#how to compare health insurance plans

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From Health to Home: The Different Types of Insurance Coverage Explained

Introduction: Insurance coverage plays a vital role in protecting individuals and their assets from unforeseen events. From health insurance to home insurance, there are various types of insurance policies available to suit different needs. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the different types of insurance coverage, explaining what each type entails and how it can benefit you. Health…

[rurash-financials]

In this world of uncertainties, while losses can be hard, insurance can compensate you monetarily. You can insure your life, automobiles, buildings, furniture and much more. Insurance is a subject matter of financial protection based on insurable interest. Deciding the insurance cover and type of insurance plan can be a task. This is where you might feel the need to consult experts like RURASH.

[venus-haze]

Working for the Knife (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: It’s been over 15 years since the Windsor College murders, not that they had ever been on your radar. That changes when you get hired at a New York marketing firm where you work closely with Mickey Altieri, alleged Ghostface killer whose charges were dropped after a controversial mistrial. Working so closely together piques your interest in each other, soon spiraling out of control. [This is an AU.]

Note: Female reader implied to be mid-20s or older, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also Timothy Olyphant being such a DILF, I had to write something like this (I had Justified era Olyphant in mind while writing this, specifically these gifsets, but you can picture whatever hehe). Creative liberties have obviously been taken. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: True crime elements (the reader engages with a lot of true crime content), but obviously this is a fictional serial killer. Mutual stalking/obsession. Sexually explicit content that includes dubious consent fantasy that involves knifeplay; spanking, daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

For once, you felt like things were going your way. After a little over three years of scraping by at your old job where you were woefully overworked and underpaid, your months-long job search finally came to an end when a mid-sized marketing firm gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure, you’d taken a huge pay raise and shifted to a hybrid schedule with your new job, but the highlight was undoubtedly Mickey, the only other person on your small team and the type of sexy older man you sure as hell didn’t mind spending your days in the office with.

With the whole company working hybrid or completely remote, people only came in sporadically, as did you and Mickey, only going in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the occasional Friday if needed. As a result, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone else who worked there. 

Your first week was fully in person, since some of the programs you’d be using for the job were easier to learn if he were there to show you. You certainly weren’t complaining, having plenty of time to get a feel for your new coworker, silently observing and testing the waters with light flirting, which he seemed to return. Maybe you were just a little too hopeful.

“Big plans for the weekend?” you asked when five o’clock rolled around on Friday.

“Got a hot date with Netflix,” he said. “How about you?”

“My friend and I are getting drinks later, but that’s about it.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Anything under $10, if I can help it.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t have too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you began packing your laptop into your bag. “Have a good weekend, Mickey.”

“You too.”

With your first week at your new gig down, you headed to a small bar in Flatbush to celebrate with your best friend and dish the highly anticipated dirt on your hot coworker. Lee was already at the bar when you’d arrived, sitting at a small table and sipping a beer she went ahead and bought herself.

“Drinks are on me,” you said. “I fucking owe you.”

Lee grinned. “Always glad to help.”

You wouldn’t have gotten the job without Lee. She helped you fudge your resume to match the experience on the job listing, gently scamming your way into the position you now held. All week you’d been texting her about how great things were going, and fawning over Mickey, of course.

After joking about ordering top-shelf liquor on your dime, Lee settled on a margarita, undoubtedly the first of many for the night. You returned from the bar with your drinks, more than ready to gush about how much better your new job was compared to the hell of your old one. Nothing could bring down your mood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they pay you out the ass and you don’t have to worry about health insurance anymore. Great,” Lee said over her margarita. “I wanna hear about your hot DILF coworker. No detail is too small.”

“Lee, oh my god, it’s not even fair how hot he is. Our desks are right next to each other in an L shape, and I feel like such a weirdo for staring at him all the time. He’s been so nice helping me all week, too. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but sometimes I feel like he’s being a little flirty?”

“Is he married?”

“No ring, and no mention of any family or long-term relationship. I don’t get it, how could Mickey be single?”

“You don’t hear many people going by Mickey anymore,” she said. “Either he’s a mouse or incredibly Irish.”

“I think he’s Italian,” you mused. “Altieri sounds Italian to me.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, was that offensive?”

“No, just that you’re working with an alleged serial killer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, but she was already busy typing away at her phone.

Suddenly, Lee’s phone was shoved in your face, a your hot coworker’s mugshot front and center in an archived New York Times article from October 1998.

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN WINDSOR COLLEGE KILLINGS

Michael ‘Mickey’ Altieri, 21, was arrested early Thursday morning in Windsor, Ohio, as the primary suspect in the Windsor College killings. Among the charges are first degree murder, attempted first degree murder and aggravated assault. Altieri has maintained his innocence and is being held on $1,000,000 bail in Windsor County Jail as he awaits trial. 

The brutal killings that made national headlines were directly inspired by the ‘Ghostface’ murders in Woodsboro, California, two years prior and coincided with the release of STAB, a film based on Woodsboro survivor and reporter Gale Weathers’ book on the murders. Survivor Sidney Prescott was a student at Windsor College and targeted yet again in the latest string of murders. Allegedly, Altieri’s accomplice was Debbie Loomis, mother of one of the two original Ghostface killers, Billy Loomis. Mrs. Loomis was killed in an altercation prior to Altieri’s apprehension by police.

You looked away from her phone screen, feeling like your head was spinning though you weren’t even finished with your first drink. “Well, if he did all that stuff, why isn’t he on death row or something?”

“There was a mistrial. It was a huge thing,” Lee said. “You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“No. Can you send that to me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send some podcast episodes and Youtube videos on it, too. You know I’m on that true crime shit.”

It took a few more drinks for you to be able to shake off the thought of your hot older coworker potentially being a serial killer, but the rest of your night with Lee was a lot of fun. She’d been one of your closest friends in college, and the two of you lived together when you first moved to New York. You knew she meant well, but damn, did that news put a damper on things.

You returned to your apartment a little after midnight, kicking off your heels at the door and collapsing on your couch, not bothering to make the short walk to your bedroom. 17 missed texts from Lee, all links to videos and podcasts about Mickey that she recommended.

Among the links Lee had sent you was a nearly hour long Youtube video titled: ‘What Happened at the Windsor College Ghostface Trial? A Deep Dive’. The woman in the thumbnail had a scared expression on her face, her eyes focused on that same mugshot of Mickey you saw in the old New York Times article. 

Pressing on the link in your messages, you had the video come up on your TV instead, slouching back in your seat as it began to play.

‘I know most stuff about the Windsor College murders focus on just that, the murders, but I thought it’d be interesting to go into the trial that followed because it was almost like something out of a movie, but it doesn’t get as much attention as the killings, especially since there have been like two more Ghostface murder sprees since this happened. I’m just presenting facts and my own observations here for educational purposes, and it’s not my intention to imply guilt on anyone who hasn’t been convicted in a court of law. Before we get into it though, I wanna give a huge thank you to BetterHelp for sponsoring today’s video—‘

You rolled your eyes, skipping through the three-minute long sponsorship spiel.

‘So my sources for this video are Gale Weathers’ books Wrongly Accused: The Maureen Prescott Murder, The Woodsboro Murders, and College Terror. I also used James Chase’s book Ghostface on Trial, articles from newspapers and a few like lawyer journals that I was able to find online, and whatever stuff from the trial itself that’s public information. I have it all linked in the description—“

Pausing the video, you pulled up the New York Public Library website and searched for College Terror and Ghostface on Trial. Copies of both were available at the branch near your office, and you wasted no time in putting a hold on the books. 

The next few minutes of the video gave an overview of the murders at Windsor College, which you half-paid attention to. You’d watched Stab 2 in high school, so you felt you were familiar enough with the killings. Thinking back on the movie, though, all of the characters had the same names as their real-life counterparts except for Mickey. Legal reasons, you assumed.

You turned up the volume on your TV as the video finally got into the details of the trial.

‘As soon as Mickey was arrested, theories were all over the news about what had happened and there was a ton of speculation about his guilt. James Chase, a controversial defense attorney from Chicago, took on the case pro-bono, stating in his book Ghostface on Trial that he knew he stood to make more money on a book deal, interviews, and speaking engagements by winning the case than whatever fees he’d get for representing Mickey. The defense focused on discrediting both of the prosecution’s star witnesses early on in the trial, planting seeds of doubt in the jury.

Chase and his team leaned heavily on the fact that three years prior, Sidney Prescott had incorrectly identified Cotton Weary as her mother’s killer when in fact it was Sidney’s former boyfriend Billy Loomis and their mutual friend Stu Macher who had committed that initial murder that led up to the original Woodsboro Ghostface murders. 

Gale Weathers’ testimony was also discounted by the defense on the fact that she was a sensationalistic tabloid journalist who’d admittedly fabricated elements of her best-selling book on the Woodsboro killings. She claimed this was a result of editing and to achieve a better narrative flow. 

The defense also said the deceased Debbie Loomis had more of a reason to go after Sidney and recreate her son’s Ghostface murders as revenge for his death. They pushed the idea that she acted with Sidney’s boyfriend, Derek, and that Mickey ended up getting caught in the crosshairs of what was a gruesome and unfortunate situation. Sidney maintained Derek’s innocence, but the fact that both he and Debbie were killed by gunshot wounds made it likely they were the Ghostface duo this time around.

Former Woodsboro Deputy Dewey Riley, another survivor of both Ghostface killings, was unable to testify because he was in a coma. He later said that because he was incapacitated before Sidney and Gale allegedly confronted Debbie and Mickey, he couldn’t say for sure who the killer or killers were, but he trusted their judgment and stood behind their testimonies. 

It didn’t help either that Sidney was visibly distraught while on the stand and mixed up details of the original Woodsboro murders and the Windsor College ones. Gale was initially confident while being questioned by the defense, but later became combative when the inaccuracies in her books came up. In contrast, Mickey appeared calm and earnest, and seemed to have his story straight every time he took the stand.

There’s actually some footage of the trial that I was able to find, so I’m gonna play that now.’

The video was grainy, camera focused on an agitated-looking Sidney Prescott sitting in the witness stand. On the other side of the stand, a blond man in a gray suit read off from a stack of papers in his hand. 

“Ms. Prescott, in your statement to police, you claimed that Mr. Altieri admitted to both you and Ms. Weathers that he had committed the murders with Debbie Loomis and wanted to get caught. Could you perhaps explain to myself and the jury, why exactly an alleged killer would want to get caught?”

“Because he’s fucking sick in the head!” Sidney exclaimed.

“Language, Ms. Prescott,” Judge Matthews said.

“He said he did it on purpose,” Sidney continued, her voice breaking. “He told us he wanted to get caught so he could blame it on the movies! He had everything planned out, the lawyers he wanted, the angle the media would take, he even quoted that line from Psycho, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Chase furrowed his brow as he looked over the papers in his hands. “When did he say this? I’m not seeing that in your statement.”

