#a remedy to my recent gloomy posts

[explosivecarbonjelly]

Why don't we play some games together? Yes. Just the two of us~

[bill-skarsgalactic]

A/N: So, it's been a while since I've written anything, but I've had this concept rattling around in my brain for a few years and figured there's no time like the present to jump back into writing and posting regularly. If you've been tagged in this it's because a couple of you expressed interest in a previous post of mine - you're not obligated to read it (obviously) but if you do, your feedback would be appreciated. As I said before, it's been a while since I've written anything, so keep in mind I'm a little rusty. Apologies if the first part is a bit bland, I'm mainly just setting up the world and the characters.

P.S: If you interacted with my last post but weren't tagged, its simply because Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you :(

Description: Searching for a fresh start in the small beach town of Hemlock Cove, a young nurse takes a job caring for the recently paralyzed and exceptionally bitter Roman Godfrey.

(This takes place after the events of Hemlock Grove season 3, except Roman did not die and was instead paralyzed after his altercation with Peter. I'm not going to touch on much of the Hemlock Grove storyline and will instead be focusing on making this a standalone story)

Pairing: Roman Godfrey x OFC

Warnings: None for this part, but will update as the story progresses.

P A R T I

Hemlock Cove was meant to be a fresh start, a new life in a quaint sea-side town seemed like the perfect remedy to an aching head and a bitter heart.

I naively hoped the saline sea air would cleanse my hidden wounds, disinfect them until the scars healed pink and became nothing more than memories wrapped in scar tissue.

However, as I stood at the edge of the beach watching the black waves roll violently beneath the murky clouds, pregnant with the promise of rain, nothing about the briny ocean breeze felt healing. The air felt thick, weighed down and tasted acrid on my tongue as I inhaled deeply. I swallowed against the offending taste and cleared my throat, willing away the nausea that had accompanied it, before turning my back on the mercurial sea.

Weeks prior when I had conjured up images of what I imagined my new home to look like, I'd expected something vastly different to the gloomy wasteland that greeted me now. A quick Google search had described Hemlock Cove as a small, sea-side town, its cobbled main road dotted with colorful ice cream shops, humble beachwear boutiques and charming vintage stores, however, as I quietly surveyed my surroundings, it was not quite the fairytale beach town I had been promised. As it stood, Hemlock Cove was merely a carcass of what it must have once been, a ghost town filtered in gray-scale with an underlying tone of despair on its breath. If the vibrant ice cream shops and vintage stores filled to the brim with the nick-knacks of yesteryear had ever existed, they were replaced now with drab, sun-faded replicas of their former selves, their contents barely visible behind foggy, glass storefronts. Looking at it now, it was a wonder how the town managed to stay afloat.

A low rumble of distant thunder suddenly pulled me from my thoughts, and I cast a wary look over my shoulder at the looming, gray clouds on the horizon.

Time to go. A storm was approaching and I had no intention of being caught in it.

With my mood as damp as the impending weather, I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag on my shoulder and began the trek up the cobbled street towards number eighty-one Foxglove Lane.

As I trudged up the hill towards my destination, the town of Hemlock Cove appeared to be seeking my forgiveness. As though ashamed of its first impression, the formerly dreary facade of the town below began to slowly give way to lush greenery and between the beach cottages and holiday homes, tufts of brightly colored wildflowers sprung up, their stems waving gently in the breeze. The distant crash of the ocean was muffled now, obscured by evergreens and the ocean itself was now only visible in gaps between the branches and leaves that lined the road. Further up the hill, the more modest cottages became few and far between, suddenly replaced by more modern, stately homes that looked like they'd be better suited to the upper suburb of neighboring Hemlock Grove, here they just looked out of place.

Stopping to stare at one particular monstrosity, my brow creased as I took in the frankly odd design choices. While most of the houses in Hemlock Cove opted for more classic earth-tones and rustic stone walls, this one was painted a deep shade of charcoal. Everything about it was a grotesque display of modern hubris, all harsh lines and sharp angles, not even the kiss of natural, black walnut finishes were enough to save the home from looking alien amongst its counterparts. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, chuckling at the thought of the field day a psychologist might have with the eyesore before me, but my chuckle was cut short as my eyes landed on the metallic, black numbers fixed to the wall beside the front door: eighty-one. Eighty-one Foxglove Lane to be exact, my new home for the foreseeable future.

When I'd first scoped out nursing jobs in Hemlock Cove, the owner of eighty-one Foxglove Lane was the only one that came up, and while details of his condition were vague at best, the job listing described the client as a 27-year-old male, who had been paralyzed six months prior. The position itself required someone with nursing experience, who could stay on the property and see to the client's needs, as well as handle day-to-day chores - a relatively simple task considering food and accommodation came tacked onto a relatively decent salary. However, other than what had been detailed in the job listing, I knew little to nothing about my client... other than his inclination to have his home scream of its own spectacular opulence.

As if only to impress on me the wealth of my new employer, a large, black Mercedes Benz minivan say at the end of the stone driveway, which I skirted around gingerly, careful not to mar the pristine paint job as I made my way towards the path leading to the front door.

Swallowing a new set of nerves that had made their home in my throat, I gripped the strap of my duffel with one hand and rapped succinctly on the door with my other hand, hoping my knock would sound more confident than I felt.

Silence followed for what felt like an eternity, there was no jingle of keys in the lock of shuffling from beyond the threshold, just the crash of waves beyond the tree line and the occasional chirp of a sandpiper. Just as I was considering knocking again, a voice from inside stopped me before I could even raise my hand.

"Come around the side. Sliding door's unlocked."

The voice was that of a young man, I assumed my client, but it was neither friendly nor welcoming, in fact "irritated" was the first word that sprung to mind, and the misanthropic timbre of his voice turned my stomach to knots in its wake.

Unsure of the appropriate response, I settled for a shaky "Uh, th-thank you!", as my eyes wandered up the side of the house, my irises mapping a mental path to where I assumed the sliding door might be. After only a short amount of bush-whacking my calculations turned out to be correct, as I emerged from the foliage and found myself at the foot of a small set of steps leading to a wooden deck that overlooked the beach.

The view from the deck was magnificent and the house stood no further than 50 feet from the beach itself. Standing on that deck overlooking the vast expanse of ocean, the water churning beneath the ever darkening sky, it was hard not to feel like Poseidon himself at the helm of his war ship.

I could have stood on that deck for hours watching the waves crash and churn, but I was hesitant to annoy my client any more than he already seemed to be, so I turned and made my way over to the sliding door, easing it open gently as I reached it.

The curtains were drawn across four of the six glass doors, leaving only a small gap for me to enter through, and as I did, I stepped through into what appeared to be an open-plan living room.

Although I could not fathom why anyone would be inclined to rob themselves of the spectacular view just beyond the glass doors, I couldn't deny the living room was cozy. A small banker's lamp in the corner of the room enveloped the stony, suede couches and raw wood furnishings in a warm, orange glow, giving the room a homely feel. Most modern homes felt cold and unlived-in, but not this one. After a five-hour-long bus journey and an uphill climb, my aching body longed to curl up amongst the scatter cushions and thick, woolen throws that adorned the couch, and fall into a sleep as deep as the murky waters of Hemlock Cove.

A soft, electrical whirring suddenly disturbed the silence of the living room, and I looked up just in time to see a figure appear in the doorway to my right.

Despite the half-light cast from the lamp in the living room, the man in the doorway was somewhat visible to me. In fact, the shadows cast by the small banker's lamp only aided in highlighting his perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones. His thick, brown hair had been pushed back from his brow in a way that looked effortless, as though he'd haphazardly run his hands through it, only for it to settle perfectly. I'd have dared to call him handsome were it not for the look of absolute disdain on his face as he regarded me.

I shuffled uncomfortably before speaking.

"Uh- hi, I'm Faryn Freeman, we-"

"I know who you are," he cut in harshly.

His wheelchair whirred to life again and he backed out of the doorway, leaving me alone in the living room once more.

I guess he wanted me to follow him, so I did just that. Weaving between the couch and the coffee table, I cut across the lounge and towards the room he had disappeared into.

When I stepped inside, I realized we were in what appeared to be his study, and my client was now sitting behind a large, ornate desk, pouring over a pile of official looking papers, a thick silver pen clutched between his slender fingers.

I lingered awkwardly in the threshold, the strap of my duffel bag growing teeth and biting into my shoulder, as I waited for him to acknowledge me. When he finally did, he didn't bother to look up, his long dark lashes fluttered only slightly as he jerked his pen towards a manila folder perched on the corner of his desk.

"Everything you need to know is in the file, your room is upstairs to the left," he remarked clinically, as he scribbled something indiscernable in the margins of the document in front of him.

I charged forward to retrieve the folder, stumbling slightly as my foot caught the upturned corner of the Persian rug. I cursed myself internally, embarrassed by my behavior. I was no longer the shrinking violet I had been growing up, and even in college, I was a professional, a nurse, over-qualified for the job I'd just undertaken, with years of experience working with men who thought they new more than I did, so why in God's name was I allowing this man and his bad attitude to throw me like this?

The feminist in me begged to put him in his place, but more than that I wanted to be done with this awkward interaction and retreat to my quarters where I could unpack and decompress. A lot had happened in a short space of time and I needed a moment to process it all, so if my new boss had no intention of getting acquainted, then I was more than happy to take the high road and seize a few moments of alone time.

"Well, thanks for this," I smiled politely, pressing the manila folder to my chest, "I'll make sure to familiarize myself with all of this," I assured him, giving the folder an emphatic tap with my index finger.

Again, he didn't look up, it was as if I hadn't spoken, and for a moment, I wondered if he had even heard me. Pursing my lips, I began to slowly back out of the room.

