#Aspirin Database

[chemanalystdata]

Aspirin Prices: Trend | Pricing | News | Price | Database | Forecast

Aspirin, a widely used pharmaceutical product, plays a critical role in the global healthcare industry. The market for aspirin prices is influenced by various factors, including raw material costs, manufacturing processes, supply chain dynamics, regulatory policies, and shifts in demand from both the medical and consumer sectors. Over the years, the pricing of aspirin has shown moderate fluctuations due to changes in these underlying factors, reflecting the interconnected nature of the pharmaceutical supply chain. Aspirin’s primary raw material, salicylic acid, derived from phenol, is subject to price variations influenced by petrochemical industry trends. Any significant changes in the price of phenol or related intermediates impact aspirin production costs, thereby affecting its market price.

Manufacturing advancements have also played a role in stabilizing aspirin prices over time. The introduction of more efficient production techniques has helped manufacturers reduce costs, leading to competitive pricing in many regions. However, these cost savings can sometimes be offset by rising energy costs, labor expenses, or the introduction of more stringent quality standards and regulatory requirements in pharmaceutical manufacturing. In recent years, many countries have implemented tighter regulations on pharmaceutical production to ensure patient safety and environmental compliance. While these measures are crucial for public health, they often lead to increased costs for manufacturers, which may be passed on to consumers through higher aspirin prices.

Geographical disparities also influence aspirin prices in the global market. Developed economies, where healthcare systems are well-established, often experience relatively stable pricing due to standardized procurement systems and insurance coverage. Conversely, in developing regions, where access to healthcare is less regulated or standardized, aspirin prices can vary widely depending on local market dynamics, distribution networks, and consumer purchasing power. Additionally, the presence of generic aspirin in the market contributes to price competition, driving down costs for consumers in many countries. However, branded aspirin products continue to command a premium in certain segments due to perceived quality differences, brand loyalty, or added value such as enteric coating for improved gastrointestinal tolerability.

Get Real time Prices for Aspirin: https://www.chemanalyst.com/Pricing-data/aspirin-1409

The role of consumer behavior in influencing aspirin prices cannot be overlooked. Aspirin’s versatility as both a pain reliever and a preventive medication for cardiovascular diseases has ensured consistent demand. However, shifts in consumer preferences, such as increased interest in alternative therapies or natural remedies, could potentially impact its market dynamics. Public awareness campaigns emphasizing the benefits and risks of aspirin usage, particularly in low-dose formulations for heart health, also contribute to fluctuations in demand, indirectly affecting prices. Furthermore, the growing trend of self-medication in some regions has expanded over-the-counter sales of aspirin, driving competition among retail channels and influencing pricing strategies.

Technological advancements in pharmaceutical distribution have further shaped aspirin prices in the modern market. The rise of e-commerce platforms and online pharmacies has introduced greater price transparency, empowering consumers to compare prices and make informed purchasing decisions. This increased competition has encouraged retailers and manufacturers to adopt competitive pricing strategies, benefiting consumers with more affordable options. However, the downside of such trends is the potential for counterfeit or substandard products to enter the market, necessitating stricter enforcement of quality standards and regulations.

Seasonal variations in aspirin demand also contribute to pricing trends. During flu and cold seasons, when aspirin is commonly used to alleviate symptoms such as fever and aches, demand often spikes, potentially leading to temporary price increases. Conversely, demand may dip during off-peak seasons, allowing for promotional pricing or discounts in some regions. Manufacturers and retailers often anticipate these trends, adjusting their production schedules and inventory management practices to align with expected demand fluctuations.

Another critical aspect influencing aspirin prices is the competitive landscape within the pharmaceutical industry. The presence of numerous generic manufacturers has intensified competition, leading to lower prices in many regions. However, consolidation within the pharmaceutical sector, with mergers and acquisitions among major players, could potentially limit competition and result in price stabilization or even increases. Additionally, pricing strategies adopted by large multinational corporations often influence market dynamics, as these companies typically have significant leverage in negotiating contracts with suppliers and distributors.

Environmental concerns and sustainability initiatives are emerging as factors that may impact aspirin prices in the future. As pharmaceutical companies increasingly adopt greener manufacturing practices, there could be cost implications associated with the transition to more sustainable production methods. While these efforts are necessary for minimizing environmental impact, they could lead to slight price increases in the short term. However, over the long term, sustainable practices are expected to enhance efficiency and reduce costs, potentially benefiting consumers.

The outlook for aspirin prices remains complex, shaped by a multitude of global, regional, and industry-specific factors. While advancements in manufacturing and distribution continue to promote affordability, challenges such as raw material cost fluctuations, regulatory changes, and supply chain disruptions pose ongoing risks to price stability. Consumer demand for quality, affordability, and accessibility will remain a driving force in shaping market trends, pushing manufacturers and retailers to innovate and adapt. As the healthcare landscape evolves, aspirin prices will likely continue to reflect the intricate balance between cost-efficiency, regulatory compliance, and consumer expectations.

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[enkisstories]

From rags to riches 75 dollar

An hour had passed with no indication that Mike’s memories would return anytime soon. That was a problem, because without his business contacts and a clear idea what he was excelling at, this fake homeless challenge would be annoyingly difficult. And so Mike decided to hit the nearest police station. It was what a regular person who had gotten hit on the head would do, too, right?

Having to wait for the receptionist to make time for him was new to a person of Mike’s calibre. Getting ignored like a lowlife, haha! He savored every moment of it!

Mike: “Hello, officer! You must be surprised to see me here and in those clothes, but...”

Eloise: “And you would be...?”

Mike: “You don’t know me? Oh... uh... Well, I don’t really know myself, either, at the moment. I got mugged and lost my memory, so if you’d be so kind to quickly scan my biometric data?”

Eloise (hesistantly): “I can and probably should do that, but if you have no criminal record, then you won’t be in our database.”

A moment later...

Eloise: “Ha! Turns out you ARE in the database, after all! Your name is Michael Lupin, human male, aged 23, no place of residence. You served six months prison time for vagrancy and violently resisting arrest, followed by three years probation.”

Mike: “I did WHAT? Are you absolutely certain, officer?”

Eloise: “Without any doubt.”

Mike: “So I’m not a millionaire?!”

Eloise: “You okay, kid? Need an aspirin?”

Mike reached across the desk and forcefully turned around the screen. He stared at the file that was supposed to be his in disbelief first, then his eyes fell on the signature at the end. It was the same handwriting the note in his pocket had been in. His own.

Mike: “I never was a millionaire... That was only pep talk I gave myself..."

[yessadirichards]

HealthSimple measures can prevent a million baby deaths a year: study

PARIS

Providing simple and cheap healthcare measures to pregnant women -- such as offering aspirin -- could prevent more than a million babies from being stillborn or dying as newborns in developing countries every year, according to new research.

An international team of researchers also estimated that one quarter of the world's babies are born either premature or underweight, adding that almost no progress is being made in this area.

The researchers called for governments and organizations to ramp up the care women and babies receive during pregnancy and birth in 81 low- and middle-income countries.

Eight proven and easily implementable measures could prevent more than 565,000 stillbirths in these countries, according to a series of papers published in the Lancet journal.

The measures included providing micronutrient, protein and energy supplements, low-dose aspirin, the hormone progesterone, education on the harms of smoking, and treatments for malaria, syphilis and bacteria in urine.

If steroids were made available to pregnant women and doctors did not immediately clamp the umbilical cord, the deaths of more than 475,000 newborn babies could also be prevented, the research found.

Implementing these changes would cost an estimated $1.1 billion, the researchers said.

This is "a fraction of what other health programs receive", said Per Ashorn, a lead study author and professor at Finland's Tampere University.

Another study author, Joy Lawn of the London School for Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, told AFP that the researchers used a new definition for babies born premature or underweight.

She said the traditional way to determine a baby had a low birthweight -- if it was born weighing under 2.5 kilograms -- was "a bit randomly selected" by a Finnish doctor in 1919.

This "very blunt measure" has remained the benchmark for more than a century, despite plentiful evidence that "those babies are not all the same", Lawn said.

The researchers analyzed a database that included 160 million live births from 2000 to 2020 to work out how often babies are born "too soon and too small", she said.

