#the more you pass out in the mine the higher the medical bill

[sofiaruelle]

He's a lil confused about cuffing season but he's got the spirit

#stardew valley #stardew harvey #sdv harvey #by spirit i mean the big boi vaccines #and maybe big boi ceterizine #doodle #the more you pass out in the mine the higher the medical bill #'sorry your insurance doesnt cover my early greying hairs i get for worrying about you dear farmer' #give me a sassy doctor #the sass/nagging about your poor self preservation is a love language

[impala-dreamer]

Enough Bullshit.

(This is a personal post full of mental health issues and triggers.)

Went to the doctor this afternoon, and while we were waiting, Bill and I had a chat about posters that were on the wall. There was a check list for depression and another with info about bi-polar disorder next to the more common doctor’s office things like prostate health and diabetes. 

He’s a bit older than I am, but we both grew up in a time where mentioning depression or anxiety was not done. You didn’t even tell your doctor about it, because it came with negative reactions like “Well, just cheer up” or “Eh, you’re just sad. Be happy.” 

I live with this fear constantly, still. Not two years ago, I went to my doctor (and saw his elderly partner) and I told them that I was having suicidal thoughts and he told me, I kid you not, “Well, go do something you like. Go shopping.” I got up and walked out of the office and didn’t get the help I needed that day. 

It wasn’t until I had a nervous breakdown months later (while working at an SPNCon) that I realized I couldn’t handle it myself anymore. I saw a different doctor and he diagnosed a panic disorder and I’ve been on meds ever since. Nothing is perfect, but they help. I still struggle with this daily, and while it’s not bad most days, it’s always there, on top of my other medical issues. Some nights I can’t shop shaking, some nights I see my death on a loop. Some nights I have no troubles at all. I struggle with a severe panic disorder and suicidal ideation, and occasionally I turn to cutting to ease the other stuff. It’s just how my brain works.

If I talk about it, I still get people telling me, “Oh, everyone’s stressed right now.” “Just relax.” “Don’t be sad, you’re awesome.” OK, but... I can’t stop this. For me, this isn’t anxiety, it’s physical panic symptoms. I cannot think my tremors away. I cannot use breathing techniques to stop the my legs from moving body from twitching so painfully for hours that I’m left exhausted at the end. But, if I tell them that, I still get the “yeah, right. Just be happy.” Even from the nurse today. “Oh, stress will do that! haha! Ya know, wearing masks can be stressful!” OK, but... no. 

I’ve been having a severe panic attack since Sunday night. It’s been building to this for a while. I’ve been clenching my jaw unconsciously so hard for about a month now, and I knocked a tooth loose. I’m doing it now as I type this, but I can’t stop until I realize I’m doing it. Sunday, I started having strange dizzy spells and my eye has been twitching like crazy every ten minutes or so. I lost vision for a bit the other day, just couldn’t focus my eyes. Yet, I didn’t say anything. 

My husband and friends told me to go to the doctor on Tuesday, and I refused because, in my experience, they don’t do anything. 

I woke up last night scratching a hole into my head. I was bleeding and terrified and I couldn’t stop. I sat on the phone with one of my best friends for over an hour, incoherently crying at her, unable to calm down, unable to move, unable to breathe. I saw a shadowy figure slicing my wrists and suffocating me, and I was crying for Misha. Don’t ask, he usually calms me down, but I couldn’t make my imaginary Misha appear. I was shaking so bad that I was in pain from head to toe. Every muscle in my body was at the fullest tightness that it could be. Every. Single. Muscle. I almost called an ambulance. SHOULD have called an ambulance, but I refused to be a burden to anyone. It was 2am, everyone was asleep. So I shook and gasped and cried until I passed out at 3. Woke up shaking at 3.30. then 4. then 5. I slept from 5.30 - 7, and thought, “OK, it’ll be over. I slept.” No. It was not. I wasn’t able to move from the position I woke up in for 2 hours. Not just get out of bed, MOVE at all. I spoke to another friend online and they suggested hospital and again, I said no. I didn’t want to bother anyone, I didn’t want anyone to worry, I didn’t want to go to get help and then have nothing happen. 

Anyway, I went to the doctor, and he took one look at me shaking on the table and helped. He didn’t tell me “oh, just cheer up.” He told me that if my heartbeat was any higher, he would have put me in the hospital. He took it seriously. He gave me a higher dose of meds to “calm my brain down before we do anything else.” which will stop the dizziness and eye twitch, and then we can readjust my meds. 

Simple. 

Yet, I spent all week in pain and hiding the fact that I was barely holding on for fear of what someone would say. For fear of being a burden. For fear of being ignored or my symptoms pushed aside. 

WHAT BULLSHIT. 

I came home, took a pill, passed out, and I already feel better. I’m still shaking and twitching, but I know it’s going to be OK, because someone listened. I spent a week alone and in pain because we still don’t talk about mental illness in an open way. 

We still look at someone who’s depressed and say “Hey, go for a walk, you’ll feel better.” or... “Well, maybe if you lost 40lbs, you’d be happier.” 

NO NO NO NO. 

Stop making people feel bad for feeling bad. 

Some of us have brains that do not fire in the same way that everyone else’s do. That’s nothing to be ashamed of or hiding. 

I SHOULD NOT BE AFRAID TO SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION WHEN NEEDED JUST BECAUSE OF ANCIENT STIGMA. NO ONE’S GOING TO SHOVE ME IN A STRAIGHT JACKET. 

But that is a legitimate fear of mine. 

It’s WRONG.

It’s DEADLY. 

But I can’t stop it. I’ve been told my entire life that I’m fat and if I lost weight I would feel better, if I practiced some self-care I would be happy. If that works for you, I’m glad. But that doesn’t work for everyone. 

I guess my long ranting point I’m trying to make is: 

TALK ABOUT IT. NORMALIZE SEEKING MEDICAL HELP FOR MENTAL ILLNESS. DON’T REVERT TO PLACATION IF SOMEONE IS IN PAIN. 

SEEK HELP.

#rant #personal post #mental health

[gravelgirty]

Hi could you talk more about caves what you said on that post is really interesting

Sure thing!

First of all, it was an amazing cave I worked in. You never forget that. I'll pick one of my favorite topics,

the FALLOUT SHELTER AGGRAVATION TAX.

Clears throat.

Limestone caves are literally stone libraries in the geologic record of the world. Twice a year the airflow would change and then you'd smell smoke from decrepit old torches dating as far back as 1812. People made saltpeter in these caves, they were natural mines for things that went boom, and one of those 'requirements' meant airflow so you wouldn't suddenly and embarrassingly, drop dead of too much Underground. This is why the coal miners were eternally bemused and asking us questions like airflow. Sometimes you gotta canary. Sometimes you are the canary. This often led to predictable questions that was these old gents trying to be polite, but what they really wanted to know was,

'why the hell are you being paid $10 a trip plus tips to walk us 1.1 miles underground up to 3 times a day and no one has a mortgage gun aimed at your head?'

To which I would say, 'it wasn't quite that bad. If no one shows up at all we get paid $10.' ...Dear Saint Barbara, Chango, and the Gods of Deep Mystery, the things we tell ourselves. $10 a day. Crap. Thank goodness I had Granny's House, dad was paying the property tax, the water was on a well, and garbage was less that $20 a month. A shame we can't afford a TV, but hey, we can stay busy digging up that quarter-acre garden that will keep us fed plus the road kill Deer in the fall.

But the conditions that created saltpeter (I'll go into depth on that later if people are interested) also convinced some weird-ass people in Washington DC that caves were the perfect place to do a DR STRANGELOVE and people could go hide out in the caves, free of...well, nothing, really, because radiation = straight lines +caves, air, irradiated air and water, and everything goes down into the caves...

Look. It made people feel safe, ok? And it wasn't the worst decision the Pentagon ever made, considering they were telling the scientists working with HOT RADIOACTIVE MATTER to stay safe by sticking the stuff on a long pole so they wouldn't have to touch it.

Everybody knows about the bomb shelter President Kennedy was prepared to run to with his family in case of Cold War. It was in the Greenbrier Resort in White Sulphur Springs (I prefer to think of it as the HIDDEN FIGURES birthplace). FYI everybody who lived here knew where it was. There are only so many power stations one measly little resort that cries that it can't afford to pay for its own water bill can keep.

[insert sniffle boohoo sobbing of the pro-confederates who run that place and while I can't be there for you, try to imagine the joy I am stockpiling for the day when we have another traitorous uprising and this time, the resort doesn't get a GO PASS GO by dangerous romantics and is finally burned to the ground.]

Anyway, the important people like the President, his family, his Secret Service, his staff, cook, maid-in-waiting, bootblack and et al got to go bunker down in the luxurious bomb shelter at the resort, which probably wouldn't be very resort-y after a certain point of Castro going, 'fuck you, you whippersnapper Irish Dog' or Khrushchev throwing a little more than his shoe around. I'm not convinced it was that great of a place to hide, really. I mean...they have lightning rods on the trees over there, and believe it or not, cavers in that country have been hit by lightning while underground. Because. Lightning. If it can bake entire acres of potatoes in the field, two subterranean surveyors with metal measuring tape haven't got a prayer.

I want you to know that I can't at this point go into detail (space restrictions) on the importance of all these caves to Union Sympathizers, slaves on the Underground Railroad, and the Far-Righter MAGAS called Confederates. Trust me when I say, if you didn't know where these caves were, you had absolutely no right to know.

In Appalachia, limestone caves were listed on properties and handed down because of their value. Thomas Jefferson made a point of making sure there were lots of caves to provide nitre for the Gunpowder Committee. I don't know if landowners had to pay taxes for having saltpeter caves (probably), but when the Cold War came around, they definitely and cheerfully sold the access rights to the government because...it was the government. I am not in the least bit joking when I tell you there are people over there who are still pissed off over George Washington's Whiskey Rebellion.

If you really want to get into the psyche of Appalachians, go read up every scene Terry Pratchett ever wrote about Lancre in his Discworld books. Just give them more libraries and a LOT of coffee stations.

Oh, dear. I forgot all about the owling and the Prohibition.

Owling = the practice of moving your herds of cattle from one ridge to the next to avoid a higher payment when the taxman came a-calling.

Prohibition = The Second Oldest Profession.

These days, many of the Fallout Shelter caves are being used for...modern needs. Meth labs, if you're a sensationalist, but if you aren't, bear in mind that hiding out stolen cattle and horses still requires big places out in the middle of nowhere. But when Mr. Gov't Man came around and offered cash for the access rights to grand-daddy's old saltpetre cave? Goodness gracious, we know we aren't supposed to take people's money from them because that's a sin, but...taxes...you know how it is... (most of the mountain folk had no real quarrel with Kennedy despite his heathen dog Catholicism because it wasn't his fault he was brought up Catholic, but when it came to the government...well, it was the principle of the thing).

In short order papers were drawn, and shelters were built and good god, they were ugly. Clapboard shantytowns, I swear. They were stockpiles whacked together with off-brand plank and tenpenny nails for where the selected few could bunker up in the cozy, damp, dripping, chilly, dusty, sneezy, probably-warm-from-stray-radiation environs. I have no idea who the Pentagon hated enough that they would send them to these caves. They had a bottleneck opening for easy defense, yes, but there was no defense against puking yourself to death or accidentally taking off your own skin with your uniform at the end of your shift.

YOU THINK I"M KIDDING?? YOU THINK IT IS A COINCIDENCE THAT CLASSIC DR WHO SHOWS DALEK HISTORY IN AN OLD STONE QUARRY? WELCOME ABOARD!

A fallout shelter's stockpile generally consisted of

*High-quality medical equipment, even though some of that stuff had a shelf life of three minutes.

*Radio Equipment. Which was probably a real belly laugh to the folks running the NARO satellite dishes up in Green Bank, because families in the most rural portion of WV (Pocahontas County) spent their evenings parsing Latin and teaching the young lads and lasses the wonders of shortwave and how to rig up your own crystals in case you needed to jackleg your own.

*Food. God. Awful. Food. It was designed to keep you alive, but you can't say anything more charitable about it. Honestly, I'm surprised nobody tried to corner a government contract on dehydrated water.

*Water. Potable water for drinking, but, I should say, I couldn't find any means with which you could make a potable distillery. Or, how much of this potable water was going to be used to rehydrate the ghastly awfulness of the dehydrated food, or the canned goods that included stuff the military couldn't wait to forget. Go ask your grandparents how much canned horse Circa WWII they ate while they served, m'kay?

*Candy. High energy, easily digestible candy. Flavor optional, at the discretion of the same government that made the WWII Chocolate Bar.

*The containers themselves. Yep, they counted. They were heavy metal barrels and tough buckets or small drums, plus the amazingly dense metal and plastic containers for medical kits, candy, and misc. I'm not sure if they had a requirement other than impervious, waterproof, and on sale. In fact, the smaller drums/buckets were supposed to be lined with the plastic used to wrap the other goods, and convert into a toilet.

Cold War comes and goes. I'm sure what happened next is shocking:

1) medical supplies goes missing in the dead of night.

2) Electronics follows. That probably makes the electricians feel good, because...what good would they have done in the wet, dust-filled atmosphere of the caves?

3) Candy. Candy, did you say? I don't remember seeing any candy..?

4) The gradual disappearance of the food rations is mysteriously in proportion to camping trips multitasking with double-dog-dares. Who needs a frat pledge if Freckles here has never been introduced to the joys of Dehydrated Ketchup?

5) If you think the backyard blacksmiths are making forges with tire rims, do you think metal containers stand a chance?

This leaves the barrels of water, but who would want to drink that stuff? It's been sitting around for how long? Ew. And the boards for those shelters...cripes.

This inadvertently makes up a tiny little side bonus for the hard-working tour guide. Because these shelters are usually ridiculously close to the entrance of the tour caves. You have to take your tour group in stages, see, and once they finish gasping and wheezing their way through the first 300 steps, you have to take their minds off how miserable they are and pause at the shelter with your flashlight, and describe this little chapter of history. By this time the bats are hanging off the boards (your chance to remind them of the exorbitant federal fines for hurting these little mosquito-hunters), the occasional lost salamander, and the beginnings of the Dreaded Cave Cricket (ten minutes with these little monsters and you'll never think pink is an effete color ever again).

And the mold. There are patches of mold the guides have been watching for YEARS. Some of them have even bothered to look them up, because...tourists. They love to stump the guides and use it as an excuse for not tipping you because you haven't taken a Master's in The Encompassing Topic of Karst Everything and are clearly a dumbass, hah-hah I'll spend my money in the overpriced gift shop, peasant.

But no, folks. If you ask them one more damn time if they're sure all the candy and drugs are gone...we're too tired to take your bleeping bleep bleep tip anyway.

