a mixed bag of emotions there

A Lesson in Love (The Discovery)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,298

A/N: The tag list for this story is officially CLOSED.

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

@avengerstories - Thank you for putting up with me for almost a month and listening to me constantly complain about not being able to get this part written. I adore you. Always.

Originally posted by softtroublemaker

“Bucky wants to talk to you.”

You know that the earth never stops moving; it’s constantly in motion. Constantly making its trip around the sun. But the moment Steve says Bucky’s name, you swear that everything comes to a standstill. It’s the only way to explain how everything around you becomes muted. How you’re seeing Steve as if he were standing on the opposing side of a tunnel and how the pressure of Sam’s arm on your shoulder vanishes.

Over the past twenty-two days, you’ve convinced yourself that the story of you and Bucky was not meant to be. In your mind, he left and closed the door on the potential of there ever being an ending where you and him were together.

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radio-poem  asked:

I like your hc about Yuuri only wearing shirts and Victor only wearing pants to bed bc 1)they could match every single time (or clash terribly) and 2) together they make a pajama set and i find that weirdly endearing (also, would you be up to sharing more thoughts about sleep talking Victor? Please?)

The full headcanon for the only pants/only shirts thing is basically “Viktor and Yuuri go to the store and jointly decide which pajamas they are going to buy” which means that between the two of them they own only five pajama sets and also they’re all in Viktor’s size because he’s the larger one. This also means that Yuuri sometimes walks into the bedroom wearing a red-black plaid pajama top and Viktor looks down at his own canary-cream (It’s not yellow and white, Yuuri) polkadot bottoms and just says, “No, this can’t happen.”

“But we’re just going to sleep–”

“What if there’s a fire, Yuuri? What will our neighbors think of us, if they see that we can’t even coordinate our sleep clothes? They’ll think we’re dysfunctional. On the brink of divorce.” 

“Oh?” Yuuri’s eye twitches. “Is that what they’ll think?”

“Or worse–that I have no fashion sense.”

Yuuri doesn’t know how to tell Viktor that their neighbors have seen Viktor wearing Lululemon yoga pants with a sweatshirt saying DADDY’S COLD and that any misconceptions they may have had about Viktor’s sense of fashion long ago imploded.

Eventually, Yuuri returns to the closet. He can’t find the canary-cream polkadot shirt. Instead, he tosses on an old practice shirt of Viktor’s so worn and old that it’s almost see-through. The fabric has stretched unevenly along the hem and almost hits his knees in places. He returns to the bedroom and crawls under the blankets. Viktor melts on the spot. By the time Yuuri falls asleep that night, he isn’t wearing anything.

On the subject of Viktor sleep talking, it goes like this:

Yuuri walks in the door on a very cold day in mid-January and Viktor has been sick so he’s been sleeping rather fitfully, tossing and turning and having weird dreams. Today his fever broke, and he’s in what seems to be a deep sleep for the first time in days. Yuuri is very quiet as he makes his way into the kitchen and puts the groceries away.

“Yuuri?” comes from the couch, pitifully, and Yuuri feels shame like he has never felt for the sin of waking his poor sick Vitya.

“Oh Vitya, I’m so sorry,” Yuuri coos, creeping closer to the couch. He’s forgotten about the box of kasha he’s clutching. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, love. Go back to sleep. I’m gonna make dinner.”

“I want soup,” Viktor mumbles. His face is still buried in the back of the couch.

“Okay, baby, I’ll make you some soup.” Yuuri abruptly realizes that he’s holding the box of kasha out in front of him like some sort of offering; he sets it down on the coffee table and kneels beside his languishing husband. “Yakov and Yura send their love.” When Yuuri told them that Viktor had taken sick over the weekend, Yakov grunted and let a look of concern cross over his features for exactly six seconds before clearing it and grunting, “Mustard plasters.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mustard. Mix it with flour and water, put it on his back–it clears the system.” Yakov waved vaguely in the direction of his own chest. “Is he coughing? Yes, mustard plasters.”

Yura just rolled his eyes. Yuuri knows enough about him to understand that this is Yura’s reaction to any and all emotions. When Yuuri gathered his things at the end of the day, he found in his bag a recipe for chicken soup featuring intense amounts of garlic, and also a list of five stores in the area where red caviar is available at a reasonable price. 

Russian remedies are just as odd as American ones.

“Yakov,” Viktor mumbles presently, and seems to nod. “He’s good?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri coos, tracing his fingers softly up and down Viktor’s back. “He told me to put mustard on your back. I think he was trying to help.”

“No,” Viktor mutters, burrowing his face closer to the couch. “No mustard.”

“Why don’t we try it, baby? You sound so miserable. It could help, he said it clears your lungs.”

“No mustard in the soup,” Viktor grumbles.

Yuuri’s hand stops on his back. “What?”

“Don’t let Yakov put mustard in the soup,” Viktor insists. He rolls over then, and Yuuri sees that his eyes are closed. The flush high on his cheeks says his fever may have returned. “Don’t let him, Yuuri.” He sounds distressed.

“Okay, shh, I won’t. It’s fine.” Yuuri leans down his kisses his head. “You’re fine, Vityusha.”

When he pulls back, Viktor’s eyes are open. Cloudy with sickness, but aware. he roughly murmurs, “Kitten? When did you get home?”

“A few minutes ago.” Yuuri brushes back Viktor’s hair.

