#every ten years! Any pharmacy!

[faeriekit]

*kicks feet really cutely* 🥰 Hey 🥰 Hey gang 🥰 we're all up to date on our tetanus boosters, right?

[childeel]

"GREEN WITH ENVY."

✦ childe, zhongli, xiao, baizhu.

reaction to when the liyue men are jealous

notes — femme terms, fluff!

childe ⟢

childe is very secure in himself; he believes that he's pretty good-looking, he's very strong & he can fight very well. he 's confident, and his flirtatious personality has always seemed to work it's charm when been needed. he knows, he's all that you could want. and so, he's not jealous because he's insecure in himself, he's jealous because quite simply, he doesn't like sharing what's his. he understands completely, you're beautiful – absolutely divinity. you have such a warm aura and sweet personality that just draws people into you, wherever you go. you're heavenly beyond compare, and that's why you're his. if anyone were to try anything with you, childe would be quick to interrupt – barely even letting them get their full sentence out before he's got an arm around your waist, cold and daunting eyes piercing into whoever thought of bothering you. the other person probably only has a good ten seconds before childe sees this as an initiation for a fight.

zhongli ⟢

i don't think at all that zhongli would be a jealous man. he is a god after all, he's lived through hundreds of years; it'll take a lot more than the waiter in the xingyue kiosk admitting he thinks you're beautiful to get a rise in zhongli. zhongli would more than likely smile, nodding his head in agreement with the waiter. he's glad to hear you receiving compliments and praises from strangers in liyue, it's what you deserve. the only time he recalls feeling an emotion even somewhat close to jealousy was when the two of you were walking hand in hand through the streets of liyue; your hand had tore away from his all of a sudden, and zhongli was on guard whilst looking around frantically, trying to scan out any enemies. but, there were none... and where were you ?! when his eyes land on you, you're crouched in an alleyway just up ahead, cooing at the cat you found lazing around, hands petting lovingly at every part of it's fluffy little body! zhongli breathed a light chuckle, realising that his only rival in the competition for your attention, was of the feline species...

xiao ⟢

xiao probably wouldn't really understand his jealousy. being his precious girlfriend, xiao feels a strong sense of responsibility over you – he feels it's almost part of his life 's purpose to protect you and you keep you out of any harms way – and he does a good job. and so when he's watching you talk to a man simply passing through the wangshu inn, he's not sure why he feels this painful burning in his chest – and his stomach knots. you're smiling and laughing so it's clear to xiao you're not in danger, so why does he feel this overwhelming need to go and protect you, take you away from the man that was causing this cursed feeling in him. he continues watching for a few minutes longer, before the unknown feeling becomes unbearable for him, and he's by your side in seconds, startling the man in-front of you. with xiao 's sudden appearance behind you, you'd turn briefly with a smile, taking one of his hands in your own, quietly asking if there was anything wrong. but the feeling was gone now, it dissipated the instant he felt your warm touch against his skin. and so, xiao would shake his head no, remaining behind you with his chest pressed against your back, a hand lingering on your hip, for the remainder of your conversation.

baizhu ⟢

i think that similarly to zhongli, baizhu wouldn't be a particularly jealous person, and he would also be delighted to hear strangers throwing compliments your way. but sometimes; having a popularly adored girlfriend can be a little bothersome when all he wants is some of your attention ; ( a man had come into the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, and was struck by your looks; feeling the need to stay a few more minutes to praise your beauty. baizhu wouldn't interrupt your conversation at all — like i said before, he'd be happy for you receiving such compliments, but you can only call someone beautiful so many times before it gets boring! ... when the man finally leaves — you'd breathe a lil sigh of relief, returning to your boyfriend, who as much as he tried to hide it, looked rather disheartened. he didn't need to say anything as you practically threw yourself onto him, peppering the sweetest kisses along his face. the annoying little feeling in his chest would quickly fade, a bashful smile curling at his lips.

[mandoalorian]

taste of heaven

Joel Miller x F!Reader [smut]

Summary: You and Joel leave the quarantine zone in search of some medicine, when you come across a variant of the Cordyceps, taking life in the form of a pretty red flower. Whilst exposure to this mutated fungus doesn’t prove fatal, it does have some lasting effects.

Warnings: explicit, no minors. Sex pollen fic, exhibitionism, f!masturbation, fingering, tit play, degradation, jealousy, lots of begging, yearning/pining, implied age gap, mention of drugs/reader being drugged, cursing

Authors note: Please reblog to spread this fic around and it’s not showing up in tags! My requests & commissions are officially OPEN again! If you have any questions drop me a private message.

Masterlist / Want to support me further?

'Nature vs. nurture' has been a discussion which had dominated centuries of wonder, and even in the year 2023, when the world had been wiped clean from humanity and only the hardened walked the streets, it was something that still preyed on your mind. The theory could be applied in many aspects; but one that you couldn’t quite navigate no matter how hard you tried, was how you had lasted this long living in a war-torn world. You often reflected on how you had kept yourself so clean and away from infected and bad people. You figured that for the first few years you had just gotten lucky. Your state was notified of the Cordyceps Infection before it hit and so you were given the opportunity to escape your city early. They were already building Quarantine Zone’s and conscripting Fedra military in August.

Until Christmas 2003, you stuck by your family. They were with you, alive, for the first three months of the outbreak. By this point, the Cordyceps infection wasn’t exactly seen as a ‘permanent’ thing and the government had yet to give up on finding a cure. One by one you lost your parents, grandparents and siblings, but not before you found solitude in a Quarantine Zone northwest of Rhode Island.

Those fragments of peace and liberty lasted a whole three years before Fedra wiped the town clean, and you had no choice but to evacuate. You headed towards Massachusetts, stopping by different QZ's, meeting new folk along your way.

But nothing was permanent. Ten years ago you found a home in Boston Quarantine Zone.

It wasn't a nice place, full of selfish people doing what they needed to do to get by. Rats on every corner, literal and personified, and so you did your best to stay out of trouble.

You’d take on little jobs and run errands to earn ration cards, and you would follow Fedra's orders to a tee. If there was such thing as a 'golden girl' in this world... well, that would be you.

And then you met Joel.

Joel wasn't a good guy, and he made sure you knew that when you first laid eyes on him. He was ruthless; a killer, and the type of person you should’ve stayed away from. You’d survived this long by keeping away from guys like him and yet, you found yourself drawn to him. There was something about his rugged handsomeness and dedication to survival that appealed to you. When you first met him, you noted that he was a man of a few words. He rarely offered you even a glance and if he did give care to give you his time of day, it would be nothing less than to mumble a warning to you.

It took Joel a while to warm up to you. The man seemed more than satisfied with his partner, Tess, than to even want to give you even just a bit of the minimal attention that you craved. You were unsure of Tess. She was very beautiful, with shoulder-length wavy hair and bright green eyes. You wondered if she and Joel were anything serious, or if they were merely just friends, or perhaps something in between. The pair were inseparable and often participated in smuggling runs together, or were hired as bounty hunters.

It was a smokey grey morning when Joel entered the makeshift QZ pharmacy where Fedra had you working. His dark eyes appeared sunken in and tired, a deep frown crossed his lips.

“I need fentanyl, morphine, oxycodone... something to take away pain.”

He was avoidant of eye contact, looking uncomfortable to even have to ask you of this. 

Your jaw slackened slightly and you furrowed your eyebrows together at the man's request. “Are you- are you okay?”

Joel scoffed and rolled his tongue over his lower lip. “It’s not for me.” He snapped back, already becoming irritated that you were questioning his request. It had nothing to do with you. 

Unamused by his attitude, you decided on shutting him down immediately. “I don't. We don't sell opioids here.” you glanced away from the man, feeling your cheeks become hot under his stern gaze. Now he was making eye contact and he knew exactly how to intimidate you. If Joel was anything, he was determined and if Joel wanted something he made sure he’d get it, no matter the means or consequences. 

“Fedra don't permit anything as... strong as that to be traded in the QZ.”

Joel grunted and slammed his fists on the cashier desk. “Don't play coy with me, girl,” he sneered, hissing through his teeth. “can’t have been the first person to come in and ask for this. You have to know where I can get it from.”

You swallowed, looking around the empty pharmacy for answers. “I know someone,” you said timidly. “Well, know of someone.”

“Take me to them.” Joel demanded, without missing a beat. His desperation was becoming clear. 

Seeing your hesitation, Joel brought his fingers down to the pistol that he'd stuffed in the back of his jeans, having been used to being able to make a sufficient threat. But then, before making any rash judgement, he stopped himself and placed a hand on the desk in front of you. He couldn't hold you at gunpoint. You were sweet, kind, and soft. In the many years of knowing him, you had been nothing but nice to Joel. It would be wrong to scare you like that.

Adjusting his composure, Joel took a deep breath and let his body relax. He could ease up around you. You wouldn't even hurt a fly; let alone pull any stunts on someone like him.

“Please." he said quietly, his brown eyes now appearing to be more pleasing than harsh. He could read you like an open book and he knew exactly how to wrap himself around you. You huffed out a sigh and contemplated giving him the information that he so desired. 

“There's a guy I've heard Simone talk about. He's housed up on the outskirts of Boston, about a three-hour hike from here. He's her dealer. He'll have what you're looking for, but Joel…" you reluctantly placed your hand down on top of the desk, next to his. “It's in Fairmount. But I don't feel comfortable leaving the QZ. I could get in trouble. And if this is for you— or your own personal dealing, then—”

And for the first time in weeks, Joel's lips curled into a small smile. He moved his hand over yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You'll be okay,” he promised, and from the longing look in his eyes, you believed him.

“Can I ask, who is the medicine for?” you interrogated shyly after a few moments of silence. Joel's rough hands were still atop yours.

Joel broke eye contact with you. If he wanted you to be fully on board, then he had to start being honest. “Tess.”

“Is she okay?” you became alarmed, moving your hand away from Joel and already beginning to grab your supplies for the journey.

“She got into a fight with Robert and his men, she's badly beaten up. She just needs something strong to help her fight through it. She'll be okay. She's tough.” Joel wanted to curse himself for offering you so much information, knowing that Tess would've been mortified if she'd learned that he was telling you all of this. But he really needed your help.

“We best get going then,” you said, grabbing your rucksack from behind the countertop.

For a brief second, Joel admired your dedication to helping Tess. It bewildered him a little, knowing that Tess didn't exactly care enough about you to help you the same. Tess often muttered snide words about your inability to shoot a gun or your law-abiding attitude. She hated the way you would sink under authority, but Joel understood it. He understood that everyone had their different ways of surviving, and as long as it was working, then he wasn't one to judge. But right now, that didn't matter. Joel was just thankful that you'd agreed to go with him.

———

Somewhere along the journey, you noticed a shrub peppered with four-petaled flours, painted red with golden pollen in the centre. You’d never seen anything like them before, and you had studied horticulture a few years back in Rhode Island QZ. You found yourself magnetised by their beauty, and with Joel a few yards back from you, you decided to take some time to analyse the plant. Picking one from the bush, you rubbed the soft petals between your fingers and let the grains of pollen sink into your skin. When Joel got nearer, you stuffed the flower in your jacket pocket and continued walking alongside him.

You were about an hour away from Fairmount when you started to get dizzy. You weren’t hallucinating but your perception of your surroundings had certainly changed. The road ahead seemed short and thick and upon the horizon was a glowing pink line. 

“Do you see that?” You asked Joel, squinting your eyes as you extended your hand to point to the horizon.

Joel tried following your moving index finger but shook his head. “You’re pointing at everything and nothing. C’mon let's keep going.”

It started out with a burning sensation, your loins ignited and blazed inside of you. You tried to regulate your breathing and found yourself slowly losing concentration on whatever Joel was saying. You wanted to pay attention, you really did. You loved his voice, it was like honey and velvet and there was something about that damned Texan accent of his… you didn’t notice it before, but you were certainly noticing it now. Your nipples felt tender as they hardened and poked out from underneath your shirt and you silently prayed that they weren’t visible through your denim jacket. The air around you was suddenly humid and thick and moist. Moist… you let out a small whimper and stopped dead in your tracks.

Joel stopped too. “Are you okay?” he asked, observing your sudden reaction to the forbidden flower.

“I just need a second to catch my breath.” You exhaled, closing your eyes and desperately trying to cling onto oxygen. Joel glanced back at the trail you’d both been walking along. There had hardly been an incline.

Joel gave you a few moments and when you finally opened your eyes, you offered him a queasy yet confident smile. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “Let’s keep going. Nearly there now. What were you saying about the—ah, fuck.” You stopped again, feeling a sudden wetness in your panties. Bolts of electricity were shooting up and down your body and within just a matter of seconds, you felt the primal need for something to fill you. 

You looked at Joel and then looked away.

Joel said your name softly, drawled it out slowly like he was trying not to spook you. You refused to make eye contact with him, looking down at your feet. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Joel said. He placed a hand on your arm and you flinched away from him. “What’s going on?”

You bit your lip, pressing your thighs together hoping for some kind of relief to the ache between your legs. You’re looked around your surroundings, finding a large rock just a few acres away. Ignoring Joel, you sat down and he followed you on your tail. 

This was embarrassing. This was so embarrassing. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted, dabbing at the beads of sweat that laced your hairline. “I feel hot and heavy and it’s hard to breathe, I feel like my clothes are constraining me and I’m… I feel…”

Joel crooked his head to one side.