[edgymegatronus]

The Pits of Kaon

The lights of the arena where always blinding. Searing white light that chiseled its way into your optic nerves, washing away any other surrounding colours so much that one may think they’re joining with the Allspark once they step out onto the ashy plain. This is purposeful, of course, for the arena was a stage for the barbaric, where the onlookers can see it’s actors, but the actors cannot gaze back at them. Once you have shuttered your optics several times and they begin to adjust, only spots of bright light decorating your vision for a short while, the arena comes heaving into view, stagnant and intimidating. Massive, beyond comprehension, the blackened jewel of Kaon. You’d have to squint to see the opposite end of the Energon-crusted pit. The steep, cold grey sides rocketed up towards the skies, the heavens where the audience sat to eagerly absorb the slaughter. Every brandish of a sword, every amputation of a limb, every scream or victory holler, every spark taken was feasted upon by those hunger bound optics. In the lower areas of the arena, closer to the action, there were boxes reserved for the higher caste aristocracy from great cities like Iacon and Vos. Above them, with a more strained view, sat the rest of the Cybertronain populous. It was never correctly calculated how many the arena could house- it depended on how tightly the lower class worker mechs packed themselves together to watch the entertainment. There was always shoving and drunkenness, fights began over the limited space and smaller mechs often simply got crushed under pede if they didn’t move fast enough. Very few actually from Kaon ever got to sit in the golden boxes, where quality high-grade Energon flowed like ground oil as its famed patrons gawked down into the pit. The atmosphere was always rancheros, the first death spelled out the kick-off for the day's events to begin. In the mornings there were petty fights. Weak slaves pitted against each other, unarmed mechs left to the mercy of some of the most vicious beasts Cybertron had to offer. This got the crowd vying to see more Energon spilled on the ashy floors of the pit. As the hilarity reached its crescendo into the afternoon, we were brought out.

Titled ‘Gladiators’, we were prime time entertainment. Romanticised as strong mechs each with some characterisation the media invalidated us with to entice the onlookers into made up rivalries between us, adding passion to the murder. Some mechs actually sank into this, and took signature moves and mottos played into their characters, worked to gain support from those oppressing them. Usually, this was the quickest way to die. The arena owners would only allow a Gladiator in the limelight for so many matches and killed them before they became too boring, and to make the audience more invested as each match progressed. They died deluded, for we were just slaves with swords. Brought from all over Cybertronain, but most commonly hailing from places like Kaon, Tarn, and Praxus. Sold off from our previous services because we were no longer needed, a better model had been introduced, rule-breaking, being damaged, or because our masters had taken a general disliking. Being sold to the arena was most times a death sentence, an execution in front of the masses. Gladiators were ones who had won their petty matches by some flailing chance of Primus, and in turn proven their metal, and therefore their worth as a mascot. We were not Gladiators.

Our namesake competed by choice, for fame or honour or glory. For a fractured misconception of what they believed to be justice or righteousness. We were slaves, forced to kill our peers, and stare them in the optics as we did, giving a good performance. Refusal meant immediate death, and showmanship was integral. Most of us only lasted a few months before losing a match and being offlined, the longest-reigning mech making it just over a year before the Arena Owners decided he had nothing left to give, no new tricks, and threw him in the pit unarmed with four Krystar Iron-Bears. Some audience members genuinely cried when he passed. But by the next week, he was replaced by a new favourite Gladiator to root for.

I was on my fifth month. My last match had been a near miss. Bad damages all over my frame, lost an arm and my sword-wielding servo was crushed. Inches over and my spark chamber would’ve known the cold of a blunted blade. My opponent was of a bigger build than me, but still new, he had chosen the name ‘Ignode’ for himself after the Arena Owners had given him a flashy new red paint job, replacing his basic menial grey. For some appalling reason, he’d made the mistake of choosing two weapons, rather than one and a shield. An underestimation, I suppose. The new Gladiators, nicknamed ‘Pickrings’ by the rest of us, often got too cocky and suffered the consequences. The day I was declared fit for fighting it was a ‘Winner stays on Tournament’ these often drew larger crowds due to the anticipation and tension aspect that was attached to them. Clearly my medical bills were going to be well paid for by this grotesque procession. The objective to continually kill, over and over, to vanquish spark after spark until eventually, you grew so weak from each consecutive battle that you could no longer hold your own – and you were killed, your deathbringer taking up the mantel and the cycle continued deep into the night while the crowds drank and laughed and indulged.

The bellowing winds that spun like a lifeless tornado around the arena whipped uncomfortably over the exposed cables on the back of my neck. The piece of armour plating that usually protected it had been lost last round and was therefore subject to the treatment of the blowing grit and ash that made a point of invading every crack and gap in plating. Everything felt too heavy, most notably my spark. I had just completed round fifteen, downed fifteen opponents, and somewhere I doubted if Primus would accept me into his loving cradle. My frame was ex-venting in long, drawn out drags. An attempt to cool my shot systems. Every inch of plating was dented or scarred, with slices and holes, faintly missing main Energon lines or mobility joints. I smiled. Before entering the arena, each slave got to choose two tools to utilise during the match. Almost classically, I wielded a long sword with some form of age old forgotten crest on the hilt. I had nicknamed it ‘The Pick’ and it occupied my right servo. To my left brandished a thick oval-shaped silver shield, decorated dashingly with chipped paint and emblems. These things were my trademark, my protection, my symbol, and my saviours.

The spotlight swung intricately around the arena floor once more towards the pit entrance. The thick metal gates opening with the same slow dramatism to reveal my newest combatant. The light fell on him, illuminating his thickset grey frame for the crowds to gawk at, tantalising their optics with the slick view. He smelt like blood and burnt circuitry. They were enraptured, seeing that I was weakening and that this new rival seemed finely built to deliver onto me the final blow, one of those agile miner types. I sized him up immediately; hazarding a guess the Arena Owner’s hadn’t expected much to come from him, only bothering to add spiked red paint under his optics and the larger areas of his expansive grey plating. His optics were stifling, staring directly at me as I stood blatantly forward with my shoulders rolled back, awaiting. We couldn’t yet commence as the Announcer hadn’t yet called for us to do so. Most Gladiators took this brief interval to entertain the crowd, picking up the bodies of mechs they’d killed and throwing them, giving grand victorious gestures and shouts with their weapons, lapping the arena, cheering. I stood still and stared, unwilling to give them any more than the battle.

“Welcoming! Megatronus of Tarn! A heavy-hitting ground-build from the Mines of Messatine! During his petty match earlier this week, Megatronus won against two fellow contestants and a Decopodian in record time! Let’s see how he will fare against our reigning Knight! May Round Sixteen Commence!”

Of course- I had viewed that match from my cell screen. Looking at him now, his crimson optics dimmed. He seemed like a mech who had slaughtered millions, not just two. He made the first step forward, revealing to me his weapons. A small, lightweight shield and a ridged axe. A very decent choice for a mech of his stature. A bow or daggers would’ve been suicide, he was too stocky to be properly dexterous with them, and he was clearly aware. A mech overtly aware of his own capabilities was inherently more dangerous than one who overestimated, or even underestimated themselves. I resumed my ‘defensive stance’ as his larger frame drew closer, each step meticulous and powerful and calculated. He was so self-assured, confident in his ability to wield and kill on his first ever Gladiator match. His EM’s were almost suffocating. I struck the first blow, my long sword firmly embedding itself between his thick shoulder plating. The weapon felt so leaden in my tired arms, each movement causing a low static to run through my circuits as they protested in earnest. My frame was tired, and my processor malcontent. The grey mech swooped his axe low and he raised his smaller shield, directing it precisely so my sword repelled off of it, the force driving my abused frame backwards – into the sharpened blade of his axe.

The Arena began to swirl maliciously as I opened my optics, my HUD showing severe damages to my left leg, and to my back spoilers which had taken the brunt of the hurt as I hit the engulfing floor of the pit. Through the static shock that vibrated through my audial, the faint crazed shouts and cheering from the crowd, layered over the Announcer speaking in a hurriedly excited tone. They were joyful in the revelation of my oncoming demise.

He stared down at me blankly, lifting the axe while calculating the weakest points to strike in my neck or spark chamber. The lights of the arena shone brighter than ever, searing into my optics as they flickered and faded.

He took his victory unlike any other, simply lifting his arms and throwing away his weapons in retribution. They hit the floor of the pit with an almighty clatter, and the crowd cheered and chanted his name, making members of the elite recoil.

#mtmte #mtmte megatron #maccadam #transformers #tfp

[brewerlinda1995]

how old do you have to be to have your own car insurance

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare quotes from different companies :carinsurancequoteshq.xyz

how old do you have to be to have your own car insurance

how old do you have to be to have your own car insurance? And do you have any other questions that can help the insurance company? And do you have any other questions about buying insurance for older drivers, too? At least you could get the exact details about how far and how old you are, and for how long you have to be as well as the coverage and monthly premiums you are paying now. The easiest way to find the best deal on car insurance for older drivers is to purchase it from an online quote at the dealership and compare it with some other quotes all available. This is one option that will get you cheaper insurance costs, which, like you mentioned, the insurance company uses all the information you are asking for and then use their own methods to determine how much they will charge you for car insurance for older drivers. However there are other methods as well. The amount that you are asked for is going to depend on a lot of different factors, but you should be careful and try to get as many quotes as you can – you are not looking. how old do you have to be to have your own car insurance? This depends on your age and your vehicle make and model. If you live in Georgia, you are legally required to have car insurance and your vehicle is covered to the limit according to the state DMV. If you drive an older car than the age of a 2016 Nissan Leaf or newer, your car insurance policy may have minimums that a lot of companies don’t have, and you’ll need to pay a little extra for that. If you can afford even less, however, you should look into what’s available from . Your best bet with this type of insurance is to sign up for low rates, even if you’re not currently a customer. It takes the stress off of your mind, and you can feel confident about the car you drive. Whether it’s a sports car or a minivan, you’ll want to make sure you have some on your car insurance policy. Many states have passed a car insurance law that requires certain. how old do you have to be to have your own car insurance? What about age and gender? I don’t know what the next month will bring, but I hope a friend of mine does from a previous situation in which she has car insurance or dies to  or to  is a good idea. If you have car insurance, you would only have to pay out of your own pocket if there was a collision with a car with a broken window.  The preferred method to save on your health insurance will be to buy coverage through an in-depth crisis helpline.  In this article, this information is aimed at you, a non-trucking and personal injury policy.  However, if you need to cancel your policy you can call 1-800-853-1272 for any help. The main thing that you should know as an auto liability policy holder is: if you have the ability to pay the amount on any kind of car insurance you will probably end up.

Free Car Insurance Comparison

Free Car Insurance Comparison Enter your ZIP code below to view companies that have cheap car insurance rates.  Secured with SHA-256 Encryption A person injured on a highway by an uninsured driver may have the same questions: Does insurance cover medical bills after an accident? Does it matter if there’s only one person injured? And how do states handle them to insure uninsured drivers. Are there any laws that prevent a party from suing a uninsured person if there is no injury but he or she has no car insurance? Is insurance coverage required for a car accident? Can you sign a non-contract liability driver. Does it void a policy? Can you get it back without an expensive damages liability for a car accident. What could apply to a car accident and can a driver with less than a credit score that is 65 years old get stuck in the same state because they failed to get the right car insurance law is that required or because they were uninsured. What is the coverage that covers.

Drivers of any age can get car insurance with a valid driver s license. If you have a driver s license, you can find car insurance for young drivers by comparing insurance rates online.

Drivers of any age can get car insurance with a valid driver s license. If you have a driver s license, you can find car insurance for young drivers by comparing insurance rates online. There are several companies that offer online rates and getting quotes from online. Entering information that is stored in information retrieval sites can help in the search. A car insurance company might take a year to respond to a claim; a company might wait four months to return a damaged car. Car rental companies tend to have longer response times for claims, as they typically receive calls about a car within minutes. If you are worried about getting an immediate payout by a car rental company after claiming a rental car, start by trying to make a reservation with a Car rental company. Ask a company about their cancellation policies and explain why the cancellation never occurred. If your rental contract doesn t have the cancellation policy, ensure that you also ask your agent to help you with a ride-share agreement. There are car rental agencies that operate under the “No Cancellation” option. If you need to make a claim, make sure to cancel the rental agreement before you make your reservation. Many companies require that you.

Shopping Around for Car Insurance Coverage

Shopping Around for Car Insurance Coverage (Safeco) and other auto insurance companies can be fairly painless. With a few clicks you can and save hundreds. The best way to find a car insurance company and price is to compare prices. Compare as many as possible for car insurance. We recommend starting with an auto insurance quotes comparison tool like Insurify to get free, personalized quotes for any of your factors as well as for any agent you know or trust. Disclaimer: The insurance products on InsurifycomarePrivately sourced from information provided on this site. Insurify is owned and operated by the CEO and Treasurer of an insurance company. The president of Insurify is the CEO of a large financial services company that managed multiple different companies and was the first person in the world to be the first to describe all the drivers on a large scale.  He is the founder and CEO of a private insurance firm.  He was named the CEO of a.

Causes of Removal From a Parents’ Car Insurance Policy

Causes of Removal From a Parents’ Car Insurance Policy Drivers who obtain auto insurance on their parents’ car are considered high-risk by law, so insurance companies typically charge more if a young driver is involved in an accident. Parents also incur higher medical bills, even if they were not at-fault drivers in a car accident. Insurance Companies Involved in a Car Accident While parents and young drivers are typically the ones who receive car insurance coverage, each company sets its own rules about what types of coverage coverage a child might need, depending on the situation. While many companies also determine how much each child (usually between 18-23) is liable to pay for an accident, others set rates in certain respects. For instance, most American parents purchase $1,500 per child ($3,500 per year) which can be added to their auto insurance policy at any time. Parents with young children pay higher car insurance rates because they’re seen as higher-risk drivers. On the other hand,.

How to Reduce Rates for Young Drivers on their Parents’ Car Insurance Policy

How to Reduce Rates for Young Drivers on their Parents’ Car Insurance Policy on their Grandparents’ Car Insurance Policy on Your Own Insurance Policy. The key to reducing rates is getting your own insurance policies licensed for the parents’ car insurance policy on your parents’ policy. If you are trying to get a lower rates for your parents’ policy, there is a couple of ways that you can try to get a lower car insurance rate for your parents who is already living at your address. You can try using an online app or reading one of the many articles  out there and comparing car insurance quotes that will help you find the cheapest car insurance rates available to you. I want to know can an older person drive my car and not pay the taxes? This answer will help me get car insurance as the insurance company will see me as a good driver so they will believe a vehicle that is used for only a certain amount of time. It is very common for people to want to be able to get some car insurance for their parents for an existing vehicle.

Navigating Insurance for Teens

Navigating Insurance for Teens and Young Adults is easy! Teens must be taken at ease because parents may have no or little knowledge about this type of life insurance. Parents may think there is insurance for teens. However, there are often other insurance products available for teens. Teens can have a wide array of policies and different types of insurance available. All of that is to say… If you’re going to provide a quote for your teen, or your teenage son, it will impact the price you are paying for insurance. Yes, when comparing rates to see more information, we recommend speaking to a reputable agent. Unfortunately, in many cases, companies won’t take you to see the actual costs of your adult child’s insurance. Your agent and your teenage son or daughter must meet to be certain of any risks mentioned in the price quotation. But, that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t matter to someone if you’re going to be a high-risk driver or.

Can a teenager get their own car insurance policy?

Can a teenager get their own car insurance policy? As the parent of an 18-year-old teenager, I wonder: Am I covered to the extent that, when done right, the insurance would cover me if my parents had brought a car that was more than their age. This could be a good deal, especially if you’re a young driver looking for an inexpensive ride and a so you won’t make a claim in the future. When researching the best car insurance providers, I also looked at what policies the insurance companies offered, and also at reviews of other online sites. The best thing I learned is that each provider is going to have their own way of calculating premiums and premiums for a particular person. When shopping for car insurance, the best way to get the most affordable coverage is to check online. While a company may have a better idea about someone than I did, a company can usually get a better idea only after comparing two or three quotes. If you want more than just the cheapest car insurance for a 19.