“I was having the strangest dream,” Viktor mumbles, blinking hard and clearing sleep from his eyes, “About Yakov…and he was in our kitchen…”

It takes a lot of effort for Yuuri not to laugh. 

This isn’t the last time Yuuri hears Viktor talk in his sleep. Viktor’s subconsciousness has some interesting opinions on figure skating politics, and also Yuuri once convinces a sleeping Viktor to tell him where he plans to take them on their third wedding anniversary because He Doesn’t Like Surprises and he needs to know if he should pack a jacket, for God’s sake Vitya.

Sleep-Viktor also likes to lovingly coo into Yuuri’s ear in the middle of the night, “I love you, marry me.”

“We are married,” Yuuri tells him, patting his hip. 


“Yes, for about five years now. Remember? I wore white. You wore a blue rose in your lapel. Yakov was there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Viktor mumbles. “That was fun. We should do it again.”

“Go to sleep, Vitya.”


To all my Christian trans and nb siblings:

Happy Easter. I know that today is a mixed bag of emotions. So shout out to:

- the closeted trans guys and enbys trying their hardest to find a way to not wear a dress to church, especially if your parents are pressuring you into it
- anyone who has finally managed to grow out a decent amount of body hair and is trying to find a way not to shave their legs without being questioned
- closeted trans girls and enbys wishing they could wear a pretty Easter dress
- basically, everyone who is having to conform to cishet formal wear standards that don’t match how they identify. It sucks.
- to those of us who can’t find a queer-inclusive church but really want to attend services on Easter
- to those of us who go to service frequently, but can’t be out at church
- to those who have to attend family gatherings today and get deadnamed and called the wrong pronouns
- to those who have to attend family gatherings today and just want to watch the kids hunt eggs, not answer passive-aggressive questions about gender identity
- to those who are out in church and feel they have to constantly prove that they are just as much of a Christian as the other members of the congregation
- to those who can’t bring themselves to attend services today because of the hate and/or dysphoria that would accompany it

Easter is a beautiful reminder of Jesus’s love for us and the sacrifices He made. We should be able to have a mindful, happy day. It’s terrible when transphobia takes that from us. Remember that Jesus died and rose for everyone, including us. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, and God celebrates us and supports us. Try your best to remember God’s love for you today, even if others don’t love you like they should. Draw your strength from that. Happy Easter.

An artificial womb successfully grew baby sheep — and humans could be next
Inside what look like oversized ziplock bags strewn with tubes of blood and fluid, eight fetal lambs continued to develop — much like they would have inside their mothers.
By Rachel Becker

I’m a mixed bag of emotions… I wanted to write down what I thought, but it has gotten so deep that maybe it’s best to hear what you guys think instead.

And we see Carey, inconsolable at the unceremonious death of her best friend. She’s in her private quarters with her girlfriend Killian…
—  Griffin McElroy, completely destroying my heart with one swoop
We Don’t Talk Anymore

Originally posted by the9397

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (feat. Jimin or the other way around??)

Word Count: 2.469

A/N: this was requested before I went on hiatus when jungkook released the cover but I just now had the time to write it. I hope you enjoy it!

also I didn’t proof read yet, I’m too lazy rn please bare with me

Strolling down the street, head down, you made your way to your university. One arm clutched around the cup of coffee and the other one gripping your bag tightly, knuckles turning white. The tension in your body was eating you out alive, making it impossible to function properly. 

A piercing sound made its way to your ears, causing you to flinch and letting your cup fall to the ground. The coffee splattered all across the sidewalk, passersby throwing you judging looks while your hand roamed through your pockets, searching for the device that was equivalent to the noise that startled you.

Finally being able to grasp it in between your shaking fingers, you held it to you ear, taking a deep breath. 


“Hey babe, how’s your morning?”, his voice echoed through the device, sounding too eager for your still sleepy state.

“Mhh fine”, you mumbled while trying to dodge other passersby on the sidewalk that walked in the opposite direction. “You just startled me and I accidentally spilled all my coffee on the floor.” 

A pout formed on your lips as you realized you’d had to survive the whole day without your daily cup of sweet bitterness to give you a boost of energy. Your day was practically ruined.   

His angelic laugh made a smile appear on your face and you felt your heart flutter at that sound. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you (Y/N)”, a soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I’ll come by after your first period and bring you a new one, does that sound good?”

You sighed in defeat. “Jimin, it’s not that big of a deal, don’t worry. It’s just coffee”, you laughed. “I can survive without it.”

His grin was practically audible through the phone. “No, you wouldn’t (Y/N) and we both know that. Your unbearable without your morning coffee. I’ll be there.” 

Walking through the gates of your university, you nodded to some acquaintances and smiled. “How do I even deserve you Park Jimin? Thank you, really.”

He laughed. “Anything for my princess. Now go get to your class, we’ll see each other in a bit!”

You giggled and hung up before letting your phone slide back into your bag and taking a seat in the back row. Still in a lovely daze, you started to unpack and placed your paper and pen in front of you, ready to take notes for once during this lecture. It was one of the hardest to concentrate at and even though you told yourself each time before class to focus, that it’s important for your future, it always ended in a disaster. Not once had you been able to listen to what the professor said, let alone take notes. Your nerves were wrecked every time after class and the only thing that could calm you down was Jimin.

All of a sudden your hackles raised and you knew he was in the same room. He had entered and was looking directly at you, making your whole body react to his gaze even though you hadn’t looked at him yet. You didn’t have to turn to his direction to know that he was there. Your body knew. 

