#Arsenic Metal News

[chemanalystdata]

Arsenic Metal Price | Prices | Pricing | News | Database | Chart | ChemAnalyst

Arsenic Metal prices have been a topic of interest in various industries due to its unique properties and applications. This semi-metallic element, known for its toxicity and versatility, is primarily used in the production of alloys, semiconductors, and as a doping agent in certain materials. Understanding the factors influencing arsenic metal prices is essential for businesses and investors involved in industries such as electronics, metallurgy, and agriculture.

One of the primary drivers of arsenic metal prices is the supply and demand dynamics in the market. Arsenic is not mined directly; instead, it is typically produced as a byproduct of copper and gold smelting. This means that the availability of arsenic is closely linked to the production levels of these base metals. When copper and gold prices rise, increased mining activity can lead to higher arsenic output, potentially stabilizing or reducing prices. Conversely, during periods of low demand for these base metals, arsenic production may decrease, causing prices to rise due to scarcity.

Another critical factor impacting arsenic prices is regulatory scrutiny and environmental considerations. Arsenic is a known toxicant, and its use is heavily regulated in many countries. Stricter environmental regulations can limit arsenic production and usage, leading to increased costs for compliance. For instance, the European Union has implemented stringent guidelines on the use of arsenic in various applications, which can affect the market dynamics significantly. As industries adapt to these regulations, the costs associated with compliance may lead to higher prices for arsenic metal.

Get Real Time Prices for Arsenic Metal: https://www.chemanalyst.com/Pricing-data/arsenic-metal-1605

Global economic conditions also play a crucial role in influencing arsenic metal prices. Economic growth in emerging markets, particularly in Asia, has led to increased demand for electronics and other products that utilize arsenic. Countries such as China and India have seen substantial investments in their electronics sectors, driving up the need for arsenic in semiconductor manufacturing and other high-tech applications. As these economies continue to expand, the demand for arsenic is likely to remain strong, potentially putting upward pressure on prices.

The geopolitical landscape can also impact arsenic metal prices. For instance, trade tensions or sanctions imposed on key producing countries can disrupt supply chains and lead to price volatility. Additionally, fluctuations in currency exchange rates can affect the competitiveness of arsenic prices on the global market. For example, a stronger US dollar can make arsenic more expensive for foreign buyers, potentially reducing demand and affecting pricing strategies.

In the context of technological advancements, arsenic is increasingly recognized for its potential in renewable energy applications. The metal is utilized in the production of certain photovoltaic cells, which are essential for solar energy generation. As the global push for sustainable energy solutions intensifies, the demand for materials like arsenic in solar technology may rise, influencing pricing trends. Companies invested in renewable energy technologies may seek to secure arsenic supplies, further driving market dynamics.

Moreover, arsenic's role in agriculture, particularly in the formulation of certain pesticides and herbicides, can also influence its pricing. With the growing concern over food security and sustainable farming practices, the agricultural sector's reliance on arsenic-based products could lead to fluctuating demand. As farmers seek effective pest control solutions, the prices for arsenic may experience volatility based on seasonal agricultural trends and market conditions.

Investor sentiment and speculation can significantly impact arsenic metal prices as well. Traders and investors often react to news regarding supply disruptions, regulatory changes, or shifts in demand from key industries. This speculation can create short-term price fluctuations, making the arsenic market more volatile. Consequently, stakeholders must remain vigilant and informed about market trends and global developments that may influence arsenic pricing.

The role of recycling and secondary markets cannot be overlooked when analyzing arsenic metal prices. As industries seek to become more sustainable and reduce waste, the recycling of arsenic-containing materials is gaining traction. This recycling process can help alleviate some supply pressures, as recovered arsenic can re-enter the market. However, the effectiveness of recycling initiatives may depend on regulatory frameworks and technological advancements in recovery processes, influencing overall pricing trends.

As we look to the future, several key factors are likely to shape arsenic metal prices. The ongoing technological advancements in semiconductor manufacturing and renewable energy will likely drive demand for arsenic, creating upward pressure on prices. Conversely, regulatory challenges and environmental considerations may impose limitations on production, creating a delicate balance in the market. Moreover, shifts in global economic conditions, particularly in emerging markets, will continue to influence arsenic demand and pricing dynamics.

In conclusion, understanding the intricacies of arsenic metal prices requires a comprehensive analysis of various influencing factors, including supply and demand dynamics, regulatory scrutiny, global economic conditions, technological advancements, and investor sentiment. As industries evolve and adapt to changing market conditions, stakeholders must remain agile and informed to navigate the complexities of the arsenic market. By keeping a close eye on these trends, businesses and investors can position themselves strategically in a landscape characterized by both opportunities and challenges, ensuring they make informed decisions in the ever-changing world of arsenic metal pricing.

Get Real Time Prices for Arsenic Metal: https://www.chemanalyst.com/Pricing-data/arsenic-metal-1605

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[hastvic]

Sixergraham meets Varsenal

[diejager]

👉👈 imagine reader as a cow living in a nice farmer but because they doesn’t produce any milk than other cow, the owner was worry so they brought lot of Bulls (task 141, kortac) to chose as mate but all of them wanted the cow.

Credit to @frogchiro and @nymphany for this!

Pasture Cw: hybrid, mention of breeding, milking (milk and cum), SLIGHT DUB-CON, SLIGHT DARKFIC, tell me if I missed any.

Price, the gentle, bear-looking farmer, had initially planned to have you milked, his high-end and pedigree from an ancestry of HoJos spanning many generations that he bought for a high price, soft and plump in just the right areas. He heard from Kate that she and her wife had bought a couple of HoJos, making quite the profit on their milk, fatty and thick, but silky on the tongue. He wanted to have such luxury in his arsenal, a cute, little heifer that he’d milk for the sake of tasting and drinking it to fill his stomach with warmth until he decided to sell a few bottles.

He wasn’t in any need for money, he had enough to last the rest of his life without lifting a finger, but he liked keeping busy, work and routine beaten into his body from the military. He already had a business with the amount of bulls he bought, broad and sturdy, powerful hybrids that he could milk for their potent semen and labour. Most were obedient despite a bull’s temperament, listening to his orders like his subordinates would, following them to a T without a complain. But there was always that one who acted out, either from sheer cheekiness or mischief, he would reprimand them, punish them if it went too far.

He thought he’d experiment with you, his new little obsession he would coddle and pamper with a house of your own and an open stall. You were so well behaved that he could leave the house open to let you graze and sunbathe under the warm sun when you weren’t busy with him training you with various aspect of your new life as his prized possession. You were everything he could’ve ever wanted, obedient, gentle, soft-spoken and eager to please him, letting him suckle on your swollen and heavy tits, your ears flickering back and forth and tail wrapped around his thigh.

His only issue was that you had problems producing milk. You would produce trickles of it some days and a gush of milk the other, it was a disorderly affair that he sought to fix if he wanted to create a stable trade with you alone. When he brought the issue up with Kate, she told him that cows usually produced more milk after birthing, breasts heavy with milk and aching to be milked of it’s produce, thick and rich tasting to raise a little calf that he would soon sell than let them take your attention away.

“Introduce her to the bulls, they might help,” were the mind blowing words that Kate’s wife gave him, the cementing proposition that had him make his mind on the next step.

He introduced you to his bulls, bringing them outside of their stalls and letting them roam the fenced pasture beside yours, watching you lay under the sun and ears flick away a buzzing bug. They’ve seen other hybrids before, women especially, but have never shown any interest in of them. He feared he’d have to introduce you to another farmer’s hybrid (Price wanted to take thing into his own hands, but he didn’t know how you’d take it to his advances) if you didn’t catch their attention, bringing in a stranger to breed you.

Fortunately, they were quick to scent you out, seemingly riled up and pumping out more seed since he bought you, restlessly wandering in circles in their stalls to sate the need to get to you as fast as they could. Their eyes gleaming with arousal and nostrils flared to sniff you out, stalking to the edge of their pen, the metal unflinching to their harsh grip on the fence. They looked starved - possessed - with how eager they were to cross the barrier, hollering at you and trying to coax you towards their side of Price’s land.

Soap and König looked the most out of it, slumped over with deluded perversion of need and hunger, arms reaching for your seated figure, staring at the group of bulls with wide eyes. Nikto wasn’t any better, both he, Krueger and Ghost glaring down at you with vicious and burning eyes, lost in their minds of dark desires and corrupted dreams. Gaz and Horangi were softer, more hesitant to spook you, but they were as restless as the rest of their housemates. You were none the wiser, gazing at them with your pretty, doe eyes, meeting their eyes with innocent and a cute smile, always ready to please others.

Perhaps he should’ve acquainted you all before.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny

[reasonsforhope]

"An environmental toxicologist in California is cleaning up areas contaminated with heavy metals or other pollutants using fungi and native plants in a win-win for nature.

Where once toxic soils in industrial lots sat bare or weed-ridden, there are now flowering meadows of plants and mushrooms, frequented by birds and pollinators: and it’s thanks to Danielle Stevenson.

Founder of DIY Fungi, the 37-year-old ecologist from UC Riverside recently spoke with Yale Press about her ongoing work restoring ‘brownfields,’ a term that describes a contaminated environment, abandoned by industrial, extraction, or transportation operations.

A brownfield could be an old railway yard or the grounds of an abandoned oil refinery, but the uniting factor is the presence of a toxic containment, whether that’s a petrochemical, heavy metal, or something else.

Noting that she had read studies about mushrooms growing around the Chernobyl nuclear plant, she came to understand further, through her work, that fungi are an extraordinarily resilient species of life that consume carbon, and even though petroleum products are toxic to plants, to mushrooms they are essentially a kind of carbon.

In fact, mushrooms break down several categories of toxic waste with the same enzymes they use to consume a dead tree. They can also eat plastic and other things made out of oil, like agrochemicals.

At the Los Angeles railyard, as part of a pilot project, Stevenson and colleagues planted a variety of native grass and flower species alongside dead wood that would incubate specific fungi species called arbuscular mycorrhizal fungi, which assists plants in extracting heavy metals like lead and arsenic from the soil.

Alongside traditional decomposer fungi, the mixture of life forms demonstrated tremendous results in this brownfield.

“In three months we saw a more than 50 percent reduction in all pollutants. By 12 months, they were pretty much not detectable,” Stevenson told Yale 360.

Decontaminating soil like this typically involves bringing in a bulldozer and digging it all up for transportation to a landfill. This method is not only hugely expensive, but also dangerous, as contaminated material can scatter on the winds and fall out of the backs of trucks carting it away.

By contrast, the plants that draw out the toxic metals can be harvested and incinerated down to a small pile of ash before cheap transportation to a hazardous waste facility.

The technique, which Stevenson says has some scaling issues and issues with approval from regulators, is known officially as bioremediation, and she’s even used it to safely break down bags of lubricant-soaked rags from bicycle repair shops.

“People who live in a place impacted by pollution need to have a say in how their neighborhood is being cleaned up. We need to empower them with the tools to do this,” she said."

-via Good News Network, July 16, 2024

[lysenfeu]

141 + Buying/owning sex toys

MDNI 18+ Explicit Content

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Gaz: An absolute collector, Kyle loves experimenting and trying new things. Over time he’s built a veritable arsenal of options. He's a tad embarrassed to show you his collection when you bring up using toys, but watching your excited response when you dig through his toy box for the first time melts that away quickly. Different shapes and sizes, a dozen vibration settings, even a toy that’s WiFi enabled for long distance. You don't even know where to begin. “Which one should I pick?” Kyle just grins at you. “How about we start simple and work our way up, hm? It's going to be a long night for you sweetheart.”

Ghost: Simon went dead silent the first time you asked him about toys and you weren't sure if he was OK or not. You dropped it until he returned the next week with a formatted list like he was submitting a requisition to the quartermaster. You're stunned but secretly thrilled by his choices. Various restraints (rope, metal cuffs and padded leather), ball gag, riding crop, black studded collar. “For me or for you?” you ask him. He can't look you in the eye when he answers. “Both.”