“He said it right after he shot Randy,“ Sidney said.

“Randy wasn’t shot, he was stabbed.” 

Sidney’s eyes widened. “I know. I meant—“

“Ms. Prescott, is there something you didn’t include in your police statement that you’re telling us now?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Billy quoted Psycho, after he shot Randy at Stu Macher’s house, not Mickey. I got mixed up.”

You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. The courtroom on your screen devolved into nothing short of pandemonium. The video then faded into Gale Weathers in the middle of being questioned by the defense. She, in contrast to Sidney, looked confident and well-put together under Chase’s grilling.

“Ms. Weathers, you wrote in your book that your camera man Kenny was gutted, when in actuality his throat was slashed, is that correct?”

Gale nodded. “It is.”

“Why the inconsistency?” 

“All books, fiction or nonfiction go through an editing process. That was a decision made by my editor to establish a better narrative flow. It isn’t uncommon in the true crime genre by any means.”

“Better narrative flow isn’t the truth, though, is it?” Chase asked.

“Look, a book is a book. I’ll say right now under oath that Kenny was killed when one of those guys in the Ghostface costume slit his throat. I’ll also say under oath that Mickey Altieri did commit those murders with Debbie Loomis, and he confessed it to me and Sidney Prescott.”

“Your honor, this isn’t the only major inconsistency we’ve found in Ms. Weathers’ book on the Woodsboro murders. Yesterday we distributed to the prosecution and now present to the jury at least seventeen of these major inconsistencies.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m the cheesy tabloid journalist everyone thinks I am?”

The corners of Chase’s lips twitched. “Not quite my words.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Gale scoffed.

The jury murmured among themselves at her shift in attitude. You found yourself chewing on your nail, enraptured by the trial. For the last time, the video faded out and then back in to show Mickey, your coworker, sitting on the witness stand. This time, the prosecutor was in front of him, his annoyed expression a contrast to Mickey’s calm demeanor.

“Mr. Altieri, we have signed affidavits from several of your former classmates that in your film theory class, you claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and CiCi Cooper, both of whom were killed by this ‘Ghostface’ persona of yours—“

“Objection!” Chase shouted. “Claiming the Ghostface persona belongs to Mr. Altieri is an undue presumption of guilt.”

“Sustained,” Judge Matthews said. “I advise you to reconsider your wording going forward, counselor.”

The prosecutor huffed. “You claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and Casey Cooper, both of whom were killed by the ‘Ghostface’ persona, that violent movies were responsible for influencing people to commit acts of violence, is that correct?”

“It was a classroom discussion. Our professor had brought it up because two fellow students were brutally killed at the premier of a slasher movie the night before, by someone dressed as the killer from that same slasher movie. I just thought it wasn’t a coincidence, and neither did half the other students in that class. Are you going to make them testify too?”

“Don’t deflect, Mr. Altieri.”

“I don’t understand how I’m deflecting. You asked me about a conversation I had with my classmates, and I answered.”

The video went back to the commentator, but you had goosebumps raised across your skin. You rewound back to the clip of Mickey’s testimony, staring at his face. Could he be a killer? Only a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even considered it. Now, you were down a rabbit hole that sent your mind reeling.

‘A lot of the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed as circumstantial by the defense. Mickey had alibis for all of the murders, even for the one Sidney claimed to witness him commit, allegedly shooting her boyfriend Derek. The chat room records and emails allegedly linked to Debbie and Mickey didn’t do much to convince the jury of Mickey’s alleged involvement in the murders. The records did positively identify Debbie based on the account’s password hints and her IP address. The other user was more tech savvy, changing IP addresses to make it more difficult to confirm an identity.

In move that was described as ‘sloppy’ and ‘desperate’ by the media following the trial’s conclusion, the prosecution also tried to claim that Mickey being the only other survivor among Sidney’s friends was suspicious and indicated his involvement, but the defense pointed out that Randy Meeks had also been the only other survivor of Sidney’s friend group in the original Woodsboro killings despite a gunshot wound like Mickey had, and later on at Windsor he was a victim. 

Randy Meeks’ murder actually played a huge role in the defense’s strategy. Several Windsor College students saw Mickey elsewhere on campus during Randy’s murder. The final nail in the coffin was when Windsor County police confirmed that DNA in the news van where Randy was murdered was a match for Debbie Loomis. The police retested other evidence, but couldn’t find anything conclusive.

After weeks of questioning and evidence, the jury deliberated for a little over five days before returning to the judge in a deadlock. Judge Matthews declared a mistrial, and less than a year later, a district court dismissed the case on lack of substantial evidence and all charges against Mickey Altieri were dropped. Despite media speculation that he would, Mickey chose not to sue Sidney and Gale for defamation and hasn’t been in the public eye since the controversial trial.’

You stared blankly at your TV screen when the video ended, another one auto-playing a few seconds later. Even after your drinks with Lee, you felt way too sober to even process any of it. For the next few hours, you devoured videos, bookmarked dozens of articles, and sifted through podcast episodes to listen to during work.

The odd case had made its home in the recesses of your mind. You dreamed about him when you finally fell asleep, just before sunrise. Sitting in the downtown Manhattan office, the open floor layout was unusually bright, fluorescent lighting washing the place in an eerie white glow. Mickey walked over to his desk, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering on the carpet in a trail leading right to him. He looked at you, a smile on his face as he brought his upright, bloody index finger to his lips. 

As the weekend flew by, you tried to keep yourself otherwise occupied. It wasn’t good for you to stay fixated on it, and certainly not fair to Mickey. 

Working from home on Monday helped, as you focused on finishing the last of the onboarding process. 

Tuesday was where things became tricky again. You sat on the forty-minute long subway ride to the office equipped with a podcast episode about your new coworker. The hosts didn’t seem to have much new information from what you took in the night before, except for the last few minutes of the episode where they’d gone off-script.

‘Last I saw online, he was living in Manhattan.’

‘Oh my god, that’s so Patrick Bateman-core.’

‘So you think he did it?’

‘It’s tough to say, like I totally get why the jury couldn’t come to a consensus.’

‘Yeah same, messy as hell. I tend to think that he didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty, ya know?’

‘I get that. We did try to get in touch with him for some kind of statement or even an interview—‘

‘Wishful thinking.’

‘Yeah, we looked for his email address, but I guess it wasn’t the right one because our message got bounced back, so that was a big fat bust.’

‘He’s like notorious for denying interview requests, anyway. I think he turned down book deals and stuff.’

Enraptured by the conversation, you nearly missed your stop. On the three block walk to your office, you hurriedly opened one of your playlists and put it on shuffle. The last thing you needed was for Mickey to somehow see on your home screen you’d just been listening to a podcast episode about him.

Your head was spinning by the time you got to your desk. He hadn’t arrived yet, and you felt a bit relieved that you had a little more time to psych yourself up. You shouldn’t have even had to do that in the first place, just be normal about your coworker, but if you learned anything over the weekend, even if he wasn’t guilty, he sure as hell wasn’t normal.

The elevator doors opened, and you looked up to see him walk out, waving at you.

“Morning, Y/N, have a good weekend?”

“Pretty good. I’m more broke than when it started, though. How about you?”

“Like I told you, hot date with Netflix,” he said, sitting down. “Thought you were sticking with shitty liquor?”

“I was, but my friend wasn’t. I got the tab, and she got plenty of margaritas.”

“Shit, I oughta get drinks with you sometime if you get all your friends’ tabs.”

You grinned. “Don’t count your luck.”

He chuckled to himself. The two of you worked in near silence for the next three hours, though you found yourself glancing over at him every so often, out of curiosity and also admiration. His graying hair suited him, and you could see the muscles in his arms from his casually rolled up shirt sleeves. 

Soon, though, you found it hard to stay awake, the light from your computer screen adding onto your fatigue. To your horror, you yawned loudly, catching Mickey’s attention.

“You alright? I’m not too boring, am I?”

“No, I just kept waking up last night. I feel like I barely slept.”

“Why don’t we take an early lunch and go get coffee?”

“That sounds great,” you said, grabbing your purse.

There was a deli right up the block, and when you looked at the small pastry case, you decided to order something with your coffee. Mickey placed his order, a hot coffee and a bear claw. With plenty of tables to choose from, you and Mickey sat near the window. 

Your coffee definitely hit the spot, and the sugar from your pastry helped wake you up too.

“How long’s your commute?” Mickey asked.

“About 40 minutes. I live in Brooklyn, kinda between Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.”

“Damn, that’s long. I live on the Upper West Side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Before this job, I was barely able to afford to rent on my own.”

“It’s a rent-controlled building. I’m not making a ton after alimony and child support.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, though he looked out the window as he continued speaking. “It was a long time ago. Deanna and me just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff when our son was born. I knew before he even got to kindergarten it was over.”

Unsure of how to respond, you slowly reached across the table, putting your hand over his. “I’m sorry, Mickey, really.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. “They live upstate, so I don’t see them much. I have more time for going to the movies and Mets games.”

“I only go when they’re bad because tickets are cheaper.”

He snickered. “I should take a page outta your book. How about you? Any sports? Or reading? Isn’t true crime pretty popular with young women now?”

Your heart pounded at his question. Innocuous enough. True crime was extremely popular. The paranoid part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was an accusation. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know you’d spent the weekend immersing yourself in it, particularly stuff about him.

“I’m not really interested in that,” you said. “Sometimes my friends and I go to trivia nights at bars. I’m not that good, but it’s fun to just hang out. I have a membership at the MOMA, so I go there a lot. They show movies sometimes, too.”

To your relief, the conversation shifted to just that, and Mickey seemed surprised by some of your opinions on different movies. He told you he’d originally gone to college for film studies, which you already knew, of course. The odd thing was, while you certainly didn’t want him aware of just how much you knew about him, you didn’t feel guilty for it, just that he would be weirded out by it, obviously.

You and Mickey ended up talking about movies for nearly an hour and a half, well over your allotted hour lunch break, but he assured you no one would care that much. Still, the two of you half-ran back to the office, and something bubbled in your chest when he sat down and smiled at you, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent. 

The rest of the workday went by quickly, and you headed to the library where you’d reserved the two books about the Windsor College murders and trial. By the time you got home, you’d already devoured the first two chapters of Gale Weathers’ book. Glad to be working remotely the following day, you let yourself stay up later than usual to read, getting to the halfway point before you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Weeks turned into months, and you absolutely loved your job, and the pay, but most of all, how the content you consumed and your proximity to Mickey seemed to feed into each other in a vicious cycle that increasingly drowned out the rational part of you that knew what you were doing was weird. 