Official Rules of Auto Insurance for a Child Living at Home

Official Rules of Auto Insurance for a Child Living at Home) and any other type of policy. You have the right to appeal your life insurance and bankruptcy to the Board of Directors when you fail to find a way to make the claims. If you are unable to find any other company that has the financial resources to fully pay out any judgment, then you are not going to be covered in the event of a claim. If the party is at fault, your rights are likely going to be limited. You may be a better candidate for bankruptcy and then sue and you may not be able to get other benefits. The Department of Revenue says insurance policies don t generally comply with the law in this country. That means insurers want to raise premiums in the hopes of providing better customer service. To lower premiums, consumers can make it more costly to buy some type of auto insurance. In order for drivers to receive some form of discounts they will need to have a.

How long can I stay on my parents’ car insurance policy?

How long can I stay on my parents’ car insurance policy? Parents often question, so we thought it might help us to answer that question. As you may not have guessed, the length of time your parents can be on your insurance will vary. You may be able to move on if you have their auto policy. Your parents could then choose to cancel their car insurance policy. Some people are stuck on their parents’ car insurance policy longer than others, and that’s why you have to be ready to take that route. Even if your parents aren’t allowed to drive your car on their terms, there is insurable interest in having the car covered by your . If your parents don’t own a vehicle, they are considered to “maintain a relationship as one of” the driver. If they do own a car, it’s best to be sure they have their own auto insurance for the duration of their terms. That said, even if your parents have their own policy for a specific period of time,.

Why should I stay on my parents’ car insurance policy?

Why should I stay on my parents’ car insurance policy? Can a driver get away with not meeting the state’s minimum car insurance requirements? Some states only allow drivers to stay on their parents’ auto insurance policy for short commutes. California, Hawaii, Massachusetts, Montana, North Dakota and Pennsylvania have laws that allow drivers to meet state requirements for car insurance. Drivers may avoid buying car insurance if it’s a safer choice. There is a lot of misinformation spread by insurance companies out there. My daughter needed to insure me so that I could take her back to school. I was to insure her when she was at another car I was driving in on the right lane. We have to insure her, and she is a college student. How will I know when someone has a motor vehicle without a valid auto insurance policy? A car insurance policy can cover the following (these are the coverages you need to be sure to take into account when getting your quote): Uninsured/Underinsured motorists. This covers you when someone without access to.

[teaspacebar]

far too young to die (10/11)

a/n: a three month hiatus and i am finally back to finish this series before the new year! that’s right, a double feature folks. i just need to revise the last part and it shall be out before midnight. thank you to those who have stuck with me and followed me in the process of me working my shit out. i have some marvel fics in the works because it has plaguing my mind recently, so get ready for a fandom switch (that doesn’t mean i won’t still write for stranger things, but i’d rather write quality fics that i am passionate about rather than just stick with one thing). i hope you all enjoy the end of this series.

taglist: @ashtounding @orchideax, @asheseiler @steve-harrington-said-gay-rights @kake-babe @sweetpeabellamyblakedracomalfoy

relationship: steve harrington x reader

word count: 1k+

summary: you just wanted to keep your job at the starcourt mall movie theater. all you had to do was find out how these kids were sneaking into the movies without coming in the front door. your small little movie theater conspiracy ends up pulling you into something a lot bigger, and a lot scarier.

previous part / series masterlist

chapter ten: falling into you

Sooner felt a lot like later.

Everything had happened so quick you weren’t sure how much time had passed. You were almost killed by Russians…again. You had met the reset of the crew that had been through all the other weird shit that happened in Hawkins (which included a girl with superpowers, her entourage – which just happened to be the kids Steve sninto your work, the Chief of Police, some other adults, Jonathan, and Nancy Wheeler). You weren’t expecting Nancy and Jonathan to be included, but their siblings were involved so you guessed it made sense. After the plan was made – which you and Robin sat back to watch as the newbies of the group – you were all put into groups.

The “Scoops Troop” – as Dustin was calling it – had decided to leave and go to Cerebro. You, Robin, and Steve all decided to go back to help get the Griswold Family after Dustin had received their message.

After that is where things get a little fuzzy. It was probably from the minor concussion you got after Steve decided to collide the car you were all in with Billy’s.

You knew that you ended up running from the big ass gooey monster. You had sat in the back of Jonathan’s car with Robin and Steve, your hand in his. You all ended up going back to the mall once the monster had turned around. There were fireworks involved…lots of noise.

Billy Hargrove died. You were sure that his body being mangled would fuel your nightmares for the next couple of months at least. He had been an asshole, sure, but nobody deserved to die like that.

You were sitting on the back of a truck with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The medical officers had given you some medicine for you concussion and said to have someone watch you for the next couple of days, and left you to stare at the ground while you swung your legs back and forth.

“Hey.” The familiar voice made you look up, eyes squinting from the harsh overhead lights. You could make out Steve’s form as he came and sat by you, “You holding up okay?”

Something that sounded like a snort escaped you, “All things considered, I’m peachy.” Being in his presence helped immensely, but you wouldn’t tell him that. “I just want to sleep, but the men with the medical degrees say I need someone to wake me up every couple of hours to make sure I’m not dead. Concussions are fun.”

Steve chuckled, “Remember that time you got one after falling out of your maple tree?” He was bringing up old memories to distract you…and possibly himself, but you didn’t mind.

“Hey, I had to prove I could climb higher than you, asshole.”

“Turns out you can fall better than I can too.” At his grin, you nudged his shoulder with yours, giving him a playful glare. His expression once again turned serious – as it had throughout this entire endeavor – and he grabbed your hand gently, “I really am sorry for dragging you into this.”

You sighed, playing with his fingers as you leaned into his side, “I threw myself into the situation, so it’s not all your fault.”

“All?”

“Oh, I mean you were the one letting kids into the theater, which prompted my whole secret mission.” You laughed, but the pounding in your head made your laughter turn into a groan. “Dude, I just want to sleep.”

“You need a ride home?”

Ah. Home. A funny word. How to explain to the guy who your mother used to dote on whenever he came over had changed so much you barely recognized her anymore. That she made your house merely a space to sleep. That the reason you worked at the theater so much was to pay bills and get the hell out of that house.

“My mom is probably passed out or sleeping at some other guys’ house. I thought I could have Robin over or something.” There. That would do it.

Steve didn’t respond for a moment, and you were worried that this was the moment he’d leave once again. Yet all he said was, “You two could come stay at mine if you want. My parents are out of town as usual.”

That first sentence was all it took for the dam to break behind your eyes. You covered your face with the one hand you had free, embarrassed that you couldn’t at least hold it together for the rest of the evening. You hadn’t lost anyone. You hadn’t been drugged. The only thing that happened to you was a dumbass concussion. Breaking down in front of military officials and a group of kids didn’t seem like the type of thing to do. Arms wrapped around you and without thinking you buried your face into Steve’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I can take you home, you don’t have to come over.” Steve was mumbling the words into your hair, trying to give you a sense of comfort. Laughter left your lips, tears still streaming from your eyes. “Do I need to get someone else? I’m not the best at this sort of thing.”

You pulled away from his chest, wiping your eyes before swatting at him, “You’re being nice, douchebag!”

His head tilted to the side, making him look like a puppy, and your heart melted just a little bit more, “So I’m being a douchebag by being nice?”

“No, Harrington, I’m using douchebag as a term of endearment.”

“So, is that a yes?”

You gave Steve a small smile, “Scoops Troop Sleepover? I’m in.”

A grin appeared on the lips that you definitely did not want to kiss. “I’ll go talk to Robin, be back in a second.” He went to hop off the back of the truck, but your hand tugging on his stopped him.

“Thanks, Steve.” You gave him a kiss on the cheek, feeling warmth rush to your face. Steve sat there looking dazed, before shaking his head and hopping to the ground. “Go get our lady, I’m in need of my two best sailors.”

#far too young to die #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

I notice you post quite a bit about your family being extremely poor but also are an adult and seem to write a lot. Do you work to help out your family, or are you unable to? There are jobs out there that involve writing if that’s the extent you're capable of, like if disabilities get in the way of normal jobs. The level of poverty you describe your family dealing with is really depressing.

So...

I spent 11/14 years in one Christian School. There was a hiatus of 3 years of me trying out public school but I got shoved back into RBCS in 8th grade and stayed. I did not not want to go but Sperm Donor said it was a punishment for my behavior, so I’d be forced to be around Bible Thumpers every damn day.

Private Schools in America cost money. Tuition for this place was $1500 a year for kids over 10. I found out my mom’s brother John paid all my former years of education there to try and keep me close to the family(since my Nana was my school teacher) and make sure my mom didn’t go full broke.

Sperm Donor was in a pickle himself at the time. He was in the processes of being arrested for stealing nearly a million dollars from his clients(he was a financial adviser). He only took from the very desperate, disabled clients too. One died because her parents couldn’t afford her medication, because he was stealing their money. We were in a tight spot as a result, though I didn’t know enough until later. He didn’t pay my tuition or book fees($100+).

So he’s carted off to prison a month before 8th grade ends and I’m sent back to my mom’s custody. And my principal(also pastor) calls my mom to inform her that she has a $1600+ bill to pay for my schooling. She definitely does not have that and I certainly don’t either.

Next day at school I get cornered about how stealing is a sin and dishonesty is a sin(instead of blaming Sperm Donor because God forbid the man in prison for STEALING be in the wrong here). I’m offered a chance to lower the bill if I go candy-selling with the rest of the students every Friday. I will get half the profits made and it’ll be taken off my debt. So I told my mom I’d help her out and I went and did it. I ended up having to stay in the school another year where the money added on and I went candy-selling on Tuesdays too to try and make up for it. I’d earn about $50 each time so $100 a week was put toward the debt, meaning $400 a month. 

The chick who was the school/church secretary however, was a bitch who had it out for us. Monthly we’d get notices about how much debt we were in with the school, and one month a student would have $457 and the next month on the first day they apparently had $890. If tuition monthly is about $150 for teen, how did the number shoot up so much? Mine kept getting abnormally higher and reaching into the $3,000s. And I told my mom who then bitched at the school. 

The secretary barely finished high school and the only reason she was in that position that she was not capable of handling alone or at all, was because she was kissing the church’s ass. She had sex outside of marriage on school property and got pregnant and was forced to marry him to save her dignity the moment she turned 18. They kept her very close with guilt ever since. Instead of just leaving, she chose to stay and be a bitch to everyone.

My tuition issue plagued me the entire time no matter how much I did. I was so stressed constantly and letters from Sperm Donor who got to write to me in prison, said the school wouldn’t accept his tuition payments when he re-enrolled me. He said he even got his new fiance to monitor a fund he set up before leaving, and sent the money in monthly for the year he signed on. IDK who to believe because he’s a pathological liar, but the church has also been trying for 4 years to get me back into their fold, popping up at my mom’s house uninvited, trying to guilt trip me with Godly reasons, accusing me of being a ‘whore’ who needs to get right with God all because I wore pants, and using my terminally ill Nana as an excuse. They very much would and have actually taken payments without recording them in the logbooks.

I spent my HS years in debt, working hard to get out of it. My HS teacher actually helped me by letting me clean her house once a month and I’d earn $150 in two days because the house was pretty big. I ended up candy-selling more and more days a week and bringing candy boxes home to sell in the neighborhood.

And it seemed to never let up. The numbers did not match. Somehow my debt was always in the $2000s+ but I was making at least $300 a month? My mom finally snapped and said she’d call the cops on the school if something didn’t change. A month later we get the updates to our accounts and the numbers dropped drastically. My Senior Year and I only had a couple hundred dollars left. And the Secretary was suspiciously quiet from then on and kept to herself and left us alone.

Still, I spent the whole time doing candy-selling for them so much, and having to attend church activities for them, that I never got a job. Candy-selling actually brought in more money than what a teen would be allowed to earn anyway. At the time I was so up the church’s ass and scared to make my own decisions that they said I wasn’t capable of making because I was so young, I had already agreed to continue being the church pianist past graduation and they’d agreed to help me fund college so long as I went to the one of their choice with my friends. They had set up my future vocation(teacher in the their school, pianist in their church) and my future husband(Sam most likely) and I wouldn’t have to do anything but follow rules. And as I was scared, I planned to go along with it.

But then they fucked me over a week before Senior Year ended and when June 5th passed and I got my diploma, I peaced out. We changed our phone number, stopped coming to the door when they came by, and ignored their chances at re-connection. And it was months after I got fucked over when they found out they were the ones in the wrong and tried to half ass an apology to me. Didn’t work.

After graduating, my step-dad demanded I get a job finally. Mind you, his failure of a son dropped out of HS & moved to PA with us and proceeded to rely on daddy to do all his work for him. Daddy got him a job at Weis, he faked being sick so much he was fired. Daddy got him another job at Walmart, he took too many days off and he got fired. He moved out of our house and in with his new girlfriend(after milking 3 of their cash already). This one was a trust fund baby(Bree) who was adopted. Her parents paid for her apartment, her nursing education, and gave her a card with $1,000 on it a month for anything she needed. Step-bro moved in and they wasted that whole card name-brand candy in a week. 

She started skipping classes to go out to eat with him. Her parents stopped by to see if she was doing well because the school became concerned over abnormal behavior. They wanted step-bro out of the apartment and the relationship to end because they said he was using her for her money(he was and admitted it to mine and my mom’s faces) and would get in the way of her goals in life. She refused. They said they’d take away her card if she didn’t. Well, they did. And another month went by with no changes and they withdrew the full payments for the schooling too. She dropped out. And finally the apartment a month after that.

So now she’s homeless and step-bro manages to swindle both of them back into our apartment. They have to sleep on the floor in the living room. Daddy got them both jobs at Amazon with him. The pay was pretty fucking good at the time. There was a year in between there where we had money and were contemplating getting our own house for the first time. Things were going well.

Step-dad didn’t try to help me get a job though. I asked for help because my search went nowhere. Those 3 got transportation every day and I was stuck with walking. We lived on a mountain and all businesses were at the bottom 2 miles away, so I applied to all available businesses within 2 miles, either in person or online. Never got any responses. As it was a bust, my mom just said, ‘help clean the house since they’re gone all day and help be my legs to watch your sister and I’ll consider that your rent’. So I did. Every day. And I hated it. And there are a lot of posts on here from then of me complaining about it.

So I asked him for help and he never did. But he would demand to know why I didn’t have a job yet or why the house wasn’t perfectly clean? And I’m like, “Dude, you leave your dirty clothes everywhere. You don’t take your dishes into the kitchen. I clean in the day, you get back in the evening and trash the place and by the morning when you’re gone, it’s all a mess. You only see mess because it’s all you 3 make all day with candy wrappers and soda cans!”

After year he had a seizure on the floor and had to be rushed to the hospital from Amazon. Epileptic issues meant no more work at Amazon because his job was operating heavy machinery and he kept having small seizures weeks later! Without him there every day to keep step-bro and gf on their toes, they started calling in sick together or skipping work with dumb reasons. They got fired soon after. The job hunt was a failure, but daddy was still getting jobs for all of them! Instead of over the table jobs, they now worked under the table, fixing up houses(sheetrock, spackle, insulation, etc...). Still didn’t try and help me get a job. I didn’t know how to do any of that, but gf didn’t either but they taught her how to do it.

