#some really disturbing stuff hidden away from the public and so that’s why it became lost media

[withmytailtotheworld]

I lowkey want to make a yo-kai watch horror project that’s just centered around the robot yo-kais like robonyan for example :33…

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John (the Apostle) | Everything I Hold Dear | Romantic

Dialogue prompt: “Why didn’t you tell me before?! I could’ve helped you.”

Requested: Yes

When John finds out you’ve hidden your illness from him, he is rightfully upset, especially since you know the One who can heal you.

You jerk awake with a gasp for air, sweat beading on your forehead. With fingers digging into the covers, you look to check if you’ve accidentally roused any of your friends, but Mary and Ramah are still sound asleep, with Tamar rolling over in minor disturbance before snuggling back into the furs she’s draped over herself. How she stays alive under all these layers of searing hot pelts is beyond you.

Another jolt of pain – the first one was the one that woke you up – surges through your lower abdomen, towards your right side. You grit your teeth, fighting the groan that threatens to spill from your throat. You swallow it and it redirects itself into a pained snort, and it shunts to your leg. 

It has started to grow worse over the past weeks. First, it was nothing but an annoying, deep, warm pain, close to the kind of hurt you go through when menstruating, albeit lower. Gradually, you became less capable of swallowing it away and it took longer and longer to fade, until the point your face paled and a fever seemed to claw its way through your system whenever you suffered through it. 

Of course, you have considered heading over to Jesus to ask if He could heal you, but you don’t want to be a bother. You keep it from your husband, John, in order to not worry him and to prevent him from trying to convince you to go to Jesus anyway.

After a few minutes of huffing, you lay back down with a sigh, draping an arm over your clammy forehead whilst pushing off the covers. Sleep does not take you again.

You lay awake for hours until dawn sheds the tent in rays of sunlight, rousing your friends. The women wake and look well rested, setting out to their daily duties. You follow in their actions, knowing that no matter how hard you try, there is no way you’ll fall asleep anymore. 

“How did you sleep?” Tamar asks out of politeness, and you force a smile onto your face. 

“Pretty well, thank you. How about yourself?”

She knits her brow in worry. “Are you sure? There is barely any colour on your cheeks.” With the back of your hand, you feel at it. 

“Really? Oh… I’m fine.”

Unconvinced, Tamar sighs.

“Well, if you insist. My rest was good.’

Breakfast is served and you find your significant other talking to his brother. John smiles as soon as he sets an eye on you and wraps an arm around your hip, pulling you against him.

“Hello, my lovely wife,” he greets, “It still feels so wonderful to be able to say that, by the way.”

You smile and kiss his cheek. “Hello, husband. Yes, it’s unbelievable. Have we been married for four months already? Time flies!”

James huffs a breath after putting his spoon back into his now-empty bowl. “Well, I hope that overtime you two will get less clingy in public. Listening to John gush about you all the time during our fishing trips was bad enough as is. Now that you’re finally married, you can keep that stuff behind closed doors, no?”

John rolls his eyes at his big brother and gives you a sweet look. “For the record, we’re on the road right now and as much as I would like to have a private tent with my lovely (Y/n) right now, some things are a luxury we can’t afford. Once we are back in Capernaum, however, I hope we’ll get to keep your nose out of our business.” You giggle as John brushes his lips against your temple, which in turn makes James gag in a theatrical manner.

Everyone packs up and you help by rolling up mats and tucking utensils into their assigned baskets and bags. With so many sets of hands, you finish quickly.

On the road again, you find a spot in between Nathanael and Matthew for a while, with John speaking to Jesus in front of you. Behind you, Andrew nearly kicks your heels with every step, a few annoyed glances over your shoulder not enough to make him aware of it.

You chat with the former architect about the project that resulted in him leaving the business, a heartbreaking story that eventually led him to Jesus. Matthew makes remarks here and there that make you chuckle to yourself, for Nathanael is often confused as to what he means. 

Luckily, Andrew eventually changes to another location in the line of followers, moving forward whereas Jesus and Simon now walk behind you. Your new partner is Philip, who is keen on informing you about whatever prophecy he believes might be tied to Jesus, and you slightly envy his knowledge of Scripture, hoping that one day you’d be able to memorise it as well as he does.

The sun stings in your face as it reaches midday. The group is walking slower now that the trek starts to take its toll, and you secretly hope that someone will suggest taking a break soon. 

“...So, that verse of Isaiah is one that truly inspires me to keep on going. Does that make sense?”

You smile and nod. “Yes, it does absolutely make s—” Your face twists in displeasure as your words are swallowed up in your small noise of pain. With your hands reaching for your lower abdomen, you grit your teeth and furrow your brow, “Absolutely makes sense,” you squeak the rest of your answer, but Philip has already noticed.

“Are you alright?” he queries, “You seem like you’re in pain.”

“I’m alright,” you say, “Just… Cramps.”

He hums. “Just that? It looks like as if–”

“–The porridge I had for first meal doesn’t really digest well,” you reassure him, “I’m fine, truly. It’ll go away.” 

Philip does not look like he believes you, but to your relief, he doesn’t press further. “Right then, where were we… Oh, yeah, I wanted to talk about Malachai.”

Despite the ache in your ankles, it takes another hour for Nathanael to complain about blisters, which brings forth the proposal of stopping for a while. You thank Philip for the new insights and head over to John, who is talking to Thaddeus and Little James, already munching on an apple he dug out of the bottom of his bag. 

“Hi love,” he murmurs, “Want a bite?” Even though it’s intimate, you bite into the fruit that he holds your way, causing the both of you to laugh. “Hm, you good?” he quizzes, “You seem a little heated.” John rubs some hair out of your face, which now makes you realise that it must have been sticking against your forehead. 

“You know how the sun sometimes gets to me,” you tell him. “Would you like to sit with me for a bit?”

He agrees to this and greets his friends before taking you over to a more secluded area, where you can sit in the shade. You nestle yourself against him, knee against his, and you share a waterskin as well as the rest of the apple. “I wonder where we’ll be tonight,” you think out loud, earning a hum of agreement from your husband. 

“Me, too. I’d love to watch the stars with you after dinner. Just you and I, no James complaining about me giving you kisses.” He wraps an arm around you and presses a sticky peck against your cheek, causing you to flush slightly. 

“I’d like that a lot,” you tell him, smiling softly.

Closing your eyes, you sit in silence for a while, listening to the birds titter around you as they sing their brightest songs to attract potential mates. The scent of persimmons in a nearby tree tickles your nose. All pain flows from your feet as you rest for a while, with the chatter of Disciples a little away, far enough for it to become a blur.

Eventually, it’s time to get up again, for the next village is nearby yet too far to walk in one go. Hoisting you to your feet, John holds onto you and kisses your forehead swiftly, his beard tickling your skin in the process. He tugs you with him to the front of the row, your hand remaining in his as you stroll down the path, kicking up dust.

“If we are lucky,” he muses, “we’ll be back in Capernaum in a fortnight or so. Can’t wait to take a short while off.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, “Spending some time alone with you is something I’ve been yearning for for a long—”

Your legs nearly give out underneath you and you don’t even realise you’ve fallen until the panicked voice of John calls your name. Hunched over, you reach for your side, overcome with terrifying agony. Gasping for air, for all of it was pushed from your lungs the moment it shunted through you, you let out a strained noise that you didn’t even know you were able to produce.

“(Y/n)!” A few other Apostles huddle around you to help you up, but soon notice that you’ve not fallen over a rock or anything of the sort, instead are victim to an all-consuming pain in your lower gut – it feels as if you’re being torn apart, as if your organs are bursting open inside of you, a red-hot ache that is so deep that you feel like tearing open your stomach with your bare hands in order to reach it.

“She’s got a fever! (Y/n)? (Y/n) can you hear me?” John’s voice is a blur and the others soon follow, for your brain cannot make up any comprehensive words anymore as they melt together in a cacophony of muffled sounds, soon drowned out by the sound of your own heart beating inside your ears. You’re alone with the indescribable pain, until Jesus comes into your field of view, and you gasp, looking at Him as He puts His hand onto your lower belly.

The second it makes contact, the pain fades immediately and you inhale sharply, stunned by what has happened. All followers are as surprised as you are and gawk at Jesus, hoping that He’d answer what had been the matter with you. 

“What–What was that?” you whisper. “I–I mean, thank you!” 

Jesus chuckles and holds out a hand to you. You gladly take it and he helps you up. At once, John wraps his arms around you, still in shock of what he witnessed. 

“It’s okay, (Y/n),” Jesus tells you, “You have been having that pain for a long time, haven’t you?”

You cast down your gaze in shame. “Ah, for a while, yes…”

John swallows, worry visible in his eyes. “You were in pain? But–Why didn’t you tell me before?! I could’ve helped you. What if that happened whilst I wasn't here, what if I had lost you?!” He is almost offended, but upon seeing your embarrassed flush, he sighs and cups your face. “Oh, darling. I… I had no idea, I’m… I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you whisper. 

Carefully, your husband catches your gaze. “My love, your wellbeing is very important to me. I could have been with you through it! And what kind of husband would I be if I—” His eyes go to Jesus, “You-You-You could have gone to our Rabbi! You have seen His miracles, right? He could have healed you if you had just asked Him!”

Jesus just smiles at the pair of you. You don’t dare to look up at Him. 

“It was not for a lack of faith, Rabbi.” you whisper. “I know you could have healed me sooner.”

“I know.”

“I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“I know.” Jesus hums. “But don’t be shy to come to me. I can handle it.”

You feel tears sting behind your eyes. “I… The others need You more. I can wait.”

“You’re important to Me, (Y/n),” Jesus says, “And so is your health. Don’t be afraid, for I will not turn away from you, my Daughter.”

“I’m sorry for not trusting it in Your hands, Lord.”

“That’s okay.” He reassures you. “But let it be a lesson for the future. You can come to both me and John if something is hurting you. You matter, too.” 

Sighing in relief, you nod. “I will do that, Rabbi.” John smiles and squeezes your hand. 

“Now,” Jesus says, “Let’s continue our journey to the next village. I’m sure that (Y/n) is exhausted and would like to spend the night at a proper inn together with her husband, hm?”

He winks, causing a flush to crawl up your cheeks. John lets out a scoff, which in turn causes his brother to burst out in laughter. 

Flustered, you take his hand and set out for the next town, delighted to be rid of your hurt and to be ensured that no matter what happens, you can always rely on both John and Jesus.

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

The Stacks - Chapter 4

Ships: Eventual logicality and prinxiety, slow burn

Summary:  In this society there is a place where the poor and unwanted are placed and kept hidden away from everyone else, where poverty and crime are a frequent and life shines for no one. Stacked up high in the sky, this is the furthest anyone living there will ever reach. When a Depression consumes the land, and the government fails to bring an end to it, society turns even further on the residents of the Stacks, accusing them for bringing the rest of them down. What no one knows, however, is that it’ll take the work of four unlikely people to not only bring an end to the poverty, but also to this inequality.

AO3 - Here

Chapter One Previous Next

The streets were desolate on the far Northeast corner of the thirteenth district, buildings haunted by the image of their previous businesses lay hollow and abandoned, closed down years ago in the early stages of the depression, before it had become nationwide. Life in the east side of the thirteenth district was quiet and empty, and the home of an old buddy of Virgil’s.

Walking to a narrow alleyway in between an old hotel and a crumbling apartment building, Virgil walked down to an outdoor basement opening, covered by flimsy wooden doors. Pulling them open, he walked down into the dimly lit space, closing the doors behind him. The room in its entirety was quite large, but was sectioned off into multiple ‘rooms’ by curtains and stacked boxes. To the left of the room was a large tunnel opening that lead into the cities underground network system that was built about one hundred and fifty years ago. Only a few number of people could find their way through the maze of the over three hundred square mile tunnels. Virgil, along with his... friend knew how to maneuver through them.

