's quite an urgent matter and he told me to get it to you right away.” Five said as he pulled out a gun from his suit and stood up, pointing it at Mr. Pavlinsky’s head. Mr. Pavlinsky's eyes widened as he put his hands up. “Hold on, we can talk about this-” Five pulled the trigger and gone was Mr. Pavlinsky. The dog beside him woke up and was now whimpering in fear but Five didn't pay much mind to him as he opened the briefcase and back at the commission he was.

Five blinked, letting the memory leave his mind. There was no need to dwell on the past. He took one last glance at the dog and owner and continued on his walk.

[waddlesworth]

Age Of Insurgence Cast- A Dystopia

Synopsis:

Year 2163

Across heavily guarded fencelines lie great cities under the control of a ruling totalitarian government that has their ways set into a 1950s lifestyle, with the government separating its citizens into a caste system. Their motto?

“Unity Through Allegiance”

However, Kara Aphelion thinks differently among the rest, and strives to find those who are just like her in order to rebel. As an autistic, she’ll journey past the gates with her new ally, Ulysses Nicholas (also known as UN-84), to find more than meets the eye.

~~~

Fancasts With Brief Descriptions:

Kara Aphelion

An autistic woman sorted into the Gray caste, who’s skills are a mystery to those watching through the camera surveillance. Working in a factory as an assembly-line employee, she longs for something more: Freedom.

Fancast- AnnaSophia Robb

~

Ulysses Nicholas (UN-84)

A listed ‘Undesirable’ among the caste system, Ulysses is a man who dreams of becoming a pilot in honor of his late friend. He wears his friend’s jacket through stolen valor (in order to keep the memory of his friend alive), Ulysses hides this secret from Kara, among other secrets that could cost them their lives.

Fancast- John Paul Reynolds

~

Captain Irving Marx

A man that wants to protect Kara from harm, he strives to use his military assets to assist Kara and Ulysses in any way he can, even if it costs him. He suffers with amnesia, but what could his memories be hiding?

Fancast- David Bowie

~

Valerian Huxley

The pilot with a sense of justice, Valerian is Ulysses’ only friend who accepted him for who he is. Although he is the reason for Ulysses becoming an Undesirable, Ulysses doesn’t hold it against him even after his death.

Fancast- Oscar Isaac

~

Christina Huxley

Valerian’s wife and a nurse for the Undesirables, she acts as a mother and friend towards Kara. She’s very kind and caring towards those who need it most.

Fancast- Freema Agyeman

-

Cyprian

The main antagonist with no official title or rank, he holds the power within the city of New York. With the rebellion tarnishing his plans, he wants to capture Kara and Ulysses before his city falls into ruins.

Fancast- Bob Odenkirk

[scientia-rex]

Hello! Hope you are well. I wanted to ask if you would be able to give some insight into rural/small town medicine and dynamics? I want to be a social worker that potentially works in rural areas but I was wondering how things/the needs/the way things are different there that is compared to the suburbs or the city? Thank you for all your posts and have a good day!

If you haven't lived in a rural area, you need to do that before you consider moving there permanently. Different rural areas are WILDLY different, both in social makeup and in weather/geography/distance from urban areas. Some basic commonalities you'll encounter are that life takes place in a fishbowl; every single person you run into has a decent chance of being connected to someone else, so never talk shit until you know whether and how they're related to the person you're talking to. Never assume you can do something without it getting back to you but also your boss. Social services are generally based on property taxes and rural areas are poor, so funding will suck, there will not be enough professionals, the workload will be nuts, and your patients will be on Medicaid, which varies from state to state in terms of coverage. You'll also see a rotating cast of well-meaning people who moved out the sticks thinking it would be one way and leave as soon as they can because they discover they hate it. Older people are more likely to stick around in rural areas and placing older adults in memory care or skilled nursing or assisted living facilities (these are all different) is a bitch and a half because our country does not give one hot shit about vulnerable elder adults.

Find someone in the area you think you're interested in and shadow them before you consider moving there. I have no idea how many doctors, APCs, mental health professionals, social workers, pharmacists, physical therapists, occupational therapists, nurses, and nursing assistants I've seen get the hell out of Dodge after moving here, but it's the majority of posted positions around here. I'm notable because I've stuck around. I stuck around because I knew what this area was like and what to expect, because I was born and raised here, and my spouse was also born and raised here. (If you are partnered, there's a good chance your partner will hate it or they won't be able to find work. If you aren't, the dating pool is very shallow, especially for a professional who may not have as much in common with people working blue-collar jobs.)