Still, it wasn’t like you were invading his personal privacy or treating him any different than you did before. All of the information you’d read, listened to, or watched was all public as your running list of books, podcasts, and documentaries on the matter grew. You’d even rewatched the Stab movies and started scrolling through threads and tags related to Mickey and what happened at Windsor College. After all of the personal research you did and how much you’d gotten to know Mickey at work, you couldn’t conclusively say whether or not he did it. 

You tried keeping your obsession lowkey, but your friends seemed to notice how you’d shoehorn it into conversations. Lee had even told you she was afraid she’d created a monster by bringing up Mickey’s past in the first place. If she’d never made her comment or showed you that first article, you probably never would’ve known about it, remaining blissfully unaware and going about your business at your typical office job with your hot older coworker.

For how much time you spent at home between work and researching, it seemed like whenever you’d go out, you’d come home to something missing or moved. Articles of clothing gone, coffee mugs out of place, books not quite in the order you’d left them. At first, you chalked it up to your consuming too much true crime content, feeding into your paranoia, but when you asked your landlord to install another lock on your door, it all seemed to stop. That didn’t bode well with you.

Your fantasies blended with reality in your dreams, as you were having increasing occurrences of Ghostface or Mickey, or both, in them. Whenever you woke up, you didn’t remember much except for a warm feeling in your core. One dream remained vivid even after you awoke, though.

You were in your apartment alone, late at night, when you got a call from an unknown number. Normally, you didn’t pick up calls unless you were expecting them, but for some reason you picked up. The details of the phone call itself were jumbled, but you were frightened, running into your bedroom and locking the door behind you. 

To your horror, you’d locked yourself in with Ghostface, the looming predator who looked at you emotionlessly, stalking toward you with his knife. When you turned around, the door knob was gone, and a black gloved hand grabbed your shoulder, moving you to face him as he pushed you against the door. He sliced through your slinky pajama top, exposing your breasts to him. Roughly groping each of them, he let out a low moan in appreciation before bringing the knife to your collarbone, dragging the blade to the valley between your breasts. Your breath hitched as he pressed it a bit deeper, but instead, you felt it in your pussy, like he was penetrating you.

“Give me a kiss, sweetheart,” your masked assailant ordered in a distorted voice.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against the cold, hard plastic mask. You gasped as he dug the knife into your skin with one hand, his other slipping under your panties, pushing his fingers between your folds.

“I own you,” he said, clearly in Mickey’s voice this time.

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, and then your alarm blared, jolting you awake. Turning over, you groaned into your pillow in frustration. At least it ended up being great masturbation material later on.

Another Thursday at work, seemingly uneventful as usual. You and Mickey had gotten into the habit of getting lunch together whenever you both were in the office. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but as time went on, they felt more like dates than just a casual lunch with a coworker. Not that you were complaining.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asked in the nearby deli the two of you had begun to frequent.

“No, not really.”

“Do you wanna come over after work tomorrow? Watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“That’d be great!” you said, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “Should I bring anything?”

He shook his head, smiling a bit. “I can order a pizza.”

For some reason, you trusted yourself to be normal at his place, telling yourself throughout Friday that everything would work out fine. Being a weirdo about his alleged murders certainly wouldn’t help you get a real date with him, but your infatuation with him was only growing. You liked the slightest hint of danger about him, going to his apartment alone, wondering in the back of your mind what his true intentions were and feeling a bit of a thrill at the prospect that they could be anything less than innocent.

You showed up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of wine in hand, even though he’d told you not to bring anything. As expected, he thanked you for the wine, though he gave you an exasperated look as he let you into his apartment. Nicer than yours, but it still looked lived-in.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’m thinking Mean Streets for the movie.”

“It’s a classic,” you agreed. “I love Harvey Keitel in it.”

“You know, that was De Niro and Scorsese’s first time working together.”

“Wait, why did I think Taxi Driver was first?”

“Came out in ‘76, just after he was in Godfather Part II in ‘74. Busy decade for him.”

“You’re telling me.”

The doorbell rang, the pizza arriving sooner than expected. You waited in the kitchen while Mickey dealt with the delivery.

“We can eat in the living room while we watch,” he said, carrying the pizza box inside. “I don’t have many people over, so it’s still a little messy.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him.

He put on the movie, and you balanced the paper plate on your lap, nodding along to “Be My Baby” as it played during the opening scene. Testing the waters, you scooted closer to him a few minutes into the movie. He glanced over at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face. 

You were especially pleased when he put his arm around you, not bothering with the pretense of a “move,” but rather taking what he wanted. Settling comfortably next to him, you tried to focus on the movie.

Despite his arm around your shoulders, closer physically to him than you ever had been, you felt restless. You knew when the halfway point of the movie was, and so you excused yourself to use the bathroom, telling him he didn’t need to pause it until you returned.

The tips of your fingers itched as you passed closed doors to the bathroom, which he told you was at the end of the hall. Biting your lip, you considered your options, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, you reached for one of the door handles. A mostly empty extra bedroom, maybe his son’s old room. 

You weren’t deterred, opening another door. Jackpot. Slightly messy, with clothes strewn about the floor and on the dark sheets of his bed. Glancing behind you, you stepped into his room and looked around for anything that stood out. 

Most people hid things under their beds, and so you got down on your hands and knees, wondering where exactly he might hide his—

“Don’t think this is the bathroom,” he said, startling you.

You yelped, frantically turning around as your brain short circuited for an explanation. “I—I was just—“

“Looking for trophies? All serial killers keep them, right?” he asked, towering over you from your spot on the floor. “Mementos of their victims or the kills.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you’re looking in the wrong place anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from behind his back.

“Serial killers also don’t—don’t kill people th-they know,” you stammered.

“Typically,” he agreed, “but I’m not typical, am I? I’m sure you’ve listened to plenty of those cute little podcasts where some dumbasses read the Wikipedia page about the Windsor College murders in between hawking security systems to their listeners that they’ve just scared shitless. I admitted I did it, went to fucking trial, and the jury couldn’t even find me guilty.”

“Point taken.”

“So, what trophy would I keep from you?”

You were silent for a moment before answering, looking him in the eye. “My panties.”

“Which pair? Figure I have at least five of them now. Unless you wanna make that six, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been breaking into my place all this time.”

“You made it way too easy. It’s like you were asking for it.”

Maybe you were. Regardless, you didn’t show any resistance when he lightly kicked at your leg, a silent command to stand up. You got to your feet, though your gaze was fixed on the knife in his hand. His eyes followed yours, and he smirked a bit before putting the knife aside.

He turned you around, pushing you back onto his bed. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed your skirt up, his hand caressing your ass, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your panties.

“Were you asking for it, sweetheart? Have you wanted this all along? Been a bad girl to get my attention?”

“Yes,” you whimpered weakly, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Y’know, I’ve heard of serial killers having groupies, but you,” he said, slapping your ass for emphasis, eliciting a moan from you, “are something else.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whispered, fidgeting against his mattress.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Another smack on your ass. “I could’ve been having fun with you months ago.” Smack! You hissed this time, though your pussy was pulsing between your legs. “Bent you over my desk in the office, have my way with you while no one else is around—or maybe a little slut like you would wanna get caught with daddy’s dick buried inside her.”

He spanked you harder this time, holding you down when your body instinctively recoiled at the impact. A pained moan escaped your lips as he pressed his body weight against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your tender skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as the sensation, and you resisted the urge to slip your hand between your legs.

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching around you to wrap his hand around your neck, “you just want me to fuck you before I kill you. Probably cum the minute I put that old Ghostface mask on, huh, baby?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words. “Yes, daddy.”

He released his grip on your throat, standing up to give you one more slap across your ass. “Turn over. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The friction from his sheets stung against your sore ass as you rolled over to look at him, though he grabbed you, pushing you onto your back himself. His grip on you was tight, fingers digging into your arms as he held you down beneath him, completely at his mercy.

He pulled off your skirt and panties, leaving your pussy exposed for him. He dragged his index finger between your folds, and you whimpered when he brushed your clit.

“God, you’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Was it the spanking, or is it the serial killer thing?”

“Both.”

“Good answer,” he said, lazily circling your clit with his finger. 

He ducked his head down, wasting no time in devouring your wet cunt. His tongue relentlessly flicked at your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole. You took them easily, but wondered if it’d be the same for his cock when he’d undoubtedly fuck you. 

Your hands gripped his sheets as he worked his tongue, your feet curling at the tension you felt building up inside of you. He moaned against you, loud enough that it felt like his voice rocked through your body. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly.

A pained and outraged whine pulled from your throat when he did just that. You looked down at him between your legs, betrayed.

“Why should I let you cum?” he teased, rubbing light circles in your clit with his soaked fingers. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Please, daddy.”

“You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please let me cum, daddy. I’ll be so good. I—I’ll do anything, just—please,” you cried out in frustration of being so close yet not quite there.

“Only since you asked so nicely,” he relented, dipping his head back down between your legs, his hands holding your hips in place as your lower half began to quiver at his touch.

You could feel his lips move slightly against your sensitive pussy, nothing short of a smug expression on his face at making you fall apart so easily. It didn’t matter, your head was swimming, muscles strained as he brought you closer to climax. Grabbing his hair, you pressed his face closer against your pussy, grinding against it in desperation. 

“Mickey—Fuck—“ you choked out as your orgasm wracked through you, fireworks in between your legs as your body shook. 

He ate you out through your orgasm, and another tidal wave of pleasure hit you all at once, almost painful and overwhelming, your brain on fire at the sensation. You could hardly catch your breath when you released your grip from his hair and he lifted his head, your wetness glistening on his lips.

When he kissed you, you hardly had the strength to kiss him back, though tasting yourself on his mouth sent a rush through you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your face, trailing down to your neck. His hard length rubbed against your slick-coated thigh, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.

“W-Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Did you really wanna get caught?”

He stopped, lifting his head from your neck to look at you a few moments before answering, “Yeah, blame the movies, make a real circus of the trial, but my attorney said he didn’t think I could pull off an insanity plea because I was too put together. Obviously pleading guilty and confessing everything wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as actually going on trial. I was pissed at first, but it worked out, I mean I had every reporter eating out of the palm of my hand by day three.”

“Why don’t you do interviews now? Or write a book?”

“What’s there to say? Not the truth.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably should,” he said, the slightest smirk ghosting his lips as his eyes raked over you, “I might need more convincing not to.”

[livwritesstuff]

So I’ve made a few references to Steve being an Excel guy as an adult (because someone had to be in charge of Steve and Eddie’s money and it certainly wasn’t going to be Eddie).

He’s got the classic spreadsheets – monthly budget, college savings projections, income tracking because he and Eddie both work jobs with variable incomes (Steve is a counselor and Eddie is an author), the whole nine yards.