A quick scan of the room told Virgil that he was off duty at the moment, most likely in his office. The office was actually make shift hoarding room hidden by ceiling high stacks of boxes, and just as he had thought, the man he was looking for was busy with another one of his new toys.

Knocking lightly on the cardboard wall, Virgil grabbed the attention of the man at the table, making him  frantically jump up and whip a gun from its position oh his hip. When he noticed who it was a large smile grew on his face as he put the weapon away.

“Virgey! Virgey! Virge!” The man chanted in excitement, lifting the sun glasses from his face to look at him properly. Opening his arms wide, the young man, only two years older that Virgil, pulled him into a large hug. Virgil chuckled gave his back a pat before pushing him off.

“Hey, Remy.” He greeted, making the other whine.

“Really, that’s all you have to say when you haven’t come to visit in months?” Remy cried, pouting and crossing his arms.

“Sorry,” the twenty year old apologized, taking his backpack off to pull out the saw that he had found last week. “I was wondering if you had a new cord to replace the old one?”

The older man took the saw into his hands and set it down on his table under his light, lifting his sunglasses up atop his head and pulled out a magnifying glass to inspect it closer. He looked over the torn wires, taking a pair of tweezers and pliers to cut off pieces of damaged wire and, removing the rubber cover to access the clean wires. He worked on the cord for several minutes, seemingly forgetting Virgil was even there. Virgil didn’t mind though, he knew that Remy was easily taken away into his own little world when he was tinkering. That’s why he brought the saw to him in the first place, because if he couldn’t fix it, then Remy was the only one who could.

“Don’t need a new cord girl,” Remy grinned without looking up, acknowledging his presence one again. “Because… I… just… fixed it!” He cheered, holding the saw up as if it were a trophy.

“Whoa, really?” He gasped sarcastically, smirking and giving him a small nudge on the shoulder with his fist. “Knew you could do it.”

“Of course, you’re looking at the best repairman in all of Faun!” He said with a light twirl, setting the saw back down on the table, whipping his sunglasses back over his eyes dramatically. “So, sell or keep?”

“Sell, there’s no use for a saw of this caliber in clockmaking.” Virgil replied, slipping his backpack closed. He quickly discussed a price with Remy, taking out the cost of repair, before he pocketed four silver dollars, the equivalent to forty bronze dollars, which was the most he made in possible years.

Remy Darling ran the black market throughout more than a third of the city; selling stolen, illegally made, and fixed merchandise for a hefty profit. Much of the stuff he sells was fixed and made to look expensive by himself. Remy didn’t personally steal, but he did turn a blind eye to his sellers who sold him stolen items. That’s how Virgil got into business with Remy in the beginning, selling whatever he stole off of stands or from stores, and, as he grew older, from homes. Over the years, before he stopped his stealing business, Virgil learned that the market owner was not someone to get on the bad side of. His influence is the second most powerful he’s ever known, he could buy out your entire life before the end of the week. The clockmaker, and former thief, had always trodden when they first became partners, carefully wording his phrases whenever they were in the same room. Even now that they had some sort friendship Virgil was still cautious.

“So how’s your little business been?” Remy asked, pulling them out of the office and out to the common area, where a couch, radio, and small tv with a DVD player sat around the room. In all his life, Virgil had never seen so many costly electronics and luxury before in a single room. If he was to sell all of this to a different buyer, there was no question that he’d be well on his way to pay off all of his debt. Good thing he wasn’t stupid enough to double cross Remy.

“Dying quickly,” Virgil sighed, hanging his head in defeat as he fell back onto the couch, “A new law is about to pass that will be stricter over street vendors and will require a monthly check to make sure merchant’s vending license is legit. It’ll really be cracking down on my ass soon, eventually I won’t be able to sell anymore. I suggest you be careful to, It seems like the police are becoming harder on illegal businesses.”

Remy hummed in reply, ignoring his warning, and walked over to his older coffee maker as he listened, brewing the two of them a cup.

“Does this mean you’re going to go back to your old life?” He asked, leaning against the chipped-wooden counter.

“Hell no!” Virgil declared furiously before calming down, “Even if I went back to stealing, I would never work for him again.”

“Ah yes,” Remy nodded, pouring the fresh, black coffee into two mugs, handing one over to the struggling clockmaker, “How is my ex doing these days?” Remy asked leisurely, not really caring about the man in question.

“Still the same old bastard he always was,” Virgil said, sipping on the coffee, “though I try to stay as far away as I can, for as long as I can.”

“Babe, you know when he finds out you’re out of work or that you’re back at your old habits, he’s gonna call off your deal right?”

Virgil didn’t say anything for a moment, sipping slowly on his drink. He knew what would happen if he couldn’t hold up his end of the wager. He had been an idiotic and desperate teenager when he made the deal with the gang master, pleading to protect himself and his family. Now he was about to fail on his end of the bargain, proving himself wrong, and surrendering everything he had, even himself, to him. He was certain he’d be able to withstand whatever it was that waited for him, but what about the others?

“I have to get Patton and the boys out, do you think you could take them in?” Virgil pleaded, on the edge of distress.

“Sorry girl, I can’t have two children running around down here, wish I could help.” Remy raised his hands up in mock surrender. Virgil sighed, not knowing why he even asked, Remy couldn't help him even if he wanted to.

Remy’s ex, and Virgil’s former employer, was the most powerful, influential person in all of the Northern districts, if rubbed the wrong way he could destroy you and own you within a few hours. Virgil has own a debt to him since he was thirteen, and doubled it when he made a bet he was about to fail.

Virgil could try to hide the fact that he was losing his business, but as it stands, he’s the largest debtor and has eyes on him at all times. There’s no way Virgil could hide from him for long if and when his poor excuse for a business went under. All that was left for him now was to wait for the decision to become public and see whether the new law fell through, or got passed. But perhaps there was one thing he could do to help Patton if not himself.

“Hey Remy, mind doing me a favor.”

…

Patton sat on the floor of his home; peering over the pile of newspapers he usually called his bed. He looked through the issues from the past few weeks, searching the job offer sections. The options were slim pickings as per usual. Many of the jobs were in the first four districts, where it was illegal for his kind to work. The only reason he held a job in that fourth district restaurant in the first place was because he wasn’t listed as a legal employee, but with this new law coming into action, there was no way any business would hire him there.

The next list of options was from the fifth through eighth districts asking for store employees, tailors, assistant butchers, and waiters among others. There were three total openings from the ninth and tenth districts, but that was all. The rest of the city was too poor to afford an advertisement in the newspaper let alone taking on a new employee. Job offerings were so scarce for being in a city so large. The problem wasn’t directly linked to any one cause, but rather a web of closely related disturbances. Shops were being closed down, owners couldn’t afford to pay workers, and the law dictated who could work where.

Fifty years ago, around the same time the Stackers were created as an economic study, a law was put in place that said where certain classes could work and what they could work as. For stackers, they could only work in the last three districts including their own. However, currently forty-nine percent of the city’s population lived in the stacks, there weren’t enough jobs to go around, and now the law has been toughen instead of restrained.

So all in all, there was not one single place that Patton would be able to find work.Patton sighed and lay down dejectedly on the papers. The twins, Thomas and Emile, we outside the bus  playing in the dirt with to toys Patton had made them out of straw and sticks. The dolls weren’t much, but they were the only toys the boys have ever had, and it made them happy, which made Patton happy. Sitting up from his makeshift bed, Patton looked out from one of the bus’s many windows, and watched the boys play. They were playing imaginary as per usual. Thomas was a knight while Emile was an alchemist, both fighting evil monsters from swarming their castle, which was in fact the bus. This was their favorite game and they played it almost every day. It made him smile to see how children were able to still have fun and enjoy themselves, even through poverty.

However, that smile quickly faded when two large figures appeared in the distance, knocking on the doors of crates and shouting for people to come out. The boys noticed too, and stopped playing to see what was going on. Patton didn’t need to tell them to come inside; they knew what this meant themselves.

“Papa! The bullies are back!” Thomas cried as he ran up the steps from the door, Emile right on his heels. The boys knew that Patton wasn’t really their father, but he had adopted them when they were just three years old, so he was pretty much the only dad they’ve ever known.

“I know, into floor, into the floor!” Patton told them, lifting up the loose floorboard and becoming them down under. This was standard procedure every time the rent collectors came over to collect monthly sums. Often times the men would become physical with the tenants they took money from, so it was best that the boys were out of reach. Reaching into his safe, Patton pulled out the appropriate amount for the rent then put the rest back.

As he was shutting the board back over the hiding spot, Emile grabbed onto his wrist and peered up at him with scared eyes. “Be careful dad.” He pleaded. Patton forced on a smile and nodded his head, closing the door and covering the spot with newspapers. He waited nervously for them to come, listening door by door as they crept closer. Eventually they made it to his home, pounding on the glass door so hard that it cracked.

“Open up in ‘ere!” A gruff voice commanded. One of the boys whimpered from beneath, but Patton shushed him. With a large gulp of air, the scared dad made his way to the door, opening it and stumbled out.

There were two people there, one was a large man with ginger hair and long side burns, the other was an equally buff woman, shortly cut, brown hair with several scars painting her face and shoulders. They were the usual lackeys sent to pick up the cost of living in their boss’s domain, and he knew them both by name.

“Time to pay up,” Danni said menacingly, her eyes hostile, enjoying it when others cowered before her. Patton nodded shakily, holding up the required cash and coins, for Danni to count. The rolled her eyes and grumbled when she saw the coins hating when she had to deal with near worthless currency. She began to count, starting with the coins, “Ten copper, twenty copper-” When the sum reached fifty she started on the cash, “Thirt’n, fourt’n, fift’n bronze. That’s it.” She stated, pocketing the money. Patton was about to sigh in relief when she then pulled out her gun, letting it dangled in her grasp. “However, I think I should charge extra fer givin’ the boss coppers, wha’d ya think Dillon?”

Dillon pretended to ponder on that thought, twisting his knife in his fingers and he did so. “I think yer right; the boss hates gettin’ paid with copper coins.”

Patton felt his heart momentarily stop, his eyes widening in fear as he backed up until his back hit the side of the bus. “I-I don’t h-h-have any more money.” Patton squeaked, it was a lie but he couldn’t afford to lose anymore or else they wouldn’t be able to eat. “That’s a load of bullshit.” Dylan spat, “Yer the one with that fancy job up in the ferth district.”

“Yer playin’ us for fools?” Danni spat, shoving the cold metal of her gun against his forehead. Tears fell rapidly as Patton sunk to the floor in fear.

“N-no!” He cried desperately, “I was fired because of that new law! I can’t find work anymore!” His breathing ran speedily as Danni’s steel cold eyes looked over him in distrust. After a few moments of deliberation, she pulled back her gun and stood upright once more, but her gaze did not lose its bite.

“Well better start swipin’ or sellin’ ‘cause Imma gonna be back ‘ere in one week fer your ass if you don’t have the money by then, understood?”

Patton nodded avidly, still holding himself on the ground, quaking in fear as they talked to him. Seeing that their business was done there, the two left the premises, kicking up dirt into the sky as they went on to the next place.

Laying there on the ground for a while more, Patton waited for his heartbeat to slow down as he caught his breath. A few minutes passed until he was collected once more, his tears dried up and he was able to function again properly. He stood from the dirt and went back inside, closing the door behind him. Walking back towards the hiding place, Patton uncovered the floorboard and lifted it back up, revealing the two boys underneath. At first the boys backed away, afraid that they had been found, but once they saw who it was that lifted the board, the jumped out and were pulled into a hug.