Rural America looks a lot of different ways. There are predominantly white farming communities as the major stereotypes go, but there are fishing communities, there are communities in the South and the Southwest, there are predominantly Black communities, there are predominantly Native American communities, there are predominantly Latino communities, there are migrant farm laborer communities that shift drastically depending on season, there are Alaskan communities where you are hundreds of miles by bush plane from the nearest clinic let alone hospital. Rural Hawaii is going to look different and need different things than rural Ohio. Rural Mississippi is going to be very different than rural Maine. So look at where you're interested in going, reach out to local professionals, maximize any interpersonal connections. Who you know is everything. Your word is your bond. Never, ever, ever be rude to someone on the phone, never flip anyone off in traffic, basically be the opposite of any New York New York stereotypes you have, because everyone is always watching you.

Just for an example: My next-door neighbor is the mother-in-law of a local ICU nurse I worked with during residency, who I know because we carpooled in preschool because her brother was in my year. One block away, an MA from the clinic I worked at before I quit and came to my current clinic lives with his dog. Oh, there's another point worth mentioning. Rural areas will have very limited employers. I have three clinics I can work at in a 45-minute commute range. I left the one that was 10 minutes away and now work at one that's 30 minutes away. There is some funding for repaying student loans; that narrowed my choice down to 2 employers. If I piss off the wrong person at my current employer, I'll have to sell my house and move.

I lived in the city for ten years. I went to the ballet, I went to museums, I went to restaurants, I went to public parks. I don't miss it. I would infinitely rather be out here with my trees. My only regret is that my husband wanted to live closer to town so I don't have 20 acres between me and my nearest neighbor; I can see their houses from mine. If you want a city life, do not think you can have that out here. I haven't been to karaoke since I moved; not only is there no karaoke for two hours, but even if there were, the place would be full of my patients, and no one looks at you the same way once they realize their doctor exists outside of the clinic and has a personal life, much less that you have normal human flaws.

Oh, and there's almost no public transit. Property taxes, etc. Walkability is not a thing here. And when the wind shifts, everything smells like manure.

[maia-bochner]

Full Name: Maia Sophia Bochner

Nicknames: Mai

Faceclaim: Emily Ratajkowski

Age & Birthday: 31 - August 19th 1992

Zodiac: Leo

Occupation: Bartender at Golden Hour

Preferred Pronouns & Gender: She/her & cisfemale

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hometown & length of time in town: Los Angeles, California. Moved to Briar Ridge when she was 14, left for college and returned a few years after for 10 years in total.

Neighborhood: Beach Front

Family: Only child, a mother and father still alive

Maia was born in Los Angeles when her father was on tour. He almost missed her birth but managed to get home in time. Her father was a guitarist in a popular rock band of the 80's and for most of her childhood Maia has many memories of staying home with her mom while her dad toured. Sometimes they would visit him during his tours and she grew up with the band members. When she was about 10 her father's career had slowed down, the band had broken up and he had no plans to join a new band. Maia's mother grew up in a small town in North Carolina and knew of Briar Ridge. They decided to move the family to North Carolina to raise Maia in a more stable city and household so they moved out there when she was 14.

Maia attended high school in Briar Ridge. And though it was very different than L.A., she still enjoyed the beach town. Maia was always friendly and vivacious and was a cheerleader in high school. When it came time to go to college, she choose to attend University of Southern California. Maia got a degree in marketing, but school wasn't really something she cared too much for. After school, she stayed in L.A. and started her history of bouncing from job to job with no real career.

She did social media for a cosmetics company while doing some small time modeling on the side. After that, she worked at a night club. Maia had money from her parents so working was never really needed. She moved around to different cities for a few years, working odd jobs and traveling on vacations more often than she worked. She lived in New York City, Miami and Chicago after L.A. before finally moving back to Briar Ridge.

When she moved back she started a job at a boutique, then was an assistant to a photographer, and finally she got her job as a bartender at The Golden Hour Beach Bar where she is currently. Maia likes Briar Ridge, she likes the city by the beach and still travels a lot while only working a few days a week.

Maia is a free spirit and vivacious. She's flirty, spontaneous and while spoiled she treats everyone kindly and respectfully. While she has no musical talent herself, she grew up around the music scene and has both family friends established in the music industry and new friends who have made their way into it. Maia has no plans for the future and is more focused on just enjoying life.