"Okay... well, I'll just head upstairs then," I explained, a little louder this time in case he was hard of hearing, "If you need anything-"

"I'll call," he interrupted, punctuating his statement with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Resisting the urge to bolt from the room, away from my new housemate and the dour energy that hung over him like a storm cloud, I turned fully and exited the study at a leisurely pace until I was out of his line of sight.

The stairs were directly to the right of the study and I took them two at a time, my duffel swinging precariously behind me until I reached the landing.

Unlike the lower level of the house the second floor was lighter, the walls were painted a soft, dove gray and the floor was covered in plush, cream carpeting. Despite the gloomy weather brewing outside, a large skylight above my head illuminated the landing giving it an airy feel that wasn't present downstairs.

I drew what felt like the first real breath of air I'd taken in hours and my lungs filled with the scent of wood polish and carpet shampoo.

At the top of the landing to my right was a dark, wooden door and directly across from where I stood was a small, guest bathroom and from there the hallway snaked to the left. Surely my bedroom was down there.

As I walked, I noticed there were no photos on the walls, no family portraits to liven up the stark landing, only grim, moody artwork. A large floor-to-ceiling oil painting of a snake arched in an almost perfect sphere, its mouth agape as though readying itself to consume its own tail, sat opposite the only other door on the landing: my bedroom.

I shivered involuntarily, my lip curled in distaste and turned away from the offending art piece, opening the door to my bedroom.

Upon stepping inside, I was pleased to see that my client's peculiar art choices did not extend to his guest bedroom. The walls were blank aside from a large mirror, and the room itself consisted of a vanity, a double bed and a sage green armchair in the corner of the room. Ultimately, the room seemed as though it had never been touched.

Grateful to be rid of my luggage, I unceremoniously dumped my duffel at the foot of the bed and flopped down atop the covers, the manila folder still clutched to my chest. Now that I had a few moments to myself, I figured it was about time I found out a little more about my client.

Tag list: @alphabetbill @dani-is-a-princess @rumanceksghost @marvelnatural4life @ambeauty @rosesandthorns @exo-kai15 @angryhippie @perfectlilwitch @4sta @madlilafromwonderland @winterrrsun @manicpixiedreamguurl @spice-honey @batesaccomplice @naturalblondekiller88 @jj-lynn21 @narcobarbiesims @mountainousdinosaur @morbiditty @princehattric @kallikvolturisblog @nutinanutshell @brown-eyedblues @myheartwillgoon2022 @livingonthehems @temporarilylivin @culpers @sophieskarsgard @scuba-seamus @bbyskars

[thepanicoffice]

Brush with Death

[...]

Through plague, famine, financial crisis, and bourgeois summer music festival season, the Panic Office has always been there for its dedicated, maladjusted, slightly simple readership.

We have long prided ourselves on providing a faintly nourishing mental gruel of content – a sort of intellectual starvation rations – to keep your grey matter from wasting away entirely. This has never been more important than now, when you remain confined indoors reflecting on the senselessness of your own existence and the cruel accident of your birth.

But we also like to keep things light and cheerful.

So, let’s talk about DEATH.

I don’t regularly check the Office’s post-box but I would assume we have been inundated with glowing feedback on my semi-regular jaunts through art history. Having graduated primary education, I consider myself to meet all the criteria to be classed as a fine art scholar and well-equipped to take you on a brief tour of death in the visual imagination of the West.

It’s as well to remind ourselves that the darkness that dwells beyond the precipice of the mortal coil has occupied the thoughts of our ancestors since the first time some unwashed maniac picked up a wet clot of pigments and, for reasons best known only to them, decided to draw something they could only see in their head.

Let us go, and don’t fear the reaper. But don’t make eye contact with him either, for God’s sake. That’s just asking for trouble.

[...]

Unknown, Renaissance

Death has not always been a figure of fear �� here we see his unmistakable skeletal form strutting and jiving along, barely clad in an entirely superfluous toga, like a slightly-less creepy John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Actually, it is probably that self-same fever that has claimed the life of this chubby-wristed infant. However, as I assume was probably the case for most people alive in the Middle Ages, he doesn’t look very sad to be going. If I’d have been born only to discover that I had no access to warm towels and was forced to empty my bowels out of a window like a common Welshman, I’d have embraced death as a friend too.

Death and Life, Gustav Klimt, 1915

This gaudily garbed grim cuts a sinister figure. He brandishes, with menace, the distinct gnarly form of a Nice ’n’ Spicy Nik Nak – its seemingly harmless, even comical, appearance at odds with the often-lethal sodium content contained within. The spectre leers at this writhing tissue of existence, threatening it with, presumably, heart disease and morbid obes– Ooh , is that a nipple? It is! Great painting. Though it is distractingly close to that child. That sort of spoils my enjoyment.

What were we talking about? Oh yes, Death. In summary, it’s hard to be too fearful when it’s stalking around in vibrant patchwork robes that Elton John would consider unforgivably tasteless and showy.

Death and the miser, Hieronymus Bosch, 1490

This irritatingly long and hard-to-crop image (it’s clear little if any thought was given to future generations of facetious technophobe bloggers by Mr Bosch) requires quite a lot of unpacking. Its dense and layered symbolism is obscure but, when one has assumed one can easily decipher art for as long as I have, its meaning becomes clear: bribe the ugly devils that crowd your life with a bulging sack of jealously-hoarded gold and perhaps Death will overlook you when your time comes. Most importantly, shun Christ and his shiny promises even when your demise looks inevitable – that’s exactly what he wants you to do, clever bastard.

Bosch, never one to know when to just put the brush down and step away from a canvas, has included all manner of largely meaningless additional detail. One feature, though, stands out: the hideous, stunted rat-gremlin carries a letter, waving it aloft, unnoticed by all. We will never know what it says. It’s almost a perfect metaphor for the Panic Office itself.

Unknown, 17th Century

Ye Gods! I don’t even know where to look. Someone get this man some damned trousers! And who thought it would be a good idea to equip a blindfolded man with a scythe? Absurd.

Der beste Arzt (The Best Doctor), Alfred Kubin, 1901

I can relate to this one. Death, mysterious and even slightly sexy, carelessly smothers this excessively long man with one hand. This is basically what my hangovers feel like when I’ve been trying to match Ann Widdecombe drink for drink at our monthly cribbage night. Like me, the slender victim clasps his hands in supplication, praying to the mercy of his nameless tormentor that his suffering might end. However, unlike me, this man doesn’t seem inclined drink a vial of baboon’s tears which I have found, after years of trial and error, is really the only effective remedy.

Unknown, Medieval

This is a fascinating depiction of Death as a sort of recognisable breed of pub bore, droning on, hectoring, sharing his conspiracy theories about how the dinosaurs really went extinct, deathsplaining to the living. Look at it, wagging its skeletal figure at this clearly disinterested person. It’s like, we get it: death comes for us all. But there’s no need to be such a dullard about it.

Danse Macabre, Thomas Rowlandson, 1815-6

This is the first work that makes me empathise with Death. All that power and yet every day the same tedium: more double pneumonias, more malarial fevers, more shower slippages. Yawn. Many of the best deaths – bubonic plague, the bloody flux, leprosy – have been all but eradicated (thanks a lot, modern medicine!) So what is left to look forward to? The odd atrocity or elephant goring, sadly few and far between. You think you’re having a boring lockdown? Take a moment to put yourself in Death’s shoes (black crocs I reckon; practical but essentially evil).

Graphic illustration of Lubeck mural, after 1463

We’ve all been to parties like this, cajoled into dancing by others regardless of whether your outfit really allows for it. Now imagine those other partygoers are the dead themselves. Terrible evening.

The Hypochondriac, Richard Dagley, 1827

Speaking as someone who’s died of hypochondria twice before, I know this scene only too well. One sits at home, trying to quietly contemplates one’s… eery painting of a prancing clown… only to spy, from the corner of your eye, Death’s chittering mandibles lurch from the gloom. Meanwhile, your pet cat (or monkey; the quality here is rather poor) offers you no comfort as you descend into a clammy-browed panic. Jesus, I need to get my blood pressure checked. Some days I can’t sleep for the hammering arrhythmia of my backfiring heart, I can feel it behind my eyes, and my sight fades until I am left to face…

La Jeune Fille et la Mort, Marianne Stokes, 1900

…Oh Christ, this guy. This morose tosser. This gloomy dullard. This Sisters of Mercy album cover reject, come to bore you with his self-indulgent monologues about the ‘black lips of encroaching night’ or whatever GCSE poetry he’s most recently written after his parents have sent him to bed for failing to use a drinks coaster on the good table. I don’t know where he got that robe from but the big lads in his form are going to give him hell for that come Monday. But that’s fine, he doesn’t care, he’s used to being misunderstood, as he thinks no one apart from him has ever worn pale makeup and been really into the ‘complex, violence artistry’ of 80s slasher films. Tedious prick. Just get over yourself and end me! No, I’m not impressed by your lamp. Arse.

