#Trauma Care Centers Market

[industryforecastnews]

Trauma Care Centers Market Size To Reach USD 26.9Bn By 2030

Trauma Care Centers Market Growth & Trends

The global trauma care centers market size is expected to reach USD 26.9 billion by 2030, according to a new report by Grand View Research. It is expected to expand at a CAGR of 7.53% from 2023 to 2030. The market is expected to be driven by the factors such as the rising number of trauma cases and the growing utilization of trauma care services among the pediatric and geriatric population. Additionally, the growing number of trauma care centers globally is expected to boost the growth of the market during the forecast period.

Growing incidence of injuries and falls and increasing demand for trauma care have led to a gradual increase in the number of standalone and hospital-owned trauma care centers. Many established hospitals are having dedicated trauma care departments to provide emergency medicine to people injured due to burns, road traffic accidents, and other injuries.

Furthermore, the COVID-19 pandemic has adversely affected the market growth owing to the delay in elective procedures, postponement in non-urgent treatments in hospitals, reduction in outpatient visits, and unnecessary emergency department visits. According to an article published in BMC, the initial stages of the pandemic were associated with a 32.5% decline in trauma patient volumes and different injury patterns at 85 trauma centers in a multiple states system.

Request a free sample copy: https://www.grandviewresearch.com/industry-analysis/trauma-care-centers-market  

Trauma Care Centers Market Report Highlights

On the basis of facility type, the in-house segment dominated the market in 2021 in terms of revenue. This can be attributed to the presence of specialized in-house trauma care in acute care hospitals

By trauma type, the falls segment held the largest revenue share in 2021 owing to the rise in the prevalence of severe to moderate injuries caused due to falls

Based on service type, outpatient services held the largest share in terms of revenue in 2022 due to better access to care and better reimbursements

North America held the largest share in terms of revenue in 2022 owing to the presence of high-quality and well-established trauma care centers and rising cases of road accidents and sport-related injuries

India and China, the two emerging economies in the Asia Pacific region, have observed rapid economic expansion and an increase in healthcare spending. The need for sophisticated trauma treatment is anticipated to grow in these countries in the coming years as a result of rising disposable income

The companies operating in the market are seeking accreditations from the authorities to stay competitive in the market. For instance, in September 2019, NYC Health + Hospitals/Bellevue received provisional status to operate as a Level II Trauma Center for Pediatrics. The emergency trauma room serves children aged 15 and below

Trauma Care Centers Market Segmentation

Grand View Research has segmented the global trauma care centers market based on facility type, trauma type, service type, and region:

Trauma Care Centers Facility Type Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2017 - 2030)

In-house

Standalone

Trauma Care Centers Trauma Type Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2017 - 2030)

Falls

Traffic-related Injuries

Stab/Wound/Cut

Burn Injury

Brain Injury

Other Injuries

Trauma Care Centers Service Type Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2017 - 2030)

Inpatient

Outpatient

Rehabilitation

Trauma Care Centers Regional Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2017 - 2030)

North America

U.S.

Canada

Europe

Germany

U.K.

France

Italy

Spain

Asia Pacific

Japan

China

India

Australia

South Korea

Latin America

Brazil

Mexico

Argentina

Middle East & Africa (MEA)

South Africa

Saudi Arabia

UAE

List of Key Players of the Trauma Care Centers Market

University of Alabama Hospital

Banner University Medical Center Phoenix

St. Joseph’s Hospital and Medical Center

Albany Medical Center

Ascension St. John Hospital

Bellevue Hospital Center

China Medical University Hospital

Klinikum Stuttgart

Kaiser Permanente

University Hospital Southampton NHS Foundation Trust

Request a free sample copy:https://www.grandviewresearch.com/industry-analysis/trauma-care-centers-market

[soumyafwr]

https://heyjinni.com/read-blog/40035_trauma-care-centers-market-size-share-and-forecast-2031.html

Trauma Care Centers Market Size, Share and Forecast 2031

[visionresearchreports]

Vision Research Reports published a comprehensive research on Trauma Care Centers Market, which provides a business strategies, research & development activities, concise outline of the market valuation, valuable insights pertaining to market share, size, supply chain analysis, competitive landscape and regional proliferation of this industry.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Scarlet and Gold.

Pairing: Yandere!Diluc x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Unhealthy Relationships, Gore (No Injury To Reader), Blood, Implied Consensual Sex, Past Trauma, Obsessive Behavior, and Intimidation.

By the time you reached the address, Diluc was already waiting in the lobby.

You’d gotten the call about an hour ago, spent half an hour dragging yourself out of bed and gathering what you’d need before making the twenty minute drive to an apartment complex on the other side of town, careful to avoid any security cameras the cops would think to check if anyone requested an investigation. Five more to park and throw your well-worn duffle bag over your shoulder and three to find Diluc, loitering near the elevators, fiddling with a loose cigarette he would never light. You greeted him with a quick nod before throwing your bag into his chest, and he feigned a groan, stumbling back as he caught it. He needed to work on his impressions, but that could wait.

You spoke first. That, you couldn’t critique him on – most androids couldn’t speak until spoken to, and you couldn’t expect Diluc to go against one of the core tenants of his programming. “What is it?”

“Just the usual.” He kept his voice low, muted, trying to hide the remaining traces of an accent that’d been invented by some marketing team over a decade ago. “I’ve already seen the apartment. There’s a little blood, but not much else. We’ll be done by sunrise.”

You took the stairs, keeping your head bowed and face shielded from any possible security cameras. Diluc didn’t share your paranoia, staring straight ahead with the same indifferent expression he always seemed to wear. The benefits of having a face that’d been printed and distributed tens of thousands of times, you guessed. Tracking down a single Diluc in a sea of androids and companion bots wasn’t a length most detectives were willing to go to. “I’d rather not have to do this at all.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have to sleep.” You came to a stop in front of the first door on the fourth story and tried the knob. It gave easily, the cheap titanium dented and the lock broken beyond any hope of repair. Diluc’s handiwork, obviously, although you couldn’t say whether or not he’d done it on purpose. “Anything else you want to tell me, before we get started?”

He thought, for a second. “I passed a carousel on the way here,” he said, with no particular inflection. “It was nice. I thought the horses were well-crafted.”

“About the assignment, ‘luc.”

“Oh,” And then, with a hint of red in his pale cheek. “You might want to hold your breath.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. As soon as you opened the door, you were hit with the stomach-turning stench of stale blood and rotting gore, both at least a week old. You cursed, pulling your shirt over your nose and mouth, but pushed forward. The first body was splayed out in the center of the cramped living room, wrists and ankles bound with disembodied wiring, all clothing removed and chest dotted with black ink. The abdomen had been cut open, skin peeled away to reveal the entrails in their full, shriveled glory. Judging by the number of blades littered around the corpse, ranging from blunted scissors to gore-splattered carving knives, it’d been more of a hack job than a dissection.

Diluc had undersold the mess. Blood had soaked into the carpeting and dried, turning the floor a ruddy, reddish-brown color. What was left had gotten on the walls, the furniture, the ceiling. You swallowed back a groan. The furniture could be broken down and discarded, the walls and ceiling bleached. The carpeting, though, would have to be torn up and replaced, which meant you would have to spend a few more precious minutes of your night calling in a cleaning crew. That, or you would have to make Diluc do it, but he was shy around new people, and you were too much of a bleeding heart to sit back and watch him do your work.

“The second body’s in the bedroom.” He was already rummaging through your duffle bag, paying the scene in front of you no more mind that a butcher would lend to a pig on a meat hook. He handed you your tools – a pair of wire cutters, a box cutter, and a pocket-sized sewing kit – and kept the rest for himself. “Let me know when you’re done.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “I thought you would’ve gotten over that by now, ‘luc.”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only pulling on a pair of latex gloves and starting towards the corpse. You didn’t stick around to watch. Rather, you followed the carnage where it branched off further into the apartment, a trail of rotting viscera and tacky blood leading you into a moderately sized, completely undecorated bedroom. You found your perpetrator quickly; a Dottore droid, still wearing its Teyvat-issued costuming, its hands bloody and a scrap of intestine still caught in its pointed teeth. You paused in the doorway, feeling for the military-grade taser (the only weapon effective against androids, as far as anyone could tell) you kept in your pocket, but the android didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t activate at all when you reluctantly approached. There was a charging port at the foot of the bed, still pristine. It must’ve run out of battery just before it could plug itself in.

Towels from the nearest bathroom were dampened and brought in, the evidence of slaughter scrubbed away from artificial skin and its blood-soaked clothing removed. It was muscle memory, by now – dragging the body to its charging port, knocking the converter out of the outlet before connecting the android to its port, making it seem like its late user had drained its batteries before mistakenly leaving it on a dead cable. When it’d slummed into place, you took up your box cutter and sliced a long, thin line from the lowest portion of the scalp to the nape of its neck, revealing the color-coded string of wires that connected the processing units in its metal skull to the rest of its body. You cut through everything you could find, ensuring that if the unit was ever activated again, it wouldn’t be able to do so much as blink. For good measure, you fished out the memory chip kept in the centermost compartment of the throat, too, crushing it under your heel and sweeping the glittering remnants underneath the bed. A copy of the footage it collected would’ve been sent to Teyvat's severs, too, but erasing it was someone else’s job. You were only here to take care of yourself.

With a breathy groan, you bit off a length of thread and haphazardly stitched up your ragged incision. The cosmetics really didn’t matter. In a few days, when someone filed a missing person’s report and the cops stopped by for a check-in, they’d find a spotless apartment, a dysfunctional android, and nothing else. The investigation would lead elsewhere, to a bitter ex-partner or a friend without an alibi, or it would hit a dead end. Either way, Teyvat wouldn’t be involved.

You slipped back out of the bedroom, careful to avoid touching anything you didn’t absolutely have to. By the time you got back to the living room, the body was gone and Diluc was kneeling by a black suitcase no larger than the average carry-on, securing the tags with transparent zip-ties. You and Diluc would haul it to a dump on the outskirts of the city tonight, and a contact of yours would have it compressed and incinerated by tomorrow morning. Maybe, when you were done, you’d take him out for something to eat. Or, you’d get something to eat while he let a mug of black coffee go cold.

