#tiny medical bill for tiny people

[drhubrisworm]

I print itemized bills for my job but there were 3 that printed to be 1 inch,,, so I'm gonna make a custom envelope for this medical bill for ants for the bit.

[ms-demeanor]

I've been following what's been going on with Belphie the kitten and his person, Greer Stothers, has just mentioned pet insurance in a tag on a post and I wanted to give an example from my life backing up why pet insurance can be a good idea and why I think it is worthwhile.

Two years ago my sister's dog had bloat while she was on vacation. The kennel he was staying at recognized symptoms and called my sister to clear them to take him to the emergency vet. My sister is very financially secure and this dog is an enormous part of her life, so she said yes with barely a moment of hesitation. That ended up being about twelve thousand dollars of emergency surgery.

Large Bastard and I got pet insurance for Tiny Bastard the same week because we realized that if someone had presented that option to us, we would have had no choice but to have Tiny Bastard put down, and we didn't want to be put in that position.

I did a lot of research about different kinds of pet insurance and different levels of coverage and annual maximums and deductibles and so on and so forth. Tiny Bastard is a senior dog, so this was going to be expensive no matter what options we went with, so I chose a moderately priced plan with a $500 annual deductible, unlimited annual coverage, that pays 80% of the bills incurred annually below the maximum. What that means is that we pay the first $500 of care totally out of pocket, after which point we are reimbursed 80% of any vet bills for care covered by the plan.

The first year we had this plan I was kind of iffy about it. It's a noticeable monthly expense and we didn't even spend the deductible in vet bills the first year. Except that a month before the policy was set to renew, Tiny Bastard got diagnosed with diabetes. We now have monthly insulin costs and syringe costs; there are tests she has to have regularly to monitor her overall condition and we need to do more frequent vet visits to track symptoms.

Suddenly the insulin alone means that the insurance is break-even within six months and the additional visits and tests are something we can afford instead of something we'd have to put on credit.

Our plan (through ManyPets) covers medication, surgery, diagnostics, medical equipment, and euthanasia and cremation. It doesn't cover pre-existing conditions, joint conditions for dogs who were signed up over a certain age, dental care, spay/neuter, vaccinations, or prescription food but honestly all of that makes me just kind of wish we'd signed her up earlier - her knee problems *would* be covered if we'd had her signed up as a puppy, and the monthly cost would have been lower if we'd signed her up then. And there are at least a few emergency vet bills that I wouldn't still be paying off on my credit card. Hell, I've probably paid more in interest on some bruising she got in a fight three years ago than I have for this policy as a whole.

I am glad that Greer is able to take care of Belphie. I am glad that my sister was able to take care of her dog. But I'm also really, really glad that for a relatively low cost, I would be able to take care of Tiny Bastard if she were catastrophically injured, or if she needed emergency surgery. I'm glad that I'm able to take care of her now with her medications and her additional vet visits.

There are a lot of people who say that pet insurance isn't worth it, especially not for young animals. But if your young animal gets very sick, or gets badly injured, or eats a hairband and needs an emergency endoscopy, then it will probably be VERY worth it. It's a risk/reward question. You feel like you're wasting money if you're paying for a policy that you never use, but honestly that just means you're lucky to have a healthy pet.

I'm lucky that Tiny Bastard was relatively healthy before I got the insurance; I'm also lucky that she was insured when she was diagnosed with a chronic illness that will need lifelong care. This enables me to provide care for her that would otherwise be financially unmanageable, and that makes the insurance *extremely worth it* from my perspective.

And Belphie is a good example of why it's a good idea to get coverage even for very young pets. Greer is recommending it because this kitten has required a tremendous amount of care during a period in his life when it's generally taken for granted that a cat will be healthy. (And Greer is not stupid for forgoing pet insurance - pet insurance is still a relatively new concept and there are lots of people who are leery of it for a number of good reasons)

So I'd say that if you've got a pet or are getting a pet it is very worthwhile to find a pet insurance plan that fits in your budget. There are a variety of plans out there and some are very inexpensive. Check coverage levels (you can even get some with wellness plans that include dental care and vaccinations) and see if there's something that works for you.

I personally don't think I'm ever going to own another pet without having pet insurance. It's ridiculous how much easier it is for me to say yes to diagnostic tests or different treatments than it was before because I know I'm going to be able to fit Tiny Bastard's care into our budget.

[theconcealedweapon]

Give your friend $50 and tell them not to pay you back. They'll likely feel guilty accepting your enormous generosity, even if you have plenty of money and that $50 means nothing to you.

Give a landlord $50 every single day for five entire years while you're struggling to feed yourself. They'll act like it's rightfully theirs and they'll make you homeless when they decide that they want $55 a day and you can no longer afford it.

Capitalist propaganda has been brainwashing us for our entire lives. We're conditioned to see overwhelming bills for housing and medical care as just facts of life while seeing well off people giving away a tiny fraction of that as a massive act of kindness.

[sickly-sapphic]

Decided to migrate my insta posts over to tumblr as well!! 🪻🌻 (I also have an intersex-focused discord server welcome to all - dm for link)

[ID:

Purple and yellow heart illusion background for all slides. Reads: Unpacking Your Intersexism

Step One: How You Imagine Intersex People

When you think of an intersex person, or an intersex body, what do you envision? Is it an assumption of their characteristics and anatomy? Does it group ALL intersex people into one tiny box?

Intersex people come in a variety of shapes, colours and genders. Some may look exactly like a woman or man, some may function one way but look the other, some are a mixed bowl. Stop creating a poster child for what an intersex person looks like!!

Step Two: How You Use Intersex People

Have you ever heard yourself say something like "intersex people are proof of nonbinary/trans peoples existance!" or "kids never get surgery/hormones!" or used the existance of intersex people to fight/disprove or otherwise argue with transphobes? Stop!

Intersex people are more then just a shield for your arguements. Intersex people are not "proof" that trans or nonbinary people exist, trans and nonbinary people are the proof they exist!! Not only are you failing to acknowledge intersex people as people, youre doing a disservice to trans and nonbinary people!!

Alongside this, medical abuse is a common trauma in the intersex community. Many people are forcibly sterilised, have surgeries performed on them as newborns, and are covertly given medications or hormones to "fix" their intersex characterstics as children and even into adulthood.

Step Three: How You Relate To Intersex People

Ever hear someone say something along the lines of "well I'm Technically intersex now that I've taken HRT", "intersex people are biologically nonbinary", "I want to transition into intersex" or "this animal with mixed/changing characterstics is trans!" ? These are common misconceptions.

Taking HRT does not make you "biologically intersex", it makes you someone taking HRT, in the same way that taking birth control doesn't mean you're now infertile. In the same way, you cannot transition into an intersex person. You may have ambiguous, androgynous or mixed transition goals - and that's completely fine! But intersex is not the term you're looking for (try altersex!)

Intersex people and animals are not "technically" or "biologically" nonbinary or transgender, they're intersex. While some intersex people may identify with the term nonbinary, or even consider themselves a cis nonbinary person, not every single intersex person is nonbinary, nor does every single way being intersex presents itself look like what you're percieving as a "biologically nonbinary" body.

Step Four: How You Treat Intersex People

Think to yourself - are you asking invasive questions (such as their variation or anatomy)? Are you including intersex people in your queer activism or art? Are you consuming intersexist media, or media that fetishises intersex bodies?

Intersex people NEVER owe you any information on their condition. You are not owed their anatomical features, their intersex variations, their hormone levels or their chromosomes. You should not be asking if they're infertile, whether they can have sex, or any other invasive question.

While not ALL intersex people identify with the queer community, many do. If you create queer art, merchandise or anything else created with queer symbols and flags - are you including intersex people? If not, why? Do you acknowledge how bills will affect intersex people, or do you call them collateral damage? Are you lifting up intersex voices, or pushing them out of queer spaces?

Step Five: (Mis)Using Intersexist Terminology

Do you use h*rmaphrodite to refer to intersex people? Do you identify with TME/TMA, or force it on others? Do you use AMAB or AFAB as a catchall to mean "people with a perisex, non-transitioned male body" and "people with a perisex, non-transitioned female body"?

Firstly, h*rmaphrodite is a slur used against intersex people All The Time. Some intersex people may self-identify with it, but it is Not what you should be calling intersex people, nor should other intersex people use it on those who don't identify with it.

TME and TMA, or transmisogyny exempt and transmisogyny affected, completely fail to acknowledge the existance of intersex people. The terms are meant to refer to "AMAB" nonbinary and transfeminine people (TMA), vs. "AFAB" nonbinary, transmasculine people, and cis people (TME). However, many intersex people may experience transmisogyny due to how they appear, such as intersex men with typically feminine characterstics or intersex women with typically masculine characterstics. Transmen, nonbinary people of all shapes, people of colour and gender non-conforming people may ALSO experience what some may call "misdirected transmisogyny" due to how they present, but that's a whole other story."

AMAB (assigned male at birth) and AFAB (assigned female at birth) are not catch-alls for typically male or typically female experiences. Some people who are AMAB have typically female anatomy, hormones or life experiences, some are going to need "female" healthcare. Some people who are AFAB have typically male anatomy, hormones or life experiences, some are going to need "male" healthcare. AMAB does not mean "person with a penis", AFAB does not mean "person with a vagina" nor does it mean "person with tits" or "person with a period/capable of pregnancy". When you are making your info post or your sex ed posts, use specific language. It's not AMAB, it's "people with testes", "people with erections". It's not AFAB, it's "people with ovaries", "people with periods", "people with tits" (I cannot stress enough how much AMAB people can have tits).

End ID]

[reasonandempathy]

The weird radical/revolutionary politic larpers on this site are so allergic to political pragmatism I swear lmao. I am definitely left of the Democratic Party and I am certainly voting for Joe Biden in November. Not because I like him (I don’t). He is absolutely horrific on Gaza and that’s only the top (and priority considering there is a genocide going on there) of a list of complaints I have about him. I even voted uncommitted in my state’s presidential primary (the Pennsylvania one; I had to write it in) to protest. However, I’m still thinking pragmatically. Trump has said things that make me credibly think he will be worse on Gaza (insane that being worse on Gaza than Biden is possible but it is unfortunately), and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Project 2025, the potential for him to appoint more deeply conservative justices, more of his aggressively screwing over poor and middle class people with his tax policies. And does anyone else remember the spike in hate crimes after the race was called for him in 2016? Before he was even inaugurated? Whether people vote or not in November we will still have to deal with one of these two men in office come January unless all of the internet ancom larpers overthrow the government by then (doubt), so I’d rather deal with the one who will be marginally less bad and who didn’t try to overthrow the government. Can’t have your revolution if nobody’s alive cause you kept pushing off politically participating because there was no perfect option. 👍

Political pragmatist anon, sorry for ranting in your askbox but I feel like I lose brain cells watching these people talk. The other day I saw someone say Biden is bad because Roe v. Wade fell under his administration… even though the reason for that was Trump appointed justices. 💀 (2/2)

Fucking insane. Sincerely.

