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[preciouslandmermaid]

and i'll break all my rules for you (joel x gn!reader)

note: Reader is only 4 years younger than Joel. GN!Reader & they/them pronouns used where needed, but otherwise no other terms are used. Takes place prior to the video game & tv-show (pre-canon). 

(Not beta read, no use of Y/N). 💛 Feedback/reblogs always appreciated 💛

summary: You are paired with Joel for a smuggling run to the Massachusetts General Hospital outside of Boston. Despite Joel’s initial stoicism and penchant for antisocial behavior–you find yourself breaking all your own rules for him. 

warnings: canon-typical violence, mature language, mild hurt/comfort, mentions of drug use/addiction, a sprinkle of quiet yearning 

🍄🍄   READ ON AO3    🍄🍄

“They’re a doctor, Joel.” Tess says, “a real one.”

“Non-military?” He asks dubiously. 

You settle your hands on your hips, “I’m not a narc if that’s what you’re asking.”

Joel scoffs, “thought most of you were snatched up by FEDRA. How’d you get out?” His tone is sharp-edged and suspicious. Maybe even accusatory if you listen close. 

You bristle. This smuggler has no right prying into your past. Rule #1 of staying alive: you don’t let people get close (and most people in the QZ know how to follow that one). 

“I got lucky.”

“Joel.” Tess folds her arms across her chest, “we need them.” She gives him a weighted look. There are a thousand words in that single look. It speaks to their trust, their history, and you instinctively look away. You let Joel and Tess silently discuss your ability to run this job. 

Eventually, he bends against the category-five force of nature that is Theresa "Tess" Servopoulos and says a gruff; “Alright.”

Joel isn’t a talker. And that suits you just fine. You don’t need words to complete this job unless those words are “Look out, someone’s gonna shoot you in the face.” Although, you rather like to think you’d be quick on the trigger if someone did try and shoot your face. (Getting shot would break Rule #2 on your guide to survival). 

You make your way through the tunnels with your heart in your throat. Your sweat pools in the middle of your back. Your shirt sticks to your spine and beneath the straps of your backpack. It’s been minutes, you think, but it feels like hours. 

You’ve never been outside of the QZ.

You open your mouth to ask Joel what to expect and then snap your jaw shut. He’s not a talker and you’ll see for yourself soon enough. You remember the world before it ended. You remember movie theaters, bad karaoke, and smoke-filled restaurants. You remember brightly lit grocery stores, loud playgrounds, and quiet libraries. You thought it would never end. You thought there would always be cars, concrete, and pop music.

So much for that. You bite the inside of your check. Now we’ve got FEDRA and ration cards and a fungal infection that desires full-scale invasion. 

Joel says, “watch your head.” 

He holds a rotted plank up and you crouch beneath it. When you pass him, your nostrils twitch with the scent of his body odor, but it doesn’t smell gross. Which is surprising considering showers are a rarity and you’ve stood in line for jobs with your nose and mouth plugged to block the stench. 

The thought is quickly forgotten when you step outside for the first time in twenty years. 

You exhale, “Holy shit.” 

The world is a jungle. A cacophony of concrete and lush, vibrant wilderness. There is decay, there is destruction, you can see the iron gridwork of collapsed buildings like they’re its ribcage. But there is also beauty. The sky has never felt more open. It’s bluer, you think, than you’ve ever remembered. A shade of blue reserved for summer afternoons when you were small. The overgrowth of plant life sprawls like tiny capillaries over walls and chain link fences and through gaps in the rubble. The sunlight cuts through open rooftops and reflects rainbows off the broken windows. 

You glance sidelong at Joel. He rubs his mouth with his hand. And although he’s looking at the horizon, you doubt the view has any effect on him. You suspect he’s mentally planning your next steps.

As if to prove you right, Joel points to a narrow alleyway, “we’ll take this route.”