"Quite shockingly, we found that this is much more common once you start to think about it in a more nuanced way."

The researchers estimated that 35.3 million -- or one in four -- of the babies born worldwide in 2020 were either premature or too small, classifying them under the new term "small vulnerable newborns".

While most of the babies were born in southern Asia and sub-Saharan Africa, Lawn emphasized that every country was affected.

One reason progress has flatlined is that these problems tend "to be something that happens to families and women with less of a voice", Lawn said.

For example, pregnant African-American women in the United States received a lower level of care than other groups, she added.

[teacup-crow]

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

Fun bit of survivors’ guilt for @badthingshappenbingo, based pretty heavily off Don’t Poke the Bear and Variations on a Theme. Post-finale.

They take it in turns to keep watch for when he wakes up: Doug, Reneé, Isabel, first names still such a novelty. Just his luck, he opens his eyes to the impassive face of Captain Lovelace.

“Hi, dickbag. Sore head?”

“Unnnnhh…” he whines as if he’s lying under a ton of rocks rather than a cosy quilt on Renee’s living room floor. His face is a patchwork of bruising. “Aspirin?”

She takes pity, and passes him two and a glass of water. The sitting up takes longer than he thought it would.

“You look terrible. Lucky for you, Renee makes a mean chilli con carne. Never would have guessed she could cook.”

“No thanks, I should, should be going-”

“You need food in your system, that’s non-negotiable. First thing’s first, though, you’re having a shower, and you either go willingly or get dragged bodily, because you goddamn stink. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles automatically, and he remembers the Colonel - Warren? Was it on a day he could call him Warren? - once saying something similar and his head pounds. ((“mr jacobi, of all the irresponsible, stupid shit i have seen from you this really takes the-“))

“Bathroom’s on the second floor, just past the master bedroom. Dominick put a pile of clean clothes in there before he left for work. And it’s Isabel, okay? Not sir. Not Captain. Never again.”

***

“Who did this to you?”

He grips his mug of sweet tea like it’s thousand dollar whiskey. He’s still ashen. “I did this to me.”

“You beat the shit out of yourself? Okay, yeah. Don’t buy that one.” Isabel repeats the question. “Who did this to you?”

“Just some guys I pissed off. I don’t know how many. I don’t know who. Happy now?”

The room goes silent. Isabel continues:

“And did you go provoking them deliberately?”

Not for the first time, Renee wonders whether they should have included Doug in this little intervention. He’s been through so much just like the rest of them, but he doesn’t know it, and he’s clearly freaking out at the situation.

“Why would he want something like that to happen? He looks terrible!”

“I don’t know, Doug,” Isabel says levelly. “Care to answer, Jacobi?”

He’s not on a first name basis, apparently.

“Not… I didn’t... no. No, no, no. I was too drunk and… picking fights, but suddenly there were too many of them, okay? But I got out. And if I want to drink then that’s my own problem, so thank you for the hospitality but-“

Renee cuts in there. “When you drink yourself into a stupor, get attacked by a gang in a back alley, and stumble into my doorway at 0300 hours after six months of radio silence, it becomes our problem.” Her look of pity makes his stomach churn even more than the chilli did. He breathes in, hold, out; in, hold, out; in-((alana’s breathing technique and why why why is she everywhere in everything why does he have to see her out of the corner of his eye when it’s been so long he can’t properly remember her face-))

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“You are a good man and you saved every single one of our lives and we need to understand why you’re so intent on throwing yours away.”

Jacobi starts laughing then, guttural laughs that worsen the ache in his head and bones but he can’t seem to stop them. “...me? I’m a good man? Oh my God, Lieutenant, that’s hilarious. Give us another.”

“You need to take this seriously! This is a form of self harm! You could have died!” Isabel is pacing up and down. She and Renee do good cop, bad cop like it’s a professional sport.

“Boo fucking hoo. And the world would forever be worse off for my passing.”

Isabel stops, and turns back towards him with some heat in her gaze. “I have lost too many crew members who deserved to die far less than you do. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Do you need me to reconfirm that you are a an asshole? Do you need to hear about how Fisher, and Hui, and Fourier, and Lambert were all far better people than you will ever, ever be? Or will you accept that you are good in there? That deep down you’re on the right-“

“We burned their letters.” He’s staring at the duvet he’s wrapped in, running his finger over the flowers on the pattern. “Okay? Still think I’m a good person?”

“...wait. What?” She laughs a little, in shock perhaps. “But you told me…”

“I told you what I needed to tell you to make you trust me. We burned your crew’s letters. Lambert’s… I remember those especially. His hands were shaking really hard when he wrote them, weren’t they.”

It’s not a question.

Isabel stops pacing, and Jacobi grins again but it doesn’t reach his bruised eyes when he looks up at her. “More than mine, even. You could tell he was sick. They didn’t make any sense. We laughed at them. The irony of a Communications Officer who can’t communicate. Are you listening to me? We read their letters and we burned them and we laughed about it-“

Renee loses her softness. “Jacobi, that is enough!”

Isabel has a hand on her chest as if something has hit her there. She counts to ten in her head, ((fisher’s technique to try and stop her fighting with sam, never worked but still stuck in her head, or this copy of her head, or whoever she is now-)) and leaves the room.

They hear her slamming drawers in the kitchen.

Doug glances at Jacobi and shakes his head, before hurrying after her.

“How could you,” Reneé says. “How could you.”

“I don’t know. Will you let me go and ruin my own life now?”

“Never,” she replies. “Because, God help me, you’re still a member of my crew.”

At that, his eyes prick with tears he can’t explain. He rolls over on the air bed, and closes them.

***

“Lovelace?” Jacobi finally makes himself walk into the kitchen, grimacing like each step is on hot sand. The words are monotone. “I’m so sorry. What I did and said is... inexcusable.”

“Nope. That’s too large a word for your vocabulary. Come back to me with an apology Renée didn’t script,” Isabel snaps, going back to scribbling in a sketchbook.

“Look, I’m not much good at this-“

“You’re telling me.”

“I’m… really used to people yelling at me and hitting me until they feel better. Or you can shoot me if you like!”

“Jesus. Well, I am not about to do that to ease your guilt. You look like you’d snap if one more person poked you. So apologise properly.”

“I’m sorry…”

“For?” Isabel prompts over the top of her book.

“I’m sorry for burning your crew’s letters.”

“You did what you were ordered to do. It is what it is. I’m not condoning it.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Jacobi realises she’s waiting for him to continue. “And… I’m sorry for bringing it up. That was… needlessly cruel. It sucked.”

“It really did,” she replies, putting the book down. “Tell you what: that sounded somewhat genuine, and Goddard brought out the shit in all of us. You look so pathetic, I’m going to forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I don’t bear grudges. Not anymore.”

She holds out a hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you.”

“Wow. That actually hurt for you to say.”

Jacobi nods. He sits down across from her at Renée’s huge darkwood table, and thinks about how she and Dominick must have bought this when they moved in together with plans to have people over for dinner every other night. Maybe even plans to have kids.

He wonders if Dominick ate at it alone while his wife was gone.

“So, you gone on that holiday yet?”

“No, actually. I’ve legally been dead for about seven years, so getting a passport is proving pretty tricky.”

“I can imagine.”

“Where have you been, anyway? We tried to get into contact with you. We drove down to your old apartment - got your address from the Goddard database - but it was cleaned out.”

Jacobi looks sheepish. “Yeah, well, I’d mostly been staying at Alana’s for the last few years or overnight at… yeah… so I’d not been a very good tenant and turns out they took ‘lost in space’ as the perfect opportunity to kick me out. So I’ve been sofa to sofa, on the streets a bit-”

“For heaven’s sake, Jacobi. We would have helped you, you stupid asshole! All you had to do was ask and you could have stayed here! Renee and Dominick would probably even let you have a cheese collection or whatever the fuck it was.”

“Guess the amount of drinks it takes for me to lose my pride is somewhere over eighteen?”

“How do you have a functioning liver?”

They sit in an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes, Isabel reopening her sketchbook.

“I never knew you drew.”