Nervously, you started chewing on your bottom lip and kneading your hands together, trying to hold your gaze to the front. If you looked, this lecture wouldn’t be different from all the others. You had to concentrate. You had to stay strong, You had to stay focused. 

A light breeze made goosebumps appear on your arms and your heart started aching when the smell of his cologne hit your nose. Slowly you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply and remembering…

“I could stay like this forever, you know. You, me and this bed”, his deep early morning voice lulled you in. You softly hummed in response, snuggling closer to his chest and inhaling his unique scent. Butterflies danced in the pit of your stomach and electricity shot through your body wherever his fingers decided to caress your naked skin. 

“Of course we’d need to hire someone then to cook for us, otherwise we’d starve to death”, he added, making you giggle. Your eyes shot up and his hands started playing with your hair while looking at you lovingly.

You loved moments like these. He treated you like the most precious thing anyone could ever hold. He made you feel like the Queen on Earth that nobody could ever compare to. You felt safe and loved. All of his being was devoted to you in those few seconds and you couldn’t think of any better feeling than that. His arms were your home. His eyes were your savior. His lips your treasure. He was everything to you and you were everything to him. 

Just the two of you.

“We could just hire Jin. I bet he’d gladly cook for his youngest child, making sure he doesn’t starve to death”, he laughed at your comment, placing soft kisses all over your face.

“I could never starve to death with you in my arms”, he muttered and you playfully hit his chest, making him gasp in fake shock.

“Geez, you’re so cheesy sometimes”, you said while hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“Only for you (Y/N)”, he laughed, pulling you closer, enwrapping you in his scent. 

Heaven was nothing compared to his arms.

A high pitched giggle made you come back from your memories and you turned your head to the source of noise, eyebrows furrowed and heart aching. One of your classmates was sitting on his lap, throwing her head back and laughing dramatically while he grinned silently, hands placed on her waist and softly tickling her.

“Stop it Jungkook, you know how ticklish I am!”, she squealed, playfully hitting his arms and smiling widely at him. 

“I know, that’s why I’m doing it”, he answered before continuing his mission.

The professor turned his microphone on, making the girl slide back onto her chair and Jungkook turn his gaze away from her, smile fading instantly. His eye bags looked horrible, eyes sad, almost emotionless. His face was pale and lips chapped. All life seemed to be sucked out of him, just like you were feeling. 

His gaze went up and your eyes met, locking for a small eternity. You saw the blood rush through his veins back to his face again, giving his cheeks a pink tint, eyes sprinkling with all kinds of emotions and lips turning to a nostalgic smile. Your heart fluttered just like it used to with a mix of a painful feeling that seemed as if someone was slamming a knife into it over and over again. Your eyes started to water but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. He seemed to suck you in, not letting you go no matter how hard you tried to focus on your professor instead of Jungkook.

Until the girl nudged him in the side and he flinched, breaking eye contact and making you release the breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Quickly, you turned to the front, grabbing pen and paper and eagerly starting to write down whatever the professor was telling. Your mind was still in another dimension but your just automatically wrote everything down that you got a glimpse of. You could feel Jungkook’s stare from the other side of the room, yet you didn’t act on it. It burned holes into your ski but you stayed focused - or at least you tried to.

Throughout the whole lecture you could feel his gaze on you, so when class was finally over, you quickly grabbed your things together and ran out of the lecture hall. Almost running into your boyfriend who was waiting in front of the door, Jimin grabbed your wrist before you could splash the second coffee all over both of you.

“Wow there, slow down”, he laughed and placed a small kiss on your lips, handing you the coffee. 

You grabbed it thankfully, shooting him an apologetic smile and embracing him in a tight hug. That was all you needed in that moment. No coffee, no nothing. Just Jimin holding you tight.

He sensed that and pulled you close, still standing in the middle of the hallway, softly caressing your back, placing a kiss on top of your head. You stayed like that for a while before you looked up at him and gently smiled.

“Thank you”, you spoke, making him look a little lost.

“For what?”, Jimin asked and raised an eyebrow.

You chuckled. “Everything.”

That’s when a huge smile spread across his face, pulling you close into his arms again and softly rocking you from side to side, holding you like you were his world.

And you were. 

“Jimin!”, you called for him from your bedroom, looking at yourself in the mirror while adjusting the tight dress, already looking for a pair of shoes to wear.

His figure appeared in the door frame a second later and he looked at you questioningly. “What’s up?”

You stopped in your tracks and pulled another dress out of your wardrobe.

“Which one should I wear tonight? This black one from when we ate dinner with your parents in that really fancy Italian restaurant or the red one that I’m wearing right now?”, you turned to face him and saw his face. 

“When did you get this dress (Y/N)?”, his eyes were big and mouth slightly open, hands scratching his neck - a habit he had when he was nervous. 

“Mhh I don’t quite remember”, you said while he bit down on his lips, gaze wandering up and down your body. But boy, did you remember….

“(Y/N) have you seen m-”, Jungkook stopped in his tracks as he stepped into your bedroom, seeing you standing there in the gift he got you.

“I see you already tried your Valentine’s gift on”, he smirked before placing his bag down onto the floor and making his way over to where you were standing. His hands gently caressed the material of the dress, following your curves, exploring it as if it was all new to him. 

You hummed in response and turned back to the mirror in front of you, Jungkook holding you from behind. A smirk was placed on your lips as he started leaving sloppy kisses on your neck, biting down every once in a while.

