#Dental Pull out Testing

[fanservices123]

Compressive Strength Testing,

Dental,Biomedical,Pharma,Strength Testing Lab, Mumbai, Ahmedabad, Hyderabad, Nashik,India

[this-doesnt-endd]

I feel like my crown just shifted up oh my god

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ 𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 + 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

characters: vox, val, alastor, lucifer warnings: implied smut in some; 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink (+ papi for val), toxic relationships, pet/master dynamic (for alastor), reader is a bit of a brat with vox, implied drugging the night before (val), praise + pet names, fem!reader, reader is carried in val’s words: 2.7k

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐨𝐱 ⊹˚₊

You love mornings with your Daddy—truly, you do; love waking up next to him, slow and soft as his fingertips outline your features; love eating breakfast with him, feet kicking back and forth on one of the barstools as he prepares something simple for the two of you, know that he had to pull teeth to get the mornings off of work so he could spend them with you, getting you ready for the day and seeing you off—but there is one part, right at the very end, that you absolutely despise. 

Like everything with Vox, dental hygiene is a meticulous procedure, a rigorous routine with a set of immutable steps to be followed in the exact order Vox has laid them out in—carved into concrete, set in stone.

And, like everything else with Vox, no one knows how to perform them correctly except for him.

Still, it isn’t like you ever make it easy for him.

What else could he expect from his little troublemaker, really?

“Open up.” 

A thumb and a forefinger clamp down on the hinges of your jaw, palm wreathed around your chin, and squeeze, popping your mouth open with practiced efficiency.

“Daddy,” the word comes out as a stringy whine, slightly garbled, face crumpling in petulance. “Dun wanna.” 

Jerking a little in his grasp, you try to pull away from the advancing toothbrush slathered with translucent teal gel, and Vox clicks his tongue. 

“And I don’t care,” he says simply, fingers flexing in warning. “Good little girls need to brush their teeth—especially if they’ve eaten two bowls of sugary cereal for breakfast.” 

“But—”

Vox pulls back, face flattened into something serious. “Do you want cavities eating holes in your teeth?” 

“No—”

“Didn’t think so. Now hold still and let Daddy do this for you, yeah?” 

A groan vibrates on the back of your tongue, but your body goes pliant in his grasp, chin leaning into his pillowy palm.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs to himself, a small smug smile on his face.

Warmth blossoms in your chest, swells your lungs and stretches your ribs as you droop a little more beneath his praise and he chuckles, a fond little melody playing on his tongue, grip tightening infinitesimally. 

And he’s so precise with it all, maneuvers painstakingly perfect as he tilts your head one way, then the other, sure to scrub each tooth thoroughly, bristles scouring in little circular motions as he cleanses.

“Aaaah,” he hums, mimicking the action as he pries his mouth open wider, another praise falling from his lips as you instantly obey, allowing him to reach the molars at the very back of your mouth—brushing on top, on either side, behind, then on top again. 

“Tongue out.” 

Another whine sticks in your throat, brows pushing together and crinkling your forehead, open mouth downturned in a frown with a slight shake of your head, struggling against his hold.

“Come, now,” Vox chastises, but his voice is hard, fortified with a subtle threat. “You were doing so well for me—don’t start acting up, Daddy’s almost done.” 

His gaze holds yours steadily, a single eyebrow raising in question—are you really going to test me?—and you cave, again.

Reluctantly, your tongue unfurls from your mouth, face still scrunched in irritation as he scrapes the bristles across the muscle, working up a healthy lather, refusing to cease until that telltale disgruntled whine claws at your throat, evoking another one of those patronizing little chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying as he tips a glass to your lips, a palm cupped protectively beneath your chin. “Rinse.” 

And, Christ, he loves how fucking obedient you are, even as the urge to misbehave bubbles behind your ribs, lips set in a deep pout as you follow his instructions, swishing a mouthful of water between your cheeks, waiting perfect and patient for his next order. 

“Spit.”

Oh, so compliant, so disciplined you are as you instantly spew blue liquid down the drain, a fierce sense of pride, of ownership, igniting deep within his soul, blazing bright and hot and strong, reflected in the amplified glowing of his eyes.

Your features are still scrunched up in a cute little pout, glaring at him through your lashes, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” A thumb runs along your forehead, attempting to iron out the crease between your brows in a gentle caress.

“It was awful.” 

“Fucking brat.” 

And he just can’t help but laugh out the word, the sting the insult should bring instantly negated by the tender affection it’s smothered in, turned soft and melty on his tongue.

No, you never make such endeavours painless for him, but you do always make them interesting, and for that, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨 ⊹˚₊

It’s late in the afternoon when Val decides it’s time to get up, deep crimson light spilling through the narrow gaps in his thick curtains and painting thin, long strokes across the shag carpet.

He doesn’t bother formally waking you as two of his hands scoop you from the nest of silk and cradle you to his body, chuckling out a coo as you automatically snuggle into his chest, legs latching around his waist. 

The haze of sleep still hangs heavy in your skull, a soft protest grumbled into his skin as he carries you somewhere, lids staying firmly glued shut, body beginning to melt into his again as the bliss of unconsciousness entices you with promises of whimsical dreams and relief from your aching muscles. 

Cold marble stings your bare thighs suddenly, forcing a small jolt through your form, a soft hiss exhaled from between your teeth.

“I know, I know, it’s cold,” Val pacifies, his voice a pleasant fog curling around your cheeks as he leans around you, tinkering with something.  

“Papi,” you whimper, reaching blindly for him, lethargic head falling forward, forehead pressed tightly to his sternum.

“Mmm, I’m here,” he murmurs distractedly, two of his hands still wrapped firmly around your hips as the other set busy themselves with uncapping a tube of toothpaste.

“Wanna go back to bed,” you slur out in a whine, nose nuzzling into his chest, fruitlessly looking for a place to rest your head, dense drowsiness curling the edges of your mind.

“But it’s time to get up, princesa,” he chides gently, a finger tracing the curve of your cheek. “You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours.” 

“M’still tired.” 

A hum of contemplation vibrates at the back of his tongue as a hand twines around your jaw, examining your face this way, then that, before tilting your chin up.

“Maybe I gave you a little too much last night,” he muses to himself through a dark snicker. “It’s kinda cute that you’re still this fucked up, though. Can’t even open your eyes for me, can you?” 

And you try, really, you do, attempting to heft your leaden lids, features screwing up cutely with the immense effort, and Val coos again, as if your intoxication is so pathetically precious—poor little girl can barely handle her Daddy’s drugs! How sweet.

“Well, that’s okay,” he purrs, first pair of hands slipping further beneath his dress shirt—a makeshift nightgown, his favourite nightgown on you—and tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything; Papi will do it for you.” 

A sound of indignation sticks in your throat as you finally pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh light of the bathroom, bleary gaze fixed on the sparkly pink toothbrush in one of his hands, face rumpling into a pout. 

Your lips press into a tight, firm line, sealing your mouth against the rapidly advancing utensil as your eyes slip shut again, weighted with narcotic-laced exhaustion, head shaking in messy little motions.

“C’mon, be co-operative,” the points of his nails dig into your skin, hard enough to leave superficial indents—a warning. “Don’t upset Daddy this early in the day, baby.” 

Wrenching your eyes open again, your nose twitches with a sniffle, chin beginning to quiver.

“But—But—Do I have to?”

“Yes, you have to,” he says, but his voice trembles with the effort to stay calm, to stay pleasant. “Your mouth is very dirty from last night, and it needs to be cleaned.”

A thick torrent of tears rush to cloud your vision, sudden and stinging, a hiccup stuttering your chest. The hand curved around your jaw tightens, yanking your face toward his own, foreheads knocking together.

“Now, open, before I make you open.”

Your jaw falls slack, a slave to his orders, unable to disobey a direct demand from its owner, and Val purrs, something wicked unravelling on his face, smile stretched sharp and sleazy from edge to edge, the glow in his eyes flaring with your instant compliance.

“Good girl.”

₊˚⊹ 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Alastor, you’ve come to learn, has a plethora of odd regimes; stringently scheduled customs that are non-negotiable, that extend to you, including brushing your teeth. 

It’s become routine, now—habitual, as most things with Alastor are—and your days no longer feel right without it; weird, off, incomplete. 

Because it’s become something of a comfort; something so simple, yet so intimate, something calming and rewarding, something to look forward to—a moment shared between the two of you, twice a day, once at the beginning, and once at the end. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you try tell him, the first time he insists on doing it, trying desperately to look over your shoulder as he ushers you into his ensuite.

“Nonsense!” he waves a hand in dismissal. “It isn’t a problem at all. Now, sit.” 

“Alastor—”

“Sit.” 

With a tiny frown, you perch gingerly on the edge of the bathtub, fingers curling around the rim.

“I’m serious,” you murmur, teeth nibbling superficially at the skin of your lip, wary eyes watching as he flits with practiced ease around the bathroom, a twinge of confusion settling in your chest, something akin to shame sitting thick and bitter on the back of your tongue. “I can do it myself…” 

“I know you can,” he replies simply, focused on depositing a strip of white toothpaste on your toothbrush. 

“Then…” you blink up at him, watching him advance with wide eyes, shoulders shrinking as he blankets you in his shadow. “Why are you doing it for me?” 

Irritation twitches at the edges of his grin, Alastor exhaling a controlled sigh.

“Because,” he begins, keeping his voice light, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb. “A good Master takes proper care of his pet.” 

His grip strengthens, tilting your face up further, his form looming over your own as you sit, vulnerable and exposed, beneath his touch. Crimson eyes glow as they scour your face, his back bent at an uncomfortable angle as he practically curls around you, the scent of earth and cedar tinged with copper wafting across your face with his calm, even breaths. 

“Besides,” he continues, voice dropped an octave lower, his nose nearly nudging yours. “I couldn’t possibly trust you to do it adequately.” 

A cruel little chuckle plays on his tongue, as if the mere thought itself is preposterous, the sound stinging as it seeps into your cheeks, hot and full of spikes. 