“Pa, you’re okay!” Thomas cried happily, burying his face in his adoptive dad’s shoulder. Emile wasn’t as vocal as him, but was just as relieved, holding onto his waist tightly. Patton hugged them back just as fiercely, wrapping his arms around their small necks. When he had taken Thomas and Emile in he had sworn to himself that he’d do them better. Patton was weighed down constantly knowing that Virgil had grown for the most of his childhood jaded and alone, he wasn’t able to enjoy the simple pleasures and games that a child should. So, even if they were stuck in poverty, Patton had made up his mind to never let these boys see his struggle or heartache, they needed to be carefree and not burdened by his troubles.

After awhile the little group’s hug finally ended and they pulled apart. Thomas had stopped crying and seemed to have already forgotten what they were worried about. Emile on the other hand still looked concerned, but no longer scared.

“Well okay,” Patton breathed in, “It’s getting late, so why don’t you two go play while I fix up some supper.”

“Okay!” Thomas cheered and headed down to the door, hopping out to play in the dirt just as he was before. Emile followed after more slowly, eyeing his dad for a little longer. Patton simply smiled and waved as he usually did until her walked outside, once he was gone he let his smile fall again. Even though he was the younger brother, Emile was always so perspective about other people’s thoughts and feelings, he wondered if the little boys knew exactly when he was faking it sometimes.

Turning to the hole in the floor, Patton pulled out what little food he kept in there, which consisted of some partly moldy bread, a bruised banana, and a few apples. Taking out the bread and banana, he decided tonight’s dinner would be a bread and banana spread. Patton had the ability to make a meal out of almost anything he could find, it was a skill he had to pick up when his mother became sick and he had to cook for them. Picking off the mold from the bread, he got started on the small meal.

He had always found making food calming, but not tonight, right now he was much too concerned with the amount of food he had left. After today, they’d have only three apples to tie them over until who knows how long, they wouldn’t last a week.

Patton stopped in the midst of making the banana spread to turn around when the sound of the boys squealing and shouting reached his ears. Looking out to see what all the commotion was, hoping they weren’t being too rough with each other, he had instead found that the two boys were surrounding Virgil, clinging onto his arms as he spun them around.

“Virgil!” Patton smiled, for real this time, running over to envelop his oldest son in a hug.

“Hey, Patton. Cooking?”

“Not really,” He mumbled, “Just putting scrapes together.”

Virgil eyed him anxiously for a moment, pulling them aside away from the boys’ hearing radius, then asked “Still no job?” as he walked them into the bus-home. Patton shook his head in remorse.

“No, no one will take me. I can’t go nowhere outside the eleventh district no more.” Despite the damper mood, Virgil grinned a special grin, one of excitement and anticipation. Patton looked at him curiously, put off by his strange reaction. “What?”

“Well dad, I just got you a ticket outta here.” He said victoriously, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two items before handing them over. One was the newest edition of the newspaper, and the other was some form of document. “I had Remy forge you this little bad boy,” He told him, pointing to the document, “You now have a legal ID that says you’re from the sixth district, even got some papers for the boys, and that job you thought was taken is still open, now you can apply no problem!”

For a good long time Patton was silent, too busy gawking at the papers in shock to say anything. But once he got the gears in his mind ticking again, he looked back to Virgil in dismay.

“Virge, this is highly illegal!” He declared, slightly uncomfortable with what has been presented to him.

“So was working in that restaurant.” The twenty year old noted sarcastically, “Come on Pat, this place offers lodging; this is your chance to take the boys and get out!”

Patton looked down at the papers for a moment and considered what he’d be getting into. The job description said that he’d be living and working in the second district, if he was discovered the punishment would be severe. On the other hand, if he was able to pull this off not only would he be able to provide for his family, but he could even let Thomas and Emile live comfortably and get to finally be kids without constant fear and worry. Yet somehow this felt like he was cheating on Virgil, who he was never able to provide properly for.

“Are you sure about this?” Patton whispered, “We won’t be able to see you as much.”

Virgil nodded his head, “I want you and my brothers to be safe. Don’t worry about me.”

“You know that’s not possible.” Patton said half jokingly. “Okay then, I’ll take the offer.

Tag List:

@shaeshaetheravenclaw @scrapbookofsketches

[drabbletrashcan]

Payday Crossover (unfinished)

“…it seems the notorious criminal gang known as ‘Payday’ has made its return…’

Rey’s eyes widened, almost dropping the glass cup she was holding. In front of her, Claude sighed deeply as he turned the TV down, throwing the remote carelessly on the couch.

“All you ever hear about are scandals and problems. Media only care about the stuff that gets them more publicity, I guess.”

“…yeah…guess so…” Rey slowly put the cup down, heading towards the door. Claude turned towards her, raising an eyebrow.

“Babe? Where you going?”

“I, uh, forgot my laptop in the office. I’ll be right back, love.”

She closed the door behind her, leaning against the wall to support herself. Back when she was living in Romania, back when she was part of Payday, she had been caught by the authorities. But it seemed like some divine being was watching over her. She had been offered the chance to work with the police force to capture the rest of the members. It was either that or death, and honestly, she would rather live.

Unfortunately, they had managed to capture only two other members, even with her help. For some reason though, Payday had suddenly disappeared. After five years, she decided it was time to settle down and live a normal life. She always wanted a small apartment just to herself. So, she was allowed to leave. A few years later she met Claude. Rey had put her former ways behind her, blocking out the memories of her criminal days. Neither Claude nor anyone else would have to know about it. But now, she had a feeling she would be forced to revisit her past.

* 

Rey’s suspicions had been proven right a few weeks later. Flanelia was terrorized after a recent attack at the one and only First World Bank, located about 45 minutes away from the castle. It seems the gang had moved to Flanelia. Claude had been stressing all day trying to figure out a solution to this problem. Currently, he was talking to the head of the police force, trying to come up with a plan.

It was already late when Rey decided she had had enough. Slowly entering the room where Claude and Simon Verundi had talked all day, both men stopped and turned towards her.

“I can help you figure this out,” Rey said slowly, picking her words.

Claude furrowed his brow while Simon simply stared at her.

“…and how exactly could you help up, Your Majesty?” Simon asked.

“I can help you figure out where they’ll strike next and what exact moves they’ll make…” she paused and looked at Claude with a steel glance, “because I used to be a Payday member.”

Silence settled over them. Claude’s face morphed from shock to confusion to anger before looking down. Simon simply stared at her, frozen. Rey shifted uncomfortably, playing with her hands. Right now, she wished she could simply disappear. The expression on Claude’s face was enough to bring her to the brink of tears. But this was one of the few ways the situation could be handled, and it was the easiest and quickest way as well. Many lives depended on her move.

It seemed like hours before Simon finally sent her a nod, gathering his things.

“Um…thank you, Your Majesty. I wish to see you tomorrow at the station, preferably I the morning. We must…um…discuss our strategies…” he looked from her to Claude, scurrying to the door. “I’ll, uh, see myself out. Good evening.”

The door slammed shut, and immediately Rey felt that she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t dare look at her husband, suddenly becoming very interested in the rug’s design. Had it always been so intricate?

Claude threw the pen he was holding to the floor, combing through his blond hair. His eyes finally snapped to Rey and he stepped towards her, his usually warm cerulean eyes had become icy cold.

“Rey.”

“…yes?” she finally squeaked out.

“Rey, fucking look at me.”

It took every ounce of strength to gaze up at the love of her life staring down at her with such a hard glare. She crossed her arms and turned to the window.

“How long were you planning on keeping this a secret, Rey?” Claude inquired, standing still.

Rey scoffed and whirled to face him, tears threatening to spill. “Um, forever? Why would I tell you, Claude? What for? Tell me, what fucking good would it have made if I had told you?! Please, explain.”

“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me this! Don’t you trust me? You can’t keep something like this hidden away!”

“Oh, really?! Because last I checked, either I’m crazy, or I kept this shit away for the past few years! Fascinating, isn’t it, how that’s possible.” Rey turned back to the window, furiously wiping her tears. “I-I just…I just wanted to live a normal life. I wanted to put all of this bullshit behind me and start over. I never wanted to bring it up again. Funny, how the world just decides to say ‘fuck off’ and screw you over.”

Silence swept over them again. She sighed in exasperation and made for the door. Claude wrapped his hand around her wrist, pulling her to him.

“…look, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, I know. I just…was extremely shocked by the fact that…you…look, you’re right, you didn’t have to tell me. It’s a different lifetime. But…please don’t get involved in this. Please.”

Rey offered him a sad smile, bringing his large hand to her lips, placing them on his knuckles. “I’m afraid I have to. No one knows these people better than I do. The lives of your—our people depend on it.”

 *

 Claude stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her. She was wearing a uniform similar to the SWAT uniform, her hair tied up, out of the way. She was reloading a gun and speaking to Simon, going over the plan. It had been a bit over a month after Payday’s last attack and finally, they struck again. This time they had broken in one of the most renowned companies in Flanelia, even the world. Most definitely they were after the huge vault full of jewels and more money than any member could think of. The mastermind behind this: Brett, a man with so much influence and power in the crime society that it was a bit scary and an honor to work under him. Even though she had quit, Rey never ceased holding a bit of admiration for the man.

She turned, her lilac eyes meeting Claude’s gaze. She sent him a half smile, dismissing Simon and approaching her worried husband. The blond hesitantly reached for her gloved hand, placing a chaste kiss on the palm of her hand before circling her waist and capturing her lips. She cupped his face, basking in the feeling. Both of them refused to admit it, but this could very well be the last time they would see each other.

Claude pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes lovingly. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, be careful and come back safe. I will even switch tea duty for the rest of my life, please just be careful.”

“Woah there, cowboy, that’s a very important tradition you’re talking about. How could you possibly survive without me making you tea every morning?”

Claude stuck his tongue out at her, giggling.

“I swear to God, I’ll do it.”

“I’m so holding you up to that when I get back, you know.”

They slowly let go, last words of encouragement leaving Claude’s lips as Rey stepped onto the military helicopter waiting. She sent him one last kiss before putting her helmet on and slamming the doors shut.

Claude ran back to observatory room, filled with screens and radios. He could see and hear what every soldier, including Rey could, and could communicate with them. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down and not disturb the staff.

 *

 Rey eyed the building down below, her heart thundering in her chest. They were preparing to rappel down onto the rooftop and go from there. She had briefed her teammates before on what to expect and what to look for. Finally, they were in position. She took in a deep breath, stepping near the edge of the helicopter next to the other soldiers.

Jump.

Quickly unhooking the rope, she pulled out her gun, aiming in front of her. She kicked down the door and bolted down the stairs. The rest of the soldiers followed close by. The building was huge, with exactly 104 floors. It towered high above Flanelia. The vault was on the last floor. As she and the soldiers infiltrated the building, she scanned her surroundings. Far below her she could hear gunshots. They still hadn’t arrived. There were no guards around her, probably left to fight against the gang. Simon’s voice rang in her earpiece.

“Your Majesty, we managed to hack into one of their communications systems. I’ll link you right now.” There was silence for a few moments before static filled her ear. Then she heard that oh so familiar voice.

“—better tread carefully. Rey, a former Payday member, is actually queen of Flanelia. She was captured a few years ago by the authorities and somehow became one of them. Damn good heister as well. Her aim was as accu—“

“Ok, Brett, we get it. Get to the fucking point.”

“What about her, Brett?”

“Well, just be careful. It’s possible she could have spilled the beans and joined an assault team. I’m telling you just in case, so be on your toes. By the way, you’re approaching the top floor. It looks like there’s a SWAT team up there already.”