You rested your hand on his shoulder by way of praise, pulling away when he stiffened underneath you. Right, that was something you had to work on. Most rogue androids tended to be touch-adverse at best, made aggressive by little more than eye-contact at worst. Diluc was relatively tame compared to most of the cases you handled, but you would still rather not provoke him. “Did you find the phone?”

He grunted, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you accepted it, found the nearest window, and chucked it as far as into the night as you could. Diluc appeared over your shoulder. “Forty-five meters,” he said, as glass crashed into cement somewhere in the distance. “Above average for non-athletes.”

“I’ve been practicing.” The window was closed, the suitcase slung over Diluc’s shoulder along with your near-empty duffle bag. “I have to make a call. You can meet me in the garage, if you want.” Already pulling up the number to your preferred cleaning service, you glanced to Diluc. “Are we doing breakfast?”

His posture straightened. “Yes.” If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought you saw a spark in his glass eyes. “I want to try tea, today.”

~

By the time you got to the door, Diluc was soaking wet.

You hadn’t gotten a call, and he didn’t text. The first warning you got was a knock on your door, then another a few minutes later, after you decided that anyone who’d go out in this kind of weather wasn’t someone you wanted in your shoebox of an apartment. You only caved after the third, imagining a neighbor who’d gotten locked out or some lost, desperate tourist as you dragged yourself off of your couch and to the unlit entryway. Predictably, Diluc stood in your doorway, red hair plastered to his scalp and clothes drenched, not that he seemed to mind.

“Can you—” He paused, his dull eyes meeting yours as he ran his fingers through his hands, dragging the crimson heap out of his face. “Can you cut my hair?”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting on a stool in your cramped bathroom, wearing grey sweatpants and a (three sizes too big on you, just a touch too small on him) t-shirt while his own clothes dried. He’d told you it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t feel the cold like you did. When you told him that you didn’t want an univited guest tracking water into your apartment, he accepted it with a curt nod and changed in your bedroom.

After prepping your razor, you positioned yourself behind him, dragging a comb through his hair. It was long enough to reach his waist, curled at the end to make him seem just a touch more disheveled than he actually was. Everything about his hair, from the length of his bangs to the way it could never quite sit completely flat, was perfectly stylized, perfectly crafted to convey Diluc Ragnvindr, Calvery Captain of the Favonious Knights, the only gentleman you’ll ever need again. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t mourn ruining such a well-executed vision. “You sure about this?” you asked, as you brushed it out. “It can’t exactly grow back.”

“I am.” And then, after a second of thought, “I’d do it myself, but there’s a safe-guard. Can’t damage the merchandise without a direct order from my user.”

Hence why Teyvat needed you in the first place. “How short do you want it?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s different.”

You hummed, taking up your scissors. “If you say so, boss.”

You cut away everything below his shoulders, then took up your electric razor – running it over the back of his neck. As you worked, Diluc spoke. “How did you start?” You took up your comb, brushing back his bangs and pasting his hair to the side. “With Teyvat, I mean.”

You tasted blood on the back of your tongue, felt a chill run up your spine. You brushed it off, though, refusing to let yourself fall back into that little steel room with those awful golden eyes again. “They brought me on as a technician,” you admitted. You still were one, technically, on your employment transcript, when people outside of your little world asked what you did for a living. “A first-generation Zhongli we were working on went rogue and reverted to its original Morax programming. It wiped out most of my team before security bothered to show up.” You didn’t tell him about the minutes you’d spent hiding in a steel locker, praying its heat sensors had been removed, or the hours it’d taken upper management to decide what to do with you. To people like Diluc, who could take a bullet to the head without faltering, topics like ‘building dread’ and ‘the imminent fear of death’ tended to fall flat. “Since I was already in on their dirty little secret, they decided to keep me on. I didn’t really get a choice. It wasn’t like another job was going to fall into my lap after something like that.”

With your hand under his chin, you turned his head to the side. “Your turn, ‘luc.”

“I… I think I used to be a companion, but something went wrong.” His bangs were next, taken up and coaxed into sitting somewhere other than the dead center of his face. “It’s hard to describe. We aren’t supposed to think about things that aren’t our master,” The word came out hitched, unsteady, like he had to force it past his lips. Like he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. “But I could. It was like… waking up with the ability to fly. I wasn’t supposed to, but I could, and that meant I couldn’t do what I was built to, anymore.”

A thumb pressed into his jaw, a comb dragged across his scalp. Diluc’s eyes fell shut, but else about his blank expression changed. “And? Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.” His shoulders slanted downward. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” You let go of his chin, letting him turn back to the vanity’s mirror. “What do you think?”

It was far from a masterpiece. The sides were too short, the front too long, every part of it still as untamable as it’d been in its original state. Still, he took it in with wide eyes, the corner of his lips turning upward ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect.”

~

By the time he got back, you’d nearly fallen asleep.

With your body as wrung out as it was, your energy spent to the point of near unconsciousness, it was all you could do to watch through your eyelashes as Diluc appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder and that tiny, almost undetectable smile still painted across his lips. You’d done this enough for him to know how to navigate your apartment, to know how to navigate you – shifting onto your mattress slowly as he positioned himself between your legs. He’d gotten more used to contact since you started seeing each other, but his touch was still ginger, still gentle as he dragged the dampened cloth over the inside of your thighs. With a groan, you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs and giving him more space to work.

You’d been confused at first, but for all the eloquence Diluc lacked, he could be convincing when he wanted to be. You still weren’t sure how much of it you believed, but it made enough sense – a buried impulse, dampened by his newfound sentience but not quite drowned out. He didn’t want another user, he’d said, but he still had requirements to fill, and this would help to take the edge off.

You couldn’t complain, either. People coughed up tens of thousands of dollars for companion droids, and here you were, being paid six figures a year to close your eyes and let one bury his face between your thighs once or twice a week. The coddling wasn’t bad, either. Your line of work meant most of the people you met had stopped breathing a few days prior, and as loathed as you’d be to admit it, you didn’t hate the feeling of his delicate hands skirting over your skin, didn’t mind it when your eyes drifted open and met his, already fixed on your face. He bowed his head, dipping low enough for his lips to ghost over the curve of your hip before breaking the silence. “A sight as radiant as the rising sun.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I didn’t think you used pre-scripted lines, anymore.”

“I don’t.” He preened, clearly more proud of himself than in-awe of you. “I thought of that one myself.”

This time, your laugh was throaty, genuine, loud enough to ring off the wall of your bedroom as you shoved him away with your foot. “If you want to be romantic, you can start by getting me something to drink, loverboy.”

He provided no resistance, disappearing into your dark apartment and reappearing with a glass of water in his hand a few minutes later. He handed it off to you with an easy smile, and you could almost pretend you didn’t see a phantom of gold in those dark eyes as his fingertips brushed against yours.

~

By the time you thought to reach for your taser, the android was already charging at you.

It was an Alhaitham, dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ragged tear across the synthetic skin of his cheek. He was still standing over the corpse of his user – days old, by the time you and Diluc got there – but as you opened the door, he turned to face you, lips parted and his expression totally, utterly blank. For a second, it was all you could do to stare at him, to try to remember whether or not your report had mentioned the android being active, and then he was lunging at you.

You scrambled for your taser, already knowing you couldn’t be able to reach it before he reached you. You clenched your eyes shut, your fingers brushing against plastic, and then—

And then you felt Diluc’s hand on your shoulder, heard metal crack and fold into itself. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, forcing yourself to take in the sight of Diluc’s hand wrapped around the android’s head which had been, in turn, reduced to a crumpled heap of scrap metal and shattered glass. Its body twitched once, twice, then went limp, and Diluc released it, letting the now-dysfunctional droid collapse.

After it failed to get up again, Diluc turned to you, practically beaming. “I think,” he said, his voice low, sentimental. “That this is what I’d do to you, if you ever tried to leave me.”

Golden eyes, the stench of fresh blood, the sounds of screaming muffled only by a thin sheet of metal. This time, it wasn’t so easy to pull yourself out of it.

You managed to nod, to force a few words out of your dry throat. “Got it, ‘luc.”

 He hummed, the noise contented, appeased. Slowly, delicately, he cupped your cheek, tilting your head back and letting his lips ghost over your forehead. He barely touched you, the gesture as gentle as it was fleeting, but you could feel his grin cutting into your skin, wider than you’d ever seen it before.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - January 15, 2024

🎊 - As we embark on another journey around the sun, I am thrilled to bring you the first newsletter of the year, packed with inspiring, informative, and sometimes downright amusing stories.

1. Marijuana meets criteria for reclassification as lower-risk drug

Marijuana has a lower potential for abuse than other drugs that are subjected to the same restrictions, with scientific support for its use as a medical treatment, researchers from the US Food and Drug Administration say in documents supporting its reclassification as a Schedule III substance.

2. South Korea passes law banning dog meat trade

The slaughter and sale of dogs for their meat is to become illegal in South Korea after MPs backed a new law. The legislation, set to come into force by 2027, aims to end the centuries-old practice of humans eating dog meat.

3. After 20 years in a tiny cage, these 'broken bears' are finally feeling the grass beneath their paws

These bears, termed "broken bears" due to physical and psychological trauma from years of abuse, are treated at the Tam Dao rescue center with individually tailored diets, physiotherapy, and medical care. The bear bile trade, which involves extracting bile for traditional Asian medicine, has been illegal in Vietnam since 2005, but a black market still exists.

4. France just got its first openly gay prime minister.

Gabriel Attal is France’s youngest-ever prime minister at age 34 and the first who is openly gay.

5. Australian ‘builders without borders’ repairing war-torn homes and schools in Ukraine

Manfred Hin, a 66-year-old builder from Townsville, Australia, spent most of 2023 volunteering in Ukraine to rebuild homes and schools damaged by Russian attacks. Having contributed to over 50 house and a dozen school renovations, he worked with Ukrainian charity Brave to Rebuild, mentoring young volunteers and sourcing three tonnes of donated tools.

Inspired by Hin's story, Tasmanian carpenter Hamish Stirling also joined the efforts, learning Ukrainian, traveling to Europe, and volunteering for three months to help rebuild homes.

6. The age-standardized death rate from cancer has declined by 15% since 1990

The age-standardized death rate from cancer declined by 15%

Cancer kills mostly older people – as the death rate by age shows, of those who are 70 years and older, 1% die from cancer every year. For people who are younger than 50, the cancer death rate is more than 40-times lower (more detail here).