Soap: He has some odds and ends laying around (cock rings, nipple clamps, a vibrating bullet) but never really thought about getting more until you bring it up. He gets SO excited when you ask to pick out something new together. Acting like a kid in a candy store, sending you links and pictures at random times during the day. Opening your messages becomes a ticking time bomb of getting caught by coworkers with a large neon pink vibrator on your screen, Johnny asking perfunct but filthy questions. “How much can ye handle, hen? Think that'll fit?”

Price: John sticks to the classics. Jute rope, a Hitachi wand, a basic silicone dildo. He'll happily go grab anything you request if needed, but he has his routine down pat and tends to keep it that way. He likes using what he's comfortable and familiar with and can use his toys with wicked precision as a result. He knows the exact angles and pressure needed, the perfect ties that keep you trussed up but comfortable, turning you into a complete mess with only one or two simple accessories needed. “What d'ya think, love? This enough for ya?”

[hana-no-seiiki]

BROKEN EXPECTATIONS, NEW ASPIRATIONS (I/III)

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ yandere! batfam + dc heroes x yandere! alien! reader (ft. ocs of mine, and other dc characters)

synopsis: you weren’t as innocent and benevolent as they thought you were, but that just makes things all the more exciting

tw/cw: dddne, reader is yan (platonic for this part, romantic for future parts(diff people). yandere themes, general violence, torture, sadist reader, incest (one-sided/not reader n it’s a brief mention so it’s not a main part of the story oh god-). reader is half based on jingliu/jingyuan from honkai star rail + laezel from bg3 worldbuilding. and there’s also a bit of malenia/miquella inspirations. reader has a background. reader’s alieness is explored/talked about. op! reader. wish fulfillment.

in short this was an oc insert of mine that i reconfigured for you guys to read. not your thing? scroll past thenks.

[next]

YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THE KINDEST, MOST LOVING PERSON THE BAT-FAMILY EVER KNEW. You were so gracious with your benevolence that each and every vigilante took it upon themselves to take care of you at all moments lest you fall into unsafe situations or the hands of people who would ruthlessly take advantage of you.

Eventually, they forgot the fact that you were the sibling of the notoriously violent DAYBREAK, a vigilante that could be easily called a villain or terrorist instead if it weren’t for his close affiliation and friendship with the old Teen Titans crew when he was younger. He helped once in a while, but only if it meant he had free rein to cause carnage.

“This is useless, they won’t fess up.” Jason grunted as he fumbled around with his weapons, all broken after the battle just moments prior. Aliens and their abilities always made him feel so small in the grand scheme of things, and especially when they completely obliterated his entire arsenal.

Tim groaned, his back ached from the amount of times he was flung away towards whatever wall or ally the enemy wanted him to go to. He was used to being man-handled and even enjoyed that once in a while, but not in that way. “Aren’t they one of your kind? Cant you like… I don’t know…”

Your brother huffed, a pout on his pretty features. Quite similar to yours. Yet, he doesn’t spare the rest a glance. His eyes were trained solely on a restraining spell he managed to conjure as a last ditch attempt to stop the fight before it got . . . irreversible. Usually he’d just disintegrate whatever or whoever even looked at him wrong but even this titan-like intruder was proving to be a pain in the ass. “I can’t believe you, doesn’t mean we’re the same kind or whatever that means that—“

“He’ll be lucky to be even considered as one of us, filthy —“ The massive form spoke. Its metal like body clanging as it struggled in the spell’s area of effect. A soldier from your home planet, not as well trained as your brother — but he was brimming with aetherial ardor. A sort of magic source your people used.

“Okay, that’s it.” [Brother’s Name] groaned, summoning the last piece of his strength to open up a terminal. “Hey mooncake, need ya to do something for me.”

“No, we aren’t letting [Y/N] anywhere near this one. They could get seriously hurt. We were barely even able to—“ Dick held him by the shoulder, only to get burned by your brother’s leaking ardorial energy.

“Relax. Besides I’m not in your team. I don’t have to follow orders from you.”

“Daybr—“ Rachel, her cape almost completely burnt and tattered opened her mouth to admonish him.

But the sound of your sweet voice (more like hoarse, and half awake) silenced them all, “What do you need help with this time?”

“[L/N] don’t listen, go back to sleep, beloved.” Damian moved in from behind, learning from Dick’s mistake and instead using his blade to warn [Brother’s Name].

But if anything, that made the man more excited to annoy the “demonspawn”.

“Oh, mooncake you can’t believe who I stumbled upon today! Smile for the camera why don’t you?”

[Brother’s Name] flipped the terminal to show your face.

“You’re . . . General [Y/—“

And then flipped it back, showing his injured body. “He hurt me real bad. Look.”

Your face does not move nor your voice waver,

“Come back to the base.”

“No.” Black Canary, Dinah, slammed her hands on the table. She couldn’t believe this. It was already bad that they allowed you to be involved in their line of work, now they were letting you come face to face with a being that almost wiped an entire team of experience fighters? What were they thinking?

“That . . . thing is dangerous. We cannot allow this to continue!” Arthur concurred. He saw the state of your brother. A civilian like you had no business with something so dangerous.

“Unfortunately I have to say no to your refusal as well.” You calmly responded, “This situation is under the jurisdiction of the Fleet. It is only right that Daybreak and I deal with it.”

“Father you can’t possibly allow them.” Damian gripped your shoulder as he pleaded with Bruce. He had known you the longest next to Tim. You were barely able to hold your own as a normal student. Not that he was looking down on you, but if you couldn’t even fight for yourself in conversation, how could he let you be around that monster?

Bruce closed his eyes in deep contemplation. He studied your kind comprehensively. He did so for every vigilante and villain alike (Contingencies were his specialty) From how your magic system worked, to how society and customs were like. A lot of his knowledge came from Clark, who had also done his fair share of investigative work into your background.

He of all people in this line of work knew how dangerous you and [Brother’s Name] can be. He had done his calculations based off of what Daybreak could do. But curiosity drove him further.

“Fine.”

“Father!”

“But the whole league will be watching you, alongside the Young Justice and Teen Titans.”

“Sheesh, overkill much?” Daybreak, now plain [Brother’s Name] in a bunch of casts, piped up.

You nodded, quite honestly just aching to get out from this stuffy room already. “That is fine.”

Before you left, you head swiveled to take one last look at your sibling, building up whatever emotions you needed to see the job through, “Get some rest, brother.”

“Are you kidding? I gotta watch this.” Your brother laughed in earnest, almost-too-wholesome-for-him manner. You managed to understand why as his eyes scanned the people in the room.

He wanted to see them react to your true nature.

Your form finally disappeared from his sight as his eyes finally settled on another image of you glued atop a folder. “What are those?” He pouts to gesture at the objects, too injured to move his limbs.

“Files on [Y/N] and the being.” Bruce answered, opening up the screens for the cameras to the interrogation room.

[Brother’s Name] knows you’d give him a sermon for using his powers while he was already banged up but he had no choice. His arms were too broken to open up the folder after all. “You guys work quick.” He commented as the papers levitated and flipped through itself.

His eyes scanned the typewritten document swiftly, smile growing by the moment, “Pffft — kind hearted soul? Who wrote this?”

“It was compiled by me, but our sources vary from vigilante to civilians.” Clark mumbled. As one of the only other aliens, and people who could feel aetherial arbor. He felt your presence, your anger leaking earlier. It was heavy, as if the world was suddenly placed upon his shoulders. Yet he felt no fear for his own safety, only yours.

The gigantic door before you slid open revealing the enemy the vigilantes struggled to subdue earlier.

The soldier stood upright, sensing your presence. The rumors were true it would seem. Many wouldn’t be able to spot it, a testament to whatever you did to conceal your prowess, but they immediately recognized the magnitude of your ardor practically oozing around you.

He was expecting your anger. He knew of your protective nature towards your brother.

“My apologies.” But you didn’t. Instead you began nursing their injuries, repairing their armor, and even initiating casual conversation. “It must have been a long journey. I can’t help but resent whoever sent you here.”

“Your Excellency! I came of my own volition.”

“Oh? But judging from your armor you must be one of the knights.”

“Yes, 512th Squadron of the Imperial Army.”

“Of course, my eldest brother’s . . . “ Your fought to keep your hands from clenching. A gentle smile on your features remained unshaken even by the sudden revelation.

“Y-yes, your Excellency. It took many jumps for me to get here on my own.”

“Alone? What did you wish to come here for?”

“I-I wished to meet you but those Earthlings wouldn’t let me.”

“Mm. And so you fought them. As is right for one of our kind.” You brought out a handkerchief and wiped down your hands after finishing the task at hand. Then you took a seat in front of them.

“You understand! Of course.”

“Actually I came here to bid you to return. The Emperor misses you dearly and wishes to see you.”

“Do you know why he does?”

“N-no?”

You looked down. Voice soft, relaxed shoulders, a solemn tone, and a tremble to add on top. “My brother. He wishes to have a child with me. To use my powers in the form of a future heir to the throne.”

“I am not quite ready to have a child yet.” Nor were you interested with being a babymaker for that tyrant. But that wasn’t an appropriate excuse in the grand scheme of things.

“I understand! Your Excellency is quite young and even then, you have saved countless of lives. You deserve only to do as wish and nothing less.” The soldier slammed the floor in front of it. “Besides, his Majesty had already taken so many concubines I’m sure an heir wouldn’t be needed anytime soon.”

You nodded. A moment or two of silence for your mind to recollect everything that has been said before you execute what you came here for in the first place. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “How incompetent must the new Imperial General be at the moment?”

“Pardon?”

“Information is the most valuable asset to any sort of battle. As a general I kept a tight leash on it. Lest it spilled and caused unnecessary ruckus.” My knights were drilled, put through fire and blood, wiped clean before they were thrown back into hell again. And most importantly they were taught to sew their mouth shut or die. You, you just spilled everything I needed to know the moment I showed that I cared.”

“Your Excellency, I —“

“I was only going to punish you for trespassing. A measly act of destroying your Aetherial Helix.” “But in all honesty, I might be doing that brother Emperor of mine a favor by going . . . further.”

“N-no, you wouldn’t, you’re—!” The soldier was about to defend you even in its dying moments. But as it truly recounted all that has been told about you from its peers and seniors, it realizes one truly fatal fact.

You were never known for benevolence.

“Please! I did this all for you! I only wanted you back as my General!”

“Let this be a lesson.”

“No, please ! I- I - I beg of you—“

You looked up to the ceiling, beyond it — the stars and the infinite darkness you once called your home.

“And so I’ll continue to wield your blade, until I cut the stars from sky. I will protect you even from the gods I serve.”

You chant. The blood on your hands once again becoming too visible and distracting.

“Thank you for your service, soldier.” You deeply bow your head to the disintegrating corpse beneath you. Allowing the fallen's drained life essence to cover your forehead. [Brother Name] smiles. To others it may seem to have been a sign of respect — but to your kind, you were simply absorbing the spoils of battle. Taking in the dead and disgraced's remaining imprint on this world.

“My deepest apologies for the mess and time it took. The matter has been dealt with.” You returned. The blood, having dripped down your face, had dried and turned dark.

“I hope this has not soured your view on me.”

“Not at all . . .” Tim was the first to speak at your return. His fingers unconsciously replaying the footage of your . . . execution. Millions of questions already shot across his head as he was eager to probe you on them one way or another.

If anything it only made their obsession with you worse.

“Let me be your sinner, brother. This oath I shall never forsake.”

[amons-hat-enthusiast]

A petition to stop Rio Tinto’s mine from destroying Serbia’s nature

"We call upon you to prohibit extractive mining projects and metal processing in the Jadar Valley in Serbia.