Rey and her team had reached the vault by then, searching for any movement.

“They’ll be here very soon,” she said to her team. “I want to unload on them. Shields, make sure they don’t even come close to you. Dozers, lay back until I tell you to move in.”

This was the point of no return.

She could hear faint footsteps approaching from the dim hallway leading to the vault. The team of shields created a barrier between them and the gang, leaving small spaces where one could shoot through. Taking in a deep breath, she aimed at the empty hallway, her finger on the trigger. Soon enough, her former gang rounded the corner. They still wore the ridiculous, almost mocking masks.

“Fire! Everything you’ve got!”

“Shit! Take cover guys!”

“Is that Rey?”

“Yes, so if we’re not careful, we’re fucked.”

“Damn, she that good?”

“One of the best.”

Rey smirked, continuing to fire at the wall. They had taken cover behind the concrete corner, firing blindly. Rey gave the order to advance slowly, keeping up the barrage of bullets.

“They’re moving in. Hoxton!”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

A smoke bomb landed right in front of Rey. Before she could even warn the rest, her vision was blinded by smoke. She coughed heavily, choking.

[greenfleeze]

Tranquility

Steve and Natasha enjoy their honeymoon at a secluded cabin by a lake. 

Corresponding fic to @sous-le-vernis’ Lake fanart #12 and sequel to It’s Never Too Late to Say I Love You

“Is the water cold?”

“Why don’t you stick your toe in and see?”

“Mm, I’m not falling for that one, Steve. You stick your toe in first. After all, that wonderful super soldier serum should protect you from freezing if it is cold.”

Steve gave his new wife - wife, how amazing that word sounded in his head - an innocent smile. “Ladies first.”

“That won’t work on me either, honey. I think you know it’s cold and you want to have a good laugh at my expense.”

“Aw, c'mon, Nat. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“Sure. Maybe not around our team, but when you’re with me, your mischievous side comes out and I have to watch you more carefully…”

“Fine. I’ll test the water out, but it hurts that you don’t believe me.”

She smirked. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

Steve took off his shirt - ah, she would never get tired of looking at his body - and went to the edge of the lake and waded in. After a handful of moments passed, he held a thumbs up to her. “The water is good. Not really cold, but cool. You can come in if you want.”

“Of course I’m coming in. I didn’t bring this swimsuit for nothing.”

Her husband silently agreed with her. The yellow one piece swimsuit that Natasha wore was very flattering and it made her skin glow. She looked absolutely breathtaking.

Natasha slid into the water, sighing in pleasure as it came up to her shoulders. “Oh, this feels great.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Natasha hummed and leaned her head back against his chest. “Coming to the cabin for our honeymoon was such a good idea. I love how quiet it is here.”

“Well, we had to be far away from other people. Otherwise, you’d have disturbed the peace with all of that yelling.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you being particularly quiet last night.”

“Touché,” he said with a laugh and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

“I love the fact that you bought this place to get away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It’s so nice.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? Are you kidding? I love it. As much as I’m used to the cold, I prefer being in the summer sun than freezing in the winter.”

“I second that. I hate the cold.”

Natasha understood why Steve felt that way without having to ask him why. Even though it’d been nine years since they pulled him out of the arctic, he still had a strong aversion to cold weather. She turned in his arms, facing him and kissing his lips softly. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you have me to warm you up.”

“Nat, I’m always warm around you. I wouldn’t be surprised if I broke a thermometer.”

“Mm, well, if you ever need me to play nurse…” She stroked the back of his neck and kissed him again before continuing, “just let me know.”

Steve’s pupils dilated as his wife pulled away from his arms and gave him a suggestive wink. Damn, she always knew how to work him up. “Well, seeing how hospitals are like a lucky charm for our relationship, I’d be willing to do that.”

Natasha grinned widely, remembering how they’d gotten engaged in the hospital a few months ago after she’d been shot on their dinner date. Steve wanted to talk to Natasha, but instead of wake her from her sedated sleep, Wanda helped him communicate with her by connecting his mind to hers subconsciously.

It was there that Steve and Natasha confessed their love for each other and also, became engaged. When Natasha woke up, she and Steve informed their fellow Avengers that they’d gotten engaged and the reactions had been pretty funny.

Tony thought they were joking around and demanded to see a ring, Peter got excited and hugged them both - he also told Natasha that she could be a “Mama Spider” when they had kids - Clint shared a look with Wanda and smirked - probably because he knew they’d become engaged in Natasha’s mind while everyone had been outside. Steve and Bucky argued about which one of them would be Steve’s best man.

Needless to say, it wasn’t very quiet in that hospital room after Steve and Nat made their announcement. In fact, their team raised so much ruckus that they actually got thrown out of the hospital itself. That made the day even more memorable - and hilarious.

They didn’t have to wait very long to get married, though. With help from Tony, Pepper, Maria, Wanda and even Peter, they took care of the publicity and the wedding planning itself, so within a month, Steve and Natasha were saying their vows in a lovely, private ceremony with all of their friends in attendance.

After the reception, they immediately set off to the cabin that Steve had bought several years ago after he joined the Avengers. It was a secluded place and where he’d often go when he needed a break from the superhero life. No one knew about it besides Steve and Natasha. Even though Tony had offered to send them there in his private jet, Steve kindly refused because he and Natasha wanted to get there by driving on the road.

They both enjoyed road trips and would often take them together whenever they wanted to explore and go somewhere in the states they’ve never been. Once they arrived at their destination, Natasha had piped up and became more animated than Steve had seen her before. They went on bike rides, went fishing, had several nature hikes and climbed trees in the forest behind the cabin.

Steve hadn’t felt so young and alive before in his life and it made him feel brighter to know that his wife brought that feeling out in him. It was something that he loved and would always love about her.

Natasha hummed lightly to herself and stroked Steve’s hand with her own. The peacefulness of this shared moment between them was something that she knew she would seek out with him many times in the future and cherish it like nothing else.

As much as she liked being in his arms, though, Natasha was in the mood to liven things up. “Hey, I’ll race you to the pier.”

“You want to race?”

“Yes, it’ll be so much fun!” Natasha tugged his arm, grinning.

It was kind of cute, seeing the expression on her face. Steve already knew he was going to give in just from looking at her. “Tsk, alright, but don’t get mad at me when I beat you, okay?”

“Oh, you think you’re gonna beat me?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

“Eh…well, Nat. I am stronger than you, so it’s likely that I’ll end up winning.”

The redhead raised an eyebrow at him. “How incredibly sexist of you, Steve. You think you can beat me just because I’m a woman?” She had to fight not to smile because it really was so much fun teasing him.

“Wha? No, no! That’s not what I meant!” His cheeks began to flush a bright red. “I only meant that since I have the super soldier serum and you don’t, you’d be at a disadvantage. That’s all.”

“Huh. I suppose you have a point, but let’s race first and see what the outcome is.” She waded a few more feet away from him and waited for him to position himself. Once he did, playfully rolling his eyes, she grinned again. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

“We’ll go on the count of three. One…two…three!”

They both took off immediately, swimming as quickly as they could to the other side of the lake. For normal people, it would take several minutes to reach the pier, but Steve and Natasha were both Avengers and in prime condition.

It took roughly forty-eight seconds for their race to finish and to Steve’s surprise, Natasha beat him by a hair.

“Ha!” She shouted and splashed him with water. “Who’s cocky now, Mr. Super Soldier Serum? I don’t even have it and I still beat you!”

“Yeah, yeah. You barely beat me. One second’s difference and I would have won."He sounded sulky and it just made Natasha laugh harder.

"But you didn’t!” Natasha giggled and put her arms around his shoulders, blowing air on his neck. “Say you were wrong!”

“What? No way.”

“Say it or I won’t kiss you anymore.”

“Okay, that’s cheap blackmail, Nat. Besides, we both know that you couldn’t resist staying away from me for too long.”

She reached under the water and snapped his swim shorts.

“Hey!”

“Just admit you were wrong and I’ll stop bothering you about it.” Natasha refused to let up and she nibbled Steve’s ear playfully.

“Fine! I was wrong. You were right.” The words came out in an annoyed tone, but Natasha didn’t care. Steve was very stubborn when it came to admitting defeat.

“There, now. Was that so hard?”

Steve sighed and looked up at the sun. It was covered by clouds and there was a nice cool breeze in the air. “No.”

“Now stop acting like such a baby. I’m sure there’s a lot of other things you can beat me at anyway.” Natasha pecked his ear, then she hoisted herself out of the water by placing her hands on the pier and pulling up. “I’ll go get lunch.”

That got Steve’s attention. “Lunch?”

“Yeah, I figured we’d both be hungry after a swim, so I made us some sandwiches and salad. There’s also iced tea because I know how addicted you are to that stuff and there’s lemonade, too.” She jogged to the cabin and pulled a basket out from a hidden spot near some vegetation that covered the beige coloured container.

When she came back to the pier, she sat down, letting her feet dangle in the water. “Come on. Everything is still cold because this basket has a special lining that keeps temperature for five hours. So we won’t have to worry about soggy bread or melted ice.”

Steve’s eyes widened when he saw the delicious food she began to take out of the basket. As he joined her on the pier, he said, “That was so thoughtful of you, Nat. Thank you. I am pretty hungry after that swim. Guess I should have had a heavier breakfast.”

“Heavier than four pancakes, five eggs, six pieces of bacon, six sausages, four hash browns and three pieces of toast?”

He shrugged innocently. “A growing boy’s gotta eat.”

“True, but you are definitely not a boy anymore. You’re a man.” She handed him a sandwich and he started unwrapping it.

“Oh, I’m glad you noticed,” he replied with a wink, nudging her with his elbow.

Natasha smiled and shook her head. Even though she acted like his silliness was annoying, she really did love it. Steve had really opened up and grown from the serious man she’d met on the SHIELD helicarrier all of those years ago. “Goofball.”

“But I’m your goofball.”

“You certainly are.” Natasha watched her husband take a sip of his tea and smile up at her. The wind blew his blond locks around his forehead and he looked so happy there, so content. She felt a tug in her heart the same way she did when they looked into each other’s eyes on their wedding day. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Nat?”

“Thank you…”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “You’re welcome, but for what?”

“For being such a wonderful partner and asking me out last year. I’ve been happier ever since you came into my life and if I’d known that being with you as your wife, would feel like this, I would have proposed first ages ago.”

Steve blinked in surprise. “If anyone should be grateful, it’s me. You’ve enriched my life as much as I have yours. I couldn’t imagine not having you in it.”

Tears filled Natasha’s eyes and she smiled at him as they fell past her cheek. “Oh, Steve.” She bent down to pull her husband close, pressing a loving kiss to his lips and entwining their fingers.

They stayed like that for a while, simply holding each other in a warm embrace. Eventually, they would pull apart and continue to eat their meal, but Natasha would never let go of Steve’s heart and neither he, hers. They were bound together by love and trust.

Forever.

[ohmytheon]

so...you know how in canon riza can sense homunculus despite not being xingese or a alchemist? Could you write a short au i your royai star wars universe where she can sense force things despite not being able to use it? It's a secret, but she tells Roy when she thinks she can help him with his emotion-force stuff, partly at her own expense,maybe with some kind of force bond. Some parallel to the tattoo/alchemy connection they have in canon

This is interesting! And also, any excuse to write for this Star Wars/FMA AU is one that I will gladly take. This is a companion piece to this drabble. I’ve got another request for this AU, so expect another one here soon enough. Also I apologize for this getting way out of hand; I really dove into Riza’s history, which isn’t something I normally do (but should) with her character in my AUs besides the daemon one. But also I got too interested in how Roy deals with the Force.

give me a pairing and an au and i’ll write a drabble

Riza never quite understood the strange sensations she felt while growing up. It was like the hairs on the back of her arm would stand up at attention, a tickling in the back of her mind, the sense that there was something just out of the corner of her eye and she could almost see it if she turned around slowly enough. Of course, she never saw anything. It was just the same old house, the wood creaking in the dark, the wind whispering through cracks, her alone as she washed dishes while her father was locked away in his office.