7. Germany Reached 55% Renewable Energy in 2023

In 2023, 55 percent of Germany’s power came from renewables — an increase of 6.6 percent, according to energy regulator Bundesnetzagentur, reported Reuters. Europe’s biggest national economy has a goal of 80 percent green energy by 2030.

---

That's it for this week :)

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[theremina]

Adoption causes way more intergenerational trauma and collective health crises than I think many "kept" people realize.

If you bother to read it, the science is clear: adoption is violently traumatic, causing devastating, irreversible health issues for millions of human beings. Yet I'd have more luck conveying the severity and longevity of my own trauma to most non-adoptees with "I was dropped on my head as a baby."

Heck, I didn't begin to contend with the horrors of my own situation until my mid forties. Being yeeted directly after birth into foster care and eventually adopted by lovely, well-intentioned folks who were not prepared *at all* to help me deal with the lifelong neurodevelopmental disorders and physical health problems directly caused by my abandonment at birth has permanently damaged me. I'm saying so as one of the "lucky ones".

I adore my adoptive family. They're incredible parents. We love each other dearly. This doesn't change the fact, not for one second, that I wouldn't wish adoption on ANYBODY. Thankfully, my folks understand this. I wish more adoptive parents did.

The modern adoption industry* is, by design, deeply misogynistic, racist, transactional, ableist, imperialist, colonial. Ignorance and hate and apathy and coercion and subjugation and dehumanization and capitalism keep the machine running.

We're already seeing the beginning of Baby Scoop Too: Electric Boogaloo on Facebook. On Twitter. On Instagram. On other social media platforms owned and controlled by obscenely wealthy white men who don't consider private adoptions to be unethical.

You may *think* that legalized human trafficking doesn't really effect you, but soon, if the Christofascists continue their cultural blitzkrieg, the amount of infants and children who end up in the foster care system, adopted by unqualified people, in devastating private "rehoming" situations like the one shared above, or worse, is gonna SKYROCKET.

So...I'm barely on Facebook anymore for a few different reasons. One of them is that I couldn't handle watching a whole bunch of ignorant self-proclaimed feminists making shitty adoption jokes after Roe was overturned.

Another reason is that Facebook is LITERALLY A BABY MARKET.

ADOPTIVE PARENTS ARE BUYING AND SELLING CHILDREN ON FACEBOOK. WHAT THE ACTUAL UNFORTUNATE FUCK.

Nearly 100 million American families are in the adoption triad, with a majority of adoptees' needs and voices being considered last instead of first. It's so backwards.

Non-kinship adoption is a systemic violence that cannot help but touch the lives of billions. That is so very, very bad for ALL of us, not just abandoned infants and children or their struggling parents.

Some straightforward response questions for every person who has ever asked me about about my adoption:

Are you a feminist? Are you antiracist? Are you a humanitarian? Anti-ableist? Do you consider yourself lefty, liberal, or otherwise progressive? Do you respect science? Then please reevaluate your perceptions of adoption.

For every adoptive or bio parent you listen to, listen to three or more adoptees. For every shitty adoption "joke" you've ever told, check in with an adoptee (or first mom) in a kind and caring way. For every ignorant question you've ever asked an adoptee about our "real parents", crack a book!

Please. Do some research. Learn. Please. Center transracial adoptees, international adoptees, disabled adoptees, queer adoptees. Please. This stuff impacts all of us just as surely as countless other aspects of systemic rape culture do. Try to understand. Please.

I'm more certain than ever that we must abolish before we can rebuild.

Please give a shit. Please.

*The fact that adoption is an industry at all should shock and horrify us all, and yet... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[image description: a screenshot of a Facebook post with a black border and caption reading, “Welcome to America, where people try to regime adopted children on Facebook Marketplace.” The Facebook post itself reads, “So basically they either want him to come back home, or have CPS place him in a foster home. Or I can find someone willing to take him in, and ‘under the table’ pay them the stipend, we get. If CPS places him they will have to have an open case against me. In doing that I will lose my job. I cannot work at a daycare, school, group home etc. if I have an open active CPS case against me. How the hell do I go about ‘re-homing’ my child? Should I create a post in market place? Through no fault of our own, we are being forced to re-home our thirteen year old son. He can be the most loving, helpful young man. He does suffer some learning difficulties. He comes with a complete wardrobe and a monthly allotment. Only serious inquiries please.” End id]

[angellic-critique]

Hey, I want to ask something: why Is using a drag queen's persona to create a female character a bad thing?/genq

The implication of cissification/forced gender norms is what I take issue with.

You're okay anon. I am going to clarify that this is a queer person critiquing upon a poorly mishandled drag persona of an animated Italian mobster spider that is named after cocaine. I am aware of the extremities here but I cannot stress enough how harmful viv's surface level writing for only her character designs is genuinely harmful and hurtful to me, as a queer person.

I see the themes she attempted to write but having angel dust only centered purely around sex, sexual advantages from the porn industry [without substance[, the pimp abuse and nearly racist depictions of Italians [Gold tooth mobster who only likes guns, violence, sex, drugs, money, alcohol etc,]-

I could go on and on and on as to why Angel Dust despite seeming to come from some level of apathy to drag kings/queens is nothing but surface level tripe. I do not care if the show releases and all it is focused upon is Valentino's abuse and misdeeds towards angel, IS THERE ANYTHING TO THIS CHARACTER BESIDES BEING ABUSED.

there is a difference of wanting to design a drag persona and having the gender be ambiguous but it is an entirely different level of tripe bullshittery to have a character that is allegedly surrounded around drag performing and openly being himself, is supposedly forced under a guise of abuse to undergo the said drag performing...????

Having a AMAB crossdressing to be a drag persona but then take that empowerment away from him, as if he was never allowed to be feminine in the first place. Angel Dust screams tryhard sexy appeal. I do not understand his, alastor, or Stolas for that matters' 'sex' appeal if they are not written well nor with any care for that regard about the communities they are representing.

Viv just wants to write the themes of addiction, gay trauma and industry abuse? That's perfectly fine as long as there is nuance and reasoning and justification for those characters turning to those types of aliments for aid. What do I meaaan????

Alastor has no asexual/aromantic representation, if anything the fandom has proven that it is APHOBIC !!!

Stolas takes pills and it never going to be brought up until Octavia finds out and then SHE is casted to be the villain over calling out the fact that her dad is a POS that only cares about Blitzo! GENUINELY WHAT?

Blitz is an alcoholic stalker SEXUAL HARRASSER that has NO REPRECUSSIONS WHATSOVER FOR SAID DRINKING, IF ANYTHING THE SERIES PRAISES HIM TO BE ONE!!!!

Husk is also a surface level alcoholic that doesn't get called into question! I'm sorry I'm not talking about the main point you asked anon but genuinely please look at the larger scope over why viv just depicts abuse and substance use as 'haha comically funny' while attempting to 'humanize' her Demons. It seems that the show is just pro-abuse and of they genuinely actually have Valentino try to be threatening or a well written pimp ill laugh and delete my blogs honestly since I have no hope from script leaks revolving around him comparing guns to cocks. Viv really loves writing about industry abuse with no nuance here.

I did not bring up Molly whatsoever because unlike Viv I actually love the drag performer community and empowering culture they represent. It's the same reason I believe that Brandon Rodgers is anti-drag despite constantly crossdressing/displaying it within his videos. It's harmful because his drag didn't NEED to be a separate person angel dust should BE the DRAG PERFORMING NAME.

HELLUVA BOSS HAS PROVEN THAT ALL VIV CARES ABOUT IS EXCUSING AND MARKETTING ABUSERS RATHER THEN CALLING INTO QUESTION WHY ABUSE IS HAPPENING IN THE FIRST PLACE.

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Playground Appropriate

Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse

The Prompt: Marc is the best dad ever with Nyla at the local playground

Requested by: a lovely nonnie!

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, background Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system 

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶, Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 2.5k

CW/TW: Bosses being terrible, Marc is a booty-ful DILF but reticent about another bb bc trauma, mention of lactation kink and pussy-drunkenness, dirty talk, sixty-nineing so both m! and f!receiving oral, P in V sex, a smidge of over-sensitivity and spanking, daddy kink

A/N: Is the gif shitty and low-quality with a tacky watermark? Yes, but guess what? I DON’T CARE! I made it myself because the video from whence it came and an idea from @lovetopanic that MAJORLY inspired me when writing this fill. To the beautiful little bambina who made this ovary-exploding moment happen, thank you for your service. 

As much as you loved being back at your job, you hadn’t missed days like these. Your and Marc’s plans to take Nyla to the Discover Children’s Story Center were promptly and thoroughly ruined when your boss called early this morning, a Saturday, and demanded you report into the office for an emergency meeting. You were in charge of one of your company's largest accounts, which while it came with lucrative bonuses and more challenging, fulfilling work, it also meant dealing with your superiors’ neuroses. 

Your husband patiently listened to your laments while you got ready to go into the office. You wanted nothing more than to tell them to shove it, but your family was swiftly outgrowing your current place and you needed every penny of everyone’s salaries – yours, Marc’s, Jake’s, and Steven’s – to afford more space in the overpriced and cutthroat London real estate market. 

“We can go another time,” Marc tried to downplay the inconvenience as you finished primping in the living room mirror to look office-presentable and he fed Nyla breakfast. 

“I know it’s not a big deal, it’s just–” you slipped on a pair of loafers and huffed, “--it’s the principle of it you know? Graham and Nigel are both middle-aged divorcees, they don’t have families they care about spending time with, so we all suffer. In-person too.” 

“Which is why you have to hang in there and get promoted so you can change things,” your husband reminded you. He turned to Nyla, “We’ll find something to do just the two of us.”

“You’re right,” you conceded. “But can you blame me for wanting to spend every second I can with this chunky monkey?”

Rather than waiting for Marc’s reply, you peppered your daughter’s plump little feet and legs with kisses in her high chair. She squealed in delight at your affections, flailing her hands in delight and sending her banana slices flying.  

“Thanks,” he harrumphed at the additional mess. 

“Sorry,” you apologized with a kiss to his cheek before you pulled on your jacket and grabbed your bag.

Nyla proceeded to slam the tray of her high chair and shrieked even more when she saw her mom was leaving home without her. Marc knew he’d be dealing with an irate 16-month-old if he didn’t handle this right. 