“You never knew me outside of a life-threatening situation.” Isabel sighs, twists the pencil between her fingers. “I don’t think I did. Before. The old ‘me’, I mean. But I was bored and I can’t get a job because of the ‘being dead’ issue, so I thought I should take up a hobby or something. Might be therapeutic. I’m not very good at it…”

“Can I see?”

“I, uh,” Isabel suddenly looks uncertain. “I drew her. Maxwell. I drew everyone, actually. Are you sure you want to look?”

“Yes.”

He leafs through the pages, at first simple doodles before branching into full portraits. Eiffel, upside down and smoking a cigarette. Hilbert, looking troubled at a shadow behind him he can’t quite see. Two ghostlike figures in lab coats staring out at the star, the man with a prophetic terror etched on his face - must be Isabel’s old crewmates. Mr Cutter smiles up at him with far too many sharp teeth in sharper lines where the pencil was pressed far too hard and he turns the page quickly. There’s Kepler, mid-whiskey speech and it almost stops his heart. He pauses. Maxwell.

In the picture, her eyes are shining as she stares at Hera’s console, fingers nothing more than a blur - the three-day stint she spent trying to get the AI online. Aside from the orange and blue of Wolf 359, elsewhere in the book Isabel has barely used colour, but here the room is bathed in a serene green light from the screens. Behind Maxwell, Jacobi sees himself, little more than a stocky, sketchy outline, waiting for her to finish.

He looks so proud of her.

He looks so… content.

After staring for a long moment, Jacobi closes the book and hands it back. “Thank you.”

“You can keep the pictures of them, if you like,” Isabel offers, but he doesn’t know whether he would like, so he says:

“Tell me about your crew.”

“What?”

“Your old crew. Tell me about them. Was Lambert the one staring at...?”

“No. No. No, that was Kuan Hui, our senior astrophysicist. He was whipsmart and funny and fearless, until the time Goddard Futuristics played around in his brain, stretched out his perception of time. He was completely alone in the dark for two weeks. His smile never really reached his eyes after that.”

Jacobi sips tea awkwardly, even though it’s cold.

“Something like that, it stays with you. At least he had Fourier, though.”

“That’s the woman behind him?”

“Junior physicist. Victoire Fourier had eyes like stars. Cleverest person I’ve ever met. She played six instruments, spoke four languages and she had the most gentle soul. She used to read to Hui when he got sick with Decima. Coughed up every organ in his body. I thought it would break her, but she was made of stern stuff. She vanished off the space station in the final days and I still don’t know what exactly happened to her-”

“I… do. If you want to know, I mean.”

Isabel shakes her head. Then pauses. Then shakes her head again. “I get the feeling whoever is to blame is long gone.”

Jacobi shrugs. “Who else?”

“Well, there was Mace Fisher. Fisher… Fisher died because of me, not Goddard Futuristics. Asteroid shower tore him from my hands. He had a boyfriend waiting at home. He was sensitive, sensible, grounding. A real older brother type. I- I didn’t deal particularly well with his death. Well, you know that much.”

((Pill popper!)) Jacobi gulps more cold tea.

“And Lambert?”

“Sam Lambert. Officer Samuel Lambert had a stick up his ass. He was whiny, and authoritarian, and he treasured his copy of Pryce and Carter more than Reneé and Kepler combined did. He drove me nearly insane, and I drove him likewise. The best second in command you could ask for. A damn good man. Sam got sick after Hui, so we knew what was coming. What it meant. He was brave, though. At first.”

((“C-Captain, please shoot me, please, it hurts, it hurts, Captain, please, I just want it to-”)

She falters.

“Lovelace?”

“Yup?”

“You know, it’s not even really about the Hephaestus. I keep… it’s insane, but I keep thinking about… I was an explosives guy for the Air Force. Before Goddard. A trigger failed and two men died. Andrews and Sullivan. I haven’t thought about them in years and suddenly-“

“They’re everywhere?”

There’s a sudden understanding between them.

“They’re everywhere. Them and Maxwell and Kepler. They’re in mirrors, in the back of my brain, around corners.”

“Flashes of them.”

“And if you just reach out far enough, maybe-“

“Maybe-“

“Maybe.”

((let’s go be monsters)), Jacobi’s brain echoes. He grits his teeth.

“Did it stop for you? When does it stop?” He finds himself asking. Isabel doesn’t answer.

[faltien]

How I Met Your Father

Inko first met Hisashi when she was 25. She’d been working at a small law firm at the time, looking to secure a deal that would help expand the business. Hisashi was the CEO of a large, multi-millionaire company, and it was surprising that he took time out of his day to meet with a small, no-name law firm like hers.

 Before the meeting, Inko had downed some aspirin and breathed in and out. She’d looked in the mirror and slapped her cheeks determinedly. She wasn’t going to let a deal like this escape her grasp. When she walked in, Hisashi was already seated, looking around languidly. Inko began to feel the beginnings of nervousness trickling in. She couldn’t afford to mess this up. Hisashi Midoriya was a tall man, with white, curly hair and red eyes. He greeted her, and she stuttered a bit with her reply, but aside from that, the meeting had gone over smoothly. The partnership benefited both companies, and the profit in their law firm had went up exponentially. And Inko…..found herself meeting with Hisashi more and more often, at first for strictly business deals, but then, eventually for more mundane reasons. He was suave and charming on the outside, yes, but at the same time, he was one of the dorkiest men Inko has ever met. He could go on for hours about quirks, discussing their possible applications and how they can be combined with others.

 Hisashi was also terrible at baking. He could cook things like miso soup and fish well enough, but the instant the man had to use an oven, something would be set on fire. He was incapable of tying his tie, instead opting to wear a clip-on one at important business meetings, as he had been when they first met, something Inko was endlessly amused by. In the end, when he asked her to be his girlfriend, no one was surprised. Nor were they when Inko said ‘yes’. They dated for two years before Hisashi proposed. Inko remembered it clearly as one of the happiest days of her life. She had been so happy, and had called her friends and her family gushing on the phone about what had happened, how excited she was…if only she had known. Soon after the wedding, Inko was pregnant, and she remembered breaking the news to Mitsuki. Mitsuki had laughed, a booming laugh, and punched her in the arm gently.

“That’s great!” she had said, eyes crinkling with happiness. Her hand had gone to her own stomach. “My one could use some company.”

And Hisashi…well, to say the least, he had been overjoyed, crying tears of happiness, white hair a blur as he ran across the room to spin her around. The months after that had been a blur of going to the hospital and setting up the baby’s room, picking which colors and toys to give the baby. Until at last, little Izuku was born, sweet little Izuku with diamond shaped freckles and soft green curls. When he was born, she looked into his sweet little face and knew that he would make her and Hisashi happy. The final member in their little family. Hisashi was looking at Izuku too, face set in an expression of wonder, eyes alight with joy.

“Can I hold him?” he asked, almost whispering. Inko had nodded, and had carefully deposited Izuku into Hisashi’s arms. Hisashi had looked at Izuku and started whipering things to him, words of how cute he was, of how he was going to grow up strong. Inko had smiled, and for a while, they were happy. Her, Hisashi and Izuku. Hisashi didn’t seem to mind that Izuku was quirkless when the news arrived either, seeming somewhat…..relieved? Inko couldn’t pinpoint why, but was glad that Hisashi still supported Izuku.

It all fell apart when Izuku turns 6. He was older now, with fluffy curls just like his father, but with the eyes and hair of Inko. He seemed to have picked up his father’s love of quirks, analyzing them in his spare time. But it was at this time that Hisashi’s infrequent absences become far more frequent, with him sometimes barely coming home for two days before he had to leave again. They became longer too, with him leaving for weeks, sometimes even a month at a time. After around two years in this pattern, he didn’t come home at all. Inko was worried at first, frantically calling him. He didn’t pick up, phone heading straight to voicemail. She called his supposed workplace too, but the robotic voice on the other end had informed her flatly that the number didn’t exist, despite her having called them multiple times in the past.