It's a completely, flatly binary choice for anyone with a brain stem and sincerity. It's distilled into the two below images:

Where all major third party candidates are even on the ballot

How many electoral votes the largest of those (green party, a.k.a. Jill Stein) would win if they won every single state they're on the ballot for.

They are literally, legally, incapable of winning the election. They are not on enough state ballots to win and Jill Stein would need to somehow win California and Texas to even "win" all the states they're on the ballot for. Which, again, would still not be enough to win the presidency and throw it to the currently existing Republican House of Representatives. Which would put Trump in office.

It's that straightforward. That simple. That BLARINGLY obvious to literally everyone except these people.

On the one hand you have:

Significant and continuous support for Israel and it's genocide

Record levels of pardons for low-level drug offenses

the gearing up of the strongest anti-trust regime since the early 20th century

the most aggressive NLRB I've seen in my lifetime, with massive wins and institutional changes to help workers

Including getting Rail strike workers a week of sick-leave that gets paid out at the end of the year, which is better than NYC and LA sick leave laws

Millions of people (not enough) getting student debt forgiveness

Some trillion dollars (not enough)of investment in renewable resources and infrastructure

Proposed taxes on unrealized capital gains (a.k.a. how billionaires never have any money but can still buy Kentucky, Iowa, and Twitter)

Effectively an end to overdraft fees

The explicit support of leftist world leaders like Lula de Silva. Who he has explicitly worked with to expand worker rights in South America.

Has capped (some, not enough, only a tiny amount really but it's something) some drug prices, including Insulin.

Reduced disability discrimination in medical treatment

Billions in additional national pre-k funding

Ending federal use of private prisons

Pushing bills to raise Social Security tax thresholds higher to help secure the General Fund

Increasing SSI benefits

and more

vs

Said Israel should just nuke Gaza and "get it over with"

Personally takes pride in and credit for getting Roe v Wade overturned

Is arguing in court that the President should be allowed to assassinate political rivals

Muslim Ban Bullshit, insistently

Actively damages our global standing and diplomatic efforts just by getting obsessed with having a Big Button

Implemented massive tax cuts on ich people, tax hikes on middle class and poor people, and actively wants to do it again

"Only wants to be a dictator for a little bit, guys, what's the big deal"

Is loudly publicly arguing that the US shouldn't honor its military alliances after-the-fact

Tore up an effective and substantial anti-nuclear-proliferation treaty with Iran

Had a DoEd that actively just refused to process student debt forgiveness applications that have been the law of the land for decades now

Has a long record of actively curtailing and weakening the NLRB and labor movement, including allowing managers to retaliate against workers, weakened workplace accommodation requirements for disabled people, and more

Rubber stamped a number of massive mergers building larger, more powerful top companies and increasing monopolistic practices

Fucking COVID Bullshit and hundreds of thousands of unnecessary deaths

Openly supporting fascists and wannabe-bootlicks ("Very fine people" being only the beginning of it

It's really not fucking close.

[ronearoundblindly]

Time and Tines (2/3)

Reasons (see previous or series)

Steve Rogers x Villain!Reader

Summary: With the Winter Soldier on your side, Steve races against time to figure out why...and how to stop you.

Warnings for basically DARKFIC: talk of unspecified terminal illness, medical malpractice, gaslighting, revenge, gun violence, not overly graphic death but still death (not of Reader, Steve, or Bucky), and decidedly too-little editing. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this isn't for you! WC 5242 (which is, yeah, way longer than it was supposed to be)

Steve will do anything to avoid a fire fight with the Winter Soldier. There are too many people involved now, and he has to approach this situation delicately from all angles.

Steve just does not understand yet.

After hours waiting with agents in the dark of Doctor Avani’s house, convinced you’ve ordered Bucky to come right over and kill the man with brute force, nothing happened. There was no sign of anyone. Steve has to try something else.

A small army protects Salvatore while he searches your apartment. If the key to activating his friend is here, he needs to find it, destroy that information, and get a handle on why this is happening.

“This can’t be right,” Steve mutters, pushing past Agent Palmer (who drove) for a better look. “It’s too clean.”

Your one-bedroom would pass a white-glove test.

There’s so little…everything. It’s a far cry from the chaos Steve woke to find in the police station. His head throbs at the memory. He forgot what it was like to have his bell good’n’rung.

“Supe says she’s been selling off furniture,” Palmer calls from the doorway, “but he thought it was replaced. Boxes kept coming.”

Steve inventories a mattress with no frame, half a dozen hanging garments, no shoes. What were you buying? Where did it all go?

The desktop is bare. You’ve taken any laptop with you, it seems. That’s a small comfort. You clearly planned contingencies for your attack andor escape; it’s fitting you had the foresight to hide your research on the Winter Soldier.

Steve is still scared, however, because he sat with Bucky many times, listening to horrible tales of being trapped in his own mind, powerless, isolated in the midst of everyone, unable to control thoughts much less actions.

This one’s gonna take a few more beers for the friends to contend with, but with any luck and quick work, they’ll get through without bloodshed. He and Bucky will decompress somewhere peaceful. It’ll be okay.

He hopes.

Steve scans the lone bookshelf. The most curious edition is a history book about WWII, a few flagged pages open to reveal passages about Bucky’s service record, an underline beneath the location where the sergeant fell from the train, and a mail receipt for an address on Forsythe Avenue keeping your page. That’s all.

It’s not even a unique read. The book isn’t any more specific than an average school text. No other notes are made in the margins, so Steve turns the book upside-down and shakes, hoping for something to fall out. He rips the other books from the shelf and shuffles their pages until a picture comes loose—a polaroid of three women.

You’re on the right, fuller faced but it’s you. On the back is scrawled “the girls” with hearts on either side.

The book is handwritten, no label on the cover or spine, only an embossed mandala design. Steve’s stomach drops, but he opens to the front flap.

Property of Faith Williams

He swallows roughly and closes it, unable to step over that line of privacy. At the moment, he needs evidence of where you could have taken Bucky, and slow-reading someone else’s diary won’t give him that.

Forsythe Avenue might, but that’s just one tiny piece of the puzzle. 

Steve checks a different unlabeled book, but it, too, doesn’t have your name inside, just a ‘Z’ fancifully drawn amidst doodles.

Damnit. This is no help.

“Palmer, you finding anything?”

“No, Cap. Bills all paid. Nothing under the mattress. No mention of Barnes on any papers in the drawers. Not even a Cyrillic symbol.”

No trace, just like how you two disappeared from surveillance.

Steve shuts his eyes, head still throbbing from how hard the Soldier landed a blow to knock him out.

The agent wanders through the tiny kitchen. “Fridge is empty. Doesn’t look like she intended to come back here…if…actually, it looks like she barely ate. No condiments, no spices, nothing.”

“How long has she rented here?”

“Over two years.”

Shit. This is a dead end.

“Keep looking,” Steve orders, but he takes the two journals and heads for the car, pulling up your thin file again. You don’t hold any clearances or a government footprint. You were let go of from your last job with a severance package. Nothing overly generous. No medical leave mentioned. Benefits, including health insurance, would be intact. Based on your appearance earlier versus you in the photo, Steve chews on a few wisps of theories, but it’s not solid proof. Without more, Steve has no leads.

“Friday, any connection to properties on Forsythe?”

He adjusts to get comfortable in the back seat of the SUV alone, firing up a view screen.

There’s a low, sad sound that means the AI found nothing in your records.

"For her or him?"

Womp womp, it comes again.

Steve lets out a tense breath, “Where are we with bank statements?”

“Authorizations just came back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y chirps.

“What about medical records?”

“That one’s a lot harder, Captain Rogers. We have to—“

“Just analyze the financials first,” Steve sighs. His head throbs again, and he knows he needs sleep. There’s no time though. If he could just get answers…

Protections exist, of course, for good reason, but Steve feels the frustration of any detective. He’s trying to find a bad guy, and by 'bad guy,' he means you, not the man you’ve taken, not the man you are certainly going to order to kill for you.

Steve rests his head on the chilly glass and pinches his eyes shut. He’ll take a minute, review the money trail, and then interview the doctor. It seems a miracle that man was able to go home to his wife and sleep, even with security inside the room, down every hall, surrounding the house…Steve wouldn’t do it; he can’t even keep his eyes closed long enough for the dry sting to subside.

How could he be so stupid?

You weren’t staring at him from across the room; you were watching your mark, waiting for an opening. Sadly, it occurs to Steve that if he’d just let you inject Avani, Bucky would be fine, here by his side, and safe.

You are the threat, not his friend, but that’s a hard distinction. If anyone else sees James Barnes—who is the stealth assassin Winter Soldier, as far as they know—they’ll shoot. No questions. Steve has to find him first. He has to get to you first.

Bucky is compromised, but Steve won’t let it come to that. Buck shouldn't do anything he doesn't want to do just because some enemy hijacked his mind and body.

“Feel better?” You twirl in the chair as soon as the motel bathroom door opens, steam billowing out.

Winter’s face is shadowed, pointed to the floor.

“Or…at least, okay? Here—“ you offer the seat next to you at the tiny table “—sit. Eat. Let me—I’ve got bandages for your knuckles.”

“Heals,” he grunts, sitting easily but with stiff posture, “fast.”

You let out a heavy breath, muttering, “makes one of us.”

The soldier reaches out for the file in front of you, but your hand pins it down.

“Uh-uh. Food first, and palm up here, please.” You wait for him to flip open the takeout container then blot antiseptic on the split skin. “Does that hurt?”

He shakes his head, focused on the meal before him.

Several months ago, an article was published about Bucky Barnes’ affinity for this one particular deli in Brooklyn, a third-generation shop. It listed his usual order.

You’ve made sure the bread isn’t soggy. You kept the spicy mustard on the side.

He makes a strange face, looking around for your portion.

“Not hungry,” you assure him, “I’m rarely hungry.” You secure the bandage like boxing wraps and spin the file around.

“Eat your food—” The command is soft, encouraging. “—while I tell you the story of how we ended up here.”

Buried in the file you’ve put in front of the Soldier is several lifetimes of horror. Maybe not everyone agrees with you, maybe not everyone cares, but that bastard Avani has to atone. For the next hour, you explain what’s expected of him, glancing every so often at the fancier hotel entrance across the street from your motel room.

It’s too early; you’d be very impressed if the Captain had followed those bread crumbs yet.

You planned so carefully for every obstacle. You anticipated so many setbacks. Men like Avani go down like great stone pyramids, not houses of cards, because their lives are built with safeties.  For him to fall, a thousand others have to be damaged, and each one of them will put up a fight to remain untarnished. That approach—the truth, and nothing but the truth—has gotten you nowhere. Diaries aren’t enough proof. The placebo effect is not a crime. Two women are worth far less than a functional, marketable drug.

Plus, they’re two dead women. The pyramid is now their tomb. Nothing ever changes.

No.

You alone cannot topple a pyramid. You’re too far gone. You’re just one person. For justice, you have to go straight to the top, to the man himself. One on one.

Well, one on one-plus-one. Your addition is the sharp-shooter who can get you the top, the target, Doctor Avani.