“Joel,” you whispered. “Fuck Joel, fuck…” you hissed through your teeth. “Joel, Joel…” you panted his name like it was a sacred prayer. Joel would’ve been lying if he said hearing you chant his name like that didn’t turn him on.

Extending your arms, you reached out towards the man. He obliged, coming closer and kneeling down in front of you. He placed both of his hands on your thighs to illustrate comfort and gazed into your eyes. 

“What is it?” he quizzed further. 

You nervously swallowed and reached into the pocket of your denim jacket before bringing out the now crumpled-up flower you’d picked earlier. The pale yellow pollen slipped between your fingers and you dropped the flower on the floor. Upon seeing it, Joel’s dark eyes widened and he leaned away from you. 

“No, no, no,” you begged him, opening your legs and pulling him back into you, this time holding him as close as could be. “Fuck Joel, I— I don’t know— I don’t know what’s happening,” you squeaked, tears filling your eyes.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he shushed, but there was no denying the slight air of worry sprawled across his face. “What have you done?”

“I think it’s the flower… I just picked it up earlier because I thought it was pretty and, figured I could make a hair clip out of it or—“

“I’ve heard stories about those flowers,” Joel shook his head. “They’re a mutated form of Cordyceps… a variant that’s been growing like ordinary fungus, in environments, masking themselves as plants. I’ve never seen them before but… that’s what I’ve heard they look like.”

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “Am I infected?”

“No! No, no girl. You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine. These plants… they’re known to have a primal effect on their host. They want their host to reproduce so they release endorphins and, I… don’t know the science behind it but,”

“Joel,” you whispered. “Joel…” your voice trailed off, bringing your hands up to his cheeks as you cradled his face. Your thumbs brushed over his stubble which adorned his jaw and you admired the little missing patch of hair there that you’d never noticed before. “I’m fucking horny.” you breathed into admittance.

If you weren’t so worked up right now, you would’ve barked out a laugh at how ridiculous those words sounded leaving your lips. Joel swallowed, his adam’s apple bopping up and down in his throat. You licked your lips and waited for him to say something— anything. But he stayed quiet, only the slightest movement in his hand as he brought it to the inside of your thigh.

You tossed your head back at the gesture and Joel felt his cock throb in his pants at the sight of you coming undone over him. He noted the vein in your neck and the way your perfect lips parted in an O shape as he trailed his other hand up your waist and along your torso to the hem of your jacket. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to… I’ll be okay if you just give me some privacy and I can… I can… you know,” 

“You need me and you know it,” Joel said gruffly, peeling back your jacket and letting it pool into a discarded pile on the floor. You already felt an air of relief wash over you as you lost an item of clothing. You hummed and leaned in closer to him, pressing your breasts which were now tight against your shirt into his face. “Say it.”

“I need you Joel,” you obliged. “Fuck, I need you so bad.”

“Tell me what exactly you need, baby girl,” Joel requested, bringing his hand to your breasts and massaging them through the material of your shirt. He pinched his finger over your protruding nipples and circled around them. He imagined nibbling it and sucking on them, and his mouth began to water.

“I need you, need your cock to fill me up. I want to wrap myself around you, tight, oh God, please,” you begged, grinding on the rock beneath you. The friction between the rock and jeans have you something, but it wasn’t enough. Joel discarded his jacket and unbuttoned his flannel shirt, throwing them to one side on the floor. 

“You want me that bad huh?” Joel chuckled, reaching down to his belt and unbuckling it. With a clink, that was on the floor too. 

“Need,” you corrected him. “This— this is fucking— fuck— I should be embarrassed.”

“But you’re not, because behind that sweet, good girl persona, you’re just a dirty, unfulfilled whore.” Joel seethed. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought that was an insult, but his degradation only spurred you on more and you let out a moan. 

“Your whore,” you told him with a smile. You stood up and pulled down your jeans so you were now sat on the rock wearing nothing but your t-shirt and panties. Your legs still open, you dropped your hand to your crotch and started to rub yourself through the material of your panties. 

“Ah-ah,” Joel chastised, taking your hand away from your aching pussy and interlocking his fingers with yours. “Look how wet you are. From now on, only I’m allowed to touch you, okay?”

“Mm, sounds like you want me just as much as I want you,” you teased him, even surprising yourself at that little comment which escaped your lips. 

“I do,” Joel answered, bringing your hand down to his own crotch, allowing you to feel his bulge that was straining through his jeans. As if that wasn’t proof enough.

“What about Tess?” you couldn’t help but ask. Even while you were in heat, you found yourself thinking about what Joel and Tess got up to. What exactly their ‘partnership’ amounted to.

Joel smirked and pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. “You jealous?” he mumbled against your skin. The low octave of his voice sent vibrations through your body. He licked a stripe down to your collar bone.

“Nuh-uh,” you shook your head. 

Every touch of his left a stain of fire.

“I think you are,” Joel teased. “You get jealous thinking about me fucking Tess— bending her over and taking her from behind.” 

You groaned. “Fuck you,” you whined, running your fingers through his greying brown hair. 

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Joel chuckled. 

Then, something caught your attention. You were drugged— ‘under the influence’— if you wanted a nicer way to put it. You wanted Joel but you had that damn mutated flower to blame, and yet Joel… this was raw. This was all him. He had nothing to blame other than himself because the truth is, he’s wanted you from the moment he laid eyes on you. 

“I fuck Tess,” he announced and you felt your face sour at his declaration. “But I wish it was you every damn time.”

You huffed as you let him take off your t-shirt. His eyes widened when he saw you weren’t even wearing a bra.

“Somehow I doubt that,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes. 

“Let me prove it to you.” Joel replied, this time his words holding the utmost meaning.

Joel unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his knees, alongside his boxer shorts, revealing his long, thick cock. It was perfect, the dark pink head already leaking with milky white trails of precum. 

“You’re huge.” you couldn’t help but gasp out, making Joel laugh. You immediately eased at the sound of his chuckle. It wasn’t teasing or fake, but it was genuine and authentic. Dare you say, cute. 

But the little butterflies that fluttered in the pit of your stomach were short-lived. Your loins ached even more just at the mere sight of him and you eagerly ditched your panties within seconds. Leaning back, you made yourself as comfortable as you could be atop of the rock and spread your legs for him. What a sight to behold, you were. 

Joel admired your glistening folds as he eye-fucked your entire naked body. You brought your hands to your tits and began to play with them as you let him observe you.

“Please Joel,” you begged. “Let me feel you.”

Joel hovered over you and pressed his cock between your folds, rubbing the tip up and down, separating you. Obscene and lewd wet noises filled the quiet atmosphere as Joel gathered your juices on his manhood. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” Joel sighed, before bringing a thumb to your clit. He began to draw circles over the bundle of nerves, causing your body to jolt with the overbearing rush of pleasure. You knew you wouldn’t last long and you could feel your orgasm begin to creep upon you. But you needed more.

“Fuck me Joel, I need you inside of me.”

“Like this?” Joel asked and with one smooth motion, Joel thrusted his cock inside of you, your wet walls squeezing around him. “Oh shit.” he croaked out, taking a moment to adjust himself to the ethereal feeling of you wrapped around him. 

“Yes, just like that,” you praised. “Move now, please.”

For the first time, Joel followed your instruction without any tormenting or teasing. He’d wanted this just as bad as you did. Joel rocked his hips into you, building up a rhythm that you just couldn’t resist. His movements began to set out a pace but in time he quickened himself, focusing on getting closer to his high as he felt your own body quiver and shake underneath him. You knew he was close when his thrusts became sloppy and he chanted your name under his breath. 

Joel delved his face into your neck and you screamed as your climax came crushing down. Joel felt it too— the effect of your orgasm and what it had done to your body. Without any warning, Joel shot ropes of his cum into your pussy before slowly pulling out of you. The warmth of his seed painting your walls was enough to help you come down from your high. 

Joel rolled off you and laid next to you, atop of the rock.

The sky was growing dark now and nightfall was approaching. 

“Thank you.” you whispered when you regained your breath. You let yourself have a few moments to try and come to terms with what had just happened. By far, the best experience of your life. 

Joel leaned over onto his side and looked at you, feeling completely enamoured with your beauty. You were still flushed and sweating but the effects of the flower had worn off now, and you were doing much better.

“Before, when I said I thought of you when I was with Tess… I wasn’t lying,” Joel admitted. “I don’t want you to think…”

You smiled, tangling your fingers into his hair and pushing his face down to meet yours. You offered him a soft, tranquil kiss and Joel moaned at the affection. Your lips were so soft, exactly how he’d imagined. If he could, he’d kiss them forever.

“Is she your girlfriend?” you asked after pulling away.

“It’s not like that at all,” Joel replied. “We just… we’re there when we need each other, y’know?”

You nodded your head silently.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” Joel announced, feeling a rush of nerves and anxiety race through his body. “I mean, not the Cordyceps flower. And not just the sex. But I want to see you again, after today. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way— I know, we’re so different and I ain’t a good guy. Maybe a girl like you would be better on your own, but damn it, I like you and—“

“I like you too,” you cut him off. “Maybe when we get back to Boston, you can take me out on a date?”

Joel grinned, a dimple appearing in his right cheek. There was those butterflies again.

“Alrighty then.” Joel beamed and you pressed another kiss to his lips. “It’s a date.”

-------

taglist: @januarycolor @anapnovo-blog @pardebellesnuits @mi0o@supervengerslock@alitaar@bigpepperpicker@pedrostories@pedroprinces@

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 1

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC) other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Not much in this first chapter. Some mentions of death and violence. I don't want to give away everything, but there are also some angsty mother/daughter moments, so be warned.

Word Count: 3468

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

The divider at the top and bottom were created by @saradika

Series Master List

Dean punched open the flap of the canvas tent that he'd called home for the last several years. Sometimes he really missed having a door to slam. 

Or a wall to punch a hole through, he thought as he tossed down his duffel bag full of weapons. At least the bag made a satisfying thunk against the plywood floor.

They'd lost three men on their latest raid. The raid was successful; they'd pilfered enough medication from a pharmacy in Omaha to see them through the next few months. But the reason it was the only pharmacy within a two hundred mile radius that had any meds left, was because it also happened to be Croat central. 

It was swarming with the bastards. His soldiers had done a good job holding them off, but it had eventually led to ground fighting and three soldiers had been bitten. He'd put them down quick and quiet. But it made for a long drive home.

Home, he scoffed as he dropped onto the side of his cot. Home my ass.

As he rubbed his hand across his forehead, his tent flap opened again. He also missed privacy.

One of the soldiers that had been left behind to protect the camp, stood awkwardly for a moment before Dean barked at him. 

“Not now, Johnston.”

“Uh…” the man hemmed and hawed for a moment more. “There's a…an urgent situation, sir.”

Dean let out a huff. “There's always an urgent fucking situation. I said ‘not now’!” Dean's voice was sharp and angry. All he wanted was five minutes.

Used to having his orders obeyed, especially when they were issued in his harshest tone, Dean turned away and started to light the lamp beside his cot. Before he could spark the match however, Johnston was clearing his throat annoyingly.

“Jesus Christ, what?” Dean snapped.

“I'm sorry, sir…but Castiel, well he…he has a…a situation with a woman.”

Dean’s glare could melt ice. “What woman?”

“I think…he wants - he said he wanted to see you as soon as you were back.”

Dean ground his teeth together and tossed down the matchbook. He gestured angrily for Johnston to lead the way.

He followed the timid man through a maze of tents, aware of the eyes that followed him. He was used to that feeling. People in the camp always looked at him like that - with a mixture of awe and fear on their faces. To most of the survivors he was a little bit legend, a little bit savior, and a whole lot scary.

He was always given a wide berth.

But something more was in the air today. The evening breeze seemed to be buzzing with whispers that followed him up the stairs and into the main hall. It was one of the only wooden structures in the camp, and definitely the biggest. It was where they all gathered together when they needed to. 

He pushed through the squeaky door to find the angel standing in the middle of the room, just in front of one of the dozen massive, twenty-person, metal tables that had been constructed for large group projects like bomb making, or supply divvying. 

Dean tried to look past Cas when it became obvious there was a person behind him, sitting on the floor. But Cas just shifted so he couldn't see whoever it was, which only made Dean’s scowl intensify. Cas held out his hands towards him. 

“Okay, Dean. now just listen.” 

Dean didn’t like the sound of that, or the placating tone the angel was taking. “What the fuck is going on here, Cas?” He tried again to peer around him at the person on the floor, but Cas shifted his footing again to keep them hidden.

“You have to…before you do anything, just,,,you have to look at her. Really look.” 

He moved out of the way slightly and Dean could finally see a woman sitting on the ground. Her head was bent and around her wrists were manacles connected to heavy chains that yoked her to the immoveable table. Dean was about to once again ask what the hell was going on when the woman looked up at him and he saw her eyes - saw the perfect, blood red circle around her iris. 

Dean’s razor sharp instincts reacted without conscious thought, and his gun was out of his thigh holster and cocked, with his finger ready to pull the trigger in under two seconds. It was only Cas jumping in front of the woman again that managed to just stop him firing.

But Dean kept his gun pointing at the woman’s head, even though it was now hidden on the other side of the angel's body. 

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” He bellowed at the man who used to be his best friend, back when he still had friends. “She’s infected! Get out of the fucking way!”

Cas had his hands up again and was shaking his head. “No, Dean, look at her. Yes, her eyes show she should be infected, and yes she was bitten, but…just look at her. She’s not infected.”