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 33 (Multi Liverpool players)

Title: Linked Charms

Pairings: Trent/Marina(oc#1), Mo Salah /Dr Karina(oc#2), Andy/Yvonne(oc#3), Virgil/Amelia(oc#4)

Trigger warning: domestic violence

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLo5ZFGia7m-cTVrdeBxcBTNFFriZlFXtR Soundtrack list

That evening, the mansion atmosphere became chaotic once Amelia dragged crying Christoph and Anya upstairs before locking themselves inside the kids bedroom “You’ve just disgraced me for today. I never taught you both to become a bully!” Marina, Karina and Yvonne rushed upstairs, stopped by the door as they called her “Ami, calm down!” Marina knocked the door, heard Amelia’s shout and the kids pleading cries. Sje tried to open it but it’s locked from inside. Yvonne slammed her hand to door “Ami, what are you doing inside?” That’s when they heard a belt clinking sound which it makes the girls thought Amelia was going to hit them with it to release her anger against them. The kids cried louder “Mama, please stop!” PIAP! PIAP!! PIAPP!! The girls panicked by the belt slap against the kids makes Imogen came there as well “What’s the matter?” Until she heard the noise from inside the bedroom, she quickly knocked the door “Amelia, can you please open the door? Amelia!!” But it was no avail. The belt slapping sound became more frequent and the kids kept crying. Around five minutes later, the boy’s cars arrived by the front yard. Virgil rushed upstairs when they heard Imogen’s shout. “Virgil, help us. Amelia locked Christoph and Anya inside the room. And we heard the belt sound. We don’t know what she is doing against them” Karina pleaded as she, Imogen and the other sisters stepped aside. “Stay here” he commanded to the girls and Imogen as he slammed the door with his shoulder. After three times attempt slamming the door, it opened wide revealing crying Christoph and Anya sat against the edge of bed while angry Amelia with holding a belt swinging it to hit them continuously. Virgil rushed toward Amelia, gripping her wrist with holding belt makes she shouted “I’m going to give them a lesson!” “This is not a solution, Ami. Calm down!” He gripped another wrist to make her facing him. Christoph and Anya still crying with some red slapping mark on their arms and legs “I just heard this from Imogen but this is not a right way to teach them a lesson” he added then asked “What they’ve done for today?” Imogen shushed as she whispered to the girls “We better leave them for privacy” she closed the door while the girls went downstairs. Christoph and Anya climbed up on bed, sat up as the little boy said “Brian and Mandy bullied Anya recently. I punched him on his face to defend Anya” “I know you’re defending your sister but violence is not a solution” Virgil said “You’re supposed to lodge this to your teacher” “But Papa-” Christoph replied. “Enough. Luckily you both only been sent back home for today. If you both get dropped out because of this case… how am I going to face everyone that my children is a bully?” Amelia sadly interrupted as she cupped her cheeks. “You both just make mistake for today. As a punishment, there’s no TV for a week” Virgil stood up as he added “Just make your homework then wait for us before dinner” then he glared to Amelia “Ami, we need to talk” Both of them headed out from the kids bedroom before entering their bedroom, locked the door “I never expected you have this kind of side, Ami” he said bluntly then scolded “And I’m really disappointed on you. Is this how you taught them a lesson if they made a mistake?!” Amelia sat at edge of bed, looking down with gloomy expression “Es tut mir leid, Liebling. I can’t control myself” “This is not an excuse. When I seen you rewarded them with books and toys, playing with them, I thought you’re the greatest mother for them. And now…” then Virgil continued “Is this how you taught them a lesson if they’re making mistakes? Hitting them with this?!” He threw the belt that he snatched from her to floor. Amelia quickly hugged his legs as she begged “Liebling, I’m sorry. I know I was wrong but please…” she sobbed lightly then added “Please punish me! Anything!!” His stern look turned into evil smirk when he heard she requested to get punished “Say it again” he whispered. “Punish me!” Amelia pleaded then looked down since she realised that her request might be a prayer then she asked “Liebling, how did you know that I have thing on some sex kinks?” “I’ve read your secret journals when you’re asleep” Virgil replied then explained of when he get it. *Flashback start* There was one night Amelia fell asleep on work table with her three notebooks found inside opened electronic diary. The door opened as Virgil came in, noticing she was asleep makes he gently brushed her hair, kissing her head before carefully grabbed each three notebooks from inside electronic diary. The first journal was about Amelia’s dream life with her prince charming. That’s when he found a poem written: Victory can’t be reached by only single step. Intelligence and hard work pays it all for him. Revolutionary man who changed the world of mine. Gripping the whole dream from the heaven above Indicated by how faithful and honesty he is. Light is waiting upon him when he knew the time comes. Victory doesn’t come by its own without his determination. Achieved by combination of hard work and passion. Naturally, he is the perfect one. Delightfully surprised that he finally reached his dream. Intentionally making everyone love how great he is. Jeopardising the whole memories to become a new legend. Kind words of his to make world a better place. Virgil only chuckled when he read the stanza of the poem about himself before he read the second journal that written essays of Amelia’s rebellious dream to be anything what she want for. From being a singer, artist, engineer, sportswoman, author, fashion designer, chef, detective and others. He only able to shake his head, finding out her wide imagination until he picked up third journal which it revealed detailed erotic stories written by Amelia. That’s when he found out the note of her turn on’s and off’s written…. ****** Let’s see what are my turn on’s when having sex. I like my man talk dirty in other languages: German, Dutch, Swedish, Russian… as long as I could understand it. I like when my man kissed my breasts. My mind was thinking of ’ Oh God… he know my weakness. I’ll let him worship my body’. As well as feeling his hands kneaded my ass, looks like he loves my body more than I am. For my turn off’s, well… I hate distracting noises during having sex. Just like when Virgil fucked me and suddenly Gini called him which it makes me unable to think straight once I heard his voice in loudspeaker mode. Scheiße! And one more thing, I don’t like baby kink thing. Forcing me to wear diapers, put pacifier on my mouth. Please… I’m a big girl! ********* Remembering the moment they both had sex for first time until Gini called him makes he chuckled, sounds weird but funny sometimes when he recalled it. And then he read the other pages where he found lists of her favourite kinks. It written… ****** I love of being control by my man actually, just sometimes I’ll get my hands to take charge in case I have good mood. I also like bondages, been tied with belt or anything making me effortlessly to move. And I also like to feel the pain. Feeling his hand slapping my ass makes me want more from him. And I love having some toys too. Melt candle? Sharp knife? Hmm… depends on my mood… Hehe~ And I also wanted to call him daddy once he gets in control. Feeling him choking me, pulling up my hair… And a camera filming us having sex makes me think that I’m gonna be his whore. Haha~ ******** “Fucking shit. What did I just read?” He asked in whispering tone before noticing Amelia grunted lightly makes he gently brushed her hair before noticing she continued asleep. He flipped another page when he found bunch of stories about her sex fantasies written…. ********* Episode 1: Rape fantasy (I know it might be triggering) “Please sir. I don’t want you to kill me. I can give you anything!” I screamed as he climbed up the bed. The tall and dark skinned man with wearing a face mask just intruded my house and now he found me wearing only short nightgown and lace panties. I noticed he glared to my thighs makes he spread my legs wide, caressing them while I cried “Oh please, please… right there…” I just closed my eyes when he played the hem of my panties, pulling it down. Scheiße… is he want to soil me…? ******** Episode 2: My Dreamy PE teacher What a handsome teacher who just came far away from Netherlands. Mr van Dijk is his name, the PE teacher. And now he just called me once PE class ended for private talk. I don’t know what he’s going to do to me. We both locked ourselves inside sport equipment store room while I noticed he glared to my short tennis skirt makes he asked me “Why are you wearing that kind of skirt? It’s too exposing” “Oh… my bad” I giggled lightly before noticing he kept glaring over my skirt. “And did you wear underwear beneath it?” Scheiße. Looks like he knows that I’m going to seduce him with wearing tennis skirt with no panties underneath. Can’t wait for him to see my pussy and eat them out. I really want him to be mine…. ********* Episode 3: I need a Doctor… “Yes doctor. I really need you” I whispered to him while he climbed up on bed where I laid down. My headache is going critical and he told me that there’s only one solution to heal without surgery. Feeling his tip rubbed along my pussy makes me pleaded “Doctor, please…!” “Call me Virgil. Remember that name when you’re with me” he replied to me as he pushed his dick in. Ah scheiße… he’s too huge for my tight pussy. But I love it. I moaned to him “Fuck yes… I only need your cock as remedy for my head. Please…” My voice getting louder when his whole length filled inside me makes me smiled wide. He really great on healing his patients, and he’s treating me on the bed…. ******** Episode 4: The Queen’s Forbidden Lover I know that I need a heir for my throne but there’s no royal came upon me makes me desperate wanted to have one or two for my kingdom. Until my personal knight, Virgil came over as I invited him to my bedroom. I caressed his hair as I pleaded “I have a request from you. I need a heir for my kingdom and I’m really desperate” “Do you wanted me to make love to you, your highness?” He asked then shook his head “It’s wrong” “It’s my order, Virgil. I want you to impregnate me. Maybe for this time but I really need it. Please…” I pleaded again. He’s such a handsome and strong man. I bet he can give me a perfect heir for my throne. Even just one night. ******* Episode 5: Project V8791 I keep chuckling when I felt his tongue licked along my pussy, it’s really great I programmed him of varied sex positions and he acts like he knows everything. V8791 or his human name: Virgil van Dijk had been progressing not just with varied chores, even he can entertain his client, women of course since I only able to programme him as heterosexual man. I sensed his tongue entered my walls as I tilted my head up. Oh yes… I can’t believe he’s so talented. I wanted him more and more… ******* Just when he wanted to read another episodes, he noticed Amelia slowly awake makes he quickly put down the journal on her table, getting back to sleep like nothing happened. She glared to her journals then to her Dutch lover, giggled lightly. *Flashback end* “Oh well… you just read my secrets” Amelia stuck her tongue out before getting up in her feet, kissing him deeply. They both fell on bed, getting their lips met while their hands caressed each other’s hair. That’s when Virgil picked up the belt he threw down, wrapping it around