[singeratlarge]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the legendary, consummate entertainer, comedian, singer, and actor, Dean Martin. In the late 1940s he broke out in a hugely successful comedy duo with Jerry Lewis, then was seared into public conciousness with Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis, Jr. in The Rat Pack. My respect for Dino grew around his musical choices and catalogue of material. I do several covers of his songs (especially in my care home set) and my original song “Somebody Loves You (Like Dino Said)” has a direct refraction on Dean’s “You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You.” In 1955 he had a #1 hit with the folk-doo wop song “Memories Are Made of This.” It became a theme for a book written by his daughter Deana, a singer in her own right whose career intersected with The Monkees and Davy Jones (they also dated back in the day), and there was a phase where she’d sit in on our gigs + she sang with us at Davy’s 2012 New York memorial and a Monkees Convention in 2013. Davy was also close friends with Dino Martin (of Dino Desi & Billy), and when they weren’t driving old army tanks around in the desert, they played pool with Dean at Dean’s home. Davy was quite a comedy quipster, and he often said, “It’s OK to steal my jokes. I just stole them from someone else.” One of his “someone else” sources was Dean Martin.

“Memories Are Made of This” was written by Richard Dehr, Terry Gilkyson, and Frank Miller—as The Easy Riders, they provided the vocal harmonies on Dean’s version. After the 1956 Hungarian Revolution, the song was adapted into the "Honvágy-dal" ('The Song of Homesickness”) and used as an unofficial anthem for refugees scattered around the world. Recorded by Ida Boros, it became a cultural phenomenon and a sign of protest against the communist government. The standard English version has been covered countless times (notably by Little Richard, Johnny Cash, and Cliff Richard & The Shadows), and here’s how I do it in my assisted living home set. Meanwhile, HB Dino—thank you for the hours of humor and song you left us.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4VEVSBXaP4

#deanmartin #ratpack #deanamartin #davyjones #monkees #jerrylewis #lewisandmartin #comedy #entertainment #memories #johnnyjblair #singeratlarge #sanfrancisco #birthday

[devashivam1699]

How to Properly Clean and Care for Your Jewelry Collection

Introduction

Jewelry is extra than simply an accessory, it holds sentimental fee, represents good sized milestones,  and provides a touch of beauty to our lives. Whether it is a loved heirloom, a gift from a loved one, or a chunk you've chosen for yourself,

Each object in your moissanite rings for women series deserves  care to preserve its beauty and sturdiness. Over time, publicity to elements consisting of dust, oils, and chemical substances can diminish the luster and brilliance of your rings. Proper cleansing and renovation are crucial to keep those treasured objects.

This manual will offer you with practical and effective guidelines on how to smooth and take care of various styles of jewelry, from gold and silver to diamonds and pearls. You'll research the nice practices for ordinary cleaning, safe garage, and managing to save you damage. 

Whether you're coping with the jewelry collection or gown pieces, these pointers will assist you maintain your collection glowing and in pinnacle situations for years yet to come. Let's dive into the world of jewelry care and find out how to hold your treasured pieces searching their high-quality

How to Clean a Diamond Ring at Home

Cleaning Diamonds jewelry At home are taken into consideration as the toughest hardest on the earth. However, this does not mean that they should not be worn, so it is important to understand. how to clean a diamond ring easily at home if you want to keep it in shape. 

Daily put on regularly results within the accumulation of unwanted oil and particles that may affect the shine and luster of your new appearance. Also undesirable discoloration and scratches. (Spoiler alert: Most fine jewelry is easy to maintain as long as you follow the proper steps.) And let me just say that, as an editor and bride-to-be, I can attest that there's nothing more pleasurable than seeing my freshly cleansed glow and shine.

Your new sparkle will probably be one of the most expensive pieces of jewelry you own, so you'll definitely want to know how to clean the ring at home.

That's why I contacted Christina Gandia Gamble, professional gemologist and owner of Greenwich St. That's why I contacted Christina Gandia Gamble, professional gemologist and owner of Greenwich St in New York. With over 18 years of experience in the industry, 

General Tips for your jewelry clean

1. Regular Cleaning: Clean your jewelry regularly to avoid buildup of dirt and oils.

2. Proper Storage: Store each piece one by one to avoid scratches and tangling.

3. Avoid chemicals: Keep your jewelry away from harsh chemical compounds, perfumes and creams.

4. Handle with care: Use caution when carrying and cleaning your rings to avoid damage.

Cleaning Different Types of Jewelry

Gold Jewelry Cleaning:- 

1. Mix a few drops of dish soap with warm water.

2. Soak the jewelry for 15-20 mins.

3. Gently scrub with a soft-bristle toothbrush.

4. Rinse with heat water and dry with a tender cloth.

Silver Jewelry Cleaning:

1. Mix baking soda and water to form a paste.

2. Apply the paste to the jewelry using a soft cloth.

3. Rub gently, then rinse with warm water.

4. Dry thoroughly with a soft cloth.

Importance For Cleaning The Jewelry 

It is important to clean your jewelry properly to maintain its aesthetic appeal, ensure strength and maintain its cost. Regular cleaning restores shine and prevents stains, dust and dirt that can cause wear and tear. It also maintains hygiene by getting rid of microorganisms and allergens, And protects your wealth by preserving the market value of the Jewelry. Regular inspections at some of cleansing can detect harm early, Jewelry retains its  sentimental value, enhances its leisure and preserves memories.

