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reasonsforhope · 2 months ago

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"Despite the Central Appalachia ecosystem being historically famous as coal country, under this diverse broadleaf canopy lies a rich, biodiverse world of native plants helping to fill North America’s medicinal herb cabinet.

And it turns out that the very communities once reliant on the coalfields are now bringing this botanical diversity to the country.

“Many different Appalachian people, stretching from pre-colonization to today, have tended, harvested, sold, and used a vast number of forest botanicals like American ginseng, ramps, black cohosh, and goldenseal,” said Shannon Bell, Virginia Tech professor in the Dept. of Sociology. “These plants have long been integral to many Appalachians’ livelihoods and traditions.”

50% of the medicinal herbs, roots, and barks in the North American herbal supply chain are native to the Appalachian Mountains, and the bulk of these species are harvested or grown in Central Appalachia, which includes southern West Virginia, eastern Kentucky, far-southwest Virginia, and east Tennessee.

The United Plant Savers, a nonprofit with a focus on native medicinal plants and their habitats, has identified many of the most popular forest medicinals as species of concern due to their declining populations.

Along with the herbal supply chain being largely native to Appalachia, the herb gatherers themselves are also native [to Appalachia, not Native American specifically], but because processing into medicine and seasonings takes place outside the region, the majority of the profits from the industry do too.

In a press release on Bell’s superb research and advocacy work within Appalachia’s botanical communities, she refers back to the moment that her interest in the industry and the region sprouted; when like many of us, she was out in a nearby woods waiting out the pandemic.

“My family and I spent a lot of time in the woods behind our house during quarantine,” Bell said. “We observed the emergence of all the spring ephemerals in the forest understory – hepatica, spring beauty, bloodroot, trillium, mayapple. I came to appreciate the importance of the region’s botanical biodiversity more than ever, and realized I wanted to incorporate this new part of my life into my research.”

With co-investigator, John Munsell at VA Tech’s College of Natural Resources and Environment, Bell’s project sought to identify ways that Central Appalachian communities could retain more of the profits from the herbal industry while simultaneously ensuring that populations of at-risk forest botanicals not only survive, but thrive and expand in the region.

Bell conducted participant observation and interviews with wild harvesters and is currently working on a mail survey with local herb buyers. She also piloted a ginseng seed distribution program, and helped a wild harvester write a grant proposal to start a forest farm.

“Economic development in post-coal communities often focuses on other types of energy development, like fracking and natural gas pipelines, or on building prisons and landfills. Central Appalachia is one of the most biodiverse places on the planet. I think that placing a greater value on this biodiversity is key to promoting a more sustainable future for the region,” Bell told VA Tech press.

Armed with a planning grant of nearly half a million dollars, Bell and collaborators are specifically targeting forest farming as a way to achieve that sustainable future.

Finally, enlisting support from the nonprofit organization Appalachian Sustainable Development, Virginia Tech, the City of Norton, a sculpture artist team, and various forest botanicals practitioners in her rolodex, Bell organized the creation of a ‘living monument’ along Flag Rock Recreation Area in Norton, Virginia.

An interpretive trail, the monument tells the story of the historic uses that these wild botanicals had for the various societies that have inhabited Appalachia, and the contemporary value they still hold for people today."

-via Good News Network, September 12, 2024

#appalachia #united states #biodiversity #herbs #herbal medicine #herbalism #native plants #conservation #sustainability #sustainable agriculture #solarpunk #good news #hope

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hometoursandotherstuff · 9 months ago

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Since you can't fight old house renovations, I've decided to look at them as "interesting." This lovely 1900 brick rowhouse in Richmond, Virginia has been renovated and it's amusing how different homeowners handle it and how designers, architects, etc., interpret what is best and what potential buyers want. 3bds, 2ba, $565K.

Side hall Victorian. Looks like that may be the original newel post, but it's hard to tell. They made it very light, but plain.

In the living room, I'm immediately confused b/c the fireplace looks Art Deco. It's nice, but just looks about 20yrs. too soon to be in this house.

New floors, and what looks like an original fireplace. I like the pretty pink panels. I'm wondering if they removed the original crown molding and replaced it with a thin wood strip, then painted a wide stripe above it to make it more contemporary.

Modernized family room.

Silvery powder room. I like the modern take on a vintage sink.

The kitchen reno is beautiful and they get bonus points for leaving this wonderful old brick wall and fireplace.

I would've liked to have seen it natural brick, but...

The primary bedroom is nice and large. I have to give them credit for saving all the fireplaces.

They were able to make a walk-in closet.

Small redone 3 pc. bath looks like it has a vintage tub.

Bedroom #2 is lovely- a nice cozy fireplace and a wall with built-in shelving with a library ladder.