“Now, open.” 

Instantly, your mouth falls agape, and Alastor’s smile stretches infinitesimally wider, a sharp glint flaring in his eyes.

“A good owner maintains their pet’s hygiene,” he explains as he works, gaze fixed intently on his actions, cleansing with a meticulous sort of vigilance. “Bathes them, grooms them, dresses them—performs all of the basic necessities a pet needs to appear presentable.”

His hand shifts slightly, angling your head to the side, and you follow easily, malleable in his grasp, his smile shimmering. 

“And I pride myself on taking very good care the things that belong to me.”

And, really, he does. Because Alastor doesn’t just brush your teeth with rigorous care, conscientiously certain to cleanse every dip and gap; he flosses them, too, with gentle hands and painstaking precision, then ensures you’ve rinsed with germ-killing, enamel-strengthening mouthwash for exactly forty-five seconds, counting uniformly and observing with large, unblinking eyes as you adhere to his every instruction, cheeks bulging with burning liquid, eyes squinting from the intensity, but never daring to blink, to glance away, to stop at all. 

“Look at you,” he purrs after you’ve spit down the drain, gazing back up at him with a sort of desperate devotion—demented, devious, damned to his hell—syrupy condescension dripping from his teeth. “So well behaved for me, aren’t you?”  

A palm cups your jaw, his thumb running across your cheek in rhythmic strokes, the tip of his claw caressing your skin with just enough pressure to leave behind shallow scratches. 

“What, hoping Master will give you a treat for being so obedient?” 

“No, Sir,” you whimper out, voice gone dreamy as you nuzzle into his hand. “You taking such good care of me is more than enough.” 

Something sinister oozes into his face, something that contorts his smile and corrodes his eyes, leaving behind nothing but raw hunger, like he’s about to devour you whole, pops of static fizzing thickly in his voice. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

₊˚⊹ 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Everything hurts, muscles stiff and aching and full of sand, your motions clumsy and cumbersome as you attempt to brush your teeth, joints creaking with every slight shift.

Fatigue blurs the edges of your eyes, your vision fading out of focus again, mind gone fuzzy as you try your best to concentrate on your movements—up, down, all around, repeat—features screwing up in a wince as you catch the harsh bristles on your gums, again. 

“You’re making a bit of a mess, sleepyhead,” Lucifer’s tender chuckle pulls you from your foggy stupor, a quiet hum vibrating in your throat as you look over at him in question, the gesture lethargic and delayed. 

“You’ve got some—Here,” he says softly, hands curling around your shoulders and turning you to face him, then tilting your chin up. “May I?”

Another affirmative sounds on the back of your tongue and Lucifer uses his thumb to carefully clean the foaming paste collecting at the corners of your mouth, then catching a slow dribble streaming down your chin with a deft knuckle. 

A frown mars his face, his forehead creasing beneath the strain, his other hand stroking your shoulder as worried eyes search your face, slow and careful.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks. “You’re really struggling to brush your teeth.”

“Jus—really tired,” you mumble through the bubbles in your mouth, Lucifer skillfully catching another trickle of watery paste, concern tugging at the corners of his lips, frown deepening.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” 

Sleepy eyes blink up at him, slow and sluggish, your hazy mind taking a moment to process the question.

“Mhmm,” you finally nod, hand loosening the instant his fingers skim yours, allowing him to gently uncurl your grip from around the base of your toothbrush, his own effortlessly taking its place. 

“Alright, alright, Daddy will help you,” he’s pacifying in a murmur, but his gaze has turned melty, glow dimmed and pupils gaping, lids heavy with love. “Poor thing…Last night was a long night for you, huh?” 

“S’a lot,” you confirm in a messy mumble, lids drooping heavily with the weight of exhaustion.

“Yeah?” his thumb rubs loving little circles into your jaw as he works, gaze trained on his task. “Was Daddy a little too rough with you?” 

The question is uttered out tenderly, full of sympathy and care, his brow furrowing as his eyes flit back to yours, searching for veracity in your pupils.

“Maybe I should be a bit gentler next—”

“No!” you cough around the refusal, puffy lids snapping open suddenly, the unexpected vehemency causing Lucifer to flinch.

“No?” he laughs, and it’s warm with affection, his features, hard with worry, mollifying beneath fondness, amorous amusement twinkling daintily in his eyes. 

“No,” you whine out with a tiny pout, head shaking a little in his grasp. “Please.”

“Okay,” the pad of his thumb runs along your cheek, his stare trailing after it. “If nothing else, at least Daddy will always be there to take care of you the morning after.”

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully and mulder moments from s3

mulder bursting into his apartment in episode 2 after actually returning from the dead, only to find scully and skinner holding each other at gunpoint. he immediately asks if she is okay and pulls HIS gun on skinner, too (yes, he WILL threaten to kill their boss for her, thank you very much)

(and then they have this moment where they reunite for real and she smiles at him- i thought they were going to kiss but they didn’t, but either way it was so precious and genuine it made me lose my mind)

this exchange in the disease center archives: “lots of files” “lots and lots of files” yeah <3

after they flee through the back exit of the archives escaping what seemed like the entire US military, they meet skinner at a little diner in maryland, with all things seemingly forgiven between them

how he holds her after she learns melissa passed away, and how they both agree that they need to get back to work in order to keep them from going mad with grief (they were both in mourning at the same time- his dad's death was still very recent- and it is so touching to me how they were there for each other at every step)

they way they glance at each other while the “psychic” stupendous yappi is making incredibly vague claims about the killer at the crime scene in episode 4 (omg... does anyone have this gif?)

(and when the psychic claims that mulder has “negative energy” and needs to leave the room, she leans in and says “i can’t take you anywhere)

later in the episode, he comes in with the news that the item at the crime scene was made of chantilly lace, and he says “you know how i like it” in reference to the song by the big bopper. she makes the FUNNIEST face!!! it's a momentary mixture of horror and disgust before she composes herself. it is hilarious, i’ll see if i can find it. then she slaps a file on his chest and wishes him good luck in observing bruckman.

also, he is nearly killed in that episode, and scully shoots his would-be murderer- then they have one of those “comforting each other on the floor after nearly dying moments” that are like catnip to me

“imagine if it were true, scully. imagine if you could come back and take out five people who had caused you to suffer. who would they be?” “i only get five?” “i remembered your birthday this year, didn’t i?” <3 (from episode 5)

in episode 7, scully noticed that mulder had been carrying dental x-ray plates throughout their whole investigation, but never bothered to ask why because they were at the point in their relationship where such things do not need to be discussed

scully learning in episode 9 that she is slowly dying from the tests they performed on her while she was taken, and breaking the news to mulder- how he softly says “but you’re fine, aren’t you scully?” because he cannot bear to lose her (AUGHHHHHHHH) (and she confesses that she doesn’t know if she really IS okay… why do they place so much sorrow on her shoulders?)

mulder trapped on a ticking time bomb of a train in episode 10, calling her to say “scully, let me tell you, you haven’t seen america til you’ve seen it from a train” “DAMN IT MULDER, WHAT HAPPENED?!” <- lmaooo he has this constant Need to diffuse tension with a quip

scully is going through A Lot of Emotions in episode 11, and when it is time for them to go, mulder holds out her jacket for her to put on <3 and then goes and does the statement by himself as per her request so she can go “run an errand” (confession for the first time in 6 years), which he obliges without question

so much of the episode 12 dialogue: “mulder, you’re not thinking about trespassing onto government property again, are you?” “it’s too late, i’m already inside” (incredibly deep scully sigh) “well, what’s going on? what do you see?” <- yeah that’s them. if you’re gonna break federal law, at least tell her about it in depth.

scully sleeping with her phone on her pillow, waiting for another of mulder’s calls. when it finally comes, he’s going on and on about bambi and she is clearly displeased. finally, he asks “scully, can i confess something to you?” and she VISIBLY winces, with pain in her voice, but pushes through and says “yeah sure, okay” (this one KILLED me because she did NOT want to hear about his love life but she wanted to be a good friend... scully is so kind)

(and all he had to say was that he hates insects lmao)

((and how the episode starts with the two of them making a planet of the apes reference, then ends with bambi and dr. ivanov flirting by making a different planet of the apes reference))

mulder is losing his damn mind in episode 14, hadn’t slept for days, and was sneaking out to a crime scene. scully is so worried she tells him to stay exactly where he is and that she will be there soon so they can “work this thing out together, okay?” trying to talk him back into being himself, making sure he is safe... that's partnership <3

in episode 16, mulder gets in a car crash, but wakes up to find scully next to him in the hospital. he has a bandage on his head looking all pathetic, and she greets him with a smile. i wanted to bottle this moment and drink it like fine champagne.

their drive to north dakota after scully confronted the man who shot skinner and her sister- how tense that ride had to have been. what did they say? anything at all? i need to know, i need 10 fics NOW

and their conversation at melissa’s grave- how they both bring flowers, how he touches her shoulder, the way she shares her father’s friend’s theory that the dead speak to you from beyond the grave, which is a conscious. and how he, the man who is always pondering the meanings of life and death and what comes between, says honestly “that’s interesting. i’ve never thought of it that way” 

her falling asleep on his shoulder during the stakeout in episode 17; how he lightly taps her face to wake her up and says “i think you drooled on me”, which prompts a very fast and very embarrassed apology (!!!!!!!!!)