Dean’s jaw ticked with his fury. “Yeah well, give it a couple hours and she’ll be strong enough to bust those fucking chains. Now, move!” He roared again. 

But Cas took a step backwards, closer to the woman on the ground. “No, it’s been days.” He looked over his shoulder. “Right?”

The woman’s voice was soft. “Almost a week.”

Dean scoffed. “Bullshit!” He shouted, unable to believe the angel’s naivete. “She’s lying.”

Cas was shaking his head and looking at Dean again. “Her arm, where she was bitten, it’s healed up.” He called back to her. “Hold your arm out.”

The chains rattled and Dean saw a slightly grubby arm stick out from behind Cas’ legs. Sure enough there was a bite on the outside of her forearm that looked pretty much healed. Dean felt something uncertain shift in his belly, but he shook it off. He knew better.

“So she’s a quick healer. She’ll still turn into a monster sooner or later. Now. Move.” He gave Cas a glare that had made lesser men crumble. But the angel refused.

“No, Dean, this might be something huge.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but the woman’s small voice spoke first. “Please. I just needed to get my daughter to safety.”

Dean leveled another glare at Cas. “Daughter?” He asked.

The woman continued speaking and Dean tried to see any part of her around Cas’ body. “We were living in the Billings camp near Piedmont, Emma and I. We’d been there just a few months when the camp was attacked. They lost a lot of people, and I got bitten. When the fighting ended and the Croats were all dead, the leaders started checking us all for bites. I knew they were going to kill me and I understood what had to happen, but I wanted them to promise Emma would be safe, but they wouldn’t.”

Dean’s hand had lowered slightly, enough that Cas shifted aside again so Dean could see the woman talking. There were tears falling from her bloodshot eyes and she lifted the heavy chains so she could wipe them away before continuing.

“She'd fallen on some debris in the mess, long after the Croats had been put down, and she had a scratch on her leg. They were sure she was infected too. But she’s not.” She shook her head vehemently. “They were going to kill her. I…I couldn’t let them. So I shoved them down, fought them off, grabbed Emma and ran. We’ve been running for almost a week. I’d heard about this camp, so I headed this way. I was terrified I was going to change before I could get Emma to some semblance of safety. But…it just never happened.”

She shrugged and shifted slightly. Her movement brought the barrel of Dean’s gun back up a fraction of an inch. She stared at the pistol for a moment and then caught his eye again.  “I just wanted somewhere for her to be safe. I understand that you want me dead. I’m…” Her throat caught and she closed her eyes and took in a deep, steadying breath. “But….” She opened her eyes again and a slight smile curved her lips.

“You don’t…you probably don’t remember me, but a long time ago - I was barely sixteen - you…you saved me.”

Dean knew he must not have hidden his surprise very well when her smile deepened. It occurred to Dean in that moment that she was really, remarkably beautiful, in spite of the dirt and the bloodshot eyes.

“My family I mean,” she continued, “you saved my family. You and your dad. We lived in Wichita at the time. We had a poltergeist. It was…it was cutting me. It carved words into me.” She put a hand on her stomach. “Words like ‘vengeance’ and ‘death’.” 

She shook her head. “I was so terrified. But you and John, you just swept in and got rid of the thing in a weekend. It was amazing.”

The long-forgotten case bubbled up in Dean’s mind. It felt separate from him, apart, as though centuries had passed in between, instead of a dozen years. But he remembered a young girl, a sweet kid with braces on her teeth and overwhelming fear in her eyes. He nodded. Yes, he remembered that smile now.

She wore it still as she shook her head and looked down. “It was a long time ago, a lifetime seems like, so I’m sure you don’t remember. But I still remember how Dean Winchester came and saved me.” She looked up at him again and her tears had returned. “So, I’m asking you to please, please save me again.”

Dean felt the same something as before, something that shifted in his gut, that felt tight and constricting. But he pushed it away and shook his head.

“You’re wrong, Y/N.” He said, as her name came back to him. He could see the surprise on her face. “I do remember you. I remember the poltergeist. I remember your family, your house. And I remember saving you.” 

He paused and let the memories retreat from his mind’s eye before he clenched his jaw. “But you’re right, it was a lifetime ago,” he shook his head, “and I’m not that guy anymore.”

He raised his gun and took a step forward aiming for a quick, straight bullet to the head, faster than blinking.

But as though time slowed down, he saw a blur of motion coming in from the side and several things happened at the exact same time. Y/N screamed and dove as far to the right as her chains would allow, Cas jumped forward to stop him, and Dean yanked his gun up at the very last millisecond before his finger flexed on the trigger, just as he saw the blur come into focus.

It was a sobbing, shaking little girl, in a tattered blue dress. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a braid and tied with a faded piece of lace. Y/N had leapt towards the child to shield her as the little one had flung herself in front of her mother. Y/N was now cradling her daughter in her arms.

Cas kept his hand like a vice grip on Dean’s shoulder where he’d grabbed him in an attempt to stop him. Though he wouldn’t have reached him in time. A feeling surged through Dean that he hadn’t felt in a long time as he breathed in and out harshly, as though he’d run a mile.

Two of his soldiers, Risa and Patrick, ran in seconds later, ashen faced and staring at the little girl. Dean yelled at them. “Why the fuck did you let her in here?”

Risa shook her head. “She got away from us.”

“Got away from you?” He continued to shout. “She’s a little girl!” 

When they didn't respond he gritted his teeth and spoke through them. “Why don’t you go see if you can handle all forty pounds of her this time.” He said, motioning with his gun for them to go get her.

As they moved to follow his orders he acknowledged what it was that had his heart beating triple time and his lungs unable to suck in enough air. 

It was fear. The forgotten, acidic taste of it was on his tongue. It had been a very long time since he’d been afraid of anything. But knowing he’d been less than a second away from firing a bullet into the body of an innocent, uninfected kid - that truth had him rattled. As did Emma’s heart-rending cries as she clung to her mother.

Risa and Patrick had reached Y/N, but looked hesitant to rip the child away from her mother. Y/N was pulling on Emma’s arms and she finally managed to unlock their death grip from around her neck. 

“Baby, shh.” She said softly as she brushed the little girl’s wispy hairs out of her face and cupped her ruby red cheeks. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re gonna be safe - “ 

Emma cut her off with a wail. “Noooo! Noooo! Mommy, I don’t wanna go.”

Y/N was shaking her head. “Hey, hey. No, sweetheart listen, listen to me. We made it here and now you’re safe.” She began nodding as Emma shook her head. “Yes, baby. Look at me, look at me, just breathe.” She said, and Emma began sucking in shuddering, choking breaths.

Y/N smiled and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You are so brave. Okay? I just need you to keep being so brave. Can you do that? Hmm?” Y/N questioned, nodding even though Emma was shaking her head in denial.

Dean caught Patrick’s eye and gave a sharp nod towards the horrifying scene. He needed them to get the kid out of there. Patrick nodded back, but still didn’t move to take her. Dean seethed.

“I love you so much.” Y/N said, her voice breaking now, but she cleared her throat quickly and continued. “I love you bigger than big.” She was staring into her daughter’s eyes. “Bigger than big.” She repeated.

“And taller than tall?” Emma asked in a strangled voice, obviously repeating an often used sentiment. 

Y/N was nodding. “And taller than tall.” She confirmed. She gave her daughter a final smile of encouragement, her palms still clasped on her flushed, wet cheeks. “You - are my little angel.” She told her before pulling her against her chest one more time, trying to squeeze a lifetime of love into the small body she held.

Dean tried to keep his features in check as Y/N looked up at him. He wouldn’t bend. She needed to get her kid out of there. Y/N sniffed and pulled back from Emma. “Okay, baby. You need to go with…”

She looked up at Risa, obviously looking for a name. “Risa.” The soldier replied kindly.

Y/N gave her a grateful smile and directed her words up at her. “Go with Risa, she’ll look out for you.” It was obviously a question for the other woman, a plea. Risa gave a curt nod of agreement.

Emma was still sobbing as Y/N lifted her out of her lap and let Risa take her away. The little girl screamed and reached back for her mother and Dean saw the way Y/N flinched as she raised her manacled wrist and pressed her fingers to her lips before sending a parting kiss to her daughter.

As the child disappeared her screams still echoed, and Y/N slumped, covering her face, her shoulders shaking.

Dean swallowed down the feelings that tried to rise in him as he watched her weep. Every person who died left someone behind to grieve them. If they were lucky. And this situation was no different. Their camp had more than a dozen orphaned kids. Emma would be no different.

But as Y/N took a shuddering breath and looked up at him, he knew he was lying. Her words to Emma had resonated in his memory, pulling forth the image of his mother’s warm hands on his cheeks after he sought to comfort her, told her he loved her and would never leave her. 

“You - are my little angel.” She’d said, her voice full of love.

And another moment, in the dark, cuddled against his mother’s chest as she held him after a nightmare, just days before the fire. Her voice had been so gentle, so soft. 

“I know you’re scared, Dean, and that’s okay. Cause I know you’re so brave too. Can you show me how brave you are?”

Y/N’s last words to her daughter echoed some of the last words he remembered from his mother and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t affecting him. But as Y/N stared up at him, he tried desperately to shake it off. It changed nothing.

Y/N’s voice cracked as she tried to speak; she cleared it before trying again. “Thank you, Dean. For keeping her here, for giving her somewhere safe to be.”

Dean shook his head. “Nowhere is somewhere safe to be.”

He could see Y/N’s fear spring back up, and he shrugged. “But she can stay here, and have the protection of the camp. For whatever that’s worth.”

Y/N nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank you.” She repeated in a whisper, and then, without opening her eyes, “I’m ready.”

Cas gripped his shoulder again. “Dean, don’t do this.” He said, his low voice barely a whisper.

Dean shrugged off his hand and stepped closer to Y/N, close enough that he couldn’t possibly miss, so that it would be instant and painless.

He felt Cas’ disappointment and anger looming over him as he extended his arm. The muzzle of the gun was less than two feet from its target. Dean cocked it again and felt his stomach swoop at Y/N’s soft, quick inhale.

His finger caressed the trigger, a breath away from pulling it when from nowhere his little brother’s voice floated into his mind, a snippet of conversation he hadn’t thought of in almost a decade - from the first time they’d ever seen the virus.

“You know I’m gonna ask you why.” Sam had said, referring to the man Dean had left alive.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, why? Why didn’t you do it?”

He hadn’t answered his brother then; he’d been too embarrassed to say that there had been something in his soul that wouldn’t let him shoot someone who wasn't yet a monster, even if it seemed inevitable that they would be.

But now, that same creeping feeling, that same cloying sense of wrong was pulling at his soul again. It shocked him and angered him that his soul was still capable of this dithering - this pansy-assed wavering - when his head knew without a doubt what had to be done.

With the same sick, frustrated feeling, however, Dean felt his arm drop. “Dammit.” He growled, just as he had then.

He backed away and saw Y/N’s eyes pop open, saw relief flood them just before he turned and stormed away. He barreled out of the cabin and heard Cas shout after him. But he kept marching forward, trying to get himself far away from the memories that had come there to haunt him. 

But with every step away from camp, with every inch he walked into the surrounding forest, his mother and brother’s faces became clearer in his mind until he finally just stopped abruptly. Giving a shout of pure fury, Dean pointed his gun at the dead leaves on the ground and unloaded his clip into the moist earth.

He was panting, teeth clenched, as he sensed someone approaching. He whirled around, instinctively pointing his empty gun towards the noise. But he immediately put it down when he saw it was Cas. 

Instead he walked up to him and shoved the angel backwards; though even with his powers gone, he didn’t move very far.

“Don’t fucking follow me.” Dean growled at him.

But Cas just stared at him and then a smile spread across his face. Dean scowled thunderously. “What the fuck could you possibly be smiling about?”

Cas shook his head and shrugged. “I just… thought he was gone, but he’s still there. Haven’t seen him in a long time.’

Dean’s expression was confused and pissed. “Thought who was gone?”

“My friend - Dean Winchester. I thought he was well and truly gone.” He repeated. “But it’s so good to see him again.” The angel’s brilliant blue eyes were beaming so bright, they almost seemed to be alight with grace once more.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

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Dean Fics Only:

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Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

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Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

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[skankinator]

Complications Ch. 1

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x FemReader

Author’s note: This is my first fanfic ever written. I hope you like it!

You grew up near a Navy base in San Diego and always dreamed of flying those jets you saw so often. You joined the military as soon as you turned eighteen. That was ten years and many stations ago. You’ve finally established yourself as a missions specialist after having to repeatedly prove yourself. Each mission you plan and execute takes you to a new destination. This one brought you back home.

The missions you specialize in are air operations. From the beginning of your career you made certain that you were the top in your class for everything, especially aviation. This quickly got you promoted to Top Gun where you spent a few years as an elite aviator. Your job has brought you to complete a mission with Top Gun’s Dagger Squadron.

You had files on each member of the squadron to study before arriving. You briefly looked over them on the flight over, only taking note of any information useful to the mission. You would have to teach them every aspect of your plan and train them to execute it perfectly, so you didn’t pay attention to little details.

You had a pre-furnished apartment ready for the time you would be posted in San Diego. You have little belongings from moving so frequently. You could fit your whole life into a couple of boxes. Traveling so frequently also made it difficult to maintain relationships, except your friendship with Stacie.

You texted your closest friend from high school that still lives in the area telling her that you had arrived. You didn’t expect an answer from her for a while. She works third shift at the 24/7 pharmacy, so she wouldn’t be awake for a few hours.