Conclusion

Proper cleaning and care of your jewelry is important to maintain its beauty, value, and longevity. Regular cleaning not only restores its shine but also prevents damage. Making sure your pieces stay in good condition. By dedicating time to cleaning and checking your jewelry. You can enjoy its aesthetic appeal and best value for years to come, Preserving both your investment and cherished memories. Little maintenance goes a long way in keeping your jewelry collection radiant and timeless.

[themculibrary]

Fics With Titles That Start With G Masterlist 2

part one

Gala (ao3) - arianapeterson19 tony/thor E, 1k

Summary: Really, Tony should have just worn underwear to the gala.

Gamora, You're a Fine Girl (ao3) - Meraki_fics gamora/peter G, 4k

Summary: Gamora has never been good at emotions, being raised by a genocidal maniac does that to a person. Emotions are a weakness, at least that's how Thanos raised his borrowed children. Emotions were not something she ever spent time on or paid any attention to. However, in her new home with her new family, emotions were something to be aware of.

Geriatric Road Trip, 2015 (ao3) - what_alchemy steve/bucky N/R, 4k

Summary: Bucky was the eldest of four.

Gets Me (ao3) - ClaraxBarton bucky/clint E, 8k

Summary: During an Avengers debriefing, Clint strikes up a conversation with an attractive stranger. On Grindr.

ghosts of christmas memory (ao3) - scifigrl47 clint/phil, steve/tony T, 11k

Summary: There were three Christmases that Phil Coulson and Clint Barton spent together that altered their relationship. They were tied together by a song, a job, and Clint’s ability to become injured in just about any situation.

Christmas is a time of giving, friendship and love.

G.I. Joes and 2AM Diners (ao3) - OhCaptainMyCaptain steve/bucky E, 100k

Summary: They look nothing like what they used to. Time and life have completely changed them. But as they sit there in silence, eating two halves of one cupcake, letting Brooklyn remind there where they came from, and enjoying a sky full of stars… They are those same little boys, somewhere deep down. For just a second, you’d be able to see them again.

And Bucky thinks to himself that maybe it’s little moments like these – fleeting as they may be – that remind him why life is still worth living.

Giving You Hope (ao3) - skysofrey clint/natasha G, 4k

Summary: Clintasha centered Endgame Fix-It where they exchange the soul stone for Nat's life. Emotions and reunions ensue.

glass windows, steel blues (ao3) - fangedangel (clockworkqueen) bucky/t'challa, bucky/alexander N/R, 9k

Summary: T'Challa is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Bucky is his new assistant.

glitter in the air (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor bucky/steve/sam G, 1k

Summary: Steve volunteers him and Bucky to watch Peter when Tony needs to go to an important business meeting for Stark Industries. Bucky’s only been back for a few months, and doesn’t quite trust himself around others, let alone a child.

god loves everybody, don't remind me (ao3) - napricot M, 70k

Summary: N’Jadaka didn’t believe in the gods of his people. But belief was not a prerequisite of the gods’ attention, and the blood of the Panther tribe ran in N’Jadaka’s veins. Bast took hold of his soul in her mighty jaws and lifted it free of his body. She gave him a warning shake, just as she would a misbehaving kitten, and set him back. With one careful claw, she tweaked his path through time into a twisting loop. Wayward and abandoned though he was, N’Jadaka was still of her tribe. He could set things right, if given the chance.

Erik gets a do-over. Erik gets a lot of do-overs. Or: Erik Killmonger's own personal version of Groundhog Day, only with a lot more murder, dying, trips to the ancestral plane, awkward family conversations, and divine intervention.

Gods and Gravity (fanfiction.net) - i-prefer-the-term-antihero G, 12k

Summary: What's more fun than making Loki, Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff, and Shuri interact within the MCU? Forcing them to live together at the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls!

God's Righteous Man (ao3) - FoxyAtlas M, 232k

Summary: A story in which the serum doesn't affect Steve's size, the shield goes to Bucky, and they reunite years before the Battle of New York. Also, Steve is a punk, but that's canon.

A timeline starting with the Howling Commandos and going all the way to Pre-Infinity War.

Go Fish (ao3) - notlucy steve/bucky M, 2k

Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man stuck in an airport, in possession of an iPhone, must open Tinder.