In particular, we demand that you cancel the proposed Rio Tinto lithium mine in Loznica. We demand that you protect the biodiversity, fertile ground, farming villages and rich cultural areas.

Serbia’s most fertile land can be found in the beautiful Jadar Valley. Small family farmers grow raspberries and plums, engage in beekeeping and sheep and goat herding. The valley borders mountains, is surrounded by water and home to thousands of sustainable multi-generational farms.

But instead of protecting it, the Serbian government has approved a project with multinational mining corporation Rio Tinto, for the exploitation of “Jadarite”, a lithium ore in the valley. The government and the company have ignored scientists and mining experts who advise vehemently against the mine and are threatening to cause irreparable damage to the water, land, air and it’s people. Local citizens, who do not want to give up their sustainable agricultural land which has been in their families for generations, are being ignored.

The process of separating chemically stable lithium from jadarite ore involves the use of concentrated sulfuric acid. The process would take place 20 km from the Drina River and use 300 cubic meters of water every hour, while the chemically treated water would be returned to the Jadar River.

The outpouring of inevitably polluted water, as well as underground waters which contain arsenic, mercury and lead, would contaminate entire river basins and continue their journey across the Jadar to the Drina and Sava, polluting not only Serbia's but other countries' water sources as well.

We reject the pollution of the air. Treatment with the above mentioned (and additional) aggressive acids produces toxic gases that can spread within a radius of over ten kilometers and which will corrode the skin and lungs of humans and animals.

We reject the endangerment of the population around the Jadar Valley in the interests of a multinational corporate profit. Rio Tinto has promised 700 new jobs, but forgot to mention that 19,000 people are set to be displaced or severely effected.

Rio Tinto in 2020, destroyed a 45,000 year old sacred Australian Aboriginal cave. The company and its representatives have been repeatedly convicted of fraud and paid billions of dollars in damages and fines for illegal destruction of land, but continue to ravage and destroy natural environment around the world. The company is accused of participating in war crimes in Papua New Guinea, where a ten-year civil war broke out due to the presence of their mine.

The citizens of Serbia have the right to clean air, clean water and healthy living conditions. Stop Rio Tinto’s lithium mine and protect the people, our heritage, our environment and the rivers of the Jadar Valley. United we can save our environment."

https://action.wemove.eu/sign/2023-03-stop-rio-tinto-EN?akid=s1568260..uAF-ha

The text above explains the situation. This is a very important petition and I'd be very grateful if you could sign it and spread it.

(I see that only people from European countries can sign it, others please reblog for this to reach as many people as possible)

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter one

of rage and ruin series

chapter one

series masterlist | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, torture, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, gore, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), death, murder of innocent people, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, no y/n, reader is able-bodied and afab with no specific descriptions, viewer discretion is advised

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

This is a werewolf omegaverse fic that uses traditional and non-traditional elements of the genres. It largely ignores TLOU canon.

DISCLAIMER: A plotline of this story involves unethical medical care and human experimentation re: vaccines. It may give anti-vax vibes. This is NOT an anti-vax story and I do not want any related discourse please and thank you. This is about FEDRA being the absolute worst, not about the real world in any way.

In a rare moment of lucidity, he thinks he used to be human, once. 

He’s partially transformed more often than not. Almost never fully, unless he’s under the sway of the moon. His real keeper. 

These raiders may think they own him, but he knows the truth. 

But lucidity is rare, and most of the time, Joel Miller is more beast than man. 

Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s Joel Miller.

No matter what, though, he’s a nearly uncontrollable force of nature. 

That’s why they keep a shock collar around his neck and tasers at their waists. That’s why they never turn their backs or leave him unrestrained. He fought like hell for a long time until he broke. 

No shame in it, he knows. Everyone breaks eventually. 

As the years have gone on, though, he’s been getting restless and snippy, less cooperative. And the pain doesn’t really matter anymore. 

Nothin’ really does when you’ve given up.

On the last new moon, when the wolf was quiet and the man was loud, he’d tried to refuse. He sat, buck-ass naked, on the gritty wood floor of the house they were raiding. 

He did not sniff out treasure like some fucking metal detector. He did not tear the humans limb from limb. He did not feast. 

He paid for that night and had the receipts to prove it, laid into his back from the silver-tipped whip. 

He should have tried harder to die at the start. 

He hadn’t understood right away, when they took him. It, frankly, didn’t even cross his mind that they’d know. Laura, the woman in the woods, had been so sure it was secret. 

He got it when they shot him in the leg with a BB gun, though, and the silver shrapnel burned. They were prepared. Silver-coated chains and cuffs, silver-tipped batons and whips and knives. Cattle prods and electric collars. 

They’d been hunting him. 

They tried to break him easy, first. They were looking for a wolf; didn’t know they’d find Joel Miller. They left him chained in an abandoned suburb, giving him just the minimum food and water to keep him alive. 

It worked to weaken him, but they didn’t want him weak forever. Not a very good guard dog or weapon if he can’t lift his head. So when that didn’t work, when he didn’t beg and plead or bend the knee, they gave up and bulked him back up slowly. 

So they tried pain next. 

He came to know the healing as a curse. They avoided the silver, at least at first, since it’d leave damage. But when they found out they could break his bones over and over and over?

That’s when he started to wish he was dead. What was the point, anyway? He couldn’t go back to Boston. Couldn’t risk himself around Tommy and Tess. 

Couldn’t kill himself if he tried, but they could, with their arsenal. 

Didn’t matter what he wanted in the end; his brain wouldn’t give in. It overrode his silent pleas, and it fought and fought and fought.

So they took him on a raid. Starving, chained under the full moon, and they waited. He couldn’t go far, but he didn’t have to. 

They brought the food to him.

“You’ve no control over it, huh?” Cheryl said after, leering into his “room.” They send her to play nice, but he knows she’s the worst of them all. They just think he’ll smell pussy and roll over. “We didn’t need you to kill them. You just need to scare them and help us find what we’re lookin’ for.”

They had him. He knows, he knows, he knows. He’d have done anything to stop it from happening again. From devouring tied-up families who dared to say “no” to Jim and his crew. From throwing up blood and bones and bows. 

He can’t kill himself. They won’t kill him. He had no choice. 

He broke.

This new moon, they don’t take him out to scavenge. No, instead, they drag him outside and spray him down with the hose. This, in itself, is not unusual. But when they force the muzzle over his snapping teeth to scrub at his skin with precious lye soap and a rag, he starts to get concerned. 

His suspicions are confirmed when they take him back inside. 

The only time he’s left unbound is here, in his room. Well. It meets the vague requirements for a room, but it’s also reinforced with silver-plated steel and concrete. Cheaply so, but enough to mute his senses and hopes. 

Usually, they wait until the grate is shut to unclip the lead. They wait until he kneels and offers his hands to unlock the shackles. When he’s been good, of course. 

But not today. Today, they chain him tight to the wall at the far end of the room. 

They’ve had this theory that he hates to admit is not without merit. Looking for another way to control him, they’ve tried to find him an omega. 

The first few times, they just forced him on them out wherever they’ve raided. Usually, he’s too out of control, and they don’t survive the encounter. 

The most recent time, they dumped one in his cell. But the poor thing still smelled of his alpha, having only lost them hours earlier. 

Joel didn’t react well. 

They’re trying something new, now. 

That he’s here while they clean his room is deliberate. He knows this. They’re purging all his scent from it, and they want him to watch, want him unsettled.

He growls when they remove his mattress completely. It’s a pathetically small, thin, hole-ridden thing, but it’s his. 

Before they drag in a new one, a flat pack of grated metal is tossed in the corner. Two of his captors go to work on assembling the contraption, and another leaves for a while, only to return with a sawed-off portion of his mattress. 

It fits neatly inside the cage. For that’s what they’ve constructed. It’s silver-coated, of course, but pathetically weak otherwise. If he truly desired, he could snap the bars as easily as bone. 

He’s not keen on having burnt hands, though. 

Just inside the front of the cage, they clip up a bit of cloth. He doesn’t need to be told what it is, knowing immediately after it’s extracted from the airtight glass Tupperware. 

They tell him anyway. “Got a new toy for you to try, if you’re good. For now, this is all you get.”

The heady scent of omega soaked into the panties permeates his room. 

He’s salivating a little by the time they finally release him, but he waits until the heavy footfalls echo from down the hall to give in. 

They smell divine. He can’t resist tasting, lapping at the tiniest hint of musk and omega under his elongated tongue. 

“Told ya he would have shredded her,” Jim says to Cheryl when they come in the morning with his breakfast. Joel’s in his mind enough to feel a little shame, back of his neck burning, when they see the tattered fabric. 

It’s clear they anticipated it because, along with his tray, he’s given a new pair. 

They’re not so appealing this time. The sweet scent is cut by acidic fear like vinegar through molasses. He ignores them in favor of his meal. 

He eats better here than he ever did out there. He’s worth more rations to the raiders than to FEDRA. Robust meals full of meat and eggs and potatoes. 

They need him strong, after all. 

It’s not until a few hours later that he’s drawn back in by the underwear. It’s not so acrid anymore. Or maybe it is, and he’s just in the mood. Either way, he buries his face in them while he strokes his cock and uses them to catch his cum when he finishes. 

There. That’s better. The mix of him with… whoever you are. 

When they bring him lunch, they make him put the panties on his old tray before pushing it out to them. He doesn’t burn with shame this time; no, he almost feels proud. Like a peacock fluffing out its feathers. They know now. They must. 

Whoever you are, you’re his. 

The next day, they bring back the same pair. He wolfs out a little at the fresh layer of you over his cum. It’s all fear and tears and disgust, but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all, not to him, not to the wolf. 

All that matters is how his head fills with static when he licks across the gusset and howls. 

Cheryl’s looking pretty smug on the other side of the door, but for all that she’s pleased with the results; they still threaten to turn on the collar if he doesn’t eat quickly.  

He’s nearly fully wolf, gobbling down the food and returning to his treasure. He snarls as he strokes his cock, the head angry and purple as he tugs. He doesn’t spill onto the panties this time, not wanting to cover up the perfect combination of your scents. In the end, they’re shredded anyway, as his fingers stretch and break into claws. 

In his full glory, his senses are even sharper. Sharp enough that he can hear a faint sobbing across the building and Cheryl’s sharp laughter. 

“I don’t know,” she’s drawling when he tunes in. “He sounds pretty excited to meet you.”

The soft sobbing turns raw and cracked. He can smell the salt and phlegm, can practically taste it in the air. He’s aware of Cheryl, but nothing is louder than the way your heart is tripping over itself.

When Cheryl’s words sink in, when he realizes he might actually get to have whatever delicious creature they’ve gotten him, he howls again, a long, aching sound that creeps down your bones like frost.

Later, when he’s a little more present, he realizes they didn’t shock him either time he howled. It’s usually a guarantee. 

Whatever game they’re playing, it doesn’t bode well for you.

Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He wasn’t even worried when it happened. They’d been heading back to the QZ, him and Tommy and Tess, when a wild dog attacked them. 

Or, well. A wolf. 

Tommy had gotten a bullet in its head, but it had Joel’s arm in its jaw at the time. Its teeth had rent through his jacket like a spoon in a banana split. 

FEDRA would shoot him without a second thought, so they doubled back to the little cabin and hunkered down. Figured they’d lay low long enough for it to be hideable before sneaking back in. 

Tommy went out at daybreak for the carcass—it’d be leagues better than what they had in their bags. When he came back, he was faint and empty-handed. 

“...don’t make any sense,” he kept muttering, pacing the tiny kitchenette. 

Joel and Tess exchanged a glance. 

“Probably a bear took it,” she suggested.

Tommy ran his hand through his hair, shook his head, and did it again. When he looked up at them, it was through wild, unpredictable eyes. “Wasn’t a wolf. It was a man.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Joel said.

“C’mon.”

They followed him through the thicket, and sure as shit, in the same place the wolf’s corpse had lain was a man with a bullet through his skull. He was completely nude. 