A typically narrow hallway leads to bedroom #3. Comfortable looking room.

I guess the bedroom with the shelving isn't really meant to be a bedroom, b/c this would make a 4th bedroom.

Cute little porch.

The yard is surprisingly large with pavers and a big pergola.

Look at how pretty the ivy is.

I wonder if you can pull a car in thru these gates.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/12-E-Clay-St-Richmond-VA-23219/12525439_zpid/

#rowhouses #houses #house tours #home tour

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beyondthesefourwalls · 2 years ago

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To Make a House a Home

Summary: House hunting in California was proving to be a challenge. Leave it to Bradley to manage to pull off the biggest surprise you’ve ever gotten.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n, can be read as unnamed OC)

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: smut, fluff, language

Notes: This was written off the blurb request I got during my TGM Blurb Party by @cherrycola27. She requested Bradley. Smut/Fluff. House. “You can’t trick me into confessing my secrets” and it ran away from me, so she gets a one shot instead. Hope you like it and that it worth the wait, girlfriend!

------

“I don’t think I can handle an open house today, baby. Can we just go back to the apartment instead?”

The dejection in your voice was clear. You had been on the market for a house for months now that you had relocated to San Diego from Virginia. But the market was nearly impossible right now, and you were dealt rejection after rejection for every single offer you put in. You were renting an apartment on a month to month basis with the majority of your things packed away in a storage unit, and both of you were so eager to get out of the third floor walk up and into a place you could make a home.

Bradley squeezed your hand before bringing it to his lips as he took an exit off the freeway. It was sunny but not too hot today, and the wind from the open windows made the strands of your hair flutter around your face. “Just one, okay? I have a good feeling about this."

“Just one?” you asked, hesitation and reluctance in your voice. But you would humor him, he knew, because he never asked for much.

“Just one,” he confirmed.

You sighed, and Bradley knew you really didn’t want to, but you agreed with him nonetheless. You weren’t happy now, but his own excitement started vibrating under his skin, because he knew you would be. He couldn’t wait to see the look on your face.

It was only another few minutes before he pulled into a neighborhood. He saw how you sat up a little straighter in your seat and how your brows pulled together out of the corner of his eye; you started to recognize your surroundings, taking them in. You didn’t say anything right away, but Bradley could practically feel the wheels in your head turning. You waited until he pulled into the driveway of a very familiar house before turning to him.

“What are we doing here?”

The here in question was a house that could only be described as your dream home. It had almost everything your Pinterest Home Goals board could ever imagine, and maybe even a little bit extra, and you had fallen in love with it the moment you saw it during your house hunting more than a month ago. Your eyes had lit up in a way that Bradley had never seen before, only to be stamped out when the offer you had put in before you had even left the driveway was rejected the very next day. It had been hard, but you had simply smiled at him and said you would find another dream home, and that as long as you were with him, it didn’t matter. He knew you were being truthful, but he also knew that every home you looked at afterward simply didn’t compare. When he got the phone call from the realtor last week that it was back on the market after the original buyers had fallen through, he knew he had to move fast. With a little more cash down and a pre-approved loan for the rest, he had managed to sign all the paperwork and get the keys with you being none the wiser.

Bradley turned the Bronco off and got out. You were still giving him that same confused, skeptical look when he rounded the vehicle to open your door for you like he always did. He couldn’t help but lean forward and place a kiss on the top of your scrunched up nose.

“Come on,” he said, helping you down and closing the door once you were safely on the ground. “We should go inside.”

“Bradley, there’s no one else here. And isn’t this house already sold?”

You sound dumbfounded, and more than a little confused. You climbed the few steps to the closed front door, and Bradley couldn’t keep it to himself any longer. A smile took over his entire face and he dug around in his front pocket until he held his hand out. A shiny, silver key laid in his palm.

“I..I don’t…what’s happening?”

Instead of answering, he took the key and inserted it into the lock. The door swung open easily and he gestured for you to go in. You did so slowly, not taking your eyes off of him until you crossed the threshold. You gasped when you looked around. The large open concept living room and kitchen were bare, not a single rug or piece of furniture to be found as of yet. But on one of the walls right there in front of you, your favorite photo of the two of you hung, snug in its frame that had been sitting in your storage unit up until he had retrieved it earlier this morning. You stared at it in shock for a long moment. Bradley closed the front door and wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You turned to look at him, that same look of disbelief on your face, but your eyes were bright with love and awe.

“This is ours?” you asked quietly, like you were too scared of the answer. He nodded. “You bought this?”

“We bought this,” he corrected, “but yes. We did.”

You didn’t say anything, just stared at him for a long moment before squealing and launching yourself into his arms. The unexpected force of your body made him lose his footing and sent the both of you to the ground. He braced your fall with his body, but even then, he was laughing.