She didn’t remember the day her father realized that she wasn’t Force sensitive. She was too young to recall the memory of being tested by her father, only to fail miserably. However, she can imagine how it must’ve felt: the embarrassment creeping up on her, only to overwhelmed by shame and then disappointment. Her father’s entire life revolved around the Force and she probably fainted trying to do something as simple as move a pen a few centimeters. After that, she was pushed to the edges of her father’s life, any chance of involvement in his research gone, and she learned to do other things. Like picking up a blaster and memorizing its weight in her small hands, sneaking around the old house silently as to not disturb or alert her presence, even playing on her mother’s old VR flight simulators.

She became someone else that could live outside of the Force, but it didn’t make her feel any better and it didn’t make her father pay more attention to her.

The strange sensations never went away, but became a part of her normal life. She figured it had something to do with living in such close proximity of someone that used the Force so often. Every now and then, she wondered why her father had never been picked up as a Jedi, back when they existed not so long ago, but she supposed that she should be grateful. She probably wouldn’t have been born or her father would’ve been killed when Order 66 was initiated and Jedi throughout the galaxy were eliminated.

By the time her father took on an apprentice of sorts, a boy close to her age who apparently had been cursed with being Force sensitive in a time when being such a thing was dangerous, that those odd feelings became more noticeable. Roy didn’t have the same tendency to hide the Force from Riza like her father did. Instead Roy would use it casually, pulling a book off the top shelf or twirling a pen in the air. She couldn’t tell whether he did it to impress her or genuinely didn’t think about it. The only reason she thought it was the former was because he was careful to not use the Force whenever her father was around.

The number one rule was that Roy was to not use the Force in public, especially in front of people that were not anywhere near Force sensitive. That included his teacher’s young daughter. But she could tell that Roy felt sullen when he was forced to suppress his natural abilities. It was like dimming a light or muffling a sound. The colors of the world faded the longer and harder he shoved his Force sensitivity into a locked box and did his best to ignore it.

Sometimes, after Roy came to stay with them, she would go weeks without something tickling in the back of her mind – and then, out of nowhere, it would come to her. It was months before she realized what it was and she found herself wondering how it had taken her this long to figure it out. Somehow, some way, even though it had been proven on multiple occasions that Riza was not Force sensitive, she could feel it through others. She could sense its use. She knew when Roy was using the Force. Even worse, it wasn’t just that tickling, strange sensation, but a pull, like it was dragging her towards him or maybe the Force itself.

She didn’t know what to think of it – in fact, it scared her at first – so she said nothing. The times when Roy used the Force became fewer and farther in between, but the few times he did, she would look up sharply and know exactly where he was in the house even if he wasn’t using it. By then, it had been almost four years since her father had last used the Force, to the point where sometimes she forgot that he was Force sensitive. Near the end of Roy’s time with then, it had been near eight months since his own last use of the Force. He was getting a lot better at shutting it out, ignoring the temptation, perhaps pretending that it didn’t exist. She wasn’t quite sure what went on in the lessons between Master and apprentice, as she was largely kept out, and as close as they were, she could not bring herself to ask Roy questions about it. All she knew was that it made him sad, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

So she kept quiet and maintained her distance. She let her heart break when Roy told her that he was leaving to join the Rebellion and allowed it to turn to steal when he left one morning. The sensation that she could feel something more – be something more – was gone. She hadn’t known how much the Force had played such an integral part of her life until it was missing from it. She watched her father turn even colder and wither away. She watched Storm Troopers invade her home town and harass her neighbors for information and said nothing.

And when their time finally arrived, all she could do was stand in horror when she came home to find Storm Troopers aiming blaster rifles at her father. There was no tingling, warning sensation of the Force when the Imperial soldiers shot him down for refusing to tell him where his research was hidden. Her father had not tried to use the Force in an attempt to save himself; he was too far gone from it. When the Troopers turned on her, she could only confess that she knew nothing; she wasn’t Force sensitive; she was worthless. And so she stayed silent and they left her to watch as they torched the house.

She was still rummaging through the burnt wreckage when Roy came, his ship appearing in the horizon and landing just twenty feet away from what used to be her home. With a hand held over her eyes to shield them from the sun, she watched as Roy clambered out of the ship and staggered towards her, his eyes wide with shock and face lined with grief.

“Riza,” he gasped, like the faint wisps of smoke was choking him, “when I heard what was happening here–” His eyes roamed over the remains of her home, the place where the two of them had met and grown up together, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “I came as soon as I could.”

It was not soon enough, but she didn’t have to tell him for him to know that. She wasn’t the kind of person that rubbed salt in the wound. That was Roy’s specialty when he was feeling particularly vicious and upset. He would’ve done it now to anyone that wasn’t her. She noticed, without saying anything about it, that the jacket he was wearing bore the symbol of the Rebel Alliance on the sleeve. The ship was likely one of theirs as well; she couldn’t imagine that they had just let him come here to see her on a whim. Had he commandeered the ship or come up with a plausible excuse?

She still hadn’t spoken a word, just stood there and watched him process the scene. Later, she would recognize it as shock. She was disassociating. He would never fault her for it or bring it up.

And then Roy turned away from her, hands clenched into fists at his sides, eyes screwed shut, nostrils flaring as he bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed and she could feel it. The sensation was so overwhelmingly powerful, so painfully acute, that she almost stumbled.

“Roy–” Riza took a sharp intake of breath. She wasn’t sure if he heard her or not. Either way, he didn’t stop. Jagged, burnt pieces of wood began to crack even further under the pressure, pieces of concrete rumbled underneath and around them, and Riza suddenly realized that Roy’s Force sensitivity was much stronger than she had ever imagined it could be. It had been years since she’d been able to detect a hint of the Force, but nothing like this.

It sung of life, but it was tinted by grief and rage. Riza didn’t know a lot about the Force, but she knew that it was dangerous to channel when feeling strong emotions. It was why her father had slowly stopped using it after her mother’s death. It led to terrible, dark paths. It led to horror and pain. It made her think of all the things she was bottling up and afraid to let loose. She could’ve laughed at the irony. What was she hiding it for? She wasn’t the one that could destroy things by simply losing control of her emotions.

Riza stepped through the trembling debris and placed a hand on his shoulder. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that she could feel the Force radiating off of him somehow. It probably didn’t work that way, but she thought– It didn’t matter. He needed to put an end to this. “Roy,” she said, “you need to stop.” His head dropped and she could feel his desire to lash out. “It’s too much. You need to stop. You can’t channel the Force when you’re like this. You know that. Take a breath. Come back to me.”

The Force didn’t vanish like it normally did; it slowly drained out of him, like a creak, until his shoulders were slumped and his arms dangled. All the fight in him was gone, replaced by the guilt that he’d been trying to hide from. She knew it; she felt it too.

“I’m sorry; I–” Roy swallowed. “I should’ve been here. I shouldn’t have left you. It made you…vulnerable.”

“Better that you left,” Riza had to admit, “or you would’ve likely been killed or taken captive.” He turned to face her, a wounded look on his face. She touched his face with her fingertips. It was soft. He’d always had such a boyish face. Without the anger, he just looked very sad. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I haven’t…” He moved his head and she pulled her hand away. She couldn’t tell if he’d done it because the touch was too much or not enough. Even now, it was hard to tell with him. “I haven’t used the Force in a very long time. I’ve been so good. But it’s…it’s hard, you know. Even after so many years, it comes naturally and I have to fight it every time. It just makes me–”

“Feel alive?” Riza smiled. “I understand. Truth be told, I missed it.”

“You…missed it?” Roy furrowed his brow and stepped closer to her. “Riza, you’re not–?”

Riza shook her head. “No, I’m not Force sensitive, but I…” How to put into words the strange feelings she’d had all her life but had never been able to understand? Nothing felt adequate now over the ashes of her past, especially not when it had been over a year since she had last seen Roy and even longer since she’d felt it. “I can feel it – the Force – when it’s being used. I lived with it all my life; I didn’t understand. But then you came along and I just knew.”

“Did your father know?” Roy asked. She shook her head again. “Does anyone know?”

“No, I never told anyone,” Riza replied, “except for you just now.”

“Why?”

Riza looked him in the eyes. “Because I trust you.” She could pick out the precise moment when Roy decided to never leave her again. That hadn’t been her intentions at all, but she thought perhaps he had just been looking for an excuse to ask her to join him. He didn’t need one, of course. She had nowhere else to go. Joining the Rebellion only made sense. “Would you like to see what the Storm Troopers killed my father over?”

“His research.” Roy searched her eyes. “I thought–”

“My father was a paranoid man, but he wasn’t always wrong,” Riza pointed out. “He never kept his research at home. Too risky. And so he did the only thing he believed no one else would think of: entrust the whereabouts of his research on the Force to his daughter who isn’t Force sensitive and therefore above suspicion. Only I know where it is.” She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. It seemed impossible that it could be cold here, but she felt like shivering under the intensity of Roy’s gaze. “And you’re the only one I’d trust with it. I thought, well– Maybe it can help you. This struggle with the Force, it’s never going away, is it? It’s a part of you.”

“Yes,” Roy breathed.

“If it can help you – if it can help the Rebellion – I want you to have it.”

A guarded expression came over Roy’s face, like he was trying to hide from her. Was he wary? Was he fearful? Did he not want her to know how much he wanted it? He didn’t have to hide that from her. She knew now that the Force would always be with him. “Riza…”

She took his hands. “Please. It’s yours. I can do nothing with it. All I can do is tell when someone is using the Force and that isn’t very helpful at all.”

“It would be to me,” Roy said, “I mean, to help me, you know, keep it under wraps.”

She knew what he was asking without him actually saying it. She knew that he was trying not to sound eager, but she could see it in his eyes. He was still the boy she had grown up with, wanting to save the galaxy. She also knew the inherent dangers and temptations that lied in her father’s Force research. She knew the mechanics of the Force, but not the reality of it. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of a struggle it truly was for Roy and how much of a face he put on for everyone, even her. But if this could help him, if she could help him, she would choose this path.

The stars began to appear above them as the sun set. All she could go was up.

[nancygduarteus]

How Two Common Medications Became One $455 Million Specialty Pill

Everything happened so fast as I walked out of the doctor’s exam room. I was tucking in my shirt and wondering if I’d asked all my questions about my injured shoulder when one of the doctor’s assistants handed me two small boxes of pills.

“These will hold you over until your prescription arrives in the mail,” she said, pointing to the drug samples.

Strange, I thought to myself, the doctor didn’t mention giving me any drugs.

I must have looked puzzled because she tried to reassure me.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It won’t cost you any more than $10.”

I was glad whatever was coming wouldn’t break my budget, but I didn’t understand why I needed the drugs in the first place. And why wasn’t I picking them up at my local CVS?

At first I shrugged it off. This had been my first visit with an orthopedic specialist, and he, Dr. Mohnish Ramani, hadn’t been the chatty type. He’d barely said a word as he examined me, tugging my arm this way and bending it that way before rotating it behind my back. The pain made me squirm and yelp, but he knew what he was doing. He promptly diagnosed me with frozen shoulder, a debilitating inflammation of the shoulder capsule.