“You know, I was wondering if this dress was maybe more of a gift for yourself than for me”, you jokingly teased, making him smirk onto your skin before sliding his hands down your body to the hem of the dress.

“I’m not gonna lie, it is a pretty convenient gift don’t you think? You get something new to wear as you always complain that you don’t have enough nice things to wear and I get to look at you in it”, cocked his eyebrows at you. “And occasionally taking if off of you again”, he winked into the mirror, making you laugh and turn to face him again.

“I thought you had practice tonight”, you smirked, letting your index finger slide down his toned chest covered by one of his typical white shirts. Purposely you pressed your body against his, letting him feel every single curve of yours.

“They won’t mind if I’m late. After all it’s still Valentine’s Day and we didn’t get to the best part of today yet, did we?”, he leaned in before you could answer but you knew you didn’t need to answer. He knew your response anyway.

Hand in hand you stepped into the restaurant, your heels clacking on the floor while the waiter led the way to the already full table. Heads turned to the two of you but you tried your best to ignore it. Jimin squeezed your hand, sensing how uncomfortable you were feeling. You looked at him and he smiled at you reassuringly, making a smile appear on your lips as well.

As you arrived on the table, everybody greeted you happily before you sat down on the bench side, next to Hoseok who was already smiling at you brightly, making you feel more at ease than you would have thought. He was he definition of an angel and could make anybody happy, no matter in what kind of mood they were in. 

Jimin was sat to your left, so when you accidentally kicked someone’s feet underneath the table while adjusting your seating position, your gaze automatically shot up to dramatically apologize until you met his eyes.

He looked at you as if he was trying to take a mental photograph, regret washing over his face and small tears well up before he could blink them away.

“You look really beautiful tonight (Y/N)”, he complimented you, while holding eye contact, searching for something specific in your eyes. 

“You really do (Y/N! I really love your dress, where did you get it from?”, the girl from your lecture, his girlfriend, asked you. An honest smile was plastered on her face and she seemed sincerely interested.

You smiled back at her. “Thank you! Sadly, I don’t remember where I got this from… I think it might have been a gift or something”, you smiled apologetically and she shrugged before turning her attention back to Taehyung who was sitting on her other side.

As your gaze wandered away from her you noticed Jungkook’s expression. His jaw was clenched, hands hidden under the table but you were sure they were tensed as well. His eyes full of hurt, he glared at you before sinking his look and you noticed a small tear rolling down his cheek that he was quick to wipe away before anybody else noticed. 

At his sight, your heart started to ache like it was about to burn down in flames and every inch of your body longed for his touch. You wanted to comfort him and tell him that of course you did remember. That you could never forget, not him and not anything he had done for you.      

You flinched when Jimin placed his soft hand on your thigh, making you turn your attention to him. 

“Are you okay?”, he asked concerned, motioning to your tensed posture. 

“Yes Chimchim, I’m fine”, you faked a giggle, making him sigh in relief and place a soft kiss on your lips before turning his attention back to Jin who had started to tell his famous jokes. 

You shot Jungkook one last look before turning to Hoseok and starting a conversation with him. You had to distract yourself otherwise you’d go crazy in a matter of minutes.

You hoped that Jungkook would do the same. Distract himself. Do something else than stare at you throughout the whole night.

Jimin couldn’t find out. Nobody could find out.

Hello, I’d like to talk to you about Jack being a sappy romantic. Like he plans the big things carefully; the 15 bouquets each Valentine’s Day, and the trip to Italy that he’s gonna give Bitty on his birthday, and the time he set up a picnic at faber because ‘it’s been two years since the first time we had checking practice’. But the smaller things are what lets Bitty know that he’s found something Really Special in this relationship. It’s in the postcards Jack sends Bitty from different states when he’s on the road that just say 'I miss you, can’t wait to hold you again’, or in how if he hears a song that makes him think of Bitty he’ll write it down until he has enough songs to make a small mix cd, or in how he’ll always put a sweater or t-shirt in Bitty’s bag before he has to leave because he knows it makes Bitty feel better when they miss each other the most. Just… romantic stuff Jack does that he doesn’t see as a big deal but that makes Bitty go “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you in my life”. Thank you for your time.

Comments from some of Ted Bundy’s victims’ family members following his execution in 1989:

“I suspect it will trouble us for the rest of our lives.” -Dave Rancourt, father of Susan Rancourt.

“It’s a bag of mixed emotions when we find relief in a man’s death. We all feel justice has been done. All of his escapades– it was like a sharp knife twisting at us. It was being done to all of us- all his victims. If anything good comes of this, we won’t allow this to happen again.” -Vivian Rancourt, mother of Susan Rancourt.

(The spokesman-Review, January 25, 1989)

“I haven’t thought about forgiving him. How could you forgive somebody who hurts your child? I’m not that gracious an individual.” -Edie Hawkins, mother of Georgeann Hawkins.

(Green Valley News, June 11, 2014)

“I view him pretty much as cancer that has to be removed.” -Donald E. Blackburn, father of Janice Ott.

(The Telegraph, January 24, 1998)

“I feel kind of numb in a way. My daughter’s murder was taken care of. He paid for what he did. It seems like I was sentenced to a lifetime of waiting. Now there’s really nothing to wait for.” -Eleanore Rose, mother of Denise Naslund.

(The Spokesman-Review, January 25, 1989)

“I was shocked when he confessed. I just wasn’t ready to hear it. Nancy was such a sensitive person, so kind. If she were alive today, she’d probably feel pity for Bundy for being such a sick person.” -Connie Wilcox, mother of Nancy Wilcox.