Winter’s mission is very simple, but he’s thorough, asking all the right questions, thinking of all the right options. You knew he would be perfect.

“Now,” you clap at the end of your story, rubbing boney hands together, “a rundown of my meds. Sound good?” You grab a zippered case from the foot of the motel bed. “Nothing complicated, but here—“ nudging out a syringe and one glass vial “—this is the emergency one. Use 10 milliliters of this if I pass out. Got it?”

The Soldier takes an enormous mouthful of his sandwich and nods, eyes flickering back to that single bed.

You smile sadly. “I…rarely sleep. I’m keeping watch for now. You’re safe. You’ll need the rest.”

He chews and adds more mustard before his last bite.

“Okay? Good.” Your smile fades, fatigue and restlessness swirling in your empty gut as you remove another medication. “Next is this one. Every four hours, twent—wait, no, I’m up to thirty CCs now…”

“Sir,” Steve grits out with far less patience than he intended, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it will stop the throbbing inside his head, “you realize I am trying to save your life?”

Dr. Avani purses his lips in annoyance. “And you realize I am required to keep my patients’ confidence, right?”

Yes, Steve thinks, he’s said that several times.

“Are they current or former patients?” Steve tries to clarify.

So far, Salvatore slipped up only once. When Steve showed him the photo from your apartment, the doctor muttered something about ‘Faith’ and ‘Ziva’ knowing each other, looking confused, then immediately shut down.

Steve has to switch tactics. He doesn’t have time for this.

“Ok. We found over a dozen hotel reservations made with your assailant’s credit card, so look at this list—” Steve taps the smart screen to lay out a map with the names highlighted “—and see if anything stands out.”

“What have this crazy woman’s travel plans to do with me?” Avani bites out, rattling the tea his wife hands him.

A tremor. Not unlike how your hands shook at the table last night. Steve wonders if yours was because you are ill or because you were lying to him.

“Darling, your blood pressure…”

Steve sighs sympathetically to Mrs. Avani. “Thank you, ma’am,” he whispers, taking the next cup and saucer and clearing his throat. “Doc, please. I’m just hoping you can narrow this down for me. We still have no motive.”

“Insanity. Jealousy, maybe!”

“Jealous of what? Do you know what she might want?”

No answer, but Avani chews his cheek, eyes wide, while staring northwest on the map of hotels. Steve files that away in his mind.

The doctor returns to sipping his tea. “Do you know what they call people obsessed with finding patterns in chaos?”

His wife drops the plate of biscuits unceremoniously down on the side table between the men’s chairs.

“Salvatore,” she snips with the same frustrated fatigue wrapped around Steve’s neck like an albatross, “behave.”

“No. None of these are familiar,” the doctor grunts.

Steve can’t accuse the man of lying unless he wants to risk an all-out breakdown in communication during this active threat, but he’s running out of options. He needs real information.

Usually Steve would have more respect for a man staying within the parameters of his vocation, but this is a unique and complicated situation. This is Bucky on the line. Steve’s had enough of secrets and red tape.

“Any idea why she’d mail something to Forsyth Avenue? Do you know anyone there?”

“Forsyth Avenue? No, I’ve never been in that area before, as far as I know.” Though Avani wrings his hands together, no indicates that’s a lie.

Wonderful. Steve’s never been this unsuccessful at gathering intel, and Avani’s status as the newly-appointed Avengers’ lead physician makes it tricky to push harder.

So Steve recommends Avani and his wife consider staying in a more secure location before he sets off to personally check the hotels in the northwest quadrant of the map.

He takes Agent Palmer, riding in the SUV while the two diaries sit in his lap, knowing now—as sure as he can be—that ‘Z’ is for Ziva, and she knew you and Faith Williams. Those are ‘the girls’ in the photo.

Without Ziva’s last name, he can’t do a general search, but there is a death certificate on file for Faith.

Three women. One confirmed dead. At least two ‘former’ patients of the doctor. All visibly ill in either the picture or in person. One mourning the loss of person(s) and out to kill the doctor.

The pit in his stomach grows. Something very bad is happening, yet while Steve has anything else to go on, he will not be reading another’s diary.

He can only hope that your medical records are finally available once the hotel searches are complete.

There’s even a possibility he’ll find Bucky at one of these. Maybe he won’t have to concern himself with the rest at all. Maybe he won’t have to think so hard about your motives for activating a Soviet sleeper agent.

Steve does think, however. He thinks hard enough to spiral as each reception desk is questioned, as all security footage is combed, as every building is cleared. He has to make some assumptions to make the pieces fit.

You believe Avani is responsible for your friends’ deaths—both of them, since when Steve interrogated you, you accepted his condolences—and believe their cause of death was whatever treatment Avani administered.

It’s sad, of course, but it happens everyday. Experimental treatments are just that. If you’re concerned about gross negligence, the doctor could easily be reported to the Medical Board. Considering the amount of research, forethought, and planning required, the Winter Soldier is one of the slowest possible solutions to your problem.

But…Bucky was just your contingency plan. You had an opportunity to kill Avani yourself, yet you still set other options in motion. You used a weapon theoretically deadly to only the doctor 

Steve still can’t understand, and it’s driving him nuts.

Finally, after the hotel reservations prove fruitless, Steve sees no other choice. He has to read the diaries.

He combs through the pages, growing nauseous as darker and darker layers of the situation reveal themselves, disturbed by everydetail except updates from the units on Forsyth Avenue or those stationed at the doctor’s house. Nothing is unfolding save the landscape in Steve’s mind.

He asks F.R.I.D.A.Y about the disease Faith and Ziva mention. He asks about the public records of the drug trial Avani lead and its results published just six months ago, after the last entries of the diaries. He notices the treatment was a huge success…for those not in the control group. Finally, he can’t continue.

His head pounds while his stomach churns.

In the early afternoon, Steve lays down to rest his eyes and reevaluate, but he’s met with only a blank  canvas and drifts to sleep instead.

He’s woken by a shrill ring of his phone.

“Yeah, Palmer, what’s—what? What do you mean he’s gone?” Steve jumps up, straps on his shield, and races to his bike. “The hell were you thinking letting him make a house call today? Where did agents—“

Steve’s foot slips right off bike for an instant.

“Avani led the driver to some suburban neighborhood. Forsythia Commons.”

It dawns of him just as the garage door squeals open.

Steve never showed Palmer the receipt. No one else saw the numbers to the address. Steve’s rattled brain finished the label with a street name he knew.

He was wrong.

Including battles in Germany way back in the day, he has rarely driven so recklessly, but Steve is nearly a half-hour behind now. He has to catch up.

Palmer tells him Avani went into the residence alone—for patient confidentiality—and after a while, agents couldn’t get an answer at the door. Upon forced entry, they found the woman who lived there bound to a chair with tape over her mouth and the doctor nowhere in sight.

Steve gets lucky.

On his way to exit the freeway, he notices a hole in the noise barrier wall past a slope of grass. He pulls over and asks Palmer what the backyard of the residence leads to, but Steve can hear the reverb of agent comms before anyone is visible through the brush.

“Friday, I need traffic camera footage from my location from thirty-five minutes ago. Were there any vehicles stopped on the side of the road?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers. A standard maintenance truck with the department’s logo shows up and leaves seven minutes later, based on ten second intervals.”

“The license plate, can you read it?”

“Quality insufficient.”

“The highway department, do they have any registered cars out here today?”

A long pause follows.

“Friday?” Steve barks.

“Negative, Captain. Inspection is slotted for the end of next week, not today.”

“Alright, follow that truck on the cameras. Tell me exactly where they went.”

He doesn’t bother to tell Palmer where he’s going because Steve doesn’t want them to know really. He needs a head start to find Bucky—to make sure it’s Bucky who is found and rescued, not the Soldier who is cornered and subdued.

The trail ends at a dilapidated office park near the river miles outside of the city. With his own, short fingernail, Steve peels away the Highway Department magnet slapped onto the white truck parked by one building.

Nobody else is in sight, and the truck cab is empty.

Across the nearest door is sun-shriveled lettering. “-alv—re Ava—, M.D” marks the third name in a list.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He can’t. He walks right in, eyes adjusting to a cave-like darkness without electricity.

The voices are faint behind another set of double doors, but he hears them.

“I don’t owe you anything, bitch. I hope you die like they did.”

There’s a sharp slapping noise and someone spits loudly.

“Admit it. Admit what you did and you won’t die today.”

You don’t beg him to talk. You don’t plead with him. You sound weak but sure.

“Rot in hell,” Avani annunciates, and Steve flings himself through the doors, knowing what comes after such a taunt.

You give him every opportunity to come clean. He could save himself, but Avani refuses while the camera records behind you. He calls you names. He calls your friends worthless. He says they were ’whores,’ but you will still send him back to the correct authorities if he tells the truth.

He doesn’t, he won’t, and you’re honestly pleased this is how it ends.

You don’t have a choice really; you must honor Faith and Ziva somehow.

Instead of the truth, Avani curses you, though not much could be worse than your current fate, even with Winter standing a few feet away, his gun drawn.

You have readied the syringe in your unstable hand and lift it to the doctor’s throat when—crash—Captain America bursts in and scans the whole room.

“Don’t do it,” he tries plainly. “You don’t have to kill him.”

You’re impressed. That’s faster than you expected, but Steve is looking at his friend to stop, not you.

“Shoot him, you idiot,” the doctor snarls.

As if Winter thinks the order somehow applied to him, he turns toward an open palm and a raised shield.

“SHOOT HIM!”

Winter doesn’t move the gun away from you and Avani.

Steve steps closer. “Bucky,” he starts slowly, “I’m not going to do that. I’m not here to hurt you. No one has to die.”

You need to buy more time.

“Soldat, show him.”

Only then does Winter lower his pistol and reach into a pocket at his chest, revealing the tuning fork that controls his own mind. Doing this will forfeit your exit strategy, but you’ll accomplish you mission. Winter’s mission is now secondary.

Steve’s eyes flicker from the fork to you.

After a tense breath, you give the command, confident the soldier will obey, locking your focus on Steve.

“Fetch.”

Winter sprints to the other end of the room and explodes through a wall and then a window to the lawn banking the river.

Cap makes a choice, his sad blue eyes full of pity, and it’s then you realize he knows.

He read the diaries. He understands what Avani did.

Steve bolts after the Soldier.

The doctor shrieks for his Avenger to come back, to protect him from his earned fate, but the hollow thuds of a vibranium arm and a vibranium shield colliding hum through the hole in the building.

The sound of fighting continues as you return the syringe to Avani’s neck.

Enough. Enough excuses. Enough lies. Enough time has been wasted on this man already. Enough is enough.

The end is more peaceful than he deserves. It’s quick and not nearly as painful as it should be. There’s no time left for suffering.

Salvatore convulses after collapsing on the stained industrial carpet, foam gently dripping from his mouth, a symptom of his condition when mixed with a common resuscitative cocktail, one you have to take frequently, one that spiked Steve Rogers’ adrenaline and nothing more. It kills Avani. His heart nearly explodes in his chest.