Steve also has some “extracurricular” spreadsheets. I’ve talked about how Steve has a spreadsheet tracking the combinations of Mario Kart racers/vehicles he tries out (there’s a ranking system involved, it’s very complex). He’s got one for his fantasy football league, obviously, and he and Moe put money on their March Madness brackets so there’s a spreadsheet for that too.

Eddie’s personal favorite is the one comparing monthly expenses by kid, which isn’t exactly a necessary metric per se, but from it stems a game Steve and Eddie secretly play: who is the most expensive Harrington daughter?

The winner tends to rotate throughout the year, but Hazel is usually their least expensive child in the long run. She does ballet, which isn’t too bad when she’s little but then she graduates to pointe shoes, and Steve had no idea that not only do pointe shoes set you back $100 minimum, they also wear out ridiculously fast, and, as he’s been told many times, you can’t wear the dead ones.

Moe usually takes that top spot in the winter – elite basketball teams aren’t cheap by any stretch of the imagination, and then in high school she gets into snowboarding, which is somehow even more expensive. She’s also consistently the reason they hit their health insurance deductible every year. 

Robbie is their overall most expensive kid by a mile. She drove up their car insurance by getting into an accident a month after she got her driver's license, had braces for five years, and the prescription on her glasses has changed every eighteen months since she was seven. She’s notorious for breaking her phone, so she racks up quite a tab in that regard too (the one year they got a protection plan was also the one year she had no phone-related incidents, so they didn’t even bother renewing it – they just make her suffer with a cracked screen for a few months before they finally drag her to the mall to get it fixed). There’s also the year Eddie bought her an electric violin which was, naturally, not cheap (Eddie argues it shouldn’t count because he was the brains behind that operation).

[sjsmith56]

None Shall Sleep

Summary: Bucky comes to the aid of his neighbour one night when he hears her crying after breaking something in her apartment.

Length: 5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, named but not described OFC, minor OFC, Pepper Stark.

Warnings: Description of eye surgery (personal experience), trust issues, Bucky feeling inadequate, health insurance company assholes.

Author notes: Inspired by this video of a tenor who sang Nessun Dorma (from the opera Turandot) accompanied by a flash mob orchestra in a German bookstore. The video showed up on my FB feed but I’ve always loved this piece, as it’s full of passion. My description of the opera is taken from the internet. https://fb.watch/pE60YHrtsM/? I’ve been to one opera in my life (La Boheme) which I enjoyed. Bucky is a big softy in this one shot which ends very romantically.

👁️ 🎶 🌖

Sam carried the last box into Bucky's new Brooklyn apartment, taking note of the high ceilings and windows this place had, compared to his old place, the small studio apartment.  With the settlement for his back pay, and damages for what had been done to him awarded from the now unfrozen assets of Alexander Pierce and several other high ranking HYDRA officials, James Buchanan Barnes was finally in a position to live in a manner that he deserved.  Buying this apartment was the start of his new beginning.  He also had plans to take some college courses so that he could prepare for a life that didn't involve using just his physical attributes.

"This is really nice, Bucky," he said, as his friend came out of the bathroom with an empty box, pulling the tape off the bottom so he could flatten it.  "Pepper found this place for you?"

He looked around.  "Yeah, it is nice.  Still has enough of the old features like hardwood floors and finishes, vintage claw foot tub in the master ensuite bathroom, mosaic floor tiles in both bathrooms.  Feels familiar but it's mostly modern so it should last a long time.  Not sure how the other owners feel about me living here but no one's said anything yet."

"Why would they?" Bucky scowled without answering.  "Hey, your money is as good as theirs.  You're quiet, you're not a criminal, and honestly, it will likely make criminals think twice about trying to break in.  I'm sure you'll be attuned to everyone's coming and goings pretty quickly."

"You calling me a busybody?" 

At least he said it with a grin.  It was true.  His bad sleeping habits meant he was often awake at night, watching out the window for anything out of the ordinary.  Knowing his neighbour's habits came easily to him but wasn't always understood or appreciated by them.  Still, his previous landlord and Pepper Stark wrote character references for him when he first applied to buy in the building.

A week later he had met several neighbours, finding most of them quite nice.  It surprised him on the one night when he heard crying from his nearest neighbour's apartment, a woman he hadn't met yet.  At first, he listened carefully for any sounds of fighting or abuse, but it sounded more like frustration than anything else.  Then he heard the sounds of something breaking and jumped out of bed.  Approaching her door, he listened carefully again then knocked before speaking.

"Hello?  Is everything alright?  I heard the sound of something breaking."

He could hear the sounds of someone approaching the door.

"Who are you?" Her voice sounded both anxious and upset.

"Bucky Barnes.  I just moved in next door.  I could hear you crying but tonight sounded like you broke something.  I can help."

"Fuck."  He could barely hear her swear.  "Hope he's not an asshole."

With the sound of her locating the locks and turning them, he waited, only to be surprised by the sight of a woman with both eyes heavily bandaged.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she said, extending her hand outwards, not quite in the right direction.  "As you can see I have temporarily lost my sight.  I'm supposed to have someone to help me but they haven't showed up for the past two nights and that's left me trying to fend for myself."

He took her hand gently in his, squeezing it then releasing it.

"Well, I'm here and I can help you if you wish."

"I know I broke something, and I stepped on it."  She lifted one foot, that seemed cut open.  Spreading her hands helplessly, she began to cry again.  "Could you just help me?"

"I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the bathroom," replied Bucky.  "You have cut your foot.  I can take care of bandaging that.  Then I'll clean up what you broke.  After that, we'll see what more I can do for you, okay?"

She allowed him to pick her up in his arms, carrying her into her bathroom, where he placed her on the counter.  Returning to his place for his first aid kit, since she only had a kit of bandages for her eyes, he gently cleaned her foot in the sink, then checked the wound for any pieces of the broken glass.

"What's your name?" he asked, as he applied some antiseptic to it.

"Roberta," she replied.

"That's a pretty name," he smiled.  "How long have you lived here?"

"About a year.  I sublet from the owner.  You just moved in?"

"Yeah, a week ago.  If it's not too personal, may I ask about your eyes?"

She lowered her head.  "I was mugged, hit my head pretty hard on the pavement.  It gave me a concussion and partially detached the retinas in both eyes, so I had to have surgery to fix them.  It sounds kind of gruesome, but they had to empty the eyeball of the vitreous gel to do it, then used a laser to seal the tears, and then a bubble of gas to reinflate the eye was inserted to keep the retina in place.  As the gas is absorbed into the body, the eye replaces the gel with new liquid, but it takes about six weeks for it to heal properly.  This past week I had to sleep on my stomach at the hospital, face down so that the bubble stayed at the back of the eyeball and kept the retina from detaching again.  I had an aide to help me at night for the first two nights when I was released, to make sure I didn't flip over onto my back, but she didn't show up last night or tonight.  Since I can't see, I can't call my insurance company to find out what happened to her and the woman they got for the daytime doesn't speak much English.  She just cooks and cleans for me."

He listened, fascinated by the medical process that would restore her vision, knowing that during the 1930s the success rate for repairing that was abysmal. 

"When were your eye dressings last changed?" 

"Two nights ago," answered Roberta.  "I was trying to do it myself because it felt gross, but I knocked something over and it broke."  She lowered her head as if she was looking at the floor.  "I just feel so helpless.  I'm sorry I woke you up."

Once again, he took her hand in his.

"I'm a lousy sleeper and was already awake.  You stay here while I clean up then I'll see if I can help change your dressings.  Is that okay?"

She nodded, waiting patiently for her neighbour to return.  At least he sounded nice.  Bucky wasn't a common name, perhaps it was a nickname.  Carefully, she listened as she heard him sweep a broom over the floor and into a dustpan.  The running of water was followed by the sound of a cloth being wiped over the floor, presumably to clean up the blood from the cut in her foot.  Then she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Just me," he said, before he entered.  "Everything's cleaned up out there.  Now, how do I take care of your eyes?"

She told him to boil some water first and let it cool, then add a little salt to help with cleaning.  He left coming back a few minutes later.  He washed his hands, then unwrapped the larger bandage which released the plastic eye shields that protected her eyes.  Under them were gauze pads, which he carefully peeled off.  All she saw was the light of the bathroom, and the bubble of gas inside her eyes which kept her repaired retinas in place.  Everything else was blurred or distorted.

"It's pretty red," said Bucky, his face close enough to hers for her to smell his aftershave.  "Is that normal?"

"Well, it's pretty invasive eye surgery so I guess it is.  If you could take some clean gauze and dip it in the boiled water, as long as it's not too hot, you can clean the guck off, gently."

Patiently, she waited as he did as he was told, slightly surprised at how gently he cleansed her damaged eyes.  She noticed the sound of whirring and that one of his hands was warm and the other cold, which she brought up.

"I have a prosthetic arm and hand," he explained, hesitantly at first.  "It's a very high tech one.  I'm kind of the only person in the world with one like it.  It functions almost like normal, but they can't make it feel warm, or mask all the sounds it makes.  I'm thankful for it but I worry about how people see it."

Roberta smiled.  "Good thing I could only hear it and feel it then," she said.  "Although, I bet it's impressive looking.  Is it a prototype?"

"I guess," he admitted, then she was aware his face was further away.  "Okay, that looks better.  What's next?"

"There's a tube of ointment," said Roberta.  "If you pull the lower eyelid out, you can squeeze a small portion into each one and distribute it a bit.  That's to heal the incisions."  She waited while he did it.  "Okay, new gauze to cover my eyes, then the shields over top.  Just check that the shields are clean.  They can be cleaned with soap and water if they have anything on them."

She smiled as she heard the sound of water, assuming that the shields needed cleaning.  Then they were placed over her eyes, and she held them in place as Bucky wrapped the bandages around her head to keep them there.  By his silence, other than his breathing which seemed to shift slightly as if he was moving his head, Roberta assumed he was checking his handiwork.

"How is that?" he asked.

"Feels great," she answered.  "Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?  I'm guessing anything involving the eyes are out."

"I wouldn't mind listening to some music," she answered.  "My phone is around here somewhere.  If you could open the playlists, I could choose one.  You're welcome to stay if you're not sleepy."

She felt his warm arm circle around her waist as he helped her off the vanity, then he placed her hand on his arm as he led her out to the living room, telling her when they were a couple of steps away from the couch.  He joined her a moment later, as he placed her phone in her hand.

"Needs to be unlocked."

"Oh, it's set to Face ID which won't work with these bandages.  If I give you the code, do you promise not to go snooping?"

"Scout's honour." She could just feel the smile from him.

After giving him the code she waited while he opened her playlists, then he began listing them off.  When he got to her guilty pleasure one of opera, she told him to choose that.