Amelia’s wrists to pin her down. “I can’t wait for you take charge on me” she chuckled then mewl “Meow~” Meanwhile Christoph and Anya just finished their homework, rushed downstairs as they both headed outside to their treehouse. Imogen asked them “Have you done with your homework?” “Yes, granny” the twins replied. It makes Imogen sighed as she continued reading the book while the kids went to the treehouse, climbing up the ladders to their hideout. Around two hours the German - Dutch lovers having their times on bed with several rounds of rough fucks, Amelia sighed in relief, chuckled softly as her wrists still tied up , some bruises on her thighs by hard slaps but she didn’t care. She has thing on BDSM kinks and finally Virgil just knew it. Relief moan escaped from her lips when she felt him gently brushed warm towel along her pussy, wiping out her leaked juices and his seeds while he leaned down to give her a gentle kiss. It was like a routine for them. “This is so perfect, Liebling” Amelia giggled lightly before noticing him placed a towel on bedside table, then heading out to bathroom. The Dutch giant just prepared a warm bath, noticing a jar of varied flower petals and orange peels makes he poured them down inside tub filled with warm water. Then he came back to bedroom, carefully carrying Amelia in bridal style to take her for warm bath to soothe her down. As Amelia get her body fully soaked inside water with flower petals and orange peels inside tub, she giggled lightly since she really loves to be pampered like a queen, and it makes her legs no longer aching “Come and join me, Liebling” It makes Virgil smiled back, shaking his head “I don’t want to hurt you with another round of fucks” it makes they laughed while she playfully pinched his nose. “Alright, alright. Keep this queen in company, okay?” Amelia winked. Agreeing on her request, Virgil with only wearing towel around his waist grabbed a book from work table which it’s Amelia’s untitled work-in-progress novel, sat next to the bath tub while she rested her chin on her arm to get closer to him. He read the beginning of the novel which it’s about the adventure of two strangers: Emmi and Viktor which it’s kinda knock off of themselves - received the anonymous parcel makes they discovered a key to the new dimension named Utopia before they facing the adventurous journey besides they started getting their love story began. As Virgil completed reading each full pages, he gave Amelia a deep kiss before flipping to net page, continue reading it despite there’s a few complicated German and Dutch words that he needs to pronounce. And she also enjoyed her bath time and having someone in company. ————— That night, Miroslav gathered Ernst, Imogen, the girls and boys inside living room as he said “Bad news. Paula Speichern had been escaped from psychiatric hospital last night” Amelia cupped her mouth since her ‘mother’ just escaped and roaming around the town while Virgil grabbed her hand to calm her down. “Is she going to take vengeance on us? She already murdered my mom and now?” Yvonne asked. “Possibly. Doctor told me her bipolar was getting worst day by day even they just discovered that she became more aggressive once she heard any news about Amelia or Papa” Miroslav explained. “What was running in your mind, Paula?” Ernst muttered as he still remembered something “You cheated on me before… and you murdered Yolanda. And now… this?” “Wait… 'mother’ cheated on you? But how?” Amelia asked. Ernst silenced for a while, removing his glasses before he replied “She has a son from her previous relationship without telling me” “But it doesn’t mean she cheated on you, Papa” Amelia said “And that son was Ariel” “Ariel?” All of them asked, except Virgil shown them normal expression since he already knew it. “My 'mother’ used to marry someone named Wilhelm Speichern but divorced since he cheated on her for other woman. They had a son named Ariel. Unfortunately, Ariel died when I was three, fell down from apartment in Paris” Amelia explained. “I’m sorry for that, Ami. It might be hurts when you lose your own sibling” Imogen sighed. “So that means you’re Franco-German mix” Karina interrupted “Your mother maybe a French and she married to German man” “It is. My 'mother’ maiden name was Boonefoy. Paula Marie Boonefoy” Amelia replied. “Now back to the topic. Is there anyone know motive for Yolanda’s homicide?” Marina asked to change topic. “So far, there’s no valid information about it. But there’s only one theory” Miroslav replied “She has grudge on everyone especially Papa for breaking her heart. And the only daughter she had, for leaving her for a man who will protect her” “And it’s me…” Amelia gasped as she cupped her chest, feeling light pain since she worried of her safety until she felt Virgil pulled her close to him. “But it doesn’t mean the rest are safe” Miroslav added “She knew the remaining generation of Vambürt family still survived so she decided to finish them once for all” “This is too much. She must be stopped by all cost” Trent said. Miroslav nodded lightly “We have to be more careful with her. She diagnosed with bipolar disorder. And her behaviour is too unpredictable” “And wait the minute. Usually those who has bipolar disorder usually will inherit their traits to their children” Karina interrupted. It makes everyone silenced before glaring to Amelia. “Why are you looking to me?” Amelia shocked. “No wonder we noticed you have multiple talents, Amelia. It’s one of the symptoms of bipolar disorder” Ernst said “And you started having maniac and depressed mode, depends on your mood” “So that means she also behave like her mother?” Andy asked. “Not necessarily. Amelia might be inherited her mother’s beauty and talents…. but not her insanity” Ernst replied then he clapped his hands “Alright. Forget about it. Next week, we will have a family event. It’s one year anniversary of our family reunion” “Papa, I’m going to Marseille next week to visit my family-in-law” Miroslav whispered. “Postpone it. We have most important event here” Imogen interrupted making the blonde photographer pouted. “And how about we make murder mystery party?” Marina suggested “It would be fun since we have large scale family party” “Are you forgot that we have kids here?” Mo asked suddenly since he realised Christoph and Anya already sleeping upstairs and it makes everyone silenced. “A murder mystery party, but not too eerie” Amelia corrected “Since we have kids, we need to think the suitable theme that fit for a whole family” “Maybe [Family Reunion] helps” Trent suggested “It’s like what we used to experience when we met for first time. But the difference is the host invited all his children to meet for a dinner and they brought along their husbands-” Miroslav coughed lightly before Trent added “And we maybe need some change. All of his daughters and they brought their husbands. That’s when they have some surprises of having unexpected guests and…” “There would be a murder?” Andy asked to interrupt. “Maybe….” “Alright. So I will be the host since I have to invite his daughters for reunion” Ernst asked “How about you?” “I’m of course gonna play as typical stepmother who marrying the host after their mothers death” Imogen huffed. “And I’m as a family butler?” Miroslav shrugged lightly. “So we need to make a background details on all of us” Marina said “We can’t simply said our husbands are footballers. It will ruining the party themes” “Let’s see… Marina would be a lawyer, I’m as vet of course. Yvonne might be a street artist-” Karina suggested. “Fuck off” Yvonne huffed, crossing her arms. “And I’m maybe as an ordinary housewife. Mother of two kids” Amelia interrupted. “And how about the boy’s background?” Ernst asked. “I was thinking of the street musician” Trent suggested then shrugged, chuckling lightly. “Not bad, mate. I’m maybe as working class people. A clerk, perhaps?” Andy asked. Karina nudged Mo as she asked “How about you, sevgilim?” “I think I’m as a model?” Mo chuckled. “Mohamed, I’m not encouraged you for that as your background for the party. Family reunion usually about the daughter brought along their ordinary husbands” Ernst advised. It makes Mo silenced again, thinking until he asked “I think a barista” it makes everyone fell down on floor with their legs raised up on air while Karina playfully slapped his arm. Amelia asked to Virgil “How about you, Liebling?” It makes him thought of suitable background job for the murder mystery party before he suggested “I think a policeman or fire fighter” “Well….” Amelia started to think the logical theory if a daughter can bring her husband who a working in uniformed services then nodded “Alright. My king is a policeman” it makes him looked down in embarrassment. “Wait the second. Virgil has long hair, right? Policemen usually has shorter hairs” Miroslav interrupted which it makes both of them thought of another idea again. “How about a young tycoon? Maybe you’re a new businessman in the making. You marrying his secretary but then she switched to be housewife to focus on her family” Amelia suggested to him, making him blushed again. “Technically Amelia marrying a rich man” Yvonne interrupted, chuckling lightly. “I think we just got our roles. Unless if you want to bring your friends along, inform them about the roles they’re going to play with” Ernst said “And for costumes, there’s no need to be fancy. Just make yourself comfortable, and fits for the character” “So when are we going to make the party? I mean the exact date for it” Trent asked. “We encouraged to make it this Saturday night” Ernst replied. “Easy. It’s a day after our match against Sheffield United” Mo added “Can’t wait to inform Dejan” —————— Meanwhile, Paula just arrived at the prison where Julian had been imprisoned, holding a long cord as she strangled the security guards by the gate before she used their clothes for disguise. Holding a baton, she walked inside the prison and hit another warden in charge and get another outfits to wear on. And she found bunch of keys makes she knew how to do. As Paula in warden outfit walked upstairs to high secured cells, no one suspected anything until she arrived at Julian’s cell. The bad guy was drawing something on wall noticed Paula stood by the door makes he rushed there “What for?” Paula silenced as she unlocked the key before opened the door wide. “What the fuck?” Julian walked out in disbelief as he asked her “Seriously?” Paula just nodded before watching Julian walked along the corridor to the switch room to activate emergency alarm. As the siren rang loudly, it makes around 40 Julian’s men rushed out from their cells, excitedly cheered of their escape day “All Hail Neumann! All hail Neumann!” The remaining warden who just realised the loud siren get their weapons ready to attack the escaped prisoners but it makes they had been outnumbered, been beaten up badly or shoot down before rushing out through the gate. It was a chaotic night in London when all people quickly shut down windows and doors when they heard loud screams out there. ———– Meanwhile back in mansion, the family gathering had been interrupted by Dejan’s phone call as Mo answered it “Mo, switch on the TV hurry!” It makes Miroslav switched on the television as it revealed the breaking news. The news anchor said “Around 40 prisoners had been escaped from London Central Jail in last few hours including the most dangerous criminal in United Kingdom, Julian Neumann. If any of you seen any of these faces, everyone advised to contact the police” the TV screen shows 40 faces of the escaped prisoners including Julian. It makes everyone shocked on what they’ve just heard. Another trouble came in, waiting for another drama. “Fucking shit” Virgil groaned, brushing his hair back.