“Gotta be a coincidence,” Joel muttered.

Tommy turned to him, eyes wide and hands shaking. “What kind of fucking coincidence is this?” 

There was a rustle, and they all turned, guns raised, as a woman peeked from behind a tree. 

She put her hands up and waited. Tess jerked her head to one side, and they lowered but did not stow their weapons. 

The woman was in a ratty cotton dress with no shoes; autumn leaves crunching underfoot. 

“That’s, um. That’s my husband,” she said softly. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Tommy said, his face soft and sad. “But—I think he attacked us.”

Her green eyes grew wide, pupils dilating and breath catching in her chest. “Did you get bit?” 

Tommy and Tess instinctually looked at Joel. 

“What’s it to ya?” he said.

“Did you get bit?” she repeated.

“Was he Infected?”

“Not with cordyceps, no,” she says. She avoids looking at the body but flinches when she brushes a foot against a blood-soaked leaf. 

“What does that mean?” Tommy said. 

“I think it’s best we go someplace and talk.”

Against better judgment, they follow her through the words to her home. She claims to have two kids alone there, four years and six months. 

It turns out to be true. She gets them both down for a nap and serves hot stew. They try to refuse, but she insists. 

Tommy feels a little sick eating the food of a man he killed. They all listen, rapt, as she begins to speak.

“It happened a year ago. But it wasn’t an accident.”

When the full moon is two days away, Joel is nearing the furthest from himself. Same shit, different month, but his reactions to your scent are getting, well, feral. 

They’re bringing him strips of cloth, now. He gets a new one with each meal. He doesn’t destroy them anymore. Oh, no. When he’s clearer, he wishes he did. 

But no. He smells and licks and then jerks off with them. If only that were the worst of it. He’ll come to be mortified during the waning, but he starts to add them to the cage. It’s fairly saturated with the smell of him from his old mattress, but it pleases the beast within to line it with the sweet mixture soaked into the torn sheets. 

You’ll understand, then, the wolf thinks. You’ll know it’s safe for you. Somewhere he’s made, a den all your own where he can keep you. 

But you won’t know, because what you know is very little. 

When FEDRA started asking for volunteers to test vaccines, you didn’t hesitate. You knew the risks. And the rewards—room and rations for the length of the observation period, anywhere up to a year in length. You knew there would be a catch—probably many, but given that you rarely had a room or rations, it wasn’t a hard choice.

But this was the end of the world, and “informed consent” was not something that survived the outbreak. 

They worked in batches. A truckload of live bodies at a time. Sterilizing showers with the barest trace of privacy, dressed in stiff starchy scrubs, and led into little cubicles where nurses with needles sat in wait. 

A quick jab to the upper arm, and then you were off. The hospital was an old correctional facility, but again, for someone who hadn’t had a bed on a reliable basis, you felt only relief. 

Until the deaths started.

They didn’t even try to hide it. Within 24 hours of arrival, a fourth of your group was gone. Carted out in black bags marked with β and nothing more said. You watched through your window like everyone else. 

Someone came around the next day and drew blood from every remaining subject, and the tagging began after that. You could see the symbols on other’s doors, but not your own. α or Ω. What they meant, you couldn’t begin to guess. 

It started not long after. 

The changes.

At first it was so subtle, you may not have noticed, but a nurse came by each day to ask you a series of increasingly embarrassing questions. 

What do you smell? What do I smell like? What does your sweat smell like? How sensitive are your breasts? Describe your vaginal discharge. How aroused are you on a scale of 1-10? 

They began weekly tests. Blood draws once a week and daily urine samples, of course, but also hearing and vision. They made you run on a treadmill hooked up to wires. 

And then, one day, after six months of intensive observation, they moved you.

Or. They tried to.

You were exhibiting a specific set of side effects, they said. You were to be transferred to another facility for subjects with the same side effects for further observation. 

Raiders took out the truck halfway through the ten-hour journey. It was… it was a bloodbath, actually. For the FEDRA officers, anyway. 

When they had you all lined up, grippy socks soaking in the ankle-deep mud, well, that was when you all learned which symbol was on your door. They couldn’t keep the word out of their mouths. Omega. 

Not that it fucking explained anything.

One by one, a short blonde with a bob went down the line of you and shoved something up to each omega’s face. That’s it. It seemed to have no greater purpose.

But for some reason, when she pressed the cloth against your nose and mouth, she smiled. And they separated you.

Whatever that was had a deep, oaky musk, like the illicit brewery operating out of the warehouse you often slept in before the trials. 

They tell you nothing.

They make you sleep on strips of cloth, so you roll around in the pile as you toss and turn, rubbing your sweat and slick and pheromones all over. 

They don’t bring you anything of his, but you catch faint whiffs of him (him, always him, they never call him by a name), of those aged, liquor-soaked barrels, but all it does is make you nauseous. You don’t understand how you know it’s him; you still don’t understand any of it. 

You learn very quickly not to ask questions. 

They take him out on the night the moon is full and bloated, hanging over him like a searchlight. See, it whispers, I can find you anywhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. If it didn’t, the wolf would find it anyway. 

He is not himself.

He is his truest self.

He is two or one; neither yet both. A monster movie mashup of fur and teeth and roughshod science experiments conducted by a doctor who wasn’t a doctor at all. He’s the monster’s victim. He’s the monsters’ monster. 

He’s the wolf and the wolf is him. 

He’s The Wolf and he’s swallowed Joel down. 

He’s the man, the weak link, buried so deep he can’t see the light of his celestial mistress 

He’s Joel Miller. Sometimes, sometimes. 

Tonight, he is gone. There is only the Wolf. 

And the Wolf knows. As soon as they cross the threshold, he knows. 

Dawn is rising, the hunt is over, but he’ll be the wolf for a while longer. And he knows that fuckin’ smell. 

It’s the saccharine sour mix of you. Heavy on your sweet apple undertones, and oh, he knows. 

You’re in the cage.

next chapter

*title from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

😬 I've been working on this baby for a long, long time, so I will be drinking your likes and comments desperately. thank you for reading and i love you.

[robin-evry]

what if!!! hear me out 🙏🙏 yuu was a robot/miku inspired…IT SUCKS but like…miku kinda..yuu mikyuu…😓😓

Sure no worries, no judgement from me, ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐓 🤖👾🎤

A robot is a machine—especially one programmable by a computer—capable of carrying out a complex series of actions automatically. A robot can be guided by an external control device, or the control may be embedded within. But they can act independently if their creators allow it.

( English is not my first language )

Day 3 : robot!yuu

In a world full of technology and robots. Robot!yuu was the number one idol during that time and was in the number one group of the century ; vocaloid, imagine during the middle of a performance one of their solo concerts, a black carriage arrived and they suddenly shut down.

They turned on when it was an orientation ceremony. Since robot!yuu isn't technically an organic being, they would be put between the ignihyde dorm or ramshackle.

After Crowley gave them a cellphone or asked idia if he could do maintenance to connect them to social media of twisted wonderland, by doing this they started to upload their albums towards the internet and it blew up, people are loving it, it's getting headlines about a new genre of music, and the music getting about stream by millions around the world, Robot!yuu created a genre of music. A revaluation towards the music Industry.

This managed robot!yuu to get rich overnight and allowed them to buy more expensive and to fix the ramshackle dorm more to get more expensive technology for their maintenance, Robot!yuu was planning on giving half of the money to Crowley as a thanks but he only received 1/4 half of the money.

Even tho robot! yuu is an idol, their master builds them with an offensive and defensive system, they have extremely tough metal that is hard to find as well an offensive mode, they have a lot on their arsenal attacks, energy beams, rocket launchers, shield mode, and more.

They are also able to connect to any device and hack it without any issue, they manage to hack ignihyde technology without an issue. And they are waterproof

Robot!yuu also can digest and drink things without an issue, they have a special component on their stomach to make sure they can digest things normally.

During VDC they dominated the competition. Lasers, mist appears and light sticks wave around for their presence. They change outfits depending on the song, it was literally a Miku concert.

Congratulations neige Leblanc is now one of their fans, when going down the stage, he literally ran towards you and started asking a billion of questions with stars amongst their eyes

Vil was a little sour but also amazed about robot!yuu performance, he would ask them for choreography and music ideas from them as well as fashion opinions. He originally wanted robot!yuu to transfer into ignihyde but they refused due to ignihyde has the complete equipment for them or ramshackle.

Pomifiore dorm started to take notes and tried robot!yuu fashion styles. Idia is also a supporter of them and basically a super fan, robot!yuu would come to ignihyde to help him with games or help him maintain ortho, Robot!yuu is basically a sister towards Idia and Ortho.

sorry if it's short, this is by far I could come up anon

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 11 pt 2

masterpost

Danny woke from the sleep of the dead with a howl and a swinging fist. It met air, but he wasn’t alone. He felt curiosity and playful aggression in the room.

The room was dark. He lit it with a green glow and chased the dark shadow in his room. Danny flung himself over the coffee table with a roar before he had even consciously realized that there was another ghost in his lair.

The intruder fluttered backwards. Metal went shick from behind him. Danny went intangible and something thudded into the kitchen cupboard. 

Two ghosts? No. One ghost, and one- Danny stole a glance- child. One child? “The fuck!” he shouted, upset and nearly pissed off. It had been a looooong time since some intangible asshole had ruined his sleep. The other ghost stopped their retreat and darted at him, a dark and disorienting smudge in his cramped apartment. He went intangible again and braced for impact with whatever they had in their arsenal.

They went right through him with a vicious jab, paused a microsecond, and then adjusted to his level of tangibility to smack his shoulder out of joint in a crazily precise blow. 

The child flicked the light on.

“...Robin?” Danny said, voice still rough with sleep. Why was a Gotham vigilante in his apartment? And the ghost– “Black Bat?” He reset his shoulder with a pop.

Black Bat frowned. Her joy faded. “...Not Jacqueline,” she said. Her voice was toneless but disappointment came across through her aura.

Fuck, really? No one even knew who they were and he was still being overlooked for his genius sister. Danny groaned and flopped back on the couch, sprawling so one hand hung over the edge and the other over the back. “Get out,” he complained. “She’s at work. But you should leave her alone, anyway. She’s tired.”

“Are you her paramour or her guard dog?” Robin asked, cocking his head. His aura said: I’m impressed. 

Now that Danny was really looking, Robin had a bit of an ectoplasmic tinge. So. Two non-humans, in his apartment, in the dead of the night. “I don’t give personal information to suspicious people,” Danny sniped. He narrowed his eyes at Black Bat, ruffles officially hackled. “Stay away from her. She isn’t hurting anyone and she needs to focus on her degree.”

“Do you really think that there is no harm in engineering?” Robin sniffed. “You are naive.”

…Danny stared at the child dubiously. What the hell did they think Jazz was going to do with a degree in civil engineering? “Did she like, trip some red flags of being a new rogue or something?” he guessed. It would have been a fair guess for anyone who knew their parents. “She’s not. She’s just …passionate.”

“Genuine,” Black Bat said, sounding disappointed. “Knows nothing.”

Danny felt mildly offended about that one. He knew a lot, actually. He just didn’t know anything that Jazz could have possibly done to merit a two-bat intervention.

He squinted at her suspiciously. “You broke into my house to tell me that I’m not involved in anything shady?” he confirmed. She was flat wrong, but still. “You’re the rude one here. You’re shady. You prove your good intentions to me.” He crossed his arms.

Black Bat seemed to narrow her eyes at him. She probably was, under her creepy mask set up. She radiated her emotions so strongly that the full face mask was probably a dire necessity. “...No,” she finally said, and tried to tip him off the sofa onto the floor. The operant word was tried because Danny lifted his eyebrows and stubbornly floated upwards. 

Black Bat looked at the floor where she wanted him to be. She looked back at him. Her aura said she felt betrayed. She had wanted to see him tumble and squawk. This was unfair. She was a sad, sad girl.