(People, February 6, 1989)

“I had anticipated a much different feeling that I had. I’d felt some of the bitterness would be relieved, but that isn’t the case. I think I’ll carry it to my grave.” -Dean Kent, father of Debbie Kent.

(Boca Raton News, December 24, 1989)

“You never really forgive someone for something like that. You just try to put it behind you. It’s not important to me now. The thing I’d like to have back, I can’t have.” -Robert Campbell, father of Caryn Campbell.

(The Harvard Crimson, January 25, 1989)

“He may have deprived the world of something exceptional. Every single person in this country may have lost something when that kid was killed. I suppose you can say that there is a 99 percent chance that it’s over. But I’m hesitant to write it off, period. There’s always that 1 percent chance.” -Edward Culver, father of Lynette Culver.

(People, February 6, 1989)

Is This What You Wanted Part 2

Pairings: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: Angst, a little heartbreak in this one

Word Count: 702

Request: Tony stark x reader? One where they’ve been dating for a while but he gets stand offish putting his walls up so she confronts him.. he tells her he’s afraid to love again because he doesn’t want his heart broken cause of everything he’s been through. She promises she’s not going anywhere and she asks him to marry her.

Summary: Tony all of a sudden starts distancing himself from you and your relationship, leaving you to wonder what it is you did.

A/N: Okay so this part deviates almost completely from the second half of this request but I promise there is still more to come !! 


I sat on the end of the bed, my hands shaking in my lap as I stared at the open suitcase lying in front of the closet. I’d been fine as I pulled it off the top shelf and laid it on the floor, I’d been fine unzipping it. The weight of my decision didn’t sink in right up until I was getting ready to start packing, that was when I’d broken down for the second time tonight.

Driving home I had thought that I was clear on what I wanted to do, that leaving was the best option when it was obvious Tony was trying desperately to push me out of every aspect of his life; it was the logical thing to do. But now that I was back here in our room, a mix of his things and mine the decision had become more foggy. I loved him.  

I took a shaky breath, rubbing the backs of my hands over my eyes as my bottom lip quivered with barely contained emotion. Half of me wanted to just crawl into bed, forgetting about tonight and hoping that Tony would come back to me sooner rather than later, the other half wanted to run as far as possible and never look back.

Standing up from the bed I walked over to where I’d left my bag, pulling a stack of clothes from the hangers before dumping them into the bottom of the case, not bothered if they were folded or not. I continued on like this until my half of the closet was empty, the only things left being a few dresses I had no reason to take with me. Zipping the case closed I pulled the handle up, moving straight for the door when it swung in, Tony standing there with his eyes glued to the tablet in his hand.

The breath hitched in my throat, my movements halting the same time he looked up. I couldn’t quite meet his gaze but I knew he was looking from the makeup still smudged on my cheeks to the suitcase by my side, the dress I’d been wearing earlier discarded on the floor by the foot of the bed.
“Where are you going?” He asked, voice quieter than normal.

Keep reading

US vs UK healthcare

I am not the smartest person in the world, nor even close to the smartest person I know. Nor have I visited the vast majority of countries on this magnificent planet. But I did happen to move from the US to the U.K. two and a half years ago at the age of 37, i.e. after almost four decades of inhabiting an incredibly hairy human body. Thus I’ve had a good deal of experience as a patient, or as they call you in the US, a consumer of American healthcare before moving to the UK to experience the NHS for two-plus years as a father of three, a husband of a woman whose reproductive system is more glorious and has more complex needs than my own, and as a person whose own body is subject to the ravages of gravity, time, and secret Oreo milkshakes from Five Guys.
What I’m getting at is that I’m in a pretty good position to speak with some degree of clarity on the NHS as it compares to the American healthcare system. And here’s the verdict: the NHS is superior. That isn’t to say it’s perfect; no healthcare system is or can be. People (myself included) have and will continue to complain about their healthcare, wherever they receive it, because medicine is treating your body, or your loved one’s body. It is not performing the far less important and less fraught tasks of selling you a car or fixing your mobile’s broken screen or painting your house or making you a sandwich (though to be fair both the NHS or UCLA Santa Monica Hospital in Los Angeles will make you a reasonably good sandwich if you have to stay in hospital.) Medicine is treating your body! Your hearing, your intestines, your tits! Sometimes even your… nodes! The delicacy of this, and the emotions involved are going to leave you with a mixed bag of feelings, even if you achieve the optimal results of whatever it is you went in for.
​I should also make clear that I’m comparing the US healthcare system with the NHS of today. The NHS constantly in the headlines for being cash-strapped and worse than it was in the past. Is it? It sounds to me like it is, but I don’t personally know, and that’s not the purpose of this piece. The purpose of this piece is to tell you that the NHS of this exact moment in 2017 is better that the private healthcare systems in the US. (I have to pluralize “systems” because there is, sadly, no one unified “system” in the US, much to the detriment of so many millions of Americans. I must also make clear that most Americans receive their healthcare privately, unlike the U.K.)
​How is it better? I will say right away that just like in the U.K., my loved ones and I have received generally very good medical care in the US. The American doctors and nurses are mostly kind people, working hard, sincerely interested in helping others. Unfortunately these doctors and nurses are paid with money the hospital receives from health insurance companies. And health insurance companies are motivated by profit, not by successfully setting your broken shoulder or curing your daughter’s leukemia. Those results aren’t discussed in their shareholders’ calls. And insurance companies don’t pay for all your care either. My wife and I, who had what’s considered excellent insurance in the US, received bills for about $1,300 after each of our first two kids were born. When we were in the US on holiday recently, our youngest required an emergency ultrasound on his kidneys. As we’ve been in the UK for years now, we don’t have American health insurance anymore and I had to pay a $500 deposit before they would do the test. On my baby’s kidneys. In the richest country in the world, in which I still pay plenty of taxes as a citizen. Also it was my baby’s kidneys if I haven’t already said that.
​As an aside, that same baby was our first to be born in the UK, with the help of a young Scottish midwife in a hijab. A midwife who, I’ll add, did a better job than both the doctors who delivered our first two kids at UCLA Santa Monica Hospital. If there are better people than British midwives on this planet, I have yet to meet them.
​I’ve digressed a bit, or perhaps not, but I suppose these anecdotes only bolster my case. The main point is this: if our bodies and minds are connected as modern medicine insists, the stress one feels as an American worrying about how you’ll pay for your healthcare – or whether you can even get it – shortens your life and reduces its quality much more than the wait for knee replacement surgery on the NHS does. I used knee replacement surgery as an example because if you need emergency surgery on your brain or your heart, you won’t wait on the NHS; you’ll have world-class doctors doing their best to fix you right away.
​Fifteen years ago, I had to max out two credit cards and borrow a third from mom to pay for surgery to put a pin in a broken wrist after a car accident. (My insurance company had dropped my coverage after the accident because I was generating too many bills for them. That was 100% legal before the Affordable Care Act, aka “Obamacare” came into effect. The Obamacare which President-Elect Trump and the Republican Congress have pledged to repeal, mind you.