[hope-for-olicity]

After a while, the true-life horror stories women tell about their struggles to get reproductive health care start to bleed together. They almost always feature some variation on the same character: the doctor who waves a hand and says, “You’ll be fine,” or “That’s just in your head,” or “Take a Tylenol.” They follow an ominous three-act structure, in which a woman expresses concern about a sexual or reproductive issue to a doctor; the doctor demurs; later, after either an obstacle course of doctor visits or a nightmare scenario coming to life, a physician at last acknowledges her pain was real and present the whole time. Sometimes there’s a quietly gloomy boyfriend or husband in a secondary-character role, frustrated by the strain his partner’s health issue is putting on their intimacy.

That many women have stories of medical practitioners dismissing, misdiagnosing, or cluelessly shrugging at their pain is, unfortunately, nothing new. Research cited in the Journal of Law, Medicine & Ethics in 2001, for example, indicated that women get prescribed less pain medication than men after identical procedures (controlling for body size), are less likely to be admitted to hospitals and receive stress tests when they complain of chest pain, and are significantly more likely than men to be “undertreated” for pain by doctors. And there’s a multi-million dollar industry of questionable alternative health remedies that was arguably built at least in part on a history of doctors being dismissive toward women’s bodily health.

But in 2018, these stories of neglect and unhelpfulness within women’s health care, especially women’s sexual and reproductive health care, are bubbling up to the surface—being documented, circulated, and acknowledged by public discourse—in curious abundance.

It started early in the year. In January, a widely cited Vogue cover story on the tennis great Serena Williams, who gave birth to a daughter in September of 2017, told the harrowing tale of how Williams had to urgently insist to the hospital staff in her recovery room that what she was experiencing after her C-section was a pulmonary embolism in order to get the treatment she needed to stay alive. “The nurse thought her pain medicine might be making her confused,” the story reads. A month later, Vogue published an essay by the Girlscreator Lena Dunham on her choice to have a hysterectomy at age 31 to end her struggle with what she understood to be endometriosis. “I had to work so hard to have my pain acknowledged,” she writes. “And while I’ve been battling endometriosis for a decade and this will be my ninth surgical procedure, no doctor has ever confirmed this for me.” After her uterus is removed and she wakes up in a recovery room, she writes, the doctors are eager to tell her she was right: her uterus is “worse than anyone could have imagined.”

Then, in April, The New York Times published Linda Villarosa’s revealing reporton the dangerous endeavor of being black and pregnant in America, a phenomenon partly attributed to medical practitioners’ “dismissal of legitimate concerns and symptoms.” The story’s primary character, 23-year-old New Orleans mother of two, Simone Landrum, recalls being told by a doctor to calm down and take Tylenol when she complained of headaches during a particularly exhausting pregnancy; those headaches were later found to be caused by pre-eclampsia, a pregnancy complication that causes high blood pressure and can result in the placenta separating from the uterus before the baby is born. This happened to Landrum, and her pregnancy ended in a stillbirth.

The stories kept coming. Netflix’s The Bleeding Edge, a documentary released last month, is primarily about the poor testing of many medical devices on the market, but it nonetheless also functions as an indictment of carelessness toward women’s health at the regulatory-body level. Three of the four primary narratives  are about medical devices hastily approved by the FDA and marketed to women as safe, easy solutions for fertility- and childbirth-related issues. One prominently featured woman whose medical device—the birth-control implant Essure—lands her in the hospital so many times she loses her job, her home, and her kids over the course of the documentary, recalls being told by a doctor that her abnormally heavy, persistent vaginal bleeding after its insertion is “because she’s Latina” and that her problems are all in her head.

The new KCRW podcast Bodies, a series about medical mysteries in women’s health that launched in July, kicked off its run with the story of a woman in her twenties who experiences deep, burning pain during sex and is initially told by a doctor that nothing’s wrong, lots of women have pain during sex, and that she should just wait and it’ll probably go away. After getting a referral for a specialist from a friend who visited 20 doctors over the course of  seven years before getting a diagnosis, she’s diagnosed with and successfully treated for a type of vulvodynia—which the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecologydescribes as “common” (though “rarely diagnosed”).

Sasha Ottey calls this phenomenon “health-care gaslighting.” Ottey founded the Atlanta-based nonprofit PCOS Challenge: The National Polycystic Ovary Syndrome Association in 2009 to raise awareness of PCOS, a hormonal disorder affecting the ovaries that’s often linked to infertility, diabetes, and pelvic pain. Despite the fact that PCOS was first identified and researched in 1935 and the CDC has estimated it affects some 6 to 12 percent of adult women in the United States, many doctors still don’t recognize the symptoms. Women with PCOS and similar conditions like endometriosis and uterine fibroids, Ottey says, “have been told to suffer in silence.” Additionally, because PCOS often causes obesity or weight problems, many women with PCOS experience not just sexism but what Ottey calls “weight bias” in the health-care system. “Many women and young girls are told, ‘Oh, it's all in your head. Just eat less and exercise more,’” says Ottey, who herself recalls being initially instructed by an endocrinologist to lose weight and come back in six months. “People who are following an eating plan and present their diaries to their physicians or nutritionists will be told, ‘You left something off. You're lying. You're not doing enough.’”

Ottey, who spearheaded the PCOS Challenge’s first-ever day of advocacy on Capitol Hill in May, has noted the recent shift in how—and where—women talk about their struggles getting the sexual and reproductive health care they need. “We're at a critical juncture in women's health, where women are now feeling more empowered to speak up. Because frankly, we're frustrated,” she says. “We're frustrated with the type of care that we've gotten. We're frustrated that it sometimes takes someone decades to get a diagnosis. It's been a year, or a few years, of being empowered and emboldened."

Katherine Sherif, an internist at Jefferson University Hospital in Philadelphia and the director of the hospital’s women’s primary care unit, says she hears “day in and day out” from patients “about how they are not listened to [by other doctors], how they’re blown off, how a clue was missed.” Sherif believes most of the minimization of women’s health concerns is “unconscious” on the part of both male and female doctors, but blames general societal sexism for the gaps in women’s sexual and reproductive health care. Men with sexual and reproductive dysfunction have to fight for the care they need sometimes too, she points out, but “to a lesser extent” from what she’s seen.

In her 23 years practicing medicine, Sherif has received a lot of thank-you notes from women she’s treated—and “they don’t say ‘Thank you for saving my life’ or ‘Thank you for that great diagnosis,’” she says. “They say, ‘Thank you for listening to me.’ Or ‘I know we couldn’t get to the bottom of it, but thank you for being there.’” So Sherif sees a common theme in the recent flurry of high-profile expressions of disappointment in women’s reproductive health care, feminist protests against President Donald Trump, and the #MeToo movement: All three, she says, result from women feeling that their complaints, concerns, and objections aren’t being listened to.

“Perhaps it parallels what’s changing in our society,” Sherif says. “When we shine a light in those dirty, dark corners, I think it may give us courage to shed light on other things.”

Ottey, meanwhile, believes women’s increasing candor about their health- and health care-related frustrations can be traced back to the advent of social media. Ottey describes her own struggle to finally get a diagnosis and a treatment plan for PCOS in 2008 as one that made her feel “absolutely alone,” but in the years since, she says, she’s seen women with similar conditions and complaints find and support each other on platforms like Facebook and Twitter. “Women see other women, and other girls, speaking up,” she says.

Ottey’s social-media strength-in-numbers theory is borne out in The Bleeding Edge, too: Women whose health deteriorated after getting the Essure birth-control device implanted eventually created an advocacy campaign after finding each other through a Facebook group launched in 2011. Thirty-five thousand women had joined by the time The Bleeding Edge was filmed.

Angie Firmalino, the Facebook group’s founder, remembers being surprised at how many women quickly joined the group, despite it being a project she’d started just so she could warn her female friends about the device. “We became a support group for each other,” Firmalino says, as a montage of selfie videos women have posted to the group page play onscreen. “The day I was implanted, I left the hospital and I was in pain,” says one woman. “They told me to take some ibuprofen and it’ll get better,” says another.

When Firmalino researched the process by which Essure was approved for sale and implantation, she found the FDA hearings had been videotaped, but the video company that owned the tapes would only release them to her for several hundred dollars. So she posted on the Facebook group asking for donations to buy the video—clips of which are repurposed in the documentary and account for its most chilling moments. They raised $900 in 15 minutes.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “No Names” Part 2

When The Joker told you he found somebody else, your world shattered to pieces. But what hurt the most was the fact that he didn’t even bother to come around and see his little girls; very hard to find excuses on why their father is missing, especially when the triplets adore him. And extremely hard to cope with the gloomy future after you found out some details that might explain his estrangement.

Part 1: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/164355559106/the-joker-x-reader-no-names-part-1

Part 3: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/165414584036/the-joker-x-reader-no-names-part-3

The door opens and you turn around, sniffling. “There you are,” J closes and locks the door behind him. “What’s wrong?” he asks when he realizes you’re sobbing.

You rush in his arms and hug him.

“Don’t cry, alright? Save it for when I’m gone,” he caresses your hair and turns off the light in the office. You dig your fingers in his skin, having another crappy day yourself.

“You–you’re going to live forever…” you muster the strength to say it.

“True,” J sighs. “I mean, if I was Death I wouldn’t fuck around with Godzilla.Things could get messy really fast, right?”

You punch his abs and smile through tears.

“Stop calling me Godzilla!” “Never!” he grins in the darkness, pleased he can tease you with that…again.

“Where are the girls?” you ask, wanting to step away.

“They’re asleep, let them be. What are you wearing?” The Joker whispers in your ear, his hands feeling you up and down.

“Sweatpants and a tank top,” you snort, wiping your tears.

“Mmmm, my favorites…so sexy!” he chuckles and tries to lift you up but you refuse.

“Don’t do that, your back will kill you afterwards.”

“Nah, it’s been a pretty good day; even took a muscle relaxant, just in case.” J pulls you in a tight embrace. “I think you’re in luck today, Princess.”

“Hm?” you trace his cheekbones, hoping he means what you think he means.

“That’s why I was looking for you,” he snickers and you wrap your arms around his neck, excited.

“Are you sure, baby? It’s been a while.”