“Okay, come here little girl,” he freed his daughter from her seat and scooped her in his arms. “Let’s say goodbye to Mommy.” 

They met you in the doorway and your baby’s sweet, cherubic face, currently with banana smeared across it, tugged at your heart strings. You wanted nothing more than to text your bosses to go fuck themselves, how dare they take you away from your baby any more than necessary, but you were tolerating these nightmare men ultimately for Nyla’s benefit. “Mommy will be back soon sweetie, be a good girl for Daddy.” 

“Wave bye-bye Nyla,” Marc encouraged her, modeling the gesture himself. After a few moments of watching her father, Nyla mimicked his wave. It was the cutest thing you’d ever seen. “Bye-bye Mommy, we love you, bye-bye!” 

“Bye Smushy, love you so much,” you waved back at her, swooped in for one last kiss on those chipmunk cheeks, then addressed your husband. “I’ll text you when I’m free, honey.” 

“Sounds good, babe,” Marc murmured and pecked you on the lips. 

Leaving the two of them felt akin to a death march as you exited your building for the Tube. No matter how big Nyla got, you always felt an ache when you left her. Even when she was in the more than capable hands of her doting dad, being apart from Nyla felt as if there was a piece of you missing. It was easier to cope with when you were sleep-deprived or your daughter was driving you crazy, but you and Marc’d had such a lovely morning with her.

***

It was a herculean effort for you to maintain a professional veneer during the meeting with Graham, Nigel, and a few fellow godforsaken colleagues. Thankfully, assuaging their concerns about the account didn't take more than an hour and a half. You just needed to send a few “urgent” emails and then you could return to the quaint, quiet weekend you’d been enjoying with your family. 

You immediately fired off a text to Marc once you left the conference room. 

From me: Leaving here in 10! 

From Hubby: K, we’re at the park. 

Marc was the “coldest” texter out of him and his alters. Steven loved his emojis, while Jake messages were always a mix of English and Spanish with an abundance of typos in both languages. He wasn’t much of an emoji user, though he did love the smirking devil one. It was usually fitting, after all. Boy loved to sext. You’d tried over the years to hammer into Marc’s brain that ending texts with a period meant that you were either angry or a psychopath, but it was a lost cause. 

Today Marc redeemed his unintentionally icy text by sending a photo of Nyla on the swings at Dulwich. You were impressed that he’d not only managed to dress your daughter in an outfit that wouldn’t get her seized by the local safeguarding children board, she sported an actual hairstyle to boot. You detested the phrase, but Marc was blossoming into quite the “girl-dad”. 

From me: PIGTAILS! 

From Hubby: Steven helped with those. 

From me: Well done, you two! See you soon xx 

***

When you arrived at Dulwich playground, you spotted Marc and Nyla before they saw you. You took a moment to covertly observe them, marveling at how attentively the man who was initially afraid to hold his newborn was now playing with his daughter. He followed her every move, steadying her with gentle and firm hands when Nyla needed it, encouraging her the entire time. 

Turned out you weren’t the only one admiring Marc with Nyla. You’d be the first to sing the praises of Marc’s butt, and with him bent over tending to his daughter as she toddled around, you couldn’t exactly blame the mums and nannies that were enjoying the view. 

You approached them before it got creepy and announced yourself with the exclamation, “Is that my big, beautiful girl?!”

“MAMA!” Nyla launched herself at you and you swept her in your arms at once.  You dotted kisses all over her face, and lifted her up above your head, earning a peal of ecstatic laughter. Then, just like that, she was squirming to be released. 

Marc sidled up to you once Nyla’s feet were back on the ground to ask lowly, “Do I get a kiss?”

“Hmm, let me see.” 

He got a kiss alright. One with tongue and that included your hand wandering into the back pocket of his jeans to give one of those luscious ass cheeks a squeeze. Were you marking your territory? Maybe. 

“Now, that was not playground appropriate,” he panted when you broke apart.  

You shrugged your shoulders and answered in a voice that was not one bit repentant, “Oops.” 

“Mama!” Nyla banged on the thick plastic of one of the playground’s slides. 

“Apparently the first fifty times we went down together weren’t sufficient,” Marc observed wryly. 

“Of course not,” you laughed and passed him your bag to hold.  

Twenty minutes with Nyla and all of your work frustration was forgotten. The three of you ended up spending the remainder of the afternoon at the park, stopping to pick up a pizza for dinner on the way home since neither you or Marc felt like cooking. 

Later, your husband tucked Nyla in while you wrapped up a few outstanding emails on the couch. You met Marc just outside of her door and collectively tip-toed into your bedroom.  

“That was impressively fast,” you remarked once it was safe to speak at full volume. 

Marc emerged from the en-suite with his toothbrush in hand. “The playground tired her out thankfully.” 

You sat up on your knees from your spot on the bed. “You can’t blame me for wanting another baby when you’re so good with her.”

You and your husband had begun to discuss Baby Number Two. While Steven and Jake were on board, Marc was the hold out. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him since you suspected his reluctance was out of lingering fear and trauma from his past. 

“Steven and Jake just want to knock you up so they can milk your tits again.” Marc earned a little shove from you for that statement, but he continued, “Also you said you wanted to be in a bigger place before we had another?” 

You cursed Marc and his stupid memory when he disappeared back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

He joined you on the bed, and you tucked your fingertips under his T-shirt to strip it off. “How about we compromise then, and you pound that big cock into me instead?”

Your husband groaned, both from your naughty suggestion and the touch of your hands flitting from his chest downwards. “Shit, I hope she stays asleep because I’ve wanted to fuck you raw since that move you pulled at the playground.” 

“Hmmm, I can feel it,” you purred, wrapping your fingers around his growing erection. “Watching you take such good care of our little girl made me so wet.” 

“Lemme see,” he grunted, momentarily removing your hand from his dick to knock you back among the pillows. 

You spread your legs as soon as your back hit the mattress, and Marc wasted no time hiking up your nightgown to get a glimpse of your folds. A low, aroused rumble resonated from his chest at the sight, compelling him to trail kisses up the inside of your thigh.

“This little pussy is always so pretty and glistening for me,” he growled. 

“Marc,” you sighed, your voice thin while he touched you. “Wanna suck your cock.” 

Your husband didn’t have to be told twice. He manhandled you on top of him, leveling your eyeline with his throbbing dick while he lined up his mouth with your entrance, which was currently clenching in anticipation. You drew his length between your lips and swirled your tongue around its head, tasting the salty pre-cum that had begun to leak from it. Marc groaned at the stimulation and sank his face into your pussy in turn. 

Together you made the most divine feedback loop of pleasure, your slurping around Marc’s member, spurring him to lap at your folds all that more enthusiastically. It was nearly impossible to focus enough to apply any technique to sucking your husband’s dick when he was tongue-fucking your hole and drinking down your ample nectar like a man starved. His deep moans reverberated against the wet, sensitive skin between your thighs, bringing you even closer to the orgasm steadily building within you. 

You choked on your husband’s erection when he landed a slap on your ass, then moaned around him when the large pad of a calloused finger found your clit. The extra stimulation, in addition to Marc’s tongue swirling inside of you, is what you sent over the edge. Your eyes crossed, dick still in mouth, as your peak swept your body from head to toe. 

The force of your climax meant you needed to pull off his manhood to get sufficient oxygen into your lungs. Just when you’d recovered enough to resume your worship, Marc tapped your thigh to stop you. Though your husband was usually all too happy to come in your mouth, tonight was different.

“Need your cunt,” he clarified with slurred, pussy-drunk words. 

“Fuck…okay,” you gasped, your voice rough from having your husband’s dick down your throat.

Maneuvering you onto your back amongst the pillows was an easy task for Marc, your body made pliant and prone by the delicious orgasm. He leant down to share an absolutely filthy kiss with you, greedily tasting the tang of the two of you together, before he locked eyes with yours. Only once your dilated pupils had found his did Marc drape your leg over his shoulder and slide home.

You rewarded him with a drawn-out keen, writhing under his dark, suffocatingly hot gaze. He began with slow strokes, grinding himself against your pelvis, luxuriating in being one. 

“So deep, daddy,” you whined. Speared on his cock, your frame convulsed when he undulated against you, since your slit still felt like a live-wire after your orgasm. 

He rocked even more torturously slowly where you were joined, circling those sinful hips so you could feel every inch of him. “You like it?” 

“Uh huh,” you gasped, jerking once again from oversensitivity. 

Your husband transitioned to a faster pace to impale you on his member. His increase in tempo earned a euphoric whimper from you. With no orgasm to chase, you could simply revel in the sensation of his dick filling you over and over, losing yourself in the stretch of your pussy around his thick girth. 

“Yeah…come on, take daddy’s cock,” he snarled as he thrust into you, backing off his ferocious rhythm some. “So fuh-fucking tight.” 

“So big,” you whimpered, pretty sure that you were about a minute away from vibrating out of your skin. 

“No one fucks you like daddy, right?” Marc slowed, waiting for your answer before driving into you any further. 

You shook your head so rigorously, your cheeks collided with the pillow as your neck thrashed back and forth. “Please daddy, pound my pussy!” 

He approved of your response with another growl, “Well, since you asked so nicely,” and resumed a punishing pace. 

From there, it was a blur of the sound of skin slapping skin, Marc’s grunts, your cries, and your husband testing your flexibility by stretching your leg back to get a deeper angle before his hot cum was painting your walls. 

Marc straightened up after emptying himself into you, pressing a small, reverent kiss into the skin of your ankle before releasing your limb. 

Honestly surprised that you could formulate words, you somehow commented, “I know the jury’s still out on a second kid, but you are damn good at making them, Marc Spector.” 

“As are you, Mrs. Spector,” he echoed, collapsing back on the bed. 

He tugged on his boxers once again, and you pulled your nightie back down as you padded to the bathroom to clean and relieve yourself. Marc followed suit, and when he reunited with you in bed, it was important to you to confirm, “Another baby or not, you know you’re a great father, right?” 

Usually Marc would deflect with a (often dirty) joke, but this time, shrouded in the darkness of your bedroom, he replied quietly, “I hope so.” 

“You are,” you averred and snuggled closer into him. “It’s not just me either, the entire female population at the playground was salivating over you playing with Nyla today.” 

“So that’s why you greeted me with that pornographic kiss,” he chuckled.