Frankly, it got to a point of me being a live-in maid in exchange for me staying under their roof, while step-bro and gf made up excuses to not have to help step-dad. Sick, business, too tired, whatever they came up with. I remained home, handling my sister’s online education with my mom, cleaning the house, handling my sister’s bullies, handling our shitty inspector, and all that crap.

Step-dad takes in a friend of his who was evicted and homeless so he’s sleeping on our other couch at this time. Kind of easy to forget but we felt bad for his situation as it was his girlfriend who fucked him over.

And then step-dad and step-bro opened their mouths on something they should have avoided. In that place we kept to ourselves. There was shady shit going on. Murder, drug deals, drive-bys, etc. Mom and I left them all alone and turned the other way and they left us alone. 19 years in that place. If a cop came by asking questions of the only white person in the joint, she’d go, ‘we know nothing, we saw nothing, sorry’. But step-dad and Junior opened their mouths and one of the newer guys reported the son and gf because they weren’t on our lease. We got evicted after 19 years of good relations with management because someone inserted an opinion in something he should have stayed out of.

So 30 days to gtfo, no one in the house has a real job with consistent pay, we move in with my mom’s uncle for the time being. The house is huge with many bedrooms but to conserve space, I, mom, and my sister bunk in the same room. Mom and Bethy got the bed and I slept on the floor for 2 years. Step-dad don’t know what the eff he’s doing for months. We’re up in buttfuck Egypt. He and the Tweedle dimwits are still doing what they were doing before but now have to drive 3 hours to and 3 hours back just to make it. Mom is doing surveys online to make extra money. She’s trying to do her best while disabled. I’m helping clean the house as my form of payment. The car fails, money that was being saved up to move out, has to go to that. The next one fails too so that has to be handled and we’re in debt now! Christmases and Birthdays are nonexistent. Her Uncle’s new wife isn’t quite so open to us being there and complains a lot.

Step-dad manages to make a deal with a guy he’s working with. He fixes up a house the guy owns, and works for him on more houses after that, and he’ll get a considerably low payment for the rent monthly. He didn’t do much work and lied to mom about what was done and when all was said and done, we moved in and it was a wreck. Worse than it is now but it’s still pretty effin terrible. No kitchen, the bathroom is half-finished still, no insulation, power problems, you name it. It’s bad. But cheap because the lease shows we owe $20 a month instead of $200 because the guy forgot to add a zero when he was drawing up the contract.

Then step-bro and gf manage to convince step-bro’s grammy to move down to PA and rent a house for them to use. They still don’t have jobs, disabled grammy pays for everything. Step-dad’s couch-dwelling friend gets a new gf and moves in with her. Step-dad is driving 3 hours to work and by the time he gets back, he sleeps for 4 hours and then has to leave again. Finally he starts staying at his son’s place because it’s closer and less gas to spend, but that also means he’s taken the car. We’re stranded here with only a mini mart across the street as the only shop for miles! He makes excuses for why he can’t come up. Mom has so many health problems but hasn’t seen a doctor in 5 years because of this. I haven’t seen one in 6. My sister is the only one with regular appointments because they’re necessary for school. If anything, at least she remains unaffected by this crap.

I too have taken to doing surveys now. If I get 500 pts a day that’s a $5 gift card to target which delivers here. One of the few places that do.

I can’t even work at the mini mart because the man has 6 employees for each day of the day. 1 works with him each day but Monday where he works alone because there’s less rush on Mondays.

No matter how I complain it’s not like I can go anywhere. There’s still a roof over my head and I have access to the internet. Even if I’m cold every day, borderline ill, and miserable, it’s better than being on the streets.

Some poor people are very unlucky. We are those people. The ones where everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Step-dad’s been through 4 cars since coming here cuz they keep breaking down and needing to be fixed. My sister’s been sick every other month. Power goes out a lot.

I cope by whining online.

[iximaz]

Blood-Forged ch4

Summary: Din takes his young charge to a new planet with a new plan to hide. It quickly goes sideways after he meets another Mandalorian who has never seen her own kind.

Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Baby Yoda, enby!fem!OC

Pairings: Slow burn Din Djarin/OC because it turns out I’m a thirsty hoe

Warnings: Eh, right now it’s just in light PG-13 territory. Mentions of family death, some blood/violence/bodily harm. Will probably end up becoming smut later.

Word Count: 2333 (indefinite chapter count coming)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (you’re here!) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Aysa’s apartment was small, but cozy. They had walked into what looked like the main room, a combined kitchen and living space stuffed full of squashy, mismatched, secondhand furniture. A door to a bedroom that had to be Aysa’s judging by the green-painted walls stood ajar at one end, while two doors that led to what Din could only assume were a bathroom and the building proper were shut tight. 

“You guys can take the bedroom,” Aysa said, pulling off her helmet and setting it on the dining table. “I imagine it’d be easier for you to sleep without your helmet.”

Din looked around and nodded. “Thank you. Though if the little one could sleep in here…?”

“Huh,” Aysa said, raising her eyebrows. “Even people who won’t remember your face can’t see it?”

Din shook his head. 

“Alright, then,” Aysa said. “I’ll keep an eye on him. He doesn’t cry or anything, does he?”

“Not often.”

“Good,” Aysa said. “Because I like being able to sleep.”

Almost on cue, Baby began to make little whimpering noises. Din swooped down in an instant, picking him up and bouncing him gently. “Got any broth?”

“Think so. Stock okay?”

Din nodded, and Aysa stripped off her gloves, going to the kitchen and pulling out a pot from the icebox. She put it on the stove to heat before glancing at Din. “What about you? No foods that your Way won’t let you eat or anything?”

Din shook his head, and Aysa turned on the oven before going back to the icebox. “Afraid I’ve only got leftovers,” she said, sliding a meat pie into the oven. 

“That’ll be fine,” Din said. He hovered by the table, studying Aysa’s helmet without touching it. 

Aysa glanced behind her. “You can pick it up if you like,” she said, though there was a faint hint of trepidation in her voice.

Din picked it up, treating it with the respect it deserved. “You’re very fortunate,” he said.

Aysa glanced up at him. “Hm?”

“Your mother’s beskar,” Din said. “I don’t know if the practice was the same in your clan, but in mine, it’s traditional for armor to be passed down between family members.”

“It was the same in mine,” Aysa said. She smiled a little ruefully. “Nobody to reforge my mom’s armor, though, so it stays like it is.”

“When we find my clan again, I’ll ask the armorer to reforge it for you, if you like,” Din offered. “I think she would be honored to do it.”

Aysa’s eyes stung with tears, and she nodded, hastily turning away so Din wouldn’t see her struggling not to cry.

He noticed, of course. He noticed lots of things, after all, but it was kinder to pretend he hadn’t. He turned the helmet over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. “Did it belong to anyone before her?” he asked.

Aysa shrugged. “I dunno,” she said, focusing too hard on stirring the stock pot. “Never really asked before it… happened.”

Din nodded. He inspected the interior, nodding in satisfaction when he saw the internal wiring was compatible. It looked much newer than the rest of the helmet, and he wondered if Aysa had done the work herself. The soldering work looked clumsy, which made him think so.

Still—not bad for someone without training.

“When the soldiers attacked,” Aysa began. She cleared her throat and swallowed back the growing lump. “Well—Mom took a blaster bolt meant for me. She shielded me with her own body, but it missed her armor.”

Din inspected the half a scorch mark on the bottom of Aysa’s back plate. So his suspicions had been correct.

“I had to play dead under her body when they ran past us,” Aysa said. She shivered. “We were separated from my dad. I never did find out what happened to him.”

Din set the helmet down abruptly, and Aysa startled, looking around at him.

“I lost my own parents in an Imperial raid,” Din said at long last. “They hid me in a bunker. I never saw them again.”

“I’m sorry.”

Din shook his head. “Don’t waste your breath apologizing for things that weren’t your fault,” he said. 

Aysa bit her lip, but nodded. 

“The Mandalorians saved me after that,” he continued. “They took me in as a Foundling—but they didn’t do the same for you.” He left his words to trail upwards, the barest hint of a question. He’d leave it up to her if she wanted to share.

“Scavengers,” Aysa said. “They helped me get the armor off Mom, packed it in a bag for me. Dropped me off at the next planet over with a couple of credits and the bag and nothing else.”

Din frowned, his shoulders tensing. “You were a child.”

Aysa nodded, not turning around. “The rest of the people who took me in, one after another—some were kind. Some weren’t. Doesn’t matter—I survived, and I managed to keep ahold of the armor, and that’s what does.”

Din studied her for a moment. He was hardly the type to go around dishing out compliments, and he wasn’t about to start now. All he said instead was “That’s good.” He tapped the helmet in an obvious change of topic. “If you’d like, I can wire your helmet’s coms up so we can keep in contact.”

Aysa glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled. “I’d like that.” She stooped to pull out the meat pie and dished some of it into a bowl; she looked around and grabbed a cutting board, putting the bowl, a fork, a napkin, and a glass of fruity cider on the makeshift tray. “Here,” she said, carrying it over to Din.

He took the tray, then glanced over at Baby, who was sniffing curiously at Aysa’s curtains. “I should feed him first.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Aysa said. “I’m not the most maternal person, but I do know how to get a baby to eat.”

“But—“

Aysa nodded at the cutting board tray. “Your food will get cold. And you’ve gotta be starving,” she added, raising her eyebrows. “If it really makes you feel better, you can always snarf it.”

Din smiled, but gave no indication of it that she could see. “Thank you,” he said, and disappeared into her room.

Organized chaos was probably the best way to describe it. Din paused just after shutting the door behind him to take a look around; it was clear the clutter had a pattern to it. 

A row of alcohol bottles were lined up haphazardly on the windowsill, but their labels were all turned forward and they all had their matching lids or corks. The papers strewn on the desk were apparently sorted into teetering piles by category: bills, invoices, medical notes, bank information, insurance. 

Din tugged the curtains shut before he pulled his helmet off and set it on the floor, running his fingers through his tangled hair. It always felt good to smell that first breath of air that wasn’t filtered through his helmet.

Books were stacked in strategically precarious rows on an old shelf, some tomes crammed in sideways on top of other books. As Din ate, he cast a curious eye over the titles. Lots of planetary encyclopedia books, but a fair amount of novels, political analyses, books on economic theory, electronics wiring.

Sometimes he wished he had the space for a proper library on his ship, but books took up weight and space, both of which were valuable commodities on a ship. Besides, it was unnecessary when he could simply download all the books he could ever want to read straight to his datapad.

The meat pie was good, and hot enough to nearly burn his tongue as he quickly ate, then chased it down with a gulp of cider. 

Before he went back into the main room, he paused by the mirror to inspect his face. No new scars, but his hair and beard were starting to get scraggly. He’d need to trim them both soon.

Din grunted and put his helmet back on, retreating into the safety and anonymity it offered him. He picked up the tray and went back out, pausing and grinning when he saw Aysa sitting with the Womp-Rat at the table, coaxing him into eating one spoonful at a time.

“Here comes the TIE Fighter,” Aysa said, her voice noticeably higher-pitched and more sing-songy. “Open wide…”

The kid willingly opened his mouth for her to spoon in the broth, and he giggled and clapped his hands together after he’d swallowed.

Din was sure he hadn’t made any noise when he’d come in, but Aysa spoke without turning to look at him. “Food was alright?”

“It was. Thank you,” he said, setting the tray on the counter.

“Bet you don’t have many home-cooked meals on the ship,” Aysa said, and Din shook his head.

“It’s mostly ration bars,” he said. “There’s a galley, but it’s barely large enough to fit in even without my armor.”

“That does sound problematic,” Aysa said. “And you’re not a real big guy, either.”

Burg’s comment of “Tiny” came to mind, and Din rolled his eyes at the memory. “No,” he agreed neutrally.

“Hey, not saying that’s a bad thing,” Aysa said. “Means you need less beskar to be all armored up, for one. Right?”

Din grinned, knowing she’d be able to hear it in his voice. “I suppose.”

Aysa set the spoon down. “Are you smiling, Din?”

The sound of his name from unfamiliar lips was… strange. Not unpleasant, just unusual.

“I guess you’ll never know,” he said. “Go eat. I’ll finish here.” He pulled the bowl of broth towards him, beginning to coax the Womp-Rat into eating.

Aysa watched the pair for a moment, smiling. Her stomach growled, and she got up to help herself to a small serving of pie.

“So does Baby eat anything else yet, or just broth?” Aysa asked, sitting back down and digging into her food.

“Frogs,” Din replied, sounding slightly strained. “Preferably live.”

Aysa choked on her pie and began coughing. Without taking his eyes off the kid, Din reached over and thumped her squarely between the shoulders.

“Thanks,” Aysa gasped. “Frogs?”

“I’m trying to get him to stop,” Din said, reaching out to poke Baby on the nose. Baby scrunched his face up and leaned away, only to lean back when Din offered him another spoonful. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem to have killed him yet?” Aysa offered faintly.

“Yet,” Din muttered.

Aysa made a small noise of sympathy. She dumped her empty plate in the sink and headed back out to the speeder pad.

Din eyed the plate in the sink. She’d barely taken several mouthfuls of food. She wasn’t kidding about not eating well, but he wondered how much of that was by choice.

Aysa returned with the crates from the speeder bike and set them down just inside the door, beginning to unpack one of them. She glanced up at Din; he ignored her, so she figured she was okay to continue. With one crate empty, she disappeared briefly into her room, returning with a thick blanket that she used to line it. 

“Baby can sleep in here,” she said, and the kid’s ears perked up at the sound of her voice. “Settle him down whenever, but I’m tired.”

Din said nothing; Aysa shrugged and disappeared into her room, reemerging a few minutes later with a pillow and blanket under her arm. She was wearing nothing but a pair of thin sleeping trousers. Din glanced up and was suddenly quite glad she couldn’t see him staring.

He hadn’t been wrong: her chest really was boy-flat, distinctive white scars just under where her pectoral muscles curved. Surgical, unlike the other scars that lined her torso. Most of them were heavy burn scars like the one on her face, but a few on her arms and stomach where the armor didn’t cover looked like cuts or blaster hits. Not too dissimilar to his own.

She was lean and well-muscled as fit a mercenary, but thin enough he could count her ribs. He frowned. Muscled she might be, but there was no way that meant healthy. When she turned her back to him, his frown deepened. Parts of her spine—or maybe all of it—had been replaced, angry red skin growing up over the metal segments embedded in her back. It didn’t look like an old injury by any stretch of the imagination, especially judging by the twisting, ropy scar that stretched from shoulder to hip, cutting across her body.

He couldn’t imagine baring himself like that. It was the height of vulnerability, a complete lack of regard for one’s safety.

It was not the Way.

Not for him, he had to remind himself. For her, this must be normal. 

Or—and this thought drew him up short—she was acting like this because she trusted him. It made a certain amount of sense. He trusted her as well. Not fully—they had only just met—but there was a certain respect that went to fellow Mando’ade that would grow stronger with time. The differences between their clans were a footnote in that larger picture.

Aysa lay down on the lumpy sofa and rolled herself into her blanket until the only parts of her Din could see were her toes and the top of her head.

Baby whined at him insistently and he quickly refocused his attention on feeding the child. As soon as Baby let out a soft, contented belch, Din gathered him up and set him in the makeshift cot in the corner of the room. Baby looked like he wanted to hold on, but he yawned as he was set down, big eyes slowly closing before he’d been fully laid in the cot.