“Well,” J grumbles, “with my current health condition, I’m out of commission quite a lot. Not by choice, of course. Most of the time I feel very sick and…”

“I know,” you interrupt,” I swear I don’t care. I want you to get better and then…”

“That won’t happen so we have to deal with it, OK?” he cuts you off. “It’s so embarrassing not to be able to have you anytime I want though,” he gulps, admitting to the inconvenient truth.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, Pumpkin, but my pride…” “Your pride is fine,” you kiss him and he purrs, fired up. The Joker actually attempts to lift you up again but instead you push him towards the huge sofa in the room, slowly taking his shirt off. You give him a soft nudge and he lands on the pillows with you on top of him. Your long hair falls around his head, just like a curtain.

“Seriously, Y/N, I could’ve picked you up; you know I like to do that,” he gropes your butt as you get up a bit in order to take your tank top off.

“No way, I don’t want you to jinx it and hurt your back. I know what you like so enjoy,” you moan when his lips find yours.

“Auch!” The Joker complains when you bite his soft skin. “That’s gonna leave a mark on my neck you naughty girl!” he laughs, panting. “Do it again!”

“Your wish is my command,” you eagerly help him get rid of your sweatpants.

****************

Bad morning for your boyfriend. After you injected his weekly medication and he swallowed the tables too, the side effects settled in.

“Your nurses are here,” you announce, hoping your little surprise will give him a boost of energy.

The triples enter the master bedroom holding hands and J emerges from under the covers and smiles when he sees how cute they are: you braided their hair with neon green hair extensions and they all wear sparkly jeans plus pink t-shirts embroidered with “Daddy’s Number One.” J gets on his elbow to gaze at the high heels they struggle to walk in: the little ones borrowed some of your sandals.

“Awww, so cool to have adorable Pumpkins tending to me,” he struggles to appear cheerful in front of the girls.

“Are you sick daddy?” Mia inquires because you always tell the kids to keep it down when they play since their father is not well.  

“Nope, I’m good,” he gestures for them to get up in bed and you aid the four year old nurses reach their patient.

“Your caregivers will give you a massage,” the explanation follows and J turns face down, the little hands starting to rub his back soon after.  You crawl by his side, watching them giggle and being happy about playing with their dad. You’re overwhelmed with the view, that’s why you lean over to kiss his shoulder. Your daughters are fast to imitate you, then they return to their task.

Emma stops for a few moments and brings her face close to J’s, whispering:

“Who’s your favorite daddy?”

He laughs and points towards her:

“You are.”

Evie and Mia are on the verge of crying, that’s why he adds:

“And you, and you. I can’t choose: all three look the same.”

Oh, the nurses are thrilled to hear they are daddy’s favorites; there is some pushing around – fighting starts about who should get more to massage.

“Hey, hey!” you separate the feisty girls. “Enough, play nice!” you admonish, aware J hates it when they get noisy.

“You don’t play nice, Doll,” The Joker touches the fresh hickeys and bites he got last night. “Why should they, huh?… At least you don’t seem any better.”

Correct, you don’t. Ahhh, he’s so satisfied with that accomplishment.

You ignore the remark and roll out of bed.

“I’m going upstairs to update your meds, alright? I’ll leave you in the capable hands of your caregivers.”

“That sounds good,” he stretches, enjoying being pampered.

****************

After about 45 minutes, you are almost done selecting the old pills, injectables and lidocaine patches and replacing them with new remedies. As soon as there is something better available on the black market, The Joker is the first one to try it. He also has the best doctors at his disposal, yet nothing seems to improve the illness. From time to time you take a peek at his recent blood test results: nothing is within normal range. It makes you feel so hopeless and helpless.

“Moommmy,” Evie whines as the girls enter the room and you can tell they are pouting, upset about something.

“Yes, honey?” you stash the papers away in the folder.

“Daddy doesn’t want to wake up,” Mia puckers her lips.

“Shit!” you jump from your sit in a frenzy, grabbing a prefilled syringe from the pile of meds on the table. “Go play, I’ll wake up daddy, alright?” you hurry them out of the room.

You don’t even know when you ended up downstairs in the master bedroom, attempting to awaken The Joker.

“Baby, wake up!” you soflly slap his cheek and there is no reaction. “J, open your eyes!” He doesn’t move. You are quick to administer the shot in his vein; not too much left to do but wait now.

This happened before; the doctors described it as losing consciousness in your sleep: if action is not taken immediately, it may result into a coma. The prefilled syringes are a concoction of adrenaline and a bunch of other things you can’t even pronounce.

You lay by him and place your head on his chest, listening to the heartbeat. You are so in love with this sound and you don’t know what you’re going to do when it ends. Just the idea makes you panic.

After about 3 minutes, J is snapping out of his daze. You keep on stroking his face, grateful the medication didn’t fail.

“How are you feeling?” you rest your forehead on his, distressed.

“Meh, not very groovy,” the Prince of Crime confesses, a bit more alert.

“It will get better, just a few more minutes,” you cuddle by him and he groans in pain.“Tell you what: I’ll send the girls to the playground with some of our men and we can spend some time in the jacuzzi. What do you think?”

“I’m not in the mood, Kitten…” J growls, uncomfortable and bitter.

You intend to skip his behavior and proceed with your mission regardless.

**************

You gently push him in the bathroom, impatient to relax.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?!” your boyfriend grumbles, bothered by the plan.

“Yes, the hot tub awaits,” you guide him towards the Jacuzzi and he lets go of your hand.

“I can’t do this nonsense; I’m going back to bed. What’s the point anyway?” The Joker snarls, aggravated.

You go around him and position yourself in front of the exit, blocking the way out.

“The point is, J…” and you pause for a second, glaring at the ceiling,”…that I didn’t really sleep in weeks. I’m absolutely exhausted; can you understand that?” and you sense an imminent meltdown approaching. “Do you know what I do at night?”

He lifts his shoulders up, indifferent to your rant.

“I turn on the lamp on my side and I count all the spots on your skin that I can see. I lose counting and I restart, afraid there are more than the previous days. I count again…and again…,” you flair your arms around, sniffling. ”And every 2 hours or so I check to see if you’re responsive. You get mad and urge me to stop wiggling, but that’s not what I’m doing: I am actually making sure you don’t slip into a coma… I’m so tired,” you whimper. “Can you please get in the hot tub? Preferably without fighting me about it?”

The King of Gotham hates it when you say disarming stuff like this; it makes him feel so strange and he doesn’t like it.

“You’re so irritating…” he shakes his head, undressing. Afterwards, J comes over and takes your summer gown off, then your undies. You don’t make a sound. “Go in, I’ll bring drinks,” he offers and you comply.

J comes back with a can of grape juice for himself and a glass of whiskey for you.

“Here, it appears you need a strong refreshment,” he hands you over the beverage, sitting by you amidst the bubbles and steam. You still don’t reply and sip on the alcohol, discouraged. He restarts his lecture:

“You don’t have to stay up all night guarding me. If it happens, it happens…”

You bite on your lip, drinking more.

“I told you before you have to be prepared,” J sort of mutters. You finish the rest of the whiskey, placing the empty glass by the burning candles on the rail.

“Be prepared?! How the hell can I be prepared for that, hm? Am I just supposed to wait around for my partner to die?!” you hiss at him, not understanding why in the world you’re so dizzy. He wants to answer with a hash comment but you go on:

“I don’t want you to die, OK? “ and your voice breaks. “I watch you getting thinner and your condition worsening…It’s harder and harder to keep everything together… I’ll never be prepared to lose you so stop acting like you know it all!”

“I don’t like your tone, Princess!”

“I don’t care,” you choke on your words, groggy from the strong alcohol. “God, I’m so worn out,” and your eyelids are getting heavier.

“Wanna take a nap?” his voice suddenly softens.

“Nooo, I can’t afford to. The girls will be back soon and…”

“The kids are fine. I’ll watch them,” J offers and you have a hard time concentrating.

“We’ll stay in here for another 20 minutes, then you’re free. Sorry it was such a hustle,” you yawn, rubbing your eyes, miserable and heartbroken.

The Joker is silent until you feel you’re going to pass out in the jacuzzi.

“Jesus, I need to lie down,” you huff and he helps you out, wrapping your body in a fluffy robe. He gets inside one also while you stumble, having a hard time maintaining your balance. “Wow, I think I had too much to drink,” you talk to yourself and he catches up with you, lifting you in his arms before you can protest. “Put me down, your back will hurt!” you beg and want to escape but his grip is strong.

“So?” J kisses your forehead and the weakened state you’re in adds to the sorrow.

“Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me,” and you start crying on his chest, feverish and out of it, not being able to think straight. Your cheeks are so red and you look so lost that The Joker finds it impossible to leave your side once he places you in bed. He holds you tight, watching you fall asleep, still agitated and worried with all the problems clawing at your restless mind.

You have no idea that he crushed two of his sleeping pills and put them in your whiskey after you told him you’re exhausted. Now J is the one awake, protecting you and your troubled dreams. It’s the most a man like him can do: when you struggle with your own demons, letting someone in might feel like vulnerability. But damn, he doesn’t even care and despite the fact that he hates everyone, there’s still that secret list with a few people he actually likes: the obnoxious Godzilla and three little Pumpkins with no names.

**************

“Tonight I’m going to meet with Jax and get your new medication. Do you want to come?” you raise your voice to cover the girls’ screams: they are chasing each other in the living room.

“Yes, I’m coming. Dolls, calm down!” he warns, being a foul mood: the blood tests came back bad again. And you’ve been fighting a lot lately: his attitude worsened and his patience diminished even more as you scramble to hold it together. The fact you don’t feel too well yourself doesn’t help the situation.

You cram a lot of hundred dollar bills in a suitcase as payment for the drugs while the commotion intensifies.

“I want to…Girls!” The Joker yells and your daughters laugh louder and scream up a storm, staggering around the furniture.

“Huh?” you try to pay attention since you didn’t comprehend what he said.

“Quiet!!” he shouts without success.

“That’s enough,” you tell them also since you notice The Joker is annoyed.