After arriving at the airport, you gathered your suitcases and took a taxi to the apartment. It wasn’t much. Just a one bedroom apartment with a small kitchen and living area. The furniture was rather plain and there were no decorations aside from a bowl on the coffee table full of potpourri.

You left your luggage unpacked and decided to leave your drab apartment. You got dinner at your favorite food truck, unsurprised that they are still in business. Best. Tacos. Ever. Feeling nostalgic, you decide to go to the bar in which you and your squadron spent most of your time.

The Hard Deck had not changed a bit. When you arrived the place was already swarming with people from the base. You made your way over to the bar where you were greeted by a familiar face.

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in ages, what brings you back,” Penny said with a bright smile. One that reminded you of home.

“I’ve got a mission for a Top Gun squadron. How bad are they these days?” You question knowing Penny was the best person to ask about the cocky pilots.

“Not as bad as your class,” she said with a knowing look that brought a tinge of red to your cheeks. To be fair, you were once a hot shot pilot looking down on others from the high horse called Top Gun.

You spent many nights causing trouble at the Hard Deck. Penny had kicked your squad out on several occasions that ended with you sleeping in the sand. Some say your squad let a pelican into the bar and ordered it a beer. This cannot be confirmed nor denied by anyone. Alcohol conveniently has a way of messing with your memory.

“We had some good times,” you said to Penny as she handed you a beer and went to take orders from the very crowded bar. You sat and relaxed sipping on your beer while silently people watching. This was one of your favorite past times.

You saw people mingling with their cliques. Some in uniform some not, either way you could tell who was military or civilian. You end up focusing on a pool game happening across the bar. The group of friends/colleagues? were dressed in their khaki uniforms.

After a while, another joined the group. He wore a Hawaiian shirt that hugged his biceps and a pair of sunglasses that hid his eyes. His skin was kissed by the sun and damp with sweat. San Diego was hot this time of year. You opted for a white tank top and denim shorts that left just enough to the imagination.

You couldn’t help but stare at this stranger. You hadn’t noticed he was the center of your attention until he disappeared. You found yourself looking for him around the bar. Somewhere within the loud jumble of noise from the crowded bar came music. This wasn’t music from the jukebox, it was a piano.

You looked over and saw your mystery man sitting there beginning to play his heart out. Everyone around joined in singing and dancing to the song he played. You payed little attention to the music distracted by his strong arms expertly moving to the music. His long fingers delicately touching the keys. His neck muscles straining as he sang.

Oh shit. You’re really turned on by a really hot stranger. You haven’t exactly had your needs fulfilled since you broke up with your ex. Since then you busied yourself with work and left little time for dating. Of course, you don’t have to date a guy to have your needs met.

You didn’t notice the song end, but you had noticed a presence next to you. Your jaw nearly dropped when you saw the sexy stranger standing next to you. He was rather close thanks to the crowd. Penny and the other bar tenders were trying to get to everyone as quickly as they could, but you would rather them take their time. The stranger stood waiting to order another round.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said out of the blue. It took a moment for you to realize he was talking to you.

“I-I just flew in today,” you said cursing yourself. Really, that’s all you could muster up. It is hard to think of anything witty to say when you are lost in his smile.

“What brings you to San Diego? I hope it’s not a boyfriend,” he says deepening his voice for the second half. Oh my god is he flirting with me?!

“No boyfriend, just work. I am a… um new teacher. My first day is Monday,” you say putting on a flirtatious look. Technically you are not lying. But are here to teach fighter pilots, not school kids. In the past you have found that men can be run off by your high position in the military.

“Let me buy you a drink to start your school year out right,” we both laugh and look to the still very busy bartenders. We look back to each other. I wish he would take off those silly sunglasses. There is a short lull in the conversation before you pipe up.

“What about you?” You blurt out, just realizing he has been lead in the whole conversation. “What do you do?” His answer is not surprising. His look totally fits the part.

“I’m a pilot,” the way he says it doesn’t sound like a brag at all. He isn’t trying to show boat, instead he states it as fact nothing more.

“Lucky for you I quite like pilots,” your buzz from the three beers have finally taken over. You place your hand on his chest creeping up to his shoulder. He closes what little space is available and places a large hand respectfully low on your thigh.

You can tell he is waiting for you to make the first move. You lean up from your barstool and pull him down into a kiss. His lips are soft contrasting his prickly mustache.

The kiss doesn’t last as long as you would like. When you separate it is like time is frozen. There are no words between the two of you. You are both brought back to earth by a perfectly timed question.

“Can I get you anything?” Penny questions and you snap back to reality a bit flustered.

“I think we would like to close our tabs,” he says after clearing his throat. It’s like he read your mind. Penny looks to you and gives an approving smile and wink before turning to close the tabs.

Once everything is settled, you are making your way through the crowd with a warm hand on your lower back guiding you to the exit.

[infamousbrad]

Post hoc ergo propter hoc might be wrong most of the time, but ...

A couple of days ago, for my birthday, I documented my fourth adverse reaction to a popularly-prescribed medication. None of which my doctor had even heard were possible, none of which I was warned about by my pharmacist.

Four times now, I've developed "a whole new disease" 6 to 18 months after starting a new medication. Four times I eventually thought to google my most recent medication and my current symptoms, and found that it was possible that I could be experiencing a (supposedly) "one per thousand" or even "one per ten thousand" person adverse reaction. Four times I asked my doctor to substitute a different medication, and lo and behold, the problem went away. Four fucking times.

And three of those four times, before I did so, I brought up the new problem as part of a physical, in front of a physician who had my whole chart in front of her, then she prescribed a new medication to treat my new symptoms, and I filled that prescription at a pharmacy where the pharmacist was looking right at a screen listing every medication I was taking. They both have degrees in this shit. Why was I the one who had to figure this out?

And also, bullshit that these adverse reactions are that rare. No way in hell I "won" a 1:1000 or 1:10000 lottery four times. And I know why, too: because I'm old, and I'm fat, and that meant that my doctor and my pharmacist "knew" what was causing my "new disease," either my age or my weight.

Skin dying and sloughing off around a recent incision? Yeah, that happens to old people and to fat people, they don't always heal well, just keep applying your antibiotic until it does. (Neomycin allergy: tissue necrosis.)

Mental fog and increasing dementia? Yeah, that happens to old people, nothing can be done. (Wellbutrin: mental fog. Lisinopril: mental fog.)

High blood sugar? Yeah, that happens to fat people, lose weight. (Thiazide diuretic: high blood sugar.)

And all four times, insisting on switching to a different medication solved the problem.

Oh, and that doesn't even count the fact that I was misdiagnosed with "drug seeking behavior" for telling my surgeons that the opiates were having no effect, despite the highly visible clue of my bright-red beard: I inherited the genes that make me totally opiate non-responsive. Count that as a fifth adverse drug reaction, if you like.

(Never mind that I wasn't asking for higher doses, I was telling them to stop prescribing opiates; that was "a clever ruse." And, oh, yeah, one clever nurse practitioner had heard of my condition and recommended I bully the doctor into prescribing Tramadol instead, which doesn't work perfectly, but provides some relief if I don't overuse it.)

So do not believe that an adverse reaction is as rare as the company says it is if and only if it's an adverse reaction that medical professionals are eager to explain away as having nothing to do with the medication, one they're eager to jump to conclusions and blame on age or weight or sex. Because in those cases, you're not measuring the adverse reactions, you're measuring the number of people with those reactions who fought to get them counted.

You have to have noticed by now that we tell people (or at least the white college-educated people) that they have to be "their own health advocates," but how in the hell is that supposed to even work, when we're not the ones with degrees in medicine and years' worth of experience with these conditions?

So, please pass this advice along to anybody who's on any medication for a chronic condition, anything they're going to have to take for years or forever to manage the symptoms of some supposedly incurable condition:

Any time you develop new symptoms, google-search each medication that you are taking, one at a time, followed by the symptom you've just recently developed. If you find any matches, no matter how rare it says they are, ask the doctor who prescribed that earlier medicine to suggest an alternative and try that before you let them add another medication.

Because otherwise you could end up one pill that treats your symptoms, but creates a new illness, so they give you another pill to treat that illness, and it causes a third illness, until you end up on so many pills that you're a walking biochemical disaster site. In fact, any time you meet someone (or if you are someone) who's taking, say, four or more separate medications for symptomatic relief, swap out the oldest medications for alternatives, the ones they've been taking the longest, until you rule out iatrogenic illness. Do not, not, not let them add a fifth, a sixth, whatever medication until you have ruled out adverse reactions. Your very life may depend on it!

And for whatever god damned reason, I wish I knew why, neither your doctor nor your pharmacist will think to recommend this if you don't.

[marrow-and-bone]

Fic: you don’t know how you got here (you just know you want out)

I wrote a fic for the @dtqkbigbang! What better way to inaugurate this Tumblr, yeah?

Title: you don’t know how you got here (you just know you want out) Rating: M Words: 16K Fandom: DSMP Ships: Quackity/Schlatt, Quackity/Wilbur, Quackity/Karl/Sapnap

Summary:

Like every other severed employee of DSMP Inc, Alex exists as two different people, who share the same body but know nothing about each other. Every morning when he goes to work, Alex becomes Quackity, and until now he’s been content to leave his other life a mystery.

But then late one night in a diner parking lot, Alex is confronted by a strange older man with mutton chop sideburns and alcohol on his breath, whom Alex can’t remember having met before but who clearly recognizes him, who calls him “Quackity” and tells him they’ve been lied to. And less than five minutes later, that man is lying dead on the ground.

Notes:

Mind the tags!!!!! This is a weird one!! Q is not having a great time!

I'm also planning to expand on it, so if you enjoy what's been posted so far, definitely keep an eye out for more. :3

Preview:

Alex needs to stop doing this. 

He’s gonna get a formal reprimand if he keeps missing his clock-in window at work — it’s the one part of his job description he’s really responsible for, and warnings keep turning up in his locker, polite anonymous form letters printed on plain white paper. And probably the worst that would ever happen is a ding to his end-of-year bonus, but Alex isn’t gonna risk it. He needs this job – this job in particular, with all its peculiarities, with all the ways it keeps him sane. He needs to be standing in the office elevator no later than nine fifteen tomorrow morning. He should already be in bed right now. 

Instead, he’s alone in a booth at McPuffy’s at one in the morning, nursing a bad-idea coffee with a notebook open in front of him, pretending like maybe he’ll work on his music if he stares at the blank page a little bit longer. He’s primed for a singer-songwriter era right now, after all — if being dumped by one fiance is great material, then two should be a goldmine. And maybe it would be, if he ever let himself think deeply about where he’s ended up — about the cold bed he’ll go home to tonight, or the empty apartment he’ll wake up in, or the rings that sit wrapped in a handkerchief at the bottom of his nightstand drawer. If he sat with how any or all of that felt, maybe he’d be the musician his mama always believed he could be.

But that’s not the choice he’s made, is it? That’s not the road he decided to take.

Funny, how people will judge you if you get blackout drunk every night as a way to cope…but if it’s your job that swallows your days, that strangles the part of you that feels much of anything at all, that’s fine. That’s capitalism, baby. That’s the system working as it should.

Alex doesn’t need to ask his waitress for the check. He gets the same thing every damn time, and he tips the same way — an empty coffee cup and a few crumbs of toast left on his plate, a ten dollar bill pinned under the salt shaker. There’s only one other customer, and he doesn’t look up as Alex takes his coat down from its hook. No one looks at Alex at all as he leaves, and he tells himself that’s how he likes it. 

He’s alone because he wants to be. He chose this for himself.

The night air is a shock — cold in a way that makes all the muscles of his back seize up. He’s already got his keys in hand, tucked into his coat pocket as he walks between pools of streetlight. 

Later, Alex won’t really remember what he was thinking about — probably hoping his car will start, or wondering if he should stop at the all-night pharmacy to buy more melatonin. He’s on auto-pilot, after all, normal thoughts for a normal night, variations on a bone-deep familiar theme.

Alex won’t remember what he was thinking, but he’ll remember the exact moment his night went off the rails; the pivot on which his life would turn.

Someone coughs, wet and painful-sounding and loud as a gunshot in the silent parking lot. There’s a rasp of gravel and asphalt under a heavy shoe.

Alex stops and turns toward the sound, his body humming with fresh adrenaline. He’s small and tired and alone. He calculates how long it would take him to reach his car; he slots his keys between his fingers, makeshift spikes on a fist he hopes he will not have to use.

A figure steps out from behind a pickup truck, stumbling forward into the light. A man, easily twice Alex’s size and at least a head taller – even stooped and shambling like this – leans heavily on the truck as he shuffles closer. He’s coatless and hatless, dressed only in a rumpled suit and a stained white cotton shirt, a cardinal necktie hanging loose around his neck, his dark hair and mutton chop sideburns heavily salted with gray. Even from here — at least ten feet away — Alex can smell that he’s been drinking. He reeks of whiskey and vomit.

Alex’s grip tightens on his keys. His voice is too high — too obviously scared — as he asks, “Can I help you with something?”

The man’s sharp bark of laughter dissolves into more coughing, and he wheezes as he catches his breath. There’s a smirking chuckle in his voice as he says, in a rough-throated rasp, “Jesus Christ, Quackity…you took your fucking time in there, you little shit.”