“G’night,” came Aysa’s muffled voice from the corner.

Din’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Good night.”

#mandalorian #the mandalorian #fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #dyn jarren #OC #baby yoda #star wars #din djarin

[unseenthewriter]

CHAPTER 1: I DIDN’T THINK I’D ACTUALLY GET THIS FAR...

Chapter 1: 3344 Words

Fic Total: 3344 Words

Series Total: 3344 Words

I was zoning out at my laptop’s computer screen. Professor Dr. ah what was it again? Jones? Was droning on about one of his kids? He’s gotten off task again. I didn’t ask Dr. Cuddy if I could sit in on these classes for this. I sighed and glanced over at the envelope that I placed my guess of what the final diagnosis was going to end up being for this lecture. Normally I end up being right at least 90% of the time which is a much higher rate than all these actual medical students. It’s a good thing they don’t know that. Being outsmarted by a high school student makes most people a little pissy.

I turned back to my laptop and quickly finished up the final touches on the website I was building for a client. I’m technically a homeless teenager and have to make money somehow. I didn't exactly run away. My Mom died and I left Minnesota to try and find out who my biological father is. Last time my Mom mentioned anything about him it was that he was living in Princeton. So during the summer I forged some documents and got into a private high school here on scholarship. I accidentally sprained my wrist doing some uh... backflips and ended up finding out about the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital Free Clinic. Decided to start volunteering here shortly after.

I sighed and crossed my arms as the Professor finally got back to the actual lecture. Sitting in the back row I noticed someone walking in. A grumpy looking middle-aged man with a cane. Dr. House. He was the Doctor that helped me out with my wrist. Bit of an ass at the time but I didn’t mind. Although from what I’ve heard about him since then he’s always an ass. He sat down near me leaving a gap of 2 chairs between us.

House grabbed the envelope that was sitting on the desk next to me. “Is that a Princeton Prep uniform?” He asked.

I turned my gaze from The Professor to Dr. House. “Last I checked yes.” I responded.

“Why would a rich kid go to the Free Clinic?” He asked.

I sighed and turned back to The Professor. “I’m there on a scholarship. Most Doctors would ask how my wrist was doing.” I said.

“I’m not most Doctors.” House said.

“So I’ve heard.” I muttered.

“What’s the envelope for?” He asked.

House is lucky I’m not a violent person because I kinda wanted to punch him or something so I could focus on the lecture. “I like to guess the final diagnosis at the beginning of class.” I replied and turned my body away from House to TRY to imply that I wanted him to shut up. House took a peek at my guess.

A while later the Professor finally confirmed the final diagnosis. I grabbed the envelope back from House to confirm. I was right again. I put the answer in the spreadsheet I made and noticed my percentage of correct answers jumped up. "93%." I mumbled to myself and put my laptop back in my messenger bag. 

House blocked my route out of the row with his cane. The last few people in the room left. "Why do you sit in this class?" He asked.

"The medical club at my school sucks ass." I joked.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"You've seen my medical file." I said.

"Didn't look at your name." He shrugged.

Of course not. 

"Jay." I said and pushed his cane down to clear my path while staring directly into House's eyes. They remind me of mine actually…

A few Doctors walked in interrupting our stare down. "What are you doing here House?" The African American Doctor asked.

"Harassing a teenager." I said before leaving. If I had looked back I would've noticed a very slight smirk on House's face.

~~~

I was slowly awoken by a rhythmic tapping on one of the backseat windows in my car. There was a heavy weight on my chest… I fell asleep doing history reading again didn't I? The tapping was getting louder. The sound was too harsh to be someone's fist. Maybe an animal or something. I groaned softly while pushing the textbook off my chest and opened my eyes. There was nothing in the window facing me so when I turned around to see the face of Dr. House hitting his cane against my window I almost jumped. I scowled and rolled down the window. "What do you want?" I asked. I don't even want to bother asking how he found me.

"You homeless?" He asked bluntly, ignoring my question.

"Depends you going to call social services if I say yes?" I asked.

He didn't reply. That was probably answer enough for him. I opened the door to get out and stretch my legs. Sleeping in the backseat of a car isn't great but I don't really have a better option. I cracked my neck. "What do you want?" I asked again.

"I looked through your file again." He started.

Of course, he did.

"Said your Mother was a Dr. Shannon Flynn. No Father mentioned." He finished.

I swung my arms back and forth a bit to try and loosen my shoulders. "Yes, my Mom was the Cardiologist, Dr. Shannon Flynn. Never met my Father. No idea who he is." I replied. House is lucky I'm not in a crabby mood and willing to satisfy his curiosity.

"Was?" He pressed.

"She died this July." I said and grabbed my zip-up hoodie from the passenger's seat. It's starting to get a tiny bit brisk now that it's October. Me losing like 20 pounds hasn't helped. I threw the tie in the spot where the hoodie was before shutting and locking my car.

Getting a somewhat decent night's sleep has made my body a little restless. I started walking to my school's football field. No practice this weekend meaning I have the space to do some flips and handsprings.

"Why run off to New Jersey?" House asked as he followed me.

"Last I heard my Father lives here." I said while getting over the fence to the football field. I opened the gate to let House in.

I took off my hoodie and dress shirt. Now I was only in my undershirt and pants. "What are you doing?" House asked.

I was surveying the football field. Visualizing what I was about to do. I'll start off easy. A roundoff followed by two back handsprings. "I'm restless." I replied before doing the tumbling.

God, there's something about flying through the air that really puts a smile on my face. I followed up with a roundoff back handspring backflip before turning back to House. He had one eyebrow raised. Guess he didn't expect me to be a gymnast. Then again once I started transitioning to a guy no one had expected me to be a gymnast. I still have the build of a female gymnast. Extremely short and lean. Actually, I think the reason I sprained my wrist was that I hadn't gotten used to weighing even less. 

Now the two main reactions I get when I'm spotted doing flips and stuff are:

"Wow, that's cool!"

Or

"Hey get off that roof!"

I'm definitely not expecting either of those reactions from House so this should be interesting. "I assume this is how you sprained your wrist." He said as I walked up to him slightly out of breath.

"I over-rotated doing a backflip off the wall over there." I admitted while pointing at the half-wall near the main school building.

"A little rude doing gymnastics in front of a cripple." He commented. Ah, so that's his real reaction.

I caught my breath and put my dress shirt and hoodie back on. "You followed me." I shrugged. "Any other dying questions? I have Biomedical Science homework to do today." I said.

"Biomedical Science?" He questioned.

"It's an elective." I replied.

House went quiet for a moment so I assumed he had no more questions. I took a glance at my watch before he spoke up. "Your Mother. Did she go to a conference in Seattle back in 1992?" House asked.

I froze. I've heard about that conference many times from Mom. Doing the math and the number of times she's brought it up. I'm 80% sure I was conceived during that conference. Yes I know I think too much. "Y-Yeah." I stuttered.

"Thought I recognized her name." House said before leaving me stunned by the bleachers of the football field.

~~~

I knocked on the door to Dr. Wilson's office. There are two things I mainly do while volunteering at PPTH: helping out Bill the IT Guy and hanging out with the cancer kids. With Midterms slowly creeping up on me I've been a bit busy meaning I wasn't exactly sure who Wilson wanted me to see. There wasn't a response which was odd because I could tell the light was on in his office and I could hear someone moving around behind the door.

What I had expected when I opened the door was for Dr. Wilson to be so absorbed in the paperwork that he just didn't hear me. It's happened once or twice. The scene in front of me didn't even remotely cross my mind.

Dr. Wilson had his head face-first on his desk passed out. Dr. House was chilling on the couch reading a medical file. "I'll come back later." I mumbled.

House turned his head to look at me. "Why are you here?" He asked.

"I volunteer here." I replied.

"In Wilson's office? What do you do? Give the heads of departments backrubs? Because I'll hit you up on that." He joked.

I glared at House. "No The Hospital in general." I huffed. "Is he okay?"

"Hasn't slept in a few days. One of his patients dying or something. Gave him a little something to help him out" House said.

That would be Joey. The little guy was doing so well. Entirely unexpected. Must be eating Wilson up inside. I'm trying not to think about it myself. "You drugged him?" I asked.

"Well if that's the conclusion you want to jump to." House said. That's a yes then. I guess House cares about Wilson in his own messed up way.

"Right whatever just tell Wilson I'll go help out Bill today." I said before leaving.

~~~

This past week I've noticed House much more often than before. I don't think it's just because my brain is acknowledging him more now that we've talked a few times. I think he's watching me.

Sure I've been wondering if maybe House is my father. The fact that he was at the conference I was likely conceived at, recognized my Mother's name 17 years after the fact, he's living in New Jersey, the not so low key stalking and well we really do have the same eyes. But this isn't something you just go up and be like: "Hey did you have unprotected sex with my Mother at that conference?". 

I wanted to bang my head against the table I was sitting at. I was trying to study for my Latin midterm but I just couldn't focus. Especially with House watching me from a few tables down.

It's almost 8 PM so the cafeteria is basically empty besides the two of us. I sighed and shut my notebook. "You're not being very slick you know." I said to House.

House took that as an invitation to sit down at the table I was at. "Little self-centered thinking I'm watching you." He said after sitting down.

I glared at him. "We're literally the only people here right now and you're not eating anything." I pointed out.

"You're not eating anything either." House countered.

"I needed a table for studying." I said gesturing at the Latin books and notes in front of me.

"Latin huh?" House mused and flipped through one of the books. "You look like you already know what you need to for this midterm."

I sighed and rubbed my hands on my face. "I do I just can't spell." I said in a frustrated tone.

House raised an eyebrow and looked at one of the pages of notes. "Seems like you can spell just fine."

I sighed again. "Not even questioning why all my notes are typed?" I asked.

"Bad handwriting?" He said.

"Okay well yes but also because I'm heavily reliant on spell-check." I said and ran my hands through my hair. "I can barely spell English words let alone Latin."

"So you're not studying Latin you're studying how to spell in Latin." House said.

"Yes." I said.

"Sounds like a waste of time." House said and loudly dropped the book on the table.

It is a waste of time and I know it but I have to try. I guess I'm a little paranoid that if I don't do AMAZING at everything someone is going to find out I'm homeless and everything will fall apart… Again. "You say that like talking to you isn't just as much of a waste of time." I shot back.

"I know Latin." House protested.

"Any tips on how to spell Latin?" I asked.

"No." He said.

"Point still stands." I said and crossed my arms.

House leaned back in the chair he was in. "Any updates on The Father Hunt?" He asked.

Yeah, you're the most likely candidate that I've met since getting here in August. 

"No." I lied while uncrossing my arms and looking back at some of my notes.

"You're lying." House said.

I said I wanted to bang my head on the table before? Now I want to even more. I meekly looked up at House. He was watching me intently. "I think you know what I'm thinking." I said and quickly looked back at the notes that I was not remotely reading.

"No idea." He said in a tone that made it obvious that he DID know what I was thinking he just wanted me to say it.

I banged my head on the table. I hate this. I hate this situation. Why did Mom have to die? I could've gone my whole life without needing to find out who my Father was if she didn't die. "You're the most likely candidate." I grumbled.

"Now was it that hard to say?" House mocked.

I didn't respond. I want to sit here with my head on this table for eternity.

"Come on get up I need your blood." House said.

I slowly lifted my head. "Why?" I mumbled.

"Well unless you got some other proof that we're related in which case you've been holding out on me." House said.

Paternity test. He wants to do a paternity test. If he wants to do a paternity test that means there's a pretty good chance that House is my father. I gathered up my Latin books and notes before silently following House.

~~~

House had let me sleep in his office last night which was nice. I think he's been working on some difficult case or something because he was there the whole night too. I was almost late for school because my phone which has my alarm was dead because I forgot to plug it in.

I handed the now completed Latin midterm to my teacher. I know I didn't bomb it at least. Done for the day now. My last period is a free period and the school doesn't care if I leave early. My now charged phone rang once I was out of the building. My caller ID signaled that I didn't know who it was. I threw my bag in my car and picked it up. "Hello." I said hoping it wasn't a spam caller or something.

"You coming to the hospital today?" The voice asked. House.

"I normally do on Friday's yes." I said while starting my car. "How'd you get my number?" I asked.

"Cuddy had it in your volunteer file." House replied.

Makes sense but also a little intrusive. "You could've asked for my number." I huffed.

"That's no fun." He said.

I rolled my eyes.

"Come to my office when you get here." House said and hung up.

"Will do." I said in a sarcastic tone and turned on the radio.

Once I got to PPTH I made my way to House's office but he and his team weren't there. I spotted Dr. Wilson walking down the hallway. "Uh, Dr. Wilson Sir?" I stumbled over my words trying to get his attention.

"You don't need to call me Sir." Wilson said to me.

"Right yeah sorry." I mumbled.

"Rose wanted to see you this morning." Wilson said.

"Do you uh know where Dr. House is?" I asked but made a mental note that Rose wanted to see me.

Wilson looked back and forth between me and House's empty office. "Since when have you and House known each other?" Wilson asked.

Well longer than I've known you. I even walked in on House drugging you earlier this week.

"Not too long. He wanted to talk to me about something." I said.

Wilson was thinking I could see the gears in his head working. "Are you why he's been acting so weird recently?" He asked.

Probably.

"Dunno he seems pretty weird anyway." I said with a shrug. Wilson gave me a side-eye.

"I don't know Kid you're giving my weirdness a run for its money." A voice said. House.

"Kid? Did you forget my name again?" I huffed.

"Yep." He popped.

You literally drew my blood yesterday what the hell. 

"Now Jimmy me and…" House trailed off.

"Jay." Wilson said.

"Need to talk." House finished.

"Why so secretive?" Wilson asked.

"Doctor-Patient Confidentiality!" House said.

Wilson looked at me. "Are you sick?" He asked.

Depends if House really is my Father my mind is probably pretty fucked up. 

"Not in any way that would affect kids with low to no immune system." I said.

Wilson looked at both of us. "We're talking about this later." He said to House and started to walk off.

"That's illegal Jimmy." House yelled to Wilson as he walked off before going into his office. I followed behind.

House threw me an envelope once I was inside. The results of the paternity test I assume. Well, this is it. Either House is my Father or I'm wrong and the likelihood of finding out who my Father is plummets immensely. I opened the envelope.

Positive. 

It's Positive. I looked up at House.

"Ran it twice to make sure." He said, sitting down at his desk.

Positive. 

I wasn't expecting to actually figure out who my Father was. I mean the chances? All I knew was that he potentially was living in Princeton. For all, I knew he could've moved away or died.

"You okay?" House asked.

Positive. 

Part of me as a kid wondered if I even HAD a Father. I mean yes, of course, I know how babies are made but the illogical part of my mind always wondered.

"You better not faint." House huffed.

I blinked. "Sorry I wasn't actually expecting this." I mumbled and sat down.

"You weren't expecting the paternity test results?" He questioned.

"I didn't expect to be correct." I said barely audible.

"Well if it was negative we would've both been incorrect which is extremely unlikely." He said.

"Why?" I asked.

"I'm rarely wrong." House said.

Right totally not a massive ego there.

We sat in silence for a while. "What happens now?" I asked. I mean I did it. I found out who my Father is but someone like House? I doubt he'd want to take me in even though I'm 16 so it's not a long term responsibility.

"We'll see." House said.

That's about the worst response he could give me. I would've preferred a "Well this was fun but I'm going to call social services now." Over that. Uncertainty absolutely kills me inside.