They don’t listen and he snaps:

“Can you SHUT. IT .DOWN ?! Are you all deaf, can’t you hear me ?! ” he lashes out and the triples stop, frightened at how menacing he suddenly is. “ You can’t even die in peace in this house!!! Always so much noise!! Don’t I deserve to die in peace, alone and without being bothered???!!!”

You’re stunned at the harsh words and the girls gather around you, clinging to your dress and shoving themselves into you, scared.

J is taking deep breaths, passing his fingers through his green hair, pissed at the disobedience. You really don’t need this on top of everything else. You take the car keys from the coffee table near you, struggling to make the girls get in the elevator since they are rather terrified at their father’s outburst.

“We’re going to the beach girls,” you sadly smile at them, holding the small bodies close to yours. Usually there would be a bunch of jumping around and excitement at the news, but not today.

Before the elevator’s doors close, The Joker hears one more sentence from a very upset girlfriend:

“You do deserve to die alone.”

*************

It’s so difficult for J to drive on his own to the beach house. He has to pull over a few times since the splitting headache and vertigo prevent him from focusing. After taking some tablets to help out with the discomfort, he’s able to get to his destination. The first thing he does is rush inside the bathroom by the entrance, wanting to wash his face with cold water: he feels so warm.

As he wipes his face by the sink, his eyes wonder on the top shelf of the cabinet and his hands drop the towel: four different pregnancy tests, all positive. You probably wanted to make sure.

“Shit…”, he mutters, grinding his teeth. He keeps on staring at them, fidgeting with his jacket.  

“Hey, sweethearts!” The Joker hears you sliding the glass door that faces the beach.“Are you hungry?”

The little voices answer, but he can’t distinguish what. Too windy out there.

“Ok then, I’m coming back out, let me know when you want to eat,” and you exit the house again in order to return to your cozy lounging chair on the terrace, watching the girls building a sand castle a few feet away.

You see his shadow approaching and you curl up, bringing your knees to your chin, ignoring his presence.

“Very quiet at the penthouse, I got bored after 10 minutes,” he sighs and you gaze at the girls that are so caught up in their project that they didn’t detect their father yet.“How many men should we take with us tonight?” J chitchats, yet his effort is neglected. “Do you still want to go and get my medication or should I go alone?”

Since you disregard his questions, he has to resort to the last ace in his sleeve.

“I don’t want to die alone, Princess; I rather have someone irritate me until the last moment. You and the three brats seem to be experts in that. Or is it…four brats?…” he hints towards the little finding in the bathroom.

Silence…

Evie is the first one to notice her father.

“Daddy’s here,” she makes the other siblings aware of The Joker’s whereabouts. They stop their play date and cautiously approach when he signals them to come closer.

Emma squeezes Mia’s hand, halting a few times before being dragged in front of her dad. The triplets look at you, not knowing what to do.

“Why are you crying, mommy?” Evie frowns and J distracts them:

“Who wants to sit in my lap, hm?”

“Me…” the shy answer comes from Emma.

“Me too…” Mia follows, pulling on her ponytail; she does that when she’s nervous.

“Daddy’s mine,” Emma whispers, insecure for once.

“No, he’s not!” she gets pushed out of the way by Evie. “He’s mine!”

“No-ooo!!!” Mia bickers. “Daddy’s only mine!”

“Com’ere!” J puts an end to the fight, lifting all them up on his knees. So hard to fit all three but he succeeds.

You watch them without saying a word, wiping your tears from time to time. He sure has a unique way of apologizing, but you are certain that’s what he means by showing up here when it’s clear he doesn’t feel good.

*************

“You came alone?” Jax lifts his head up from the suitcase you brought him, reckoning the money’s all there. “Is that the medication?” you reply with another question, eyeballing the box on the desk.

“Yes, it is. A year’s supply: an injection every six months. Gossip is it works pretty well; VanCriss Laboratories  does a lot of researches in the domain. Hopefully it will work for Mister Joker. How is he?”

“He’s ok,” you cut him short, reaching your hand to take the box .The smuggler has a proposition:

“I can get more of this stuff… for the right payment,” he grins, admiring how pretty you are in the red dress. It’s J’s favorite and you are wearing it because he’s taking you on a date afterwards.

“Money is not an issue. Name your price.”

“Oh, honey, I wasn’t thinking about money,” he winks and you snicker. “Not to be disrespectful, but with Mister Joker being ill, I’m sure he can’t take care of your needs anymore. Such a beautiful woman with nobody to satisfy her.”

You start laughing and hop on the desk, sliding towards him.

“Are you forgetting who I am?” you playfully kick his knee with the tip of your black stilettos. “Not at all. I’m just offering my services,” Jax smirks, caressing your ankles.

“So nice of you, darling, I’m flattered,” the prompt reply makes him full of hope. “But there is only one issue…” and your glossy lips come very close to his. “A Queen only shares the bed with her King,” and you kiss his cheek, amused.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” The Joker knocks with his gun at the cracked door.

Jax frizzes.

“M-Mister J, I didn’t know you came…” the smuggler stutters, suddenly startled.

Your boyfriend creeps inside, his blue eyes darkened by the dim light:

“Say, Jax, does Y/N look like a prostitute to you?”

“W-what?…”

“You just asked her to fuck you. Does she look like a prostitute to you?” J repeats, his fingers tightening on the pistol.

“No, no sir, not at all. I swear I didn’t…”

“Hey, boys!” J shouts, halting Jax’s clumsy atonement. “Does my woman look like a hooker?”

So many voices answering back from outside the room:

“No, sir!”

“No Mister J!”

“No, boss!”

You brought about 25 henchmen with you; they’ve been quietly waiting out there since you got in.

“It’s unanimous: she doesn’t look like a whore,” J cracks his neck, the feeble lighting making him so eerie since he’s skinnier and even more pale than usual.

Jax is freaking out and holds his breath.

“Apparently I’ve been laying low for too long: Gotham seems to have forgotten it belongs to me. My subjects,” he emphasizes, “have the nerve to shamelessly insult me and my girl. I don’t take kindly to such affront!” The Joker signals and you jump off the desk, going by his side.

“Mister Joker, you can take the meds and the money back too,” the idiot tries to fix his huge mistake.

“Oh, trust me: I am, “ J barks, “ even if I don’t need the stupid drugs.” Jax seems confused.

“Didn’t you hear the rumor?” The Prince of Crime yanks at your waist, purring. “I’m going to live forever. Now, if you would excuse me, I have a date,” he places back the gun in his holster and the smuggler exhales, relieved.

You two pass by your men and head out not before J orders:

“You know what to do. Don’t clean the mess, we’re sending out a message!”

*****************

He speeds up towards the club on Savros Street that will be closed all night. It’s opened just for you and The Joker.

“Pumpkin, what do you want to drink?” he takes your left hand and kisses your silver painted nails while you enjoy the breeze coming from the rolled down windows. “I guess I’m stuck with juice, I can’t have any alcohol,” you close your eyes, keeping your other hand on your tummy.

“Yeah, me neither, so we’ll have to manage,” J kisses the tip of your fingers one more time before letting go. “Take a nap; I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“U-hum,” you get comfortable on your side, excited you are out and about with him.

J continues to drive, only one thing in his mind for the moment: that list of his… with nameless people he likes will have to expand soon. Such a small list, very few people…

But there is always space for one more.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[thesundayenchantress]

10 ways to practice self care: winter blues edition

As I’m writing this blog post, it’s the middle of January, and it’s been raining and grey almost every day for the past month. And when the sun does come out, temperatures become unbearably cold. It’s honestly a lose-lose situation and  I can feel myself longing for a sandy beach in the sun far far away. 

On top of that, I’ve been feeling much more aware of the weather, and the affects it has on me this year. Last August was one of the best months of my life, and know it was at least partly because the sun was shining almost every day. So many of my positive memories are linked with warm weather, but I still need that vibrant, upbeat mentality in the wintertime. It helps with staying in the zone, pursuing your ambitions, and even just to get out of bed in the morning. 

Here are 10 things I’ve been doing to stay positive and feel vibrant throughout the winter season:

1. Listen to uplifting music. 

Great tunes always make a gloomy day better, especially if they are upbeat and happy! Putting on positive playlist first thing in the morning is like starting your day off on the right side of the bed. Sometimes it’s hard to leave the confines of warm blankets in the morning, but music can be just the energy boost you need. I highly recommend getting Spotify. They have just about every genre of music, and some killer playlists. I’ve been listening to the playlist Sunset Vibes recently and it’s the perfect combo of positivity, with tropical upbeat vibes to put me in a hopeful mood, no matter how I feel. 

Here’s the link to Sunset Vibes: 

https://play.spotify.com/user/sonymusic/playlist/6bfxfMIcYKN4ce6XQOxoqY

2. Actually go outside. 

This may seem like the opposite of what you want to do. Going outside, where it’s freezing and rainy doesn’t seem like its going to make you feel better. I get it. But I promise you, it’s amazing what a little fresh air can do. Go for a short walk to the mailbox and take some deep breaths, and appreciate the weather for what is it. At a time where we rarely get outside for more than a minute, it’s so important for mental clarity and feeling physically rejuvenated! I recommend getting outside for at least five minutes a day. Get a friend to go with you if you need the motivation! 

3. Create your happy place.

It’s so rewarding having a cozy, warm space in your home that makes you feel relaxed and at ease. Whether it’s your bedroom or a different room, I suggest starting with a completely clean space. Add cozy decor like soy candles, soft blankets and pillows (or even a heated blanket!), a couple good books, a diffuser, or a go-to tea. Make sure the lighting in the room is soft and warm, and add little lights like lamps and firefly lights. Creating your happy place helps you feel warm, comfortable and safe. It’s the perfect place to start your morning, or end a long day. 