[satordl]

Ok, ✨STORY TIME✨, I guess

(but maybe "rant" would be more fitting)

Little Kings were my first ABDL diapers, before them I had only tried medical diapers: obscure local brands at first, then Tena slips, which at the time felt already like a huge achievement. I would get them from the pharmacy, only on the few days my roommate was out of town, and I was terrorized that a delivery of ABDL diapers would somehow be discovered and blow my cover. This and my almost complete isolation from the community left me of course in a frequent state of either craving, longing, lusting or all of the above, depending on the ✨inclination✨ of the moment.

Things changed around one year ago. In the meantime I had made this profile and become sliiightly less anxious (still working hard on it, I promise🫡), so I finally came to a conclusion. Maybe, just maybe, it would not be the end of the world if I took some precautions and finally ordered what I already suspected could be the diapers of my dreams. And so I did. I think it's better for my dignity (and here I am talking about dignity under various photos of myself in a giant baby diaper, ah! the irony) if I don't dwell too much on the less-than-flattering scenes which immediately preceded the arrival of the parcel, of me frantically running to the window to scan the road for any sight of the courier... approximately every ten second or so, for a good part of the morning.

Fortunately the actual delivery went by without notable accidents, and so I was finally the fortunate owner of a pack of ABDL diapers. It was almost indescribable. I grew up with the cloth-backed Pampers of early 2000s, with colors like pastel blue/green/yellow, and for my brain those are the only real diapers, the blueprint, the thing that has been so deeply ingrained in my thoughts that I have literally no memory of not wanting to wear them. With this premise in mind, Little Kings were the closest match I had seen that far. It was, in a sense, a bit like being reunited with a long lost friend... Of course, it wasn't an exact copy, but they provided a familiar sense of comfort, an invite to let go of anxiety and control over things, that was unlike any other previous adult diaper. It was, and is still valid, a mechanism deeply rooted in the sensory aspect, triggered by a mixture of texture (cloth-backed>>>>>), shape, colors and patterns.

Since then I've only tried two other ABDL brands (really few occasions to wear and even fewer places to hide them😭), and even if I had amazing experiences in both cases, which I hope to share in the future, I suspect that Little Kings will always have a special place in my heart ❤️✨

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Hopeless Navigator (K.Tobio x Fem! Reader)

Music plays softly from her speaker as she types peacefully in her home office, enjoying her morning coffee in peace as the sun begins it's journey towards noon.

(Y/N)'s comfortable in her own company these days, even if the telling absence of her boyfriend does nag at the back of her mind each time she gets up for food and coffee. She knows he'll be home soon, and she has work to do.

Work that gets interrupted by an unfamiliar number lighting up her phone and rudely interrupting her music.

She answers it out of sheer curiosity. 'Hello? Who is this?'

"Excuse you, it's Hoshiumi you dummy!'

'Hoshi? Did you lose your phone again?'

"...maybe. That's not the point right now!" The platinum blonde huffed down the phone, she can practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Where's your boy toy? He get sick and forget to tell us or somethin'?"

Worry coiled in the pit of her stomach and she resisted the urge to stand right away. 'He left half an hour ago.'

"Whelp, it's happened again!"

'How could it happen again?! The gym hasn't moved!'

"No, but we're practising somewhere else today, Kageyama hasn't been here before but we sent him the location and made sure he knew how to use the link!"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and immediately started for the door, gathering her things on the way. 'Where's practice?'

Hoshiumi recited the address and she tucked the information away in the back of her mind as she headed out the door, keys in hand and unlocked her car. Kageyama doesn't drive, he insists he can make it just about anywhere important on foot or public transport. Besides, getting lost in a car has rather more dire consequences than getting lost on foot.

"We've tried calling him, he's not making any sense and can't figure out how to send us his location, the dude's hopeless!"

(Y/N) giggled fondly, swapping the phone to the hands-free system before backing out of the parking spot. 'Aight, I'll go find him. It's the third time this has happened, could you guys just tell me so I can get him to practice next time? You know he's hopeless!'

"Well yeah, but we didn't think he was THIS bad!"

'You don't know my Tobio.' She giggled.

"Yeah, we know he's been following you around since he left Japan, just hurry up and find the guy! Good luck!'

As soon as that call ends, she makes another. Tobio picks up on the second ring, warning her that he's starting to get slightly worried. "Who told you?"

'Hoshi. Honestly, between him getting a new phone every thirty seconds and you getting lost going to the store, you make Ushijima look put together!' She teased, knowing she'd be hearing his pout over the phone any minute. 'Can you tell me where you are?'

"Wouldn't be lost if I could."

There's that pout she's learned to love. 'Alright, luv, anything around you? Shops, pharmacy?'

"Uh, there's a bakery called Mar's Delicacies."

(Y/N) closed her eyes, running through her mental map of the city. 'Red and Yellow sign?'

"Yeah..." He'll never be less amazed by how she does this, it's been years since the first time she pulled this stunt. No matter where he ends up in the city, she always manages to find him with a single landmark, and he knows for a fact she's not using google because he's seen her find her niece the same way. His girlfriend makes up for his horrendous sense of direction by having a damn near eidetic memory of whatever city they live in. They move around so much because of his career and part of him feels guilty for uprooting her so often.

(Y/N) never seems to mind, she takes in new places with the same sense of wonder each time.

'Stand on the street corner by the crossing, I'll be there in ten minutes and I'll have you at the gym in twenty, alright?'

"Thank you...babe.''

Her ears turned pink and she damn near missed the accelerator pedal as she pulled away from a green light. Tobio never uses nicknames, let alone pet names.

'Love you.' That is all she can say before he hangs up, leaving her to navigate the city of her mental map to find him standing precisely where she expected him to.

As promised, she had him at the address Hoshi gave her within twenty minutes, and smiled as he leaned over the centre console to kiss her goodbye. 'You're the best, (Y/N).'

Smiling, she brushes her nose affectionately against his, unable to resist pecking his lips again. 'Go kick ass, my pretty setter.'

[fleckcmscott]

Glad and Golden Hours

Summary: Two months after Arkham, Christmas Eve is on its way. Y/N and Arthur prepare to host their nearest, dearest friends.

Words: 4,466

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This comes from a request made by @sweet-nothings04​. Thank you for the opportunity to add to the Stepping Stones series and get to know Robert a little more - in many ways, he’s still a stranger to me! 😂 Hope you all enjoy! Have a wonderful holiday season! ⛄

Arthur snipped each layer of twine, and the pine's branches lowered in a curtsy of festive green.

They'd gotten a Christmas tree later than usual this season, a mere two days before the holiday. (Mike from New Hampshire apologized for his tree stand's slim pickings. Arthur found the last six and a half footer tucked under a tarp.) With Y/N's return to full-time hours at the office and the burst of gigs that'd come his way, they'd barely had time to breathe. The work was welcome, especially the charity events at the mall and clinic. Waypoints on a map that led to routine.

It'd also taken a lot out of him. Too little tiredness had morphed into too much. His body was still processing the medication switch from Arkham, and starting last Thursday, he'd lowered the dose of his anti-depressant to 20mg, a change suggested by Dr. Ludlow to help with fatigue.

It was a marvel, the difference having a partner made in recovery, how it helped three steps forward remain three steps. (The days it slipped back to two he mostly kept to himself.) He and Y/N had even made love twice this month, including the Saturday afternoon he'd woken her from a nap. A kiss to her bare shoulder and he'd fallen into her. Satisfyingly simple - and initiated by him.

Branches freed, he turned to see her standing before their console stereo, stretching to tape red and gold garland to the wall. Most of their ornaments had come with her from Missouri, but this decoration was theirs. The shiny foil had caught his eye from across the pharmacy aisle, gone into their shopping basket without delay. Started the tradition of adding a bauble to their collection every year.

When she made a disgruntled groan, lifted her right foot to reach a smidge higher, he chuckled. "Let me do that," he said, crossing to her. He taped it a good four inches above her fingertips. The garland dipped in the middle, an approving smile anchored by cascades of color on each end.

"Thank you." She moved to kneel on the stereo, grabbed a big red bow from her left. She hooked it on the smile. "Remind me to start the Swiss steaks in the morning. They have to cook ten hours."

A loose hold on her waist, more of a protective hovering lest she lose her balance. "I think that's the only recipe I've seen in your handwriting."

"I copied it out of a magazine in a doctor's office and served it every Christmas back home. Mabel always took the smallest piece. But the kids liked it and it wasn't half bad. Made it easy to keep an eye on my father, too." That she could mention her past without a hitch in her voice, that she'd share the dish him, turned Arthur's hovering into a caress. She patted his hand. "If you agree with Mabel, you won't go hungry. We'll be lucky to close the fridge, with all Patricia's going to bring."

Ah, yes. Patricia and Robert.

Arthur had gotten close enough to Patricia to hide her paltry smoking from Y/N, to be entrusted with secret tidbits about his wife. But Robert remained an enigma. The man had attended their wedding, like any friend should. Joined blue moon double dates concocted by their better halves. He was quiet, stayed on the periphery.

Patricia also knew the details of Arthur's relapse; Robert barely cracked a grin at his jokes.

Other than when Y/N's family had visited (one bathroom for eight people; bah humbug, indeed), Arthur and she had celebrated by themselves. Truth be told, he would've preferred it stay that way. They'd barely had an anniversary. For his sake, she'd declined her sister's invitation to Thanksgiving. Though it'd worked out in the end, his damned moods had botched Black Friday shopping.

She hadn't minded any of it, she said. He believed her. But he also loved her. There was no reason to let her in on every negative thought, every doubt. When she'd asked about having friends over, her smile had dazzled at the idea. How could he have declined? With everything she'd done for him? He'd hung onto her happiness, a dog finally catching the car it'd been chasing, and said yes.

Now that car just had to be small enough to handle.

"You still up to hosting?" she asked, peeking at him over her shoulder.

He prayed for a moped instead of a tank. "Yeah."