“Bradley! This is our house!”

“It is,” he agreed, looking up at you with the biggest smile on his face. You squealed again before leaning down to kiss him and he returned it eagerly. His hands settled on your butt, squeezing softly through the denim.

“How did you pull this off without me knowing? You aren’t sneaky!”

“I’m plenty sneaky when it means surprising the love of my life, thank you very much,” he remarked. You rolled your eyes but kissed him again nonetheless.

“Our house,” you mumbled against his lips. He hummed in response, nodding. His cock twitched in his jeans. You always had a powerful effect on him, but combined with the way your body pressed against his, wiggling in excitement, and knowing that the happiness radiating off of you practically in waves was because of him, he was almost fully hard in a matter of moments. You could feel it, too. He knew by the way you ground down into him and tugged at his hair. You pulled away after a moment, rolling off of him and climbing to your feet.

He was about to push himself up as well but stopped when you tugged your shirt over your head. His jaw dropped as the material fluttered to the floor beside where he lay. You kicked off your shoes and worked on getting your jeans and panties off next. You returned to him as soon as you were left only in your bra, and you immediately set to work on undoing his belt and pulling his zipper down.

“Don’t you want to look around?” he asked, even as he was finally getting with the program and raising his body just enough to quickly discard his own shirt.

“No, I want to fuck you in our house. Right now. And I want you to tell me how you managed to do all of this.”

He groaned in pleasure when you freed his cock from the confines of his boxers. “You can’t trick me into confessing my secrets. Oh, fuck, baby, god damn.”

You had taken his length into your mouth with no preamble, sucking and licking him in the sloppy way that you knew he loved. The back of his head hit the hardwood floors as you hollow your cheeks. He cursed your name when you hummed around him. He threaded his fingers loosely through your hair. “Oh my god, you’re so good to me.”

You didn’t work him with your mouth for too long, pulling off of him after only a minute or two, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain about it when you were climbing up his body and lining him up with your glistening wet pussy. You sank down slowly, and your matching groans echoed off the walls of the empty house.

“You’ll tell me eventually,” you breathed, clenching around him as he bottomed out. You ran your hands over his chest, your nails scraping against his nipples as you went. His hips jerked up into you at the sensation and he knew you were right; despite what he said, your tricks always worked on him.

He rolled the two of you so you were on your back below him. He thrusted in and out of you with long, hard strokes, you begging him for more the entire time in that desperate way you always did when his cock was buried inside of you. He wouldn’t be surprised if neither of you lasted long, but that was okay, because you had an entire house to christen.

“Welcome home, baby,” he grunted, slamming his hips into yours and reveling in the sounds you were making for him, echoing around him like music, “welcome home.”

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Masterlist

Notes: In my head I was picturing the couple from the first TGM one shot I ever wrote, A Change to Everything. You don't have to read that to follow along with this, obviously, but check it out if you haven’t!

Tag List (please let me know if you’d like to be removed or added!) : @roosterforme - @mak-32 - @hoyaharper - @wildxwidow - @gretagerwigsmuse - @bradshawburner - @iamaslytherin0 - @lilyevanswhore - @too-fangirl-to-fuction - @fav-fanficssss - @benhardysdrumstick - @fandomxpreferences - @acatwriteshere - @1234-angelika - @double-j - @cocoskween - @sunflowersteves - @teacupsandtopgun - @littlezee80 - @sometimesanalice - @je-suis-prest-rachel - @khaylin27 - @infamous-reindeer - @hotch-meeeeeuppppp - @sarahjoestewy-blog - @sunnysidesidra - @notroosterbradshaw - @yanna-banana - @inthestars-underthesun -@avengersfan25 - @wkndwlff - @zbeez-outlet - @lt-spork - @indynerdgirl - @loveforaugust - @mssleepy876b

@kassieesworld - @luckylexie - @lovemesomevesey - @mizzzpink - @books-for-summer - @a-serene-place-to-be - @deviltsunoda - @tv-fanatic18 - @memoriesat30 - @melody-death - @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog - @dabisblackprincess - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @realdirectionx - @waywardhunter95 - @myownworstenemyyy - @sexualparkour - @sadpetalsstuff - @almostgenerallyalways -@alilstressyandlotdepressy - @14readwritedraw96 - @ccbb2222 - @taytaylala12 - @alittlechaotics-blog - @starkleila

@shelbycillian - @mavrellover91 - @vici111 - @merishfit - @plaper1 - @lunamooncole - @pariahsparadise - @bunny-nonnie - @blackwidownat2814 - @huang-the-geek - @jpgliv - @bluelicious - @loveyhoneydovey - @pisupsala - @nuvoleincielo - @olivezeppelin - @jynxmirage - @shanimallina87 - @ouralcohol - @lumpypoll - @discowitchyy - @bellaireland1981- @princessmiaelicia - @eighthwvnder - @floydflys - @smile-child-13 - @rashelruby10 - @csoutsider - @cowboybarbie - @haydensith - @itsizzythebell - @phantomxoxo - @myhealthymarvelobsession - @winterrebel04

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feminist-space · 6 months ago

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"And then when she was in escrow earlier this month, her broker called her late at night on May 17, a Friday, with some bad news.