4. Exercise, exercise, exercise.

I admit, it’s hard to feel motivated to get your body moving in the colder months. But it warms you up from the inside out, thats for sure! I like to do pilates and yoga. Even light yoga and stretching is a good place to start. You can do pilates youtube videos in your home, or join classes. Hot yoga is an excellent way to get your sweat on, plus it feels like you’re on a tropical island! There are so many other ways to exercise, so choose what gets you excited and ready to move!

5. Take hot baths.

Warm baths are a lifesaver during wintertime. Up your bath-taking game by making it an experience. I like to light candles, put on relaxing music and pop in my favourite Lush bubble bar. Baths are a great way to pamper yourself and give your body love. They can be incredibly comforting after a tough workout, or a chilly evening. 

6. Get creative!

For me, nothing feels better than getting in touch with my creative side. I love to sing, so playing the ukulele and singing gives me a boost of passion and energy. Doing something that brings you pure joy and makes you feel accomplished is one of the best ways to beat the winter blues. Choose anything that makes you feel inspired like painting, playing music, writing, dancing or even colouring!   

7. Treat your body to nutrition. 

The colder months are also the time of year sicknesses spread around, which contributes to lack of energy and feelings of sluggishness. To prevent illness, I recommend eating as many fruits and veggies as possible, cutting out processed foods and sugars. Some natural illness fighting foods are fresh ginger, fresh turmeric, apple cider vinegar and lemon juice. Add any or all of these to hot water to stay healthy during the sick season. Another great remedy is a healing broth with garlic, ginger, coconut oil, onions, turmeric, coconut milk, lemon juice and cayenne pepper. 

8. Get as much sunlight as possible. 

As it is such a rare appearance in the winter, treat it as a special occasion when the sun comes outs! Go for a walk, or sit in your window as the sun shines in and truly appreciate the warmth the sun brings. 

9. Meditation.

Meditation is a great way to breathe through negative energy and understand yourself better. It can help to ease your mind and heart. When your feeling down, take 10 minutes and turn on a mediation video. I really like mindful meditations on Youtube, because of the calming nature of the videos. 

Link to the meditation videos:  

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCFlcx_5HUbSh6hsl3ZMKZkw

10. Surround yourself with people you love. 

One of the most powerful ways to stay vibrant in the winter is to surround yourself with vibrance. Talking to the right person can make a gloomy day bright again. Make time for these lovely friends and family and you can brave the cold with them. We are winter warriors and we will conquer the storms and snow together. 

Til next Sunday, 

xoxo

thesundayenchantress

[1buycannabisoil-blog]

CBD OIL CANCER TREATMENT

New Post has been published on http://buycannabisoilonline.us/cbd-oil-cancer-treatment/

CBD OIL CANCER TREATMENT

CBD OIL CANCER TREATMENT

Optimism Growing Around CBD

CBD OIL is just one of over 100 cannabinoidschemical or chemical compounds, found in the cannabis plant. CBD oil  is easily the 2nd most popular and widely discussed cannabinoid after THC, the cannabinoid famous for its carcinogenic properties accountable for sense high. CBD’s popularity has exploded in the last few years since the medicinal properties of the non-psychoactive chemical have come to light through testimonials and research. Medical marijuana is now legal in 29 states and Washington D.C. with more nations legalizing access to cannabis each year. Celebrities, athletes, and seriously sick children are speaking up and requiring access to cannabis medication, catching the interest of the media and the people more intently.

It is not tough to find somebody that has been affected by cancer. According to the National Cancer Institute at 2016, an estimated 1,685,210 new cases of cancer will be diagnosed in the USA and 595,690 individuals will die from the illness. Additionally, the amount of individuals residing beyond a cancer diagnosis reached almost 14.5 million in 2014 and is anticipated to grow to nearly 19 million by 2024. Recently approved cancer drugs cost an average of $10,000 a month, with a few remedies topping $30,000 a month. This does not include the expense of chemotherapy, supplier fees, or lost earnings. These staggering statistics offer a gloomy prognosis for cancer sufferers. Imagine if there was a much better approach to assist individuals? Can CBD supply some advantages? Let us look deeper.

The contemporary legalization movement began gaining momentum in the 70s and 80s when cancer sufferers started reporting relief from chemotherapy and AIDS patients started reporting relief from wasting syndrome after consuming cannabis.

Fast forward to now and there have been a number of anecdotal reports of CBD treating the unwanted effects of cancer from patients of all ages.

MMA fighter Joe Schilling explains (paraphrased) the way cannabis oil murdered cancer in his dad,”I managed to see my father in the hospital. My daddy’s prediction was that he was likely to die shortly from the cancer. He consented to Cannabis Oil treatment, together with CBD but not THC. There was cancer in his lung, cancer within his mind, cancer in his torso, a huge tumor was on his throat. We gave CBD oil for something like 7 weeks. He chose against chemo, he didn’t wish to do it” Schilling notes his daddy’s bad diet choices and refusal to carry vitamins and conditions,”the physicians did their evaluations and charts, you understand what they perform, and surprisingly, 90 percent of the cancer was gone. I don’t have any doubt what so ever that it had been the CBD oil which killed the cancer since he had been doing completely nothing else properly. The 10 percent of the cancer which was still living was surrounded by dead cells also was likely to expire too.”

44-year-old mum of 2, Dee Mani, has been diagnosed using triple negative breast cancer, the worst kind. Dee’s sister had died undergoing chemotherapy, the treatment her physician’s recommended, therefore Dee searched another decision — cannabis oil. Dee says she’d a single drop of oil each evening before bed and five weeks after her launching cannabis oil, Dee was rid of her first diagnosis. Dee asserts the petroleum helped her with different ailments like insomnia and back pain and strategies to choose oil for the remainder of her life.

So what’s the science behind those stories? There have been restricted scientific research done on people in the USA because of this program one classification of cannabis. However, an emerging system of research have proven the possibility of cannabis and CBD’s antitumor effects and study from countries evidenced by authorities limitations, such as Israel, is creating waves in the medical marijuana community.

Cristina Sanchez, a molecular biologist in Complutense University in Madrid, Spain, clarifies to CannaInsider,”cells, but not just cancer cells, but each cell in our body is able to die in various ways. An individual may be like an crash, a car crash, a traumatic death that’s called necrosis. And there’s one other means to die that is a fresh departure and by clean I mean no inflammation of the surrounding cells. And also this cancer cell death is known as Apoptosis. When somebody’s coping with harmful compounds, one needs this specific sort of death to occur because another one is connected to inflammatory processes and things like this you do not need in a patient”

CBD and cannabis are analyzed in other particular cancers. A 2013 study published in the journal Chemotherapy analyzed the effects of synthetic THC against gastric cancer grafts in rodents. Rodents treated together with the THC found a 30 percent decrease in tumor development within 14 days of therapy compared to control. A 2012 Journal of Molecular Medicine research found tumors in mice using laboratory-induced colon cancer recurrence with CBD therapy. A 2013 study published in Molecular Cancer Research discovered that CBD activates cell death in certain lung cancer cell lines, diminishing tumor viability.

Remedies for Cancer

Sanchez explains further,”chemotherapy strikes each and every cell in our body that’s experiencing regeneration. Every cell that’s dividing will be assaulted by chemotherapy. And that cells are dividing within our body? First cancer cells needless to say, those are the ones that you wish to kill, but also the cells of your immune system, the tissues of your gut and a great deal of cells. So that is why chemotherapy is indeed toxic since it is not just attacking cancer cells but other tissues which are proliferating within our own bodies. And the distinction with cannabinoids is these compounds only assaulted cells. We do not know why however in molecular terms. We do not understand what constitutes a cancer cell distinct concerning the sensitivity to cannabinoids, but we understand this is a fact. Cannabinoids kills cancer cells and they don’t influence the viability of non-cancer cells”

Cannabinoids are plentiful from the cannabis plant but can also be commercially available in synthetic drugs approved by the FDA. Dronabinol, a synthetic version of THC, is used in the treatment of nausea and vomiting brought on by chemotherapy and can be prescribed when other medications have failed to get the job done. Nabilone is a synthetic variant of CBD also utilized as a treatment for nausea and vomiting brought on by chemotherapy.

Among the more visible instances of utilizing CBD to deal with cancer has been performed by Tommy Chong. Famous for his comedy albums, Cheech and Chong, Tommy is a outspoken cannabis activist and consumer. In 2012, Chong was diagnosed with prostate cancer and utilized CBD oil and a natural diet to deal with his illness, opting from aggressive and expensive medical processes. Chong was quoted stating he had been,”cancer-free because of some disciplined diet… along with using hemp (hash) oil”

There’s a whole lot to be optimistic for since legalization marches ahead and as cannabis becomes widely accepted because of its medicinal purposes. Regrettably, together with cannabis and CBD still recorded as program one substances, study is limited and several caregivers nevertheless stay in dread to go over or endorse medical cannabis for some thing such as cancer. As of March 2015, over 15,000 patients at the state of Colorado reported acute nausea or cancer because of their reporting requirement due to their healthcare card. Organizations such as Project CBD, Realm of Caring, and CannaKids provide funds and join families that seek cannabinoid treatment due to their illnesses. In accordance with some 2016 quote by procon.org, there are more than 2.5 million medical marijuana users from the USA. This number grows annually as more countries legalize access to medical cannabis and it is becoming more challenging for the mainstream medical community to dismiss this growing number of individuals.

In the end, at a 2016 evaluation conducted by oncologist Dr. Donald Abrams analyzing cannabis’ function in cancer care, the authors say,”preclinical data indicate that cannabinoids may have direct antitumor action, possibly most remarkable in central nervous system malignancies. Clinical information regarding the effects of cannabis centers on cancer are as yet unavailable. Oncologists could detect cannabis and cannabinoids to become effective tools in their care of individuals living with and beyond cancer”. The analysis also notes that 82% of oncologists think their cancer sufferers ought to have legal access to cannabis, based on your 2014 WebMD poll.