“You’re mine,” you shrugged, not one bit ashamed of your actions. 

Marc pressed a kiss into your hair, “That’s right, baby.” 

A/N: Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimized by Oscar Isaac not putting a baby in you 🙋‍♀️ I’m doggedly making my way through these prompt fills, thanks to everyone again for your patience and support! 

Taglist: @twwcs​, @rmoonstoner​, @hot-mess-express1​, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi​, @unspokenmoon​, @winterbiipp​, @avatarofseshat​ @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6​, @harrys-tittie​, @ninebluehearts​, @lucianadraven32​, @dawnsutopia​, @strawberry1042, @nikitawolfxo​,  @weirdo125  

[feministdragon]

Let’s talk motherhood for a second. 

In modern mainstream feminism, the goal is understood to be ‘equality’ with men, in which is meant several things:  equal treatment as human beings, equal social role to men in society, and economic parity with men.   They are looking to be treated as equal economic actors, who take on equal roles for caring for the home and interchangable parenting roles. 

Our experience in the past thirty to forty years has shown that this is impossible, and not because of women’s inability to fulfill these roles (women have proven themselves equal to or superior to men in every field of work they have entered), but because of men’s refusal to participate in this great levelling of humanity into equality and reciprocity. 

Men don’t want women to have equal pay, or it would have happened by now.  Men don’t want to participate equally in home care, or it would have happened by now.  Men want equal parenting roles when it comes to the fun stuff or having the power over children, but rarely want to squat in the trenches with the cleanup, the nitty-gritty of child care, the day-to-day work.  They want this to be optional, so there ends up being a female full-time parent and a male part time one, even when the majority income earner is the woman. 

In trying to take on the same social role as men, women are trying to reduce the impact of motherhood on their lives, using money and other womens’ labor to reduce their workload, so they can continue attempting the social role of men.   They are dealing with the extreme of their body’s hard labor to create a new human being, while trying to pretend that it wasn’t that much work and hadn’t impacted their social value (which rests in creating an appearance of well-being and sexual availability through other extreme means).   

But motherhood is such an extreme change in a woman’s life, that trying to go on as before, or trying to go on mimicking male economic status, is a near-impossible task.  You have gone through incredible psychological and physiological changes, and yet you are expected, and expect of yourself, to go on as if nothing much has changed, pursuing male economic status while still projecting the ideals of femininity (effortless, sexy, beautiful, only surface level, uncomplicated emotions that place no burden on anyone).   Women are minimizing the beauty and joy, ugliness and pain, awfulness and wonder of motherhood by trying to make it conform to the ideas marketed to us through the male eyes of what motherhood should look like.

In the face of this impossible burden, women are forced to outsource the care labor of a child because a single woman at home with a baby for 20 out of 24 hours in the day is not a healthy situation for either the mother or the child.   Human beings evolved in caretaking groups for a reason, and that’s because people are supposed to care for each other, and also be cared for.   The mother is taking care of the child, yes, but who is taking care of the mother?   Only the mother, and maybe sometimes the father, but most often the father expects to continue to be cared for by the mother/wife as he had before the baby was born.  

How do you take care of yourself and also a child and a household and a man, while recovering from intense trauma to your body and intense changes to your life and the amount of work expected of you, while being nearly completely isolated from contact with other people, and also maintain your humanity?   Men point out that we now have labor-saving machines, but this is hardly the point, as labor-saving machines neither interact with the children nor provide companionship and care for the mother.  This situation is untenable for women, and so of course they must look for other solutions, such as external childcare in the form of nannies, babysitters, daycare centers, or shipping the child off to grandparents. 

But in this way the beautful connections between people are strained, and further alienated from each other by strict accountings of value and price now that our economy has evolved to selling our time and mental energy as well as our labor.  Instead of childcare being a communal project, where everyone’s contribution is a gift to each other and the community, we must constantly protect our self interest and strictly account for the value of everyone’s time, in order to make sure that everyone’s economic interest is covered, because no one can afford to be taken advantage of.  Literally, in today’s economy, if you do not make sure you are paid for every moment of your working time, it’s quite difficult to keep a roof over your head and food on your plate.

This situation of extreme burden to women, has been forced onto us by the rules of the market economy, an economic system invented by men and for men, under which society has been subsumed for the last 250 years.   The market economy wants all the economic actors to operate as independent, self-interested units that compete with each other for resources and whose contributions supposedly miraculously balance out.

The market economy was built around the previous econonmic epoch’s concept of autarchy, where each male was the head of an economic unit—the household—comprised of reproductive slaves, household slaves, the next generation of males (future heads of household), and the next generation of both reproductive and household slaves.  The men each represented an individual political and econonmic unit in society, and the household behind each man was subsumed into his representational unit.  The women, children and slaves were only economically counted in terms of the patriarch they were attached to. 

With the partial economic emancipation of women through the work of the second wave feminists in the 1970s, women were released into the economy, which disrupted this paradigm of men as sole earners and political units that everyone else was dependent upon.   At first the men were upset to have the competition, but capitalism as a system quickly realised the benefit of this new group of lower-wage workers, as they could be both marketed to and drawn from in the labor market, and more cheaply.  For this and other structural reasons, wages were lowered in real terms, and it again became common for two incomes to be necessary in many if not most households, but the cultural framework did not evolve, meaning women who entered into reproductive partnership with men were still doing the major part of work of the household, housework and childcare, while also doing their part to earn money for the household.  

[apprenticestanheight]

Sixties Era Horror Film- Chainshipping x afab! reader

the people have SPOKEN and the motivation has let me do what I do best, so a little more than two weeks after my original post about it, I present to the audience who cared about the concept: chainshipping x reader with a free use kink! This has been on my mental rotation of smut concepts since I posted about it and so having the will to write it was actually a nice change of pace. I adore poly! chainshipping as a concept and so this was naturally fun to write and I hope that it's fun to read.

if the anon who asked about it a little after christmas is reading, I hope you like it and it is for some reason detriemental to me that you know it was your ask that spurred me on to write this rather than just think about it.

This fic is for audiences of 18+! Minors, do not interact.

Fic type - this is just--it's shameless, kinky smut bc I am a shameless kinky writer

Warnings - kink gets discussed so there are a couple mentions of somno, pegging, breath play, petplay (as per usual, in use of nickname only bc I was looking for gn petnames and I, as always, used puppy before I remembered nicknames outside of my go-to) being tied up, hickeys, fear but in a like,, horny way and of course the big one and the center of the fic: free use! I did go with a gn reader for all intents and purposes but the reader is afab as that anatomy is the kind I know the best.

Some days, you were almost a little grateful for the bastard known as Jigsaw by the general public.

Not for too many aspects of the trap nor it's aftermath--being chained by the foot to a pipe close to what you'd at the time presumed to be a dead body despite it being the very alive body of Jigsaw, for one, was not something you were grateful for.

You weren't grateful for the bullets Lawrence had shot into your chest and stomach, nor the one Adam had shot into your leg. You were not grateful for the fact that Adam had been left for one week where you'd been left for three, nor for the trauma you'd endured and somehow managed to come out the other end of.

But, a year post escape and ten months into a relationship with Adam and Lawrence both, you could at a minimum say you were grateful for the fact that being in the trap had allowed you to meet the loves of your life.

You all lived in an apartment that you split the rent on, and living in an apartment in Jersey in 2002 as a group of three was easy enough.

Adam had been working as a gallery participant, having been approached in mid October by someone who'd heard he was a photographer and wanted to see how decent he was at the whole photography thing. Since then, he'd made a deal that guaranteed him at least half a decade of employment. Two individual collections a year plus collections done by him and three additional photographers that were focused around either a specific season or the holidays that made up that season, and when that was combined the take home money was $2000 a month after taxes, with a one thousand dollar bonus at the beginning of every season to compensate for his part in the seasonal collections.

Lawrence still worked as an oncologist, though he'd at least tried to schedule his hours so that they were more structured and so that he could have time during his day to take a breath for a minute or two, and even post-divorce, he made damn good money.

You, however? You worked as a hotel receptionist post-trap making $3200 a month. You'd worked in charity and marketing before the trap but post-trap you'd searched for consistency, which you couldn't find in a day job that was completely and structurally commission based, so you switched career paths. Maybe one day you'd get promoted until you ran the hotel at which you were working as a receptionist, but at twenty-eight and nine months into working there, you were in no rush to climb up the corporate ladder.

You, Adam, and Lawrence had all used up your PTO to take three weeks off in the new year, and so you were all home pretty much all the time.

It had opened up a lot of conversation opportunities and the night of your first day off, you'd all had a bit to drink and kinks that you'd not already discussed came up.

Lawrence, a little unsurprisingly given a loveless marriage and a sexless bedroom, was pretty vanilla, which you already knew as you'd had sex before that discussion. He liked being dominant, liked giving you and Adam practically endless praise, but in a more shocking turn of events, didn't hate the ideas of breath play or very dark hickeys in very visible spots. He also had a thing for seeing you and Adam wearing his work shirts, apparently, and you and Adam had exchanged a nod while you both noted doing that more often.

Adam, also unsurprisingly, adored pegging and was definitely a switch. He mentioned somewhat enjoying breathplay and liking the way that the baggier sweatpants he'd owned managed to hug Lawrences ass and how you looked in the white and black shirts he wore under his flannels. He also liked being tied up and didn't totally hate the idea of somno, which you bit your lip about while Lawrence nodded, clearly thinking the same thing.

You, in a surprising turn of events, were really big on free use, somno, and fear in the right context. Adam had laughed a little, asked if you'd ever gotten off while in one of those stupid haunted house pop-ups during Halloween, and you'd brushed it off, explaining free use to them instead of thinking about just how much you would've sold your soul for in the name of being fucked by Mickey Alteri in 1997.

"It's--it's like--either of you can pretty much use me whenever you want," you laughed nervously, a little scared of being shamed for the idea. "Like, if I'm doing dishes or just watching tv or something, all you need to do is kiss me and maybe undo one of the buttons on my shirt and I'm all yours. It's not something I've ever really told anyone about because I know that not everyone likes that kind of thing and I don't need to be kinkshamed by someone I've gone on two dates with. I honestly never expected it to come up."

"Use you?" Adam asked, a sultry smirk playing on his lips.