The seller wanted to pull out of the deal.

Why? “You could hear the fear and disbelief in his voice,” Dr. Baxter said, recalling what her broker told her next. “He said, ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, but she doesn’t want to sell the home to you, and it’s because you’re Black.’”

The seller, Jane Walker, 84, is white.

...

Two federal laws — the Fair Housing Act of 1968 and the much older Civil Rights Act of 1866 — make it illegal for both home sellers and their real estate agents to discriminate during a home sale. But more than 50 years after redlining was outlawed, racial discrimination remains an issue, housing advocates say. A multiyear undercover investigation by the National Fair Housing Alliance, a Washington-based nonprofit coalition of housing organizations, found that 87 percent of real estate agents participated in racial steering, opting to show their clients homes only in neighborhoods where most of the neighbors were of their same race. Agents also refused to work with Black buyers and showed Black and Latino buyers fewer homes than white buyers.

...

... with the home sale in escrow and on the same day of a home inspection, Dr. Baxter and Dr. Gamble made the three-hour drive to Virginia Beach to see the house in person for the first time. Ms. Walker arrived as the couple was leaving, and Ms. Walker’s agent, Susan Pender of Berkshire Hathaway RW Towne Realty, introduced the seller to the buyer.

Shortly after Dr. Baxter and Dr. Gamble drove away from the home, Ms. Walker informed her agent that she was not willing to sell her home to a person who is Black and she wished to cancel the sale, according to a chronology of events compiled by Mr. Miller and shared with The New York Times by Dr. Baxter. Mr. Miller declined to comment, and Ms. Pender did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

But what followed, according to Dr. Baxter and Dr. Gamble and supported by Mr. Miller’s recounted, written timeline, was a series of frantic actions by real estate agents on both sides focused on salvaging the home deal.

...

Dr. Baxter’s home sale remains set to close later this summer. But even if the deal goes through, her rights under the Fair Housing Act have still been potentially violated, said Brenda Castañeda, deputy director of advocacy for HOME of VA, a nonprofit that assists Virginians who believe they have experienced housing discrimination. Real estate agents are required by law to not discriminate, which means they must inform sellers who insist on acting with prejudice that they will not represent them, and extricate themselves from a sale if the seller will not acquiesce. But there are other ways discrimination can play out.

“I don’t know that you can cure discrimination just by changing your mind and going through with the deal,” Ms. Castañeda said, adding that the actions of the real estate agents on both sides could also be a violation. “There may be damages experienced by that person because they’ve experienced a loss of their civil rights and the distress of having a discriminatory statement said to them.”

She added, “Dr. Baxter has experienced harm whether the transaction goes through or not. We just want this to be a wake-up call to people.”"

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/realestate/race-home-buying-raven-baxter.html

#racism tw #home buying #real estate

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ryololart · 1 month ago

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After the War

Summary: Evanegline teaching at Quantico years after the ending of MWIII

Warnings: Mentions of gore and slight sexual topics if you squint real hard.

Notes: I wrote eight pages on a google doc in two hours because I have barely written anything in months.

I hate teaching. I always have, always will. All the eyes on me in the room like vultures staring from overhead, just waiting for a scrap of meat to fall out my mouth in hope for enrichment. Don’t these kids know I can’t help them?

Price told me this would be good for me. To get out of the house, out of the garage, back in front of people. I wish he knew who was wrong. I was meant to sit there for the rest of my days and sell fixed up cars on Facebook marketplace. Letting my uniform and metals get dusty in the closet. However, according to him, that won’t do. When I left to get on a plane to fly out to Virginia I had to set my profile on hiatus and the messages that flooded my inbox all were in a panic. Where are you going? Sell this to me before you leave? How much for the Rav? I’ll give you 1,000 pound and come get it if you sell me it before you go. My buyers need me, not some snooty rich Quantico recruits.

These kids need a teacher and I’m barely half a person. Laswell, a friend of his from the C.I.A. apparently personally asked me to come. According to her, my experience in the field and my grit would shape these recruits up. The class itself was about anti-terrorism and who better at the head of it other than one of the two remaining survivors of SAS Team-141. The most famous anti-terrorist team to ever exist says the internet. They make me wear a badge on my jacket with my affiliations and having the skull, wings, and daggers sitting right on my shoulder surely has brought enough unwanted attention in the two days I have been here. So many gasps and sighs, enough to think this was a porn film.