​Now before you send me flowers because you agree so vehemently with what I’ve written, or alternately, to tell me via Twitter to make love to myself because an NHS doctor once sewed your arm back on upside down, nobody asked me to write this and I have nothing to gain from it. I’m just a (nearly) forty-year-old comedian who does a graceful, elaborate jig every time my wife or kids or I visit a GP, an A and E, a birth centre, or an operating theatre and don’t have to worry if we’ll A) receive the care we need or B) be able to afford it, even if we have insurance.
​Americans forego care and medicine that their physicians prescribe, because of cost. They also commit suicide because of medical debt. It’s hard to hold in one’s mind the idea that those things can and do happen in a country as wealthy as the United States.

​I hesitate to end this piece with a call to action, though I know what I’d do if I were a U.K. citizen and something as remarkable as the NHS were under threat. I pay taxes here too, but I’m not British, so it’s up to you, if you care. I wouldn’t wish sickness on anyone, but you might consider imagining yourself or your child moving or traveling to the US and getting sick or being in an accident. Then imagine that already miserable experience magnified because you’re marinating in the fear that you won’t be able to pay for your care. Or maybe you can with a credit card, but then you can’t keep up with the payments so you begin to receive aggressive phone calls from the company the hospital sold your debt to. Maybe you get taken to court.
​If that’s not something you’d like to experience, and you think the NHS of today is closer to that scenario than the NHS of ten years ago, or if you think that there are those in government or on the boards of private healthcare corporations who might be okay with that sort of future unfolding, what might you do about it?

Be More Chill Senior Year, The Bus Ride

Six A.M. in the morning in the morning Jeremy woke to the sound of his alarm clock going off. He shuffled off the bed with a groan, hitting the snooze button on the clock before heading to the bathroom to take a shower. Senior year would be starting today and was a mixed bag of emotions for him. On one hand it was the final year of the Hell known as highschool on but on the other it also meant college would be starting soon and he had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do.
‘Too bad you don’t have a little voice in your head anymore to help you make the right decisions.’ The SQUIP’s voice chimed in on Jeremy’s thoughts. Ever since the incident last year Jeremy’s self doubt had a new voice that sounded too much like the super computer he used to have in his head. ‘Your using past tense incorrectly Jeremy, I’m still here.’
‘No you’re not.’ He never told anyone except Michael about the new voice in his head. He didn’t need the SQUIP ruining anything else for him this year.
‘Fine, don’t believe me but I recommend you take a shower; you stink.’ Jeremy took a quick whiff of his armpit before gagging and heading towards the bathroom. 'And remember what I said about touching yourself in the shower.’
'Jesus Christ…’
Halfway Across Town:
“Honey, please tell me your not still wearing that jacket to school.” The Mell family sat at the table eating breakfast as Michael’s mom made pancakes.
“Mom, this is the same jacket I’ve been wearing for the past like six years.”
“Exactly, it’s your senior year. Maybe you can try something different like a nice sweater or maybe that blue dr-”
“Sorry, but would it kill you to try and dress a little nicer today?”
“Quit badgering the boy, it’s his final year let him dress however he wants.”
“See? Dad thinks my jacket’s pretty cool.”
“Now I never said that.” Michael sighed poking at his eggs when he noticed it was almost Seven.
“Where are you going?” His mother looked over at him as he started putting his shoes on.
“Car’s still being fixed, need to catch the bus.”
“You don’t have to take the bus, I can drive you over.”
“No thanks Mom, it’s cool.”
“Are you sure? It really wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Bye Mom!” Michael was already out the door before she could say another word. The bus was already pulling up at the the stop sign as Michael rushed to get to it before it took off. By the time he got in he was panting and out of breath when he spotted Jeremy near the back and sat down next to him.
“Michael! You look exhausted.”
“Yeah, had to run to catch the bus.” Michael noticed Jeremy was wearing his Eminem shirt with a snort.
“Nothing, just thinking about the last time you wore that shirt.” Looking down Jeremy made a weird face.
“Yeah, the little voice in my head told me to grab it.” Michael’s smile fell.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“It’s okay, it’s more annoying than anything else now.” It had taken Jeremy a while to get used to the new voice he heard everyday. At first he thought it was the SQUIP, still there but after a while he just passed it off as another voice in his head. That didn’t mean it still hurt hearing that voice say anything. Jeremy still can’t bring himself to drink regular Mountain Dew out of fear that maybe that voice was real.
'Jeremy, it’s adorable how you keep saying “maybe”.’ Jeremy shook his head before turning back to Michael.
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Yeah, so last night I’m at Game Stop…” Jeremy smiled as Michael told him about the guy behind the counter who was totally flirting with him.
'Too bad you don’t have the balls to flirt with Michael.’
'I don’t like Michael.’
'Mm-hmm, sure. You just jerk off to him over the phone and think about him all the time.’
'I’m not taking this from you.’ The bus had come to a stop in front of the school. Getting off the bus Jeremy took a deep breath.
'Senior Year…’ Jeremy couldn’t get rid of the sinking feeling in his chest as they went through the front doors.