(also, pusher kept calling mulder "g-man" over the phone, so when they hang up he turns to her and calls her "g-woman" <3)

their very excellent coordination between scully grabbing the fire extinguisher and mulder using his jacket to douse the flames that episode

(and all the times in pusher they lean their heads together to share a phone <3)

when mulder has to go into the hospital to catch the pusher, he leaves his gun behind so he won’t hurt anybody- and he’s terrified and so is scully, so they look into each other’s eyes while holding hands before he departs

how she runs into action when he is in danger in the hospital; how she interrupts his game of russian roulette with pusher, and how she SCREAMS when he puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger; that visceral "damn it, mulder!" filled with so much emotion in just a few words

how he fights the pusher’s mind control to prevent shooting her harder than he fought the mind control that made him fire at himself (!!!)

and after mulder escaped, having fired every round into pusher so he knew he wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again, he watches as he is on life support. scully grabs his hand, having seen how terrified he had become, and tells him not to let this man take up any more of his time.

in episode 20, they receive roky’s fantastical report on his men in black encounter, which mulder reads aloud while scully lies on the bed of their hotel room, looking baffled (it is so CUTE!!!)

waking up to mulder in her room soon after that, having been under some mind control influence the night before, wondering why he was in there, and mulder trying to explain no, she actually invited him in!!

walking into the bait shop together in episode 22, sharing an umbrella while she holds the dog's leash <3

mulder offering to join her walking her dog, but she smiles and lifts up her jacket to show her gun and says she’ll be fine 

the whole conversation on the rock, but some highlights include “hey scully, do you think you could ever cannibalize someone?” and how she compares him to ahab (they’re both “so consumed by your personal vengeance against life, whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries, that everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology”, which he responds to with “scully, are you coming onto me?”)

but then he gets very serious, talking about how he wishes it were enough to just Persist Despite It All and be free of expectations, how he loathes that “you’re actually expected to make something of your life- achieve something, earn a raise, wear a necktie”, and he is the antithesis of ahab because he might be happier with a pegleg. and god, that one makes me emotional.

(and then they both quote a line from the book <3)

oh, and i could not finish this list without this banger from episode 23: “he’s lied to me from the beginning. he’s never trusted me” “scully, you are the ONLY one i trust”

(cue tears as scully collapses into her mother's arms) (cue tears at mulder's dogged persistence he could bring her back, but it took a mother's love instead) (and cue tears that such love had been extended to him by mrs. scully, so much so that she knew he would never, ever threaten her baby)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Call Mom

CW: PTSD/flashbacks, BBU in general, haunted, ghosts, reference to a murder, severe chronic panic

Jameson's Masterlist (scroll down)

-

Aw, crap. Hey, Johnny, do you remember where I put that girl's number? Like, Katie, or Caitlyn, or... do you remember? Hey! Johnny! Put down the fucking xbox controller for two fucking minutes and give me a hand, won't you?

Fingers snap right in front of his face.

Johnny!

Jameson jerks in a breath that sounds like a whine, sitting straight up. The fan blows cool air over his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, cold inside and out. The air in his room is freezing, suddenly. Outside it's so dark you can't even see the trees - the power outage must still be going, there aren't any streetlights. Thanks to the clouds, no stars or moon, either.

Just darkness.

Wait, if the electricity's out...

He looks up. The ceiling fan is perfectly still above his head, even while ice-cold air keeps goosebumps rising on his arms, the hair standing up at the back of his neck.

See, was that so hard? It'll take like five minutes if we work together, I swear.

"Nat?" He mumbles. "S'at... you?"

Checked there already, actually. Checked the fridge, too, so where the hell did I put it?

He's the only person in this room.

Jameson goes from still half-asleep to fully, painfully awake and aware in a single breath.

The voice comes as clear as if it was right next to him, a voice as familiar as his own - but he has no idea whose it is. There's no one here but him - even Trash Cat isn't here any longer, probably hunting a tiny piece of plastic downstairs that he'll end up stepping on in the morning. So far she hasn't eaten any of them. He doesn't even know where she's finding them.

Johnny, come on. Let's, like, retrace our steps.

His head starts to ache more with every single word, the pain working like tendrils behind his eyes, a pressure trying to crush his skull from the inside. Something flashes, bright and almost like a spectrum of rainbow colors, in the corner of his right eye, but it won't resolve when he turns his head.

I got home from work, I told you we had a hot customer who gave me her number, and then... then what?

Jameson stares into darkness so complete it feels like it has weight. Like it's sitting on the bed next to him, like the mattress dips underneath it. A body made of memory, slowly pulling together the pieces of what's been hidden. Clawing them out but leaving deep weals across the inside of his mind, like a corpse's fingers digging into loose dirt to climb out of his grave.

"Caitlyn," He whispers, as the thought crystallizes. A memory, pure and perfect. Some sliver of whatever they broke the person he was into. Some small piece of the man who signed up. "Her name was Caitlyn, not Katie. She... wrote it on the fucking paper."

Right! Okay, so, clearly I told you her name, and then what?

Jameson turns his head, and there he is.

Hank.

His breath catches in his throat.

Hank is younger than he is, even though he was older then. The older brother, trapped in time, while Jameson - Jonathan - keeps aging. The rakish smile is still there and, Christ, Jameson had forgotten that he'd done that stupid thing to his hair - you forgot everything about him, you begged them to take him away from you so that it wouldn't hurt anymore. He's still got that one crooked tooth he'd refused to get braces to fix. That crooked tooth had been in his dental records. It was how they identified his body.

The fucking crooked tooth, the silver-colored fillings, then the DNA tests...

"No," He whispers, going for a vicious hiss, but what comes out is far too close to a whimper. "No. This is-... this is a flashback. This isn't real, this isn't-"

Maybe I left it in yesterday's pants?

"This isn't real, fuck off." Jameson shoves himself off the bed, forgetting his stupid fucking legs don't work. His knees buckle as soon as they have to take his weight.

He lands wrong on one arm and the pain spikes up through his shoulder, making him cry out in the hoarse, rasping voice that his life has left him with. "Fuck!"

He rolls onto his side, but he can't stop himself.

He looks up again. He doesn't want to remember Hank but he's desperate for one more look at his face. Just the one more time.

Just once more.

Hank sighs, raking a hand back through his hair, leaving it mussed-up and sticking out, looking ridiculous. He did that all the time. Bit his nails, too, and tried everything to stop but he never did. He wore those jeans with the ripped knee all the time, their mother had hated it. Hank, wearing the t-shirt for the band they'd gotten concert tickets for but never got the chance to see. Hank, dead for years, smiles to one side at a brother who isn't there.

The brother who erased him.

"Hank," He whispers. "Hank, you gotta-... you gotta go. You're hurting me-"

Damn. Man, it wasn't in my jeans either. Well, I'll find it sooner or later, I guess. Hank shrugs. His eyes are in shadow, not quite defined. Jameson wonders if it's because he's forgotten what color his brother's eyes were, forgotten it deeply enough that even this can't pull it back.

It'll be okay, Johnny. It really will. Hank looks right at him. Jameson's breath catches in his throat. The room is so cold the air burns as he breathes. It never gets this cold in California. It can't be this cold in California. I mean it. Don't cry yourself to sleep over this.

"I cried myself to sleep... all the time, but I don't now. I'm not-... that guy." He can barely speak. He sees his breath puff out when his lips move, and Jameson slumps back. His voice cracks, it creaks like old floors. He didn't stop crying for weeks. He didn't leave his bed. He did any drug he could find trying to not think about Hank, until he realized there was only one way to make sure he never had to think about what he'd done, by letting Hank walk home alone that one night, again. He didn't want to think about that pain anymore.

They had promised him he wouldn't ever have to hurt like this again.

They lied about that, too.

Jameson makes a sound he refuses to admit is a choked-off sob. "I'm not him, Hank. I'm not Johnny... not anymore."

Hank stands, and it's impossible. He's not here. But he holds out his hand anyway, and Jameson takes it without thinking. Hank's grip is so cold it burns, but Jameson lets his dead brother pull him to his feet anyway.

He smells like earth and ice.

"I'm not him," He whispers.

Right, like that argument ever works. Hank just grins, shaking his head. The man Jameson was - the one he had begged to leave behind - is the reason Hank will look like this in his memories forever. He's the reason there isn't another Hank, only this one, locked in the memories he wanted to boil and burn out of his own head. They're still there, though. They break through.

They never stop breaking through.

He would crawl back into Robert's cage himself if it only meant he didn't have to remember that it's his fault Hank is dead.

Tears run hot down his cheeks - the only thing in him that isn't frozen is his grief, wildfire in his chest leaving nothing but ash behind. Forests after wildfires are ghosts, Hank said once, when they were both high and everything sounded fucking important.

Jameson had called him an idiot - he remembers that now. But... he also thinks Hank was right. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can, focusing. He isn't here. Hank cannot be here. "I don't remember... remember you-... I don't want to remember you! It was my choice to forget!"

Hank claps him on the shoulder. His smile goes briefly gentle and soft. Jameson can see it with his eyes closed. Whatever you say, man. Just promise me you'll call Mom sometime soon, okay?

The pain is too much. If he can't pass out soon, he might die just from having to experience it, unending, never stopping, rising higher and higher. "Mom...?"

Yeah, dumbass. Mom. Our mother? Who gave birth to us and never lets us fucking forget it? I keep trying to talk to her, but I guess my signal's bad. Hank laughs, and Jameson's whole body breaks with the sound of that familiar laughter. The way Hank could throw his head back without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, how he'd hear that laugh across a crowded room and know it was his brother's, know right where he was.

Until he didn't.

Until nobody did.

Until the cops found what was left.

Until-

Jameson jolts again, and finds himself still lying on the floor next to his bed. He's burning up, boiling hot, pouring sweat until his sleep shirt sticks to his back and his arms feel slick with it, his hair sticking to skin. A droplet trickles down the back of his neck like a fingertip, barely touching. He rips his shirt off, then his pants, throwing them as far away from himself as he can, until he's naked on the floor but it isn't enough.

He's still sweating, still breathing in harsh gasps, fighting around the strength of his racing heart to get enough air to fill his lungs. He looks frantically around, but no one's here.

The ceiling fan circles lazily overhead.

He takes in a breath, his heart pounding. It feels like it's going to grow wings and fly away, up his throat and out of his mouth. He's still crying, he realizes only now. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can and fights tears back through sheer willpower and rage, curling his hands into fists. Just like they used to be, his fingers know - muscle memory of mittens that had kept him powerless, once. Now, he does it on purpose, and he forces them to curl through the pain.

Forces down the dream.

Wills himself to forget he ever had it.