All the students are in their uniforms, here at Quantico they are forced to wear black trousers and a tan blazer. They tried to fit me for one, but I waved them off. I told them I wear military pants and a sweatshirt and nothing more or nothing less. This wasn’t to be different, but I do not need to abide by these standards when I am the one doing a favor here. A boy sits in the front, a few crooked teeth, jet black hair that has been gelled back, and a nasty look in his eyes. His notebook and papers still sit in his bag, unwilling to bring them out until he sees it is fit. A few rows back and to the right sits a girl with short ginger hair, freckles framing her cheeks, and bright blue eyes. A pen is poised in her hand and she looks at me with almost an alarm in her eyes. These are two kinds of people in this world, those who are passer-byers, ones that are willing to find their way when it comes to them, and those who are willing to grit their teeth and crawl on their hands and knees to get what they want. I found that I have been both of those people and the difference between them is something finite.

“Hello,” I stand in front of the desk that has been pushed to the front of the room. “My name is Captain Evangeline Thomas, please do not call me that, just Captain or Thomas is fine. I will be clear now, I was asked to teach as a favor to a dear friend of mine. I do not know how I can be of most use to you so please, tell me as we go.” I lean back against my desk, the clinking of the braces on my leg makes me shudder, even so many years later.

“You are really, The Evangeline Thomas? The one on SAS Team-141, the sergeant master?” The ginger girl says out into the open air of the classroom. I can feel the words hit me like glass, clawing its way down my throat and restricting it, closing and pulling shut. I have to cough for fear that the oxygen will soon run out.

“Yes, I was. I, however, do not hold that title anymore,” So much for introductions. “Why don’t we go around the room and just say our names and ranks. If I am going to teach you I wanna know your names.”

It takes five minutes for the class of twenty to go around and say those basic things. A few stumble on their words or have to ask what we are doing and I nearly throw the yard stick at the front of the class at them. The kid in the front row’s name is Connell, and the girl’s name is Diana. I don’t know why these two kids stick in my head, maybe it is the way she is chewing her gum so aggressively or the way he keeps his stare at the floor.

“Right so, Laswell wanted me to give a few lectures on anti-terrorism. However, I have never been the academic type. So, how about I give you a few stories and we dissect them,” I move to the board, the short distance between the desk and chalkboard makes me have to plan my steps carefully. “We want to know three things when it comes to cases like this. What is the act of terrorism? How do we stop it? How do we prevent it from happening again?” The chalk skates across the dark green and I forgot how my writing looks like chicken scratch.

“You know just how to make it look like it could be readable but when you get a good glance it goes right back to scribbles.” His voice echoes in my head like it always does and suddenly the ring on my finger starts to itch again.

“What happened to your legs dude?” A voice breaks out as I finish the last question mark. His eyes find mine and I notice they are almost orangey-brown, like the dirt in morocco. His notebook has moved from his bag to his desk but it remains under open. The question itself does not surprise me, that is something everyone asks. Over the years I have found silly ways to answer, since technically, it is classified. I told Price’s daughter when she was old enough to ask if it was a bear attack and that I won. Ethan and Lukas were told that I was working on a plane and it blew up in front of me. I suck in a breath before answering, almost being able to taste the gunpowder and blood on my tongue again. Smell the charred flesh and feel the bits of plastic melting into my skin. Acknowledge it.. Let it flow down the stream. I give a small smile before responding.

“I got caught by a pack of C4 under a table on a mission to track down the worst Russian-terrorist in history,” I write down Operation Kingfish. “Our first mission we are looking at Operation Kingfish. Does anyone have any clue what this is or is too classified and buried underneath the books.”

A boy in the back of the class raises his hand, he has thick black glasses, shaggy brown hair, and his blazer isn’t buttoned and creased on every inch. “I have been working on cleaning the database of missions, specifically on anti-terrorism. Operation Kingfish was the mission where Team-141 thought they knew where Vladimir Makarov was hiding out.”

“Good,” I wrote Makarov, “What is your name kid?”

“Tyler.”

“Know anything else?” I ask.

“The date was October 8th, 2013, otherwise no.” He says, I hear the slight lisp on his th’s.

“Ight, pay attention cause I ain’t telling this story twice,” I pull the chair from behind that desk that squeaks in protest across the room right in front of the first row. “Take notes if you want, I ain’t assigning no work or nothing. I have no stake in your education, so what you get from this class is up to you. What I am about to say is heavy so don’t be wussing, you hear me?”