Inko was distraught, calling the police, who had searched their records, and told her that apart from on Izuku’s birth certificate and their wedding certificate, a ‘Midoriya Hisashi’ didn’t come up on any of their databases. Inko had called Mitsuki next, who had dropped everything to come over, and Inko had spent the afternoon sobbing onto Mitsuki’s shoulder while Mitsuki had insulted Hisashi in increasingly creative ways. It took her months to get over it, but she was a strong independent woman, so she picked up some jobs and worked in order to earn money for her beautiful son, who never once complained about her having less time to spend with him. It remained like that for years, until one summer afternoon, the doorbell rings. Inko had assumed it was Mitsuki, who frequently showed up to check up on her.

“Coming!” she had called over her shoulder, setting a timer for the meat before walking to the door, wondering whether she had made enough for three. She opened the door. And came face-to-face with the bastard who had left her in the first place. She slammed the door in his face.  The knock came again. Inko didn’t know what to do. She wanted to run, to call Mitsuki so she could kick Hisashi’s ass. But she was a mature adult, she reminded herself, and Izuku was peeking out of his room at the door. So she opened it and said icily,

“Hisashi.”

Hisashi had looked nervous. He had been clutching a bouquet of flowers, her favorite ones, in fact, and for a second Inko felt warm inside at the fact that he had remembered, before she remembered that he had left her and Izuku. She hardened her heart and asked,

“What are you doing here?”

“I want to apologise!” Hisashi had blurted out. He had pulled at the collar of his shirt, and Inko noted idly he was wearing a clip-on tie.

“No.” she denied his request, and went to close the door, but Hisashi had called out,

“Wait!” He had looked desperate, sad. “Please just give me a chance! Just to talk, at least!”

Inko had considered it. She wanted to say no, but she remembered how happy Hisashi had been when Izuku was born, how happy she had been when he proposed. She remembered Izuku happily calling out, “Daddy!” whenever Hisashi had arrived home. She looked behind her at Izuku, who was watching the exchange with curiosity. And figured that she could at least talk to him, if not for her, but for Izuku.

So, against her better judgement, Inko let Hisashi re-enter their lives when she was 39.

[intothestrawberryjar]

What Happened?

The second chapter of my first fic about my detective Lucas dealing with the bakery scene. This will definitely be the last chapter, as I’m really excited to start working with the prompts! Hope you enjoy!

Title: What Happened?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146683 

Word Count: 1169

Warnings: Some light language

Lucas didn’t drink coffee often. Sometimes after a long day at the office, sure, but it wasn’t really a habit of his. He had always been more of a water guy. But now, around 10:00 in the morning, as the bright sun shone from the window to the left of his kitchen, Lucas needed a coffee more than anything. Maybe an aspirin too. He had woken up an hour ago, realized he had never told Farrah when she should come over, and rushed to his phone. His text sent, he had crawled back into bed, hoping to catch a few more precious minutes of sleep on his day off, to no avail. So, here he was, leaning against the kitchen counter staring into a steaming mug of coffee.

He felt like shit. His usual chipper demeanor was dampened by grogginess and guilt. The past hour had been spent letting everything that had happened yesterday come back to him. What had happened in the bakery with Morgan, dealing with Bobby in the station, looking up Morgan’s file in the agency database (he was going to pay for that one later), and then that feeling in his gut that this kidnapping case was much more complex than anyone thought. 

He rubbed his eyes. He probably looked worse than he felt, and Farrah would be here any moment. A groan erupted from his lips. He wasn’t in the mood to make himself presentable, and besides, Farrah wouldn’t mind. 

As he stretched his arms high above his head, yawning, a knock came at the door. Lucas went to open it, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes prepared for his guest. He opened the door, and unsurprisingly Farrah was on the other side.

A pair of amber eyes met his light blue ones. Her usual hat was there, covering over her coiled hair, which reached her shoulders. Her outfit was perfect for the warm weather, a light blue dress, covered with small illustrations of sunflowers. A smile, per usual, graced her face, instantly brightening the hallway. Farrah quickly came into the apartment, flopping into one of the chairs next to the couch. Lucas followed her and sat down on his couch.

“Well, hello to you too.”

“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to barge in, but I wanted to give you these.” 

Farrah held out her hands, and Lucas realized she had been holding a heart shaped package the whole time. Within an instant, he knew what it was, and grabbed it out of her hands, ripping open the package to find the assorted chocolates inside.

“Mmmmmmm, Haley, you’ve done it again.” he sighed, grabbing one of the chocolates and popping it into his mouth. He leaned back and sighed, letting the flavors of chocolate and vanilla creme dance around on his tongue. 

“As much as I appreciate this, can I ask why the sudden generosity?”

“Let’s just say a certain grumpy vampire came home yesterday in a fouler mood than usual, went through two packs of cigarettes, and then refused to come out of her room for the whole day. Now, this may just be the vampire hypersenses talking, but I think something’s up. So, what happened?” Farrah leaned forward, putting both hands on her chin.

Lucas sighed, a common trend for today, and sprawled himself out on the couch, resting his head against a pillow. He then proceeded to tell Farrah the whole story, from him and Morgan’s conversation outside the bakery, to those words Lucas couldn’t stop hearing.

By the time he was finished, everything Lucas was feeling yesterday came back to him, although it had felt nice to vent about it to someone else.

“So, my question is, what do you think I should do?” 

Farrah looked down at the ground, and then back up at Lucas.

“Look, I don’t really have the best history with stuff like this. Arguably, Morgan’s even worse. But, I know her. She’s not exactly subtle. If she has an opinion on something, she’ll tell you.” 

At that, Lucas sank even deeper into his couch, his worst fears seemingly confirmed.

“I’ve seen her go through her fair share of partners, and a lot of times Nat has had to play clean up. But never have I seen her go this long with just one person.”

Lucas sat up, a jolt of hope shooting through his stomach.

“I can see the way she looks at you, the way she acts around you. It’s not hard to see the confusion she’s feeling. She’s never really felt this way about a person before, so she goes on the defensive, and says stuff like that. But I think that just goes to show how unsure she is about all this.”

Lucas sat back, realizing he had been leaning forward the whole time Farrah had been talking.

“I hope you're right. I really really like her Farrah. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. It's both exciting and… frightening.” Suddenly Farrah put her hand over Lucas’, the warmth of it seeping into his very bones.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had flung his arms around Farrah, resting his head onto her shoulder. Farrah sank into the hug, providing a comfort the chocolates, coffee, or warm reds and oranges of his apartment walls couldn’t give. Then, Farrah broke the hug, keeping both of her hands on his shoulders.

“Look Lucas, whatever happens, I don’t want this to affect how you feel about the rest of us. I don't think you could know how great you’ve been for all of us. Even Ava. You’re a member of Unit Bravo now, and for me at least, that means you’ll always be family. So never think you’re alone, because you will always have us at your back.”

Lucas felt his heart swelling in his chest, and tears threatened to spill out of his eyes.

“Can I just say, meeting you guys has been one of the best things that has ever happened to me.” he finally managed to get out.

“Don’t let Morgan hear that, might kill all of that delicious tension between you two.” Farrah winked and stood up.

“I gotta get going. I may or may not have told Ava I would be gone, and by now she’s probably either pulling out her hair or breaking something.” Farrah walked to the door, turned around and gave a two fingered salute, and left.

Lucas sat down and rubbed at his face. To be honest, this conversation was exactly what he had needed. The flame of hope inside of his chest was now back to its usual strength, and he felt ready to tackle everything else he had been forced to deal with over the past few days.

But not right now. I still have a box of chocolates to eat.

And so, Lucas turned on the TV, popped another chocolate into his mouth, took a sip of his coffee, and for the first time in months, truly relaxed.

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [2]: Defensive Wounds

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.” — Walt Whitman

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The morgue is cool and quiet, gleaming metal polished to a shine that sends little daggers of light into Lir’s eyes. She gives herself a moment to adjust, listening to the faint tic tic tic of the freezers, fingering the bottle of aspirin in her pocket while she waits to see if the subtle pressure in her skull is going to shift from discomfort to agony. Next to the door is a desk, with a state of the art computer, a few files, a cup full of pens, and a half-drunk cup of coffee with lipstick on the rim; beyond that, there is another door, one that probably leads to a storage room, two walls of cold lockers in four rows of four, and two x-ray displays on the final wall. In the center of the room are three slabs. On one of them is the Jane Doe, covered respectfully with a sheet, her eyes closed to give her an expression of peace. At her side is Trish, her blonde hair pulled into a knot at the top of her head and her face partially obscured by a sterile mask that she tugs down on Lir’s approach.