"Four... f-four things you can see," he whispers to himself, slumping back down. His voice keeps trembling, catching, and it's everything he has to open his eyes again around the pounding headache in his skull and look. "The-... moon. Out the... window. The, my dresser... for my clothes... M-My, uh, the picture Nat p-printed of me and Allyn... fuck, the... the doorknob."

Every time he thinks he knows how much of his body can hurt at once, some nerves he didn't know existed decide to join the party. He has to breathe in and out, slow and controlled, trying to will his body to cooperate. He won't walk tomorrow, he can tell already. It'll be a day to spend in bed, or using his wheelchair. It might be a week until his body lets him walk again.

He fights back a new well of rage and despair at how well he knows the next way his body will fail him. He can't think about that right now, or the pain and the panic will spiral out of control. He might hurt someone. He can't hurt anyone, not ever again.

He won't.

"Three... things I can touch," He murmurs. "My, my... my shirt, fuck, gross, sweaty... my... my hair... the floor, feels... cold, feels good... the corner of my bed..."

It helps. He makes himself focus on this, on real things, not the nightmare of his brother.

He won't remember his brother.

He won't.

"Two things I can hear. Uh, the, there's... crickets or something outside, and-... and I can hear-"

Hank's voice whispers right next to his ear.

Call Mom.

His breath hitches.

"Not real," he whispers. "One... one thing I can taste..."

All he tastes is blood, and for one horrified half a second he's sure it's Hank's blood, until he realizes he bit his tongue in his sleep.

The blood is his own.

Call Mom.

-

[osheamobile]

We said goodbye to Ru yesterday. Putting this behind a cut.

We got our cats not long after we got married, meaning there was very little time we were a household without the two of them running around. Ru and Jenny were a matched pair, the fosters refused to split them up, and we obliged.

One of the things that drew our attention was his name. The fosters had named him RuPaul, because he was a male calico, and while I'd heard it was tradition to rename your pets once you've adopted them, it was too perfect of a name to change.

He was extremely affectionate and would wake us up in the mornings at first with headbutts and purrs, and while over time he would gravitate towards my wife more (while Jenny would attach herself more to me), and stopped letting me pick him up in favor of only her, he always asked me to brush him and he knew I was the one feeding him so he knew exactly who to divebomb and bother when he got hungry.

He was the most food oriented cat I'd ever met, which was juxtaposed by his sister who very much was not, and he was the least picky cat I'd ever heard of - he'd eat anything and everything, he wouldn't care about medication mixed in his food even if the pharmacy accidentally made it cherry flavored instead of salmon like the vet requested. He was always up for treats and always made it everyone else's problem.

Because he was so food motivated, that was usually our first sign when something was wrong. He never refused food, even last year when his weight suddenly dropped like a stone and we found out the reason the vet kept reporting elevated white blood cell counts even when all the tests kept coming back inconclusive. It ended up being cancer, leukemia with complications that made his intestines have trouble absorbing nutrients. Because my office offers extremely good pet insurance (and I'm going to ring this bell forever, if you have the opportunity, take advantage, it is worth its weight in gold), we were in a position to give him the absolute best treatment available. Originally chemo pills that we were supposed to give him ourselves, then visits to the oncologist about 45 minutes away - he had a full round of chemo last year which was rough on everybody, including him, but it sent the cancer into remission.

It was not without side effects, though. Because of so much manhandling by doctors and the inundation with medication, he stopped being the darling of the vet's office and started requiring sedation. He grew spiteful of checkups and distrustful of any food that smelled wrong. He still ate voraciously, but grew pickier and learned ways to eat around pills and refused to eat any portions of food that had powders or liquids mixed in.

I don't blame him for any of it - I'd feel the same way in his position.

It was after a dental visit earlier this summer that it started. He'd had the rest of his canines pulled due to a condition that the dentist reassured me happened far too commonly in cats, and while his mouth healed beautifully he would only eat small portions of his food at a time. We didn't think too much of it because he would always go back to finish later.

Until he stopped doing going back to finish. Until he stopped eating any of his food at all.

It was several trips to the emergency vet last week that finally resulted in a test that told us the cancer had come back, harder. It was something that would not be treatable and that we should move into quality of life mode - something that might have given us a few more months or even another year, had he been eating. But he wasn't eating. We swapped foods constantly, begged, pleaded, mixed with water and canned tuna and everything else that had worked in the past, but he'd only eat a mouthful at a time and then stare at us, confused.

I had never had a pet before these two - we had a cat when I was very little but my parents gave her away after my brother was born, so I'd never been through this part of pet ownership. My wife had, many times, so I took my cues from her and followed her lead.

We scheduled an appointment with our normal vet. Requested his favorite vet tech, who at this point was assistant manager and usually not involved with day to day, but she agreed without hesitation because they love him so much there.

Yesterday we made him as comfortable as we could. It's harder to do a Best Day Ever for cats, at least in the same way you can for dogs, but we did what we could. We opened fresh cans of tuna and let him nibble as much as he wanted. We let him walk around outside, which he always wanted to do but we never allowed because he refused leash training and we don't have an enclosed yard. We cuddled him and told him how much we loved him, and this continued up through when it was time to take the last car ride to the vet, where we continued to hold him until he was gone.

It was the worst thing I'd ever done. I'm still trying to tell myself it was the right thing to do. I'm not okay and I won't be for a very long time, I don't think.

RuPaul was fifteen years old. We had him for twelve of those years. He was a terror and a bastard and the sweetest boy you'd ever meet. A very small number of people reading this have had the pleasure to know him in person, and a lot more have known him through our stories and pictures shared over the years.

He was so very loved, and we did our best to make sure he knew this all the way through the end.

[ficsex]

i'm going to be totally upfront -and of course lmk if this is uncouth/too much, but- what is normal, non-actor/porno sex like?

not that you need to write a bunch on the minutia, but the vibe maybe? do people laugh, or get awkward, or like, mess up? in media they just turn up there, go for like 5mins and end the scene/cut to another scene..so, as dumb as it sounds, do you walk in there together, is it longer than that usually, and how do you leave the situation? when/do people actually use protection? i can't think of a sex scene in a movie that involved a guy putting on a condom tbh. so, stuff like that i guess? 🤷

silly maybe, but i'm sitting here realizing that i have no clue lmao. can you just say no if you don't like something? can you ask to take a break? maybe i'm just lowkey dumb, but a rundown of like, normal people sex would be cool, if you're comfortable to type it ig? <3

oooh, I love this question ( I love all questions, promise).

Here is a timeline of sex that might occur between people who are not in a porn or movie, all steps optional.

before sex:

making out on a bed, or on a couch/chair, leaned up against a wall, in the shower, whatever

asking "hey, do you want to take this to my bedroom?"

confirming "yes, but I only want to do [action]"

putting on music

locking the cat out of the bedroom

just rolling over in bed and starting to kiss or grope or touch

looking at your phone and going "oh hey, it's time for that sex we scheduled"

kissing or groping or biting with clothes on or off

removing clothes in a sexy way, or an awkward way, or a utilitarian way

forgetting to remove socks, or keeping them on because the room is cold

placing sex toys, condoms, lube, or any other sex aids by the bed

taking the duvet off the bed, or putting down a sex blanket

removing one garment and kissing more, and then removing another garment and kissing more...

saying "I want to keep my shirt on today" or "can you help me unclasp my bra" or "hold on, I have to put my earrings on the nightstand" or "oy, careful of my glasses!"

if it's a new partner, discussion of safer sex practices (do you want to use condoms? when was your last STI test? do you have other sexual partners?)

as sex gets started:

kissing/licking/biting/touching someone on any part of their body at all

exploring your partner's body to find out what feels good for them

starting to gently touch your partner's genitals

touching your own genitals while making eye contact, or kissing, or talking

massaging your partner

accidentally tickle your partner or get tickled, make a weird squawking noise in response

grabbing, squeezing, lifting, or moving your partner's body

opening a condom, glove, or dental dam and applying it to the relevant anatomy

pulling the plastic safety seal off a new bottle of lube

laying down a towel

grinding your genitals (clothed or naked) together, or against another part of your partner's body

almost falling off the bed, actually falling off the bed, or readjusting your position so you don't almost fall off the bed

licking or sucking fingers

during sex:

applying lube to genitals

performing oral sex

gliding the head of a bio- or inert-penis across lips, vulva, or anus (that can feel really excellent, whether you're intending to engage in penetration or not!)

fingering any orifice, or giving a hand job, or playing with labia, or grabbing an ass-cheek

try to insert a bio- or inert-penis into an orifice and slipping, or not being able to get it in, and needing to adjust the angle and try again, or push more firmly

often, someone with a vulva will use one hand to spread their own labia to make it easier for their partner to access their vagina

slowly sliding in to a mouth, vagina, or anus

shoving in quickly (with lube, one hopes, or plenty of spit or natural vaginal lubrication)

thrusting in one position for a while

switching positions, either because you want to try a new sexy sensation, or your knees hurt, or the current position is getting uncomfortable

more oral sex!

masturbating next to each other

taking a break for a little while, to catch your breath, or apply more lube, or kick the cat out of the bedroom, or because you remembered a funny meme you want to show your partner, or to take a step back to kissing, or because what you're doing doesn't feel good, or because you've having some feelings and you want to talk about them, or because you have to pee

using a dildo or vibrator

caressing, licking, or sucking testicles

adding more lube

going "fuck, I hate this song" and wiping off one hand to skip a track on your sex playlist

going "fuck, that feels really good, keep doing this"

going "hm, can you try going harder / changing the angle / turning up the vibe / using your fingers?"

riding your partner

fucking your partner into the mattress

touching lips or nipples or neck or ears while also fucking / sucking / licking

asking "do you want to keep going, or are you good?"

saying "hm, I want to stop now, this doesn't feel good anymore"

continuing

stopping

often, if one partner is penetrating their partner and one person comes, the penetrative sex might end, and the other person who didn't orgasm might say "I'm good" or "please go down on me" or "hold on, I'm going to grab my vibrator, will you kiss me / touch my nipples / NOT touch me / say sexy things while I get myself off?"