I begin the story and swallow all the resentment for myself. This moment is surrounded by black tar that bubbles and threatens to pull me down head under. I haven’t spoken of this moment since I wrote the report so many years ago, but Cindy, Price’s therapist of a wife, tells me it's good to talk about it. That I have to, or else the tar will drown me. This entire memory feels like a snake bite, it hurts fast and quick and then the ache sets in.

“As our darling Diana told us at the beginning of the class, I was the sergeant master of the team, meaning for those who aren’t military here, I was the main technician. However, I didn’t just work on our equipment or vehicles. When we had missions like this that were high-stakes, trying to capture the literal head terrorist of our war, all of us were on deck. I also was in the office when we planned it. General Shepard hadn’t betrayed us yet and he would frequently ask me as one of the only American’s on the team for my thoughts on the plan. I would suggest different weapons or carriers. This mission took place in the Karkonosze mountains, located in Ukraine. The elevation and where the base was located needed a specific plane to fly overhead. Specter 6-4, an AC-130 Gunship is the reason the boys and I got out of these that day. There was not enough cover even with a Delta sniper. He told me he wanted me on the ground if I wasn’t flying the plane. So there I was in combat after a while of being over watch or comms. It was I, Captain John Price, Sergeant John MacTavish who we called Soap. Lieutenant Simon Riley called Ghost, and my boy sergeant Gary Sanderson AKA Roach. Sandman and Frost, two other members of the Delta team, were back up waiting for us. This would be the first of the battles with Makarov himself and changed the course of history.”

I stop and look out into the room, I had gained all the eyes on me at this point. I said the names of the most famous soldiers in the world as if they were nothing. Price, Soap, Roach, Sandman, Frost, and Ghost. Soldiers who were beloved and regarded as heroes. All of them died, other than Price and I. However, Connell’s notebook still sat closed.

“What was your name in the field, Captain?” A girl from the second row asks me. She reminds me of someone I knew and I have to blink before I speak again. She had tanned skin and long black hair braided into a bun. Moles cover her face and arms like constellations and if I didn’t recall her name as Mary I would have called her Liana, my best friend growing up from home. Liana is dead and so is Marcus, her brother.

“It was Tex,” I narrowed my eyes. “I was called an EMT as a joke when I worked at my first base in southern Texas. When I moved to England and joined the team they renamed me Tex for Texas. Soap said EMT was stupid and I never corrected him.”

I can hear Soap’s brittle voice with his stupid accent say my name. “Evan, you let them call you EMT? That’s crazy bonnie, you are surely too tough for that. We’ll call you Texas from now on, Tex really.” His laugh was contagious and for someone I had only known for a few hours, he made me laugh harder than anyone before.

“Tex, I like it.” A warm hand brushes a hair out of my face as I stand before him in the cover of the front door. Even if we are standing before our house, the moment itself: with his hand on my cheek and me on my tiptoes, stealing a kiss from his lips made me feel something I had never felt before. Home.

I shake my head and continue, the memory fading just as quickly as it came over. “The day couldn’t have been planned better, the weather, the timing, everything. According to reports we had gathered for months, Makarov had been hiding there. God, when we got there ourselves his shit was everywhere. As you can tell where this was going he wasn’t actually there and the entire mission was a bust, yet we did get something out of it. Intel and a folder, all information he had forgotten that kept his trail alive. This is where we knew his real plans for the war, not just the ones that were clear with the start of WW3. No, nothing would prepare me for seeing the knife on the wall holding a picture of my team and X’s threw the faces we had lost. To this day I can tell you every member of that team, how they died, where they died, when they died, and who I had to send their dog tags back to. He had planned to kill every single one of us with detailed notes on who we were. My folder had information about myself I didn’t even know. My fucking deadbeat father’s middle name was on that shit. In anti-terrorism, a lot of the time they wipe our traces clear. No record of our existence. No birth certificate, social security numbers, ID’s, god even my pilot’s license. Everything is highly classified and protected or down right removed. This corner is tricky business as any information on you will be used against you, and most of the time those people are dangerous to a new level. These aren’t your typical war criminals. These are seasoned killers, cyber-hackers, and experts in weapons you couldn’t name in your dizziest daydreams. The room where this information was, was deep in the base. It took going down so many hallways and rooms, we were tired and the fear was heightened. Scepter 6-4 was raining down bomb after bomb and after so many flashbangs my head was pounding. We all were not right when we got in that room and saw the record of our friends' deaths being tracked, no one was looking out for a pack of c4 under a table. Price called the bomb too late. I had always had bad hearing and should have never been in the field. I worked on planes and different kinds of loud machinery that damaged my hearing and I could never have heard the beeping of the timer. If he hadn’t called it, I would not be standing here. I managed to push off my feet towards the door but it was too late. The damage was done.”