“Thorne,” she greets cheerfully. “You here for the autopsy report?” Lir nods, and Trish beckons her closer. “You’re right on time. Just got done with our guest.”

Lir isn’t sure what to make of having a corpse called a guest. Gallows humor, she supposes. “What can you tell me about her?”

“She suffered, that’s for certain.” Trish turns on the light over the slab and pulls it down, illuminating the Jane Doe with a grisly, fluorescent white that turns her already dead pallor a sickly blue-gray. Then she pulls the sheet down, and Lir is suddenly, incredibly grateful that she hasn’t eaten yet, the bile in her throat bitter but weak. “The throat and abdominal trauma was all perimortem. She was alive, but not struggling, when our killer cut her open. Judging from the tissue damage, looks like the throat happened first, but it was ultimately shock and blood loss that killed her.”

“She was alive for the whole thing?”

“Mm-hm. Though I don’t know how aware of it she was. I don’t have the toxicology report yet—that will take a little longer to run, sorry—but pupil dilation is indicative of intoxication. Judging from the depth of the gash here,” Trish points to Jane Doe’s throat, “it was more to keep her quiet than kill her. She would have bled out from that alone eventually if no one found her first, but it doesn’t go through bone. The hesitation marks at the edges make me think he was more . . . Well, there’s no easy way to say this. Probably sawed through her.”

Lir tries to picture it, being too strung out or drunk to defend herself, being helpless while some maniac slashed her throat and cut her open like a butcher. From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of a red dress and pale hair and holds her breath, counting to ten until it fades, then asks, “You said at the scene there weren’t any defensive wounds.”

“That’s right. And there aren’t. No blood or tissue under her nails, no bruising or scrapes or cuts to show that she tried to fight back.” Trish sighs, lifting the sheet back over Jane Doe before tugging off her gloves. “Whoever this is, they’re one sick puppy.”

“Yeah.” Photographs on the wall catch her attention, and Lir walks over to study them closely. They’re all from the crime scene, some of little bits of evidence next to their markers, others of the victim, and it’s the latter she really looks at. “Does that pendant have any religious connotations?”

“You’d have to check. Why?”

“I just thought she looks kind of like an angel.”

Trish comes to stand next to her, her expression grave. “You know, I had the same idea.”

They stand in a heavy silence, the clock on the wall ticking loudly until Lir sighs. She bids farewell to Trish, who promises to have the full report to her by the end of the day, and takes the elevator back up to the bullpen. Dante will no doubt want to know what she’s learned, but she finds that she doesn’t quite want to tell him. Something about this all is nagging her, tugging the thin strands of her memory with an urgency, look, look, you’ve seen this before, even though she’s fairly certain that she never has. Was there a similar case in Fortuna? So lost in wracking her thoughts she nearly runs right into Simmons as she steps off the elevator, and she mumbles an apology and returns to her desk, where she boots up the computer, hunting for a notepad and a pen while she waits for it to finish loading.

A cup of coffee thudding next to her elbow has her peering up. Dante sits back down, a cup of his own in his hand that he raises to her before he takes a sip. His face screws up in disgust. “Fuck. No matter how long I’m here, coffee still tastes like shit. What’d Trish say?”

“That we’d have the full report soon,” Lir replies. She finds what she was looking for and logs into the terminal. “Victim was slaughtered like livestock and left to die. Too something to even try to save her own life.”

“That all?” 

She’s aware of his gaze, critical and assessing on her, and it makes her skin flush unpleasantly. “Until toxicology comes back.”

With a nod, he leans back in his seat. “Alright. What are your thoughts?”

Now you want to know? she nearly asks. Rubbing her temples, she replies instead, “Our guy is bold. A nightclub on one side, a bar on the other, people coming and going at all hours? Not to mention, he had to have been familiar with the location to avoid the security camera, if he did. Speaking of, is that footage here yet?” Dante shakes his head. “Right. Okay. So, Jane Doe was probably at one of the two places. Why risk dragging her any farther than that? And he had to get her to go with him somehow. A knife or a gun would have been too obvious, even for a crowded bar.”

“Could’ve posed as a hook-up,” Dante suggests.

“Mm. If she wasn’t drunk, he might have drugged her.”

“Drugs?”

“Her pupils were blown.”

“So,” he says slowly, “we’ve got a bold, possibly attractive killer who goes to bars to pick up women. Think he knew the vic?”

Lir realizes suddenly that he’s testing her, digging to see her worth, and it makes her angry all over again. “No, too risky. He’s got balls, but he’s not an idiot. All this planning, all the care he took, he wouldn’t want to leave any trace of himself, and that means he was probably a stranger and he picked her out when he got there. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else.”

“Opportunistic. Well, shit. Means he’s gonna be a bitch to find.” He offers her a crooked grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Want to flip a coin to see who’s givin’ Morrison the news?”

“You do it. I need to look for something.”

Dante frowns then, but the expression is quickly smothered as he stands. He takes his coffee with him into Morrison’s office; once the door is closed firmly behind him, Lir releases a sigh and slumps in her chair, cradling her head in her hands. This was meant to be a new beginning for her. Get out of Fortuna, away from the good-intentioned but condescending men she worked with, leave the bitter break-up and the cramped apartment behind her to set out in the bigger city. Yet here she is, dealing with condescending men, living in an apartment that’s large enough to feel empty, with a killer that she knows she has an infinitesimally small chance of catching on her hands. Maybe I’ll get a cat, she thinks, and then discards it. She’s going to be too busy to give any pet the love it would deserve.

Lir pulls up the database and enters her credentials, watching the wheel spin as the program decides whether or not she’s allowed in. Once it opens, she navigates to the search bar, where she types evisceration, hoping the term will be narrow enough to ping any cases that might have been similar. All she gets are animal cruelty cases, youths torturing cats and dogs, and she groans. Next is religious, but that doesn’t get her anything other than some fraud. Jane Doe is too broad, while trying by location only gets her arrests for petty theft, assault, and drunk and disorderlies. Her fingers drum on her desk as she thinks; maybe, if whatever it is that she thinks she remembers was before her time in the force, it would have been before they started digitizing their records. 

Which would mean figuring out the location and then digging through that city’s physical files.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. Most of what she said to Dante was speculation, and she knows that they’re going to spend at least a week trying to identify their victim and looking for anyone who might have seen her, tracking down friends and acquaintances and ex-boyfriends to see if any of them had the fury and the cruelty needed to butcher someone like that. If they’re lucky, she’ll have gotten into some sort of trouble with the law and there will be prints they can match. If they’re unlucky, it’s beating the streets, shoving her photograph in people’s faces to try and jar their memory.

“Detective?” Lir opens her eyes to find Simmons standing next to her, a USB stick in his hand. “The nightclub owner sent this over. Said it’s all the footage from the last twenty-four hours and you wanted it?”

He sounds uncertain, and she forces herself to smile. “Yeah, thanks. While I’ve got you here, can I ask a favor?” Hesitantly, he nods. “Head down to the morgue to get the victim’s prints from Trish and run ‘em, will you? It’s a long shot, but it might help us figure out who she is.”

Simmons doesn’t look like he finds the idea appealing, but he gives a weak salute and heads down the stairs. Lir watches him until he disappears into the elevator, and then she plugs the USB into her computer and opens the files to scroll through it. Twenty-four hours of hopefully unaltered footage stored in four hour chunks which, when she clicks on the first video to play it, turn out to be monochrome and grainy. She fights through the urge to yank her hair, instead getting up and going to grab a fresh cup of coffee from the canteen. After a moment of hesitation, she takes the entire pot, setting a second one to brew; this is going to be an all-nighter for sure, and the only thing that’s going to get her through it is enough caffeine to make her jittery.

Dante is back at his desk when she returns. He arches a brow at the sight of her with the pot, but that turns into a loud groan as she says, “Footage got here. All twenty-four hours worth. Want to grab a seat?”