But back to the drugs. As an investigative reporter who has covered health care for more than a decade, the interaction was just the sort of thing to pique my interest. One thing I’ve learned is that almost nothing in medicine—especially brand-name drugs—is ever really a deal. When I got home, I looked up the drug: Vimovo.

The drug has been controversial, to say the least. Vimovo was created using two readily and cheaply available generic, or over-the-counter, medicines: naproxen, also known by the brand name Aleve, and esomeprazole magnesium, also known as Nexium. The Aleve handles your pain, and the Nexium helps with the upset stomach that’s sometimes caused by the pain reliever. So what’s the key selling point of this new “convenience drug”? It’s easier to take one pill than two.

But only a minority of patients get an upset stomach, and there was no indication I’d be one of them. Did I even need the Nexium component?

Of course I also did the math. You can walk into your local drugstore and buy a month’s supply of Aleve and Nexium for about $40. For Vimovo, the pharmacy billed my insurance company $3,252. This doesn’t mean the drug company ultimately gets paid that much. The pharmaceutical world is rife with rebates and side deals—all designed to elbow ahead of the competition. But apparently the price of convenience comes at a steep mark-up.

Think about it another way. Say you want to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day for a month. You could buy a big jar of peanut butter and a jar of grape jelly for less than 10 bucks. Or you could buy some of that stuff where they combine the peanut butter and grape jelly into the same jar. Smucker’s makes it. It’s called Goober. Except in this scenario, instead of its usual $3.50 price tag, Smucker’s is charging $565 for the jar of Goober.

So if Vimovo is the Goober of drugs, then why have Americans been spending so much on it? My insurance company, smartly, rejected the pharmacy’s claim. But I knew Vimovo’s makers weren’t wooing doctors like mine for nothing. So I looked up the annual reports for the Ireland-based company, Horizon Pharma, which makes Vimovo. Since 2014, Vimovo’s net sales have been more than $455 million. That means a lot of insurers are paying way more than they should for their Goober.

And Vimovo wasn’t Horizon’s only such drug. It has brought in an additional $465 million in net sales from Duexis, a similar convenience drug that combines ibuprofen and famotidine, aka Advil and Pepsid.

This year I have been documenting the kind of waste in the health-care system that’s not typically tracked. Americans pay more for health care than anyone else in the world, and experts estimate that the U.S. system wastes hundreds of billions of dollars a year. In recent months I’ve looked at what hospitals throw away and how nursing homes flush or toss out hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of usable medicine every year. We all pay for this waste, through lower wages and higher premiums, deductibles, and out-of-pocket costs. There doesn’t seem to be an end in sight—I just got a notice that my premiums may be increasing by another 12 percent next year.

With Vimovo, it seemed I stumbled on another waste stream: overpriced drugs whose actual costs are hidden from doctors and patients. In the case of Horizon, the brazenness of its approach was even more astounding because it had previously been called out in media reports and in a 2016 congressional hearing on out-of-control drug prices.

Health-care economists also were wise to it.

“It’s a scam,” said Devon Herrick, a health-care economist with the National Center for Policy Analysis. “It is just a way to gouge insurance companies or employer health-care plans.”

Unsurprisingly, Horizon says the high price is justified. In fact, the drug maker wrote in an email, “The price of Vimovo is based on the value it brings to patients.”

Thousands of patients die and suffer injuries every year, the company said, because of gastric complications from naproxen and other non-steroid anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs). Providing pain relief and stomach protection in a single pill makes it more likely patients will be protected from complications, it said.

And Horizon stressed Vimovo is a “special formulation” of Aleve and Nexium, so it’s not the same as taking the two separately. But several experts said that’s a scientific distinction that doesn’t make a therapeutic difference. “I would take the two medications from the drugstore in a heartbeat—therapeutically it makes sense,” said Michael Fossler, a pharmacist and clinical pharmacologist who is chair of the public-policy committee for the American College of Clinical Pharmacology. “What you’re paying for with [Vimovo] is the convenience. But it does seem awful pricey for that.”

Public outrage is boiling over when it comes to high drug prices, leading the media and lawmakers to scold pharmaceutical companies. You’d think a regulator would monitor this, but the Food and Drug Administration told me they are only authorized to review new drugs for safety and effectiveness, not prices. “Prices are set by manufacturers and distributors,” the FDA said in a statement.

Horizon acquired Vimovo in November 2013 from the global pharmaceutical giant AstraZeneca. Horizon knew it faced challenges trying to get top dollar for inexpensive ingredients. “Use of these therapies separately in generic form may be cheaper,” it said in its 2013 report to investors. But the company executed a shrewd strategy to give everyone—insurers, patients, doctors, and pharmacies— the incentive to use Vimovo. It’s instructive to review its playbook.

To get Vimovo covered, Horizon made deals with insurance payers and pharmacy benefit managers — the intermediaries who help determine which drugs get reimbursed. The contracts generally included special rebates and even administrative fees for these intermediaries, the Horizon reports said, so the drug maker got paid much less than the sticker price, though it wouldn’t say how much. But the company’s net sales show the deals worked.

Horizon put boots on the ground to get the prescriptions rolling, expanding its sales force by the hundreds and focusing its marketing and sales efforts on doctors who already liked to prescribe brand-name drugs. The company’s message to doctors emphasized the convenience of prescribing the two ingredients in a single pill and that the single pill protected patients by making it more likely they would take their medication as directed.

Horizon also primed the medical community by giving donations totaling $101,000 to the American Gastroenterology Association, a specialty nonprofit for physicians. Some doctors refuse drug-industry money, if only to at least avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest. ProPublica has done loads of stories showing why doctors taking money is indeed problematic, including one about drug makers’ influence on physician specialty groups. When I went on the American Gastroenterology Association’s website, the first thing I saw was a pop-up ad from a drug company. Several of the association’s board members have received drug-company money, too. Horizon has made clear in its annual reports that donations to the group “help physicians and patients better understand and manage” the risks of pain relievers causing gastric problems.

Horizon also zeroed in on patients’ worries about drug costs. To encourage them to fill their prescriptions, Horizon covered all or most of their out-of-pocket costs. That’s why my doctor’s office could promise me I wouldn’t spend too much for my Vimovo. The program, Horizon told investors in reports, addressed the impact of pharmacies switching to less expensive alternatives and could “mitigate” the effect of payers searching for cheaper alternatives.

The strategy worked on me. I didn’t even know why I was getting the prescription, but when they told me it wouldn’t cost more than I would spend on lunch with a friend, I gave it the okay. A pharmacy I’d never heard of sent me a bottle of Vimovo for $10, even though my insurance company rejected the claim.

Turns out paying the patient’s costs motivated my doctor, too. I waited until the end of my next visit to bring up Vimovo, and then we had a follow-up conversation on the phone. Ramani didn’t know the price of the drug and found it “disturbing” when I told him. That was a surprise to me, but not to him. He said he leaves billing to his staff and doesn’t even know how much he gets paid for a lot of the procedures he performs, let alone how much insurers are being charged for drugs. The marketing arms of companies like Horizon must count on this sort of blindness.

Ramani doesn’t receive money or gifts from Horizon. (I confirmed this on ProPublica’s Dollars for Docs website, which lists drug-company payments). He said he likes Vimovo because Horizon covers the patient’s out-of-pocket costs, entirely in many cases. Prescribing the generics or over-the-counter medications separately would actually cost more, he said. Which of course is exactly the company’s plan. But Ramani agreed that the high cost of the drug to insurers ultimately raises overall health-care costs for all Americans.

Knowing Vimovo’s price, I asked him if he would continue to prescribe it. “It changes my thought process,” he said. “But at the end of the day, I have to think about the patient and whether the patient will be able to pay out of pocket or not.”

Ramani said the Horizon drug rep told him Vimovo prescriptions had to go through a particular pharmacy for the patient to receive financial assistance. In its 2016 annual report, Horizon wrote that prescriptions for its drugs might not be filled by certain pharmacies because of insurance-company exclusions, co-payment requirements, or incentives to use lower-priced alternatives. So that’s why they didn’t give me the option of picking up my pills at my neighborhood drugstore.

Instead, my Vimovo was mailed to me from White Oak Pharmacy in Nutley, New Jersey, which is about 45 minutes from my house. I drove there to find out why. The neighborhood pharmacy is on the bottom floor of a two-story brick building on a street corner, next to a hair salon.

Vishal Chhabria, the pharmacist who owns White Oak, told me the drug company sets the price of Vimovo. He insisted his pharmacy has no special relationship or contract with Horizon. Maybe the drug company steers prescriptions his way, he said, because his pharmacy will process the coupons that reduce or eliminate the patient costs, which some pharmacies don’t.

Chhabria said there is no approved generic alternative to Vimovo, so he can’t suggest one to patients. And while other drugs, like over-the-counter medications, would be cheaper for the health system overall, they are more expensive for the individual patient, he said.

In poring through Horizon’s financial filings, it appears the drug’s run may be ending. Horizon said in its report for the first quarter of 2017 that fewer insurance companies have been willing to cover Vimovo and many that do have demanded larger rebates. As a result, Horizon has been eating more of the costs of providing the drug to patients, as they must have in my case. The prescriptions have still been coming in, but net sales were just under $5 million in the first quarter of this year, down 81 percent from the first quarter of 2016.

Critics of Vimovo say that’s still more than patients should be spending on the drug. “That number should be zero,” said Linda Cahn, an attorney who advises corporations, unions, and other payers to help reduce their costs. “If you want to talk about waste, that’s waste.”

Herrick, the health-care economist, said Horizon cashed in by eliminating many of the barriers in the system that are meant to control costs. The company got patients on board by covering their out-of-pocket costs. It appealed to doctors by promoting the benefits to patients. And it did an end-run around chain pharmacies, which typically might suggest a lower-priced alternative, by steering prescriptions to pharmacists who would participate in their patient-assistance program.

“Somebody brainstormed: ‘How can we nullify any consumer check and balance in this supply chain? What can we do to keep the customer from asking questions?’” Herrick said.

The scheme that played out with Vimovo is bound to happen again, Herrick said. Maybe it already is. Drug companies are always on the lookout to deploy similar strategies.

I dutifully took my Vimovo for several days, until I noticed it kept me awake until 3 in the morning—a rare side effect. (Perhaps they need to add a third drug to the combo.) I probably have more than 50 pills left in the bottle on my bedside table. Maybe I could sell it back to Horizon for $1,500.

Help Marshall Allen and ProPublica investigate wasted health-care dollars by sharing examples you’ve seen.

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2017/06/how-two-common-medications-became-one-455-million-specialty-pill/530808/?utm_source=feed

[ionecoffman]

How Two Common Medications Became One $455 Million Specialty Pill

Everything happened so fast as I walked out of the doctor’s exam room. I was tucking in my shirt and wondering if I’d asked all my questions about my injured shoulder when one of the doctor’s assistants handed me two small boxes of pills.

“These will hold you over until your prescription arrives in the mail,” she said, pointing to the drug samples.

Strange, I thought to myself, the doctor didn’t mention giving me any drugs.

I must have looked puzzled because she tried to reassure me.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It won’t cost you any more than $10.”

I was glad whatever was coming wouldn’t break my budget, but I didn’t understand why I needed the drugs in the first place. And why wasn’t I picking them up at my local CVS?

At first I shrugged it off. This had been my first visit with an orthopedic specialist, and he, Dr. Mohnish Ramani, hadn’t been the chatty type. He’d barely said a word as he examined me, tugging my arm this way and bending it that way before rotating it behind my back. The pain made me squirm and yelp, but he knew what he was doing. He promptly diagnosed me with frozen shoulder, a debilitating inflammation of the shoulder capsule.