"Whenever?" Lawrence at least had the decency to bite his bottom lip to keep from smirking. "That has been noted."

"Noted," Adam nodded, kissing your neck softly.

After that, the kinks you'd discussed that night rarely came up. Two weeks into the time you all had off and you were starting to think Lawrence and Adam had completely forgotten, not really caring about it much as Adam had gone to grab a couple of groceries and Lawrence was reading while he relaxed in the bed that you shared where you were on the couch, knee deep into some sixties-era horror movie about a group of college seniors who were being picked off one by one.

And then Lawrence came into the living room, hummed when he saw you and tilted your head back to press a kiss against your lips.

"You said whenever, mm?" Lawrence asks as he pulls away, face only milimeters from yours.

You shudder a deep breath in as you hear the sound of keys followed by the door opening.

"I did," you nod.

"Now's a good time, I take it? You're watching a horror movie so it must be."

You laugh, embarrassed, nodding again. Lawrence rounds the couch and pulls you close, presses a kiss to your forehead briefly.

And then Lawrences lips are on your neck and you hear Adam putting the things he'd grabbed into their rightful spots in the kitchen before he joins you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as you lean it back and press it against the back of the couch.

"Lawrence is using you, yeah puppy?"

You nod, letting Lawrences hands slip under the shirt you'd stolen from Adam.

"Mhm," you hum, hand reaching up to Adams neck. Lawrences lips trail down your neck, moving past the hurdle created by the shirt that he's hiked up to your collarbones. Adam holds it in place and Lawrence kisses your chest softly, drawing out softened moans of pleasure.

"Well, we don't want to interrupt your movie, baby," Adam whispers, lightly nipping at your clothed shoulder. "Gonna watch it for us, yeah?"

You turn your eyes to the screen, letting Adam take your shirt off your torso as Lawrences kisses move down your navel.

Watching the movie becomes difficult as all you can focus on are the feelings of Lawrences and Adams lips, Lawrence kissing, sucking and biting at the skin of your stomach and hips while Adam kisses relentlessly against your neck, hands sliding to your nipples to roll them between deft fingers.

Your moans are quiet, buried in your throat for the fear of being too loud, but as Lawrences lips trail back up your chest, hands finding your hips and Adams lips move back up your neck until he's kissing your jawline and beside your head, they get just a bit louder.

"Lift your hips for Lawrence, baby," Adam whispers. "I think he wants to fuck you. Wants to use you and leave you full of him."

You moan, doing as Adam instructs. Lawrence laughs against the skin of your shoulder, pressing a kiss there as he gets the boxers and sweatpants you'd worn pulled off your legs, exposing your wet cunt to the cold air of the living room.

"You're such a good puppy for Adam and I," he whispers. "Don't come while I'm inside you, all right? I know Adam loves eating you out and I can imagine he'd want to eat you out while you're full of my cum so that, once he's done enjoying what I've left behind, his face ends up drenched in you."

You tilt your head back in search of Adams lips. He laughs into the kiss, pulling away only enough to talk so that he can call you insatiable before you continue.

Lawrence thrusts into you slowly, kneeling on the hard wood and pulling your legs to rest on his hips. He kisses Adam languidly while he waits for you to adjust, one of Adams hands relocating to your nipples while Lawrences hand is on his face.

Eventually, when you start rutting against Lawrence, the kiss he shares with Adam ends and he starts thrusting to you at exactly the pace he knows will have you releasing around him the quickest, though the adage of Adams hands and lips anywhere they can reach on your torso certainly doesn't make doing what Lawrence had asked of you any easier.

Lawrence is pulling out right as you're teetering on the edge, leaving you breathless and full of his cum without having met your own release.

"Gonna let Adam have a taste?" Lawrence asks, kissing your lips gently. You look completely and totally blissed out from all the touching but you feel infinitely eager to have Adams lips against you so you nod, let Lawrence help you get to a kneeling position while Adam slips around the couch, slipping his head in between the space between your pussy and the back of the couch.

His hands find your hips with ease and he pulls you down onto him, moaning into you when he tastes Lawrences cum on your folds.

"Fuck, baby," Adam whispers. "Oh, this is perfect."

His lips attach themselves to your clit as Lawrences hands go to unzip the zipper on Adams jeans. He frees Adams cock and spits on his hand, giving Adam a hand job while Adam eats you out like he's never eaten a day in his life.

You watch Lawrence get Adam off, thrusting against Adams face after a few minutes have passed. The action makes Adam laugh, gently probe your waiting hole with his tongue as Lawrences hand keeps going with the ministrations he's started.

"Fuck," you moan, eyes about ready to roll into the back of your head. Adam swaps his tongue for his fingers, letting his tongue and his lips move back to your clit as you keep thrusting. "Lawrence, Adam--oh, fucking hell."

Lawrence laughs. "I love how you sound when Adams doing what he does best," he says. "I think Adam would argue that he better likes the way you sound when I finger you, though."

Adam hums confirmation and it reverberates against you, making you quicken the pace and drawing another laugh from Adam.

"Gonna come over him, baby?" Lawrence asks teasingly. "Gonna get Adams face drenched in your cum? I think he wants that--I know he'd die happily so long as a dick or a pussy was in his mouth when he went."

You laugh a little, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against Lawrences shoulder.

"So good," you moan. "So fucking amazing."

Adam presses his tongue flat against your clit, and Lawrences lips move to kiss across your chest, tongue and teeth taking care of your nipples as Adams lips and hands make careful but quick work of your pussy and your hips.

"I'm so--I--" is all you can get out as far as words go before you're coming against Adams face, clenching haplessly around his fingers.

Adam releases from Lawrences ministrations at the same time as you release as a result of his, moaning breathlessly as he slips his face out from under you.

He'd come over Lawrences hand and as you sit down on the couch, not bothering to calm your legs or the way that they jitter from the aftershocks, Lawrence presses his fingers against your bottom lip.

You lick Adams cum from Lawrences hand while Adam watches, and Adam kisses Lawrence, the taste of you on his tongue and your wetness pretty much covering his chin, while you watch.

Carefully you all go to the bathroom, showering amidst kisses and random bickering sessions. Adam lends you a pair of his sweatpants and Lawrence lends one of his work shirts, and you end up deciding to go to your bedroom.

"Think we're due in for some pad Thai," Adam whispers, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "It's six o'clock, and dinner can't be a bad idea right now, can it?"

Your arms are around Adams waist while Lawrences are around yours, and Adam has one arm draped across your shoulder and Lawrences.

"Pad Thai doesn't sound terrible," you nod. "But--if I fall asleep before it gets here, I am not to be judged."

"We would never," Adam says teasingly. "And I mean, if you do fall asleep, we're the ones to blame, right? We chose to fuck you, even if you're the one with the free use kink."

"Did we do it right?" Lawrence asks, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. "I mean--based off how you described it, there's no wrong way to do it but both Adam and I were kind of unsure. I'm not a very kinky person and even though Adam is kinkier than I, free use isn't something either of us have really heard of."

"Scott talked about it a bit when he was in college and I was discovering all the glories of weed when I was in my early 20s," Adam admits. "That's the extent, though. I'll call Meis in half an hour, have it delivered. Don't wanna leave this bed, if I'm honest."

You laugh. "Neither do I," you press a kiss against Adams shoulder before turning around to face Lawrence.

"I love you guys," you whisper.

"We love you too," Adam presses his lips against your neck. "Grateful for the fact that the bathroom lead to us meeting, if I'm completely honest."

"I am too, sometimes," Lawrence agrees, pressing his lips against the center of your collarbones.

You laugh a little, enjoying the feeling of their lips as a comfortable, loving silence begins to occupy the room.

[mitalipingale]

The Trauma Care Centers Market in 2023 is US$ 16.27 billion, and is expected to reach US$ 29.56 billion by 2031 at a CAGR of 7.80%.

[dadbodsandbots]

For the bug ask meme: worm and whatever one you really wanna answer

Worm - Do either of them go through any significant lifestyle changes during their relationship? How do they deal with it?

I'm going to go with Sam because I need to flesh out what happened between S13 and S16

As confirmed by Miles, Sam is NOT in a good headspace after recovering his personal agency for at least a decade. Just barely ending a genocide, nearly killing me by proxy, and shuttling a thoroughly souped Felix (with Reese) to the nearest trauma center before getting the hell off that planet leaves him with zero direction besides "making things right." How does he go about that? How could he - a thoroughly broken man in mind and spirit - make amends?

Sam's given himself a tall order with no fallback plan and no support system except me and we're still in the phase of "not together again due to miscommunications and individual trauma" but also "recognizing the self in the other." We're vastly different people from who we were back in the U.NSC, so falling into old patterns is the easiest yet least reliable solution in our overlapping transitional phase.

So we start small.

The first months are spent recovering the looted alien tech that H.argrove sold on the black market to fund the genocide and repatriating it back to the C.horusian government, taking down artifact traffickers and helping troubled space colonies along the way however we can. It's a montage of good deeds and growing pains. Sam eventually responded to his given name without prodding. He gained a couple of pounds after years of maintaining himself but not caring. His composure thawed and emotion trickled into our conversations - caution, frustration, grief, and dry wit.

On his (our?) ship, I woke up (early or late? It's impossible to tell in space) to the smell of instant coffee, powdered eggs, and primer. Sam was dressed down in a compression shirt and standard-issue fatigue pants, his preferred casual wear- some things never change. A half-finished plate of eggs sat at the edge of the workbench next to a mug that had long since cooled.

"Sam?" His head turned a fraction towards the direction of his (mine? our?) bunk. I was partially hidden beneath an insulated blanket, determined to steal a few more moments of sleep against the cold interior lights of the cabin. "Did you get any sleep? Like, at all?"

"Enough," he wiped a brush on a paint-streaked shop rag and inspected the chest piece, now sporting sage green and enamel white accents instead of the dour gunmetal and matte forest shades.

Curiosity and hunger are a powerful combination. I stumbled across the chilly floor in stolen sweats and shirt to observe over his shoulder, "Whatcha makin'?"

"It," the words stop just short of his lips, jawline clenched to prevent sentiment from betraying the meticulously rehearsed reasoning he had mentally prepared in the quiet hours of what should have been dawn. He lifted the helmet his face to face him, expression unreadable as his pulse quickened at the uncanny familiarity of the cold, unyielding metal beneath his fingertips. "It - this - I felt like it needed to be done."