If there was ever a human that medicine should fail…

You only know he’s susceptible because Ziva knew. Heart conditions and caring for them are the sort of thing one knows about a person they love.

Avani promised to marry her, to leave his wife, to be with her after the drug trial succeeded. He promised she’d live, but he told Ziva she was taking the real medicine, ensured she took the placebo, and then gaslit her until the day she died.

Ziva spent the rest of her life loving a man who would make her happy and healthy, but instead, Avani made her life as short as possible.

He was not even that kind to Faith.

In her own words, Faith wrote how dying scared her, how she begged the doctor for the actual medication, how she offered anything to get it. Avani accepted. Faith did whatever that bastard wanted for months, all the while told she was healing.

Relief never came.

Faith was bedridden when a package arrived for her—a diary willed to her by a friend she’d lost touch with once you three weren’t gathering in the same hospital suite for the old treatments. That’s when she put it together, but Ziva had passed two months prior. Faith lasted only four more days, just long enough to bequeath the two journals to you.

The victory doesn’t feel as euphoric as you expected. You thought somehow you’d know that Ziva and Faith were proud and at peace, but you’re just empty and tired.

You stare down at Adani’s body, unfazed, when the tuning fork slams against a dangling metal doorframe and Cap shuffles through the rubble.

He’s scraped and beaten which isn’t what you ever wanted, just a necessary evil to fight evil. He watches as Barnes walks in from the grass.

“It’s me, punk. You can put that thing down.”

Bucky doesn’t wait for Steve, snatching the prongs right from his hands and tucking it back in his jacket.

There’s a moment where they almost hug before Steve remembers the doctor and rushes to the man at your feet.

“Call for help! I'm starting CPR.”

Barnes simply holds your gaze.

More sad blue eyes. It brings you hope that he will complete his mission.

You step away from the others to make for a cleaner shot, nodding that it’s okay, breathing a rough but weak “please” for emphasis.

“Buck?” Steve looks up as Bucky points his gun at you again. “What are you doing? STOP. It’s over!”

“His mission was never to kill Avani,” you hiss, unable to take your eyes off the perfectly-centered muzzle directly in front of you. “He’s here to kill me.”

“The hell—“ Steve climbs to his feet “—why would you shoot her?”

“I’m not going to jail!”

“You know what they’ll do to her, Steve.”

Both men take one step closer.

“There has to be another way.”

“I did this because it’s the only—“

“—can understand doctors who taking advantage and manipulating their patients better than anyone—“

“Put the gun down!”

“Pull the trigger! It'll be—“

“—told me he could do better than me,” Bucky barks. “Doc said, to my face, that he could make a better me. He wanted to make soldiers, Steve. More soldiers. Avani didn’t give a shit about what was right.”

You jump in. “If you found the diaries, you know what he was capable of.”

“That’s not how this works. We don’t condemn a man from—“

This time you step toward Barnes. “Just do it. Shoot me now.”

Steve lunges to take your wrist in his hand, your limb comically thin and delicate beneath all his enhancements.

“She doesn’t deserve to rot while they sweep this under the rug,” Bucky adds, voice low and serious.

“This is for the best.” You look at Steve now, and something heartbreaking swims in those morose pools, something unspeakable.

His head shakes, dirty, sweaty hair falling in his face. “What if there’s another way?”

“I don’t want to be saved, Cap. Let me go.”

You offer one final, soft smile, and Steve moves just as Bucky pulls the trigger.

Steve completes his testimony before the panel opposite him. None of the questions are a surprise.

They’ve painted you as completely insane, demented, psychotic, and he can’t argue. What would he tell them? Yeah, but she had kind eyes, so, you know, remember her fondly? No, he can only remain quiet until he has something pertinent to add which is very little. Bucky had far more to offer, and he already spoke.

When Steve steps out of the counsel chambers, Maria Hill is waiting for him.

“Shame she ordered the Soldier to dispose of her body. Took the coward’s way out.”

“You make her sound like a rabid animal that had to be put down,” Steve grit out. 

“No, you’re right,” Hill admits, “but it was lucky she left the sound thing for—”

“Tuning fork,” he snaps, “which I destroyed. No one should have that. No one should even know about it.”

Buck does his best to calm Steve down with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “S’okay, pal. The interrogation footage has been wiped and unless someone with perfect pitch was walking by observation--”

“You know that’s not reassuring, right?”

The two huge men look at each other.

Steve finally mutters, “what about Avani’s widow?”

“All the blackmail sent to his mistress in Forsythia Commons was removed before Gloria even knew Sal was kidnapped, and I think it’s fair to say that lady is so grateful her name wasn’t dragged through the press that she won’t be bothering the wife. Good thing the doctor put her car and house in her name, or legally, this would get ugly.”

“Yes. We’re very lucky he was such a skilled adulterer,” Steve quips dryly. He regrets handing over the diaries for evidence. They weren’t mentioned once in any of the hearings.

Bucky flashes Steve a warning glare that reads, don’t start.

Hill obliviously flips through the folder in her hands, nodding. “All in all, this report amounts to an incredibly long lead-in of ‘use that PTO, boys!’ You earned it.”

“Understatement of the century…and I would know.” Bucky is a much better liar than Steve.

Thank god, they are fleeing to the middle of nowhere indefinitely.

Hill heads back to her office. “We’ll be here when you get back. Keep in touch.”

“No,” Steve counters. “I don’t think I will.”

Bucky and Steve leave in an old truck the next morning. They can’t seem rushed or impatient to get to their destination.

Casually accumulating supplies, Steve loads their bags in the flat bed with space for all repair materials they are likely to need. The cabin needs some work; the guys need to get their hands dirty and live simply for a while.

The team is happy for Steve; it’s been so long since anyone saw him moving forward in life, and, of course, he and Bucky deserve some peace and quiet.

No one else has any idea how hard-won this vacation is.

The drive takes all day because they can’t be in a hurry.

Steve takes pictures at every scenic outlook. Bucky climbs up onto some rock ledges to take selfies which Steve is not into. This earns him being featured as a blurry grump in the background of all of them, purposefully.

Eventually, the GPS-free truck pulls up to the place, a large A-frame style cabin that should be plenty big for two super soldiers.

Parked on the gravel path, Steve is careful not to ding the other car when he swings open his door. As Bucky heaves two duffels from the trunk, he calls out, “got the meds, too” and heads inside. Steve gathers up the remaining bags and trudges over, smelling something hearty and delicious cooking, listening to the tinkling, copper-coin wind chime hanging somewhere above him.

He doesn’t stop looking at his feet until they hit the top of the porch, spotting two smaller bare feet on the welcome mat.

There you are, holding the door open, layered in warm knits, more tired before but better than expected.

“Hey,” Steve breathes finally.

“Hey,” you say, your mouth twisted to hide an excited smile.

“Yes, hello,” Bucky grumbles from the living room. “Now shut the damn door. I’m hungry.”

Steve steps inside.

[Last Part]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

a/n: Sorry this took so long a fucking year! Tags will be in a reblog.

[dreamdemonden]

going to start moving Gravity Falls things from @redhallow to my GF plush blog

I can’t help but think how terrifying it must’ve been for Bill to find out he was slowly going blind. Not only that he was going blind, but that the people who promised time and time that they’d always love him, “sharp angles and all” were the people responsible for it, and not even because they thought it would improve his physical quality of life.

I could see it as a narrative around the way bodily differences get treated, and a tiny part of me really relates to it as someone with pretty severe strabismus who was terrified of surgery for most of my life. I see it paralleled in the sense that people reassured me they wouldn’t see me any different for the way I looked, but when it finally came to time to undergo surgery for corrective purposes, the biggest reasons my parents gave for wanting me to go through with it all had to do with social impact, such as being unable to look people in the eyes. It really hurt to find out how much they hated it after they spent a lifetime reassuring me otherwise. I’ve heard of other visually impaired people with similar stories as well, of family members wanting them to undergo invasive surgery or other major medical procedures for the sake of “fixing” how they present themselves, without any kind of medical benefit.

So yeah I could see why our intrepid villain would be a little hurt, especially when all the love he has ever received has been in spite of existing as he is

[intothedysphoria]

Steve Harrington went missing on the 17th of August, 2023. All that was left was an unfinished manuscript of his dark gay romance novel. What most people didn’t know, however, was that he’d been sucked into his own laptop.

Waking up on the cold, slightly damp ground of a battlefield, Steve found a golden skinned, golden haired man lurking over him. A man Steve already knew was called Billy and had “the most magnificent penis in the land”, in his own words.

Well that answered the question of which character he was inhabiting. Kind of.

The main character Steve had written for this particular novel was based on the West Hollywood demon twinks that frequented Steve’s local gay bars. Samuel was somehow both tiny and had a fat ass and had no body hair in sight.

Steve’s father was an Algerian Sephardic Jew and Steve had inherited both his strong nose and body hair. Looking down at the skin tone of his hands, Steve was definitely still himself. So much for dream logic.

Billy did what he’d been written to do in the narrative and hoisted Steve’s body across his chest in a bridal carry. It was even more erotic than how Steve had written it and he decided to go along with the dream/ hallucination he was clearly having.

It was only when they’d gotten back to the hut Steve had written for him and Billy just dropped him like a hot stone because he was bleeding so heavily, Steve realised that this wasn’t just going to be his narrative. Here, Billy was a real person. Steve was going to have to take care of him.

Frantically patting down his pockets, Steve came out with lint, a five dollar bill, Dustin’s inhaler and some very mild pain medication for Steve’s back. None of those seemed particularly helpful.

Relying entirely on Heather Holloway’s first aid training from that summer of being a lifeguard and his grandmothers love of herbal remedies, Steve managed to find something to stop the bleeding, created a paste to hopefully prevent infection and shakily stitch him up.

Billy wasn’t dead by the end of it, which Steve counted as a win.

In the book, Billy was just a brooding celtic warrior who was a secret sweetheart and was very good at sex. Actually being in his world had given Billy significant extra depth.

He was quite vain, constantly preening over his hair and adored the sea. His favourite colour was a deep shade of blue, he was a very competent cook and his relationship with his family, particularly his dad had made him suspicious of just about anything that Steve did.

Still, he kept Steve in his hut, fellow villagers sometimes coming in and out with questioning looks at Steve, particularly Billy’s younger sister Max. Most of them asked if Steve was a Roman. Which made sense considering Steve had set the story in Roman era rural Scotland.

Steve was not a Roman, Billy always explained defensively, as if he was scared that they were going to take Steve away from him. There was something protective in Billy’s voice which made Steve feel safe and cared for.

Really, considering that Billy was very clearly his own man, there was no reason for the romance that had started in the story to develop. Billy had free will, he was complex and really had every reason not to turn into the the man who was willing to kill to keep Steve safe.

The flowers started regardless.

Small bunches of wildflowers placed beside his bed, not pristine but glowing with affection. It was how it had started for Samuel. Steve had thought it was really so romantic when he was writing it.

Now, he was concerned.

Steve was only half convinced he was living in a very long dream at this point. If demogorgons could exist, so could alternate universes. Even if they were alternate universes Steve had created himself.