That irresistible smile came again. She slid backwards off the console, clipping his toes with her heel. She'd just begun to lean into him, when she squinted and sped in the direction of the front door. "Shit, I forgot the poinsettias. I'll run to Ed's. Please get out the lights!"

~~~~~

Thickened liquid shot the mercury to 160 degrees. "Quick, quick, put the pot on the trivet."

Y/N followed Patricia's command. Without the older woman at her side, Y/N wouldn't have trusted herself to make anything involving a cooking thermometer. Black sludge had resulted from her one attempt at chocolate fudge. Scraping it into the trash, she'd forsworn any recipes involving that tool forever.

Two teaspoons of vanilla extract met furious whisking. When Patricia cracked open a bottle of whiskey, Y/N covered the pot with her forearm. Steam dampened the sleeve of her sweater. "Can we add that later?"

"Arthur still not drinking?"

"Besides a sip of my wine every now and then, no."

"He's smarter than all of us combined." Patricia picked up the pot, poured the mixture through a mesh strainer into an awaiting ceramic bowl.

Y/N hugged her at the waist. Patricia had taken a keen interest in Arthur's recovery. Made a point to ask how he was at least once a week, how everything compared to before. It was a first for Y/N, having stepping stones of support to climb. Patricia being her wonderful self was a gift. And she'd been a dear to suggest putting together an old-fashioned Christmas for Arthur, to offer to do the heavy lifting and give them both a break.

Over dinner, she'd updated them on the latest at Shaw & Associates. Her new colleague, the third since Y/N had left, was a total bore. Never wanted to order lunch, completely lacked a sarcasm detector. The Wayne Foundation was looking to start another charity arm, this one for the arts. It followed a trend of donations focused less on the poor and needy, more on galas and museums for the rich and needless. After nearly a decade of chasing, Matt had finally won back his ex-wife Laura. All victory had taken was a river cruise and a prenup.

Arthur had tapped his fork on his plate, his face a mask of bewilderment. "Why marry someone already planning to divorce?"

The Swiss steaks had turned out well enough for Robert to ask for leftovers. He could handle sticking them in the microwave and wanted to give Patricia a well-deserved break. It was flattering, them choosing Y/N's cooking for Christmas Dinner. Patricia's duchess potatoes - her daughter Ruby's favorite - were a buttery take on spuds Y/N could eat every day. And Patricia had prepared a small tray of mac and cheese for Arthur to heat up in the oven, replete with 3" x 5" instruction card and tied with a bow.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open. Y/N peered into the living room. A hand the size of a catcher's mitt and holding a beer gestured frantically for Arthur to get his butt on the couch. Robert chastised him like an old uncle, groused that he'd missed a touchdown, updated him on the score. Arthur hiked up his trousers. Settled next to him and leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. She bit back a chuckle. Football interested Arthur about as much as hardening cement, and even then, the cement might win out.

When the teams on TV huddled on the sidelines, she came to the rescue. She strode to the back of the couch and bent between them. The seven minutes left on the clock were a godsend. "Miracle on 34th Street is on NCB, and Robert Shaw Chorale's Christmas Spirit is on PBS. Take your pick."

"Robert Shaw," Arthur said.

Robert stood, stretched his arms behind his back. His shoulders snapped, crackled, and popped. "Doesn't matter to me. The Wildcats are gonna blow it either way." He pulled a pack of Silk Cuts from his front pocket and went to the fire escape to light up.

Arthur's brow furrowed into a mountain range. "He's not very friendly. I don't know if he wants to be here. He could watch the game at home."

While Robert was the strong silent type, Y/N sensed a softness hiding underneath. He'd agreed to go to marriage counseling with Patricia. He always ensured she walked on the inside of the sidewalk, a protective gesture from an earlier era. Tonight, he'd rubbed his stomach after each bite of potatoes, a compliment to Patricia's kitchen wizardry.

Y/N offered a gentle reply. "This is their first Christmas without their daughter and grandson." Ruby had married the Gotham General tech she'd met six years ago, and she and Brian were spending the holiday weekend with his family upstate. "You know how when I have a bad day, and I just want to forget it? When we kiss or sit without saying anything? That's enough. Sometimes having a friend sit with you is enough."

Arthur's boyish dimples reappeared. "I won't be kissing him anytime soon."

"Good. That'd send him running back to Burnside."

Later, she served eggnog: three with a shot of whiskey, one virgin. An angelic choir drifted from the television, familiar and comforting as crocheted mittens. Popcorn bowl at her side, Patricia sat on the living room carpet and invited Arthur to join her. She pulled a coin purse from her pocket, took out two big needles connected by a long, black thread. She demonstrated how to slide a fluffy flake down the string.

"I love the smell of pine," Patricia said, five kernels in. "This year we got an artificial. It just isn't the same."

"There's canned pine scent," Y/N suggested. "Donahue's has it by the artificial snow."

"From Aurora Fresheners? We tried that. The whole apartment smelled like a bathroom. When I was a kid, it was real or nothing. My mother hated the needles. One Christmas, when I was six, I asked Santa for a sled. I dragged it over to Cherry Hill - that's down by the water district - and slid right through a fence into the reservoir. They sent mom a bill for repairs. She made me clean up all the needles. With a broom."

Laughter threw Y/N's head back. Although her family hadn't been religious, they'd gone to the usual seasonal social gatherings. Being in the Bible Belt, they'd revolved around the local church. "One Christmas service, a candle caught a lock of my hair. It smelled terrible, like burning rubber. Mabel and I gagged our way to the bathroom."

There were other recollections, of course, ones she kept locked in the keepsake box of her heart. Her earliest holiday season in Gotham had marked seven months in a new state in a new city in a new home. Though only three people worked in her new office, her new boss Matt had planned a Secret Santa. That she'd gotten an Aqua Velva soap on a rope (a discount store bestseller) had made it obvious who'd drawn her name.

For the first time, she'd experienced a truly frigid chill, one that'd frozen her bones. Admired Christmas windows grander than she'd ever seen. Rented ice skates at Gotham Park and exchanged smiles with Ned, a cute man in flannel and jeans who'd complimented her form. The hot chocolate they'd shared at the concession stand had been surprisingly rich. But she'd resisted Ned's suggestions to make a snowman, to surrender her last name and phone number. The evening had ended with thanks and well wishes.

New to herself, she hadn't wanted to play the game of pursuit. Not yet. She'd cherished the quiet of her own place, a hard-won light at the end of twenty years of tunnel. When she'd sat at the counter of a nearby diner on Christmas Eve, sliced turkey roll and canned cranberry sauce before her, a wave of joy had overwhelmed, to the point where she'd had to dab at her eyes.

"Thanks for this," she'd whispered to what was probably nothing. The closest thing to a pray she'd offered in her life.

Arthur's mouth tightened in concentration, popcorn stuck on the eye of the needle. "At school we made paper chains. I brought mine home and taped it on the TV. My mom and I watched the Murray Franklin Christmas Special."

"They had a dance floor for the audience in the sixties," Patricia said. "We got tickets once, really lucked out. Bing Crosby was there, Slam Bradly, too. Remember that, dear?" She directed her inquiry at the sofa.

Robert twisted to look at them over the cushions. "We did a pretty good Lindy hop back then."

"You and Y/N should go next year!"

The flake Arthur had been wrangling broke into crumbles.

Y/N's regard shot to him. There was a tremble in his fingers so subtle only she would notice. Since his spot as a Special Guest, Murray Franklin hadn't been welcome in their homes. Before they'd moved in together or after. Whenever the TV Guide happened to feature his smug mug on the cover, Arthur tore it clean from the spine. He'd flick cigarettes towards bus stop ads for Live! If he was in the mood for late night comedy, he'd catch David Endochrine with her.

"I don't think so," Arthur said. He fingered another kernel to try again. But after a moment, he laid the needle and thread in the bowl, pushed himself to stand. "I, um-" His voice had gone thick, inflected with the raw quality of the wounded. He winced. A whisper this time. "Excuse me." He walked to the bedroom. The door thudded softly behind him.

No one moved a muscle. Breath couldn't be heard. A peaceful rendition of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" began, notes wrapping them in glorious sounds of old.

Patricia straightened, interrupted the peaceful rendition. "That was stupid."

Y/N scooted two spaces across the carpet, placed a comforting palm on Patricia's knee. "He just needs breaks, that's all."

Last week they'd attended her office's Christmas party. He'd done his best to fit in, make small talk, be a person like other people. And he'd been good at it, seemed like a combination of his old and new self, both selves she'd fallen in love with. But after forty minutes, without a hint that something was wrong, he'd asked if it'd be too soon to leave. She'd planned on staying two hours. As they'd held hands on the subway home, she'd mulled over what she'd observed, tried to understand.

She shared that with Patricia. "He'd probably had enough of everyone asking how he was. They'd known he'd been ill but not the details. Arthur likes attention - he needs it more than most people I've met. But I don't think he knew how to answer without saying he'd been in Arkham. It's hard to predict how someone'll react to that."

"I don't blame him," Robert said, his rich baritone kinder than she'd ever heard it. "People can see a broken leg but not when your brain has a limp."

Y/N felt her shoulders loosen, his words an etching of reassurance. "Only dear friends," she said. She moved to check on Arthur, see if he'd been granted some of the peace on earth, impart the goodwill mentioned in the song.

Patricia stopped her with a palm to her shoulder, braced herself against the wall to stand. "I'll go." She straightened the hem of her blouse, grabbed strands of tinsel from the middle branches, and made a beeline for the door.

~~~~~

Arthur sat on his side of the bed, facing the vanity. He disliked the set of his features, dour and stern, as if carved from rough granite. The low light of the bedside lamp bathed but didn't soften. He opened his mouth, practiced loosening his jaw, stretched it until the hinge joint popped.

That Patricia hadn't meant to hurt was obvious, even to a guy with a lot of problems like him. How was she to know Murray had been a father figure? A man he'd loved who'd pierced him so deeply, that that love had bled out and left hatred in its wake? He'd been too silly, too inexperienced to recognize the differences between celluloid and real life. To have thoroughly set himself up for disappointment was almost as embarrassing as the way it continued to sting. Nearly a decade had passed. Time to let it fucking go.

The flash of a police car prompted him to look out the window. Clouds had rolled in, and sparse streaks of moonlight fought their way through the batted cotton. White lights sparkled from an apartment across the street, the tree a perfect display in the front window. Two little girls jumped around their father, relenting only when he doled out gifts from under the tree. Arthur hugged his pillow to his stomach like a life vest.

There was more to the paper chain memory. Visitors from a Catholic charity had gone door to door that evening. Arthur had polished off a bowl of Rice Honeys for dinner, been in the middle of rinsing his dish when the buzzer sounded.

The two nuns towered over him, a couple of emperor penguins. "Are you home alone, young man?" the older one had asked, as if it was weird for a little boy to answer the door.

Uninvited, they'd stepped into the entranceway. Surveyed the walls of the apartment, the open and empty cupboards, the rug that was dirty because they only had a carpet sweeper. They had to have noticed his filthy t-shirt. The lack of tree. Penny passed out cold, her motionless form in the living room chair. At that tender age, it'd felt normal.

The penguins offered two gifts, wrapped in paper covered by shepards and nativities, along with a mimeographed invitation to the candlelight service at St. Swithun's Parish. "Bless you, sweet boy," the younger one had said. Then they'd left, drifting down the corridor like ghosts of Christmas past.

Arthur had scribbled "From: Arthur" on his mother's present. A white lie that'd make her happy, so god wouldn't mind. He'd put the presents on the coffee table. Bounced his stuffed bear and watched Red Skelton, waiting for his mother to come round.

A light knock at the door. The knocker didn't wait for a response to squeak the hinges. Brass trumpets spilled into the room. "I have a real talent for putting my foot in my mouth."

Patricia's self-deprecation forced a crooked grin. He watched her approach in the mirror, loosened his hold on the pillow. He pushed it aside as discretely as possible.

"I hear so much about how you're doing from Y/N," she said. "But never from the source."

"I'm fine."

The woman had a way about her. Warmth oozed out of her like a radiator on a blizzardy night, which allowed her to make the bluntest comments and never offend. A strange sort of equation that never failed to balance. She sat next to him and continued the tradition. "The news talks about Arkham being a place for criminals. It's not reported as a hospital for regular people; it's gossiped about. I'm glad to know better now. And that you're doing well."

If they were close enough for her to share secrets, maybe he could trust her with one of his own. But he couldn't quite return her stare. "Some days are hard. More than I'd like. More than- than I tell Y/N."

"She's the type of woman who wants to know all the facts and figures. That doesn't mean you have to tell her everything."

He bit down another grin. It was too true. And he wouldn't. She didn't need to learn about the nights in the hospital, when he could've sworn he'd felt her arms around him, her breast beneath his cheek, while also wishing she'd stay the hell away from McKean Island. That the years with her were when he'd learned what healthy felt like. That what he coveted more than anything, to the point of cold sweats, was to get back to that. For her. For their marriage. For himself.

Patricia broke through his reverie. "Is today a nice day?"

"Yeah." He turned to look at her, nodded, met her ebony eyes. "It is. But you didn't have to go to so much trouble. With the food and decorations."

Tipsy but honest kindness shone in the curve of her smile. Suddenly, she tossed tinsel on his head, a pile of silver atop his chestnut mop. Frowning, he reached to drag it off, tangling it in his waves. She grasped his fingers on the way down and squeezed tight. "You and Y/N are family, Arthur. You're family."

It took a while to find his voice. "Thanks, Patricia."

In the middle of "Away in a Manger," the television switched off. Stevie Wonder's Someday at Christmas played in its stead. The B-Side, which Y/N found upbeat. It wasn't exactly Arthur's style, but he'd come to appreciate her preference for disco and soul. And it was a welcome change from choral melancholy.

Patricia slurped at her mug, stuck it out towards him. "I need a cigarette. As a trusted family member, would you bring this to the kitchen? Take her with you. I'll owe you all the tea in China."

~~~~~

Y/N tied the shopping bag handles and opened the refrigerator. She'd packed the main and sides separately, otherwise gravy would've ruined the potatoes' crispy finish. As she arranged three Tupperware containers on the top shelf, Arthur came in, Patricia's mug in hand. He rinsed it and took the ladle from the bowl for a refill.

He indicated Y/N's cup on the counter with a tilt of the head. "You want some, too?"

"Please." She closed the fridge's door, gave it an extra push for good measure. "Patricia's quite the charmer, isn't she?"

Arthur snorted, drew his back chin, its skin squishing into pinchable folds. The cheery sound was a breeze that freshened the whole apartment. His gaze fell to the floor before rising to meet hers. He held out her drink. "She's not the only one."

When Y/N took it, her fingers lingered on his for too long to be an accident. She brought the rim to her lips for a sip. She'd add a nip later.

"You're doing great," she said. "I'm proud of you."

His smile blinded, a flash of light to outdo Damascus. The gap between them narrowed, foot by foot, inch by inch. He plucked a bloom from the poinsettia on the counter, tucked it behind her ear. The gesture made her insides ripple in the same manner as a girl's first crush.

"Do you love me?" he asked. The love light gleam in his green irises told her he hadn't asked because he didn't believe it, but because he wanted to hear it.

She stretched the rest of the way to meet his lips and spoke her answer against them. "Completely. Now let's go see what Santa brought."

Multicolor lights glimmered on the pile of presents under the tree. The four of them sat around it, Y/N and Arthur on the floor, Patricia and Robert on two dining chairs due to his aching tailbone. Y/N's cheeks felt as if they were going to melt, the result of alcohol and menopause. She unbuttoned the top of her sweater and held her cold mug to her skin, just below her neck.

Robert hummed approval when he unwrapped the bottle of Ballentine's Scotch, aged ten years. (Thank god they'd gone shopping for their husbands together.) Patricia immediately plugged in the True to Light makeup mirror from L. Ballinger's. She tested the office, day, and evening settings, explained the subtle differences. ("Black eyeliner works better at night.")

The Gormans' gift to Y/N was a clothes shaver from the Windmill Signature collection, a practical, odd tool to remove fuzz and pills from her blazers and skirts. She burst into silly laughter. What else did the "collection" carry? An automatic foot scraper? Premiere upper lip waxing kits? At least it wasn't a soap on a rope. She flicked it on, ran it over Patricia's polyester skirt until she batted her away.

On top of the mac and cheese, Arthur got a Christmas tie deemed cheesy enough for him. Polar bears skated on cursive Merry Christmases on a background of red and white stripes. "I'll put this in my bag," he said, and folded it into thirds. "For December gigs."

The remaining presents would have to wait until tomorrow. A private gift exchange better suited both couples. Arthur had dropped no hints as to what he'd gotten her; she'd shown respect by not snooping. She was certain he'd love the microwavable mug warmer, guaranteed to keep his coffee hot during long journaling sessions. The other box under the tree hid mounds of tissue paper and a bathrobe, midnight blue tinted royal, to be tied at the waist. She giggled, imagining how he'd pluck her folded note from the breast pocket, the blush that'd betray when he got to the naughty part.

Leaning back on her forearms, she sighed a contented sigh. A happiness to rival turkey roll and cranberry sauce swept through her, wetting her eyes all over again. She turned towards the window, gnawed her bottom lip.

White flecks glowed in the orange of the phosphorescent streetlamp, brightening the sky. She recalled that first Christmas in the city, the memories Patricia and Arthur had shared. The holiday wouldn't be complete without making another.

"There's an unplowed parking lot three buildings down," Y/N said, standing. She darted to the coat hooks in the entranceway, snagged their hats and mittens, returned and shoved them at Patricia and Robert. "We can build a snowman." The quirk of Patricia's mouth said she thought Y/N was out of her mind, but she'd play along. She rose to her feet, pulling Robert - mid-trying to open his scotch - along with her.

Arthur burrowed deeper into his bathrobe, a playful skepticism narrowing his gaze. "It's supposed to be ten below tonight."

"We'll bring a thermos. Besides." Y/N sat on his lap, put his cap on his head, and fluffed the pom-pom on top. "Your love will keep me warm."