AN: Yes after delaying this for 50 years I’ve finally posted this. We out here finally doing what I’d say I’d do ages ago. Anyway if you can’t tell from all the posts I’ve made already on the blog I’m VERY excited about this fic. House MD is like my fave fandom to write for so like lol we back at it boys. But yeah this is a LONG TERM PROJECT and so like I’m very hype.

#Blue Jay Series #writing

[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: The Prototype

An essay by Claire Lev, as provided by Judith Field Art by Luke Spooner

When they let me out of hospital, I decided to rent somewhere with space to write. Jo, the social worker, helped me find a terraced house in the old part of town, the only one in the row not converted into flats. Gentrification had leapfrogged the area. There were no skips outside the tumbledown houses, no four-by-fours blocking the narrow streets. The shades of my immigrant ancestors spoke to me in the place they’d once made a crowded, warm world of their own.

“Bit big for a youngster like you, on your own,” the landlord said, “Miss … er …”

“Claire Lev,” Jo said.

“Claire … Lev. Millwall … two!” I chanted, using the rising and falling cadence of a football commentator. Okay name for a house, Millwall. Bucolic. Strong.

Jo pursed her lips and shook her head at my display of what the shrink dubbed “knight’s move thinking.”

“Miss Lev.” The landlord leaned away from me, as though I was contagious. He told me a rabbi had lived in the house, which meant that he’d labeled me as Jewish. Once people slot you in like that, the label is like a flashing light in their heads, steering everything they say. I waited for him to ask “if I knew the Cohens.”

“It was about 80 years ago. There were a lot of you people ’round here then.” You people.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

~

No one since the rabbi had smartened the house up. The faded, peeling wallpaper looked as if it had been there since the thirties. It was patterned with overblown tea roses that I saw faces in. The bathroom looked even older, with its rust-streaked basin. The bathtub stood on little bunched feet, poised to run.

The attic became my writing room. I scattered rag rugs and beanbags over the floorboards. The light poured in through two huge skylights and blasted the frozen shadows off my brain. Sometimes I’d be writing a poem and in mid-sentence I’d have to stop, as though someone had plucked the thoughts right out of my head.

It didn’t help that the house was full of noise–pipes clanging, stairs squeaking, floors groaning. The cat flap in the back door banged, even on windless days. I rang the landlord and asked him to get rid of it. I heard soldiers marching in one of the bedrooms, but when I went in, there was nothing to see, even though I could still hear them. And always the smell of wet mud, the sound of water dripping.

Outside the kitchen was a tiny garden, grass with a couple of anonymous scrawny trees. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. The tablets made me constantly hungry. I decided to go cold turkey, to stop the medication and to try to lose weight.

I never seemed to be able to keep the cracked, dull linoleum on the kitchen floor clean. I washed it every morning, but a few hours later, there would be another line of muddy blobs leading from the back door, like animal tracks.

In bed I squirmed, trying to sleep. A mob of problems whirled ’round my mind. When I had worried about each one, they all took another turn. I stood in the middle as they danced around me, pulling at me, demanding a piece of me in higher- and higher-pitched voices. Bills. Poetry. Weight. Leaky roof. Benefit. Noise in the house. Food.

One night, a hand stroked my hair.

“Claire, poor Claire,” the female voice said.

“That’s all you ever say,” I replied. Two old women’s voices discussed a cake recipe. It made my stomach rumble.

~

It didn’t help that the house was full of noise–pipes clanging, stairs squeaking, floors groaning. The cat flap in the back door banged, even on windless days.

I had to have a peanut butter and banana sandwich for lunch, cut diagonally, set on the plate with the red line ’round the edge, otherwise my nerves would jangle and a band would tighten around my ribs as I forced myself to breathe. The sandwich had to be sliced with one of the blue-handled knives that made me feel safe when I held them. I rummaged about in the drawer, but my fingers met one of the solid metal ones. It weighed my hand down, and the edges of the handle felt alien. My heart pounded faster as I poked and prodded in the drawer. My mouth dried. I felt sick and the room became fuzzy ’round the edges.

“Claire, poor Claire,” said the woman.

“She’s useless and you know it,” a new, male voice said. “Can’t even find the right knife.”

I smelled that muddy, earthy odour even though it wasn’t raining. The cat flap banged and movement flickered in the corner of my eye. I grabbed a carving knife and whipped around, jerking the blade forward.

“Get out!” My voice caught on the lump in my throat as tears rose behind my eyes.

A tiny, human-shaped pile of mud stood by the back door, in front of the cat flap. I dropped the knife, with a clatter that seemed to go on and on. I rubbed the back of my hand across my nose.

The man’s voice started again. “You clumsy, filthy whore. Give up. You’re worthless. Take that knife and slit your–”

“Shut it!” the mud man-thing shouted. “My voice is the only one she needs to hear!”

Silence. I reached down.

“No,” said the mud-thing, “I’ll deal with that.” It kicked the knife under the fridge.

I backed away, my fists clenched, until I was pressed against the wall. The thing walked toward me.

“Look at me,” it commanded. Its eyes glowed red. Warmth ran through my veins. I breathed out and my heartbeat slowed.

“Don’t be scared. Forget the others; they’re gone. I’m your helper. Better let you see my job description. Here are my personal specifications and objectives.”

The top of its head opened. It reached inside, pulled out a roll of parchment, and handed it to me.

“Careful. It’s written in a special ink made out of oak galls, copperas, and gum arabic. You won’t find them down in the shops.” The orange-tinted parchment was peppered with the hair follicles of the animal from which it came, as if hit by a tiny shotgun. The black, square letters were written with a sweeping hand: broad upstrokes and narrow downstrokes. Some were embellished with crown shapes at the top. Others stretched, giving a solid edge to each column of text.

My Hebrew was as rusty as the taps in the bathroom and my shaking hands made it hard to read, but I made out the letters: gimel, lamed, mem …

“You’re a golem?”

It nodded. “Call me Rishon. Don’t you know who lived here? Rabbi Yossi, one of the greatest twentieth-century mystics. He made me. I’m a servant made out of non-living stuff by magic.”

Okay. What would I have to say to get rid of it? I tried to dredge some Hebrew from my memory.

“Gleeda!” I shouted.

“Ice cream? You’ll have to get your own. But I’ll protect you, if you let me stay.” It spoke as if it was reading my mind.

“You? How? Jump up and bite attackers on the kneecap?”

“Now you’re being size-ist. I can’t help it if I’m only twelve inches high. I’m a mock-up, a prototype. Rabbi Yossi wanted to make the perfect golem. That’s why I can speak. The others couldn’t. He died before he could make the full-sized version. I’ll protect you from Cossacks, expulsion, blood libel, and the voices in your head. I can help ’round the house.” It ran its hand across a cupboard door and stared at the place where its fingertips would be. It tutted. “I do cleaning as well.”

“Those your footprints all over the kitchen floor?”

“Sorry about that, but I had to get in quickly. Couldn’t stop to wipe my feet.”

“Why were you in the garden?”

“Where else could I go? I was minding my own business in the attic, for eighty years I’ve been up there, but then you had to go and use it as a study. Couldn’t stay up there with you tapping at your keyboard all day. It’s like being inside a ticking clock.” It put its hands up to where its ears would have been. “I’ve been hiding in the garden, but it keeps raining. I’m made of clay. The rabbi never got ’round to firing me in the kiln, so I have to come in out of the wet. I’m a priceless ethnic artefact, you know. And I’m not an it, I’m a he.”

“If you stay, do I have to tie a bit of red string ’round my wrist? Kabbalah, and all that?”

“Kabbollocks. Made-up nonsense. Anyway, I’ve got work to do. Now that I’ve shut up that lot of voices in your head, I’ll go get rid of the barmy army in the bedroom.” He reached out an upturned hand and twitched the curled fingers toward himself. “Scroll. Give.”

I passed it to him, and he put it back inside his head. It clicked shut. The stairs creaked as he made his way upstairs.

~

I listened for Rishon, coming up and down, in and out through the cat flap, while I worked. And the poetry flowed. Now that there was silence in my head, instead of the crushing band around my ribs, I felt a painless silver belt around my brain, squeezing ideas out, yet at the same time holding them back so that they didn’t all erupt at once. Everything in sight glowed, sunshine dancing on glass.

Rishon reappeared one morning as I was looking out the kitchen window at the gnarled, pallid leaves sprouting on the stunted trees. The doorbell rang. He ran out through the cat flap.

I opened the front door a few inches. The community nurse put her hand through, showing her ID. I peered around.

“I’m Vikki,” said the woman by the nurse’s side. “I’m your befriender.”

I let them in. I didn’t look at the woman. If she spoke, I didn’t hear it.

“Let’s talk about your treatment plan.”

The nurse started some spiel about empowerment. About concordance between service user and care-giver. She gave me new tablets. I had to take one a day.

“You’re a bit isolated here. Pop into the Day Centre, it’ll do you good. They’ll send transport for you. Get to know people, learn new skills.”

~

When the bus came, I wouldn’t open the door. “You should go,” Rishon said. “Make friends. Maybe meet a nice young man.”

“I don’t want to meet someone like me. I’m fine here. I’ve got my poetry. And you. It’s perfectly okay.”

Rishon clambered onto the kitchen worktop and shuffled forward till his face was up against mine.

“Now look,” he shouted. I could see inside his mouth. “You have to do more with your life than skulk around here all day. When you do creep outside it’s only to scuttle to those pokey little shops. Get out! Look at nature! You might pick up some ideas for poems!”

“No, you look, Mister Perfect Golem. I do have a choice about all this, and I’m not going. I don’t want to write about how it feels to sit in one of those care-in-the-community buses with people gawping at me.”

“Why don’t you learn to drive, then?”

“I can drive. Used to have a car.”

“Stolen, was it? I’m not surprised, around here.”

“Sort of, but it happened where I used to live, before I went into hospital. One night the police took my car away. By the next morning, before I got up, they’d replaced it with one that looked exactly the same, only, they could control it. So I had to get rid of it.”

“That’s clever of them, considering they couldn’t catch a one-legged burglar with his arms tied behind his back.” Rishon picked up my tablet box and looked inside. “You’re meant to take these every day, you know. Get yourself a glass of water.” He pushed the box toward me.

~

A week later, the Vikki woman came back. I shouted at her to go away, but she said she couldn’t hear me. I opened the door. A shove at the back of my knees ejected me, staggering and stumbling, onto the path. The door slammed shut.

“Let me in!” I shouted through the letterbox. “Please! I haven’t got my key!”

“Go on, now! Get some fresh air,” Rishon called, from inside the house. “It’s a sunny day, I’m off into the garden. I’ll open the door–later.”

I stood up. Breathed in. Breathed out. Turned around.

Vikki looked to be in her mid-thirties, slim, with blonde hair tucked into a knitted teacosy hat. Her woolly tights were zigzagged with colour, like the patterns you see when you press on your eyelids.

“Hello, again. Walk with me?”

“Is your name short for Victoria?”

“Not short for anything. I’m just Vikki.”

“Just Vikki’s an okay name.”

She smiled. “Does this mean you’ll come for a walk?”

I nodded. “I’m on a drug called aripiprazole. Okay name for a man, that. Sounds Greek.”

“Nah, nobody’d be able to spell it.”

We walked up the street, the wind scudding cans and empty crisp packets across the pavement in front of us. Our path lit up, then dimmed, as clouds tore across the sun.

I’d never noticed the park entrance at the end of the street before. The park was deserted, except for old men sitting on benches and people with nowhere else to go. Vikki pointed to a seat outside.

“We won’t go in this time. Let’s sit here. Recovery is like climbing a flight of stairs. You have to take one step at a time.”

I turned my face upward and closed my eyes. The sun shone red through my eyelids. Vikki told me about her ceramics studio and the class she ran.

“I write poetry,” I said. “Here’s one about the shrink at the loony bin:

“Take head off, bin man,

A catamaran”

“They call that a clang association.”

“Don’t you start. That’s bin man talk. But Clang Association would make a good name for a band.”

We talked about music. The sunlight drained away. Coatless, I shivered in the wind.

It began to rain, and we ran back down the street.

I hammered on my door. No reply.

Vikki made up for saying that naff thing about climbing stairs by riffling in her bag, taking out some pottery tool, sliding it between the frame and the door, and opening it. If that was a skill they taught at the Day Centre, I might just go. I didn’t ask her in. I stepped into the house and slammed the door.

A note lay on the kitchen table. The landlord had nailed the cat flap in the back door shut.

I hurled the door open and rushed into the garden. A puddle of wet clay lay on the ground. A bit of yellowing paper, washed clear, lay to one side. I stood, water running down my face.

I scooped up the mud and the paper and stashed them in a plastic bag at the back of the cupboard under the eaves. Alone in the silent house for the first time.

~

Vikki’s guiding me back into the world. We’ve been out for coffee. We’ve been shopping at Tesco’s. I entered a poem about her in a competition; I’m still waiting to hear if I’ve won. She’s a shoulder to lean on, someone to trust. She believes in me as a whole person, with true abilities.

As I believed in Rishon the golem, who showed me the way.

I’ve started Hebrew lessons. I’ve been copying the bit of Genesis (Chapter 17, verse 1, actually) that says “walk before me and be perfect.” I’ve nearly got it right. Between that and Vikki’s pottery class, I’m hardly in the house these days. I’ve made friends at Hebrew class, but the potters won’t sit with me. “She’s weird,” they say. “All she makes is little clay men.”

I’m practising. Until I can make perfect.

Claire Lev also lives in London, UK. She’s a ceramicist, and she and Judith met at Claire’s art installation “Living Clay”, consisting entirely of golems of different sizes. Blink, and they seemed to have moved. But that can’t be so…can it?

Judith Field lives in London, UK. She writes because it’s in her DNA. She’s the daughter of writers and learned how to agonise over fiction submissions at her mother’s (and father’s) knee. She speaks 5 languages and can say “please publish this story” in all of them. Her short stories, mainly speculative, have appeared in a variety of publications in the USA, UK, Australia and New Zealand.

Luke Spooner, a.k.a. ‘Carrion House,’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree, he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales, his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy, or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility, as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.

This story first appeared in Stupefying Stories, August 2012.