You shift the weight of your backpack and nod.

~~~~~~~~~~

You shimmy through narrow alleyways and climb across wooden planks. It takes several minutes before it finally hits you. You’re surrounded by silence. The QZ always contains some level of background noise whether it’s FEDRA and their trucks, or people talking, or crackling fires. You hear every step you and Joel take, every rustle of the breeze through the buildings, every shift of your clothing, every beat of your heart. You stare at the back of his head. His hair is thick and streaked thinly with silver strands. 

“Is it always like this?” You ask.

“Is it like what?”

“Like this.” You fall into step beside him and wave your arm, “this quiet.”

He glances at you. The furrowed line between his eyebrows deepens. “Could be quieter.” It’s a pointed yet passive aggressive statement. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s quiet enough, you figure, to ask the question that’s been gnawing at your stomach since yesterday morning. 

You ask, “what is your problem with me?”

Joel shifts his shoulders in an almost-stretch. “I don’t have a problem with you, doc. I just…” He glances sidelong at you, then away, his scowl etches into the lined grooves of his face. “It’s odd, alright? It’s odd that a doctor doesn’t work for FEDRA.”

He sniffs. “I don’t trust it.”

I don’t trust you. That’s what he means to say, and you’re not even surprised by it. You don’t trust him either. You trust him to complete this job. You trust him to survive (with or without you). You don’t bother trying to give him explanations as to how you’ve avoided FEDRA’s grasp. Truly, it was pure, dumb luck. You fell through the cracks. An authoritative regime liked to shoot first and ask questions later and their bureaucracy was shit. FEDRA wasn’t asking folks for their resume, and it was easy enough to lie once you were in the QZ. You’d rather be a coward and survive, then a hero and get yourself killed. 

That’s why you had rule #3: Always run if shit goes sideways. 

You shrug, “There are other medical professionals hiding out in the QZ. Not everyone jumped at the chance to be a FEDRA dog.”

Joel doesn’t reply. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel explains quietly that you’ve got to cut through the library to reach the hospital. You’re not thrilled about the enclosed space, but what can you do?

The air is rich with gray dust motes and dead fungal cells. You and Joel step quietly (so silently a librarian would be proud!) through the dilapidated shelves and collapsed aisles. The magazines on the front desk are rotted into pulp. It smells of decay and damp mold and soggy newspapers. Many of the tables and chairs are snapped in half, chewed by termites, or broken by passing survivors for kindling or weapons.

The large hole in the ceiling has allowed every element of weather to permeate the library into a tomb of dead literature. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the ink running rivers through the aisles, around fallen rubble, and spilling down the stone steps. The children’s section of the library is muted in color. All the bright stuffed animals are chewed, stuffing crawls out of their eye sockets, and vibrant plastic toys are covered in grime.

You touch a shelf in passing, letting your fingertips graze the water-logged spine, and imagine the pages crumbling within. Your heart squeezes like a vice.

Mechanical textbooks, poetry, and biographies, and books on tape and DVDs–gone. As if they never existed. And now children are taught in FEDRA schools, taught to shoot, and taught the FEDRA-version of history. 

Something snags in your chest, and you instinctively turn your face away from Joel’s so he can’t see. Your eyes prick with tears. You’ve seen bodies piled to burn, you’ve seen civilians shot down in the street, you’ve seen horrors upon horrors and lost everyone you’ve ever loved. You shouldn’t be crying over dead, lost books.

But it feels like a piece of humanity that is irrevocably lost.

The future opens like a black void, like a pit, like the mouth of hell beneath your feet. What’s the point in completing this job? You ought to just take the meager supplies you have and keep walking into the abyss. Maybe you’ll find something better or maybe you’ll be eaten–consumed–by the infected. Maybe that would be better than this. This pretense of a life worth living. It wasn’t even life. It was purely survival. Your breath stutters and you clear your throat despite the sharp, cold glass lodged inside of it. 

“Hey,” Joel’s tone mirrors that of a cowboy trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Where’d you go?” He steps in front of you, snapping his fingers and it breaks your zoned-out focus on the books. You shake your head.

“‘M fine.” Your words string together like a children’s beaded bracelet. 