“There’s a meeting room we can use,” he mutters. “Bigger screen. Grab it and let’s go. Is that all the coffee?”

“For now.”

His long-suffering sigh draws an unwilling smile from her. Dante leads her down a hallway to a room mostly taken up by a large oval table surrounded by plush leather chairs, and he sinks into one as she sets up the monitor on the wall and gets the USB situated. “Ready?”

“Not really.”

“Tough shit.” She chuckles and presses play.

Hours pass as they work through both the footage and the coffee, pausing only when they catch sight of a pale-haired woman before slumping back in disappointment and carrying on. Morrison stops by once to check on them, then Simmons with the news that the prints were a dead end, and finally Trish with her full report, toxicology included. None of them linger for more than a few minutes at most. Dante and Lir alternate bathroom breaks and coffee runs, neither of them willing to stop the tape until it’s done. Like ripping a bandaid off, she thinks at one point, stifling a yawn before taking a large swig of her lukewarm coffee. Get it over with in one go, no hesitation. 

It’s just passed four in the morning when Dante lurches in his seat. “Pause it, pause it!” Lir jumps, pressing quickly on the remote, and he squints. “Rewind it a bit. There, stop, stop. Press play.”

“What is—oh!” She scrambles for the file on the table, flipping it open so she can see the picture of Jane Doe clipped to the inside. Pulling it free, she holds it up, glancing between it and the screen. “It’s her.”

“Mm. Looks like . . .” He leans forward, his eyes narrowed as his lips move silently. “Two?”

Lir blinks, then turns her laugh into a rough cough. “No. It’s, uh . . . It’s 3:37.”

Dante scowls at her as he reaches into the pocket of his vest to pull out a pair of square glasses, the style just as noir as his clothing. He perches them on his nose, then nods. “Yeah. Alright. So our victim walked into the club at 3:37 am. Since her body was found at quarter to eight, means there’s a five hour window for our killer to have found her and pulled her into the alley.”

“That’s if you don’t remove however long she was in the bar and the killer leaving,” Lir points out.

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t be a wiseass, Thorne. It’s not cute.”

“I’m not here to be cute,” she replies irritably. 

“Shame.” Just as she’s debating dumping her coffee on him, he asks, “There a way to print this? We’ll take it with her autopsy photo and show it to the staff at the club, see if any of ‘em remember her. Maybe she paid with a credit card, which’d give us a name.”

“You plannin’ to sleep tonight?” she asks dryly.

“Sleep when you’re dead, Thorne. Print and let’s go.”

Biting her tongue, she heads back to the computer attached to the monitor and screenshots the frozen video. Once it’s in her hands, the two of them head out back, where the employee lot is, and Dante leads her to a car that she recognizes from her childhood. Her mouth drops open as she takes in the ‘58 Corvette, the same type her father had often talked dreamily of owning when he retired, the black paint and white cut-outs glossy in the early dawn light. The top is closed against the dew, but she can still make the red leather interior, and she laughs incredulously when Dante unlocks it. “Seriously?”

“You can take a cab if you like,” he replies tightly.

Lir closes her mouth and climbs in, looking around curiously. The seats are incredibly comfortable, and it doesn’t seem like Dante has done any upgrading to it at all: the gearshift is still topped by a clean white knob, and the only source of sound is the radio, the knob of which Dante turns until classical rock filters softly through the speakers. A good car is like a good woman, her father had told her two months before his death, holding her in his lap as he pointed to the yellowed magazine, treat her right and she’ll stick with you for life. She’d put the damned ad in his casket before they buried him, and Lir closes her eyes against both the unwelcome sting of tears and the sight of him with his misshapen head on the silk pillow. Botched robbery, her mother said tearfully. Throat closed with sudden grief, just as sharp as it had been then, Lir hardly notices when they pull away from the curb.

“She’s beautiful,” she whispers.

Dante’s startled silence is the only reply she gets.

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[athenadcvell]

The Mechanic- Marvel Fanfic

Summary: After Thanos snaps his fingers, and Tony returns to Earth brokenhearted and defeated, he finds a certain smart mouthed teen waiting for him back at the Avengers compound.

Word Count: 1539

Warnings: None

A/N: Marvel hasn’t really confirmed whether or not Harley survived the snap, and considering Ty Simpkins could pass for either 16 or 21, it;s kinda hard to tell. So, this is an AU where Harley survives and reunited with Tony. 

----

It hurt to walk. It hurt to breathe, to open his eyes. Every movement and action, every thought that passed his mind... hurt. 

Everything hurt, for Tony. And it wasn’t how malnourished he was, or how many bruises and cuts were tattooed into his skin. It was his heart. It was every cell and nerve in his body screaming at him, sobbing, and attacking him for being so stupid. 

How could he do that? How he could he possibly take a sixteen year old kid to space? A child. Peter was a child. 

Was. He’s dead. Because of Tony. Pepper had spent days explaining why it wasn’t his fault. How Thanos would have snapped away the kid no matter what. But Tony can’t help but feel he had a part. Thanos spared him purposely. Maybe he spared Nebula because she was his daughter, as much as she claims he hates her. Everyone else had turned to dust... they had tried to kill him, after all. Perhaps if Peter had been on Earth, returning from that field trip and hanging out with that annoying friend Tony can never remember the name of... maybe he would still be here. 

Tony had just returned from telling May. She knew. She knew her nephew was part of the lengthening deceased list. But Tony had to tell her. So, he shaved as best he could, put on his cleanest suit, and hauled his broken body to Queens. 

And watched as her entire world shattered for the second time. Maybe if he had left Peter on Earth, May Parker wouldn’t be left grieving the loss of yet another loved one. 

“Mr. Stark, you have-”

“Not now, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Tony mumbled, silencing the AI. “Shut down.”

“But Mr. Stark-”

“Since when did you get a mind of your own?” Tony snapped, halting in the hallway. “I said shut down.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y obeyed, clicking off with an unsaid message. Tony rubbed his eyes tiredly, tossing his jacket and tie off into a corner somewhere and limping his way to the kitchen. Maybe an aspirin could help. Some whiskey too. That oughta take the pain away for exactly .5 seconds. 

Tony approached the kitchen, grimacing of what a mess it was. He’s leaving the compound as soon as he heals, anyways, but why must it be such a mess? Do none of the Avengers know how to clean? Thor had been coming in and out, sweeping the cabinets clean of food, but leaving all his messes for someone else to clean. If he hadn’t just lost everyone he cared about, Tony would’ve chastised him for it. 

However, before the billionaire could reach his destination, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Tony froze, turning his head slightly to the couch. The resident of the plush chair was hidden by the backrest, however, two hands were propped up, a small phone in hand. 

Hands that were not a women’s, and too small and bony to be anybody else. Who the hell was in the compound? Better question, why the hell had F.R.I.D.A.Y let them in?

“Who the hell are you?” Tony asked roughly, however, it came out more tired, if anything. A small blaster was attached to his watch, if he needed it. 

A boy popped up, wild, golden waves barely tamed by his red hoodie. Tony narrowed his eyes, before realization crashed against him. 

He knows those blue eyes. That confident smirk. 

Oh God.

“You don’t remember?” The boy asked, holding two of his fingers up and touching them together. “We’re connected?”

Tony remained silent, staring in disbelief at Harley. Last time they talked... God, that seemed so long ago. It had to have been a few months, at least.

He was dead. That’s what the database had said. Harley Keener, deceased, along with his mother and sister. 

“You really don’t remember?” Harley’s face dropped in disappointment. “I mean, I know a lot of shit went down, but it was literally four months ago that you came to my house to check in and help me build my science fair project. We talked over the phone, like, three weeks before the thing happened? I mean, I knew you were getting old, but--”

“I remember you, Harley,” Tony quickly said, swallowing down his shock. To prove it, he adds, “Potato gun. Y-you had a potato gun, when we first met.”

Tony didn’t give Harley a chance to speak. Instead, he crushed him with a hug, holding the boy as tight as he could. Had he come back? Were they all coming back? Or had he never died? Did Tony still have one his mentees, one of the children who had become like his own over the last few years?

“Woah- Okay, good to see you, too,” Harley chuckled awkwardly, however, his physical response was anything but awkward. He clung onto Tony, unable to hold back as tears seeped through the expensive suit fabric. 