I stopped and noticed that everything was silent. In the first part of the story, people were whispering quietly or tapping their pens. Now, everything has ceased. Not a single person made a sound. I sigh and slip the coffee from my bag out and take a sip. I found that coffee was better than Adderall, the high of caffeine was smoother than a straight stimulant. Cindy made me go clean, and said I would never meet Thalia if I didn’t. Price and her kid is my entire world and I couldn’t imagine not being in it. So, I quit the drugs and became a babysitter. A weird turn of events for sure. My man always told me he wanted to make me a mom someday and I told him if he ever fucks me and we aren’t on some form of birth control, I’d chop his small British dick off. He never brought it up again.

“So, the gorey details now. My legs almost got blown clear off. The initial explosion shattered my left leg and the right leg collapsed under pressure from the right one not standing up well. I won’t go into everything as it even makes me uncomfortable.” Even talking about it, remembering the white flash of pain, makes the nauseous come back. “They say breaking your femur is the worst pain, and as someone who broke two, I can confirm. Soap hit his noggin pretty hard but otherwise I took the brunt of the hit. Luckily for me, 141 was my family, literally. One of the members was my husband and the rest were basically my blood brothers. Even when I couldn’t recognize their faces because every bit of sense I had was being overclocked by pain, Gary carried me out so that the rest of the team could shoot our way through the lines of soldiers coming to finish the job. If he hadn’t carried me out, I would have died on that floor, still moaning from the pain, unable to even conceptualize a scream.”

In that second I can’t bring myself to continue. Seeing their faces in my mind, Johnny, Gary, Simon, makes the world around me swirl. Nothing can stop the grief from filling my body. It is as the atoms that make me up decided they can’t bond anymore and want to separate. Pulling me in all different directions, slumping me to the floor. The familiar feeling of pain overrides my public embarrassment to be in this class. These stories shouldn’t be told in a classroom, no, they should be shared around friends and family at a bar table. Remembering those who brought us here, that makes this world livable. Everyday I wake up and I see their photo framed on my nightstand. I say good morning to them, each one by name, and I start my day. These were real people, ones I loved, and they should not be examined by those who will analyze every move they made. They should be cherished by the ones who knew them, for everything they did right.

“Thank you.” Connell says, the words catching me off balance. His notebook is open now, and my story is jotted down in simple lines, but only the ones that detailed a circled name at the top. Roach. The anger that was in his eyes is now plain admiration. Not for me, for those I tell in my words. Then I know why I know his eyes, they are the same as Gary’s. I knew him, he was the little boy who received Gary’s burnt dog tags. I look at the name tag on his blazer which was perfectly ironed and set, Connell Sanderson.

“I don’t personally remember the rest of the story,” Feel it and let it pass, the sweet voice sings in my head. “The record says that in the attempt to escape with Delta right with us, due to our gunship being shot down, Price stayed behind to make sure we got to the evac helicopter. His sacrifice let me keep what was left of my legs. He was in a Russian Gulag for three years until we rescued him, even though we thought he was Makarov. He was asserted K.I.A. the day we lost him and I remember waking up in my hospital bed and seeing my best friend and my husband crying together for him. Those boys don’t even cry when they lose a finger, no, but the loss of our Captain brought them to hiccupping sobs. The moral of this story is that being a part of this, takes everything from you. Your identity, your friends and family, your life. Personal honor does not justify any of this, most joined not out of pride, but out of duty. I joined the military to pay for my brothers’ educations and to get out of the hell that is the border of Mexico and Texas. I stayed in the military because I saw what I had to lose and I joined in the fight to protect it. I lost so much, but you find meaning again. That is the nature of us humans. Simon Riley and Gary Sanderson were lost in 2016 when General Shepherd betrayed us. Simon was my husband and Gary was one of the men I was closest with. He was Simon’s best man at our wedding and often stayed with us when we had breaks since he didn’t have a house in England. I lost John MacTavish only months later to Makarov himself, he was my best friend. He stayed with me when Simon got deployed without me and taught me every drinking game I know. Only John Price and I remain for the team of over twenty. What I leave you with today, is know what you are walking into as we go over these cases. They only get worse from here, this is just one of hundreds of missions I was on. Next class we look at the beginning of the end, be ready.”

I leave the class still sitting in these seats and an email in my inbox.

SAS. OUTLOOK.GOV

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Regarding Class

Thomas, I don’t know what you said, or what you did. I don’t care, don't tell me, just show up everyday for the rest of the semester and I’ll make sure I send you a huge check and an Edible Arrangement from The Commissioner himself. Better yet sign on for two semesters and I will get you a house in DC. Keep up the good work Captain. Signed,

Kate

Kate Lawsell, Station Chief Case Officer, CIA

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flyonthewallmedstudent · 11 months ago

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A house in virginia.