~~~~~

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[ftm2bbw]

For the last ten years or so, you’ve been managing a very unusual hormone disorder. You see, your body responds to stress differently than most people. When your body produces cortisol during stressful situations, it starts a chain reaction of estrogen and growth hormones leading to pronounced swelling. You first noticed it when, during one of your finals in university, your breasts had swollen to the size of cantaloupes under your heavy sweater. For anyone, this would be an embarrassing condition to live with; for a trans man already living with the stress of gender dysphoria, it was down right humiliating. You would almost swear your body started doing this to you as an act of protest against your transitioning. Thankfully, the swelling was temporary, and you had managed to get a good prescription to keep it under control; all you had to do was take two tablets in the morning and one before bed and you could go the entire day without any undue stress-swelling. There was a bit of weight gain as a side effect, but nothing that couldn’t be managed. Though, as you were heading down to bed for the night, you noticed that your pill bottle was nearly empty, just enough for tonight. You made a reminder to see your pharmacist tomorrow about refilling it.

When you arrived at the pharmacy, you were met with a terrible shock. Closed. It seemed your pharmacist had gone for an impromptu vacation, and his assistant was still recovering from the flu, so there was no-one there who could refill your much needed prescription. This was nothing short of a disaster. You needed this. Passing was hard enough, but if the slightest bit of stress sent your estrogen into overdrive, it would be nearly impossible. You could already feel what was going to happen: the stares of strangers as they eye-fucked your ample curves; the calls of “miss”, “young lady”, “she”, and the like; the feeling of your own body betraying you. You could feel your heart racing already, your skin clamming up, your pupils dilating, your breathing getting heavier, and… oh god, not now!

You could feel the effects already. That familiar pressure in your chest began to build itself. It pushed against your binder, straining and pulling the compression fabric. It swelled to that familiar cantaloupe weight from ten years ago, but to your horror it wasn’t stopping. You tried and tried to slow your breathing, to calm yourself down, but the swelling just wouldn’t stop. You were already approaching melon size, feeling your binder tearing at the sides, and quickly running out of room in your sweater. It was getting harder to hide these; the billowy fabric of your sweater pulled tight against your chest, displaying their shape for all who wanted to see. You could already feel the eyes of everyone around you. Some came up to you, curious, asking if you were ok, calling you “miss”. Their concern stung at your psyche and you could feel a pit in your stomach as the swelling sped up. You wrapped your arms around your chest in a pitiful attempt to hide them and you ran to the alleyway behind the pharmacy to keep their eyes off of you.

You collapsed yourself against the wall and slid down into the seating position as the weight on your chest overwhelmed you. The swelling was intense, heaving and buzzing with every breath. Your sweater was unbearably tight against your breasts, heavy cotton pulled to its limit with the sound of fabric tearing filling your ears. With a single resounding tear, your breasts finally broke free of their cotton vice. They landed on your thighs with a resounding slap, heavy and the size of meaty bean bag chairs. Still, they kept swelling, still piling on weight and swallowing up your legs. You couldn’t help but be in awe of the size of them, of how soft and plush they felt. You pressed your hands deep into your breasts, feeling them sink into your flesh, and you felt something awaken in you. You blushed, turning deep red, and felt yourself getting so very, very wet. At that moment, the rate of swelling exploded and you arched your back in an orgasm.

Your breasts grew well past your legs and were quickly swallowing space on the concrete. Like massive water balloons hooked up to a fire hydrant, they sloshed and wobbled in time with your body shuddering in waves of orgasms. In no time you had been pulled to your feet by them as they swelled to the size of sedans. With every added foot to your bust you whimpered and moaned, gripping your chest tightly and grinding against your own breasts. A veritable wall of tit, they closed the gap between you and the opposing building and swelled against them, rising up like dough in the oven. Your back was pressed by your milk-truck tits into the pharmacy, and you could see nothing but your own expanse. In one final, earth shattering orgasm, you shrieked in pleasure and you could feel the swelling stop in your release.

You let out deep sighs of pleasure as you felt your mind unclouding. It suddenly dawned on you just how large you were, and you hoped they would start deflating soon. Although, as you gave your unthinkably massive breasts another press, you thought that maybe they could stand to take their time.

~🍨

The interplay between my embarassment, my arousal, and my growth would be such a mindfuck....and feel so, so, so damn good.

I'd be so horrified that a part of my body I'd tried so hard to bind away was swelling so quickly, and so massively. But it wouldn't stop me from exploring and groping them once I was 'safely' hidden away in the alley. Sinking my hands into my wobbling tits as they practically pulsed with growth...and pleasure.

Some mindlessly horny part of my brain would still be egging them on to grow bigger and more sensitive even as they surpassed any human size. Even being stimulated by the pressure as they pressed up against the walls of the building in front of me.

And part of me wouldn't want to go back on my meds again...

[maryellencarter]

so i ran out of all my brain meds because i forgot to pick them up on my weekend because i was busy stressing over whether the leavened messiah and/or the easter bunny were going to steal my pants, and so today i went to the walmart right after work to try to pick them up from the pharmacy, and that's how i found out that every walmart pharmacy nationwide closes at exactly the time i get off work now

(i mean, i assume there are time zones involved, but still)

and of course this is all happening during the exact same week when i suddenly got a new boss, who appears to have decided that i... don't know how to use the work tools i've been using for a year and a half minimum? and don't understand any of the rules i've been meticulously following? and need to be threatened with write-ups for failings like "answering every message the rules say i'm allowed to answer but those numbers don't add up to the insanely optimistic stat that's being demanded".

(literally, they've bumped up the goal stat ten percent and also added a large category of message to the 'forbidden to answer' list. i told her "that metric isn't possible. i have never had a boss tell me i missed answering a message i should have answered. i'm confident you'll find the same. hopefully we can use those results to show that the metric should be lowered"... and her response was to start listing out categories of messages that should be answered. as if she thinks i don't actually know what i'm talking about. like ma'am, okay, it's day one, you can be forgiven for not realizing that I have the entire list of Messages Not To Answer word-for-word in my head, but you could, uh. at least act like you pretend you think i'm neither an utter incompetent or a liar, until you get a chance to look at the list of messages i didn't answer, which you expressly told me you couldn't view yet.)

anyway. yeah. so i've been going on like this at leia for the past two days. i'm genuinely worried that i'm going to get fired because i'm a little too slow and thorough at answering messages, or because i get stuck past my breaks and lunches because i'm helping customers with complicated problems that another agent would just give up on, or because the messages i'm not allowed to answer are coming in at too high a pace. because those are all metrics i'm a little bit low on, and my new boss is like "if you're not meeting the requirements on Literally Any Metric i will do a pre-writeup, and then a writeup, and then a final writeup, and then fire you", and this is not fucking motivational

[greatcherryblossomsweets]

Medicinal Garden Kit Reviews (Nicole Apelian) Small Backyard Herbal Seed Plants Kit

Medicinal Garden Kit Reviews (Nicole Apelian) Small Backyard Herbal Seed Plants Kit

The Medicinal Garden Kit is a great way to start growing your medicinal plants. It includes various types of seeds and containers, as well as instructions on how to care for them and use them in your treatments.

Gardening is often regarded as one of the oldest forms of human interaction with nature. It has been said that gardening instills in people a sense of mastery and connection over their environment, which can be beneficial for mental well-being.

But is that all? Are you not missing the most crucial thing in your backyard? It's medicinal plants!

There is no doubt that medicinal plants are important and can have a very positive impact on the health of people around the world. Not only do they provide relief from illness, but they also act as natural medicines that can fight off both physical and mental conditions. Additionally, they can provide essential nutrients and antioxidants to our diet, help us reduce stress levels, promote relaxation, and boost our moods.

However, finding a collection of the right medicinal plants is sometimes challenging, especially when you are a beginner at gardening. https://bit.ly/3Yfrpk4

Medicinal Garden Kit includes ten powerful medicinal plants that are highly powerful for their clinically proven health benefits. Medicinal Garden Kit reviews are so positive, and many people are highly satisfied with the quality of the seeds. But is the Medicinal Garden Kit really worth the investment? What does it contain? Let's find out in this comprehensive Medicinal Garden Kit review.

What Is The Medicinal Garden Kit?

How would you feel if your lungs got a wonderful smell and refreshing air every morning when you woke up in the morning? Well, that's what the Medicinal Garden Kit is!

The Medicinal Garden Kit is a great way to start growing your medicinal plants. It includes various types of seeds and containers, as well as instructions on how to care for them and use them in your treatments.

The kit is designed for both beginner gardeners and those with intermediate or advanced gardening skills. It offers an easy way to get started growing your own medicine right at home without any mess or fuss. Plus, the plants that you harvest will be rich in nutrients and antioxidants, which are beneficial for overall health.

Nicole Apelian - The Creator Of The Medicinal Garden Kit

Medicinal Garden Kit is created by Dr. Nicole Apelian, who is a mother, a naturalist, a trainer in survival skills, and a Ph.D. holder. Her undergraduate education was in Biology at McGill University, and she continued her herbal studies. Her life was spent among one of the most ancient cultures of the world, the San Bushmen.

Dr. Nicole got interested in medicinal plants when she had Multiple Sclerosis. Multiple sclerosis (MS) is a disorder of the central nervous system that causes problems with movement and communication, and it is not curable. After trying various medications from western hospitals and doctors, her condition was not relieved.

For the past 20 years, Dr. Nicole has been dealing with her Multiple sclerosis by using natural remedies and medicinal plants she grows in her backyard. She has also survived 57 days all alone in the wild, which was later featured on a history TV channel. Her journey from a wheelchair to living the fullest life. Whenever she has any health issue like headache, body pain, fever, or infection, she turns towards her little backyard pharmacy.

Inside The Medicinal Garden Kit https://bit.ly/3Yfrpk4

Following are the seeds you get in the Medicinal Garden Kit:

#1 California Poppy

California Poppy is a flowering plant that can be found in many parts of the United States. California Poppy is known to support sleep. Its calming effects can help you fall asleep quickly and stay asleep through the night. Additionally, it has been reported to reduce anxiety and stress levels, improve moods, promote relaxation by increasing blood flow to the brain, and induce a deep sleep that is restorative for the body.

Dr. Nicole also explains in the additional free book how you can make your own sleep tea using this plant and how you can turn it into a sleep tincture to promote healthy sleep cycles.

#2 Yarrow

Yarrow is a useful plant for treating numerous issues, including wounds and bruises. It has anti-inflammatory properties that can help to reduce swelling and pain, while its antiseptic qualities help to fight infection. Additionally, yarrow is known to soothe the skin and ease the symptoms of eczema (a type of allergy). In addition to these benefits, yarrow contains compounds that are beneficial for cognitive function.

#3 Chicory

Chicory is a type of root vegetable that has been used as a coffee substitute for centuries. It is high in vitamins and minerals, including vitamin C, magnesium, and potassium. Additionally, chicory contains antioxidants that can fight against cancer cells and speed up the healing process. https://bit.ly/3Yfrpk4

Chicory also boasts anti-inflammatory properties, which make it a great choice if you are struggling with chronic pain or arthritis. In addition to drinking chicory coffee on its own, you can also use it as an ingredient in specialty drinks or Smoothies.

#4 Chamomile

Chamomile (Matricaria chamomilla) is a versatile and beneficial plant that can be used in many ways. It has been traditionally used as a relaxant, sedative, and mild anticonvulsant. Chamomile tea produces feelings of calmness, relaxation, and even euphoria in some people. Additionally, it is known to alleviate anxiety symptoms and promote restful sleep.

Chamomile is also effective for treating minor inflammatory conditions such as sinus congestion or skin rash due to allergies. And lastly, it has anti-inflammatory properties that help reduce the inflammation associated with arthritis or other joint conditions.

#5 Evening Primrose

Evening Primrose is a flowering plant that belongs to the daisy family. Some benefits of evening primrose oil include improving cognitive function, supporting healthy emotional states, and reducing inflammation. It has anti-inflammatory properties that can help to reduce pain and swelling in the joints, as well as improve general joint health. Additionally, it has been shown to support a healthy lipid profile which is important for reducing the risk of heart disease.

#6 Marshmallow

The marshmallow plant is a succulent that possesses some remarkable health benefits. For one, the root extract of the Marshmallow Plant has been shown to be effective in reducing inflammation.

Marshmallow plants have antibacterial properties. Scientists found that the extract of this plant can inhibit the growth of bacteria and fungi. Additionally, it has been shown to be effective against acne-causing bacteria.