“Keep your head on straight, doc.” He admonishes. “We’re almost there.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell breaks loose in the sound of a scream. 

It doesn’t make sense that raiders should be here so close to the QZ. But, they are. Joel grabs your arm and jerks you sideways into one of the cavernous divots formed by two bookshelves that fell into one another. You crouch-walk through the make-shift tunnel with cold, stagnant water dripping onto your head and shoulders from the shelves. 

The raiders run through the library while hollering profanities at one another. Their faces are covered by gas masks or simple cloth face-masks and ski goggles. You count the footsteps and watch the elongated shadows cross over the mossy walls. It’s a small group. Hopefully they just run through and keep going. 

Joel’s breath is warm on your cheek, “there’s three,” he whispers. 

You nod minutely to signal that you’ve heard him, but you don’t trust your voice to speak. He cranes his neck to peer around the shelf and you watch the tendons shift on his dusky throat. He glances over his shoulder toward you and lifts his index finger to his lips. His dark eyes are pensive, hard, and focused. Like two chips of dark amber, like pieces of obsidian. 

You wait, listening, your body crouched and muscles stiffening. The raiders have moved to the south section of the library. You can hear them rifling through things–furniture is moved, either smashed or kicked over, and book pages flap wetly as they are tossed aside.

Joel leans close in again. So close you feel his body heat radiating from him. You smell his sweat again. Your heart threatens to break free from your ribs. 

He whispers into your ear, “this place is already picked clean which means they’re probably looking for an old stash. If we take the second floor we can sneak past ‘em.”

You carefully follow Joel’s steps. He’s drawn his revolver, but you keep your own piece holstered at your hip. Your palms are slick, and you don’t trust yourself to hold a gun properly. If these raiders see you–you’re going to run. No question about it.

Joel grimaces, his face taught in concentration, as his shoulder slowly pushes open a rusted, stairwell doorway. Every sound he makes feels like a gunshot, like a noose tightening around your throat. You glance around, paranoid and cautious, before Joel makes a quiet sound in his throat. 

You meet his eyes. He flicks them into the created narrow space of the doorway. He wants you to go first. You angle your body to the side, your chest brushes against Joel’s as you pass, and side-step through the door. The touch doesn’t even register until after you’re in the clear and even then–your mind cannot process anything beyond the potential for death, the threat of the raiders. 

Your sticky palm holds the door handle and Joel follows you into the stairwell. You muffle your relieved sigh behind your fist. You climb the stairwell like mice trying to avoid an angry housecat. The stairwell is metal and rusted, but it holds your weight and doesn’t creak too much. Joel takes the lead. 

His eyes are constantly checking you. They are brief, passing glances. You’re not sure who is more paranoid at this point–you or him. Although, it’s probably you.

You keep checking over your shoulder as if the raiders will appear like ghosts behind you. What will you do if they find you? Where can you run to in this cramped, tinnitus-dangerous stairwell? 

Your foot slips as the rusted step gives way. Just your luck, right? You swallow your gasp of alarm, your shout of terror, and your arms windmill to regain your balance.

Joel’s hand shoots out and catches you effortlessly by the wrist. He pulls you forward with surprising, wiry strength and onto the step he’s standing upon. Your cheeks burn. He releases your wrist, nods, and you keep moving.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun has almost fully set by the time you manage to escape the library. The sounds of the raiders on the floor below echoes in your eardrums. Joel led you through the destroyed second floor (which was arguably worse for wear than the first floor). He guided you over wooden planks, and through bookshelves, until you finally climbed out through a broken window and onto the roof.

The warm air tastes so, so sweet.

You plant your hands on your knees, breathing heavily, your sweat drips down your face and over your spine in sticky, moist rivers.

Joel taps your shoulder and signals with a tilt of his head that you need to keep going. At this rate, you’ll reach the hospital by nightfall. Not an ideal situation, but what choice do you have? You have a job to do. You can’t turn away and run back to the QZ with your tail between your legs. The job runs bigger than just you and Joel, and you steal a moment to wonder if Tess told him the details. You push the thought from your mind. There is no use in speculating about Joel and Tess’s relationship. Once the job was done you’d never work together again unless fate played its tricky hand. 