Gone (ao3) - nonna T, 57k

Summary: In the final fight scene of Captain America Civil War, Tony's helmet breaks off the armour after the relentless clashing it receives.

What if the harsh hits to his head create serious complications for Tony, and he loses his sight?

Good Boys Don't Gamble On Love (ao3) - thelittlestpurplecat steve/bucky E, 79k

Summary: Bucky couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been involved with the STRIKE fraternity on campus. They were a bunch of assholes, but they were really all he had, and they'd wagered a bet for a prize Bucky couldn't refuse. But in order to win, he had to be the first to fuck the tiny, gorgeous, blond freshmen, and he was competing against every other guy in the fraternity.

It was just a bet. A stupid bet.

Sure, it was mean, but no one was gonna get hurt...right?

Good Things to Those Who Wait (ao3) - Annie D (scaramouche) steve/tony E, 10k

Summary: Tony assumed that after he and Steve got together, his heats would be more fun. He’s right, but he’s also wrong.

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait (ao3) - memorizingthedigitsofpi leo/jemma E, 12k

Summary: Mr Fitz and Miss Simmons are back again, and this time the focus is on pleasure instead of pain. Fitz has read up on something that strikes his fancy and Jemma is just as eager to try it out.

Go Slow Go Slow - Wakanda Princess Remix (feat. Shuri) (ao3) - AllWhoWander (phobean) G, 20k

Summary: Two years after the Battle of Earth, Shuri gets ejected from her lab and crashes Sam and Bucky’s cross-continent road trip.

Go Ugly Early (ao3) - just_another_tinker steve/tony, clint/phil, bucky/natasha E, 252k

Summary: He’s The Captain?

This was not good. This was so not good.

There were theories of course, of what The Captain would look like. Most followed the typical Hollywoodesque belief that he was some version of the Godfather, sitting in a dark room with a cigar, commanding his forces with a flick of his wrist. There were even some that even thought that The Captain was not one person, but a whole network of people with eyes and ears everywhere.

The blonde Adonis in front of him was definitely not what Tony was expecting.

Of course, in the end it didn’t matter.

There was a reason no one knew what The Captain looked like.

Because anyone who saw his face never lived to tell the tale.

Green Tea Panna Cotta with Cookie Crumble and Brûléed Plums (ao3) - derevko_child phil/melinda G, 3k

Summary: They both smell like they just came out of a coffee shop but Coulson smells like coffee and May smells like tea, and if twenty years ago, someone tells him that one day, he’ll be sitting in between the two of them, eating Chinese takeout for dinner, knees touching, watching tv and bantering like old friends, he’d probably think they’re crazy

Agent Jimmy Woo gets a surprise visit from old friends.

[sxlveira]

[raúl esparza - 50 - he/him] Introducing EDGAR SILVEIRA. Word on the street is they are an ASSISTANT DISTRICT ATTORNEY affiliated with THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY. Though they are RESERVED and BLUNT, they can also be RESILIENT and CARING. In the chaos of New York City, they’re sure to fit right in.

[sky - 23 - she/her - gmt - no triggers]

✧･ﾟ— B A S I C S

— NAME: Edgar Daniel Francisco Silveira

— NICKNAME/S: Ed (by his family) ; Eddie (by others close to him)

— D.O.B.: 4th April 1973 (age 50)

— GENDER, PRONOUNS, SEXUALITY: Cis male, he/him, heterosexual

— HOMETOWN: New York City, NY, USA

— AFFILIATION: The Syndicate

— JOB POSITION: Assistant District Attorney

— EDUCATION: J.D. degree, LL.M, and S.J.D. from Harvard Law School

✧･ﾟ— P E R S O N A L I T Y

— MBTI: ESFJ – the consul

— POSITIVE TRAITS: Hardworking, resilient, intelligent, observant, organised

— NEGATIVE TRAITS: Stern, reserved, argumentative, blunt, cynical

✧･ﾟ— F A M I L Y

— MOTHER: Isabel Marie Silveira

— FATHER: Ruyan Isaac Francisco

— OLDER BROTHER: Frederico ‘Rico’ Isaac Francisco Silveira

— ‘SEEING EACH OTHER’: Anaïs Murad @anaismurad

✧･ﾟ— A P P E A R A N C E

— FACECLAIM: Raúl Esparza

— EYE COLOUR: Blue

— HAIR COLOUR: Dark brown with greying patches and beard

— BUILD: Average

— HEIGHT: 6’

— SCARS/BIRTHMARKS: A 5cm scar on his left calf from a childhood accident

— BODY MODIFICATIONS: N/A

— CLOTHING

✧･ﾟ— F A V O U R I T E S

— FOOD: Pizza (particularly pepperoni)

— DRINK: Bourbon

— BOOK: Slow Horses by Mick Herron

— FILM: Road to Perdition (2002)

— TV SHOW: Elementary (2012-2019)

— SEASON: Winter

— COLOUR: Red

✧･ﾟ— B I O G R A P H Y

— Edgar was born on 4th April 1973 at 12:09am and is the youngest of two sons born to Ryan Francisco, a neurosurgeon, and his wife Isabel, a court stenographer. His brother Rico is older than him by 4 years and they were both taught to speak fluent Spanish by both of their parents. They lived in Queens.