In that case, Steve had a moral dilemma on his hands. He could either just take the situation at face value and enjoy being adored by a gorgeous warrior or he could fess up and tell Billy that he’d was essentially a piece of fiction.

After a night of worrying, Steve chose the latter.

Billy, quite understandably thought he’d gone mad after Steve wove him the tale of how exactly he’d came into existence.

Steve took a moment to enjoy the cuddle and the gentle fussing that Billy was giving him.

Then he mentioned Samuel and Billy went very quiet.

He had a vague memory of his old love interest. Of being a two dimensional romantic lead. Of being eye candy on a proposed book cover. But he preferred Steve.

Billy told him about how much he loved Steve’s laugh, the way his nose crinkled when he didn’t like something, the compassion he’d shown Billy day after day.

He loved being human as well. He loved feeling and fearing and loving and hating and every emotion he was given.

Steve had given that to him.

And that was when Steve knew he definitely wasn’t in a dream.

He did maintain the title of the most magnificent penis in all the land in Steve’s opinion. And the best kisser.

But hearing the words “I love you” was the best of all of it.

This is an (early by like a day) birthday present for @shieldofiron. Saf you are one of the most intelligent, funny, creative and kind people I have ever met, a truly amazing fandom best friend and I really hope you enjoy this.

[tf2thoughtdump]

TF2 Thought of the Day

Headcanon? Yes.

Character(s)? All the mercs, team not specified but for simplicity’s sake, the red team

Long or Short? Long. This may take a while.

You're free to use any thoughts of mine in any form of media you make.

Thought

This one is real simple, it’s how I think the mercs would handle being given a baby. Enjoy!

Scout

Literally going crazy

Like, about to explode levels of crazy.

Gushing over every inch of this baby from her big eyes to her tiny nose and down to her chubby little hands and feet

Luckily, the little munchkin doesn’t seem to mind his intense energy so it works out

He does his best, but admittedly he is a bit… rusty

The first time he tried holding her, he wasn’t properly securing her head

The second him, he was just holding her upside down

He���s not the WORST merc to leave a baby with, but you have better options.

Soldier

Not really sure what to do with this….

Recruit.

He held her FAR from his body before opting to just tuck her under his arm like a loaf of bread

This didn’t last long though because he eventually found a way to keep her strapped to him with his belt

Uncomfortable, sure, but the baby could care less

She was more concerned with who gave her to this man in the first place

Soldier is your last resort

Pyro

Is most likely to set the baby’s diaper on fire when it gets full

He’s not BAD with a baby, it’s just…

There are so many better options!

They can hold the baby right, that’s not the problem, the problem is the outfit

The rubber, the material in general

Babies need skin-on-skin contact and Pyro.. doesn’t exactly fit the bill with that one

She’s definitely gonna make the baby uncomfortable but it’s nothing a good tickle won’t fix!

Demoman

Why?

Just….

Why?

Did you run out of options again?

Was Soldier too busy so you had to wake up Tavish?

What on Earth could be running through your mind to think leaving a baby with a drunk is a good thing?

He might rock it to sleep, but that’s about all you’re getting

Heavy

Your number 1 go to if you need a babysitter

He’s got three younger sisters! How hard can taking care of a baby be?

You’ll soon come to find out that with Heavy? Taking care of a baby is a piece of cake.

No complications, no fusses, no unchanged diapers

Just Heavy asleep on a couch too small for him, and a baby resting in his giant hands.

Engineer

Also another good one!

Doesn’t have much experience with REAL babies, just his mechanical babies, but he’s sure he can watch her for ya!

Don’t worry about a thing, buttercup, he’s got everything under control

Turns out, he kinda did?

In the time you were gone, he built her a rocking crib

Plus an automatic diaper changer

He’s just a little to busy with machines to be worrying about diapers

Relax though! If the baby cries, he’s putting down everything to figure out what’s wrong and how to solve the problem

Minus the guns in the equation

Medic

Well, uhm..

He’s not a bad baby-watcher!

He will keep that little rascal in his sights at all times! No doubt about it!

He could stare at that baby all day!

Best babywatcher in the world!

But…

This is Medic we’re talking about…

There’s no way this baby is coming back the same baby..

Sniper

Not.. sure what to do?

He’s a bit of a recluse, so he doesn’t hang around people that much

That also translates to him not really being able to understand what to do when given a baby and told to watch her

You know that TikTok audio?

“Your mom told me to watch you, but.. you don’t do anything.”

That’s him.

He takes “watch her” seriously

Now granted, Mick will let her play with his fingers occasionally but is really just staring at a baby in his lap for 2 hours straight and freaking out every time she cries or soils a diaper

Spy

Spy is a neglectful dad

We see that with Scout, so it’s no big surprise there

However, he’s not horrible with kids

He can take care of a baby just fine, change her diapers, feed her, burp her, lull her to sleep and the like

He just won’t be very enthusiastic about it!

If you want your baby to have a good time, pick Scout or Engineer

But if you want someone who actually has some idea what they’re doing, get Heavy or Spy for the job, okay?

[where-dreams-dwell]

It’s almost like the Usher children *knew* they weren’t going to live long and so they intentially left no marks upon the world.

Camille’s speech about how none of the kids actually makes or does anything is so startling: here is a group of people given all the opportunities and access money can buy, all of whom have had this their entire adult life, and they haven’t used it to create or build anything.

You can almost sense Roderiks disappointment in them, in his speech to Perry. He has this hyper focus on what his ‘investment’ money will fund, and says that ‘Ushers change the world’. But outside of himself and Madeline, not one of them has.

Frederick took the money, if he ever got any, and probably funnelled it back into his house or the company. By the looks of it he doesn’t have anything other than his family and his job, so there’s nothing for Roderick to invest in.

Tammy funnelled the money into a lifestyle brand, but one that wouldn’t have her at the front and centre. She scathingly reveals to Bill that she selected him to be her husband based upon his brand and marketability, showing she was ready to create this new empire but with her pulling strings in the shadows. From the outside it probably looks like she hasn’t created anything at all and that it’s all Bill, using his wife’s money. On top of this, the running gag of her storyline is that her brand and ideas aren’t even original, but are ripped off of Goop. So she hasn’t made anything new, and if Goldbug has any impact at all it will be no different to another more successful, more well know product. Hardly ‘changing the world’.

Victorine has some medial training but she looks to be a supporting role to her partner within their clinic, in which Al is the talented surgeon who people come to see and Victorine is a kind of silent partner. So she decided to go into medical devices or smart medical tech, but she relies upon the ideas and skills of others. As Camille said ‘the mesh is the surgeons, that’s why she’s fucking the surgeon’. And her medical knowledge seems to be limited if she thinks just her word and some money will move their experiments into human trials. So she also hasn’t ‘changed the world’ she’s just found someone else who was trying to and co-op-ed their ideas. You could even argue she poisoned those ideas, as Al mentions that the pain medication Victorine has been supplying looks like street drugs and wouldn’t stand up in any medical paper or research study.

Camille is, like she said, spinning furiously and going nowhere. She looks skilled in her field (from the analysis scenes we get, and Madeleine’s signing off on her PR analysis post Perry’s death) but she works from the shadows and hasn’t ‘created’ anything that wasn’t there before. There have been PR spin doctors before and there will be more to come; Camille offers nothing new ans hasn’t ‘changed the world’ in any measurable way. From what little we see of her work she hasn’t recreated a PR agency, hasn’t trained up other spin doctors under her, hasn’t created a brand or company which will outlast her. She leaves nothing behind to show what her skills or talents were.

Leo is shot down quickly when he claims he makes games: he doesn’t, he gives money to people who do. So he too will leave little to nothing behind when he’s gone. His references to past boyfriends show no long lasting relationships in his life and he has no other hobbies or pursuits we know of. Like Camille he hasn’t created a company to help with game design, hasn’t trained up others within this field he claims as his own. Even with the gaming ‘world’ it sounds like he changed very little. Fredrick’s throw away comments about Leo’s flat reveal that Leo hadn’t even had input in the decoration or style of his own home: he just latches onto the styles, ideas, aesthetic of his current boyfriend and goes with their ideas and plans. It’s such a small tiny thing but he truly has no original ideas in any aspect of his life.

And finally Perry, who’s desperate for that start up money but clearly has no plans or ideas on how to use it. He’s had a year and his main idea is an exclusive whisky bar. Even this idea, for all its crude intentions, shows his lack of vision: he doesn’t understand that to get the reputation he claims his bars would have will take time. You don’t just ‘create’ a consequent free bar celebrating decadence and privilege overnight. Reputations take time and as Madeline asks ‘what will be different about this one’ to draw people in to begin with? Studio 54 (which he compares his club to). only operated for 3 years before closing: not the smartest inclusion in an investment pitch.

To be fair to Perry though, looking at what the other siblings did or didn’t do with their loan money it seems a bit unfair that his ‘Blow job whiskey bar’ was shot down so decisively and cruelty. Assuredly Leo’s ‘video game studio for just myself’, Camille’s ‘PR agency just for me with my two assistants’, Victorines ‘medical training and clinic where I help out other surgeons’, Tammys ‘subscription lifestyle brand ripped off from a celebrity’ and Fredrick’s ‘I’d just like to work with you Dad’ were all clearly given the green light. But Perry apparently wasn’t good enough. Maybe this was a reaction to Roderick getting the news he was dying as so he wanted Perrys investment at least to actually change something, but still. He might as well give him the money either way at that point.

And I think it’s probably intended as a commentary on the ultra wealthy. Like of course people with more money than most counties have no plans to leave anything for the next generation. They have achieved their high levels of success by being solely focused upon themselves and so are honestly incapable of considering others. They are solely interested in enjoying the life they are currently living and why strain themselves to fight and build something when they don’t have to?

But it also works so well as a supernatural legacy and ironic conclusion to Roderick’s deal: he agreed that none of his bloodline would outlive him, and so none of them built anything that would.

[theconcealedweapon]

I wouldn't recommend trusting psychics over medical professionals, because there are some people who need medical care that psychics can't give them.

But if someone does trust psychics over medical professionals, I wouldn't judge them.

And that's because everything bad you can say about psychics is also true about medical professionals.

"They're just scamming you for your money." And medical professionals aren't? When someone is suicidal, they're kidnapped, locked in a torture chamber, and forced to pay a massive bill for it. Even if a psychic is scamming people for money, it's a tiny fraction as much.

"They blame your problems on something completely irrelevant." And how is that any different from a medical professional assuming that someone is faking their symptoms or that their symptoms will vanish if they lose weight? How is that any different from a medical professional assuming that suicide can always be solved by medication while ignoring the blatantly obvious fact that society is designed to break people then punish them for being broken?

A lot of medical professionals are bullies who want credit for helping people without ever actually caring about the people they claim to be helping. They assume that the piece of paper that they got from whatever school they went to makes them know more about a condition than someone who actually lives with it. Sure, a psychic may be a scammer, but at least they don't have a massive sense of superiority on top of it.

If you tell a medical professional that you're suicidal, they're bound by mandatory reporting laws. You'll be locked up and end up in debt for years, and you'll be harassed about it constantly. Meanwhile, if you tell a bunch of psychics that you've been cursed, maybe one of them will say something that ends up being helpful, especially if they've been there before.