orgasming

not orgasming

after sex:

catching your breath

if someone with a bio-penis was wearing a condom, pulling out while they still have an erection, holding the base of their penis so the condom doesn't slip off

knotting the condom, then tossing it towards the trashcan and hoping it doesn't land on the floor

snuggling

not snuggling

laying next to each other laughing and grinning

grabbing a towel or discarded garment to wipe off your genitals, or to wipe off sweat and lube

getting up to pee (especially if you have a vulva) and then getting back into bed, or not getting back into bed

saying "wow, I loved when you did ______"

saying "can we try ____ next time, too?"

kissing

showering

brushing teeth

getting all the way dressed

just putting underwear back on

staying naked

changing the sheets, putting a towel on the wet spot, removing the sex towel, pulling back the duvet, or any other method of cleaning up

taking all of the discarded garments and putting them in the hamper

looking at your phone and going "oh shit, it's after ten, I have to get home now!"

letting the cat back in

going down to the kitchen for post-sex snacks

enduring the giggles of roommates

laying next to each other and sharing memes / scrolling tumblr

okay, that ended up being a lot of minutia, actually. so here are some vibes that sex might involve:

silly

feral

nervous but excited

lovey-dovey

aggressive

so-turned-on-you-can't-think-of-anything-else

a perfectly pleasant way to spend an afternoon, but you're thinking of other things

entirely focused on one partner, who gets to lay there and be pampered

shy and exploring

focused on the orgasm count

not even sure if you've orgasmed

angry sex

jealous "I'm going to make you orgasm better than anyone else can" sex

relaxed and chill / lazy

"I'm going to miss you so much I need to be as close to you as possible"

just plain ol' having a good time together

sex has SO much variety in activities, moods, how long it takes, what the point is, how you get started, how you finish up... there's no one way to go about doing it, but as you engage in more partnered sexual activities, you'll learn more about what options exist, and which ones you enjoy!

[cal-writes]

have a bit from laws eleven sequel that probably wont make it into the finished piece but this scene was the first thing i wrote for it. the structure changed too much to properly fit it in so enjoy

-

“You’re such an ungrateful little shit.” Dr. Kureha is as friendly as ever, sneering at Law when she finally spots him emerging from the crowd.

“Dr. Kureha!” Chopper bounces away from his side to hug the old hag around the middle. She pulls a grimace, holding both her arms into the air (but Law can see the smile in her eyes). Law follows at a leisurely pace. By the time he reaches the pair, Kureha has extracted herself from Chopper.

“Pleasure to see you again, too.” Law tells her and extends his hand. Kureha shakes it begrudgingly. The little thumb drive passes between them with a simple sleight of hand, before Law burrows it deep in his pocket. “Appreciate you coming to see me.”

Kureha scoffs. “Like I’d go through the trouble for you brats.” She sneers but still strokes Chopper's head when he bumps into her side. “You’re lucky I have to be here anyway.” She points over her shoulder to where Dalton stands by a booth for dental implants, deeply engrossed in a conversation.

“I take back the gratitude then.” Law says and Kureha squints at him.

“Don’t test me, boy.” She warns, before she heads to the side out of the walkways of the crowd. “What do you need that shit for? Haven’t asked about it in a decade. You know which corner I had to dig this out of?” Kureha talks quietly, keeping her eyes on the people around them.

Law feels his neck prickle anyway. He hates crowds. They aren’t here for a job (his crew at least - the Straw Hats happen to have some big shot plastic surgeon in their sights who has some sort of rare artifact in his possession but they promised Chopper to wait until the convention was over so he could mingle - Law had offered to chaperone and he too wanted to mingle with people of his trade) but given their lives, it always pays to be cautious.

He shrugs, hand tightening around the thumb drive in his pocket (remembers the shape of it still). “Have to deal with it eventually.” He says.

Kureha snorts. “Finally stopping with the repression, then? Next you’ll tell me you’re seeing a therapist.”

“Maybe I’ll find one here.” Law says, deadpan.

“May the gods help to poor fucker that has to lay you on the couch.” She replies and Law smiles. (If Chopper weren’t here he would mention that he will apologize to Zoro next time they fuck on a couch).

“Always good to see you, Doctor.” He tells her and Kureha laughs.

“You too, kid.”

[thejournallo]

Life Hack: Oil pulling

This is a life hack to take more proper care of our oral hygiene and is something that I am actually testing out, and I can actually see incredible results in only one week. 

What is oil pulling?

Oil pulling is an ancient Ayurvedic practice that involves swishing oil around in your mouth for several minutes to promote oral health. The process is believed to draw out toxins from the body and improve dental hygiene. The scientific community has mixed opinions on oil pulling. Some small studies have shown reductions in oral bacteria, plaque, and gingivitis, comparable to mouthwash. However, more extensive and rigorous studies are needed to confirm these benefits conclusively.

What are the benefits that oil pulling can have on you?

Improved Oral Hygiene: It is said to reduce plaque, gingivitis, and bad breath.

Whitening of Teeth: Regular practice is believed to help whiten teeth.

Detoxification: Proponents claim it helps detoxify the body, although scientific evidence supporting this is limited only to the part of the mouth.

Relief from Jaw Pain: Some report reduced jaw pain and improved jaw strength.

How do i do oil pulling?

Choose your oil: Coconut oil is a popular choice due to its antimicrobial properties. even though every vegetable oil can be good for this practice.

Measure a tablespoon: Use about a tablespoon or two of oil.

Swish the oil: Swish it around your mouth for 15-20 minutes. Make sure not to swallow it. and it is suggested to do this first thing in the morning to get rid of all the bacteria that accumulates throughout the night. (This is the part that makes your jaw pain go away because you actually exercise your mouth muscles while you do that.)

Spit it out: Spit the oil into a trash can (not the sink, as it can clog pipes).

Rinse and brush: Rinse your mouth with water and then brush your teeth as usual.

Oil pulling is generally considered safe, but it should not replace traditional oral care practices like brushing and flossing.

My thoughts and experiences:

I always had problems keeping my oral igine costant because of my adhd. Since I started oil pulling, not only did I see an improvement in my teeth, as they are more white, but I also saw an improvement in my routine because, in general, I see it as an easy way to clean my teeth, which includes actually brushing my teeth. i also have notice improvements with my jawline but that could be the gua sha too.

[intosnarkness]

So my cat died today.

(tw:pet illness, death)

idk I might try and write the whole story later, but 15 years is a lot to try and boil down. (NB, I got him when he was 2, which you might have figured out because he was 17.)

But long story short, in February of 22 I was in Florida setting up an expo for work when the vet called me. Nat had taken the boys for a dental cleaning, and Peri lost like, a pound in a few weeks.

I was 900 miles away and could do nothing as they did scans and blood tests and I hid behind a shipping crate and cried.

They found a mass in his stomach and he's been on steroids since. We didn't know what it was, because I didn't want to do the exploratory on a cat his age. The vet agreed. I thought at the time that I had 3 months left. I got 18.

Recently Pman has had less appetite. This came to a head on Wednesday when I got home from work to feed the cats and he didn't come when I opened the can. He was also leaving more and more food uneaten.

I called the vet yesterday but it didn't feel emergent so when i got voicemail I gave up. Called again around 11 this morning and they asked me to bring him in ASAP. I had a Feeling then that today was going to end with a cremation.

Nat was headed home early from work because they're doing construction on his building and he was Done so I called and asked him to take Peri in. He agreed.

When he got to the house, Peri had found a bobbin for embroidery floss at some point between when I left at 7:45am and when he got home at 11:45am and eaten the thread off of it.

Nat called me and I just.. left. I just got up and left work and called the people I needed to call from the car to tell them I had a pet emergency and was leaving for the day. Nat and I met at the vet.

The issues came down to this:

When a cat eats string, your concern is it being in the intestine. If you pull on the string you can tear the intestine with the pressure. If you don't know how long it's been, you need to scope the cat or do exploratory surgery.

Our vet did not have anyone to scope the cat. They called every other vet in town, apparently. Time ticked by. They found one about 40 minutes away.

At this point it was close to 1:30. In the best scenario, it had been at least 2 hours since the thread entered his system. It would be another hour before we could get the scope in him. I kept saying to Nat, as we sat and waited, that there was no world where it wasn't in the intestine by the time we got him there. This is when I started to really fucking lose it.

If the string was in the intestine, they were going to have to do exploratory abdominal surgery on a 17-year-old cat to get it out. I remember what his recovery was like when he was 3 and did this. I was not sure it was fair to do that to a cat as old as him. I was pretty sure I had murdered my best friend with embroidery floss, which is going to be funny in retrospect but right now it isn't.

I know Peri has eaten string before. I remember the night he did it in the Laurel apartment like it was yesterday. I was usually vigilant about not leaving shit around for him to eat. The number of times I nagged Nat about spools of thread, or shoelaces, or twist ties. I looked at that bobbin yesterday and thought "I should put that away before Peri gets at it." I did not put it away. I was starting to convince myself that I killed my cat. That this whole thing was my fault. Poor Nat sitting next to me in this vet room. He is not an affectionate person. He does not touch. I doubt we have ever hugged. Here we are, and I'm holding my cat and crying. He mustered up all his courage and touched my shoulder. We stan one emotionally unavailable roommate.

As it turned out, it didn't matter. The x-ray revealed that the mass in his stomach had moved to his chest. His lungs were scalloped around the edges and there was fluid around his heart.

Nat and I both cried and killed an entire box of tissues. Peri let me hold him and he even gave us some moops. The vet told me to just keep talking. And the only thing I remember saying was that he had been such a good mommy to those ferals we fostered because he did such a good job of raising me, first.

So best boy, lover of Popsicle sticks, Wrong Tail haver, spottiest cat and cattiest spot, Peri Pants McGee, the Periman, Pman, Mr. Mooperman, and any other name I called him over the last 15 years was the best cat that most of you never got to meet.