— Edgar’s first love was baseball. He always played with his brother in their yard and their local park, often spending hours watching it on TV too. Their father took them to their first game when Edgar was seven and it remains to be his favourite memory. He also loves espionage novels and enjoys his downtime by reading them with tea and cookies.

— He grew up happy, although his father spent a lot of time out of the house due to his demanding job. Edgar looked up to Ryan, admiring his ambition, skill, compassion, and for a very brief time Edgar wanted to be a surgeon too (only after wanting to be a zookeeper, a scuba diver, a professional baseball player, and an astronaut, though). He was also close to his brother and mother: they would go on days out into the city together and spend time reading in the evenings amongst other things. This was when his love of literature began.

— Unlike his brother, Edgar was ambitious and always wanted to be challenged, especially at school. He was influenced by his mother and became interested in law because of her. He wanted to be the most successful prosecutor in NYC, so ensured that he studied hard to get through high school to focus solely on learning the law and making his parents proud. Meanwhile, Rico was getting into trouble with his teachers and also with the authorities. He’d been involved in the wrong crowds, getting involved in thefts and drug dealing, and brought shame to their parents. At the age of 19, Rico eventually left home in the dead of night and left a note to Edgar saying how sorry he was and that he’d be okay on his own. They wouldn’t see each other for another seven years and that meeting was a very brief one in the Christmas shopping crowds of lower Manhattan.

— Edgar graduated from Harvard at the top of his class. He had a four year long feud with a fellow student named Thomas and had vowed to beat him into getting top scores. They ended up being best friends and whilst Thomas ended up moving to Washington DC, they stayed in contact and see each other around the holidays.

— Edgar moved back home after graduating and after spending a couple of months helping his parents renovate their house he completed a strict study regime for his bar review before passing the bar exam first try. He then got his first job at the Queens District Attorney’s office as a clerk before working his way up to ADA. At the age of 32, he transferred from Queens to Manhattan, upping his workload and moving into a city apartment and has been there ever since. He still visits his parents often, though.

— He became an inadvertent affiliate of The Syndicate when he helped out his brother in certain dodgy dealings and in turn met Anaïs, who he tried not fall for but he did (and did so hard even if he won't admit it out loud to anyone other than Anaïs herself). In what little spare time he has, Edgar works for her father- Syndicate leader Petros, who made him realise that his talents could be put to good use in the world of crime with great rewards.

— Although ambitious and wanting to be a District Attorney (and even Attorney General), Edgar has been very comfortable in his ADA career and despite his experience he thinks he still has a way to go (little does he know that it’s just the self-doubt talking). He understands that it involves a lot of power and responsibility and doesn’t want to be watched too closely by government officials or the public considering his ties to crime.

✧･ﾟ— W AN T E D C O N N E C T I O N S

— COLLEAGUES & ASSOCIATES: If your muse also works in law- especially in Manhattan- then it’s likely they’ve crossed paths with Edgar. Maybe they’re friends or maybe they’re rivals, but I’m up for discussing anything!

— OLDER BROTHER: Rico (or name UTP) is almost four years older than Edgar and has been involved in crime since his mid-teens. He’s an efficient thief and has evaded arrest on countless occasions. The two were very close when they were younger, but as soon as Rico left home things changed drastically and now that Edgar is lowkey involved in The Syndicate I’m also up to discussing anything in regards to how that might have changed their relationship (maybe it brought them back together or maybe there’s still a wedge between them)!

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Westchester Embraces the Choice to Age in Place at Home

In Westchester, more families are rethinking how they approach senior care. Instead of relocating to assisted living communities, many older adults are choosing to stay right where they feel most secure—their own homes. This growing preference for aging in place reflects a desire for comfort, continuity, and control over one’s daily life, especially in a region known for its strong community ties and quiet charm.