Danny sniggered. 

“You are a metahuman,” Robin said, matter of fact and absolutely wrong. “Unregistered, surely. Have you been put in contact with Gotham resources? Are you safe? Has Jacqueline trafficked you? There is no record of your residence here, and I notice that there is no bed for you.”

Danny opened his mouth to say that she was his sister, remembered that legally speaking Jazz was currently related to no one, and then shut his mouth with a frown. 

“If you require aid, we will assist.”

“I require you to get out of my house,” Danny said, jerking a thumb to point accusatively at Black Bat, “before you bring down the GIW on me. Please and thanks.”

He didn’t really expect much of a reaction. Black Bat had clearly been human-side for a while, she was well known in Gotham. If she had been worried about ghost catchers, she would have fled for the Infinite Realms through one of the pathways that theoretically still existed, or laid low. So she was going to scoff and roll her eyes.

Except that’s not what happened. Danny found himself the focus of two much harder, more suspicious stares. Black Bat slowly reached up and pressed a button. Turning off what, a camera? Danny drew away from her, alarmed. Was this a police brutality thing?

Robin saw the motion too. Danny could feel his confusion, but he copied his senior bat.

Ah, hell.

“Tell me,” Black Bat said, “about the GIW.”

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Trust (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Summary: You and Ghost have been captured for questioning. Loyal to a fault, you'll do anything to avoid seeing his face before he's ready to show you.

AN: I'm not immune to military propaganda. Nor am I immune to the babygirlification. In a slump writing wise so I gave this a go. I might try one with Soap next but no promises since it'll probably end up on the never-ending pile of unfinished fics.

Content warnings: Descriptions of torture, injuries as a result of torture, moments of vulnerability (aka 141 care for each other).

Reader uses they/them pronouns and is part of 141. Fic can be read as platonic or romantic.

Masterlist // AO3

A palm smacked across your cheek; the sting brought you back to consciousness. Screwing your eyes up, you tried to settle them in your skull so that you could take in your surroundings. Your hands and legs tied to a chair was what you noticed first. A fold-out table was a few feet out of reach in front of you.

Then, beyond that, a sliver of light in the roof – a hole, not a light bulb – dropped onto a body, bound like yourself and twenty feet away. The carved mask hiding the face was illuminated.

Your body wrenched against your restraints, “Hey!”

Another slap silenced you. You looked up at the offender you had somehow looked over. A lackey. No one you recognised from any intel or manilla folder or briefing, so you surveyed their appearance for just how much this soldier was trusted with.

Single gun on one hip.

KA-BAR on the other.

Kevlar vest that was more slack on the right shoulder.

More weapons that you had, now that your arsenal had been torn from you.

With the clanging of metal, a rectangle of light broke into the room. Room felt like the wrong word. This was too empty, echoey to be a mere room. A silhouette appeared in that light then vanished as the door closed behind them. Footsteps, slow and steady, approaching you, and the lackey left your side.

Ronin Foster bent at the waist to meet your unwilling gaze. He looked almost identical to the photo you’d been given in your briefing about him. One difference was clear: the burn mark running parallel to the left side of his chin. You couldn’t fathom where or how he’d gotten that injury, nor did you have a lot of time to look at it before Foster turned silently and unrolled a sleeve of weapons onto the table.

You caught Ghost’s eyes, the whites stark against the shadows and black paint. He didn’t avoid your gaze. He held it, and even when Foster stepped in the way, you felt that conflicted comfort you had grown to know in the presence of your Lieutenant and his masks.

The rest of the 141 were possibly being held elsewhere. Or they could’ve made it out. But it would take days to reconvene and organise a rescue mission.

This was your new home.

Your training did not desert you as your captor removed his gloves, tugging at the fingers to free them. One reached behind him and withdrew from his belt a gun.

Following the arc of his arm’s swing, his body wrenched around. A slash of agony struck your forehead against the butt of his gun. Your ears rung around the hollow of your skull like the bells of Notre Dame. The room wobbled as you righted your head. You couldn’t make out the details in Ghost’s mask anymore, not as Foster pulled off the skull plate and tossed it aside. Its clattering on the ground punctuated the air. Your gaze wavered against the dizzying disorientation as Ghost writhed to get away. But Foster was still unrolling the balaclava off his face. The second you saw a hint of Ghost’s chin, your eyes snapped shut.

Boots strode across the concrete. Suddenly your chin was grabbed up, no doubt facing your captor. Ghost’s gruff grunts boomed across the gap between you as he struggled against his restraints – that’s what you presumed, your eyes still closed.

But Foster was ignoring that side of the room blatantly, his grip crushing your cheekbones like he could wrench it off and throw it alongside Ghost’s mask. You narrowed your breaths to control yourself. While you couldn’t see, you couldn’t predict what could happen. But your defiance refused to let this awful man dictate when you saw Ghost’s face for the first time.

“Who told you about this place?” Foster asked quietly.

Nothing was heard from Ghost now, besides his breathing. You tried to match yours to his, pressing your lips together, your nostrils flaring against the throbbing pain.

Sharp pain splintered through your big toe, up your right foot. Your body fought the restraints and channelled your masked yelps into the bindings. Slowly, your chest puffed out all the air before sucking some back in.

“You’ve got at least nine more chances to tell me,” and Foster tapped his weapon – presumably the butt of his gun - against the rest of your toes. “Now tell me, how did you find this place?”

Between internal screams, you prayed that Ghost wouldn’t give up, and that his presence would give you the strength to do the same.

-----------------------------------------------

“Gambit, you still with me?”

You let out a hum, since it was all that your throat would allow. A sigh emitted from your Lieutenant. You couldn’t tell if it was relief or remorse. Sure, Ghost cared for you. You were on his team; it was in his job description to give the bare minimum amount of shits about you. However you could only hope that he gave as many as you did him. Or maybe now you hoped he didn’t, so that the mental barrier holding back the intel didn’t break so soon – or at all.

Your eyebrows raised and scrunched to stretch your face, but your eyes remained shut. Ghost hadn’t said a word about his mask being replaced and you doubted that Foster been kind enough to replace it between sessions.

The sound of the door opening reached you again; you could tell by the pattern of the foot fall that it was Foster. So, you cracked a joke in your head, that you were privileged that a terrorist with a notoriously busy schedule had made way for you and Ghost.

The laughter in your head was cut off when a fist yanked at the roots of your hair, forcing you to face the ceiling. Your eyes winced but still did not-

“Open.”

You waited for Foster’s response to your inaction.

A gloved hand suddenly grappled with your jaw, which was as clenched as your eyelids.

“Your mouth. Open it.”

Eventually, Foster managed to get it open long enough to pour something in. You choked on the first splash but began glugging it down once you realised that it was water and that Foster wasn’t pinching your nose. This wasn’t waterboarding. This was survival – extending your torture to reap its potential benefits. Thus you didn’t savour any of it nor save any to spit back in Foster’s face. Your torturer threw your head aside, strain twinging up your neck. A few seconds later, you could hear similar sounds – Ghost’s turn. That other benefit of not having to see whatever Foster was doing to Ghost. Unfortunately, your shoulders could not reach high enough to shield your ears.

A scrape from the table told you Foster had brought back his tools. Last time he was here, he’d tried to use them on Ghost. However since you weren’t opening your eyes, the effect was not as intended. As a reflex, you attempted to dissociate. One might think the injuries and blood loss might make it easier to fade away from your body. But no, the pain grounded you in your body. So it only made things worse when you found your jaw getting wrenched at again.

“Let them go!” boomed Ghost, causing your heart to ripple against your ribs. Him showing an ounce of care scared you more than Foster did. It meant something worse than before was coming and you were both getting close to breaking.

A bang shattered against your ear drums; the darkness before your eyelids grew a tad bit brighter. Your neck was sharply encircled by Foster’s arm, and your chin struggled against the crook of his elbow. Airway trapped, you were immobilised and drowning on dry land. The grip on you tightened, squeezing your eyes out of their sockets but still you held strong. If this was the last thing you did, you would not betray your friend.

The shouting began, all blended together, overwhelming your fractured mind. It grew and grew into a crescendo of bellows that shrilled with its urgency. Your mind bubbled at the edges a

Then it stopped. A snap. Foster’s weight dropped onto you. Something metal clattered onto the floor. Wet dribbled down your neck.

Thunderous absence of noise surrounded you, your weak attempts to suck in a deep breath barely a prickle in it. You hunched under Foster’s weight. There was no energy left to make a pitiful attempt to dissuade him. You were so encompassed by it that you failed to notice the approaching footsteps right up until you felt the air punctuated into your cheek by this new person’s presence.

A hand wiped at your forehead, lifting gently as it went.

“Gambit, you with me?”

You let out a sigh crossed with a laugh, “Gaz?”

Gaz replied with a chuff of relief, “Let’s get you home.”

The weight on your shoulders was yanked aside; your wrists felt an inch of relief as the plastic bindings were severed. There was din all around again: radio chatter, mumbled remarks about the location, and echoes around the concrete.

You tried raising your head to see “Ghost?”

“I’m here,” and his voice was oh so close now, “I’m here. You’re ok.”

Then you felt the binds on your wrists slacken completely. Your body tipped forwards and your head knocked into someone else’s.

“Gotcha.”

Ghost’s.

“You can open your eyes.”

Your grimy, sweat-stained skin rubbed harshly against his as he instructed you to open your eyes. Your whimper could not be contained as you shook your head:

“No. I don’t want to.”

“You need to open your eyes, Gambit.”

“Your face,” Your arm wavered, preventing you from emphasising your point, “I can’t.” And your body slouched further into him. True darkness took over the edges of your eyelids. The last thing you recalled was being caught by three hands and someone saying your name – not your callsign, but your name.

-----------------------------------------------

Your feet were in bandages, bones reset, though amputation was not out of the questions just yet. Turns out three days with sprains, breaks, and no toenails were not beneficial to you. It was a good thing that you had been carried to the helicopter and not made to walk

Stiff with lack of use, you deduced, and you didn’t try to wiggle them as you opened up your eyes. The bulbs above your bed burnt your sight; you winced away from them. Curtains surrounded your bed. They protected you from the shame you might’ve felt had anyone seen the state you were in. With a sigh, you willed yourself to sink into the mattress a little deeper and return to slumber.

However a set of approaching footsteps caught your ears. Then a gloved hand peeled back one of the curtains to reveal Ghost, his other arm still in a sling that was stark white against his normal gear and the basic black balaclava that was back where it belonged.

“Gambit,” he said, hesitating in the gap between the curtains before drawing them.

You went to say his alias, but you were halted by a sudden coughing fit. Your throat had decided now was a good time to curl up into sandpaper. At your side, Ghost held the cup to your lips. Your weak hands tried to take over holding it; Ghost’s firm ones curled around yours steady. His gloves were worn and rough like the calloused skin beneath, warm against your feeble fingers.

Once the coughing fit had abated, Ghost sat back in the chair adjacent to your bed whilst not quite making eye contact with you. Normally, he had no issues staring you down. Perhaps he had been worried about you.

Sniffing behind his mask, Ghost said, “You did good not giving up that intel.”

A compliment. He must have been really worried about you.

“As did you, sir.”

His eyes wavered towards the passing clogs beneath the dividing curtain as a medic passed by your section. Remaining rigid, he adjusted the inside of his hoodie pocket before speaking again.

“You should’ve opened your eyes. It might’ve helped you with Foster.”

“He’d’ve seen how I reacted to you. Gauged better how to get us to give up.”

How to get me to give up, you thought.

You continued quickly, “It’s better that he just had you. You’re better at controlling yourself than me.”

Ghost was silent for a while, and you were too. It was only a tad uncomfortable; you chalked it up to your injuries, your elbows being the only thing that really felt relief in this hospital bed. Perhaps that was what compelled you to explain him your reasoning further.