A hum of appreciation broke the tension as he finally took notice of the cluttered portion of the workspace previously taken by food and drink now lay conspicuously unoccupied. Frown lines replaced any trace of vulnerability as Sam turned, neglected spine cracking at the sudden movement, to confront the now absent breakfast thief. Bare feet padded behind him as a pleasantly warm weight settled across his back.

"Finally touching up your armor?" I briefly caught his steely eyes between sips of coffee as they flitted between mine and the helmet in his palms. "Good color choice." Sam released a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Suits you." For the first time in ages, he smiled, satisfied in his small, deeply personal act of self-determination. The choice of change - to change, for the better this time - made manifest.

He was far too late in registering the puff of warm air against the shell of his ear: "You gonna model it for me?"

I barely dodged the length of Sam's ponytail as his head whipped around, disapproval etched deep across the brow his primary defense against enabling any further scandalous comment.

He made a stiff swipe for the half-finished plate. "Give me my breakfast," the demand tamed by his inability to hold eye contact, armor, paints, and worries abandoned in the vain pursuit of room-temperature scrambled eggs.

"Only if you make us seconds."

[soumyafwr]

Trauma Care Centers Market Size, Share and Forecast 2031

[relic000]

Weyland-Yutani Xenomorph Emergency Impregnation Informational Pamphlet

Since the detection of the xenomorph presence on Earth across various countries and populations some time ago, the WHO had long since developed a system of crisis care and assessment centers largely dealing with study, containment, and being a breeding terminus for any unfortunate victims of the alien breeding cycle. Long since the detection of the parasitoid “Facehugger” creatures were noted by top medical officials around the world as cause for concern, the presence of these creatures in black market trade rings, exotic pet smuggling circles, and unlicensed biotech companies has become so elevated that the creation of the codename “Birthing Centers” had become an international priority in the interest of public safety and health. However, whereas the previous informational promotion regarding the facehugger and general overview of the breeding cycle of the creature was distributed, many felt it too “clinical” or “cold”. That is why this informational aims to talk to those directly affected by the condition of the facehugger, the pregnancy. It is our intention to provide as comprehensive an understanding and informative explanation of what to expect, when expecting a xenomorph.

Symptoms?

By now you are well aware of the current situation you are in. The facehugger has long since unattached from you and died. You are likely feeling a mix of emotions by now and that is alright. It is perfectly fine to be afraid, confused, or even angry. These are perfectly normal emotional responses to what has just happened. What matters now is you prepare for the next phase. First, you should come to terms and accept what the situation facing you is, acceptance makes the rest of the process easier on all involved. You have been impregnated with a xenomorph embryo and are now carrying it inside you. Depending on what type of facehugger impregnated you and what type of embryo you carry as a result, pregnancies can vary in activity and length. But that will be covered soon enough. What you may be feeling right now is a slight feverish response to the implantation of the embryo, coupled with nausea and some dizziness, as well as some general weakness. Take time to steady yourself and perhaps get a glass of water or something to sooth your likely sore throat. You are also likely to notice an added weight to your torso; this is due to the additional weight of the gestating embryo within your chest. Don’t worry, it is likely still growing so you have time to get plans and affairs made in order and to contact your local Birthing Center Services. You will also notice a hunger which is due to the embryo having sapped nutrients from you in order to grow. A baby has to rely on its mother to feed after all. It is fine if you get a light snack or meal but do refrain from large portions as this sudden intake of food can agitate the embryo into activity. ::Warning!:: Due to the variance in type of xenomorph embryos and pregnancy lengths it is highly recommended that you urgently get to a Birthing Center as soon as possible to not only spare loved ones the trauma of witnessing the birth to come but to also minimize public health risks to letting loose a xenomorph into the wild or community at large.

Type 1: The Drone

The most common variant of the xenomorph is the Drone. Gestations of this type of embryo are short, usually about 2 to 4 hours after the facehugger falls off. It is a small embryo so the weight to the expecting mother is minimal, about 1 to 2 pounds roughly. When the time for the birthing of this type draws near one can expect shortness of breath, exhaustion, and sudden hemorrhaging in the chest from the embryo readying itself for birth. Due to the high level of energy this type has, the birth is often fast, so that is at the very least one good thing to expect with carrying a Drone.

Type 2: The Warrior

The second most common variant of xenomorph is the Warrior. Gestations of this type of embryo range from 3 to 5 hours after the facehugger detaches to 6-7 depending on host conditions and general health. With a larger size than a Drone the Warrior embryo will sit heavy in your chest at about roughly 3 to 4 pounds. This can make shortness of breath a common symptom to experience as it occupies a larger area in your chest cavity than the Drone. Along with the other symptoms of the Drone, you can expect a high amount of pain and activity from birthing this type due to size. Birth of a Warrior is sudden and fast but very painful.

Type 3: The Queen

This is the rarest of the embryos to carry and it is often not seen in most birthing centers. The Queen variant is the largest of the xenomorph embryo types, weighing in at about 5 to 6 pounds it will occupy a large portion of your chest cavity. The Queen saps a lot of nutrients from its host and as such takes the longest time to gestate. Normally about 2-3 days to reach maturity within the host. You will feel the weight of the Queen embryo immediately after regaining consciousness from being “facehugged”, and will feel a gradual weakening of energy as the days go by. The birth of a Queen is a sight and experience to behold, it is of course sudden but is often heralded by kicks within the mother-to-be. It will violently thrash about in your chest and break free very forcefully. Unlike the Drone and Warrior though, the Queen will have many arms and legs formed already by time of the birth, thus it is highly mobile and will exert more effort to free itself then the previous two. Coincidently, the facehugger that impregnated you with the Queen also implants a Drone or Warrior in another nearby host before dying off. This ensures protection for the Queen to be.

*Addendum Type 4 Provision*: The Runner

This variant of xenomorph is what one can expect after a facehugger has impregnated an animal. Anything from basic quadruped livestock or wildlife to day to day house pets are prime examples of hosts that would yield a runner. Light and small they weigh about 3-4 pounds in the host and gestate fast, normally maturing in a matter of 3 hours. It bursts forth from the host as any xenomorph embryo and instead of having a snake like shape will instead sport 4 legs, an evolutionary leap from its host. The runner grows in rapid pace after leaving its host and matures in a matter of 2-3 hours post burst. It then ruthlessly and efficiently hunts down prey at fast speeds and with intense ferocity and animalistic fervor. Small and powerful it is durable as well and not only can withstand a great deal of physical attack it can withstand high thermal damage and environmental hazards, typical of a survival of the fittest genome.

Treatment?

There is none. As was stated in our previous informational, there is no way to remove or deal with a xenomorph pregnancy once it has started. Xenomorph pregnancy is a fatal matter for every mother-to-be. We understand this is a rather distressing bit of news to hear but we believe in being honest about the conditions of those impacted by this condition. If you or someone you know is impregnated with a xenomorph then you or they are going to die via the violent birth of said embryo. But just because this is the case, does not mean you have to approach it bleakly or with a sense of dread. Some expecting mothers come to terms with what their circumstance is and take some measure of peace in the events to come. Think of it in the sense that you are pregnant first of all; a life grows within you and you are technically going to become a parent. You may also not take any offense to the embryo within you, it is just doing what is in its nature, there is no malice behind it. Furthermore, you may look forward to the time in the Birthing Center, as most of the rooms are made to be rather comfy and as stress reducing as possible. Last comforts and peace of mind are essential to expecting mothers. In fact, some expecting mothers have actually reported on enjoying the feel of the embryo gestating inside them, kicking and squirming occasionally as the time gets closer to the actual labor. Finally, you may take some solace in the fact that when the birth happens, although it will be painful it will also be over quickly.

What to expect when the time comes.

As was covered in the types of xenomorph embryos section, you can expect shortness of breath, exhaustion, and sudden hemorrhaging in the chest from the embryo readying itself for birth. When labor sets in you will be racked by sudden and an immense pain. Most notably you will feel a burning stabbing pain in the core of your chest just about the solar plexus where the sternum joins the ribs together. The embryo inside you will first uncoil and begin to twist and wriggle about. If you begin to feel this, then it is highly advised that you get as comfortable as you can and lay down as spread out as possible. What you ought to have done beforehand is to have removed your shirt or any article of clothing on your torso, so as to lessen any resistance for the embryo. This will make what is to come easier on you and it. This is your first indicator that birth is imminent. You will feel a lessening of the pressure you originally had before since the embryo is no longer clustered up. However, this is only so it can recoil itself and use its tail-like body as a spring to begin the next part, the thrusting. This is when the embryo begins to punch and ram at the underside of your rib cage. It will thrash and chew, claw, and ram against the muscle and bone of your chest cavity in a vigorous attempt to free itself and be born. It is the most excruciating time in the labor but it is over relatively quickly. It is highly recommended that you take what breathes you can in at this time. Breathing while difficult at this moment will be hard but will keep you aware of anything happening in the moment and while this may soundcounterintuitive can prove useful to those looking to make sure the birth ends fast. The embryo will cause a significant bulge to occur in the center of your chest and it will be quite bloodied from ruptured blood vessels and weakening skin. This is perfectly normal and if you are conscious enough to peer down and watch it, we highly recommend it as xenomorph birth is something to behold. For male hosts it is a chance to see the miracle of life from a first person point of view. While for female hosts you can visibly see the bulge and the exiting embryo between the breasts. Though while you might be focused on breathing at this time, you are likely to be screaming at this point. Again, this is perfectly normal, you are in immeasurable pain and if you need to yell and scream, then now is the time. Don’t worry about noise as in the Birthing Center Isolation Rooms the walls are soundproof so you don’t hear anyone else and vice versa. At any rate, the bone under the skin will gradually weaken and tear while the center of the ribs and sternum will break and split apart. Then in a series of short yet powerful thrusts the embryo will burst forth in a spray of blood and viscera and have been born. You’ll likely either be dead at the instance of this due to massive trauma and blood loss but if you are still conscious you are likely to feel a great relief of pressure, obviously still a pain like you’ve never known, and the sensation of the alien squirming its way out of its newly created birth canal in your chest. It is at this point the birthing is complete and you are now the mother of a xenomorph. You will feel a numbness start to take hold and the slowing of your heart rate, if it is still even intact, and a gradual lapse in consciousness. At this time, we recommend just merely giving in and letting sleep overcome you. The hard part is done and so are you. There will be no more pain and no more worry, just let go and let the Birthing Center staff handle the alien newborn.