Originally posted by hotseok

◇ Shin Wonho is dead.

◇ Wonho x reader

◇ mafia!au

◇ requested by anon; Could I please request a mafia au/gang au with wonho even the thought is killing me

◇ ummm this is way angstier than i planned. Oop


Wonho was cold. Icy cold. He was blue locks and battered knuckles and bruised lips and a black eye that was really shades of purple, not black.

He was never hesitant, always sure of every step forward he would take. Wonho could interrogate the toughest person known to man and they would be writhing for help in ten seconds. He was quick and nimble and good with his fists. Wonho had skills.

These skills were the main reason for Shownu’s interest in him. He remembers it clearly, how he was recruited; three years ago, after a good fight. He won, so of course it was good.

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None of you asked, but here’s the random production of Spring Awakening (the play) that I found and then subsequently watched. I wasn’t looking, and I didn’t expect to like it as much as I did.

Things that are great about it:
-Dude everyone’s played so well
-If you haven’t seen the play you gotta see it
-I don’t have specific things cuz it’s the first time I’ve seen it but goddamn

Things that might turn you off but I implore you to continue:
-There are a lot of German names in the play and tbh this production is a grab bag of pronunciations (RYE-low, ROBE-ull, URnst are a few I can name off the top of my head).
-The camera picks everything up but the center stage is pretty washed out and some of the lighting mixed with the camera makes it impossible to see.

But go watch it if you desire to experience the range of emotions that I did

Follow || Tyler Down x Reader

*inhales* ASK ME FOR A THOUSAND TYLER IMAGINES AND I WILL NEVER REFUSE. It feels so wrong to write about a stalker, but so right for that stalker to be Tyler. Damn you, attractive actors.

Word Count: 1,070

Warnings: Stalking


    Lonely nights were all you seemed to have any more.

    Your eyes scanned the small, rusted playground that sat in the center of Eisenhower Park. When you were a kid, you used to visit it all the time, but, like most of the things you used to like, you grew out of it.

    When you sat down on the same swing that you used to come to every Saturday afternoon, it felt unfamiliar. You kicked off the ground, trying to channel your emotions into anger. Because maybe if you could get a rise out of yourself, you could finally blow off some steam and start feeling better.

    Amongst the loudly creaking chains of the swingset, you heard something a little different. An almost robotic sound, like a shutter. The gentle flapping of a bird’s wings. If a bird’s wings were made of aluminum.

    You shrugged it off, kicking against the ground again. You felt the wind catch at your clothes and hair, gravity attempting to drag you down as you flew up to the trees. You leaned back, staring up at the starlit sky, and imagined billions of tiny lightbulbs floating around in space.

    Then the sound was there again. This time you were sure you had heard it. You pulled yourself up quickly, slamming the soles of your shoes into the dirt. You came to a stop so abrupt you were nearly tossed off of the swing.

    Your eyes scanned the dark, open space. A chill worked its way up your spine, the skin there erupting in goosebumps. You stood up and started walking towards the road, trying to act like you weren’t completely freaking out.

    Either you were being paranoid, or there was a second set of footsteps behind you. You stopped, pretending to check out something on the ground. Whoever was following you copied just a little too late. The sound of crunching dead grass was as clear as day.

    Whereas most people might have run, or screamed, or turned to fight off an attacker; you froze. Your body stiffened, arms locked by your sides.

    That moment of unbearable dread seemed to drag on forever. You standing there, facing the direction of safety, the light of a streetlamp visible in the distance. And them, as silent as a ghost.

    You flinched away as you heard them take another step. Something jutting up from the grass caught your shoelace, and the next thing you knew you were on your back. You stared up, eyes wide with terror.

    “Tyler, what are you doing!? You scared the hell out of me!”

    The tall, slender junior was paused in the middle of a step backwards, camera clutched tightly in his hands. His jaw dropped, expression as stunned as you figured yours must’ve been. “I-I was just-!” He scrambled for an answer.

    “Following me? Taking pictures of me?” you accused, incredulous.

    “I’m sorry. I don’t- I wanted to-” he stopped, taking another step backwards. “A-are you going to tell anyone about this?”