“The Prototype” is © 2012 Judith Field Art accompanying story is © 2019 Luke Spooner

Fiction: The Prototype was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#Claire Lev #Judith Field #Kabbalism #Luke Spooner #Metaphysics

[jchb32273]

Fictober 2019 - Day 14

Fanfiction - Dragon Age AO3 Link

Slight NSFW section

I Can’t Come Back

~~~~~

Right after our special All Heart’s Day, I moved through the next two weeks in a blissful haze. I spent both the following weekends with Alistair at his condo where we spent our evenings, mornings… and sometimes the afternoons making love. I had never felt such contentment, love, and wonder as when I was with him.

So when the letter arrived from my mother with bad news, it hit me like a stampede of druffalo. I called her that afternoon.

“What did the doctor say, mum?” I asked worriedly.

“First tests were inconclusive. They need me to come back for more blood work and tests in a few days.” She coughed weakly into the phone. “I just don’t know how I can afford it.”

“The insurance company is still making you pay upfront? Why? I thought your coverage from your job was better than that!”

“They had to change to a cheaper provider and they don’t cover as much as the other insurance did.”

“Isn’t dad still sending you alimony, mum?” There was an uncomfortable silence on the phone for a moment. “Mum?”

Quietly, she murmured, “No.”

“What?” I nearly screeched. “Why not?!”

“He has apparently disappeared. No one has seen him in months.”

“Months?! Mum, this is crazy!”

“Sweetie, I didn’t want to tell you! I want you to do good in school and not worry about me. I can survive on my income.” She started coughing again.

Near tears, I said, “But how can you afford my schooling and all your bills?! My scholarship only covers the bare minimum. How far behind are you? Tell me the truth.”

She sighed. “Mortgage is one month behind, but I got an extension on it.”

“And? What else?”

“I’ve got a disconnect notice from both the phone and utilities.”

I started to cry. “And you are paying for my classes and books instead. Mum, I can’t let you do this.”

“I told you, sweetie, I will manage.”

I shook my head. “No. I can’t. I won’t let you do this to yourself. I will drop out of school, come home and get a job. We will get you caught up and in the meantime, hopefully, the doctors can figure out what is going on with your health.”

“Please, Kylara, I don’t want you to drop out! Your schooling is important!”

“And I don’t want you penniless in the streets! You are the only mother I will ever have! School can wait, mum. I can re-enroll once things straighten out, or find a cheaper local college near home.” I sighed. “Maybe the lawyers will find dad, too.”

“Kylara…”

“My answer is final. I will notify my teachers and the dean. You can expect me home in about a week and a half, once I make the arrangements. In the meantime, please take care of yourself.”

Resigned, she sighed. “Very well, I will. I love you, daughter.”

“Love you, mum.”

After I hung up the phone, fresh tears streamed down my cheeks. I know she didn’t want me to worry about her, but hiding all this from me has only made it worse!

I looked around the room I had shared with Leliana this past year and a half. Maker, I am going to miss her. She has been the best roommate and friend I could have ever had. Also, my other friends that I have come to care for! Cullen, my friend, and fellow science nerd. Dorian and Bull… even Anders, Hawke, Isabela, and Fenris… I will miss them all so much!

And what am I going to tell Alistair? He has money! I just know the first thing he will try and offer is to pay for everything my mum owes! I absolutely cannot let him do that! He has his own family troubles… I don’t need him worrying about mine!

A sudden, chilling thought hit me.

I can’t tell him! If I do, that is exactly what will happen! So I guess that means… Am I going to have to break up with him? Maker, I hope not! I suppose I should have known all along that something like this might happen. Just when I think I deserve some happiness… I flopped face down on my bed and started bawling.

Two hours later I was back in my room after visiting the liquor store – not only for some strong booze to help numb myself for what was to come – but also to get some empty boxes from them to start packing. I had already polished off a third of the whiskey and packed up my bookshelf and desk items, along with a few bits of clothing when Leliana finally walked in the room.

“Whew! That was a long rehearsal! I am so glad I- ” She stared at the half-empty room… “Kylara? What is going on? Why are you packing up?!” A sudden delighted look came to her face. “Oh, you’re moving in with Ali already?! Well, I admit this is sooner than I expected, but…” I stopped her from going further.

“No, Leli. I am dropping out of school. I am moving back home to be with my mum.”

“What? Why?!” When I started crying again, she came up and hugged me. “Ky, you can tell me anything! Please, why are you leaving us?” She guided me to her bed and had me sit. Then she walked over to my desk and brought back the whiskey bottle and the shot glass I’d been using.

After we shared a few shots, I told her of my mother’s financial troubles and her health issues. We talked until it was nearly midnight, then I finally concluded with, “So she can’t keep payin’ for me to stay here plus take care of herself! So thas why I have to go home and help.”

“And you’re sure you won’t be coming back?”

“I don’ see how… unless the lawyers find my no-good father and get him to start paying mum again! Tha was really what was helping her stay afloat.”

“You think he ran off so he wouldn’t have to pay anymore?” She poured me another shot of whiskey.

I swallowed the burning drink. “I dunno,” I slurred. “Maybe?”

“I wish this wasn’t happening to you. You’ve been doing so good in all your classes…” She saw me wobbling on her bed and then said, “I think that is enough for tonight. Go on and lay down. Tomorrow I’ll help you with any arrangements that still need to be handled.”

As we were getting ready for sleep, she then asked the question I’d been dreading. “Have you told Alistair yet?”

I turned to face her. “Leli, promish me you won’t say anything about thish to him!”

“Why not? He could probably help…”

“Thas is why you can’t say it! He’ll wanna help me with hish money! But thish is my problem! I don’ want our relashionship to be based on money!” Then I muttered, “His father already hates me enough… don’ wanna give him any more reasons…”

“But you’re going to have to tell him something! You can’t just leave him without a reason! That would be cold… and you aren’t like that!”

I crawled under my covers. “I’ll think uv something… for now, lemme sleep.”

A week went by in a blur. Tomorrow was Friday and if all went well, I’d be leaving the following Wednesday. My arrangements were nearly complete; my teachers and dean notified. I still hadn’t finished packing, but most of my boxes were full now. I had picked up another bottle of whiskey to drink – not because I wanted it – but because I still hadn’t mustered the courage to tell Alistair anything yet.

Leliana didn’t say anything when she saw me boozing it up again, but I caught her disapproving frown.

Sunlight streamed in my window through a crack in my curtain and I groaned. Maker, I’m gonna have one heck of a hangover…

Suddenly I felt warm arms squeeze me and tender lips brush my neck. “Mmm, they say that the endorphins produced by sex can combat even the worst of hangover headaches…”

I turned over in the bed to face Alistair. “Um… first, why, how, and when did you get here?”

His lips brushed against mine and then he smiled. “Leli called me after you passed out last night. She told me you’ve been having a bad week, so I came over and she snuck me in through the window. I’m glad your room is on the first floor… might have been a bit of a challenge were you higher up.” He grinned. “You were already out cold, so I just crawled into bed with you. You must have sensed me because you curled right up against me.”

“And how do you plan on getting out of here without being seen? If you’re caught, we’re both in trouble.”

“Leli called us out of both our classes today… we apparently both have the flu. Sooo…” he drawled, “apparently we have all day to ourselves.” He kissed me and then with a waggle of his eyebrows, asked, “Would you like me to help you get rid of that headache now?”

Inwardly, I sighed. I suppose I should enjoy what time I have left with him. Maybe that is selfish of me… but I’ll never be able to feel again what I had with Alistair. Even if I could meet another, I know no one else would ever come close. I gave a slight smile and said, “You are aware my bed is only a twin-size here? It isn’t near big enough… compared to the king-sized one in your condo. I am still not sure how you even managed to get your tall, muscular body on this bed with me in the first place!”

“Well then, we’ll just have to get creative as well as deviant.”

After a bit of foreplay, then showing me and putting on his protection, he had me get on top of him. We hadn’t tried this position before, but I quickly got into it. It gave me a sense of power and control that I rarely – if ever – felt. The cheap springs in my mattress also had him driving himself so deep inside me that he had to cover my mouth with his hand when I came; lest my screams announce to anyone who might still be in the dorms as to what we were doing.

After a moment of basking in the afterglow, Alistair quietly – and carefully – got up off of my bed and ducked into the bathroom for a moment. When he came out, I handed him his underwear. He slipped them on and then sat on the edge of the bed with me.

“So, how is the headache?”

“Mmm… was I supposed to have one?” I sighed as I leaned against him.

“Guess I was right about those endorphins, hmm?” Then he turned to face me, which caused me to have to sit back up. “So,” he began, a more serious look on his face, “care to tell me what is really going on here?”

“Did… did Leli tell you anything else?”

“She didn’t say anything to me other than you have had a shitty week and had self-medicated last night with whiskey,” he replied. “Now… if you are also subtlety asking did I notice the packed boxes on the floor and the empty shelves in the room…”

I sighed. Guess I have to tell him now… thanks, Leli… I stared at the floor. “I have to drop out of school, Alistair.”

“Why?”

“My mother needs help at home.”

“That’s it?” he asked, sounding a bit skeptical. “How long will you be gone for?”

I couldn’t answer, my tongue felt thick in my mouth. Alistair continued.

“And when were you actually planning on telling me this? Or were you going to tell me at all?!”

“I-I was going to tell you… I just…”

Alistair sighed. “Do you want to know what I think?”

I looked up at him miserably. “What?”

“I think there is more to this than you are letting on. I think you are afraid of me finding out that there is something else and that is why you haven’t said anything to me… until Leliana forced the issue.” He took my hand into his. “What I want to know is why don’t you trust me? We love each other, but what is love without trust?”

I started crying. “I-I just didn’t want t-to say goodbye.”

“How is it goodbye?”

“I can’t come back, Alistair.”

He sat there, a look of disbelief on his face. After a moment, he blurted out, “I see.” There was another awkward moment of silence, and then he shook his head. “No. No, I don’t see! What are you not telling me? Is there someone else then? Back home? Some guy you left behind?”

“No!” I said, horrified he’d even think that. “I swear on my heart, there is no one back home but my mum. That is it!”

“Then why can’t you just help her and come back?”

“Please don’t ask … I-I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

I sobbed. “Both.”

Alistair was silent. He then grabbed his jeans and T-shirt and put them back on. He slipped on his shoes and then got up. He stood there in front of me and then finally said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. Sorrier still, that for whatever your reasons, you can’t trust me.”

“Are you angry at me?” I asked sadly.

He sighed. “No. Not angry. Just disappointed.” He toed one of my boxes with his sneaker. “If you need help with anything, just… call me, okay?”

I nodded numbly. “Y-you’re leaving? I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“… That we could still spend the day… together? Since Leli called us out ‘sick’?”

“That was originally my plan… but now? Now I guess I just need some time to think.” He walked over to our door. “Hope it all works out back home… with your mom. If you want, you can call or text me from there too. I am still your friend, after all.” He then opened the door and slipped out, shutting it quietly behind him.

#fictober19 #dragon age #alternate universe #modern thedas #college #problems at home #love and trust #angst and feels

[missmentelle]

I’m 18 and I have until the end of the year to be completely independent because I will receive no safety net after dec 31. My only ‘approved’ choices are 50 grand debt on a degree I don’t want/can’t use and will pay out of pocket, or americorp. Struggling to figure out what to do, scared I won’t get to finish even my community college associates degree and can’t afford to live alone, any advice?

Hey, I’m really sorry to hear that you’re in this situation. The world is a hard enough place at the best of times, but being out on your own at 18 with no help is daunting. It’s hard to know what you really want to do at that age, or to know what kinds of options you have available. The good news, though, is that it can be done - even without parental support, it’s possible to achieve your goals and live a good life. 

You say that your only “approved” choices are a 4-year university or going into Americorp - I’m assuming that these are the only options that your parents or guardians approve of. The truth of the matter is, though, that if your parents/guardians aren’t financing your life path, they aren’t entitled to any say in what you do. There are a lot more options in life than just a four-year liberal arts degree or earning a small stipend for AmeriCorps service. Some of the options you have available to you include:

Take out loans or financial aid to cover your tuition and costs of living while you finish your associate’s degree, and supplement your income with a part-time job, or full-time work in the summer term. Even if you need to go into a small amount of debt to finish your community college degree, it’s okay - community colleges actually provide excellent value for the cost, and it gives you a credential under your belt. Plus, many of those credits can likely be transferred to a four-year degree if you ever do decide to get your degree later in life, and you’re paying a lot less for those credits at community college than you would at a university. Talk to the financial aid or student services office at your college - they will be able to help you figure out this situation and point you toward financial resources that you can take advantage of. 

Trade school. People who look down on electricians, plumbers, heating and cooling technicians, pipefitters and mechanics are snobs and fools - those are professions that have excellent pay and often have great benefits, and involve going into little or no debt for your education. Trades allow you to work and learn your skills on-the-job as you get certified, so you are able to support yourself while you learn. Lifetime earnings for most trades are higher than earnings for a bachelor’s degree, but without the student loans, and going into a trade would allow you to quickly gain financial independence and then some. 

Tech or vocational school. Community college, university and trade school are not the only options - many young people seem to overlook technical and vocational schools, where you can learn highly employable skills and certifications in one- or two-year programs. This includes a lot of medical certifications, such as ultrasound tech, medical transcription, medical laboratory technician, licensed practical nurse, or respiratory tech. You can also earn certifications in IT and computer skills, industrial design and drafting, construction equipment operating, special needs education and assisting, safety inspection, and so much more. Two of my close friends went this route after dropping out of college - one became a medical lab technician, and the other went into industrial drawing (not a fine arts degree - he makes 3D computer models of engineering equipment for a living). Both completed their certifications in two years, both were hired immediately out of school, and both were able to purchase their first homes by themselves in their mid-twenties. This is a path that can also quickly lead to financial independence. 

Join the military. The military is definitely not for everyone, and not everyone can pass the strict medical requirements for joining. If you are willing to consider it, though, and you score reasonably well on the military aptitude test, you can have several options available to you within the military, with all your training provided and paid for. The pay is not great, especially in the beginning, but you will be looked after, and if you decide not to re-enlist after your first stint is up, you can come out of the military in your early 20s and get your university education paid for by the GI bill. I’ve met several people who went this route since moving to the USA, and many of them are now coming out of graduate school debt-free in their late 20s. Again, it’s not for everyone, but it’s an option. 

Give university a try as cheaply as possible. You don’t want to end up 50k in debt for a useless degree, and that’s fair - but if you’re careful and make some smart decisions, It’s possible to earn a university degree and not end up in that situation. Do your first two years cheaply at community college, and then transfer to an in-state public university. You could also look into doing your final two years at a more obscure, less “prestigious” school that might be willing to offer you a more generous financial aid or scholarship package - schools in “flyover” states or small towns will sometimes offer more generous financial aid in order to attract students. Plus, if you’re transferring in at age 20 and living alone, you may qualify for more generous financial aid since you don’t have any assistance from your parents. Do some research into degree programs - it’s true that a degree in English or Sociology might not get you very far, but degrees in computer science, nursing, engineering, accounting, business and mathematics are generally a good financial choice with high employability in their chosen field. My brother is about to finish his engineering degree in a specialized field next year, and he already has a six-figure job offer on the table. Speak to some advisers at local universities - they will be able to talk to you about transferring your community college credits, financial aid packages and programs available at these universities. 

Work for a bit. I grew up and did my undergraduate degree in Canada, so Americorps was not an option, but from what I understand, Americorps volunteers earn very little compared to other types of full-time employment. If you don’t feel ready to decide what you want to do with your life, it’s okay to take some time off, work full-time somewhere, and just get used to living on your own and managing your own money before you make any big decisions. I knew plenty of people who took a gap year or two off after high school, earned some money, lived with roommates, and then went back into education when they felt ready to do so, or found jobs that would advance them up the career ladder. There are still a handful of career paths out there where you can earn decent money without any formal post-secondary education, or where your employer will cover the cost of your education - air traffic control, rail traffic control, banking and insurance come to mine. I know people who went into all four of those professions and now earn comfortable salaries without having completed a degree. 