"I'm a bit weird, I know," she joked.  "Not many people my age like opera but it was something my dad and I would do every time the Met put on a new one.  We always had discount tickets, would go for dinner, then to the opera.  Dad loved it and it was time well spent with him before he died."

"I'm sorry.  You must miss him."

"I do.  He died of cancer just five years ago." 

The sounds of La Traviata came on and he smiled as she relaxed, slightly leaning into him.  She quickly told him the plot of the opera and encouraged him to close his eyes and lose himself in the singing.  There were several other arias from other pieces that played then another came up and she straightened a bit.

"This is one of my favourites," she said.  "It's called Nessun Dorma, from Turandot.  A disguised prince falls in love with a princess who is indifferent to him.  To win her hand a suitor must solve three riddles, but if he gets any of them wrong, then he will be executed.  The prince succeeds but she still refuses him, so he challenges her to guess his real name, which would allow her to put him to death.  If she doesn't then she must marry him."

"Does she?" asked Bucky.

"That's the mystery behind this opera," said Roberta.  "The composer, Puccini, didn't finish it as he died, so no one really knows if he meant this to have a happy ending or a tragic ending.  This piece, Nessun Dorma, means none shall sleep, as the princess commands everyone to put aside sleep and find out the prince's real name.  Whether she found out and chose to reveal it or not is one of the great mysteries of Turandot.  Both endings have been used, written by other composers."

He listened with her, finding it a stirring piece of music.  As they listened to several more, he became aware of her breathing becoming deeper and more regular.  Roberta had fallen asleep.  Gently, he extracted himself from beside her then remembered what she said about sleeping with her repaired eyes.  Going to the linen closet he pulled out some towels and rolled them into position on her bed, to surround her face, keeping it off the surface of the sheets.  Then he returned to the couch and gently lifted her into his arms.  She whimpered a little and buried her face in his chest.

"You smell good," she whispered, sleepily.  "I like it."

"Thank you," he whispered back.

Gently, he positioned her face down, making sure that she was set in a way that was comfortable but allowed her to breathe.  Then he covered her up with her bedcovers and turned off the light.  Returning to his apartment, he laid on the couch, falling asleep until the morning.

Knowing that Roberta wanted to phone the insurance company about the aide not showing up, Bucky woke up early then listened carefully to any signs of the young woman getting up.  When she did, he went over and knocked on the door, waiting as she approached.  Instead, it was another woman who opened it and he looked at her a little surprised.  She spoke Spanish, identifying herself as Maria, the daytime helper who cooked for Miss Roberta.  Addressing her in Spanish, Bucky identified himself, waiting while she checked with Roberta before she let him in. 

"I thought you might want me to help phone the insurance company," he said when she came out of the kitchen.  "Find out what happened to your night-time aide.  I also speak Spanish if you want me to tell Maria anything."

"Yes please, to both," said Roberta.  "Thank you for putting me to bed last night.  I actually had a good sleep because of how you arranged the towels.  How did you know how to do it?"

He shook his head.  "Just seemed right."

She gave some instructions for Maria, which he passed on, then dialled her insurance company for her, placing the phone on speaker so she could talk to the agent.  When she told them the aide hadn't shown up for two nights they disputed her account, saying the woman had clocked in.  Bucky frowned as he listened then asked if he could speak.

"Hi, I'm Roberta's neighbour," he started.  "I can't say about Monday, but your aide was definitely not here last night because I heard Roberta crying after she broke something and cut her foot open.  I looked after her, cleaning her eyes and changing her dressing.  She wouldn't be phoning to complain if your employee actually showed up, don't you think?"

"Well, our employees are very professional and whose to say that you aren't lying on behalf of Miss Paxton?" said the woman on the other end.

Roberta's face reddened when she heard that, and Bucky felt his own irritation grow at the insinuation.

"Well, why don't I give you the name of someone to verify my identity," he said.  "If you would be so kind to contact Pepper Stark at Stark Industries, I'm sure she can vouch for me."

"Your name, sir?"

"Bucky Barnes, currently one of the Avengers.  My full name is James Buchanan Barnes."

There was no sound from the insurance agent for a moment.  Then there was a little cough, and she came back on.

"I will make that call and get back to you, Mr. Barnes," she said.  "Will you be at this number?"

"Yes, I'm not going anywhere." 

He hung up and placed the phone on the table.  There was silence between them until Roberta extended her hand towards him.  Gently, he took it and held it.

"You're really him?  I didn't quite hear your last name when you came in last night."

"Yeah, I'm him, the former Winter Soldier.  Once we get this cleared up, I won't come around anymore, if my presence makes you uncomfortable."

"No, I mean, I would like it if you came over.  I enjoyed your company.  You were kind to me and let me talk about opera and never once interrupted.  That's more than most men have ...." 

She coughed, then began to cry and Bucky reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, then looked at it, realizing her eyes were still bandaged.  Maria looked at him, whispering in Spanish that perhaps an arm around the young woman would be acceptable.  With a slight smile to her he did just that and pulled Roberta close.

"I'm sorry.  I'm kind of predisposed to being rejected and kind of jumped the gun on your reaction to who I was."

His phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket, seeing that it was Pepper.  He explained to her why the insurance company was calling, smiling as she expressed dismay that they would leave a woman without home care when she was basically helpless because she couldn't see.

"If they don't send anyone, I'm happy to help her," he said to Pepper.  "Roberta is very nice, and we got along just fine."

"Well, if they don't send someone, or if no one comes, you let me know, and I'll hire a small team myself to help her out."

He passed on the message to Roberta, who thanked Pepper profusely, then hung up, expecting to receive a call from the insurance company.  When it still didn't come an hour later, they phoned again, were put on hold then the call was dropped.  At that time, Maria came out of the kitchen with her phone, looking like she had bad news.  With a halting voice, she told Bucky she was laid off, as Miss Paxton's insurance policy had been cancelled.  Worriedly, she looked between Bucky and Roberta.

"Hold on, Maria," he said in Spanish.  "You won't be laid off, I promise.  Wait with Miss Paxton while I make another call."

After telling Roberta he had to make a private call he headed out to the hallway and called Pepper to pass on what he had learned.  She swore profusely, then he heard a large exhale of breath from the executive. 

"Alright, I'm assembling a team to take over Miss Paxton's care, and you tell Maria she now works for Stark Industries starting at twice the measly pay they were probably giving her.  Then I'm calling my lawyer and getting them on the sudden cancellation of her policy.  They can't do that, and I won't let them get away with it if I have to buy the company myself.  Don't you worry, Bucky.  We'll take care of Miss Paxton while you're on mission."  She hesitated for a moment.  "Okay, I wasn't supposed to say anything, but you'll be getting a call shortly."

Returning to the apartment, he broke the news gently to Roberta, then assured her that she would be looked after.  He also told Maria she still had a job, with Stark Industries, sending the woman into her own joyful expressions that someone would do that for her.  As she thanked him enthusiastically for his help, he received his mission alert from the Avengers and looked at the readout.  He had six hours to report for duty.

"Well, I have some sad news," he stated.  "I'm being called out for a mission, but you can take Pepper Stark's insistence on a team to look after you as the complete truth.  She'll make sure you're taken care of while I'm gone."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know but we can talk whenever I have a chance," he replied.  "Give me your phone and I'll put my information in."

He entered his information in her phone then did the same to his.  Then they sat together on the couch.  Her hand slowly inched its way towards his and he held her hand while they waited.  An hour later, the doorbell rang, and the first member of Roberta's care team, Julie, arrived, along with a contract for Maria to sign that she explained fully to the woman.  He stood up, then began to walk towards the door.

"Bucky, can I see you privately for a moment?" asked Roberta, then she blushed and grinned.  "You know what I mean."

Julie took Maria into the kitchen, leaving the couple alone.  Hesitantly, Robert lifted her hands towards Bucky, and he took them, holding them in his hands.  She stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them.  Raising one hand to his face, she cupped his cheek as he watched her intently.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she murmured.  "You're a very nice man."  He began to protest but she placed her fingers on his lips, and he instinctively kissed them, bringing a smile to her lips.  "You are a nice man and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  When you get back, I would like to see you again.  I don't know many nice men and I kind of want to keep you around."

If she could have seen it, his smile likely would have dazzled her.  With his free hand he brushed some hair over her shoulder then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I would like to see you again, Roberta," he answered.  "You're a very nice lady and I don't know many.  You let them take care of you while I'm gone, okay?"

She nodded and they kissed again, for longer and with some feeling.  Then he caressed her face and left to get ready for his mission. 

Two months later.

Carefully, Bucky looked at himself in the mirror of his apartment, satisfied with his haircut and the trim of his beard.  After making sure his tie was right and that there were no white cat hairs on his black suit, he turned towards the window.  Alpine, the stray kitten he found on the mission and brought back with him, watched from her cat tree in front of the large window.  He confirmed he had his wallet and his car keys, then checked the inside pocket for the tickets, smiling at how excited Roberta would be when he told her where they were going.

"What do you think, Al?  Do I look good?"

A cross between a meow and a trill greeted him, confirming that he did indeed look good.  Leaving a light on in the living room, he gave the kitten a quick stroke on the head, then left, locking the door behind him and walking to the apartment next door.  He could hear opera playing in the apartment and smiled, then knocked loud enough to hear the music stop and footsteps approaching the door.  It was opened and for a moment he was dazzled at the vision in front of him.  Roberta was in a form fitting black dress that seemed to glitter like the night sky.  Its open neckline highlighted her collarbones, and a hint of décolletage completed the top part of the dress.  A long slit on one side showed off her shapely leg, along with the strappy-heeled sandals she wore.

"Wow!  You look amazing," he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.  "Pepper helped you get that dress, didn't she?"

Roberta blushed.  "Maybe.  We've become good friends, I think.  So, we must be going somewhere fancy because you're looking good as well."

"Darlin' I always look good," he grinned, then his face grew soft as he came closer.  "I mean it.  You look like a dream and I'm the luckiest guy alive."

They kissed and she used her thumb to wipe off the lipstick that transferred to his lips.  Taking her lipstick out of her clutch she reapplied it then waited as Bucky approached with her coat, helping her put it on.  They held hands on the elevator down to the parking garage, where Bucky held the car door open for her until she was belted in, and he got in behind the wheel.  As they passed over the Brooklyn Bridge, he told her to close her eyes so that it was a surprise.  When he pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Opera House, he reminded her to keep her eyes closed.  After helping her out, he handed his keys to the valet, then whispered in her ear.

"Open your eyes."

She opened them, ignoring the camera flashes from the paparazzi and seeing they were in front of the Metropolitan Opera House.  A big smile appeared on her face, and she looked up at him.

"It's Turandot, isn't it?" she asked.  "You got tickets?"