Aging in place is not about facing aging alone; it’s about building the right kind of support system around the individual. Services like those offered by Senior Helpers in Westchester help make this possible. Caregivers provide hands-on help with everyday routines—such as cooking, bathing, or medication reminders—while also offering companionship that keeps isolation at bay. What makes this model so effective is its flexibility. Support is tailored to each person’s needs, allowing them to stay in familiar surroundings without sacrificing safety or well-being.

Families often find relief knowing their loved ones can remain in the homes they've built memories in, surrounded by familiar neighbors and routines. For aging parents, it’s not just about staying put—it’s about holding onto independence and identity. Aging in place is a powerful alternative to institutional care, one that puts the person, not the system, at the center of the plan. In Westchester, this approach is gaining momentum because it works—and more importantly, it feels right.

For more details visit us at https://www.seniorhelpers.com/ny/westchester-new-york/ or call us on 914-703-4844

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Top Cancer Hospital USA & Cancer Treatment Abroad – Your Global Healthcare Partner | Medipocket USA

When facing a cancer diagnosis, choosing the right hospital and treatment plan can be one of the most critical decisions of your life. Access to the top cancer hospital USA can significantly impact the success of treatment, survival rates, and overall quality of care. But what if you’re located outside the United States?

That’s where cancer treatment abroad becomes a valuable and life-saving option — especially with the help of Medipocket USA, your bridge to world-class healthcare.

Why Choose a Top Cancer Hospital USA?

The United States is home to some of the most advanced cancer treatment centers in the world. These hospitals offer:

Cutting-edge technology

World-renowned oncologists

Personalized treatment plans

Advanced research and clinical trials

Higher survival rates and better patient outcomes

Medipocket USA provides international patients direct access to these top-tier institutions, eliminating barriers like long wait times, language issues, and limited treatment options in their home countries.

Benefits of Cancer Treatment Abroad with Medipocket USA

For patients outside the U.S., seeking cancer treatment abroad may feel overwhelming. Medipocket USA simplifies the process by offering:

Medical concierge services

Hospital and doctor selection

Appointment scheduling

Visa and travel support

Ongoing post-treatment care coordination

Our mission is to help international patients receive the best care from the top cancer hospital USA, such as:

MD Anderson Cancer Center (Houston, TX)

Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center (New York, NY)

Mayo Clinic (Rochester, MN)

Dana-Farber Cancer Institute (Boston, MA)

Johns Hopkins Hospital (Baltimore, MD)

How Medipocket USA Helps You Access Top Cancer Hospital USA:

We know that accessing high-quality cancer care abroad can be complex. That’s why Medipocket USA takes a patient-first approach. Here’s how we make it easy:

1. Medical Records Review

Send us your medical reports. Our team of U.S.-based doctors will review them and recommend the best hospitals for your specific cancer type.

2. Customized Hospital Match

We connect you with the top cancer hospital USA that specialize in your condition, ensuring expert care and better outcomes.

3. Visa & Travel Assistance

From medical visas to flight arrangements and accommodation, we provide end-to-end travel support.

4. Interpreter & Translation Services

Language should never be a barrier to care. We offer professional interpreters and translated medical documents.

5. Ongoing Support

Even after your treatment ends, we continue to coordinate your follow-ups and medical reports.

Cancer Specialties We Help With

Whether you’re seeking cancer treatment abroad for common or rare types of cancer, we work with U.S. hospitals that offer expertise in:

Breast Cancer

Lung Cancer

Prostate Cancer

Colorectal Cancer

Leukemia and Lymphoma

Brain and Spine Tumors

Pancreatic and Liver Cancer

Pediatric Cancers

These institutions utilize the latest treatments, including immunotherapy, targeted therapy, precision medicine, and robotic surgery — making them some of the most sought-after destinations for cancer care.

Real Stories, Real Impact

Medipocket USA has helped thousands of patients worldwide connect with top cancer hospital USA. One such story is of Ravi, a 42-year-old patient from India diagnosed with stage 3 colorectal cancer. After facing limited treatment options locally, he reached out to Medipocket. Within weeks, he was under expert care at Mayo Clinic. Today, Ravi is cancer-free and living a healthy life, thanks to the decision to seek cancer treatment abroad.

FAQs — Cancer Treatment Abroad & Top Cancer Hospital USA:

Q1. Can I really get treated in the USA even if I live abroad? Yes! Medipocket USA helps patients globally gain access to the top cancer hospital USA with full concierge support.

Q2. Are treatments affordable? While U.S. cancer treatments are among the best, costs can be high. However, Medipocket helps negotiate affordable packages and financing options.

Q3. Do I need a visa for treatment in the USA? Yes, a medical visa is required. Medipocket USA assists you throughout the visa process for you and any family members accompanying you.