“I didn’t want to see you if you didn’t want me to.”

“You’ve seen my face before.”

“Hardly.” That was true for the most part. All you’d allowed yourself to see was one hell of a chin when Ghost lifted his mask up to eat or drink something in a mess hall. You concluded, “Showing your face is your call, Ghost. Not Foster’s or mine or anyone’s.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. Then Ghost grabbed the neck and peeled his mask up in one smooth motion, his chin on his chest. A shock of dirty blond hair – an inch of it pure white at the roots – was flattened against his scalp, until Ghost’s fingers combed through it twice. It matched his dainty eyelashes.

He looked back up at last. Your sight was stuck mainly on his eyes, still surrounded by their superhero mask painted onto his skin where the holes in his mask had been. Then you started making concentric circles around his face. Scars cut from the corners of his lips through his cheeks. Little ones dotted about his prominent nose, eyebrows, forehead, lips. A few bruises highlighted where Foster had gotten him.

You realised that you were staring with your lips parted and eyes wide so that you could commit his face to memory. But you couldn’t help yourself either.  

In short, your suspicions were confirmed: he was goddamn gorgeous.

He was just about to hide it away again, his matching skeleton gloves going to pull down his balaclava when you sat up quickly.

“Wait.”

Stilling, Ghost waited for you to speak again.

Your outstretched hand closed into a loose fist, “Just… Can I touch you?”

His reply was staggered with a blink, “Yes.” And he leant forwards with his elbows on his knees.

It struck you then why he was so unlike himself: he wasn’t here as Ghost.

The backs of your knuckles clumsily made contact with his right cheek, dragging down his jaw. Simon closed his eyes. His head tilted a fraction against your touch. Tears sprung free and tracked down your cheeks, contradicted by your smile that was brimming with the delight of being trusted.

“You’re right,” Simon mused when he opened his eyes, “Good thing you kept your eyes closed.”

“Yeah,” You sniffled. “But at least now I can tell Soap you’re not ugly.”

Scoffing, Simon tugged his balaclava back over his face and adjusted it to fit properly, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“How wrong he was,” you almost giggled with glee.

Even as the laughter ceased, your smile remained. And you could tell by the small crinkles at his eyes that Simon was too.

-----------------------------------------------

AN: In my head, Ghost has Marie Antoinette syndrome, but before he had sandy blond hair.

[pitchsidestories]

Swiss chocolate for breakfast II Lia Wälti x Reader

masterlist I word count: 790

inspired by this sweet request here.<3

Milk, eggs, oats, almond butter, paper towels…

It was all right there on the grocery list that Lia was studying while she absentmindedly pushed the cart.

You knew exactly what it said on there. After all, you were the one who wrote it all down in the morning.

It was all stuff that had to be stocked up before you two would leave with Arsenal for the US tour.

Boring. Something absolutely essential was missing that wasn’t on the list.

With a dull thud you dropped a few packages into the cart.

Lia looked up from her shopping list.

Her gaze drifted from the cartons to you: “Wait, what’s that?“

You innocently blinked at her: “We travel to America therefore I need my English tea, Lia.“

“You don’t need your tea. I’m sure they will have tea there.“, your girlfriend laughed while removing the tea from the cart.

You took the cartons from her and dropped them back inside: “But not as good as this one. It’s simply the best.“

“It’s just tea.“, Lia complained but this time didn’t touch the packages.

You shook your head in disbelief. You had this conversation way too many times. “Lia, it’s not just any tea!“

Lia pointed at the three packages: “You don’t even need that much tea.“

“Yes, I do!“

“You won’t drink it there anyway.“

“Maybe the other English girls and I want some tea in the afternoon or evening…“, you explained but stopped yourself suddenly.

You looked around. How did you two end up in the chocolate section all of a sudden?

You watched as Lia gently placed something into the cart. You immediately recognized the metallic packaging of her favourite chocolate.

“Hold on. Is that Swiss chocolate in the basket? We certainly don’t need that either.“, you decided, giving her deprecating stare and trying to bite back a smile.

Your girlfriend pretended to be offended: “Of course we need chocolate! The flight is super long!“

“Pretty sure they give away chocolate on the plane?“, you playfully rolled your eyes.

“What if they don’t? And what if it isn’t real Swiss chocolate? Also that’s never enough for a ten hour flight.“

“You’re a professional football player my love you should know better.”, you teased her lovingly.  

“If you can’t appreciate my Swiss chocolate then I won’t appreciate your English tea!”, Lia decided pouting, trying hard not to laugh about your little unserious argument.

“You didn’t appreciate my tea to begin with!”, you countered, your lips twitching, wanting to turn into a grin, but you didn’t want to give in already.  Luckily this was London and not the English and Swiss countryside where you both grew up, so no one was turning their heads during the discussion.

“Okay, listen, here’s a deal, we get both, okay? And everyone’s happy.”, the midfielder sighed loudly.

“Deal.”, you nodded satisfied while the two of you continued your way through the supermarket peacefully.  

“I’m sure the new teammates will feel better and more welcomed to our team with that chocolate.”, she declared happily.

Fondly, Lia reminisced the times she joined a new football team in Potsdam or Arsenal and always brought some Swiss chocolate at the beginning which turned out to be a great way to her new teammate’s hearts.

Even your romance started with a little praline which turned up at your seat in the changing room at every home game with a little message until one read, will you go on a date with me? Marking the day where you turned into lovers.  

“And with some tea.”, you added smirking.

“Which tastes like nothing.”, Lia commented chuckling.

“Love, I’m telling you, you’re doing your tea wrong.”, you replied.

“This reminds me we need to get coffee too; we ran out of beans.”, your girlfriend remembered.

After the coffee beans were secured, she looked at her phone before glancing back to you.

“Oh, Steph texted and asked if we want to join making pizzas at Kim’s place tonight and if we’re still in the supermarket.”

“I hate when they do this. They always make us get groceries for them. Okay, text her we’ll bring everything.”, you groaned dramatically.

“I’ll. She immediately replied with a lot of kiss emojis.”, the brunette noted amused.

“Come on, we’ve to hurry up.”, you told her, while simultaneously grabbing the things needed for pizza.

“Please I’m starting to get hungry too.”, Lia said. Both of you couldn’t wait until you meet the other women as evenings at Kim were always a lot of fun which you didn’t want to miss out on.

And maybe but only maybe there would be a bit of chocolate for breakfast in the morning before you took on the long flight on the plane.

[totaly-obsessed]

Could you write for alessia where the reader gets badly injured during a match and alessia completely over reacts during trying to protect and look after reader

Hovering

Alessia Russo x reader Drabble & Request

-> Reader gets injured, Alessia loses it, and turns into a nurse

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Derby’s were always different matches than the usual – feistier, more brutal. There was a real passion behind it. And this game was no different. Arsenal against Tottenham, the north London derby. The training sessions were even more intense than usual, and the speech Leah gave in the changing room was terrifying. While the blonde couldn’t play, still out with her ACL, she was still a Gunner through and through – so she sat at the sidelines, shouting words of encouragement.

Standing in the tunnel you could feel the tension, it made you nervous. While most loved derby days, you didn’t – they were scary. Your lovely girlfriend knew it, trying to get you to sleep until three in the morning, whispering calming words into your ears as she rubbed your back in a soothing motion. Now, standing behind you, she rested her bigger hands on your shoulders – weighing your nervous body down.

The crowd was electric while walking in and through the entire first half where Less had scored a gorgeous goal – the halftime speech mainly consisted of encouraging words to further the lead by a goal or two. Everything was going fine until Arsenal was given a corner kick.

Steph was the one to take it – and now the only thing you remember was hearing Katie shout out a ‘you bitch!’ as you went down. Your entire face hurt as a metallic taste filled your mouth. Dazed you sat on the ground as everything escalated around you.

The medics were talking at you, pressing a towel against your nose, and lighting a lamp in your eyes as your conciseness started to fade.

It felt like a dream when you woke up in the medical room, surrounded by your teammates, who were quietly chatting amongst themselves. “Amore! You’re awake!” Your girlfriend sat up next to you, taking your hands into hers. Your eyes were hazy, the brightness of the room needing you to hold a hand in front of them. It was Kim who turned the light off, sitting directly in front of the switch for it.

“What happened?” Alessia nearly cooed at your croaky voice, feeling sorry for you. After looking at her a bit closer, you noticed tear streaks on her cheeks. With shaky hands, you reached out to wipe the new tears away, as she gave you a tight smile. “You jumped for the header, but got pushed into the goalpost by a Tottenham player.”

And just like that, the pain in your nose returned – as you went to touch it, Less caught your hands, taking them into hers once again. “Still made the goal though. And Russo got a red.” Kyra laughed as she remembered how your goal went in, going to hug you, just to see you lying on the ground, with a bloody nose and absent eyes.

With shocked eyes, you looked at your girlfriend, who looked way sheepishly. “W- What? Alessia?” Other than expected, the girls started cheering  - quickly stopping when their striker's angry gaze met theirs. Katie patted her on the back like a proud older sister, who had gotten her sibling into trouble. “Russo here can get feisty. Some nice yelling at the Ref, pushing players – Slapping a bitch…”

You nearly thought that you had misheard the Irishwoman. “You slapped someone?” The blonde knew that she really was in trouble now – so did everybody else as they quietly laughed. “Amore – she pushed you! You were bleeding a-and I couldn’t help myself so I- I…” She gave up, seeing your raised brow.

The team girls stayed for a while as a doctor came and explained your bruised nose, chipped tooth, and very annoying concussion.

Seeing your pain and Alessia’s longing eyes Kim decided to gather the team and go home, leaving the blonde on your bed at your side before she took you to your joined home again. “I was so scared, Amore.” Now it was your turn to coo, kissing her puffy cheeks, tasting the saltiness of her tears on your lips. “I know baby. But you didn’t need to get a red. I appreciate your protecting me very much, but it wasn’t needed.”

Alessia spent the rest of the evening hovering. Helping you in the bath, helping wash your hair, helping you get out, making dinner, helping you change, and helping you get ready for bed. And as much as you tried not to say anything, it felt suffocating.

“Alessia?” You were lying in bed by now, while Alessia ran through the room, trying to think of things to make your night better. “Hmm?”

“If you wake me up in the night – I’ll kill you.” Your girlfriend gulped nervously, hoping that you were joking.

After two hours of restless sleep, Alessia was still awake, she woke you up again. “I’m sorry Amore, but I need to check, you know that.” You did know that. But you were still annoyed.

Throughout the night she was met with various harsh responses to being woken up – but she handled them like a champ, knowing that you loved her – you were just tired and in pain.

Alessia couldn’t help but hover for the next days, having taken off from training as well.

While it was annoying, you wouldn’t change it for the world, enjoying your time together even if you weren’t feeling so well. the striker would never regret that red card, content to have you by her side, nursing you back to full health.

[insipid-drivel]

Toxins, Venom, and Poisons in Historical Western Medicine: How Are We Not Extinct From Doing Some Of This To Ourselves?

This piece is an involuntary piece inspired by @writing-with-sophia's awesome post "Poison list", which is an accurate and succinct list of commonly known (and ancient!) poisons, venoms, and toxins that have been and were used for causing poisoning in ancient and recent history. I wanted to write this because what struck me by their post crossing my dash was, the sheer number of poisons listed that were - and even still are - used as mainstays for healthcare around the world throughout the ages!

OBLIGATORY DON'T BE A DUMBASS PSA: If you're planning on incorporating these poisons into your HISTORICAL-era writing, it's also important to remember that many of them were used for medicinal purposes at one time, too, and it's great you're interested in learning about the subject! And also, you shouldn't try ANY of these! I will not tell you how to do it at home if you DM me, so don't! You are not appropriately trained to do it! You will harm or kill yourself and possibly your loved ones if you fuck around with any of these and it will be 100% your fault and you absolutely should feel bad bout it! I've seen some of you idiots believe 4chan posts about making home-grown crystals using recipes for actual mustard gas and seen you being wheeled into the ER on the news! I will not feel bad if you get yourself hurt if you screw around with any of these plants, elements, or animals!