#7 Lavender

Lavender is a popular choice for those who are looking to relax and de-stress. The oil extracted from lavender has been known to have such effects, thanks in part to its high level of linalool. Linalool is an aromatic compound that has sedative and calming effects, making it a good choice for people who want relief from anxiety or stress. Additionally, the nitric oxide released by lavender can help promote better blood circulation and lower blood pressure levels. https://bit.ly/3Yfrpk4

#8 Calendula

Calendula is a flower that can be found growing in most parts of the world. It has been used for centuries as a remedy for numerous skin and hair problems, such as blemishes, itchiness, dryness, and eczema. The active ingredients present in Calendula are called terpenes, and they have antimicrobial properties. This makes Calendula a great addition to natural skin care regimes or remedies for wounds.

#9 Echinacea

Echinacea is a powerful herb that has been used for centuries to treat a variety of health conditions. It is commonly used to treat colds, flu, and other respiratory infections. In addition to its traditional uses, echinacea is also known as an immune booster and helps increase the body's resistance to disease.

#10 Feverfew

Feverfew (Tanacetum parthenium) is a perennial flower that has been used as a folk remedy for centuries to treat various health issues. It is known to reduce fever and inflammation, promote relief from headaches and muscle pain, improve sleep quality, aid in digestion, and protect the kidneys.

Apart from its traditional use as an herbal medicine, Feverfew can also be consumed directly as a food supplement or tea.

Medicinal Garden Kit Pricing And Availability

Medicinal Garden Kit is available at only its official website. The user spent a lot of time and potent resources in the process of extraction and packaging of each Medicinal Garden Kit. All the seeds are handpicked from the highest quality plants.

The price of one Medicinal Garden Kit is $59 + $4.99 shipping and delivery charges.

Each Medicinal Garden Kit package comes with ten packages of each type of seed. Aside from the highest quality seeds, you get a detailed guide that explains how to grow these plants and how you can take the health advantages of each.

However, Dr. Nicole says she doesn't have many seeds to give everyone. She could only produce 300 packets, and the next batch will take time to get produced. So make sure you take action now!

Money Back Guarantee

Medicinal Garden Kit comes with a 365-day money-back guarantee. We don't think that you will need to return this kit. However, if you are unhappy with this product, you may claim a refund and get your money back.

Medicinal Garden Kit Reviews: Closing Remarks

Culturing medicinal herbs can give you a whole new perspective on your life when you learn about their healing properties. Gardening is very common these days, and with Medicinal Garden Kit, you get not only quality seeds but also years of experience gathered by Dr. Nicole through her free detailed guide.

For more details about Dr. Nicole's Medicinal Garden Kit, you must visit the product's official website! https://bit.ly/3Yfrpk4

medicinal #cannabis#weed#cbd#thc#cannabiscommunity#marijuana#natural#medicine#sativa#hemp#pax#organic#medical#indica#weedstagram#cannabisculture#bud#stoner#girlswhosmoke#weedporn#dab#smokeshop#raw#maryjane#health#salud#nature#grow#igdaily

[the-duckless-pond]

I could NOT catch a break yesterday. It was supposed to be a day of rest and recovery to make sure I was feeling well enough to go to class tonight and tomorrow, but it did not turn out that way.

First, I found an ant on my ceiling??? And I had to use the swiffer to squish it. How am I supposed to put ant bait on the CEILING?? And what if it had fallen on my head!!

And then I had to go pick up my medicine from the pharmacy across town. I haven’t switched to a closer one because there is a Culver’s right down the road from it, the only one close by, and so every three months when I pick up my medicine I get an order of cheese curds as a treat. I always look forward to it. Anyway, I’m vegetarian. That’s important for this story. So I got my cheese curds and was driving and had two and they were wonderful and then I take a bite of a third and it was MEAT! I think maybe chicken? I didn’t swallow and immediately spat it out but ughhhhh I totally lost my appetite. I’ve been a vegetarian for like 21 years so this was extra gross to me than perhaps if I had only been veg for a year or two. Totally foreign and awful.

After that I had a mini moment and bought a carton of cigarettes which was $93. After not smoking for five days. Yes, a whole carton. Ten packs. Not one or even two. Ten.

Anyway, then I got home and sat on the couch with the cats and I heard a tap tap tap and saw something out of the corner of my eye. I look at the window, and there is a WASP on my window. I got stung by a wasp on my birthday in 2020 and it was awful and ever since I am afraid of it happening again!! Fortunately I have two living room windows and can open the screens on them. So I very slowly went to the other window, less than a foot from the wasp, and opened it and the screen. After maybe five minutes it flew out. Phew. What a relief.

After that, I could finally relax!

JUST KIDDING :(

Maybe twenty minutes later I was getting ready to distract myself from my bad day by watching a marvel movie. And then I saw Calliope slowly approach the window and begin to paw at the… track area thing? I feared the worst, and I was RIGHT. THERE WAS ANOTHER FUCKING WASP JUST CHILLING THERE. I hurriedly opened the window and screen and I guess it got smushed in the track and died? Oops. So I felt kind of bad about that because even though I am afraid of them I can appreciate their part in a healthy ecosystem. So. Double wasp day. And I accidentally killed one.

AND THEN I went out to my car for a smoke and met a young man standing on my stoop smoking weed abd was like hey are people gonna narc on me if I smoke out back, dude? And he was like nah you’re good. So I went for a smoke out back. And one of the units had their windows open so I walked a little bit away. Finished my smoke, came back inside.

Within ten minutes I see maintenance guys (the law enforcement of my community) walking up to my building. I panicked. I hurriedly hid the smokes and lighter in my underwear drawer. My buzzer buzzed. They were coming for me. I considered not answering, but instead decided I would play dumb to the rules and agree to go off site to smoke and be very compliant and apologetic. I buzzed them in. My heart was racing.

They get here and are like DID YOU BUZZ US IN????? And I’m like… uh… yeah??? Panicking. I do not sound innocent in my mind.

Turns out they were here to look at my buzzer because sometimes it doesn’t work and makes a shhhhhhhhh sound when people buzz me. My secret was safe with the young man!!! But the fear of the Lord was put into me and now I was scared of smoking out back. (The buzzer is third party and they will have someone from the company come take a look).

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. I bargained with myself and tossed the carton and smokes and put on a nicotine patch. I did not end up having any more past my last one around 5pm. Because I was afraid of getting caught. I threw them all out before bed.

And then it took me like four fucking hours to fall asleep. And I was so tired but so fidgety! I laid down around 8:30pm like normal and read boring news to lull myself to sleep. I stayed wide awake. I got up at 10pm and took one of my as needed sleeping pills. I text my bff while I waited for it to kick in. I was very fidgety and kept waking up the cats who were in bed. Also I was overheating but I was very afraid of having exposed skin because what if there were more wasps and I stretched out when I woke up and they stung me all over!!!!! It was very scary.

I finally fell asleep sometime around midnight.

At, according to my text log with my bff, roughly 1:40am I woke up to a loud and rhythmic beeping. Beep. Silence. Beep. Silence. Beep. I was so tired I thought it was still part of my dream and was confused because I was having a renaissance dream and why was there mechanical beeping??? (Side note my costume had arrived in the dream and it was soooo pretty and not too warm at all)

When the beeping didn’t stop I groaned and got my phone and googled it. Smoke alarm low battery. I texted my bff in irritation about it. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore it and fall back asleep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

So, I got up and investigated each of my three smoke alarms to find which one was doing it. Finally found the culprit in the office. It was very loud. I grabbed my osha earphones, put on my glasses, and got a chair. I took out the battery and it was 9 volt which I do not have on hand so I just set it aside and unplugged everything in the office until today so that I could go back to sleep.

I, of course, had trouble falling back asleep and felt wide awake after all the beeping. I fell back asleep around 4ish probably. Sigh. Also I was very congested from allergies or something so I couldn’t lay on the side I like to sleep on.

And then my cat woke me up from a deep slumber too early around 7:45am and I had a headache and was kind of annoyed but I love her so I got up.

And now I am sniffly and have a cough from smoking yesterday and I took advil for my headache but I’m still waiting for it to kick in. I hope it is gone by class time tonight. I’m going either way, I am determined.

Anyway. That’s the saga of yesterday. In my BFF’s words, I just could not catch a break. I am planning for a low impact Wednesday to compensate and make sure I can get to class tonight. Doing nothing except reading a few pages of the book to cover what we are learning tonight. I will watch more marvel movies in between to distract me from my woes and keep my mood light and airy. I just finished Thor before laying down last night so I think the next two are the first Captain America and Avengers, respectively. I recall really enjoying those ones, and should be able to watch both before class tonight and still get my studying done.

Sigh. Thank fuck for caffeine.

[thisisjustmetalking]

I can generally tell what my mental state is in any given day by how motivated I am in the morning. This morning we were up early (430) but I had to wait until my pharmacy opened at 8 to pick up my lamotrigine. I wasted some time playing a video game after Kyle had gone to work, but before I left, I put a full load of dishes in the dishwasher and got that going.

After I pick up my meds (they’re filling it now because I didn’t pick up within ten days, I guess), I need to head up to the lumber yard to get wood to finish a project. From there to my shop to drop off the wood to get acclimated. Also need to unclamp a glue up and clean that up for painting. Lunch break at the beach since it will be in the 90s.

Spravato tomorrow for the first time in two weeks. Having been approved for a year through my insurance as of last week is a load off my mind. The hunt for a therapist continues, however. As long as my current level of mental health continues, where I can get to work every day and be productive, I may actually be able to pull out of the death spiral the business is in. It will require a lot of hard work and pushing myself, but the thought of working for someone else again would crush me.

[sublimeobservationarcade]

Surely It’s Time To Stop All Mergers!

In Australia, we live in one of the most concentrated corporate markets in the world. In every sector duopolies and oligopolies control markets to the detriment of competition and consumers. Surely it’s time to stop all  mergers. Mergers benefit companies and shareholders at the expense of the market. Productivity is not improved via this concentration of corporate control over markets. This can be observed via the evidence, as the concentration of market power into the hands of fewer businesses has accompanied years of falling productivity. If companies don’t need to compete for market share they do not innovate and improve productivity rates. “Dec 11 (Reuters) - Australia's Sigma Healthcare (SIG.AX), opens new tab on Monday said it would merge with privately owned pharmacy giant Chemist Warehouse Group to create a A$8.8 billion ($5.79 billion) entity. Chemist Warehouse will own 85.8% of the merged company that will supply 1,000 Sigma-aligned pharmacies and own 600 Chemist Warehouse outlets, according to a statement. Chemist Warehouse is a pharmacy and retail chain in Australia known for cheap prices, large stores and major advertising campaigns.” (https://www.reuters.com/markets/deals/sigma-healthcare-combine-with-chemist-warehouse-58-bln-merger-2023-12-10/)

Over Concentration Of Market Power In Too Few Corporate Hands

We live in a global rentier age, where businesses make their profits from fees and charges. The cost of doing business has never been more expensive. Banks make 70% of their profits from these fees, fines, and charges. The pay to use economy has flourished at the expense of innovation and productivity driven by competition. Huge corporations have arisen from merger after merger to strut their stuff dwarfing all other entities – including governments and their monitoring agencies. The big 4 banks are making tens of billions via their control of markets. Woolworths and Coles dominate the supermarket and liquor skylines. The big 4 consultancy firms reap billions from governments outsourcing their work to avoid scrutiny. A duopoly of airlines maintain high travel costs with fees and charges built in to every fare. The mainstream media is a cabal of News Corp, Nine Media, and Kerry Stoke’s Seven West Media. Gas companies come in fours too. The miners are the same, extracting huge tax write offs from governments. If governments weren’t in hock to these corporate political donors they would be dismantling the corporate concentration rather than entertaining thoughts of more mergers. We do not need any more mergers. What we need is greater diversity and competition within markets and sectors.

Mergers Produce Ever More Powerful Corporate Entities Until we take all private donor moneys out of the political system we will continue to see vested interests controlling the policy decisions in government. The loudest voice in the room is the one with the deepest pockets. Flaky politicians making empty speeches like puppets undermine the public’s faith in our democratic governments. The ACCC has failed comprehensively to thwart the ever growing concentration of corporate power over markets. The ACCC is manifestly underfunded and is another toothless tiger unable to pick fights with these behemoth companies. The cost of living crisis is a result of corporate greed and Australian governments do little to attack this at its source. The RBA is another financial institution set up to keep big business happy at the expense of all other parties. There has been no criticism of the corporate profiteering happening throughout this cost of living crisis. This is despite the fact that in most sectors the companies can get away with price setting due to the lack of any real competition. “Australia has an extremely concentrated economy, with one or a small number of companies dominant in many parts of our economy, and this has consequences. Overall, the evidence suggests it means higher prices and poorer service for consumers, reduced productivity and so less prosperity for Australians, and more pronounced income inequality.” (https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/sep/05/lack-of-competition-damages-australia-economy-rod-sims)

The Australian federal government is faced with the challenge of properly funding the ACCC. Unless the monitoring agencies are given teeth we will see the same old procession happening of mergers making our markets less competitive. It is a global problem and it will take a government with the guts to buck the trend. The evidence of what this concentration of corporate power is doing to markets is in plain view. Surely it’s time to stop all mergers until we begin to see competition return to our markets. Innovation and productivity are driven by competition. Captured markets in contrast leave us with rentier business models sucking the life out of our nation and GDP. Robert Sudha Hamilton is the author of Money Matters: Navigating Credit, Debt, and Financial Freedom.  ©WordsForWeb Read the full article