He nodded, then took her hand into the crook of his arm and began to walk to the entrance.  There were several calls of his name, and he stopped once, to the sounds and flashes of multiple cameras going off, then they turned away and continued inside.  After dropping off her coat at the coat check, they went up the staircase to the Parterre, where they were shown their seats, two in the front row of the left center box.  Two programs were already waiting for them, and he watched with an amused smile as she excitedly read it through.  When the music started, she watched the performance intently, occasionally glancing at him and squeezing his hand. 

At the intermission, they went out and ordered champagne for her, bourbon for him, sipping it as several celebrities approached them, introducing themselves.  Bucky was polite but reserved, his attention directed all towards Roberta.  The second half of the performance was just as enthralling as the first, especially when it came to the performance of Nessun Dorma, which drew a standing ovation and cries of "Bravo" for the tenor who sang it.  Bucky watched Roberta's face as she sat, enthralled at the whole experience.  When it ended and the theatre started to empty, she sat bright eyed, still staring at the stage until she turned to him.

"That was amazing," she enthused.  "I've never seen it before, and it was everything I ever hoped it would be.  Thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled, standing and offering her his hand.  "Now, we can go to dinner, or we can pick up some takeout and have it at your place.  I'm good either way.  Which do you prefer?"

"You really don't mind takeout?  These sandals are beautiful, but I'm not used to them, and I wouldn't mind changing into something more relaxing."

"Takeout it is," stated Bucky, as they approached the coatcheck and he helped her on with her coat. 

On the drive back to the apartment building, they held hands, stopping only when they picked up some Chinese food.  They were both quiet on the elevator ride to their floor.  Inside her apartment, Roberta left Bucky to open the containers as she disappeared into her bedroom, coming out in a pair of leggings and a soft tunic.  He took his jacket off, draping it over the back of the chair, then slipped his shoes off.  They both ate a good portion of their food, then Roberta winced when she stretched her one foot, noticing she had a blister forming.  Putting his food aside, Bucky switched positions on the couch and gestured for her foot, gently massaging it.  As he ran his hand over her foot, he rubbed her ankle then her calf muscle, watching her intently.

"Stop," she whispered.

He stopped.  Carefully, she shifted closer to him, ending up on his lap.  Looking at his tie, she loosened it enough to raise it over his head, then unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, placing one of her hands on his upper chest. 

"Stop," he murmured.

She stopped, still perched on his lap, close enough that she was well aware of the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt and the hands that rested on her thighs, in addition to the bulge already forming in his pants.  They gazed at each other then Roberta leaned closer.

"None shall sleep," she said softly.

"You're sure?"

"Very sure."

Slowly, he ran his right hand up her body to her neck.  Placing his hand at the back of her neck he pulled her closer then wrapped his arms around her as they kissed passionately.  They explored each other's lips and mouths thoroughly, before pulling away, each of them a little breathless.  Lifting herself off of Bucky, Roberta went over to her phone and brought up the opera playlist then turned off the light and stood in front of the couch, offering him her hand.  He kissed it, then raised himself off and picked her up in his arms.

"You smell good."  Her eyes were luminous in the dark that was lit only by the moonlight coming in the floor to ceiling windows.  "I love you."

He smiled softly, kissing the top of her head.  "I love you, too."

To the sound of her favourite arias, Bucky carried Roberta into the bedroom where neither of them slept until much, much later.

Please support the author by reblogging.

One shots Masterlist.

[coochiequeens]

No one is entitled to biological offspring and how can they include surrogacy in the Act without implying that couples are entitled to women to be surrogates?

A trio of Democratic senators are introducing a "Right to IVF Act" that would, among other things, force private health insurance plans to cover assisted reproduction treatments such as in vitro fertilization (IVF), egg freezing, and gestational surrogacy.

The measure provides no exception or accommodations for religious objections, all but ensuring massive legal battles over the mandate should it pass.

The "sweeping legislative package" (as the senators describe it) combines several existing pieces of legislation, including the Access to Family Building Act and the Family Building Federal Employees Health Benefit Fairness Act sponsored by Sen. Tammy Duckworth (D–Ill.), the Veteran Families Health Services Act from Sen. Patty Murray (D–Wash.), and the Access to Infertility Treatment and Care Act from Sen. Cory Booker (D–N.J.).

Booker's contribution here is probably the most controversial. It requires coverage for assisted reproduction from any health care plan that covers obstetric services.

A Reverse Contraception Mandate

Remember the Affordable Care Act's contraception mandate, which required private health insurance plans to cover birth control (allegedly) at no cost to plan participants? It spawned some big legal battles over the rights of religious employers and institutions not to offer staff health plans that included birth control coverage.

Booker's Access to Infertility Treatment and Care Act is a lot like the Obamacare contraception mandate, except instead of requiring health care plans to cover the costs of avoiding pregnancy it would require them to cover treatments to help people become pregnant.

The bill states that all group health plans or health insurance issuers offering group or individual health insurance must cover assisted reproduction and fertility preservation treatments if they cover any obstetric services. It defines assisted reproductive technology as "treatments or procedures that involve the handling of human egg, sperm, and embryo outside of the body with the intent of facilitating a pregnancy, including in vitro fertilization, egg, embryo, or sperm cryopreservation, egg or embryo donation, and gestational surrogacy."

Health insurance plans could only require participant cost-sharing (in the form of co-pays, deductibles, etc.) for such services to the same extent that they require cost-sharing for similar services.

What Could Go Wrong?

It seems like it should go without saying by now but there is no such thing as government-mandated healthcare savings. Authorities can order health care plans to cover IVF (or contraception or whatever) and cap point-of-service costs for plan participants, but health insurers will inevitably pass these costs on to consumers in other ways—leading to higher insurance premiums overall or other health care cost increases.

Yes, IVF and other fertility procedures are expensive. But a mandate like this could actually risk raising IVF costs.

When a lot of people are paying out of pocket for fertility treatments, medical professionals have an incentive to keep costs affordable in order to attract patients. If everyone's insurance covers IVF and patients needn't bother with comparing costs or weighing costs versus benefits, there's nothing to stop medical providers from raising prices greatly. We'll see the same cost inflation we've seen in other sectors of the U.S. healthcare marketplace—a situation that not only balloons health care spending generally (and gets passed on to consumers one way or another) but makes fertility treatments out of reach for people who don't have insurance that covers such treatments.

Raising costs isn't the only issue here, of course. There's the matter of more government intervention in private markets (something some of us are still wild-eyed enough to oppose!).

Offering employee health care plans that cover IVF could be a good selling point for recruiting potential employees or keeping existing employees happy. But there's no reason that every employer should have to do so, just because lawmakers want IVF to be more accessible.

It's unfair to employers—big or small, religious or non-religious—to say they all must take on the costs of offering health care plans that cover pricey fertility treatments. And Booker's bill contains no exceptions for small businesses or for entities with religious or ethical objections.

A lot of religious people are morally opposed to things like IVF and surrogacy. This measure would force religious employers to subsidize and tacitly condone these things if they wanted to offer employees health care plans with any obstetrics coverage at all.

As with any government intervention in free markets, there's the possibility that this fertility treatment mandate would distort incentives. IVF can certainly be an invaluable tool for folks experiencing infertility. But it's also very expensive and very taxing—emotionally and physically—for the women undergoing it, with far from universal success rates. The new mandate could encourage people who may not be good candidates for IVF to keep trying it, perhaps nudging them away from other options (like adoption) that might be better suited to their circumstances.

'Access' Vs. Whatever This Is

Since Roe v. Wade was overturned, many Americans have worried that the legal regime change would pave the way for outlawing things like contraception or IVF, too. Encoding into law (or legal precedent) the idea that fertilized eggs are people could have negative implications for these things, even if many conservative politicians pledge (and demonstrate) that IVF and birth control are safe. In response, some progressive politicians—perhaps genuinely concerned, perhaps sensing political opportunity (or why not both?)—have started talking a lot about the need to protect access to IVF across the country.

As much as I agree with this goal, I think IVF's legality is better off as a state-by-state matter. That said, the "protect IVF nationwide" impulse wouldn't be so bad if "protecting access" simply meant making sure that the procedure was legal.

But as we've seen again and again over the past couple decades, Democrats tend to define health care and medicine "access" differently.

The new Right to IVF Act would establish a national right to provide or receive assisted reproduction services. In their press release, the senators say this last bit would "pre-empt any state effort to limit such access and ensur[e] no hopeful parent—or their doctors—are punished for trying to start or grow a family." OK.

But that's not all it would do. The bill's text states that "an individual has a statutory right under this Act, including without prohibition or unreasonable limitation or interference (such as due to financial cost or detriment to the individual's health, including mental health), to—(A) access assisted reproductive technology; (B) continue or complete an ongoing assisted reproductive technology treatment or procedure pursuant to a written plan or agreement with a health care provider; and (C) retain all rights regarding the use or disposition of reproductive genetic materials, including gametes."

Note that bit about financial cost. It's kind of confusingly worded and it's unclear exactly what that would mean in practice. But it could give the government leeway to directly intervene if they think IVF is broadly unaffordable or to place more demands on individual health care facilities, providers, insurance plans, etc., to help cover the costs of IVF for people whom it would otherwise be financially out of reach.

This is the distilled essence of how Democrats go too far on issues like this. They're not content to say "People shouldn't be punished for utilizing/offering IVF" or that the practice shouldn't be illegal. They look at authoritarian or overreaching possibilities from the other side (like banning or criminalizing IVF) and respond with overreaching proposals of their own.

The proble with increasing access to IVF is what happens when the couple needs a surrogate to have biological offspring? Will they beg and pester the women in their lives? Will the affordable IVF compensate surrogates fairly?

[sankhlaco]

Best for industrial law and labour law for HR

HR labor law is the area where employment-related legal requirements and HR management practices converge. This area is crucial for making sure businesses manage their workforces efficiently and adhere to all relevant rules and regulations. The following are some salient features of HR labor law.

Hiring and Recruitment: HR practitioners must be aware of the laws pertaining to hiring and recruitment procedures, such as those pertaining to equal employment opportunity (EEO) and anti-discrimination, as well as those regulating the hiring of foreign nationals and minors.

Employment Agreements and Contracts: HR specialists are frequently in charge of creating and managing employment agreements, which may contain provisions pertaining to pay, benefits, working hours, and layoff policies. They are responsible for making sure that these contracts abide by all applicable labor laws and rules.

Wages and Hours: HR departments are in charge of making sure that rules pertaining to minimum wage, overtime compensation, and other requirements pertaining to remuneration are followed. This entails abiding with rules like the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) in the US or comparable laws in other nations.