Resource blog plugs and PSA over, now for the Hilariously Poisonous Medicines:

If you're writing something that's meant to take place prior to the advent of our more modern understanding of poisons, venoms, and toxins, factoring in "this is toxic to me NOW, but what about 500 years ago?" can add a lot of opportunities for interesting plot elements to your story.

These can include someone accidentally poisoning themselves with a toxic drug or substance that wouldn't have killed them if they'd handled it properly - like tansy? Grows all over the place in Europe and England? That'll kill you if you harvest it too late in the season, but it's good for intestinal parasites when it's harvested early in the year and processed right.

Did the lady's maid really kill her mistress with belladonna? Or was she trying to secretly help her mistress get rid of an unwanted pregnancy?

The protagonist's children can't survive to make it to weaning age! Is the wetnurse a poisoner, or does the milkman hide that he sells sour milk by pouring Borax into it so no one could taste it and has no idea he's killing his clients' babies?

Nuance and cultural mores regarding historical views about poisons and toxins can make writing even more fun, dynamic, and interesting! Explore 'em!

Just... please don't try any of this crap yourself. You will poison yourself, it will hurt, you will die, and you will hurt the entire time you're dying. Using OP's master list alone, here's the flip side of these lethal beasts through the eyes of our distant ancestors who believed illness was caused by "vapors", "bad air", and "imbalanced humors":

Hemlock:

Used across multiple different cultures in history. When properly administered to treat a disease, poison hemlock was used to treat asthma, whooping cough, bronchitis, joint/bone pain, muscle cramps, and insomnia. Hemlock was most often used as a sedative and antispasmodic.

Arsenic:

Arsenic is a heavy metal, and so has been used in everything from making specialty dyes for wallpapers (Scheele's green is the most infamous arsenic-based paint; Queen Victoria once had a guestroom in her palace redone with Scheele's green wallpaper. The first dignitary to stay there had to be carried out and taken to emergency care after breathing astronomical amounts of arsenic dust from the wallpaper's paint), to medicine. Arsenic was especially commonly used in history to treat skin ailments ranging from acne, to psoriasis, to syphilis sores. It was also sometimes prescribed for menstrual cramps, upset stomachs, colic, and arthritis, among many, many other things.

Cyanide:

Uh... I have literally never found any evidence of cyanide in medicine, outside of its use in modern medicine as part of certain chemical lab tests for measuring urine ketone bodies that involve no contact with a patient whatsoever. Cyanide literally works in less than a few seconds to render your entire body incapable of absorbing OR using oxygen in your lungs or already existing in your blood. Cyanide is really only good at making things that breathe not breathe anymore.

Nightshade:

There are a lot of different "nightshades", so being specific is essential here. Potatoes are nightshades. Tomatoes are nightshades. Calling anything a "nightshade" does not inherently mean it's lethally toxic. Belladonna is probably the most notorious of the "deadly" nightshades, but to this day, is still used medicinally, and would actually be seen as a health and cosmetic mainstay in historical fiction, especially if your setting is in Italy!

Belladonna is an Italian portmanteau for "beautiful woman", because tinctures (water-based drops) of belladonna were commonly used by Italian women as eyedrops to dilate their eyes and appear more attractive, aroused, and desirable. Today, belladonna's eye-dilating effects are still used by optometrists to dilate the pupils! Belladonna has been, and still sometimes is used as an NSAID, general painkiller, motion sickness treatment, asthma medication, and even as a treatment for IBS.

Ricin:

As OP said, Ricin is derived from the toxin found in Castor Beans, and is surprisingly new as an official "the only reason this is made is to make someone dead" poison. Not only is ricin a popular "nobody would think to test for this!" choice in mystery/thriller writing, but it has been used for political assassinations in real life before. Georgi Markov, a Bulgarian anti-Communist dissenter and writer, was killed in 1978 with a 1.7mm diameter ricin-coated pellet shot into his thigh muscle by an unidentified assailant using a modified umbrella as a gun. He died 4 days later.

Historically, castor OIL has been used for medicinal purposes, especially for treating constipation, inducing labor in pregnancy, and as a topical skin moisturizer. If you've ever watched the opening scene in Disney's "Peter Pan", when the childrens' mother is trying to give them a spoonful of medicine each, she's actually giving them castor oil! Castor oil tastes really bad (so much so that flavorings like cinnamon were often added to try to muffle the taste), so the childrens' reluctance and disgust at their mom making them take their medicine is very realistic for the era the movie came out in!

Strychnine:

Another lethal poison that started life as a medicine/food additive. Strychnine is no longer used medicinally at all today, but historically, it was used to stimulate the heart, treat bladder and bowel incontinence, and limb palsy. Strychnine is a deadly-powerful muscle stimulant that, as a poison, causes horrifyingly painful full-body strictures (spasms) and destroys the cardiovascular system. (Fun fact: Strychnine and hydrochloric acid were historically mixed into cheap vodka to make knock-off gin, especially during the Georgian Era in England if the brewer didn't have or couldn't afford juniper berries!)

Snake Venom:

Seriously, do your research before you write an actual, real snake species using venom they don't produce! The Big 3 Forms Of Snake Venom are: Hemotoxic, Neurotoxic, and Cytotoxic. Specific snake species exclusively generate the same kind of venom (so a hemotoxic snake will ALWAYS produce baby snakes that also make hemotoxic venom). Aristotle himself wrote in 380 BC that certain snake venoms could be applied for treating fevers, smallpox, and leprosy, and there is even some evidence in the historical record prior to the 1800s that different cultures have experimented throughout the eons with using venom for converting into antivenom, but I've never found a source citing anyone making a successful form of antivenom until around the 1850s.

Digitalis:

OP really nailed the important thing about Digitalis, and that is it's cardiac benefits for certain people - particularly for treating congestive heart failure. Vincent van Gogh was actually prescribed epilepsy medication that likely contained Digitalis, aka Foxglove, and there are some prevailing theories about van Gogh's love of bright yellow paint as being either caused or exacerbated by the symptoms associated with digitalis use, which can cause an attraction to and increased visual sensitivity to the color yellow. In several portraits, including one of his own psychiatrist, van Gogh shows subjects presented alongside foxglove flowers. Digitalis is absolutely lethal if consumed or taken without expert guidance, however, because it's the mother ingredient of Digoxin. Digoxin isn't used as frequently as it used to be a few decades ago, but it's still used and prescribed today for certain forms of heart failure and heart disease. Digoxin was also, at one time, was also sometimes used to induce chemical abortions.

Lead:

Dear god, lead. Not only is it so slow to kill you that you'll think that the only way to manage your symptoms is with more lead, but lead poisoning can be a life-long crisis for a person who is regularly exposed to it. Humans have used lead for everything from plumbing, to paint, to our cutlery, to cosmetics, to medicine. While yes, it is very possible to ingest enough lead in a single sitting to die within hours or days, most sufferers of lead poisoning experience it for years or decades before the symptoms become obvious. Some archaeologists believe that the Romans used lead cutlery because lead has a unique reaction when we lick it: when you have lead coating your tongue, it makes EVERYTHING you eat suddenly taste 10x better. I learned this myself from going target-shooting with my mom at a gun rage as a teenager, inhaled gunsmoke (which contains lead), and went for lunch immediately after. Even though I was just eating a $5 meal from In-N-Out, my burger tasted so good I thought I was gonna have to change my pants. When I asked the rangemaster at the target place about it later, he literally said, "Oh yeah, lead makes the worst cooking taste like heaven."

The ancient Romans ate a lot of rotten, spoiled, and sour food, and so lead would've made it easier to eat it back then. But the neurological effects of lead poisoning are nightmarish. It's suspected that, in America, the #1 reason we had so many active serial killers in the country from the 1940s-2000s was because of leaded gasoline. Ever since leaded gasoline was banned? Serial and random violent crime rates have dramatically gone down, especially in metropolitan cities. Ancient Rome, too, gradually became an increasingly violent city as its population went up and its reliance on lead did. We're only just now starting to figure out how toxic lead actually is, so go nuts with using it as a plot element regarding subjects like "Why Are You Like This?"

Mercury:

Mercury is also known as quicksilver, because in spite of being a heavy metal, the temperature at which it melts into a liquid is very, very low compared to most other metals. The first Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, was rumored to be so obsessed with the notion of immortality that he would send his doctors on doomed voyages around the world searching for a legendary substance that would, indeed, make him immortal. Legend has it that some doctors who were tasked with the job found out about the last guys, and produced mercury before Emperor Qin Shi Huang and cried, "Here it is! I got it!" so they wouldn't end up doomed to drown at sea. Qin Shi Huang became so obsessed with ingesting and medicating himself with mercury that, when his legendary tomb was being constructed, he had a small-yet-accurate-to-scale map of China+the known world about the size of a football field with every body of water full of fountains of running mercury in his burial chamber. His tomb was rediscovered in the last couple of decades after archaeologists found suspiciously high levels of mercury in the soil on top of a "hill" that had been sitting in the countryside untouched for thousands of years. It turned out to be Qin Shi Huang's long-lost tomb.

Since those days, mercury has closely been associated in early medicine as a sort of cure-all, since it literally kills anything it touches (including people). Captain Blackbeard himself, the most notorious pirate in Western history (Western specifically; google who Zheng Yi Sao was), was known or widely believed to be a syphilis sufferer, and desperately sought infusions of mercury from ships he'd capture (and the doctors onboard) to treat it, believing like everyone did that mercury could cure syphilis. It can't. They just didn't understand back then that syphilis starts off surface-level, and then eats your brain years after the initial infection.

Aconite:

Again, ridiculously toxic outside of specific medicinal applications that still aren't safe today! Aconite, or wolfsbane, has historically been used as a heart sedative (for slowing the heart), diuretic, painkiller, and even used to induce sweating. Evidence of wolfsbane being used for medicinal purposes has been spotted here and there over thousands of years throughout the Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Empires, but its original use came about in Ancient Greece for hunting and culling wolves by poisoning bait-food with it. That form of hunting died out long before the European Middle Ages, but the name "wolfsbane" stuck. Mostly because in the Middle Ages, a lot of people believed werewolves were a huge problem, and kept wolfsbane handy to deter said werewolves.

Thallium:

Today, thallium is mostly used in the production of camera and eyeglass lenses. Before its toxicity was known about, it wasn't strange to hear of thallium being used topically to treat fungal infections like ringworm. Thallium was also sporadically used in treating typhus and tuberculosis, along with a wide array of sexually transmitted diseases.

This list doesn't even touch the tip of the toxic iceberg when it comes to the sheer quantity of hilariously dangerous toxins people have, or still continue, to use for medicinal purposes! In a Victorian-era English London middle-class townhouse setting alone, there were dozens and dozens of ways to poison or otherwise harm yourself just by going about your daily life. So, if you've got a period piece you're working on, or are just bored, you can pick an exact date and time in our history and learn just how terrifyingly comfortable our ancestors were with upsettingly dangerous substances and home remedies. You can also watch a massive docuseries, called "Hidden Killers" and hosted by historian Suzannah Lipscomb, among other historians and archaeologists, which deep-dives into the hidden and unknown dangers of living in eras from Tudor-Era England, to the Post-WWII Reconstruction Age.

As a final note: I am NOT bashing Chinese or Eastern medicinal practices here, and in fact deliberately have gone out of my way to not include any references toward culturally-sanctioned medicinal practices in Eastern and Southeastern Asia. This post is specifically related to the history of WESTERN medicines and their associated history. I am not, nor have I ever been, a doctor of any traditional Eastern medicinal practices, and do not pretend to know better. Sinophobes are unwelcome in my blog space.