Q4. How long does the entire process take? Depending on the urgency and case complexity, we can help you begin treatment in the USA in as little as 2–4 weeks.

Q5. What about post-treatment care? We help coordinate your follow-ups either in the USA or with a local provider in your country, in consultation with your U.S. doctors.

Summary

If you or a loved one is battling cancer, don’t settle for less when it comes to care. With access to a top cancer hospital USA, you receive world-class treatment tailored to your needs. And through cancer treatment abroad with Medipocket USA, this level of care is closer than you think.

From initial consultation to post-treatment support, Medipocket USA is your trusted guide through every step of your cancer journey. Let us connect you with the best doctors, hospitals, and treatments so you can focus on what matters most — healing.

📞 Contact Medipocket USA today and take your first step toward hope and recovery.

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Buffalo: Alzheimer’s Care Built on Trust and Compassion

Navigating the world of Alzheimer’s care in Buffalo is a journey that requires more than just medical support—it calls for understanding, patience, and an unwavering sense of compassion. Alzheimer’s is a progressive condition that impacts memory, behavior, and the ability to manage everyday life. For families in Western New York, finding care that preserves dignity while easing the burden on loved ones is critical.

In Buffalo, a growing number of families are turning to in-home care solutions. They seek services that don’t just check boxes but create meaningful connections. Alzheimer’s care is not one-size-fits-all. The right approach must adapt to the changing needs of the person while honoring who they are at every stage of their journey.

Why Personalized Alzheimer’s Care Matters

Every person living with Alzheimer’s is unique. While memory loss is a common thread, the way it affects daily routines, moods, and relationships differs greatly. Some individuals may become more withdrawn, while others may show increased anxiety or agitation. Recognizing and responding to these subtle changes is essential in providing effective care.

That’s why customized care plans are so important. In Buffalo, experienced Alzheimer’s caregivers understand the importance of tailoring routines, communication styles, and environments to each client’s comfort level. Whether someone is in the early stages or requires more advanced assistance, thoughtful care strategies can improve both quality of life and emotional well-being.

The Benefits of Home-Based Alzheimer’s Support

Remaining in a familiar setting can significantly ease the emotional toll of Alzheimer’s. Home care allows individuals to stay surrounded by treasured memories—family photos on the wall, the sound of a familiar clock, a favorite chair near the window. These small but powerful details contribute to a sense of safety and identity.

For families in Buffalo, in-home Alzheimer’s care also provides practical benefits. There’s flexibility in scheduling, greater involvement in daily decisions, and the comfort of knowing that care is happening in a place where your loved one feels most secure. It also helps avoid the disruption and stress that often come with transitioning to residential care facilities.

Skilled Caregiving Makes the Difference

Alzheimer’s care requires more than a kind heart—it demands expertise. In Buffalo, Senior Helpers offers a team of caregivers trained specifically in dementia and Alzheimer’s support. Their Senior Gems® program, for example, focuses on identifying a person’s abilities at every stage of the condition, rather than focusing solely on what has been lost.

This strengths-based approach helps caregivers interact in ways that preserve independence, minimize frustration, and foster genuine moments of connection. From assisting with bathing and grooming to providing mental stimulation and emotional reassurance, skilled caregivers know how to adjust their support without overwhelming or confusing the client.

Supporting the Whole Family

Caring for someone with Alzheimer’s isn’t just physically demanding—it’s emotionally draining. Spouses, adult children, and siblings often feel the strain of balancing care with work, other responsibilities, and their own emotional well-being. This is why in-home Alzheimer’s care is as much about supporting families as it is about helping the individual.

Caregivers can offer guidance, respite, and perspective. Whether it’s sharing techniques for calming anxious behaviors, managing difficult transitions, or simply providing a break so family members can recharge, the right support network lightens the load.

Building Trust in Buffalo's Communities

Buffalo is a city known for its strong neighborhoods and sense of community. Alzheimer’s care here carries that same spirit—local caregivers who not only understand the condition but also understand the area, the people, and the culture. It’s not just about services; it’s about building lasting relationships with clients and their families.

By choosing a trusted provider with deep roots in the Buffalo area, families gain a partner who is invested in long-term well-being. They receive not just care, but advocacy, education, and peace of mind.

Find Alzheimer’s Care That Feels Like Home

When it comes to Alzheimer’s care in Buffalo, compassion and consistency go hand in hand. Whether you’re exploring options for the first time or reevaluating current care, consider a provider that prioritizes personalized attention and dignified support.

For more details visit at us https://www.seniorhelpers.com/ny/buffalo/services/alzheimers-dementia-care/  or call us on 716-936-7022