As long as our healthcare system is run for profit, and as long as people can become "experts" on a condition without ever listening to people who actually have that condition, and as long as people have to beg medical professionals to even believe them, it's completely understandable that someone would seek out alternatives.

[popfizzles]

What kind of music does Darwin, Betsy and Clef like to play? Are they like a band together?

Darwin, Betsy, and Clef aren't a band, they're street musicians :) they're buskers!!

Darwin (the potted tulip toon) carries a small amp with him across the isles to plug in his keytar wherever he can set up shop. His favorite places to perform are small restaurants (he brings in business so most places let him do so for free)! He also does crowd work well, poking fun with bystanders and jeering people who walk past him without stopping or tipping. He's very "vicious mockery" core. Busking is Darwin's preferred work, but when days are slow, he picks up odd-jobs online instead.

Clef (the orange music note) has a tiny flatbed he drags a compact drum kit on. He prefers places with echos and great acoustics, like the subway or public parks. Clef isn't necessarily in busking for the cash he gets from it, since he has a well-paying office job on the side. Instead, Clef is concerned with just Making As Much Noise As Possible. If people stop by and toss him a few coins, that's just a bonus! Busking is cathartic for him!!

And Betsy (the purple catgirl toon) has an acoustic guitar that she likes to pluck on. She's softer than the other two, quieter, very peaceful and melodic. She finds quieter places to perform where she won't be too much of a disturbance to the people walking past, and keeps her guitar case open so people can tip her freely. Betsy is busking in order to help pay for medical bills regarding her broken tail. <:)

They know each other by virtue of performing in similar places, and having a sort of friendly conversations, solidarity between street musicians. Like workplace associates but much nicer about it?

They're all a strange sort of close where they don't know each other's last names, but they know each other's favorite things to get out of the vending machines. :)

[yellowbunnydreams]

The Blood Runs Thicker (part 11) ~vampire!William Afton x F! Reader~

~On a roll so multi-upload for this story! Don't worry, bunny ears will get a multi-upload day to compensate. However there will be no uploads on Wednesday and Tuesday, post about that later. Also this is a very back and forth chapter, I'm so sorry for that!~

Tag-List; @ruh--roh-raggy @randymeeksisafinalgirl @sleepy---head @robin-the-enby @hungrhay @likoplays @slxsher-whxre @nicolezghostz @spiderlilytengu

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

CW:Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 50's), graphic acts of violence, biting, knife-play, blood, blood-drinking/licking, mention of dead children, anaemia. Mentions of torture. Drama. Possessive behaviour. The suit stays ON

The lights seemed too bright as you opened your eyes, groaning against them and looking around as you tried to orient yourself. Ears attuning to the sound of beeps and machines whirring, people walking and talking just outside of where they were fully clear. The white tiled ceiling staring back at you. Sitting up slowly, you winced, noticing an IV in your arm, attached to some form of fluids, quickly glancing at the bed told you that you were in some form of hospital bed. Heart pounding quickly and making the monitor besides you jump erratically, summoning a nurse who was passing by.

"You're awake, excellent! I-"

"What have you put me on?" You ask, glancing at the bag, the nurse smiling as she realised that you were probably a little confused.

"Saline and iron, now you-"

"Any medications? I can't be taking any medications." You said, making the nurse sigh slightly, her smile remaining in place however as she shook her head slightly.

"You were dehydrated and anaemic, so only fluids and iron. I'm surprised you came around so quickly honestly!" She giggled like it was meant to be some joke, but you just stared at her. Making her shift uncomfortably after a moment as you upheld it. Maybe your time with William had changed you more than you cared to admit.

"Now, I'm going to grab the doctor and some forms, as we need to have them filled out now you're awake. Your insurance should cover all this for sure!" The nurse smiled, your eyes watching her as she scooted out of the room. As soon as she was out of sight, you reached behind the monitors and pulled out some wires that looked important, the machine switching off and stopping the infernal beeping, pulling the attachment from your finger and hissing as you pulled the IV from the crook of your elbow. Folding your arm up to put pressure on it and reduce the bleeding.

You weren't going to stick around, you had to figure out where you were. Where Michael and Elizabeth had gone. Where William was. Your eyes welled up as you recalled how feral he'd looked with the bridle on, forcing him to compliancy, and you made a promise to yourself that you would rescue him from whatever hell he'd been placed into next.

Looking around, you eventually found a tiny locker next to the bed, wrangling it open and finding your clothes, you got dressed quickly, discarding the paper thin hospital gown and feeling more comfortable in your own clothes. Sticking your fingers in your pockets, you frowned as you felt some paper in there, pulling it out and unravelling two fifty-dollar bills and a note, reading the elegant looping handwriting carefully.

'I'm sorry you might not know where you are. I dropped you off far away so you could give yourself a new life, and some money for your troubles. -Elizabeth Afton'

Pulse racing, you shoved one of the bills and the note into your pocket, glancing out of the door to the room before padding quietly down the hall. Realising that you needed some things if you were going to go and find Afton. Nobody questioned you, or where you had come from, but you headed straight for the hospital shop. Picking up a pair of cheap, thin shoes, some socks, a soda and a sandwich, paying for them quickly before you put the shoes and socks on.

Now to figure out where you were.

~~

Michael swung his foot forwards and felt his face splitting into a grin as William doubled over, yell muffled as he doubled over in pain. Unable to stand or use his arms to block it as he was bound. And the bloody baseball bat in the corner, splinters missing from it with the force which it had hit him, was another good reason.

His son had been taking sick pleasure over the past few days with torturing him, unable to feed, unable to heal and unable to talk or bite back. Years of vexations and pain was being poured back into him, and William had begun to believe he almost deserved it. Mike grabbed his head and made him upright again, greenish grey eyes staring at him with pure hatred behind them as he smirked. The same cruel look he'd seen so many times on his son's face when he bullied Evan to tears.

"You're not so big anymore are you? God I remember how you used to fucking belt me for making Evan cry." Mike laughed bitterly, receiving a glare from William, he hated being unable to bite back at his brat of a son. To retort and make himself big again, William Afton was not the kind of man who did well with feeling small.

"But then...you come home, changed. You start wearing sunglasses more, refusing to eat dinner with us. I thought; 'perhaps he's getting so blackout, his liver might go'." Mike continued, picking up a switch-blade from the floor and raking it down William's skin, listening to the muffled hisses, the air rushing through his nose as he desperately tried to hold onto air. "And then...I happen to be there when you come home. You looked so pissed. Desperate even."

Placing the point against William's shoulder and driving it in, he watched his father squirm and shout against the plate that meant he couldn't speak. The same plate that he'd used on him more than once to 'teach him a lesson'.

"Do you even remember what I tasted like? When you almost tore me apart? How long did you wait after you snapped my neck?" He asked, driving the tip in further as William screamed, Mike's face contorting into a scowl as it didn't reach deep enough for his liking, leaving the blade in his shoulder and examining his bloody hands.

"Did you realise that Evan and Lizzie were home?"

Chuckling, he smacked the hilt of the blade, making William wince and try to pant as it scraped against bone in his shoulder before Mike pulled it free, flicking the worst of the blood off to one side. Head tilting to one side slightly as he laughed, a bitter sound as he examined the line-up of tools he had against the wall, deciding which one was next to test out.

"I guess I can thank you for one thing, father. You always hated me, because I was cruel like you. And now...now you're the one who can't stop me." He sneered as he picked up a crowbar, feeling the heavy weight in his hand before he swung it violent at William's head.

~~

You'd managed to figure out where you were once you made it outside the hospital. Moving quickly as you heard a tannoy system activating inside and garbled words that you assumed meant 'missing patient' seemed to send everybody inside into a frenzy. Scarfing down your food as you walked, you headed straight for a bus-stop. Looking through the list of destinations with a frown, finishing off the last bites as a bus pulled into the stop. Moving out of the way to allow people off and on, you studied the route map intensely.

"Where are you headed love? Maybe I can help?" The driver asked, making you jump slightly as you looked at him, barely glancing back to the route before making your mind up. Elizabeth might have taken you some way, but you were running on determination.

"Hurricane. I was visiting a friend and caught a lift up, but now I need to make my way back." Not technically a lie, but the driver nodded as he hummed for a moment, pulling out a map book and running his chubby fingers over the pages before he turned back to you.

"You want the four-twenty-seven bus. It'll take you one city over and from there, you'll have to ask again." He offered and you smiled, nodding your thanks as you took a seat at the stop. The digital clock on the wall ticking by all too slowly as the bus departed, counting down precious minutes.

You somehow knew that you had to make it to Freddy's. William had an unhealthy obsession with the place, and something in your gut made you think of the ghost children, how they seemed afraid of Afton. The thought made your stomach sink into your chest, not wanting the sickening revelation that popped into your head to be true.

A cold burst of air next to your arm caught your attention, and you glanced down at where it had touched. Frowning as you saw nothing there and turning your attention back to the clock.

'Do you...really want to save him?'

The tiny voice was almost impossible to hear, but you recognised it deep in the back of your mind. You offered your hand silently to the open space and felt the cold touching it after a few moments. Mulling over your words.

"It's complicated." You answered, looking roughly where you would expect a child to be sat before returning your gaze to straight ahead. Wondering how the ghost had managed to follow you to a town three hours away from the restaurant. But it sounded weak, like it was trying to talk through a string-phone across a campsite.

'Didn't...he..hurt..you?'

"Yes... But I just...I'm used to him now. It feels strange to go without him. There are moments when he's almost human again." Explaining to air, you felt the cold moving up your arm and moving your hair slightly, the faintest touch as you kept your eyes focused on the floor before the sensation disappeared, releasing you from it's spell and making your heart pound as you wondered what was going on to force the spirits out to find you.

~~

"Mike, he's not going to get his punishment if you beat him to a pulp before we go through with it." Elizabeth tutted, looking at the bloody floor and the distinctly slightly mis-shapen body of her father. Mike was coated too, dropping the crow-bar from his grip and watching William's fingers twitch as his nerves continued to fire, trying to repair himself even now. Sighing, he wiped his face with his forearm, taking off some of the sweat before he turned to his baby sister.

Elizabeth's face was starting to become lined with age, her hair tied back into a pony-tail and secured with a red ribbon that made Mike smile slightly. The same way she had loved to wear it as a kid, some things would never change.

"Sorry Lizzie, I just..."

"I know Mike...But you've got to remember what we're doing this for." He nodded as Elizabeth reached out her hand cautiously and held his in hers. Looking at her father as he twitched and groaned, despite the fact that any human who had sustained that much damage would certainly be dead. It was hard for her to keep reminding herself that he wasn't human. The proof was in the fact he looked the same as he did almost forty years ago, let alone the blood spilt in his name and by his hands.

He lost the right to be human when he'd almost killed Charlie Emily.