Workplace Safety and Health: By putting policies and processes in place that go by occupational safety and health standards, HR professionals help to promote workplace safety and health. They might also assist in organizing safety procedure training and managing workers' compensation claims.

HR departments are frequently tasked with handling matters related to employee relations, including as grievances, disciplinary actions, and conflicts. They have to make sure that employee rights are upheld and that disciplinary actions adhere to labor regulations.

Employee Benefits and Leave: Human resources specialists oversee benefit schemes like health insurance, paid time off, and retirement plans. Laws pertaining to the administration of benefits, such as those governing leave entitlements like the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA), must be understood by them.

Termination and Layoffs: HR specialists are in charge of managing employee terminations, including any necessary layoffs or downsizing projects. They have to make sure that all termination procedures adhere to labor rules, including giving notice and paying severance when necessary.

Employee Privacy and Data Protection: When handling sensitive employee data, HR departments are in charge of protecting employee privacy and making sure that data protection rules are followed.

Union Relations: HR specialists may be involved in collective bargaining discussions, contract administration, and handling in companies where workers are members of a union.

To know "How many labour laws are there ?" click here

[gumjrop]

The Weather (according to Wastewater)

SARS-CoV-2 levels in wastewater are being reported by Biobot again as they file an appeal with the CDC. For now, we will use the map below from WastewaterSCAN, another source for wastewater surveillance. One quarter of the nation’s wastewater testing sites remain shut down while the appeal is being processed, creating an overall gap in data reliability that we could continue to experience for several months to come. We anticipate releasing another COVID map depicting transmission levels developed by the People’s CDC in the coming weeks. According to WastewaterSCAN, nationally, COVID wastewater levels are at medium while the Northeast, Midwest, and the South are high since their last update from October 31, 2023. Across the US, COVID wastewater levels are at 239.7 Pepper mild mottle virus (PMMoV) Normalized on October 31, 2023, down from a peak of 430.5 PMMoV Normalized on August 28, 2023, but slightly up from 201.8 PMMoV Normalized on October 18, 2023. PMMoV normalization differs from how Biobot normalizes data, so the raw numbers are not directly comparable with Biobot’s.

Wins

On October 27-29, #namingthelost hosted a memorial at St Mark’s Church in-the-Bowery in NYC in order to name, honor, and mourn the individuals that we have lost and continue to lose due to COVID and COVID-related complications. On their homepage, #namingthelost states “We know it didn’t have to be this way, that our country’s leaders made choices that risked our lives. We know we can choose a different way forward that is about caring for all of us.”

Hospitalizations and Deaths

New weekly hospitalizations associated with COVID have stopped dropping, staying at a constant of over 15,000 hospitalizations for the past three weeks including the week of October 28, 2023. According to the CDC’s COVID Data Tracker, there have been another 4,000 reported deaths from COVID in the past month of October. We mourn these 4,000 individuals as this is not “normal.” A reminder that the lives and livelihoods of everyone in our entire society continue to remain at stake. Do not lower your standards as many in society, especially those in the business sector, normalize this ongoing atrocity as they demand for a return to on-site work even though most people prefer the option of remote work. Continue to demand layers of protection such as high-quality masking, ventilation, filtration, and testing, in all settings to prevent ongoing COVID infections, hospitalizations, Long COVID, and death.

Vaccines and Treatment

Do not wait to get an updated COVID vaccine for those 6 months and older! Multiple options are available including Pfizer, Moderna, or Novavax. Access continues to be challenging especially for those with certain health insurance plans or who are uninsured. Lack of interest and access difficulties have likely all contributed to a low uptake of only 3.5% of Americans receiving the most recent and updated COVID vaccine. The Bridge Access program ensures no-cost access and you can find a location as determined by the federal government, but be sure to call ahead and ask to ensure local participation. Similarly, federal funding for COVID treatment options, such as Paxlovid and Lagevrio, have transitioned from the federal government to health insurance plans on November 1, 2023. Individuals with Medicare or Medicaid will have access through the end of 2024 and those uninsured will have access at least through the end of 2028 via the federal government, but limited information has been provided. Test to Treat locations continue to provide no-cost access to those without insurance while Pfizer’s Patient Assistance Program can also provide no-cost access to Paxlovid (Nirmatrelvir–Ritonavir). If your health insurance plan does not cover COVID treatments such as Paxlovid, you can participate in the Co-Pay Savings Programs offered by Pfizer, which drops the cost out-of-pocket down to 140 dollars.

Long COVID

The scientific understanding of Long COVID continues to grow with a recent study demonstrating that viral persistence may potentially affect some individuals resulting in Long COVID. However, another study that compared Long COVID outcomes among patients who received Paxlovid at the Veterans Health System did not observe lower rates of Long COVID after treatment. A guaranteed treatment for Long COVID remains to be determined while the primary approach in avoiding this is to employ layers of protection such as consistently using a high quality mask or respirator in order to lower the risk, ultimately preventing a COVID infection.

Take Action

HICPAC, the federal committee that advises the CDC and DHHS on infection control practices in healthcare, met on November 2-3 and voted on draft documents, which continue to fail to protect patients and healthcare workers from COVID infections. We provided a nationwide virtual space to protest the CDC HIPCAC meeting on Thursday, November 2nd. Multiple members of the People’s CDC were recognized to provide public comments to members of HICPAC during the meeting. We also submitted the following official statement this week as our comment. We provide instructions and asked you to also submit a comment to them using our recommendations in response to their terrible decision via email to HICPAC@CDC.GOV by 11:59 pm on Monday, November 6th to include in their meeting minutes (date has passed). The next steps of their process will include the publication of draft documents in the Federal Register, which can be reviewed and commented on by the general public. Lastly, local groups are a primary opportunity to impact your community. Get involved locally and join a local group.

[dionyrtal]

Hello 💌

I am currently planning to apply for USA. I made a list of places to apply but I do not know which one of them would be the best option for me as each of them requires fee. Do you mind if I sent you the list so that you can share your opinions amd suggestions with me? Thank you 🦢🤍

i'd have loved to but again, due to privacy reasons i cannot. but if you already have a list, that's a great start! what i would recommend to find the best option for you: 1) check out the professors and their research areas. for example, i'm interested in trauma studies and the gothic genre so i tried to find professors who worked in/adjacent to these areas.

2) look at their funding details: will they provide housing, health insurance, etc? even if the website says "fully-funded," the funding may not cover everything and you may have to pay for certain things and fees.

3) where the university is located. will you feel good/safe in a small college town even if you don't drive or have a car currently? do you like big cities better?

4) depending on your answer, look at the cost of living prices of that place online and compare it with the funding the school offers. will you be able to live at least decently?

5) does the school have a good support network for international students? check out if they have international student services/offices. it might give you an idea about how much support you'll get once you arrive to the US and have to deal with SO MUCH paperwork (taxes, getting an SSN, etc.)

6) that might affect your decision so i'm just going to write it: does it matter to you if you live in a red (republican) or blue (democrat) state?

7) look at the current students and alumni, they usually put them on the department's website. you can e-mail them if you have any specific questions about the program and what the alumni is currently doing (are they getting their PhD working in a nonprofit or corporate setting, or something else?) it might also give you a sense of how large your cohort will be.

8) check out admission requirements and whether they offer fee waiver. when i was applying, i couldn't get a waiver (usually not offered to international students i'm afraid) but it doesn't hurt to send emails and ask.

i hope this helps and best of luck to you! it can be a stressful process (yes, even just applying) so be gentle with your self <3

[champstorymedia]

Choosing the Best Insurance Coverage: A Guide to Your Options

Introduction: When it comes to protecting yourself, your loved ones, and your assets, having the right insurance coverage is essential. With so many options available, choosing the best insurance coverage can be overwhelming. This comprehensive guide will help you navigate the complexities of insurance policies and make informed decisions to ensure you have the right coverage for your unique…

[haemey]

Ask game my lovely mutual:

Falafel, Bentley, Alpha Centauri

(I had to recite these over and over in my head like a spell so I wouldnt forget them by the time I got to your inbox)

And now I shall have to do the same when I go back to the post to see what they mean... thanks for asking :D

Buckle up, this is a long one

Falafel - a thought I can never seem to outrun.

For me, that would be just your basic, everyday, run-of-the-mill existential dread. I just finished my studies at university and I don't have a job lined up this season. My executive dysfunction makes it hard to send out applications. And there's a bunch of other stuff I need to think of - get my own health insurance (not US, thank someone), find some students to get some money in, figure out how taxes work as a freelance musician and vocal teacher, find an agent, register as unemployed, etc. It's a lot. And all of it is stuff that shouldn't be too difficult. It's a bunch of small, relatively easy tasks. But I just can't seem to get myself to do them. Meanwhile, time is passing and the little voice in my head that goes "are you sure you're cut out for this job?" is getting louder. It's not exactly impostor syndrome - I know I'm good enough. It's more just me listening to the bullies in my own mind.

What a cheerful note to start on! Yay!

Bentley - my most prized possession.

This is a difficult one. In terms of most expensive, it's probably my e-piano. It's almost a decade and a half old by now, but it's still really good, even compared to the ones on the market now. It cost almost 2.5k€ when it was new. I didn't buy it myself, though - it was a gift from someone who wanted to support my plans to become a singer. Which is kind of crazy.

When it comes to emotional value, it's more difficult to say. I'm a bit of a hoarder and I have a hard time letting go of stuff, but I'm also not super attached to anything? Maybe the necklace my sister gave me for my birthday. It's a tiny heart-shaped pendant with an opal in it. The stone is from my late grandma's wedding ring. It had two, and my sister had both of them made into necklaces, one for me and one for her.

Alpha Centauri - where do I run off to when it feels like the end of the world?

Honestly, my bed. I tend to hole up and hibernate when things get tough. Which isn't the best strategy to deal with stress, especially when said stress comes from things needing to be done. I used to flee into games like Animal Crossing or Breath of the Wild, but I'm kind of burnt out from those. So now, it's tea, my beloved plushie I've had for like 18 years, a bunch of pillows, and fanfiction, until my mom calls and tells me to come home for the weekend. She has a weird talent for calling when I least want her to (which is to say when I actually most need her to)... and then I tell her I'll see if I can make it, because I have so much stuff to do (which is usually true, becaude I've let it build up), and of course I make the time, and I go to her place for the weekend, and I still won't feel good, but it's a little better.

Aaaand now I'm crying. PMS at 2:30am be hitting hard, yo

Was that too much information?

Sorry, not sorry

Damn, you really picked the heavy ones forst, huh 😅

[teknah]

Antares rolls up with a fake moustache glued onto his helmet. "Different anon here. How's the overtime pay? Health benefits? Dental?"

"I give ya the cartoonish burlap sack with a dollar sign on it and a bunch of cash inside-- and you figure that out yourself, wiseguy!"