His favorite thing in the world was when I put a blanket over my legs and then he laid on the blanket. He liked to lick my toes and ankles, which was the worst. He was a very good reason to stay alive on certain days when that didn't seem to be a priority. He was my best friend, and I love him.

[dream-in-seoul]

Rant warning, medical issues warning. Please don't read if talk about chronic issues will trigger you, this is just to get things off my chest.

I am so exhausted. I have been ill since 2020, but December 2023 my health started getting even worse and it keeps progressing and the medical system is so frustrating. I had so many medical appointments this year that led to nothing. Even more that I needed but I juat cannot get through the wait list.

The myriad of gynaecological issues is actively shaving off my will to live. I have changed my gyno this year. After two visits I swore not to come in again after she screamed at me for coming in with acute inflammation week before my flight because "she is not there to worry about how I enjoy my vacation " I said it is not just vacation and I am leaving for two months. She said: "that's not too long. Unless it's 6 months, you can wait"

Thankfully I got lucky and they helped me in korea and haven't had an inflammation since as far as I know, but the lack of proper treatment fucked me up and I have been dealing with consequences ever since.

Similar thing happened to me earlier this year with another acute inflammation. I went to gyno er (completed empty) and the doctor kicked me out for taking space for really sick patients after she found out my main gyno is her friend. Her friend ruined my life in 2021 when she kept claiming there is nothing wrong with me till I got so bad my physio told me "I have never seen someone in a state as poor as yours". I will most likely never completely heal from it.

I have a suspicion for pcos or/and endometriosis. Sadly the only practioners that diagnose it in this damn country want insane money for each visit that I just cannot afford. Tell me, why do I pay 300 dollars a month for insurance?

There is a suspicion for breast cancer. I have been on a waiting list for an examination since end of May. Cool.

I am so desperate I am getting my wisdom teeth pulled out today just because there is a small chance it might help my body heal better and help it stay free of inflammation.

Out of pocket of course. What else to expect from dental care but hey, at least they will do it.

Endocrinology? I get tested in labs out of pocket, because no place accepts new patients.

I am exhausted from being my own doctor, being shoved around, waiting. Paying for what my insurance should cover.

I am tired of constantly finding new gynecologists.

I had to quit my job because my pain is so bad it is impossible to be on regular schedule.

And the pain in my arms? Don't get me started. I was getting a hang of it before my doctor (who I waited for for months) gave me random pills after he twisted my arm for a minute. After two pills I started loosing sense in my hands. Why? Because they were rapidly slowing down your blood flow. Why does a pill like that even exist and why give it to someone who had low blood pressure and possible POTS.

Anyways, it feels like I watch people around me live their lives while I am stuck in hell. I am sure anyone with chronic issues understand.

And I am angry and frustrated and most of the days I don't have the energy to keep fighting because honestly what for? So more health issues pop up?

[strawberrysunsets]

The Empty World (Ch. 10)

Donald Pierce x fReader

Status: Ongoing

Summary: Pierce and the Reavers are sent to capture a mutant with mysterious abilities. This chapter: The mutant sets out on their first assignment for Transigen, amid mounting tension with the Reavers.

Warnings: Swearing, injuries, mention of cannon death, mention of cannon torture, mention of cannon suicide, manipulation.

Angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Author's Note: Hiiiii yes tis I another six months later lol hope you enjoy💓

It was late when you woke the next day. The alarm clock by your bed flashed red digits– 3:00pm – and you only had a moment to float in the thoughtless peace of waking before a knot of anxiety settled in your stomach.  

While last night’s encounter with Pierce was still fresh in your mind – a little thrill of revulsion dancing through you at the thought – it wasn’t the cause for your nerves. Nor was it the constant worry over whether Laura and the other mutants were safe. No; the adrenaline mounting in your system as you stumbled to the bathroom to brush your teeth was solely a result of the fact that after a week of waiting, and briefing, and training your injured shoulder back into shape, the day of your assignment had finally arrived. 

You washed your face, drying it with a hand towel before dressing in the uniform you’d laid out the day before. 

You hadn’t lasted long in high school before taking to the road, but you remembered the feeling of walking into a room to take a test you knew you weren’t prepared for. This was something like that. Except you were surrounded by literal enemies, here – not just the disapproving gazes of teachers – and the stakes of this test were life and death. If you failed this assignment, would Transigen even bother keeping to your deal? Or would they decide you were of more use to them chained to a table in a lab than out in the field?

…and if you succeeded? You’d tried not to think about it. But how many lives might suffer the consequences of Zenith Lab’s scientist falling into Transigen’s hands?

You found yourself gripping the edge of the table by your window, your knuckles turning white as you stared emptily out at the view before you. The empty lot, where last night, you'd confronted Pierce. You turned away, massaging your temples. It was an exercise in futility, trying to predict the possible outcomes of your actions. For now, only one thing was certain: as long as you worked for Transigen, Laura and the others were safe. Or as safe as you could make them. And they'd been through enough. You squeezed your eyes shut against the barrage of horrible images your mind threatened to dredge up from Gabriela's video. You had to focus. 

Your mission was simple. 

The target was Zenith Lab’s complex, a skyscraper in the downtown core of Mexico City with a security system designed specifically to keep intruders like Transigen’s agents out. So, for the Reavers to gain entry to the building, that security system had to be disabled. There was only one issue: the security hub lay on the high rise’s twenty-seventh floor, and no aircraft could deploy an air team to reach it without being detected by the lab’s scanners. Something smaller, though–say, a winged mutant–wouldn’t trip those sensors. There was a reason Clark, the security coordinator, had had you memorizing floor plans for a week. 

It would be up to you to take out the security mainframe, allowing the Reavers access to the building.  

Seeing as I’m carrying this whole damn plan on my shoulders, you thought, sifting through the equipment you’d acquired from the recon manager– you’d think this job would at least come with dental. But no; just the slim promise of freedom for Laura and the other mutants, and an even slimmer paycheck. 

You pulled on the bullet proof vest and slotted the taser into its holster at your hip–silently glad they’d only given you nonlethal means of disarming the guards–then examined the final item in your kit. It was an armpiece, meant to be worn like a cuff around your bicep. Upon turning it over, the only identifying information you could find were a barcode and manufacturer’s label, and you scrutinized it for a moment before putting it on. 

A tracker? To make sure you stayed on course? It seemed superfluous, since you weren’t going anywhere with Transigen’s threat looming over Laura and the others. And since Clark had said you’d be out of radio contact until you’d disabled the mainframe to avoid detection, it couldn’t be a transmitter of any sort. What, then? 

You mulled over the question as you made your way through the lab’s stark hallways, even as you mentally reviewed the stages of tonight’s plan. Fly to Zenith Labs. Break in through the roof door, which would be locked but unguarded, then take out whatever skeleton staff were on the nightshift at the security hub. Finally, meet Pierce and his Reavers as they executed the rest of the plan, and get the hell out of dodge. 

Simple, if not exactly easy. 

The rest of the late day passed in the same gray blur as all your days at Transigen, different only because of your mounting anxiety. 

Nightfall found you in the lobby as a Reaver named ‘Kills’ dispersed earpieces to Reavers who waited impatiently by the door or cracked jokes in groups along the walls. There were less than a dozen in total; all the same rough, macho-sadist types who seemed drawn to the Reaver corps like moths to a flame. You stood out amongst them like a sore thumb, even as you tried to make yourself invisible. It would've been hard enough to keep a low profile as the only non leather-wearing, gun-toting one among them, let alone the only woman, mutant, and goddamn avian. As it was, you tried to look as cold and disinterested as possible in order to repulse their attention. Pierce hadn’t yet appeared, and it was with a mixture of dread and anticipation that you thought of running into him tonight.

Finally the Reavers began moving towards the lab’s doors, and you followed them out, the night air quickly snapping everything into hyperfocus. 

It was a warm, humid night, and the sounds of the city felt alien to you after days in the quiet sterility of the lab. It felt like ages since you’d last walked a city’s streets, and been a part of that noise. Some part of you wondered if you ever would again. 

Three black trucks were parked in a line down the lab’s drive, and the Reavers were moving around them and climbing inside. Someone directed you towards one, and you climbed inside, pulling your wings in tight to avoid brushing the doors. 

There were five Reavers already inside the truck, and all glanced up as you entered, save the man typing away on a laptop. Their faces were cold and dispassionate, but beneath that mask, you recognized a plethora of emotions. Disgust. Hatred. Malicious interest. Once again, your instincts told you to run –that this was a tiger’s cage, and you were a fool for stepping into it. 

But these assholes aren’t hunting me anymore, you thought to yourself, forcefully. They already won. I’m here by choice.  

The truck’s door slid shut behind you, and you set your jaw. Go figures the actual mission would be the least of your problems tonight. These men seemed primed for a fight, and you could feel their sights quickly settling on you. 

“You can sit down here, doll,” a man with a thick bullet-proof vest and an abundance of side holsters said, grinning as he nodded to his lap. “C’mon over.”

You glared at him, and lowered yourself into the nearest empty seat. “I’d rather not catch whatever brain-eating disease you have,” you snapped back, “thanks.” 

“Damned if we gotta work with a fucking mutey,” one of the other men muttered, clicking his gun into its holster emphatically.  

“Hey, she’s on our side, now!” Another laughed. He had stubbled cheeks and a purple bandana tied around his neck. “Gonna help us take out her own kind, just like that albino traitor,” he taunted lazily. “Ain’t that right, girl?”

A hot flush of anger overtook you, along with a sudden sense of claustrophobia at the van’s tight quarters. They don’t get to fucking mention Caliban. For a moment there was a loud buzzing in your ears, and a tide of memories and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Then you shoved the thoughts of Caliban back behind their wall , and turned on the Reavers. 

“We’re not hunting mutants tonight, piss-brain,” you shot back at the man with the bandana. “Did you miss the briefing? I know reading comprehension is above your paygrade, but it’s a fucking scientist you’re after.” 