Harley’s exhausted. He’d never felt this tired in his entire life. His mind was so clouded with exhaustion, he had considered seeking out his father. His real father. However, a fatherly figure entered his mind instead, and here he is. 

Tony pulled back, squinting at Harley. Was this really him? Or was it a hallucination? He’s not been getting much sleep lately, anyways. 

“You were marked as dead,” Tony breathed. “H-how did you come back?”

“I didn’t,” Harley replied simply. Tony’s heart dropped at his words. “After people started...” Harley swallowed, looking down. “I hid. I didn’t know what was going on, and you always told me arm myself and hide if something happened. So I did. I guess they marked me down as dead.”

Tony nodded in approval, crossing his arms thoughtfully. Harley may have given him more grief than needed, but at least he listened to something Tony had told him. 

“I grabbed a gun I built-- for protection,” He added at at Tony’s arched brow. “I spent the last couple weeks trying to figure out was going on, before walking here.”

“You walked to New York?” 

“Not like buses were available,” Harley shrugged. He looked down, another emotion clouding his eyes. 

His eyes flickered down to his hands as his thumb dug into his palm. A hand tightened it’s grip on his heart, a fresh set of tears welling up. 

“My mom and sister...they...” His breath drew in sharply, catching and breaking into a small sob. Harley rehearsed this. He rehearsed what to say, while trudging along the side of a dust covered road. And now, he could hardly keep the tears from falling down his cheeks. “Tony, they’re gone. Everyone’s gone.”

Tony gazed at the teen sadly, and again, everything hurt. 

My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault. 

It’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry,” It was quiet, hidden beneath years of pain and suffering. He wasn’t just saying sorry to Harley. He was sorry to Harley’s mother, and sister. To all his friends, and even to that shithead of a father. He was sorry to all of them, for the dents they've created in Harley’s heart for Tony’s mistake. 

“For what?” Harley laughed dryly, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I heard the news. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t stop him,” Tony simply said, like it was obvious. Wasn’t it?

Harley was silent for a moment, studying the heavy hearted billionaire.

“Spider-Man,” He said slowly. “The kid you used to talk about. He died, didn’t he?” Tony’s chewed on his inner cheek, sniffing. 

“Where you headin, kid? Was it here?” Harley shrugged. 

“I... I don’t know,” He admitted. “I had no where else to go, but I guess I should get going. Head back home. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Harley reached over the couch, scooping up his bag. His movements were slow, delayed with the tiredness seeping into his bones. It’s been weeks since he slept in a proper bed, had a proper meal. That much was obvious. 

“Or, you could stay with me,” Tony offered. He kept his facial expression stoic, but the glint in his eyes proved how much the he cared for a positive response. “Me and my fiance are moving out of here in a couple of days. Why don’t you come with us?”

“I couldn’t,” Harley chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I--”

“Kid, we gotta stick together,” Tony said softly, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Harley flinched at the touch, but slowly eased into it. “There’s no one left. Nothing we can do anymore. No more Iron Man, no more Avengers. The gang’s broken up, I’m done. Might as well spend whatever life I have left with people I care about.”

Harley’s brows raised slightly. 

“That’s including you, kid.”

Harley crushed Tony’s frame with a hug, his answer clear. Tony let out a small sigh of relief. It had been hard, those last few weeks. The few weeks of pain and guilt, gnawing away at him. The pain would never go away-- that much he knew. It would always be creeping in the shadows, alongside the fear of losing his children. 

But at least he could hold on to them now. 

----

[chemxpert]

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[chirpingtiger]

Some Avengers headcanons

Scarlet Witch is Cassie Lang's second favorite Avenger. (Scott, obviously, is first.) That's why Scott makes a point of saying "I know you, you're great too!" to her in civil war, and why he later starts learning magic tricks for Cassie.

Bucky has named every single goat he tends to after people he knows. The most reckless one is named Steve. The one that constantly tries to headbutt him is Sam.

Shuri has an extensive database of memes about life in the palace. Her brother and Okoye are the only ones who currently have access.

Peter occasionally doodles spider suit designs on the margins of his homework without thinking about it, and then has to tear them off before handing it in. His teachers are still under the impression that he has a homework-hungry dog.

Clint has purchased each of his children a bow and arrow set for their tenth birthday. He already has one picked out for Nathaniel.

Sam has a special charging station for Redwing set up right beside his bed. He occasionally has Redwing fetch him water or turn of the light so he doesn't have to get up.

Natasha has a bad habit of borrowing other people's stuff without asking. Especially sweatshirts and jackets. If it's kept where she can access it, it's fair game. If you borrow her jacket without asking, however, expect a big fuss.

Wanda has a lingering habit that she got from growing up poor, homeless, and hungry - she stockpiles food. She hides it away in her room without really thinking about it, and the others occasionally have to go through and bring it all back to the kitchen so they don't get ants.

Vision tries to avoid the internet, especially after what happened to Ultron. He thinks it brings out the worst in people, and doesn't quite trust himself to be unaffected.

Steve has always debated getting a pet, but after losing his whole world he's a little hesitant to let himself love something that he knows only has a lifespan of ten years.

On occasion, T'Challa will intentionally misquote vines to annoy his sister.

When Bruce gets nightmares, he watches obscure crafting and decorating videos on YouTube to calm himself back to sleep. Hearing the generic video background music has him yawning like a charm.

Thor always stocks up on Midgardian food before heading back to Asgard. Lucky Charms is his current favorite.

Peter likes trying to do things upside down just to see how different it is. He's very familiar with having to explain to Aunt May how pouring himself a drink wound up with orange juice all over the kitchen.

The first thing Aunt May does once she discovers that Peter is Spiderman is examine the suit - she removes the tracker the second she finds it. This is why Peter surprises everyone when he shows up in Infinity War.

Scott has a ranking system from 1 to 10 on how enjoyable each of Cassie's kid shows are for adults. That way he knows which ones he's going to need his phone as distraction to sit through.

Lila Barton is the only known person in the world who has gotten away with putting a pink bow in Natasha's hair.

Nick Fury keeps a couple dozen bottles of aspirin in his desk - one for each of the Avengers, labeled with their name - and he'll pull from a specific person's bottle whenever they are giving him a headache. One of the ways he judges performance is by seeing how fast it takes him to go through that person's bottle.

[kitchencupboardunderground]

Book Review: Herbs for Healthy Aging – Natural Prescriptions for Vibrant Health

This week the Kitchen Cupboard Underground reviews another book on aromatherapy and herbology. The goal of these book reviews is to provide you insight if a book would be a good addition to your library. Enjoy!

Herbs for Healthy Aging – Natural Prescriptions for Vibrant Health, David Hoffmann, FNIMG, AHG Healing Arts Press, 2007 372 pages

Hoffmann’s book is written for those who are fifty years of age and older. Though this is his target audience, the content is just as valuable to those of us in our forties as it can either prepare us for what’s to come with our aging bodies or what we may be experiencing sooner than others. Hoffmann’s position is that life is not about finding a miracle cure or fountain of youth from plants and herbs, but rather utilizing them to reduce the risk of falling prey to those leading causes of death.

This book is sectioned in to the following thirteen chapters:

The Digestive System

The Cardiovascular System

The Pulmonary System

The Upper Respiratory System

The Nervous System

The Urinary System

The Reproductive System

The Musculoskeletal System

The Skin and Hair

The Immune System

The Endocrine System

Herbal Medicine Making

Materia Medica

The chapters on the various bodily systems are organized in the following manner: a brief overview of the system; herbal actions for that system; brief plant/herb profiles; keeping that system happy; factors contributing to diseases of that system; specific system problems with recommended recipes.

For the recipe recommendations they include the parts (measurement) to use for each herb and the dosing of them as a tincture or dried herb. For hypertension, it is recommended to use hawthorn, linden blossom, yarrow, cramp bark and valerian. It is noted to use this three times a day as a tincture or as a dried herb (infusion).

Hoffmann also includes other things you can do to alleviate many issues without resorting to herbs such as:

If You Experience This - Cut Back on these Common Offenders:*

Constipation - White bread, highly processed and refined foots, etc.