House in Virginia clinics are hard. Just emotionally. A couple of my patients joke about it in the way you have to alleviate the pain, "let's call it a house in virginia"

All the history particularly of the older patients who lived this crazy experience in the 80s epidemic days before the age of HAART (highly active anti retroviral therapies) can be particularly soul destroying - if it wasn't for their upbeat outlook on life having survived. I had a hard time but an illuminating one watching the Dallas Buyers Club. Because now we treat it like we treat any other chronic disease, it's mostly manageable, liveable. So long as you take that one tablet a day.

Think about my LGBTQIA friends all the time after these clinics. How different everyone's lives are now compared to 30-40 yrs ago. We are the lucky ones. Would my friends have survived had they been born in another country or another decade. They have access to PrEP if they need it. I try not to contemplate this. But these clinics do hit me in the face from time to time.

#medblrs #medlife #medblr

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emersonrees90 · 2 years ago

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consolecadet · 2 years ago

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housebuyerofvirginia · 2 years ago

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norojonson385 · 2 years ago

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buymyhousewv · 1 year ago

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justinforprez · 1 year ago

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How the fuck will that get you cancelled?

That is the most uncancellable, milquetoast shit I have ever seen.

If you start saving at 30 years old and you expect to retire at 65 and use $100k/year until 85 you have to invest $3000/month

Thats fucking nuts. I am putting that much away. Its insane

Here are some that will get you cancelled:

If you have good enough credit to get a $42,000 credit card and preferably like $100k credit card you could (if you made it your full time job) make $30 mil/year

Rental properties are priced based on revenue, not property value. This can be exploited both ways

A car payment should not be more than 8% of your income

A house should cost twice your salary but with a 30 year mortgage 4x your salary is affordable

Its almost impossible to sell a house thats 5x the average income in a town. So in a town with “average” income $60k per person a $300k house will need to be on the market for 6 months or more. Most nice/suburban towns have average incomes above $100k.

Banks have just cut mortgages and business loans to 90% of what it was in 2008. So were pretty fucked

You first house (with the first time home buyers program) can have a down payment of 3-5%. Its okay to not do 20%

If you’re poor places with low cost of living are more important than taxes. Virginia have high taxes but at $15/hr it doesn’t matter. you can get cheap rent and food and fuel there.

Buying a home is a scam by the banks

Refinancing your home is a scam

Refinancing your debt WITH ANOTHER BANK is not always a scam. They get your business instead of the other guys.

If you refinance with the same bank they have no incentive to help you and, in fact, have an incentive to fuck you

You will die poor

Warren Buffet invests in shit businesses and props them up by lobbying for government regulation that makes him more profitable like the Keystone pipeline. You cannot invest like Warren Buffet no matter what some book says and if you could, you shouldn’t

You can’t beat an index fund. Other people can. I do. You can’t

FOREX is actually straight up gambling. The “brokers” control the prices. Arguably its more fun than gambling but just be aware

You don’t “need” that new thing

Lifestyle creep will ruin your finances

Unless you are actively trying Costco and Sam’s Club will not save you money. Its pretty easy to do it right though

Some things are actually more expensive at Walmart than at the fancy grocery stores

You should be going to 2 or 3 different stores to get your stuff for less

Don’t buy super cheap stuff. Its a waste of money

Sometimes it is cheaper to eat out because you will have a lot of food waste and meal prep sucks. The only thing I like to prep is soup.

Most jobs have an economic impact 3 to 4x the actual pay. Get over it. The company doesn’t make that much.

Banks won’t lend to independent contractors

Net worth is not comparable to actual cash in hand

$25k is a reasonable amount to keep in the bank as. A rainy day fund. With minimum account amounts on high interest savings accounts $30k is actually reasonable. Yeah I know the average american has less than $1k

If you live in a place that has slightly above average rent and food costs the living wage is like $18.75 or more

When bond interest rates reverse that means rich people and banks are buying 30 year bonds and not 5 year bonds. This is not financial advice but thats when I am eyeballing those 5 year bonds. Banks are forced to buy bonds when the Federal Reserve “prints” money. They choose 30 year bonds even though they are a terrible investment.

If you are going to buy bonds consult an advisor. There are ways to time the market and times when inflation adjusted bonds aren’t the best so yes you do actually need to talk to someone knowledgable

The best investors are paid commission. They make money when you make money so their interests are aligned with yours

Vending machines, laundromats, and other side hustles are a scam. They are a waste of your precious time. Just work overtime at your job or grow cash crops like Oyster mushrooms

You don’t have enough money to get into real estate or most of those side hustles anyway. Minimum is like $150k cash

Oh and if you do manage to build wealth your children or grandchildren will waste it and be wage slaves again