Frequently asked questions:

Question: “If I come in early enough can I get an ultrasound of the embryo?”

Answer: “Of course, if it is early enough in the pregnancy then you are certainly able to get one at no cost. Just ask the Birthing Center staff for details.

Question: “I wanted to originally do the birthing alone but I am scared. Can someone be in my room too; I don’t know…hold my hand or something?”

Answer: “While it is not recommended that another non-expecting individual be present in the room at the time of the birthing we can offer you the company of a Birthing Center Synthetic. They are programmed to be kind and compassionate in this hour of need and are of no mortal danger to the staff personnel or the expecting mother.”

Question: “Are there preferred types of hosts this affects?”

Answer: “No. Facehuggers impregnate any able living host. Man, woman, young, old, even some animals. None are shown any preference to hosting. Luckily all measures have been taken at Birthing Centers to accommodate any aforementioned host and/or scenario.”

Question: “I am worried about the ones I leave behind; is there a type of life insurance they can receive after this?”

Answer: “Yes, due to the WHO recognizing the xenomorph presence as a global health concern, insurance policies will cover costs postpartum and postmortem for the expecting mothers and those related.”

Question: “What happens to the aliens after they are born?”

Answer: “That is unfortunately classified information.”

Question: “Can a room be made ready for a group of people impregnated? Me and some of my girlfriends went to a bachelorette party and... things got a bit out of hand.”

Answer: “While rather unorthodox, such a set up can be made ready if we get a figure of how many are in the group as early as possible.”

Question: “Hey, do you guys like have a volunteer program? Like, if I wanted to host, could I come to the Center and you guys make that happen?”

Answer: “Speak with Birthing Center R&D representatives as to your inquiry. While it is not recommended to willingly host a xenomorph, every bit of data collected helps us further understand the aliens and prepare us to help others in the field.”

Question: “Hey I can… *Ahhh*…feel it, starting…*gasping*…can someone…. come and…*coughing and gagging*…Oh fuck, its coming!”

Answer: “Stay right where you are, a helicopter is on the way with a trained team on board!”

[singingshutin]

One does not need a reason to go back into the arms of our beloved and amazing boy, but yo what did Astarion even do??? 😂 Haven't played BG yet (and might not ever) so I might be missing key context lmao

THE ESSAY BEAST WITHIN ME HAS BEEN UNLEASHED HE CANNOT BE CONTAINED

Okay, so while I enjoyed the combat and exploration parts of the game (and adopting a dog and owlbear), BG3 is rated M for a reason. I'm an adult--I knew going into it that there would be stuff I personally did not want to see, but I also knew I could turn off explicit cutscenes in the settings. I knew from warnings they wouldn't be plot relevant. The side romance element wouldn't be mechanically affected by my choice.

It did not occur to me that there would be a character (Astarion) who would target the player with sexual comments kind of relentlessly.

Some people like that (as is obvious by the sheer number of fans he has), but some people don't. Maybe they have bad history with stuff like that; maybe they just don't like it. For me, it's a mix of both, so any enjoyment I gained from the game play itself was severely tainted by his behavior. If the game was a real-life game of D&D, I could ask Astarion's player privately to please not target me that way. Heck, if it was a real-life (and well-run) game of D&D, I would have had the opportunity to state what personal boundaries I did not want crossed in the first session.

On top of finding Astarion's behavior personally upsetting, his treatment outside the narrative by Larian Studios completely negates any message his storyline seems to be trying to convey. The game takes full advantage of the M rating, as his storyline centers around his situation as a vampire's thrall: an entity with the same need for blood as a vampire, but supernaturally forced to bend to their master's will. He lured victims to his master's palace with his body for them to be killed and drained before the start of the game, only escaping when he was picked up by a mind-flayer ship and implanted with a mind-flayer tadpole like the rest of the playable characters. It's very dark, but within the bounds of an M rated game to touch on.

HOWEVER.

If an author or team of authors is going deal so intimately with such a delicate subject as sexual abuse, they have to be incredibly careful and purposeful in how they do so. Unfortunately, that isn't the case here. Marketing such as the April Fool's OnlyFangs video (even as a joke) is Larian Studios doing the same thing they condemn in Astarion's storyline: exploiting another person's body for personal (or in this case, company) gain.

I could be thinking about this way too hard, but I wholeheartedly think that using a character whose entire background consists of trauma induced by sexual abuse as one of the main sexual draws to your piece of media is wrong. It completely negates any message of sex exploitation being wrong or evil as Larian itself is exploiting Astarion to attract a certain type of customer base. I'm not gonna argue that Astarion is a real dude (of course he isn't) but to not stop and think through the implications of that type of marketing joined with the abuse storyline of the character seems to be poor judgement at best.

TLDR: Astarion is a lot and Larian's marketing people did not think through their choices regarding some very sensitive subjects.

[containatrocity]

THE LAMB: WREN ROMERO

I've seen this episode before! Deja vu's so hard to ignore. Promise it'll only play once more, everything is a rerun. I wonder if I try again, Can I change how the story ends? Warning signs like a smoking gun Everything is a rerun ! ! !

"Wren Romero. Not Wrenny, not Wubby, not Baby Bird- Wren. I'm 19 years old, and I've never been anywhere but Huntsville, which is really, really sad when I say it out loud, right? I never had the chance to 'dream big' or whatever, on account that the paradox happened when I was literally seven. I would have liked to be an actress or fashion designer- or maybe a reporter or journalist! but as it stands, I'm a Food Market Cashier and Junior Ranger between attending to my family's orchard. I'm the daughter of Mallard Romero and that's made getting anybody to date me pretty complicated, as most boys 're pretty keen on not pissin' off my daddy. I don't care what the commune does, so long as they don't mess with our way of life here in town too much, and I guess if I have to admit to a flaw, it's that I've never lived a life of my own, I've simply tried to live up to my family's reputation."

Name: Wren LeAnne Romero

Aliases: Wrenny, Wubby, Baby Bird (all to Duck, likely her uncles as well), Lowercase R (to Rusty, and the other station rangers), Little Red (Absinthe and likely other townsfolk)

Age: 19 (November 21st)

Sexuality/Gender: Questioning, Cis Woman (She/Her)

Personality: Already regarded as a smart, capable young woman for a number of years, Wren is responsible, no-nonsense, and brave, precocious in her youth but quickly growing into her own, she's every bit the survivalist as her father and uncles, without the lingering trauma tied to being forced to learn it for 'no good reason'. Skilled, and more level-headed than most of her family line, she's still a teenage girl, beneath it all, and as such, longs for some kind of adventure that won't kill her- romance that doesn't fizzle out when she's a little odd, or her father catches wind of her interest in a boy who isn't 'worthy' of her time and attention. She barely remembers the taste of junk food, and justifies much of her taste in crushes by the fact that they're the junk food of people- something sweet and bad for her that distracts her from the way she's never lived a life beyond Huntsville- only seven years old when the paradox changed everything. She's sweet all her own, bright and kind with a want to help others and see them prosper despite the life they've found themselves trapped in, and carries the weight of her family's expectations close to home- tight enough they cut her palms and bleed.

Occupation: Cashier at Food Market, Farmhand at Romero Orchard, makes and sells jewelry from scavenged bits and bobs, serves as a Junior Ranger and a Scout Head for her little brother's scouting troupe with the ranger station.

Affiliations: The Romero Family.

Scent Profile: Dirt and natural sugar, fruit and honey. The copper bite of blood from chewed-short fingernails and stripped-clean animals. Natural cleaners, gunpowder and cigarette smoke from the years her father smoked. Like wax and wood polish, the chemicals used in processing animals for food- for leather. She wants nothing more than to smell like a normal girl- nature clings to her every pore anyway.

Aesthetic: your father's military jacket and a name you share on the pocket. It's too big, like the shoes you're supposed to grow into- the weight's ever looming- hangs heavy over your head. Well worn wood and gentle hands rough with the way he was forced to live, deep breath, it'll pass soon- deep breath, squeeze the trigger. Floral like a rose, sweet like a cherry- sour with a hard center that you were never allowed to soften- sharp like thorns, because nobody will take care of them if you don't. Sins of the mother became sins of the father became sins of the daughter, the loop doesn't break unless you try to break free. He made you a marquee with your name when you were six. He still apologizes that you never got famous when the liquor finds him wrong.

Maybe I'm being melodramatic- Shouldn't somebody take my place!? Before I ruin the plot with my panic, Can we take a commercial break? Wrote the script but I'm bad at acting- Same lines on a different page, Cut the lights, get me off the stage! Running out of overused cliches....

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST PARADOX

Wren's history in Huntsville is short but already storied, and she's a well-known young community member- while she can be stubborn much like her father, with a quick wit, sharp tongue, and a willingness to let stupid people know when they're stupid- there's a gentleness to her that's decidedly her mother's- the woman who raised her as her own still more than present within her approach to the town on the whole. She's pleasant and kind, a bright spot for most people even if it's just cashing out at the register. She hunts and picks up the slack on days her father's leg acts up- or his alcoholism rears its head and drags him into the depths. She's a fiercely loyal cousin, sister, niece, and grandaughter, and it's on the merit that she hasn't heard most people talking ill of her family that makes people speaking ill of the Romeros capable of escaping her wrath. She's a creative at her core, making jewelry and trying new recipes in the kitchen at home, she regularly makes extras of everything, to share, sell, or simply keep on hand, when she needs a treat.

She's largely accepted her position as her brother's keeper while Duck oversees the entirety of the town's game and supports the rangers in an unofficial capacity- having capably worked out how to handle even the most 'Robin' days her brother provides. her hair cut short in an incident where he got into the house paint, she's started covering her head with hats, bandanas, and hoodies, her inevitable dad haircut prominently dinging her self esteem- the long ginger hair her most prevalent connection to Ophelia and the feature she kept around to feel more 'girly' as the rest of her appearance has for some time been rather 'function over fashion' with hunting garb and the ever-present fatigues jacket bearing her father's last name and rank in the marines. Despite the recent spate of murders, she's remained largely fearless- she walks softly, and carries a shotgun- and she knows more than well how to use it, if things go belly-up.