If it hadn't been for the stranger walking past, Charlie would never have been found in that back alley, body wrapped under the security puppet that Henry Emily designed. She was alive, barely. And Elizabeth had always made sure once she was grown that there was a mysterious benefactor for the Emily family, alongside Mike. They felt responsible for the fact that Charlie was wheelchair bound, that her father never got the solace to know that her attacker was brought to justice.

It always turned Elizabeth Afton's stomach that nobody knew it was her father who had done such a thing.

But it was all going to end. The remaining Afton siblings were going to end their father's reign of terror, and perhaps bring peace to whatever afterlife there may be that he was rotting in hell. They had spent years tracking him down, biding their time.

They knew he would revert to his true nature eventually.

"Go get the suit please Mike. I'm sure dad's well acquainted with what the insides look like, he'll be staring at them for a long time to come." she breathed, and Mike nodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before he wandered off into the restaurant, looking for the final piece of the trap that had been set.

~~

The closer you got the Hurricane, you felt the cold air around you increasing. You treated it like a person, your hand often dangling open at your side as you walked between buses and stations, feeling the cold air engulfing your hand as if the small child had taken a hold of your hand, holding you close in case they got lost.

It was dark by the time you made it into Hurricane, and you had the bus drop you off near to William's house. Still having to walk a way down the side of the road as you approached the house, seeing the lights all turned off and leaving it looking dark and ominous.

His car was still in the drive, and you felt grateful that you'd had some experience driving it. Heading inside, you were somewhat surprised that the door was unlocked, but you headed inside and found some old cardboard boxes. Looking around as you tried to figure out what in his life was important.

Time was running out.

'Do you need help?'

You'd almost forgotten about your silent friend, and you nodded. The cold moving up your arm and making you sharply inhale, spluttering as your lungs burnt with cold for a moment before it felt like one side of your body was filled with pins and needles. Blinking rapidly as your arm raised up by itself and your hand moved, clenching and unclenching as if testing out the movement.

'Sorry if this feels strange'

"You're alright. Thank you for helping." You said softly, allowing yourself to walk around and be poked into the right directions by the ghost sharing your body. It was a strange sensation, like your body had fallen asleep on one side and even though you were aware you were moving, you weren't doing it fully consciously. But whoever was sharing your body seemed to know William well, picking out what they deemed to be the most important and placing them into the box sort of haphazardly for your more 'awake' side to sort out and pack neatly.

"Are you...An Afton?" You asked, the side of your body being controlled pausing for a moment, the cold washing over you as you felt the question forming in your mind.

'Evan'

"Mike's your brother? That means William's your dad, right?" The little voice fell silent again as it slowly controlled your hand again, picking up things and placing them with a little more care into the boxes you dragged around the house.

'I know how you feel...Mike hurt me and..I still love him.'

"Mike hurt you?" the surprise evident in your voice as you almost felt a mental nod, Evan's hand nervously picking at itself through you and you watched it with some sadness. Like he was too nervous to talk about it, but finally summing up the courage.

'He didn't know what happened to him. He came in, and he was scarier than usual. He grabbed Lizzie first, and she didn't make any noise... it was strange. And then he grabbed me...it went all warm and fuzzy, even though I was cold.'

Mike's ability had been used on his siblings. You felt a pang in your chest as you felt some relief that at least it hadn't been painful for Evan, you knew all too well how easy it was to slip under when Mike bit you.

"Then how come you can move Fredbear?" You asked, curiosity piqued as you watched Evan putting some books into the boxes as well as boxes filled with blue-prints and metal pieces.

'Mike panicked. He put me in Fredbear, made it look like an accident so nobody would ask too many questions.'

"That's horrible!"

'I still love him...does that make me a bad person, miss?' You paused as he asked the question, wondering what he meant before the tiny voice continued 'My mom used to say that only bad people love people who've done bad things.'

"You're not a bad person Evan, you love your brother. He's...He's got issues, and I don't blame him for that. He hurt me too. Do you think I'm a bad person?" You asked, feeling the mental head-shake from the ghost as you shrugged, admittedly one sidedly. "Then how can you be a bad person."

Evan remained silent this time, moving slowly to help point out important items, and giving you full control back of your body as you loaded up the car with the boxes. Grabbing William's keys and locking up the house, you hoped that it would still be there, waiting for him to come back when you'd done. Adjusting the seat and mirrors, catching a brief glance of something blurry in the reflective surface as you adjusted them, but you started the car, carefully driving it towards Freddy's.

~~

Pulling up behind the building, you didn't notice any other cars nearby but you made sure to park in the most out of the way spot you could find. The cold air that was Evan's ghost had disappeared the closer you got to the place, and you felt your heart pounding a nervous tattoo under your skin as you faced the building for only the third time in your life.

As you went to open the door, you almost screamed as the face of a plush purple rabbit pressed against the glass, waving slowly, making you wave back before it pushed open the door with stiff movements. You guess Evan had gone inside and told the others to play nicely, though you weren't entirely sure about it.

'Is she really coming to save him?'

'She likes him. Don't you remember having crushes and you wanted to do anything for them?' Evan's tiny ghostly voice would have made you blush and smile if you weren't hyper aware of any movement potentially alerting the Afton siblings of your presence.

Heading further into the dark, you trod carefully. Something acidic hitting your nose and making you pause as you felt your shoe press into something wet on the carpet. Breathing deeply before you paused.

Gasoline. They were going to burn down the pizzeria.

Moving quickly, you heard the heavy thumps of animatronics moving about before a movement caught your eye and you ducked behind a pillar on the wall. Seeing the handsome, angular features of Michael Afton in the low light, he looked around almost casually. You realised that the strong smell of gasoline offered you some protection from his senses, but you weren't willing to push it. Shuddering as he wiped blood from his hands against his t-shirt that he's changed into, sniffing and scrunching his nose in distaste as the scent in the place. Rolling his shoulders before he began to walk off into the dark again, allowing you to slip down the corridor that he'd come from.

Your feet were quiet against the tiled floor, listening and quietly testing each door you came to. Opening the door where you had hidden with William, seeing Fredbear's suit in the corner, blank eyes staring into your soul as you slipped inside. Carefully, you picked up the head, cradling it carefully before you listened for the sound of the heavy animatronic feet passing by.

Opening the door, you saw Foxy glaring at you, hook raised slightly as if he was about to swing before seeing you carry the golden Freddy head in your arms.

"I-I don't know if you can understand me, but you need to escape. They're going to burn the building. Can you take Evan and this key," whispering as you fumbled with they key set, taking off the Afton house key and gently placing it on his hook before holding out the head tenderly. "and let his show you where to go? You'll be safe there. I promise to come back for you."

The animatronic whirred and clicked, metallic parts struggling to move for a moment before Foxy's jaw opened and snapped shut, making his head wobble back and forth in a pseudo-nod. His hand taking the underside of the suit head before he turned slowly, stomping back down the hall, hopefully to retrieve the others and escape.

You began to move again, hoping that you would be able to find your way out of the restaurant in time as you tried the last door on the corridor. Gasping as the smell of iron hit you in the face, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting before you spotted what you had come for. Shoulders slumping as you cautiously approached.

The once yellow rabbit was slumped against the wall, and you could see blood soaking the fur. Pooling beneath it and spreading across the tile like black ichor in the low light. Falling to your knees, you stared at what to all intents and purposes looked like a corpse. Something in the way that he was slumped over told you that the mechanisms inside that you had set off when you first met William had popped and contributed to the bleeding. You wondered if his head had been damaged. Truly trapped inside a prison of his own making.

Tears welled up in your eyes, staring at him helplessly before you crawled through the gore and laid your head against his shoulder, arms around the thick middle and letting yourself cry for a moment. You weren't sure what you were mourning, but they flowed freely, and the hot salt rolling down your cheeks felt like it released a tension you didn't know you'd been carrying. Quietly sobbing and making the suit wetter than it already was.

You almost missed the tiny, rattling breath from inside.

Hearing it, you paused, trying to contain your hiccupping breaths as you listened for it again. Seeing the fingers on his gloved left hand twitching almost imperceptibly. Hope swept through you like a crashing wave, and you struggled to your feet, hooking your arms under his and grunting as the dead weight pressed against your much smaller body.

"William...if you can hear me... I've got you." You whispered close to the suit, watching the mechanical ear twitch slightly as you spoke. Grunting as you pulled him along the tiles, trying to not slip over in his blood as you managed to shoulder open the door. Eyes widening as you saw flames licking at the end of the hallway, black smoke curling up to the ceiling and crawling along it.

You had to escape.

Looking at the grimy walls, you spotted a fire-plan, scanning it briefly before you began to drag William with you down a different turning. Sweating as the heat in the building increased and from the heavy work, William was not a light man at the best of times, and now the added weight of the suit wasn't helping your cause. Panting as you managed to pull him towards the door, coughing as the smoke began to cling to everything, burning your eyes as you fumbled with the fire-door. The bar refusing to give out before you slammed your whole weight against it, hissing in pain as it felt like something in your shoulder popped trying to get it to move.

Grabbing the yellow suit again, you felt out of breath moving him into the cool night air, feeling the suit shudder at the change in temperature.

In the light of the flames, you could faintly make out two figures stood in front, holding onto each other as they watched the building go up in flames. The Afton siblings. You felt some sadness for them, that it had come to this to get over everything that had happened in their life. Turning towards the woods out back, you saw the faintly glowing eyes of five animatronics peering at the flames, watching at least one pair slide over to you before they turned and began to walk through the brush. You hoped that they made it to the house okay. They were children after all.

Opening the car door, it took a while of effort to haul William into the back seat, hearing a quiet rasping breath as you winced, the suit barely moving as you guessed animatronic parts held him still. Placing him as comfortably as you could manage before climbing into the driver's seat, bloody and tired as you managed to start the car and slip out onto the highway, not sure if Elizabeth and Michael noticed you, but you were too focused on driving.

You weren't sure where you would go. But you needed somewhere safe for the night where you could assess the damage.

You needed somewhere where you could make sure William was alive.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for not getting my coworkers holiday gifts?

Sorry in advance for the long ask, I have adhd so I'm not always great at figuring out what's relevant to the topic lmao. I (29M) have been working at my current workplace since I graduated college (so ~7 years). For the first few years I worked pretty much alone. I have a close working relationship with my supervisors, and I have a lot of interns filter through, but I was the only person at my 'level' of work, if that makes sense. I would write cards for my supervisors, and with my interns I would do something like bake cookies for everyone, or take them all out for dinner (to clarify I always have at minimum 3-4 interns, I wasn't just taking someone I was in charge of out for a one on one dinner lmao).

Last year, four more people were hired who work in the same position/level as me (early 20s-mid 30s, all F). I get along with them alright as coworkers, but they are all much closer with each other than I am with them. They didn't know eachother before starting here, but I make a lot of effort keeping distance between my work and personal life, vs they have all become friends outside of work. I also have enough issues with them that I wouldn't want to be friends with them outside of work (very condensed version is that I am openly aroace and they are Weird about it). I am firm about keeping boundaries/distance though and that makes it easier to deal with them.