    “Am I going to tell anyone that you’re stalking me?” you asked. You placed a hand over your heart, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. “No, but this could seriously get you into trouble. Why didn’t you just ask me for permission?”

    He took another step backwards. The look on his face said it all. He wasn’t just taking innocent pictures of you swinging at the park.

    “Tyler Down,” you said. “If you run, I’ll call the police.”

    He looked down at his camera, almost as if he was thinking about destroying it right then and there. “Okay,” he said at last.

    “Okay, good.” You stood up, dusting  yourself off. “How long have you been taking pictures of me?”

    He shrugged. “A while.”

    You took a step towards him, your hand outstretched. His head shot up, eyes darting between you and his camera. After a short moment of hesitation, he handed it over. You turned it on and starting sorting through the gallery. There were pictures of you in school, of you in your bedroom, and even of you at the grocery store.

    “Woah,” you said, your voice such a confusing mix of emotions that not even you were sure what you had meant. “Like… holy-”

    Tyler grabbed the camera out of your hands, shutting it off and stuffing it into the messenger bag he was carrying.

    You stared at him in disbelief. How long had you known him? You’d been friends since middle school. Albeit, neither of you were ever that close, but you’d often talked to each other. You sat by him at lunch nearly every day.

    “Don’t look at me like that,” he said pitifully.

    “How do you want me to look at you?” you asked. “I mean, you’re stalking me.”

    “I’m not stalking you,” he snapped.

    You smiled, probably one of the last things you should have done. “Uh, you need to look up the definition of stalker.”

    “No, it’s-” he looked like he was about to say something else, but stopped mid-sentence.

    “It’s what?” you questioned.

    He frowned. “You’ll be weirded out.”

    “I’m a little past the point of being weirded out,” you replied.

    “Fine,” he murmured. “It’s love. That’s what I was going to say. I’m in love with you.”

    You watched him carefully, waiting for him to turn into some kind of psycho killer like on the movies. You expected him to lunge forwards and attack you at any minute, but it didn’t happen. He was just the same Tyler that you knew from school. Except he followed you around and took pictures when you weren’t looking.

    Everything you had been told in your life was that people like Tyler should be avoided at all costs. Right about now, you should be running away, or calling the cops. But instead, you’re moving closer to him, feeling sickly flattered that someone would care enough about you to go to so much trouble.

    “Okay,” you said. “Then stop following me, and when I see you tomorrow at school we can talk.”

    “You still want to hang out with me?” His voice rose an octave, sounding both astonished and excited all at once.

    “Yeah.” You nodded. “I just don’t think you’re a bad guy, Tyler.”

    You turned, heading towards the road to your house. You could just barely catch Tyler’s soft voice as he said, more to himself than anyone, “I love you, Y/N.”

anonymous asked:

do you ship dettlaff and Regis or more regis and geralt?

Hmm nngh couldn’t you have asked anything easier, buddy???

The thing is, I kinda ship Dettlaff and Regis differently than I ship Geralt and Regis. I’m not sure how to explain it, but I’m gonna give it a try. Are you ready to read a fucking novel? Because I have a lot of thoughts about this topic.

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You can be in a good mood but not necessarily happy. You don’t have to be happy all or even most of the time. Happiness is an emotion that is temporary, it will fade in and out with other emotions. Your emotions will change throughout the day. What you want to achieve is how to maintain your mood. A balanced mood allows you to bounce back from negative emotions quite easily and experience positive emotions quite often. So you have a healthy mixed bag of sadness, anger, happiness, joy, excitement, scared, annoyed, serious etc and you never have to worry that you will end up with too much of one thing. 

This is something I have realised with my own struggles with mental health. What I am looking for is NOT happiness. I mean, you can get plenty of that in hypomania but it doesn’t make it healthy. What I want is to maintain a balanced mood that allows me to feel all my emotions in a healthy way. I think that is the key to a satisfying life.

Circle of Life, part two

Characters – Sam x Reader

Summary – Sam’s a civilian now, working as a handyman for a local motel and thinking he’s out of the hunting life forever.  When the owner of the motel asks him to make some repairs on a house he rents out for some extra money, Sam agrees, not knowing that the job will have him questioning his new life.

Word Count – 2,295

Warnings – None

A/N – Takes place between Seasons 7 and 8, when Sam became a handyman after Dean disappeared – but canon divergent.  

Part One

Originally posted by cheerfulcinnamon

Your name: submit What is this?

The first spaghetti dinner date soon led to a second date, and then a third and a fourth.  You felt as though you’d known Sam all your life, and he felt the same way.  Just two months after you met, you asked him to move in with you.  He was surprised, but agreed quickly.  He hated living at the motel, and if he was honest with himself, he knew that you filled the whole in his heart from when he’d lost Jessica – though Dean’s loss was still a painful, gaping hole.

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Strawberries, mangoes, green grapes, an apple.
She tiptoed quietly out the door that morning.
Strawberries and mangoes rattled in the bag
as she arrived back home.
Her hand was a blur as she cut up the fruit.
She kissed him last night.
Her hands shook.
Sliced strawberries and mangoes mixed in the bowl.
A door creaked open,
footsteps creaked too.
He leaned against the counter,
stared at her face.
She broke the skin of a mango
He lifted her hands.
Her fingers encircled his neck.
He pulled her forward,
He smiled against her ear,
he smiled into her eyes.
He kissed her.
Her lips were strawberry red,
all the sweetness from the mango
extracted from her body.