Your flashlights cut sharp, white lines through the deserted and overgrown streets. The hospital is derelict and dark. It poses like a forgotten specter over the street. Alongside the destroyed cars and police vehicle, there is an overturned and torched ambulance near the ER entrance. If you were to shine your flashlight into those cars, or the doorway, you have no doubt in your mind that you would find corpses. A chill shivers across your damp skin. You hope there are no infected inside, but it’s a risk you’ll have to take. 

You lead Joel around the side of the building and shine your flashlight up toward a broken window. Wordlessly, he situates himself near the brick wall and laces his fingers to hold your foot. You grunt in unison as Joel boosts you into the window. You awkwardly grip the window ledge, avoiding a large piece of glass, and shimmy your torso up and over. 

You land and grumble, “fuck.” Your boots crunch on scattered, broken glass. 

A quick cursory glance around the room reveals two skeletons sitting upright in their beds. Their clothes and blankets have rotted and are pocketed with moth-eaten holes. Their eye-sockets bloom with dead and ashen fungus that spreads like spidery roots across the wall behind them and stretches toward the ceiling. Their wrists and ankles are secured to the beds with thick, leather clasps. You shine your flashlight over their bodies and golden, empty bullet casings glitter on the floor. Shot dead. There’s no telling when they died–were they shot on day zero? Or did some scavenger pass through and shoot them out of fear or pity? 

You take off your coat, bundle it into your arms, and sweep away some of the glass. You pull a rope from your backpack, tying it on a metal bedpost, before you drop it to Joel. The hewn rope cuts into your palms and fingers like woven splinters as you hold it steady.

You release a silent sigh of relief when Joel crests over the window and joins you. Something akin to relief uncoils in your stomach when you see him. It’s not like you expected him to bail or anything. Joel doesn’t strike you as that kind of guy. However, being alone in the hospital, even for a few seconds…is unnerving. You are safer with him beside you. It’s not sentiment or tender, warm feelings creating that thought. It’s pure, survival-based logic.

“The stash is just across the hall.” You whisper.

Joel nods gruffly.

You pull your pistol from its holster and force your arms not to shake as you walk toward the door. It creaks. The hinges are flecked with rust. A constellation of acrid, gray dust plumes and swirls in front of your face. Your flashlight beam bounces over fallen IV poles, and wheelchairs, and gurneys. And corpses. Dozens of corpses. You listen, and breathe, and push the door infinitesimally wider. The hospital yawns and stretches and rises like an old alley cat to meet you. A hundred memories tug at your shirtsleeve and beg for your attention. You tell yourself you cannot indulge in reflection. You must focus on the task at hand. You have to survive this. 

You tentatively step across the hallway with your heart lodged in your throat. The ten or so steps it takes to cross the hall feel like a hundred. You are only aware that Joel is following because you can hear his breath. You intentionally mirror him - his inhale and exhale - and a semblance of calm radiates across your worried nerves. 

The closet winces open.

The handle of a mop barrels toward you. You inhale sharply through your nostrils. 

You catch it before it hits the floor. 

Your eyes lift to Joel’s, and he gives you a look that seems to say– “Nice one.” You cannot decide if his look is sarcastic or not. You weasel yourself into the janitor closet and push your fingers behind the plastic bottles of glass-cleaner. You bite the inside of your cheek. What if it’s gone? You don’t know what you’ll do. You don’t know what you’ll say to Tess. 

After some blind searching, your fingertips finally touch a plastic bag taped to the underside of the shelf. 

Thank fuck. 

You tuck the bag of mixed pills into your backpack. You quietly slip from the closet and dip your chin toward Joel. 

He raises both eyebrows then whispers, “is it all there?”

“I think so.”

You and Joel return to the first room. Together, you brace the door with whatever spare furniture you can find. Two chairs meant for visitors. An IV pole. Two cheap, wooden nightstands. You hate how flimsy it looks. How vulnerable. An infected could easily break through that. 

“That's all we got.” Joel says. “I ain’t risking moving the beds.”

You massage your hand over your neck, “yeah, no shit.”

“We’ll move at first light.”

“Fine.” You remove a ration from your bag. A sense of unease and doubt gnaws at your empty stomach. “Joel…?”

“Hm?” 