[sassenach77yle]

7x10 “Brotherly Love”

94 THE PATHS OF DEATH

LYING IN THE TANGLED HELL of my bed at night, I searched for the way to death. I longed with every fiber of my being to pass from this present existence. Whether what lay on the other side of life was undreamed glory or only merciful oblivion, mystery was infinitely preferable to my present inescapable misery.I cannot say what it was that kept me from a simple and violent escape. The means, after all, were always to hand. I had my choice of pistol ball or blade, of poisons ranging from swiftness to stupor.I rummaged through the jars and bottles of the medicine chest like a madwoman, leaving the little drawers ajar, the doors hanging open, seeking, scrabbling in my haste, ransacking knowledge and memory as I did the chest, knocking jars and bottles and bits of the past to the floor in a jumble.At last I thought I had them all and, with a shaking hand, laid them one by one by one on the tabletop before me.Aconite. Arsenic …So many kinds of death to choose from. How, then?The ether. That would be the easiest, if not quite the surest. Lie down, soak a thick pad of cloth in the stuff, put the mask over my nose and mouth, and drift painlessly away. But there was always the chance that someone would find me. Or that, losing consciousness, my head might fall to one side or I’d suffer convulsions that would dislodge the rag, and I would simply wake again to this aching void of existence.I sat still for a moment, and then, feeling dreamlike, reached out to pick up the knife that lay on the table, where I had carelessly left it after using it to cut flax stems. The knife Jamie had given me. It was sharp; the edge gleamed raw and silver.It would be sure, and it would be fast.[...]

I LET MY HAND fall back, exposing my wrist, and placed the tip of the knife midway up my forearm. I’d seen many unsuccessful suicides, those who slashed their wrists from side to side, the wounds small mouths that cried for help. I’d seen those who meant it. The proper way was to slit the veins lengthwise, deep, sure cuts that would drain me of blood in minutes, assure unconsciousness in seconds.The mark was still visible on the mound at the base of my thumb. A faint white “J,” the mark he’d left on me on the eve of Culloden, when we first faced the stark knowledge of death and separation.I traced the thin white line with the tip of the knife and felt the seductive whisper of metal on my skin. I’d wanted to die with him then, and he had sent me on with a firm hand. I carried his child; I could not die.I carried her no longer—but she was still there. Perhaps reachable. I sat motionless for what seemed a long time, then sighed and put the knife back on the table carefully.Perhaps it was the habit of years, a bent of mind that held life sacred for its own sake, or a superstitious awe of extinguishing a spark kindled by a hand not my own. Perhaps it was obligation. There were those who needed me—or at least to whom I could be useful. Perhaps it was the stubbornness of the body, with its inexorable insistence on never-ending process.I could slow my heart, slow enough to count the beats… slow the flowing of my blood ’til my heart echoed in my ears with the doom of distant drums.There were pathways in the dark. I knew; I had seen people die. Despite physical decay, there was no dying until the pathway was found. I couldn’t—yet—find mine.

~~~~~~~~

95 NUMBNESS

THE NEW MEDICAL CHEST sat on the table in my room, gleaming softly in the candlelight. Beside it were the gauze bags of dried herbs I had bought during the morning, the fresh bottles of the tinctures I had brewed in the afternoon, much to Mrs. Figg’s displeasure at having her kitchen’s purity so perverted. Her slitted eyes said that she knew me for a rebel and thought me likely a witch; she’d retreated to the doorway of the cookhouse while I worked but wouldn’t leave altogether, instead keeping silent suspicious watch over me and my cauldron.A large decanter of plum brandy was keeping me company. Over the course of the last week, I had found that a glass of it at night would let me find surcease in sleep, at least for a little. It wasn’t working tonight. I heard the clock on the mantelpiece downstairs chime softly, once.I stooped to pick up a box of dried chamomile that had spilled, sweeping the scattered leaves carefully back into their container. A bottle of syrup of poppies had fallen over, too, lying on its side, the aromatic liquid oozing round the cork. I set it upright, wiped the golden droplets from its neck with my kerchief, blotted up the tiny puddle from the floor. A root, a stone, a leaf. One by one, I picked them up, set them straight, put them away, the accoutrements of my calling, the pieces of my destiny.The cool glass seemed somehow remote, the gleaming wood an illusion. Heart beating slowly, erratically, I put a hand flat on the box, trying to steady myself, to fix myself in space and time. It was becoming more difficult by the day.I remembered, with sudden, painful vividness, a day on the retreat from Ticonderoga. We had reached a village, found momentary refuge in a barn. I’d worked all day then, doing what could be done with no supplies, no medicines, no instruments, no bandages save what I made from the sweat-sodden, filthy clothes of the wounded. Feeling the world recede further and further as I worked, hearing my voice as though it belonged to someone else. Seeing the bodies under my hands, only bodies. Limbs. Wounds. Losing touch.Darkness fell. Someone came, pulled me to my feet, and sent me out of the barn, into the little tavern. It was crowded, overwhelmed with people. Someone—Ian?—said that Jamie had food for me outside.He was alone there, in the empty woodshed, dimly lit by a distant lantern.I’d stood in the doorway, swaying. Or perhaps it was the room that swayed.I could see my fingers dug into the wood of the doorjamb, nails gone white.

A movement in the dimness. He rose fast, seeing me, came toward me. What was his—“Jamie.” I’d felt a distant sense of relief at finding his name.He’d seized me, drawn me into the shed, and I wondered for an instant whether I was walking or whether he was carrying me; I heard the scrape of the dirt floor under my feet but didn’t feel my weight or the shift of it.He was talking to me, the sound of it soothing. It seemed a dreadful effort to distinguish words. I knew what he must be saying, though, and managed to say, “All right. Just… tired,” wondering even as I spoke them whether these sounds were words at all, let alone the right ones.“Will ye sleep, then, lass?” he’d said, worried eyes fixed on me. “Or can ye eat a bit first?” He let go of me, to reach for the bread, and I put out a hand to the wall to support myself, surprised to find it solid.The sense of cold numbness had returned.“Bed,” I said. My lips felt blue and bloodless. “With you. Right now.”He’d cupped my cheek, calloused palm warm on my skin. Big hand. Solid. Above all, solid.“Are ye sure, a nighean?” he’d said, a note of surprise in his voice. “Ye look as though—”I’d laid a hand on his arm, half fearing that it would go through his flesh.“Hard,” I’d whispered. “Bruise me.”My glass was empty, the decanter halfway full. I poured another and took hold of the glass carefully, not wanting to spill it, determined to find oblivion, no matter how temporary.Could I separate entirely? I wondered. Could my soul actually leave my body without my dying first? Or had it done so already?[...]

An Echo in the Bone

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 23: Established Relationship

Digital | @ididitallofitforyou Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,063 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Kissing Summary: Cas and Jack tell Dean about their day at the farmers market. Flirty texting, family dinners, and movie nights included.

Anchor in Storm | @tami-ryver Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,086 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Angry Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Angst, Angst and Feels Summary: Dean knows as it has been the subject of more then enough of their fights. Of course, Cas doesn't see it that way. He always says that he needs to know and that it's for a good cause, which in Dean' mind is a load of bullshit. But, he can't tell Cas that, as it will fire him even more and most fights if not all, end up with a lot of angry sex.

That Takes Me Back | @blessyourhondahurley Rating: General Word Count: 1,170 Main Tags/Warnings: alternate universe, domestic fluff, high school, established relationship Summary: Dean and Cas reminisce about how it all began...

Restless | @blessyourhondahurley Rating: Mature Word Count: 1,748 Main Tags/Warnings: Wedding fluff Summary: After a (mostly) sleepless night, Dean wakes to a very special, and very busy, day.

this is the only thing i've ever had any faith it | @watchinghimrakeleaves Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,760 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Marriage Proposal, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Human Castiel, Supportive Sam Winchester, Retired Hunter Dean Winchester Summary: The world is safe, Dean and Cas own a bar on the beach, and Dean is ready to ask Cas for something he could have never imagined he was allowed to have.

Sturdy | @shishquahcustardtree Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,065 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, top!Castiel, bottom!Dean, post 15x18, fluff and smut, canon divergent, no 15x20, post Castiel Empty rescue Summary: It’s been four weeks since Castiel was rescued from The Empty. Four weeks of a confession of Deans own, soft kisses, and indecent public exposure (and a very tired Sam). The Dean-Cave needs a new couch. Dean wants Castiel to go with him. Sam wants to not have to bail them out of the local police station again. Dean wants to keep the real reason for the new couch a secret until the very end.

Making Pie | @ididitallofitforyou Rating: General Word Count: 5,018 Main Tags/Warnings: Adoption, Family, Meet Cute, Established Relationship Summary: Cas and Dean have been waiting to adopt for years. Claire, Emma, and Jack just lost their parents in a car accident. Are Cas and Dean ready to go from zero to three kids all at once?

Under Lock and Key | @teeparadigm67 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10,215 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Handcuffs, Enochian Handcuffs, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Light Bondage, Sex in the Men of Letters Bunker, Poor Sam Winchester he's seen too much, Porn with Feelings Summary: He thought he was a damn genius when the inspiration struck him, noticing the glint of metal while rearranging Babys’ weapon’s arsenal. But now, with every step he took walking from the garage, the doubt started to seep in. The sex was a fairly new dynamic to their relationship but now Dean had gotten a taste, he was hooked. There was however just one tiny little problem, Castiel’s grace surges. It did wonders for his ego, knowing that every time they had sex Cas’s grace would become so powerful that it would blow the bunkers' power. But after one too many “electrical mishaps,” his angelic boyfriend had taken a vow of chastity, not wanting to risk damage to the bunker's electrics or anywhere else for that matter. It's not that Cas wasn’t offering Dean enjoyment, but it’s just so much better when there are two at play. He needed to try something, anything to get Cas out of that damn trench coat and into his bed again, and hopefully, the Enochian handcuffs that sat heavily in his back pocket might be the solution to all their problems. (That's if Cas would be on board with the idea.)

What I Put You Through | @macy2me Rating: Mature Word Count: 17,921 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Getting divorced, Sad boys don't use their words right, Secrets, Kidnapping, Angst, Lots of Angst, All aboard the train of angst, Destination: Happy ending, Getting Back Together, Jack is in trouble, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I promise there is a happy ending Summary: “Jack’s missing,” his almost ex-husband speaks the words no parent ever wants to hear. This is a story about two men that have fallen out of love but must come together to get their only child back.

Good Times, Bad Times, Past Times | @lazarus-rose Rating: Explicit Word Count: 25,313 Main Tags/Warnings: Time travel, human Castiel, post canon, canon-typical violence, married Castiel/Dean Summary: With his demon deal almost due, Dean didn't foresee much of a future for himself — until he is faced with a version of him from 2023. This apparent future is accompanied by Sam and another man who seems very close to Dean's future self and claims to be a fallen angel. Dean thought he and Cas had finally gotten their happy ending after defeating Chuck and semi-retiring from hunting. But, after Jack informs them of a rogue angel who has gone back in time to kill Dean before he ever went to Hell, the two of them agree to join Sam for one last hunt.

Til Apocalypse Do Us Part | @avonlady42 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 34,920 Main Tags/Warnings: established relationship, married, top castiel/bottom Dean Winchester, switching, fluff and smut, anal sex, supernatural elements, dean winchester wears panties Summary: Dean thought he had the perfect life. He married his high school sweetheart, Castiel, and they lived the apple pie life with the white picket fence. It all goes horribly wrong one day when he wakes up and his husband is suddenly missing. He searches for him and files a missing persons report, but he is nowhere to be found. The apple pie life he thought he had disappeared when his brother and mother let him in on the secret that monsters and angels and demons are real and they hunt them in order to keep the world safe. They think Castiel’s disappearance is somehow connected and Dean agrees to join them if it will bring his husband home. What Dean doesn’t know is there is more to the story than anyone is telling him and it’s up to him to try to figure it out.