But back to the drugs. As an investigative reporter who has covered health care for more than a decade, the interaction was just the sort of thing to pique my interest. One thing I’ve learned is that almost nothing in medicine—especially brand-name drugs—is ever really a deal. When I got home, I looked up the drug: Vimovo.

The drug has been controversial, to say the least. Vimovo was created using two readily and cheaply available generic, or over-the-counter, medicines: naproxen, also known by the brand name Aleve, and esomeprazole magnesium, also known as Nexium. The Aleve handles your pain, and the Nexium helps with the upset stomach that’s sometimes caused by the pain reliever. So what’s the key selling point of this new “convenience drug”? It’s easier to take one pill than two.

But only a minority of patients get an upset stomach, and there was no indication I’d be one of them. Did I even need the Nexium component?

Of course I also did the math. You can walk into your local drugstore and buy a month’s supply of Aleve and Nexium for about $40. For Vimovo, the pharmacy billed my insurance company $3,252. This doesn’t mean the drug company ultimately gets paid that much. The pharmaceutical world is rife with rebates and side deals—all designed to elbow ahead of the competition. But apparently the price of convenience comes at a steep mark-up.

Think about it another way. Say you want to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day for a month. You could buy a big jar of peanut butter and a jar of grape jelly for less than 10 bucks. Or you could buy some of that stuff where they combine the peanut butter and grape jelly into the same jar. Smucker’s makes it. It’s called Goober. Except in this scenario, instead of its usual $3.50 price tag, Smucker’s is charging $565 for the jar of Goober.

So if Vimovo is the Goober of drugs, then why have Americans been spending so much on it? My insurance company, smartly, rejected the pharmacy’s claim. But I knew Vimovo’s makers weren’t wooing doctors like mine for nothing. So I looked up the annual reports for the Ireland-based company, Horizon Pharma, which makes Vimovo. Since 2014, Vimovo’s net sales have been more than $455 million. That means a lot of insurers are paying way more than they should for their Goober.

And Vimovo wasn’t Horizon’s only such drug. It has brought in an additional $465 million in net sales from Duexis, a similar convenience drug that combines ibuprofen and famotidine, aka Advil and Pepsid.

This year I have been documenting the kind of waste in the health-care system that’s not typically tracked. Americans pay more for health care than anyone else in the world, and experts estimate that the U.S. system wastes hundreds of billions of dollars a year. In recent months I’ve looked at what hospitals throw away and how nursing homes flush or toss out hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of usable medicine every year. We all pay for this waste, through lower wages and higher premiums, deductibles, and out-of-pocket costs. There doesn’t seem to be an end in sight—I just got a notice that my premiums may be increasing by another 12 percent next year.

With Vimovo, it seemed I stumbled on another waste stream: overpriced drugs whose actual costs are hidden from doctors and patients. In the case of Horizon, the brazenness of its approach was even more astounding because it had previously been called out in media reports and in a 2016 congressional hearing on out-of-control drug prices.

Health-care economists also were wise to it.

“It’s a scam,” said Devon Herrick, a health-care economist with the National Center for Policy Analysis. “It is just a way to gouge insurance companies or employer health-care plans.”

Unsurprisingly, Horizon says the high price is justified. In fact, the drug maker wrote in an email, “The price of Vimovo is based on the value it brings to patients.”

Thousands of patients die and suffer injuries every year, the company said, because of gastric complications from naproxen and other non-steroid anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs). Providing pain relief and stomach protection in a single pill makes it more likely patients will be protected from complications, it said.

And Horizon stressed Vimovo is a “special formulation” of Aleve and Nexium, so it’s not the same as taking the two separately. But several experts said that’s a scientific distinction that doesn’t make a therapeutic difference. “I would take the two medications from the drugstore in a heartbeat—therapeutically it makes sense,” said Michael Fossler, a pharmacist and clinical pharmacologist who is chair of the public-policy committee for the American College of Clinical Pharmacology. “What you’re paying for with [Vimovo] is the convenience. But it does seem awful pricey for that.”

Public outrage is boiling over when it comes to high drug prices, leading the media and lawmakers to scold pharmaceutical companies. You’d think a regulator would monitor this, but the Food and Drug Administration told me they are only authorized to review new drugs for safety and effectiveness, not prices. “Prices are set by manufacturers and distributors,” the FDA said in a statement.

Horizon acquired Vimovo in November 2013 from the global pharmaceutical giant AstraZeneca. Horizon knew it faced challenges trying to get top dollar for inexpensive ingredients. “Use of these therapies separately in generic form may be cheaper,” it said in its 2013 report to investors. But the company executed a shrewd strategy to give everyone—insurers, patients, doctors, and pharmacies— the incentive to use Vimovo. It’s instructive to review its playbook.

To get Vimovo covered, Horizon made deals with insurance payers and pharmacy benefit managers — the intermediaries who help determine which drugs get reimbursed. The contracts generally included special rebates and even administrative fees for these intermediaries, the Horizon reports said, so the drug maker got paid much less than the sticker price, though it wouldn’t say how much. But the company’s net sales show the deals worked.

Horizon put boots on the ground to get the prescriptions rolling, expanding its sales force by the hundreds and focusing its marketing and sales efforts on doctors who already liked to prescribe brand-name drugs. The company’s message to doctors emphasized the convenience of prescribing the two ingredients in a single pill and that the single pill protected patients by making it more likely they would take their medication as directed.

Horizon also primed the medical community by giving donations totaling $101,000 to the American Gastroenterology Association, a specialty nonprofit for physicians. Some doctors refuse drug-industry money, if only to at least avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest. ProPublica has done loads of stories showing why doctors taking money is indeed problematic, including one about drug makers’ influence on physician specialty groups. When I went on the American Gastroenterology Association’s website, the first thing I saw was a pop-up ad from a drug company. Several of the association’s board members have received drug-company money, too. Horizon has made clear in its annual reports that donations to the group “help physicians and patients better understand and manage” the risks of pain relievers causing gastric problems.

Horizon also zeroed in on patients’ worries about drug costs. To encourage them to fill their prescriptions, Horizon covered all or most of their out-of-pocket costs. That’s why my doctor’s office could promise me I wouldn’t spend too much for my Vimovo. The program, Horizon told investors in reports, addressed the impact of pharmacies switching to less expensive alternatives and could “mitigate” the effect of payers searching for cheaper alternatives.

The strategy worked on me. I didn’t even know why I was getting the prescription, but when they told me it wouldn’t cost more than I would spend on lunch with a friend, I gave it the okay. A pharmacy I’d never heard of sent me a bottle of Vimovo for $10, even though my insurance company rejected the claim.

Turns out paying the patient’s costs motivated my doctor, too. I waited until the end of my next visit to bring up Vimovo, and then we had a follow-up conversation on the phone. Ramani didn’t know the price of the drug and found it “disturbing” when I told him. That was a surprise to me, but not to him. He said he leaves billing to his staff and doesn’t even know how much he gets paid for a lot of the procedures he performs, let alone how much insurers are being charged for drugs. The marketing arms of companies like Horizon must count on this sort of blindness.

Ramani doesn’t receive money or gifts from Horizon. (I confirmed this on ProPublica’s Dollars for Docs website, which lists drug-company payments). He said he likes Vimovo because Horizon covers the patient’s out-of-pocket costs, entirely in many cases. Prescribing the generics or over-the-counter medications separately would actually cost more, he said. Which of course is exactly the company’s plan. But Ramani agreed that the high cost of the drug to insurers ultimately raises overall health-care costs for all Americans.

Knowing Vimovo’s price, I asked him if he would continue to prescribe it. “It changes my thought process,” he said. “But at the end of the day, I have to think about the patient and whether the patient will be able to pay out of pocket or not.”

Ramani said the Horizon drug rep told him Vimovo prescriptions had to go through a particular pharmacy for the patient to receive financial assistance. In its 2016 annual report, Horizon wrote that prescriptions for its drugs might not be filled by certain pharmacies because of insurance-company exclusions, co-payment requirements, or incentives to use lower-priced alternatives. So that’s why they didn’t give me the option of picking up my pills at my neighborhood drugstore.

Instead, my Vimovo was mailed to me from White Oak Pharmacy in Nutley, New Jersey, which is about 45 minutes from my house. I drove there to find out why. The neighborhood pharmacy is on the bottom floor of a two-story brick building on a street corner, next to a hair salon.

Vishal Chhabria, the pharmacist who owns White Oak, told me the drug company sets the price of Vimovo. He insisted his pharmacy has no special relationship or contract with Horizon. Maybe the drug company steers prescriptions his way, he said, because his pharmacy will process the coupons that reduce or eliminate the patient costs, which some pharmacies don’t.

Chhabria said there is no approved generic alternative to Vimovo, so he can’t suggest one to patients. And while other drugs, like over-the-counter medications, would be cheaper for the health system overall, they are more expensive for the individual patient, he said.

In poring through Horizon’s financial filings, it appears the drug’s run may be ending. Horizon said in its report for the first quarter of 2017 that fewer insurance companies have been willing to cover Vimovo and many that do have demanded larger rebates. As a result, Horizon has been eating more of the costs of providing the drug to patients, as they must have in my case. The prescriptions have still been coming in, but net sales were just under $5 million in the first quarter of this year, down 81 percent from the first quarter of 2016.

Critics of Vimovo say that’s still more than patients should be spending on the drug. “That number should be zero,” said Linda Cahn, an attorney who advises corporations, unions, and other payers to help reduce their costs. “If you want to talk about waste, that’s waste.”

Herrick, the health-care economist, said Horizon cashed in by eliminating many of the barriers in the system that are meant to control costs. The company got patients on board by covering their out-of-pocket costs. It appealed to doctors by promoting the benefits to patients. And it did an end-run around chain pharmacies, which typically might suggest a lower-priced alternative, by steering prescriptions to pharmacists who would participate in their patient-assistance program.

“Somebody brainstormed: ‘How can we nullify any consumer check and balance in this supply chain? What can we do to keep the customer from asking questions?’” Herrick said.

The scheme that played out with Vimovo is bound to happen again, Herrick said. Maybe it already is. Drug companies are always on the lookout to deploy similar strategies.

I dutifully took my Vimovo for several days, until I noticed it kept me awake until 3 in the morning—a rare side effect. (Perhaps they need to add a third drug to the combo.) I probably have more than 50 pills left in the bottle on my bedside table. Maybe I could sell it back to Horizon for $1,500.

Help Marshall Allen and ProPublica investigate wasted health-care dollars by sharing examples you’ve seen.

Article source here:The Atlantic

[theculturalevolution]

2016:  The Year in Review

by David

What a MISERABLE year!   What a God forsaken year, both politically and personally.   And 2017 doesn’t look any better, at least in terms of public life, and likely a lot worse.  I barely want to discuss it.  Why add my thoughts to the many words already expended on this public farce?  We’ve been in touch with some of life’s truisms:  that we don’t always get what we want no matter how much we want it, that the world is not fair or even reasonable, and that life ends.  But this year of public and private tragedy has been mitigated foremost by my family and friends, and, secondarily by the loving and healing world of pop culture.  It’s times like these when we need our cultural lives, and the implied communities those interests provide us.  

But this has also been the year when the time/space continuum imploded for me, pop culturally speaking.  I mean that my consumption of the stuff I write about became largely unmoored by any sense of temporality.  I watched and listened and read stuff with little sense of when it was produced.  One can, of course, do that now with streaming.  It is a funny way to consume pop culture given that the essence of pop culture is its nowness and its symbiotic relationship to the present.  I know, however, that given the collapse of time/space I (and, I assume, everyone) am in an eternal, solipsistic and existential now.  We all create our own pop universes and live in our own independent popular culture.  I know that because I still don’t believe that Donald Trump is President. That fact shocks me every morning when I read the news. We create our own communities virtual or actual, listen to our own facts and have difficulty comprehending a world unlike our own.   Where is that former standard arbiter of popular taste – the water cooler moment – when we work from home or drink bottled water at our own cubicles.  I was at a gathering recently, talking about TV and no one else knew the shows others were presenting as their own personal current faves.