Direlash was lying. He'd at least advised goons towards directories where they could compare insurance plans. And failing that, there were some clinics (veterinarians too, like in the movies) where they'd offer discreet treatment.

Unfortunately, for those insurance plans discounts were probably not commonplace as they were with companies that serviced government or corporate organizations. Direlash provided Antares his cut of the proceeds from a recent job, and tried to send him on his way.

"Now scram."

[thelonesomequeen]

Will it cost you $56,000 for an uncomplicated birth with a maternal mortality rate of 39%? Asking for an American woman 🦎//

Obviously not comparable to a birth (I don't have kids), but I was admitted to the hospital with a stubborn pneumonia, and stayed for six days. Got a chest x-ray, a bunch of blood tests, enough antibiotics to drown a horse, a single room while they investigated whether or not the antibiotics diarrhea was something infectious, and of course food etc.

I paid $6 (or the equivalent) for the continued course of antibiotics when I left.

That's it. They removed my IV, double checked I had my prescription, and sent me home to rest in my own bed. I felt like a thief in the night when I just walked out, but that was it. No bills, no worrying about where the money was going to come from.

I'm obviously not in the US. I'm not going to claim that my country's health care system is perfect, but it's a damn sight better than the US.

That’s so much healthcare for basically nothing in cost 😭 I’m definitely jealous. I have better health insurance now, but at my last job it was AWFUL coverage. The last time I had a sinus infection and strep throat it cost me $450 to visit the walk in clinic where I was seen by a nurse practitioner, not a doctor (and this is no hate towards nurse practitioners at all, they know a lot and help a lot of people. I’m just pointing out the price of the situation and how it doesn’t even get you a doctor’s care). The antibiotic I needed was an additional $77 and the steroids they prescribed were $94. And that’s all on top of a monthly health insurance payment that comes directly out of my paycheck. $621 at the end of the day and for something more on the minor side (meaning a curable, temporary illness. Not something constant and chronic like heart disease, cancer, or diabetes, etc.). It just makes me sick that other countries have figured it out and the United States can’t. Well. I guess I should say won’t because the greedy companies control the politicians via payouts and they all only care about lining their own pockets and getting rich instead of putting together an affordable healthcare plan millions of people would benefit from. 🦎

I’ll get off my soapbox now 😂

[liberty-barnes]

went down a rabbithole of discourse to see what people mean when they say they don't like the wedding and well

let me ask you this:

do you not the like this plotline because it's "poor writing" (even though it was literally planned from the start, ie rafael knowing) or you do not like it because it shows that carlos isn't a saint with minimal, "cute" flaws, here to help tk get better?

do you not like iris or are you villainising her because she's "getting in the way of your ship" and doesn’t act in a neurotypical way, or in what you're "used to" seeing from neurodivergent characters?

really think about these cause i think you might figure some things out.

now i haven't made it a secret that i'm liking this plotline, but i'm not just gonna call out one side without explaining mine, that would just be unfair, so here are my full thoughts now that ep2 is out

i love this plotline because it's an opportunity to delve into carlos' character development, which when compared to tk, we haven't had much. like sure, they've been a couple and stuff but apart from the jealousy with connor and the issue with his parents, what have we really learned about carlos? compared to all the development we've had from tk, carlos at times felt very much like a tool for tk to move forward, because the character himself still had such limited growth opportunities

now the marriage plotline is his time to shine. i recently reblogged a post where it was mentioned that tk came full circle in the first 3 seasons, starting with a failed proposal and ending with a successful one, so i think that tk at this point is okay to take a secondary, and just overall less dramatic approach to his character development. because we've seen him go through the big things. now it's carlos' turn to do like a pokemon and evolve.

we get to see the full scope of his anxiety, internalised homophobia, and saviour complex.

it's already a huge step that he talked to tk about it before he took care of the divorce. people with anxiety disorders (it's me hi i'm people) can tell you that bringing up a problem without having a solution is next to inconceivable. we feel like we always need to have solutions for our problems and if we don't, then people can't know about them. so the fact that carlos trusted tk enough to tell him (albeit after being "forced" to by andrea) tells you a lot about just how much he cares. and we also got the opportunity of seeing tk's growth because he didn't take it personally, didn't think this was against him, he understood that this was carlos' own problems and just like carlos helped him deal with his issues, tk's gonna help him deal with this.

it also shows just how far carlos' internalised homophobia went, and shows that even though most of it wasn't on screen, he's done amazing progress. the conversation on the couch is a testament to that growth, to him realising he wasn't broken at all. it's also a great way to show internalised homophobia, because it's something that most queer people go through, especially at the beginning, and i think it's beautiful to show that no matter how much time passes or how many mistakes you make, the important part of it is that you found yourself, the rest can be taken care of later.

and of course, his saviour complex. we saw it when he let the bank robber go, we saw it when he broke down because he felt like he failed tk by not having enough fire extinguishers to protect him, and we see it now by him staying married to iris for the health insurance. abd not going to see her because in some way, he feels like he failed her. maybe he should have noticed her illness sooner, or he should have been there with michelle from the start, but he didn't know what to do or what to say so he just didn't go. which again, if you have an anxiety disorder, you can relate. sometimes when things feel too hard or we don't have a set plan for everything that's gonna happen, or we make it harder than it is in our minds, we just don't go. speaking from experience, i ghosted my therapist for a year cause i forgot to call in sick for one appointment and thought she would judge me so i didn't go back. that's just how much anxiety can affect you, and for carlos, this is his "monster", this marriage is the thing that he desperately wants to fix but doesn't know how, finds too complicated, so he's stuck where he is because he's just not able to fix it.

and it's amazing to see how much tk gives him strength, the trust they share, and how carlos found his motivation in tk. that's love and from one anxious person to another, i'm really proud of carlos

now as for iris, i love her, i really do. she shows a mental illness that we don't always see, and normalises the fact that even after being medicated, neurodivergent people aren’t just suddenly gonna be "fixed". she's saner with her medication but we see how she finds it hard to communicate because her brain just works differently. when can see during her talk of an annulment, she thought she was being obvious the whole time, and it was only after tk asked for an explanation that she realised she needed to express this better. she doesn't mean her questions maliciously (ie carlos warning tk beforehand and being ready to step in if it got too much while also trusting that his fiancé can hold his own), she just has questions and asks them. she asks them because she's curious, because she's worried about carlos, because she wants to know more about tk. she doesn't have that little voice in her head telling her that her questions can be taken the wrong way.

and the part everyone's mad about, with her calling tk carlos' life's work. she didn't say it to insult tk, she didn't say it because she thinks he doesn't deserve carlos, she said it because in her mind it proves how perfect they are for each other. "always needs a project" + "can be his life's work" = soulmates. and idk if i understood that because i'm neurodivergent or because whatever else, but it made sense in my brain, i get her.

and ofc, it's a great opening to show off tarlos' ability to communicate with each other and both their individual and joint growth.

now for the fact that they can't get an annulment, i'm honestly not sure that was the plan at all, it might have been brought in just for the symbolism and after realising they can't do it, they'll have to stick with divorce. i don't know, i'm hapoy to let the writers surprise me and then pick apart and analyse the story as it comes.

and for the fact that iris is now missing, again, don't have many thoughts about it right now other than i think she went looking for the woman at the care center that she talked about when tk first got there, bc that comment felt too pointed not to become a plot point. but again, i'll hold any thoughts until after the episode air.

i see so many people getting stuck on what could happen, and what was "seen coming" etc, but honestly, just trust the writers. we know it will end in a wedding, ronen and rafael trust the writers fully, and that's good enough for me you know. i'm not gonna stress about what "could happen" in a tv show, i do that enough irl. i'm just gonna enjoy the ride.

so yeah that was me

[chromorbid]

venting, cw for medical + TMI + menses-related bs

I always felt lucky that I didn't have the same problems as other people with PCOS. my periods were normal except when they weren't. The pain only lasted a couple days or so. the amount of time I spent bleeding was average, even though it was a lot. but I couldn't function in my daily life, and every time I had my period was like I was taking so many steps backwards in my mental health recovery. I didn't want to have more cysts develop and burst either, rendering me unable to function for weeks. I needed it to end.

cue the magic of the minipill. sure my acne got way worse, but at least I wasn't bleeding anymore. at least I wasn't in pain anymore. I even managed to achieve a somewhat more normal body weight, when I always had trouble getting above 100 before. thank fucking god for planned parenthood California, who gave me a years supply for free every checkup without insurance. there was some trial and error with other medications afterwards, and I had to keep track of what triggered my period when I wasn't supposed to be having it. quack doctors who didn't know what they were prescribing, usually. sometimes stress triggers it. sometimes drinking alcohol triggers it. the wrong dairy product. wheat.

I moved to Texas and didn't have a refill ready--the local PP prescribed a different brand, and it cost $112 for six months' worth. it didn't do its job like the other one, but they didn't have my original brand. I found that the one I used to take could be acquired through the PP Direct app, but it's $75 for 3 months' worth. so I've been taking that.

I had a lifestyle change when I moved out of my parents' place. I'm asexual, but still have a sex drive and bought some celebratory sex toys (and have friends who are cool and gifted me stuff too). it turns out that when I use them regularly--you know, that way many people with vaginas do?--that apparently is enough to trigger my period.

I expected that it would probably be the way my period usually is while on this medication: light and spotty, maybe a little bit of cramping here and there. but for the second month, that apparently is not the case. I've never had this much period pain in my LIFE. it can only be compared to my first cyst burst in 2011. I thought I had appendicitis, and if that was the case I probably would have died from it because I sat in urgent care for two and a half fucking hours in agony. the pain eventually went down while there and I learned the appointment alone without insurance was going to cost $180 we didn't have. I gave up and left, gambling with my own life. fortunately all it did was leave me unable to walk for two weeks. I didn't get Actual Appendicitis until 2020. so now I know for sure that what's happening now isn't that.

so. this fucking sucks. I've been in pain for an entire week. I haven't had this much fresh blood leave my body since before i started taking this pill 9 years ago. I'm pretty sure it's made me anemic again. and I cannot FUCKING function without three times the suggested dose of ibuprofen and a heating pad. and I cannot see a doctor until the New Year. I've had the pain hit me so badly I felt like I was gonna faint several times. there's a Christmas party everyone is attending soon tonight and I don't think I can even get up to dress myself.

it's like I'm being punished for getting more comfortable with my body. how is anybody supposed to have a sex life this way? would the other functions of the minipill fail if I was sexually active with other people? fucking Christ.

even though I live in Virginia now, I can't get an appointment with PP. they don't take my insurance. I don't know what to fucking do anymore.

edit oh yeah, I wonder how bad this would be if I WASN'T taking the minipill....... probably worse????? jfc.