Again, we work together really well when we're actually talking about work-- it's just the non-work stuff that I don't really vibe with. Also, their level of friendship is very normal in our workplace/field, since we are in a very very rural area where the tiny little town we're in is almost entirely centered around the one industry/company that we're at. The fact that I'm not friends outside of work with my coworkers gives me a reputation for being weird/cold (but I don't care if I seem weird as long as it means I can keep some distance).

Last year, we all talked about Xmas gifts, and decided that we wouldn't get each other anything, but rather just pitch in for some wine and fancy pastries for a mini office party. It was nice, except then right before Christmas I found a gift on my desk from one of them (like, a 50$ gift, which is quite expensive considering how much we make). I asked her about it, saying I appreciated it but didn't have anything since we agreed not to get eachother gifts. She said something like she didn't expect anything, just wanted to get me something. I thanked her and but was uncomfortable enough that I ended up giving the thing to a friend of mine (who knew it was a re-gift and was happy to have it lol). I didn't plan to get anything, except then I found out that the other three had all consequently gotten eachother and me gifts as a result of her. I talked to the one coworker I get along best with, and she agreed with me that it would now be rude to not give anything in return, so I just got everyone relatively impersonal gifts (books).

However, finances are tight this year for me (coworkers don't know that) due to some medical bills. We are doing an office cookie exchange, and again agreed not to get each other gifts, but one of them (same one who started this last year) hinted that she had 'a little something' for each of us anyways, but no need to reciprocate.

If it's relevant, we are in the US, all white, and all varying degrees of atheist/agnostic/ex-christian.

No idea if this will even get out of the queue before Xmas lol but: WIBTA if i stuck to our agreement to not get my coworkers Christmas gifts, even if they get me gifts anyways?

What are these acronyms?

[todaysbird]

It's kind of like this for me... you go in to the vet, and you see all those posters on the walls about dog dental health or heartworm meds or whatever, and you look and they're from a company trying to sell you a related med

My understanding is that usually those companies are paying the vet to post what are basically ads

And like... on one hand, those probably are effective meds for those things, and those are things that need treating. Also, if the vet is getting compensated, that may help to pay for stuff like rent and may lower my costs even a tiny bit... and that's probably good

On the other hand, I think that kind of advertising is very insidious and... you do have to ask the question, might it influence vets even unconsciously to favor giving out the meds/food/brands that also helps pay their bills, especially if they do get any kind of actual reward?

It's complicated, money makes all this stuff tricky. You get balancing operating cost, vs providing care, vs ethical questions around accepting deals with companies to directly or indirectly promote their products to people trying to take care of their pets

(And like you said, you've got a lot of this stuff around in the human medical field too)

I assume that's kind of your main point with what you've been saying here, that the whole thing is a muddy situation where monetary motives my consciously or subconsciously influence vets to lean towards brands that help them out regardless of if that's what's best for their client and their pets, but that also doesn't mean that it's some kind of pure scam with zero value either

Anyway, regardless of if I'm reading your thoughts on this right, hope you have a good day

Yes exactly. I do not believe that the average owner ‘knows more’ than a vet, however I do believe certain food brands are over-recommended due to those brands paying for their places in vet offices. This doesn’t even necessarily negate the quality of the food, or reflect on the care the veterinarian provides.

I remember getting into a long debate over the phone with a vet tech when she insinuated I had gotten grain free food for my dog as a fad diet, and they only recommended Hill’s. My dog has allergies to grain, and gets violently ill when fed regular dog food. After many brands, we have settled on a grain free, sensitive tummy dog food that keeps her healthy and happy. This does not mean she was acting with intent to harm my dog. Vets are more aware of dogs’ needs than the average person, AND you as an owner have the responsibility to know & advocate for your pet’s individualized needs.

[sixeyescurseuser]

Modern AU where Yuji has to work after school in order to help pay for his grandfather’s medical bills.

He finally gets hired as a cashier/helper at the ancient local library.

It’s ginormous. There are walls of bookshelves, entirely filled with books of all sizes - hardcovers, soft covers, manuals - and different colors.

Understandably, Yuji goes through lots of training: learning how the ship is organized, how to help customers at the register, and how to keep the place clean.

Once, when Yuji is snacking on a few candies he got from the school vending machines, his manager warns him not to leave his food out, especially sweets.

“It attracts nasty, unwanted critters,” she states.

Yuji easily agreed and stuffs the rest of his candies in his hoodie pocket. They’re just about to close, so he gets to sweeping the floors of the bookstore. 

About one month in, Yuji has everything down. He’s a quick and eager learner, and actually had a very sharp memory. This serves him well as the manager who showed him all the ropes suddenly calls it quits.

Something about going insane in the bookshop, seeing things that don’t exist…

A haunted bookstore? Yuji questions himself. Seems likely. 

He’s never actually met the owner in person. And he barely catches sight of the other person who works the early afternoon shift.

For a bookstore so vast and abundant, there weren’t a ton of customers filtering in and out all the time.

One day, Yuji’s friends surprise him with a whole box full of donuts for his birthday. 

Yuji shares the donuts, but alas, there are still two left. He decides to bring the leftover two to work, intent on offering them to any lucky customer that might come in hungry.

Only two customers come in over the next few hours: an older woman who returns a couple books and borrows two more, and a father with a young boy who is looking for a “children’s horror book” about a boy being pulled into the ocean and dragged to hell. 

Weird.

The boy takes one donut. 

One donut remains.

Really, Yuji is unsure of how the owner is keeping this business running. But at least he’s being paid a decent wage. And it’s simple enough work too.

It’s quiet for the next hour. 

Already done with most of his housekeeping tasks, Yuji ventures to the sci-fi section, which is near the front of the store where he can still see the entryway, in case anyone comes in. This means he can also see the register counter, where the donut box lays, lid open.

Pop music softly plays from the store speakers. Yuji hums to the vaguely familiar tune, sifting through the shelves. 

But the music is not loud enough to mask the shuffle of the donut box on the counter.

Yuji pauses his search, scanning the doorway to make sure no one has entered the store. Not hearing any other pair of footsteps, Yuji turns back to the books.

A long moment passes before an unmistakable noise of laughter rings out.

Yuji whirls around because he did NOT imagine that!

He rushes to the counter, right in time to see the donut escaping the box. Or rather, upon closer inspection, a tiny person not even the height of a birthday candle, carrying said donut and bounding away.

Yuji, unable to process anything besides the fact that the tiny person is taking his last donut, chases after them.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

Yuji easily catches up to the tiny-person-donut-blob, cupping them between his palms right when the tiny person makes a leap for a bookshelf.

“Gotcha-!“ Yuji shouts in triumph. He squeezes tight enough to trap, then takes a closer look.

This tiny person is dressed in just as tiny clothes. Human-shaped enough, with white hair and black blindfold over their eyes. 

Before Yuji can ask “What ARE you?” The tiny person finishes chewing what Yuji assumes was a piece of donut, and opens their mouth to yell out:

“Formation B!”

Before Yuji can blink, two other small people fly from opposite bookshelves.

One lands on his right wrist and thumps it with a tiny hammer; this causes Yuji to let go of the white-haired-tiny-person and donut in tow. 

The other smacks right onto his nose, making Yuji go cross-eyed. This tiny human has black spiky hair and dark eyes. His expression offers nothing more than stone-cold as he throws a glittery powder into Yuji’s face- 

Yuji promptly blacks out.

***

The powder was supposed to make Yuji forget about the little people sighting, but it doesn’t work on him.

Now that he’s aware of their existence, he starts seeing the little people everywhere now: hopping from shelf to shelf, meddling in customer’s bags or purses, changing the music from Yuji’s classical playlist to a TWICE song.

(“It’s like TT~~like TT” in the background.

Yuji, in his head: “so that explains the random song changes” 🧐

It was all Gojo. 

Gojo also played pranks on the manager and made her quit lol. )

Au-wise, the major issue is that a real estate company is looking to buy out the building, wanting to create a more high-end shopping strip. The local bookstore is at risk of being closed down, which has been the home of little people for years. 

Many traveling little people even use the bookstore as a place to rest and find community. Yuji finds that there's a whole other tiny world within the bookshelves thanks to Gojo and his little family.

So Yuji has to help figure out a way to generate more business for the bookstore without risking the livelihoods of the little people, or help scout out a new location for the little people in case that doesn't work.

***

Bonus: 

Geto had always been curious about other little people's locations. A few months ago, he set out on his journey to explore outside the bookstore. 

("I'm going on a little adventure! I'll make sure to bring souvenirs for you all!" Geto pats his special bag that has an infinite amount of space before heading off into the big wide world.)

But he never returned, and has been missing ever since. Gojo is :(((. 

(Yuji: “I mean, I go outside all the time. If you tell me what kind of places he’d go, I can help search for him?”

Gojo: “I knew I liked you for a reason!”)

In hindsight, Geto’s first mistake was getting kidnapped by a hawk, which clearly thought he was food. Cue the hawk soaring through the sky and Geto's tiny screaming.

He ended up in a nest with baby hawks. 

See, living with Gojo and the kids back in the bookstore, Geto ran a lot in his life. But he swears, he's never ran so fast until then, away from the birds trying to gobble him up.

Geto simply yanked a tree leaf off the branch and sailed down to the ground. Geto ended up at a cafe a few blocks down. He's been trying to find his way back ever since. 🥹

It comes down to when Gojo tags along with Yuji during their weekly searches and Gojo’s gets enamored by the smell coming from the cafe.

Imagine Geto’s surprise when he’s hiding within the shelves behind the counter and sees a tuft of white hair peeking from this large human’s collar.

Satoru!

And it’s as if he can sense Geto anywhere because Gojo locks eyes with Geto right away.

Suguru!

Gojo jumps down from his perch - he’s gone rogue!

Yuji, internally: “NOOO”

Luckily, most people in the cafe are engrossed in conversation or their work. The only person Yuji makes a fool out of himself for covering the clearly tiny person making a dash for the back shelves is the barista.

Geto hops down the shelves and meets Gojo in the middle of the coffee machine, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

Yuji, stalling his order so the barista doesn’t notice the tiny Satosugu reunion on the mf coffee machine: “Uh, so what do you recommend?”

Geto quickly sweeps Gojo up in his arms and heads towards Yuji. The barista is still talking through their recommendations. 

Yuji: “Oh, um, I’ll actually have one hot chocolate, please. Also, how much is that pastry?”  

Yuji points to the display so the barista doesn’t see him scooping up tiny Satosugu into his hoodie - who whisper loudly among themselves. 😭

(Gojo: “Suguru, your hair got so long!”

Geto: “It did, I didn’t really have anything to cut it. You like?” 😉

Gojo: “Oh I much more than like it~”

Luckily, Geto puts his palm over Gojo’s mouth before he can continue.)

Once they’re back on the street, Yuji feels a tap on his neck.

“Hello, I’m Geto Suguru. What’s your name?”

“Itadori Yuji. Bookstore cashier, shelver, and tiny person transporter,” Yuji introduces himself. “It’s nice to meet you, Geto-sama.”

Geto laughs loudly. 

“Nice to meet you too, Yuji-kun.”

A moment passes, before he adds: 

“Thank you for helping Satoru find me.”