It can be daunting to try to figure out what you want to do with your life, so I recommend that you start by thinking about what kind of life you would like to lead, and work backwards to figure out what you need to do in order to get there. Do you want to work with your hands, or at a desk? Do you want to work indoors or outside? Do you want to wear dress clothes to work, or would you rather have a job where you can show up in jeans? How much money do you think you need to make in order to be comfortable? Would you rather earn more money and work longer hours, or earn less money and have more free time? Do you want to live in a big city, a small town, or a rural area? Are you willing to spend more years in school to earn more money, or would you rather earn less money and be done school faster? What do you want your average day or week to look like? It’s also important to remember that you are allowed to change your mind. You are not married to the first career path that you choose at the age of 19. You are allowed to try something, decide that you don’t like it, and try something else. You can always go back to school, switch your program, or explore another career - it doesn’t matter if you’re 23, 32 or 48 years old, those options will always be there. Life without a safety net is difficult, but it’s not impossible, and student loans are not the end of the world - it’s okay to go into a bit of debt if it will get you closer to where you want to be. 

If you need other advice about living on your own, choosing a career and living within your budget, also recommend that you check out @yournewapartment - it’s a great blog for figuring out the basics of adulting, especially if you don’t have that extra parental support. Best of luck to you!

[kddgetshealthy]

So this past week has been complete shit.

Thursday I woke up with severe stomach pain, diarrhea, vomiting, weakness and almost passing out but instead of blacking out it was white...which was terrifying because that’s only happened one other time, and that was when the doctor told mom if she hadn’t kept me conscious I wouldn’t be alive. I called Phil to come home as soon as the vomiting started because I was terrified I was contagious, and didn’t want Elle to get it. Mom had taken off to take my stepdad for his scope, but as soon as she got him home she came to take me to the ER. I felt like I was on the edge of death. I didn’t have the energy to walk down the stairs, I had to butt scoot. It was pitiful. Phil and Elle stand outside to see us off, and Elle just looks so sad wondering why she can’t go, too. It was so sad. I ended up simultaneously vomiting bile and shitting myself in front of the model home in our neighborhood, at this point I’m telling mom she should have called an ambulance. Luckily, we had prepared to be admitted and mom had packed me fresh underwear in my overnight bag. We get to the ER and they take me back before mom can get the car parked, so they have to go get her because I couldn’t even put the gown on without almost passing out. They get an IV started no problem, two sticks, but six more sticks to get blood for labs and cultures. My WBC is 36. Higher than its ever been. They want to do a CT but can’t until I pee...and even after two bags of fluid I can’t go so I ask them to cath me, which I think threw them off a bit. At this point the cath wasn’t even a concern of mine. They get the CT done after and I have duodenitis and a distended gallbladder. They call my GI, who I see today, and he tells them to come off the xeljanz. They were fully ready to admit me, but he told them not to. Which aggravates me because that probably could have saved me my ER trip Friday for the severe pain I was in. I called the GI, spoke to the nurse who said my scope from a MONTH ago “looked fine”, even though the whole reason Dr Snyder switched me from Entyvio to Xeljanz was because he said that it looked like Entyvio wasn’t working. She said he’d ask him about pain pills but he was in scopes all day...then she calls back two minutes later saying they won’t prescribe pain meds, to take Tylenol. After Tylenol didn’t do jack shit for the very severe pain I was in, I went to the ER. They gave me a Percocet when I got there, some fluids, and gave me roxicodone to last the weekend until I could see my GI, which luckily I’ve only had to take one, but this war on opioids is killing those of us with chronic pain. I don’t have a history of abuse, there was no reason he couldn’t have called me in enough pain medication to get me through until I saw him. To be honest I don’t even know if she talked to him or just made some executive decision that she wasn’t even going to ask. I will say, I’ll be having words with him at my appointment. 😩 Fast forward to Sunday, I noticed my arm was sore but didn’t think too much of it...until I rolled up my sleeve and noticed a red spot eerily similar to the one I had when I had my post partum blood clot. At this point, all the urgent cares have closed and I’m not looking to go to the ER unless absolutely necessary, since I’d already spent about $300 for my previous trips. I circled it with sharpie and made sure the redness didn’t get too widespread. So I text dad and ask if he can come watch Elle so I can go to urgent care yesterday (Monday), which I was nervous about because she’s never been alone with my dad or stepmom by herself and I was afraid she’d flip. But mom couldn’t get off and neither could Phil, and I knew it needed to be done. So I got to urgent care, the only one I KNOW has an ultrasound at 9am. I get there, pay $105 copay, get back and they do a d dimer to test clotting factor. Normal range is 100-400, mine was 718. So of course they want to do an US which has to be approved by insurance.

So I sit there waiting on that when she informs me the US is completely booked and I’ll have to go to Trident to get it done. She tells me to have them call her when they get it and let her know and she will advise me what to do from there. So I go, thinking no biggie, it shouldn’t take too long, she will call in some eliquis and I’ll be on my way. I get my US, the tech confirms the clot, calls her and SHE FUCKING SENDS ME TO THE ER. Even the nurse who triaged me was like “Why are you here?” because I was complaining about her just not calling in eliquis. At this point it’s 12. I call mom and tell her to relieve my dad and stepmom when she gets off work. I’m trying not to cry in the ER because the last time I was there was to view my grandma after she passed and all together I’ve had a shitty fucking week and it didn’t help. So they get my immunocompromised self in a curtained off “room” and no one checks on me or says a word to me for a good 40 minutes. Finally the doctor comes in and says “someone is reading your US right now, I’ll be back” he comes back almost an hour and a half later. With an RX for Eliquis. This whole trip could have been avoided, had the first fucking doctor done her fucking job. TF. Anyway, so I leave, FINALLY, and go to drop of my RX at Publix. As soon as I get there registration calls because “they didn’t get to see me”...okay that’s your fault that you didn’t come see me in the THREE FUCKING HOURS I WAS THERE. I had a $175 copay, $140 if I pay upfront because I get a discount, so I pay it. I’d already paid $80 (it was $105 beforenthe discount) for the US. I go into Publix, try to activate the copay card they gave me for the eliquis, which says its invalid. I ask the pharmacist how much it will cost just to run it through insurance...IT REQUIRES A FUCKING PRIOR AUTHORIZATION, WHICH ER DOCTORS DON’T DO. So she calls trident and they give her another card number. I try that and it doesn’t work either. Finally I tell them I’m going home, I leave the script and they said I could call the copay card number and talk to someone and then call them back. I call phil on the way home SOBBING. This whole past week has been SHIT, I have spent about $700 on ER visits and shit because apparently no one is advocating for me, and I feel like I’m just getting shit on. All of it coming out of our tax money that was supposed to be for bills because I lost my job after metlifes doctor decided I wasn’t sick. I’m fighting for SS, but right now we have one income. Finally, I get home at about 3:30 and Publix calls telling me they magically got it to go through insurance with a $0 copay. Like...are you fucking kidding me. So, yeah.

TL;DR: My health is shit, but Elle’s sweet face makes it seem not so bad.

#blood clot #ibd #crohns #xeljanz #entyvio #ER #my health is shit #but my daughter is cute so theres that

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

A Different Time pt5

Warning: Scientific nerdy Ninja

Masterlist

---

Chapter 5 - Taking the Field

As we ate in a local tea house I found I couldn’t shake Yukimura’s parting words from my mind. Each time I tried, I noticed something about her that brought them right back up again like an oil slick on water.

“…So, what do you think?” [Name]’s voice broke my reverie.

“Mmhmm?” Did I miss something? Of course, you missed something Sasuke you weren’t even listening.

“You weren’t listening, were you? You might want to watch that someone might try taking advantage of you.” As she smiled at me I had the notion that I have never felt so easy to read in my life.

“I’m sorry I was just thinking about how long it would take for help to arrive.” I was lying. Whilst that had of course been a minor part in my mind the rest seemed to be filled with thoughts of [Name].

“I was saying I might need to do a bit of training before the storming of the keep.” She repeated her words as she ate the last of her rice.

“Very Tolkienesque.” I replied as I took a drink. The tea was hotter than I thought but I forced it down all the same.

“Hehe thank you. So how about you?” She asked picking up her own cup.

“Well I am nowhere near your level in the ninja arts. I do feel I would need to train a lot before I could even think about training with someone close to your ability.” I wasn’t lying. I had only really been in this era for a little short of four years. I had trained every day until I was told I was proficient enough to not get myself killed and then sent out for on the job experience. I pushed hard to gain more knowledge and skill but compared to a seasoned professional there was no way I was close to them. Although I had pride in my speed… but I suspect that is something to do with being a nerd and having to run fast as a matter of survival.

“You seriously just called it “ninja arts”. What kind of nerd are you?” [Name] smiled from behind her cup looking at me with sparkling eyes. Tiny lines crinkling the corners of them from her smile.

“The not dead kind.” I deadpanned.

“HAHA well I’ll concede and give you that one. Personally, I always found learning easier with a hands-on approach to education. If you like to join me I won’t judge you, you’re not a bad as you think you are.”

Error: Sasuke operating system failure. She not only complimented me but the possible connotations of the ‘hands on approach to education’ alongside the thoughts I was already having after Yukimura’s parting was doing nothing to alleviate my rapidly increasing body temperature or accelerated heart rate. I wonder if I ate a bad bit of fish. Although I would have to admit that now my overactive imagination and basic laws of attraction have a much higher likely hood of being the culprit in this case.

---

After paying the bill we left the teahouse and returned to her camp in the trees. I looked around out of habit and realised that if you had not been aware of its existence you might not have been able to find the camp site in the first place. Nothing looked anything other than natural, [Name] had even covered her firepit with vegetation from the surrounding area.

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time I noticed it. We had gone through our drills for timing, balance and attack. Our make shift targets were full of holes from our Kunai and Shuriken. It was when I was timing my climbing and practicing swinging my weight from branch to branch that it happened.

[Name] had excused herself to go fetch some fresh water and when she returned I noticed she was soaking wet. Her skin glistened and her hair was a darker shade dripping at its ends. Her kimono was clinging to her figure swaying as she walked in to the clearing. I could feel my hands start to get clammy and before I knew it I had slipped from my grip and fallen backwards, I shifted my feet and somehow managed to gain a purchase strong enough to keep me from falling further, this did however leave me hanging upside down in a less than dignified position. Oh, please God no… please say she didn’t see that. While I was calculating my odds at having successfully managing to avoid the fall I nearly jumped after I adjusted my glasses and realised I was nearly nose to nose with [Name].

“Well hello there Sasuke bat.” She laughed and as her face lit up I felt something inside me pulling me forward. It was illogical and unscientific. It was a feeling that seemed to come from no where and emulated all those anime, manga, comics and films I had seen. Her eyes were sparkling and when she stopped laughing all that was left was a rich warm smile on her face. Leaning forward with one hand on her cheek, I felt the softness of her lips on mine. The gentle heat of her flowing into my body. I’m kissing her, aren’t I? Pulling back, I steadied my breathing.

“That was no where near as easy or romantic as I had hoped.” My words made her smile even more.

“These things never are. I got water so we should probably have a drink and head back. Need help getting down?” [Name] inclined her upper body and tilted her head so she was looking at me upside down.

“It’s ok I can get down.” After I said this I pulled myself up bending in my centre and gripped the branch with my hands before dropping silently to the ground the correct way up.

---

We had a drink then she changed into some dry clothes before we returned to the Inn as it was getting dark. I managed to convince the owner that [Name] was only a friend and a respectable traveller avoiding for the most part a lot of unnecessary gossiping and the very possible out come of being thrown out of the establishment for ‘bringing it into disrepute’.

[Name] was given Yukimura’s room that was next to mine which allowed us to eat our evening meal together and talk without disturbing the rest of the household. It was strange and comforting to be alone like this but I was aware that my hands were still clammy and my heart was still racing. She had not mentioned anything further after my improvised movie hero moment and I was curious. Did she like it? Did I cross a line? How does she feel about me? I was more than aware I should have ascertained those answers before I had done anything like that at all.

“So… about earlier.” She spoke quietly. Suppressing an internal cringe that threatened to take over my body as the whirlpool of emotions ranging from guilt to panic surged forward. This feels like high school prom all over again. Asking a girl out took a lot more courage than the other guys in the class had made it look like it did. And that was only half the battle.

“I’m Sorry” “I liked it.” Our Voices over lapped and I looked at her in bewilderment as what she just said sunk in. Huh?

“There isn’t any need for you to apologise Sasuke. I didn’t hate it or you. You are a good guy.” [Name] averted her eyes a soft faltering smile gracing her face.

“I have a feeling that there is a Dear John coming.” I muttered half under my breath and in the quite room it seemed nearly as loud as it would have been had I yelled it from a rooftop. Her face contorted and looked like she was recoiling from an invisible hand slapping her across her face. The emotions I felt earlier pooled heavy in my chest making it difficult to breath but seeing her struggling in front of me I tried my best to ignore it and place a strained smile on my face. It was difficult I knew I couldn’t smile properly and I hoped I had made a passable one for her sake.

“It’s… It’s not really a ‘Dear John’.” She raised her face to meet my gaze and the soft brown pools reflected me completely. She wasn’t looking at anything but me in that moment I felt like the single most lucky guy in all the world but also completely aware that that world was about to hand me something that would change it forever. “I’m not someone that has ever be comfortable with a one night… thing. I have no idea what will happen in the near future and I…”

“It’s ok I don’t like them either.” I somehow managed to keep my voice level even with my body feeling like it was about to fall apart. She seemed to sense how I felt and gave a pained smile as she reached to take my hand. I nearly pulled it back but part of me wished to touch her and be close to her in any way it could. My own personal torture.

“I like you Sasuke please believe me when I say that. But I don’t think it would be fair to you to be with someone like me.” She appealed in earnest.

“Someone like you?” I repeated her statement as a question she nodded.

“While I cannot deny that I am certainly attracted to you I think ultimately you would be happier with another. I’m truly sorry.” [Name] bowed before me. Was she right? I have no desire to push myself on someone who is not interested. By her own admission she is and yet she has also declined the chance to take the field. The only gentlemanly thing to do would be to back off.

“It’s ok. I like you too. I guess I already managed to make that painfully obvious.” I shrugged trying to relieve some of the awkwardness of the situation. “I will not press the matter further.”

“Sasuke…” [Name]’s voice trembled. I stood from my position from where we had been eating moving to the sliding doors.

“Good Night [Name]” I bowed low enough for me not to have to see her face. I could hear from her breathing that she was on the verge of tears and like a coward fleeing I left her room entering my own at a brisk pace and once my doors firmly closed I slid down the wall and allowed myself the painful release of that trapped whirlpool inside.

---

Time passed in the solitude of moonlight, along with several bottles of sake. I had seen how the great men around me had self-medicated to deal with the phantoms they wrestled with at night. I was not arrogant enough to think myself a great man but I could not deny that I saw the emotional benefit in seeking out such a thing even if I knew it to be scientifically impossible that alcohol could erase how I felt.

It was around the end of the third bottle of strong sake that I felt myself become woozy and my mind became clearer for a brief moment. I didn’t feel the pain of a love unrequited. I didn’t feel the hurt of rejection. I found an agreeable clarity. It wasn’t that they didn’t like me, we might not become anything more than what we are right now but was that really such a terrible thing? I slipped into slumber at peace.

---

It was raining. It started off light and quickly became a torrential down pour. I was standing in front of the stone monument at Honno-ji. The air was electric and there she was. That girl I saw that night of the time slip looking up at the sky before turning her eyes to mine. I remembered. I remembered every detail of her face as if it was imprinted on my mind. Why would I see her right now at a time like this?

The Lighting cracked loud as I remembered and rent the stone in two in front of us.

“Be careful, Miss –” I held out my hand towards her, the look of confusion on her face. The world around me twisted as it turned into the warped distorted lines of the wormhole and everything was lost.

---