It felt good to see the man’s gaze darken. “Guess that depends if we find any,” he replied, lip curling in a humorless smile. “Who knows what they’re hiding up there?” He leaned towards you conspiratorially, revealing the line of tattoos that stretched down his neck below the bandana. “Me, I'm hope there’s a few mutts,” his smile grew colder, and his eyes raked over your face in search of a reaction. “It’d be nice to have a little target practice.” 

Heat prickled down your spine, and you didn’t break his gaze. You weren’t going to be baited by this asshole. 

One of the other men–the bald one–was smiling, too; the same lazy malice written on his face as he watched you. “It has been a while since we got some hunting in,” he agreed. “Heard those kids gave quite the chase. But I’m sure ol’ Wolvey took the cake.” 

Your skin flushed hotter before you could get a handle on yourself. 

“How many shots did he take before he went down?” The bald man continued, turning to the other quizzically as bandana-man pursed his lips in thought. “Fuck, gotta be two-dozen?” He smiled, turning his gaze back to you as he let out a low whistle. 

The tension in the truck was thick as tar, and finally even the man on the laptop looked up, glancing between you and the Reavers. 

The buzzing in your mind felt like it was growing louder, like a freight train overtaking you; and all at once, the hot, prickling sensation on your skin resolved itself into something familiar. Something like crackling energy, and an awful golden light lurking just beyond your fingertips. 

The blood drained from your face. 

“You know ‘bout that, feathers?” The first man was asking, leaning forward as if in earnest. “Naw, she wasn’t there,” the other Reaver replied. “Missed the whole thing! Gotta tell her about it.”

What would happen if your powers returned, here and now? If your Ether flared inside this truck?

You had no idea, but you doubted there’d be any survivors. 

And would that be so bad? Some dark part of you whispered, lulling you towards the crackling energy. To end this awful game, and go out with a fucking bang? To take some of these assholes with you? 

Some distant, reasonable part of you was shouting for your attention, but far nearer was the forgefire of everything you’d shoved behind a wall in your mind. It was rage, and fear, and months of unprocessed grief–and that dam wasn’t going to hold forever. 

Somewhere outside the truck, there were voices, and engines revving–but they seemed far away compared to the dark, taunting eyes of the men before you. One little slip, one burst of energy–and they’d be gone, and you’d be gone from this place. 

The stillness of the truck was shattered as the front passenger door swung open, and a familiar figure climbed inside, blond hair tousled from the wind. The man with the bandana leaned back in his seat, breaking eye contact, and the bald man smiled sardonically as he shifted away, too. 

“Boys,” Pierce greeted, his gaze roving over the Reavers before settling on you. “Playin’ nicely?” 

The heat was high in your cheeks, and the buzzing in your mind still grappled for your attention as you tried to regain control. Now’s not the time to lose it, you told yourself, trying to shove the energy back behind its wall. Not with so much on the line. You couldn’t be so selfish. 

You could feel Pierce’s gaze on you, and from the corner of your eye you saw when the man on the computer glanced up, briefly locking eyes with Pierce as they seemed to exchange some sort of information. Pierce sat back in his seat, sighed once through his nose, then swung back out of the truck. You barely registered it when he appeared at your side door, sliding it open and taking hold of your arm as he pulled you back out into the night. 

Too surprised to resist, you landed on the sidewalk, and he shoved the door shut behind you, suddenly cutting you off from the scene within. 

“What are you doing?” You asked dumbly, slowly returning to yourself as he shepherded you down the walkway. Pierce only snorted, directing you towards one of the other trucks. “C’mon, baby,” he drawled, opening its door and herding you inside. “We're gonna ride recon.” 

***

The inside of the recon truck was quiet as it rumbled through the city streets, lights and the occasional bright storefront flashing past outside. The radio played a late-night mexican station and the transceiver crackled with brief messages and replies from the convoy, while the man in the passenger seat watched what appeared to be a live feed from outside Zenith Labs. 

They were headed to a drop point, from which you’d get airborn and make your way to the building while the Reavers followed from the ground. 

Pierce was listening to the transceiver's chatter, judging by the tilt of his head, and idly adjusting one of the components of his mechanical arm as the driver wove the truck through the midnight streets. The Reaver Commander wore his usual fatigues, black t-shirt, and leather jacket; but now with the addition of a kevlar vest, and holsters on either side of his hips. He was ready for a fight; but then again, he always looked ready for a fight. 

Finally, Pierce sighed.  

“I spent plenty of time around soldiers,” he said conversationally, shifting back against the truck's netted wall. “After a while, you learn the look of someone who’s about to break.” He met your gaze briefly, knowingly, as he twisted the metal dial that was his forearm in a series of smooth clicks.

You looked away, trying not to think about what had happened with the Reavers in the other truck. How you’d almost lost control. So easily, so quickly–and still, how the energy behind your mind’s wall seemed agitated, like a pot of water on too high heat. 

“Seen it happen,” Pierce continued. “Watched ‘em puke up their guts, or run for home…usually at the first fight, or first kill. First time facing bad odds,” he smiled drily. “And I wouldn’t care a whit about you going haywire on us,” he sighed, “except I seen what you can do when you break.” 

That day on the overpass. A car wreck, and an explosion of swirling golden Ether. 

You winced, and you could feel your usual composure eluding you. You knew that bits of your feelings were getting through; the shame. The anger. Fear. There was no stopping them. You swallowed, taking a deep breath. The least you could do was try to settle your stomach. There was a chance you might lose control and vaporize someone tonight, but you were not going to puke. 

Pierce was unfazed, staring at you as he leaned back. “Thing is, baby-" His mouth curved in an unfeeling smile. “-there’s a whole lot of people riding on tonight’s little operation. So I'll thank you not to blow the whole thing sky-high before we even get started.” 

“I’m not going to jeopardize your precious little kidnapping mission,” you snapped back. “I’m not going to break.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you returned your gaze to the window as you ignored the hollowness of your own words. 

In truth, you were relieved beyond measure that he’d pulled you away from the Reavers in that moment. You didn’t know what might have happened if you’d stayed, and didn’t want to consider it. Stupid, perceptive bastard. As it was, you still felt like your control was balancing on a knife’s edge–and the mission which that afternoon had felt impossible now felt like a death sentence. If you wanted to get through this, you couldn’t delve into your feelings. You had to do –not think. Not feel. 

“I’m not going to break,” you breathed, repeating it more to yourself than anyone else. Pierce sighed through his nose, not bothering to argue the point, then leaned forward and tugged at one of the straps of your vest, unfastening it.

“Hey–” you jerked away in surprise. His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Let me help you, sugar. You done it up all wrong.” 

Your breathing grew shallow as he leaned forward, his hands working deftly to pull the strap from its loop.

This close, his stature was even more intimidating than usual; your entire world taken up by his tall frame and thick arms. As if sensing your thoughts, Pierce smirked. His face was shadowed in the darkened car, but you could feel it. Asshole. 

"Easy, baby. Can't have your gear on wrong, now, can we?" 

His arms encircled you as he crossed the straps behind your back, and for a moment the warmth of his biceps pressed into your shoulders, and you could smell the musky, cheap scent of his aftershave. You turned your eyes skyward, ignoring the proximity of his neck and jaw, and tried to keep your thoughts from straying inevitably towards last night. Futilely. Your cheeks reddened. 

Then he was before you once more, fastening the straps tightly; his face shadowed, though the flash of the streetlamps illuminated the skull and crossbones inked across his neck. You made a mental note to mention to him how tacky the tattoo was, as soon as you'd regained your focus. Right now, you were too distracted; torn somewhere between the vile, magnetic pull of him, and the unnervingness of his physicality. Even without his robotic arm, he was frighteningly strong-and exactly the wrong kind of person to wield that power.

Still, his proximity calmed a small part of you by some infinitesimal amount. For even after witnessing your near loss of control, Donald Pierce didn’t seem scared of you. And in some way, that helped you feel less scared of yourself. Even if his character tended to counteract that effect. 

He finished with the vest, and you took a breath, nerves zinging as he leaned away. 

“There you go, sweetheart. All good,” he said, half mocking.

You thought his assessment over, but then his gaze fell to your arm. You’d almost forgotten the armband, but Pierce reached forward to grip your bicep, turning it into his view. His hands were firm; clinical in their assessment, but still the smirk remained. 

“No one told you how to put the damn thing on?” He asked, fiddling with something on the armband so that it clicked more firmly into place. 

“I didn’t exactly get workplace training,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady and unbothered by your racing heart.

The truck was beginning to slow, finally, and you examined the sharp lines of his face in the halflight. “What is that thing, anyway?”

Pierce sat back, finally widening the space between you as he took his radio from the wall, slotting it into his belt. 

“Technical,” he replied. “Keeps your gear from emitting frequencies scanners might pick up while you’re on the way in.” 

You processed this information, idly straightening your shirt as the van rolled to a stop. Sometimes it was easy to forget that beyond the gun-obsessed, vaping, muscle-shirt wearing exterior, Pierce was smart. You'd worked as a mechanic, and were a dab hand at fixing basic wiring and the like-but Pierce was on another level. He'd designed his own mechanical arm out of advanced robotics, along with the enhancements on other Reavers-and seemed to have a disturbingly good understanding of things like energy signatures and transmissions. Power, in the worst possible hands. 

You heard other engines cutting off outside, and Pierce leaned forwards, pulling open the truck's side door as the night wind rushed in. You climbed unsteadily out, wings flaring for balance as you found your footing on the rocky ground. 

The place where the trucks had stopped appeared to be a dusty, dead-end road, slightly elevated from the rest of the city by a small hill. It was bordered on one side by a chainlink fence, and on the other by a grassy expanse which led down towards the roofs of some houses. 

“Now, you do what you gotta do to hold up your end of the bargain tonight, sugar,” Pierce said, swinging out of the truck after you. “No room for anything else. We’re gonna be right behind you.” He grinned. “In spirit, if not in the flesh.” 

The truck stopped across from you was the one from before, and as you watched, the Reavers from within climbed out to lean against the doors or hang from the windows. Purple bandana leaned against its side, while the bald man watched from the open door. His gaze was gloating, but you ignored it. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were all watching you-sizing you up; as if waiting for something.