Gas, bloating, bowel distress, diarrhea - Milk and milk products, coffee, tea, etc.

Heartburn - Coffee, alcohol, onions, etc.

Stomach pain - Coffee and caffeine drinks, nicotine, aspirin, etc.

Chapter 12 – Herbal Medicine Making, is co-written with Diana DeLuca. It includes a brief overview of how to make herbal medicines at home; whether it is making a decoction, infusion, tincture or formulations for the skin. While the basis of the book is about wellness for our bodies and avoiding things that are of least benefit to it, it seemed unusual for the author or co-author to include a recipe that called for petroleum jelly. This could have easily been exchanged for something like shea butter or any number carrier oils.

To aid people in their understanding of herbology, Hoffmann includes a Materia Medica section on herbs pertinent to this book. A material medica is a brief outline of an herb and what it does; this includes: the common name; Latin name; parts of the plant used; actions; indications; and preparation and dosage.

The book closes with a well thought out internet resource section listing herbalists, herbal databases, practitioners, alternative and complementary medicine, general health, women and men’s health.

This book is an amazing resource for those in their forties and older and is also recommended for those caring for elderly family members. Hoffmann’s Herbs for Healthy Aging – Natural Prescriptions for Vibrant Health Therapy is available through online retailers for around $16. Consider calling your local book store to see if they can order it for you; support local, buy local.

Until next time, discover the power of learning something new.

Kitchen Cupboard Underground is a weekly blog on home remedies and natural wellness. Find natural wellness and personal care products Made for You and delivered to your door at BotanicalTherapy.com.

[morbidology]

On Valentine's Day of 1982, the body of a woman was discovered face down underneath a cedar tree off Interstate 40 near Williams, Arizona. She was white and between 16 to 23-years-old. She stood at 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighed around 120 pounds. She had shoulder-length blonde hair but due to decomposition, her eye colour could not be determined. Due to animal predation, fingerprinting was impossible. She wore a maroon and white striped pullover sweater and "Seasons" brand jeans.

It was determined that she had been strangled or suffocated to death. Since she was found on Valentine's Day, she became known as "Valentine Sally." As for identifying features, the woman had some well healed scars on the top of the left foot as well as a 2 inch diagonal scar on the back of her right thigh. She had moles on her chest just above the right breast and a lower right molar had been opened for a root canal. 

Valentine Sally was possibly last seen alive at the Monte Carlo Truck Stop in Ashford, Arizona, in the early morning hours of the 4th of February, 1982. She came to the store and asked for aspirin because of a toothache. The cashier estimated her to be 16 or 17-years-old. She was in the company of an older man who appeared to be concerned over her toothache. The cashier didn’t think that anything was awry and assumed the young woman was in the company of a relative.

Valentine Sally was misidentified in 1984 as a young woman from Florida who had ran away from home in 1980. In 1986, however, the young woman returned home alive and well. The DNA of Valentine Sally was placed into a national database but came back negative for any matches. Valentine Sally still remains unidentified.

[connywrites]

of flesh and blood 3

[start] part [2]

“Delete everything you know about me.” Gray eyes stared into silver, just a shade lighter than his own as he sipped from his sixth cup of coffee that day.

“That’s irrational. You and I both know it.”

“I don’t care. It’s haunted me long enough. You’re a walking satellite and I don’t like it.” Its expression shifted into something like disappointment.

“You think I know you too well, so you want to sever the connection.”

“And you can share it with anybody.” Noticing he admitted to the fact, his eyes looked away with an agitated huff in spite of himself. It was too late, anyway. It knew him, from his lifestyle, his routine, his work hours down to the way he acts and speaks; it was too personal and with humans, he couldn’t remove the fact, so he kept his distance. With an android, however, it was that easy to erase an entire database as fast as he could snap his fingers.

“Why would I?” Gavin’s eyebrows lowered while he internally asked himself the same thing.

“I don’t know but I don’t care to find out.”

“Paranoia is as irrational as your fears.” As of on cue, Gavin’s teeth snapped together as he clenched his jowls without realizing it until the sting resonated in his jawbones.

“That wasn’t meant to provoke you,” it said in a voice softer than before, almost tender in its tone.

He hated that, the way it could replicate kind words and sentimental sentences, but he knew it was all fake. Fake, fake, fake. How had one genius come to make something so artificial that seemed so real? This android, his ‘partner’ had become the bane of his existence, and he felt his fingers curl with the temptation to choke the damn thing.

“You’re not supposed to know. You’re not supposed to. You’re not…” What was the hour again? He felt a migraine coming on, fleeing the confrontation to rummage his bathroom medicine cabinet for the Tylenol. Usually, he just took an aspirin, but this was becoming too much, all too fast.

He didn’t hear the android’s voice and for a moment, he finally settled, feeling peace.

[adie-dee]

NaNo Day 16

I keep getting distracted by fluff and hints of smut when I should be working on my chronological plan. If I don’t do things in order there’s a possibility I mightn’t ever finish this novel, which is really concerning.

Snippet, as always, below the cut.

My phone rang again. Needing a moment to process the bombshell I’d just received I answered, Mum screaming and begging to know I was ok the moment i said ‘hi’.

“Mum...Mum..” I couldn’t get a word in over her hysterics. “Mum!”

Finally the incomprehensible yelling stopped. “Is that you on the news? In Melbourne? Are you ok? Do i need to send someone?”

“I’m fine, I promise.” I hunted for the remote and flicked on the TV, channel surfing until I found one showing the news.

Someone had filmed the attack from earlier, the news broadcast showing the moment i’d been shoved into the van on repeat, along with the attack at the beach from Saturday.  ‘Gangland Violence Resurgence’ scrolled across the screen, and they’d somehow managed to find an actor from Underbelly to appear as a talking head next to the footage. To my dismay it kept cutting out the moment Blake had a gun to his head and I was shoved into the van, giving me no indication as to if he’d survived.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. I needed an aspirin. Or a drink. “Mum, it looks way worse than it was, I swear.” I may have been lying, only I didn’t want her to worry.

“Just come home now, please.” She was practically begging. “I’ll send someone to pick you up. Is there a helipad where you are?”

“No, Mum.” She’d die if she knew where I was living, her dressing room being larger than my unit. “Please don’t send anyone. I promised i’d be home on Thursday and I will.”

Marcus had poured himself another rum and I snatched it off him, necking a shot straight from the bottle.  

Mum started yelling again and I held the phone away from my ear. Across the room Imogen winced.

Suddenly she stopped, my father’s voice replacing hers.

“Pumpkin.” He was as clipped as always, only it was good to hear his voice.

“Hi Dad.”

“Is everything alright?”

I was sure he was expecting me to say ‘peachy’. When I’d first made contact with him after running away I’d managed to convince him not to send people looking for me by agreeing to use code words if I was ever in trouble.

"I’m ok Dad.”

I heard him breath a sigh of relief. “Good. Do you need a security team?”

“No, I’m fine.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, leading me to picture the look of disappointment that was probably on his face. “I will have helicopter waiting for you at the helipad on the Yarra River on Thursday, so that you can come home. You will-” his voice broke a little. “You will be coming home?”

“Of course. I miss you both so much!”

“Good. Love you Pumpkin.”

Damnit, I was crying again. “Love you too Dad.”

He hung up and I wiped my face, needing the tears to stop. I hadn’t realised just how much I missed them, though seven years apart would do that.

Imogen handed me a tissue.

“So you want to help,” I said, looking between them both. “How. How can you possibly help.”

“We’ve experience with curses and prophecies,” Marcus told me, switching off the TV.

“I was watching that.”

“They’re not going to tell you anything about your...Blake that you don’t already know.” Marcus held up his phone. “But I’ve got an alert set up if the cops add anything new to their database. So let’s focus on you, yeh, because worrying about him isn’t going to help you.”

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[retirementcommunitiesindia]

Seniors often take multiple vitamins, medications, and supplements to treat various health conditions and symptoms. This can increase the risk of medication mix-ups. These mix-ups can be quite dangerous. They can result in mild adverse effects such as constipation, rashes, and dizziness to severe medical issues requiring hospitalisation.