D. Trump/A. Baboon

Anyway, sometimes life sucks, but much of the time it doesn’t. So in this new, strange, fragmented world I want to present what was culturally significant to me in 2016.  

D. Trump/A. Baldwin

Given the rent in the time-space continuum, the first item of business has got to be the movies I missed in 2015 but caught up with in 2016, and thought noteworthy. 

Sicario – beautifully directed, slick and tense, morally ambiguous, with some character and plot inconsistencies. 45 Years – the best of this lot, a luminous and quiet film about relationships.  Though notice went to Charlotte Ramplings’ vibrant performance, I was bowled over by Tom Courtney’s vulnerable and transparent acting.  A great film.  

45 Years

Me and Earl and the Dying Girl – better than you think.   Diary of a Teenage Girl – more disturbing than you think.   Brooklyn – subtle and sweet. I saw this in the same weekend as the Revenant and my head nearly exploded negotiating the extreme chick/dude movie dichotomy.   The Martian – Golden Globe for best comedy????  Huh?  It was, however, fun to watch. Straight Outta Compton – certainly not on the level of the best films, but enlightening and energetic. The Revanent – beautiful, long and gruesome.  What was the point, again?   Room – creates its own world like it’s supposed to.   Bridge of Spies – It’s not the time for my Spielberg discussion, but FINE, and I mean that as a compliment here.   Carol – so that’s what the 50s were about.

The most culturally significant addition to my social media arsenal:   Instagram (i.e. the only addition to my social media arsenal):  When I wrote poetry I would apprehend my world through snippets of language I gathered in my head.  Now I see the world through discrete visual stimuli, and I have a community to share them with.  A whole new reality, and another way that my caring daughter has shepherded me into this brave new world.    

Best Concert:  Ghost Light Radio Show at The Big Chill Cantina in Rehoboth. Sometimes the best band in the world is your neighbor’s cover band playing for a crowd at an open air beach bar on a beautiful summer night:   “Maggie May”, “Copperhead Road”, “Interstate Love Song”, “What I Like About You”, “Thinkin’ Out Loud” and tons more songs that sound great with beer.

GLRS

TV: Glittering Prizes – 70’s British series about friends from Cambridge University that I finally caught up with forty years later.  What an unusual, touching, intelligent pleasure.  

Veep – binged this one.  The joy of invective, hatred, self interest and wild profanity!  Politics as humiliation!  The delight of pure id!  Julia Louis-Dreyfus offers one of the all-time greatest female comedy performances, fearless in her full embrace of the characters’ substantial flaws. Unlikeableness reaches new levels. This series was absurdly hilarious and outlandish when Obama was President,  and now is devastating and nightmarish with Trump.  In a surreal moment I watched the final episode about transfer of power the night before the inauguration.  Arghhhhhhhhhh!

JL-D/Veep

Fargo – The first season explores the nature of evil in the world.  Stunning and dark.  

  Red Oaks – Endearing coming of age Amazon show set in the 80s in a New Jersey country club.  Top notch directors and two mensch actors in Richard Kind and Richard Mazur (in a bit role).  Like Philip Roth in setting and theme, if not in tone or quality.

  John Oliver and Bill Maher – how else to stay informed?

Modern Family - Still....

Blackish- preachy but wacky.

Movies: Moonlight – lovely, powerful and transfixing, the most worthwhile film of the year. Both this film and the other best film, Manchester by the Sea, are characterized by their examination of emotional constraint, and by their deep and specific sense of place: the ocean is key in each film.  

Moonlight

Manchester by the Sea – I just loved this sad, upliftingly depressing movie about how things happen that can never be made right.  Kenneth Lonergin has a distinct voice (see You Can Count on Me – another favorite of mine) Casey’s performance was specific and heartbreaking.  Extra points for Kyle Chandler and his FLN connection.  

Manchester by the Sea

Hell or High Water – excellent modern Western with traditional Western atmosphere of bleakness and destiny.  It portrays  a desolate, marginalized population who would rather support a bank robber than a bank, and sheds light on those who embrace Trump.  Jeff Bridges is, as always, fantastic. Arrival – abstract, metaphysical and poetic sci fi about language, communication and time.  A really unusual popular movie. Great Amy Adams. American Honey – teenage wasteland.  Is that Shia LaBoef acting like James Franco?  Captain Fantastic – intriguingly ambivalent.  Plaudits to Viggo Mortensen. A Bigger Splash – slick and sensual thriller where one character talks too much and one is silent.  Memorable Ralph Fiennes and Tilda Swinton.

                                                       *****

Hidden Figures – movie of the week template elevated by sterling execution and good intentions.  Usually good intentions are a negative for me, but this corny thing gets away with them.  Sully – Tom Hanks used to do swagger; now he excels in anxiety.

Love and Friendship – Jane Austen film without the usual stick up its ass.   La La Land – meta without irony.  I experienced this as a film about the issues in making a movie musical in 2016:  I thought it was quite cerebral.  I really did not get the heartwarming stuff.  And Ryan Gosling?  He was so cool and edgy in Half Nelson, an amazing performance.  When did he become so stiff?  Is it the cost of his working out?   Florence Foster Jenkins – better than you think Sing Street – charming and goofy.  Also better than you thought it would be,  especially for this afficianado of teen comedies and music.   Loving --  reserved and moving.  Another film that got away with good intentions. Fences – Great play, too stagey, too bloviating.  

Sasha Lane/American Honey

MUSIC Music from here, there and everywhere entered (and re-entered) my world this year.  

Josh Ritter – Sermon on the Rocks: When I heard these songs on WXPN this year, they just popped, especially “Birds of the Meadow” which always made me take note.  

“Sunshine Superman”:  The vastly underrated purveyor of the terminally hippy dippy, Donovan, wrote and sang this 60’s single of pure joy.  One of the things that makes Donovan so special is the inventive arrangements of his songs.  Just listen to the baseline.  And the same sunshine that “came softly through my window today” in this song was evident to Joni Mitchell who saw “the sun through yellow curtain lace” on her “Chelsea Morning,” and to the Vaselines “and the sun shines in the bedroom when you play” in “Son of a Gun,” two other songs of unadulterated hedonism.   Let’s also remember another single,  Donovan’s purest expression of hippy mindlessness and flower power, “Atlantis,” which always brings a smile I can’t wipe off my face no matter how hard I try. Performing “Atlantis” on TV in the 60s, midpoint through the song, Donovan whispered “Hail Atlantis” in his most wispy voice, and then stood up in his white Nehru gown, and started throwing blossoms. You gotta believe the 60s were sweet!  For Donovan’s tart musical antidote to this treacle, listen to the bad vibes made manifest in his “Season of the Witch.”  In fact, the entire Sunshine Superman album is well worth the listen.  If you like it, try Mellow Yellow next.  

Donovan

“Autumn Sweater”:  Yo La Tengo:  oh! Yo La Tengo! I’ve been loving their quiet covers album Stuff Like That There from 2015 all 2016, read a decent book about them, and been listening to their other albums, most notably I Hear Two Hearts Beating as One from whence comes “Autumn Sweater”:  Minimal sound, trance-like sensual beat, mysterious, obsessive lyrics, whispered vocal.  Over their long career, this band bit off a piece of Velvet Underground, added a dollop of 60s trash, and built the little band that could (how mixed is that metaphor?): has it been 30 years now of regularly released, lovely soft/ harsh excellent music?

Yo La Tengo

“Falling Rain”:  trance-like folk rock cover from Karl Blau that lasts 10 minutes but only seems like 6 minutes.  Loved it every time I heard it. 

  American Band by Drive-by Truckers –They play churning, passionate classic two (or three) guitar rock that splits the difference between those rivals Neil Young and Lynard Skynard, with sharper politics than either (but more limited melodic gifts.)  They’ve maintained consistently empathic songwriting for over 20 years and 11 studio albums, and, deeply affected by the current political turmoil going on in the USA, this piece may be their best yet.  From Treyvon Martin to Robin Williams.  Words of wisdom:  “Killing’s been the bullet’s business”; “You don’t see too many white kids lying bleeding in the street.”  

You Want it Darker -- Leonard Cohen: I don’t have to go through the list of those major music artists we’ve lost this year.  Though Bowie and Prince are undeniably giants, the two whose loss affected me most deeply are Merle Haggard and this man who left his profound, clear-eyed, stirring goodbye note.  It completed his extraordinary and singular life work, and listening to it is heartbreaking.  An earlier song by L. Cohen I’ve always loved is his epic about “Joan of Arc,” a stately waltz, making manifest his major theme: the confluence of sex, death and spirit.  This final album is its epitome. I treasure the three times I was able to see him perform.  

L.Cohen “You’ve Lost that Loving Feeling”:  This song, that never really left, re-entered my consciousness through a radio interview and a book passage this year.  I loved it when I first heard it: I remember responding to its deep, echoed sound of profound sadness in November of 1964.  I’ve been thinking about what 13-year-old me made of its message of romantic despair and loss.   I realized that this song did not chiefly resonate with feelings of sadness I already had; it instead taught me one way of how to be sad in love that I took with me and held deeply.  I learned how to be depressed in a bad relationship from this song.  Art doesn’t only resound with our prior feelings, it provides emotional education.  

“Cigarettes and Alcohol” – Oasis: tuff “Bang a Gong (Get it On)” remake.

Patti Smith sings “A Hard Rain is Gonna Fall” at Bob Dylan’s Nobel Prize induction:  Dylan is great; since 1964 he’s been my hero; I adore him. One could make a case for Greatest Songwriter Ever!  He clearly extended the range of song to include literary influence -- Beat and Surrealist poetry chiefly -- like no one ever has done -- (I’ll have to check that statement out with my Classical Music friends.)  But I experience some melancholy at the choice because his victory denies the prize to my favorite contemporary writer, the richly deserving Philip Roth.  They are not going to award this to another American Jew for decades.  Patti’s genuine emotional presence and humility at the ceremony along with the songs current relevance add layers of complexity to this whole Nobel process. Incredible performance and incredible song. Hail, hail Bob, Patti and Philip!

  Books: Tess of the D’Urberville—a classic is a classic because it amazes.

Thomas Hardy

The Anatomy of a Song by Marc Myers -- Taken from his column for The Wall Street Journal, 45 songs from Lawdy Miss Clawdy to Losing My Religion are discussed through interviews with creators about how each song got to be.  Tidbits about songwriting inspiration are less interesting than the production details, but most of these allow you to hear the song in a new way, and to get some neat factoids.  I found it compulsively readable and it has stuck with me more than some of the other music books I read this year.  Fun! 

Taras Bulba – Gogol.  Yes, Taras Bulba.  Explains Putin (and Trump)

After Dark by Haruki Murakami -- elegant exploration of mediated reality.  Lovely in its unity of time. 

Last Night by James Salter -- Sharply written, stunning stories about adultery.

The Ghost Writer and Exit Ghost – Roth at his best.  Extraordinary complexity, passion and humor in two short page turners -- a book and its sequel -- separated by almost 30 years.   They book end Zuckerman’s story, and offer a prelude to Roth’s retirement. What tremendous place do these contemplative and impulsive men -- Nathan Zuckerman, Rabbit Angstrom (see John Updike) and Frank Bascomb (see Richard Ford) -- occupy in our time.

P. Roth