Pierce leaned against the recon truck, his tall frame impossible to ignore at your back; and you realized what they were all waiting for. 

You. Of course they were going to watch you take off; for you were a freak, and they had front row seats to the show.

A pang of anxiety shot through you at the thought. You'd always known how much the Reavers hated you; hated all mutants-but it was a different beast to feel it. This was truly what you were to them. An aberration; some strange, depraved mistake that nature made, and on which they had the chance to profit. You didn't feel confidant under their scrutiny, but you sure as hell weren't going to show them how much it rattled you.

Might as well make it worth their while, you thought, jaw clenching. You took a few anticipatory breaths, and bounced on the balls of your feet as you worked up your courage.

Just do. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Take the damn sociopath's advice, and do what you have to do to get through the night. 

“Catch you on the other side,” Pierce grinned, wolflike in the darkness. 

Without waiting to reply, you took a running start towards the grassy slope. The air was cool on your hot cheeks as you sprinted, leaving all thought behind. The chainlink fence and red roofs of the houses at the bottom of the slope grew nearer, and then your feet left the ground, and the sudden sensation of weightlessness hit you like a wall as your wings fanned out on either side. 

They’d chosen a good take-off point. The natural updraft of the hill caught you almost immediately, carrying you effortlessly up and away from the shrinking roofs. 

Your newly-healed muscles ached at the exertion, but the ache was dull, dampened by the sudden thrill of flight. It felt like leaving it all behind; like escaping the tethers of your mind, and throwing fear to the wind. 

How long had it been, since you really flew ? But you couldn’t think about that now; only the task ahead. 

Far below, truck doors slammed as Reavers climbed back inside and the black vans pulled away from the drop point. And high above, you wheeled towards the city; focus honed to a single point of intent as you worked to pick out the dark shape of one specific skyscraper among the rest.

Taglist:

@humongousgalaxycoffee @drowningnikki @mischiefmanaged71 @lostcause514 @capvengrs @forever-nerd @pancakesandlolliepops @kingredking @gremlinfuck @marvel-at-my-obsession @padawansubscription @rebeccaofrivia @toobsock @darkengene

[harveybwabbit92]

{R/n has been kidnapped after some aliens mistake her for Tregear's new human form, she's being tortured by one them who asks her for the location foe some device Tregear stole from them a very long time ago.]

Kidnapper: Impressive... most would be unconscious from the pain by now how are you able to block it out?

R/n, hanging from the ceiling by her wrists: The adrenaline helps. So does the fear of death. There's a lot of both. But My only solace is thinking about inflicting this pain on people like you.

Kidnapper, guffaws: Ah... you don't really mean that... do you? I think I better leave you alone for a while...

{The kidnapper stood up just a tarot card suddenly drops from the ceiling which distract the kidnapper they pick the card up and examine it; failing to notice Tregear suddenly appearing behind them.]

R/n, smirks: Oh...I think it'll be much longer then that...

Kidnapper: Ha?~

{Tregear quickly gets them into head lock and jams his finger into their head.]

Tregear: Oh the reaper.... Looks like you pulled the wrong card.~

Kidnapper, looks between R/n and Tregear in disbelief: Wha-But, you can't be...then who is-

*Tregear energy bolts them in the head and they drop dead*

Tregear,unties R/n's wrists and starts carrying her out of the room: Do me a favor and keep your eyes on me...

[R/n almost complied but the curiosity got the better of her; she peeked and almost wished she hadn't

Tregear really went into overkill on her captors, like they would need to use dental records just to identify them kind of overkill. Well, the ones that still had their jaws intact anyways; it was horrid... And whats worst a little part of her felt a dark thrill seeing all that carnage around her, but R/n just chalked that those feelings up to the frost giant instincts she got from Be/r's gene splicing. ]

Tregear: I said not to look...

R/n: Trust me, I've seen way worst...

Tregear, knowing exactly what she's talking about: Those aren't your memories, you aren't Bel/r.

R/n, glares at him: I know who I am Tregear.

Tregear: Good, just keep talking to me...

{R/n noted Tregear was acting off...was she that badly injured? it's weird she doesn't feel hurt...just really tired.]

Tregear: Don't close your eyes, R/n.

[Tregear pinches her arm causing R/n yelp and glare at Tregear didn't even giggle or smirk at her reaction which further worried the woman, as Taro's giant form waited outside for them, under Tregear's instructions he flew them to a secluded area that R/n recognized as Tregear's lab entrance.

Taro shrank down to human size and tried to follow them inside but Tregear snapped his fingers and this nozzle appeared from out of the ground and sprayed this purple mist into Taro's face; he collapsed to the ground asleep. Next thing R/n knew she being gently placed into a strange pod.]

Tregear: You can sleep now.

R/n, dozing off: But... wait.. what is this thing-

[Cut to 3 days later, R/n wakes up fully healed to see Tregear at his computer sounding frustrated and concerned.]

Tregear: Run the test again.

HEiLDa: Result: positive, subject is six weeks along.

Tregear: Again.

HEiLDa: Result: positive subject is six weeks along.

Tregear: Again...

HELiDa: ERROR: Subject is awake.

[Tregear whips his head around to see a disoriented R/n watching him from inside the pod.]

R/n, as Tregear: helps her out of the pod: What's going on? Am I sick.

Tregear:...No, not quite.

[R/n had to spend another three days in the pod after she fainted from hearing the news: she and Tregear were going to be parents.]

[smuppetshowmovie]

date: October 18, 2022 caption: puppet test project: The Smuppet Show

In this video, I'm testing out an idea for how to make the puppets "talk." The steps are:

needle felt a ball for the head

need felt one big eyeball and stick it to the head, then get lazy and decide to skip the second eyeball

use scissors to cut the head almost in half, forming a big mouth (then needle felt everything around the mouth a lot to firm things up)

felt a long tube for the body, then stick that to the head

check the size by sticking the puppet on doll!John's arm

use a sewing needle to fish knotted dental floss through the head - the one I'm pulling on in the video has the knot buried near the top of the head. I also tried to anchor a knot in the lower jaw ... that worked OK (and was something I used occasionally on later puppets, but moving the whole head produced a more satisfying motion in this one).

When the string is pulled, the whole head moves up and down! Hooray! This might actually work!

[video description: A Ken doll in light blue capri sweatpants and a dark blue cropped sweatshirt holds aloft an crude needle felted hand puppet (looking not entirely unlike one made from a white tube sock). A human hand reaches into the frame and tugs on one of the strings hanging down from the puppet, causing the puppet head to bob up and down.]

[behindthearmory]

My spouse lost their job due to discrimination in July, almost a year ago. My spouse is nonbinary, butch, autistic, and deals with chronic pain. Their boss couldn’t deal with my spouse calling out bullshit and addressing mistakes, which was always done gently and privately because spouse is thoughtful and considerate.

Spouse got a nine month severance but it ended a few days ago. They are applying to jobs but they’ve only gotten one interview in all these months and it was in September.

We’re selling things and downsizing and we’re moving to a more affordable unit in July, but we still need help. I need a dental implant that will cost $4,000 and I have a wisdom tooth that needs to be pulled. Spouse needs some tests and lab work that’s hundreds out of pocket.

I sell art. Spouse does academic editing. I would email them instead of using the chat function on their website if you’re interested in working with them.

Thank you for your consideration, time, and attention.

[fivetrench]

Got some teeth pulled thinking it would be the end of my suffering, just to have things get 10x worse and end up in the hospital 👍🏻

I need to rant about these stupid fucking moronic ignoramus dentists for a second so ignore this if you don’t want to hear about the literal dumbest medical malpractice to ever happen.

I had a cavity in my back molar on my upper left jaw. I went to the dentist four fucking times and they didn’t do anything that stopped the constant nerve pain. I gave up and was just going to live with it until a quarter of my fucking tooth snapped off while I was flossing because it was so entirely rotted that it had no structure anymore. They had told me time and time again that there were no signs of decay on the million x-rays they took, that it was just the fillings settling, that I just needed some fucking prescription toothpaste. Well, they were wrong and my tooth was rotting out of my goddamn skull for so long that the gum around it was inflamed and hurt to touch. So we go back to the dentist, they finally do something and give us a referral to the oral surgeon to get the tooth pulled. We go to the appointment and SURPRISE! They had no record of the prior examination of the broken tooth or the referral to get it pulled. So we had to fucking leave. We got rescheduled for weeks later. When it’s time for the appointment, they pull my rotting molar but also include my bottom wisdom teeth since they would’ve caused problems later on. Cool, great, whatever. They give me a prescription for an antibiotic and painkiller. In the WRONG PATIENT’S NAME. So we try to call them. For a week. Nothing. They did not answer or call back or anything. So I just had three fucking teeth pulled, one of which was literally decaying inside my mouth for a year, and no antibiotics for almost a week afterwards. To no one’s surprise, I got an infection in the area where one of my wisdom teeth was pulled. Constant pain, the wound was leaking a disgusting brown fluid that tasted so bad I thought I was going to vomit, and I could barely open my mouth enough to eat. So we go to the ER. I’m there for eight hours. 12am to 8am. The whole time my mouth tastes horrible, I’m delirious from lack of sleep, and I’m getting blood draws and IVs put in and CAT scans that aren’t helping with the fact that I feel like I can barely walk. Finally, my tests come back and the infection somehow hasn’t spread to the jaw bone, so they give me a stronger antibiotic and more painkillers. The end. I just can’t believe that this happened. All of this shit happened over the course of a full calendar year. 365 days of nerve pain and useless appointments and just being so damn tired. Doesn’t help that school just started and I now have Fs in almost all of my classes since I’ve missed so much. I’m just so angry. All of this could’ve been avoided had they just done their fucking jobs right. We’re never going back to that dentist’s office. If you live in northeast Ohio, stay the fuck away from Hudec Dental. They have no clue what they’re doing and will only make your situation worse. They are dangerously incompetent. Literally ruined a year of my life.