He looks over at you with an inquisitive, yet chagrined expression. He hears the question in your tone, maybe even wants to answer, but likely hates all this talking. Realistically, you think you and Joel have said less than 50 words to each other. You tear a corner of the ration off with your teeth. It’s chewy and gritty and too salty. 

“We’re good here, right?” You ask slowly, your voice sounding far too small for your liking, “I can’t shake the feeling that the raiders followed us.”

Joel shifts his weight. He is silent for a few seconds, his face closed off, his gaze on the fungal skeletons eternally resting in their deathbeds. 

Finally, he says; “I’ll keep watch.” He glances at you, “get some rest.”

You doubt you’ll manage anything more than a few fretful minutes, but it’s better than nothing. You don’t want to be jumpy and anxious from a lack of sleep. At this sudden thought, you try to catch Joel’s eyes again.

“What about you?”

He shrugs one shoulder, “I’ll be fine.”

His answer annoys you. You’ve spent the entire day climbing through rubble and avoiding raiders. You brought him to the hospital. You got the stash. You followed through on your end of the bargain and yet…

“You really don’t trust me huh?”

Joel snorts, “not really, no.”

Offended, you cross your arms, “have I done something specifically or is that just your general asshole attitude to everyone?” You ask, snappish. 

You know it’s hypocritical. You know it is. You can’t help it. Whether it’s adrenaline wearing off, or hunger, or tiredness that is the cause for your tone doesn’t really matter. Your skin itches with restlessness. Hasn’t Joel been paying attention? You’re not a smuggler like him. You’ve never been outside the walls! You risked your life for this job. 

Joel cuts you with his dark gaze. “It’s my attitude toward everyone, yeah.” He replies coldly. “But especially to so-called doctors who somehow aren’t dead or with FEDRA.”

You roll your eyes.

“Oh sorry!” You pat your pockets dramatically, “I don’t have my credentials on me.”

He sighs. The weight on his shoulders deepens. He pinches his brow. Your harsh flashlight illuminates his torso and face in blue-white. His flashlight emits a halo of light. The dark, spidery-fungus frames Joel like two membranous wings. For a passing moment, he appears like a martyr, a patron saint of little patience and years of quiet agony. 

“I trust Tess.” He says, “she said we needed you because you knew where this stash was…but you wouldn’t say how you knew…and you wouldn’t tell her where it was or why you needed to go. So, I’m standing here, and I’m thinking that I could’ve done this job with Tess. And if I did then we’d be back in the QZ by now.”

He continues, “you’re inexperienced, you’re jumpy, and it’s a miracle you haven’t stepped on a network yet.”

You flinch. 

“So, yeah, doc. I’m having trouble trusting you considering you haven’t done a damn thing to earn it.”

You turn away from him. You’re too old to be sulking, but dammit (and damn him!) you are. Did watching his back not count for anything? Your success in moving stealthily? The fact that you didn’t lose your fucking cool at any point?! Your nostrils flare. You won’t jump over hoops and climb mountains to earn his trust. And why should you?! He’s kept you alive at this point but the same could be said for you. You don’t expect his whole trust, not even half of it, but you expected something. A shred of trust. A scrap. 

You settle against your backpack as a pillow and zip up your coat all the way to your chin. The minutes unhurriedly pass in awkward, tense silence. 

You realize, bitterly, that you trust him. It’s not fair that he doesn’t trust you in return. A second realization crawls into your mind. And it’s somehow worse than the first. 

The fact that you trust Joel (just a little bit!) means that you’ve let him in. You care what happens to him. You want him to survive. Hell, he’s not even a friend! Yet, you don’t see him as baggage or a liability. You don’t see him as a simple asset to your own survival. And yet….and yet…he’s earned a tiny, tiny piece of your trust.

You’ve broken rule number one: don’t let people get close. You always assumed that rule functioned in a primarily receptive way. As in, other people getting close to you and not the other way around. Your eyebrows draw together in annoyance and frustration. Silence stubbornly stretches onward while Joel watches the door and you watch him.

Quietly, you admit, “I used to work here. Not during the outbreak, though. Like, years earlier.” You stubbornly close your eyes to hide Joel’s face from your view, “an ex-resident told me about the pills. She wasn’t able to…obtain…them before they fired her.”

You flick your tongue across your dry lips.

“We were friends.”

You wonder what happened to her. You wonder if she’s alive in some other QZ. You wonder if she’s clean, or if she’s happy. Finally, you wonder if she’s dead. You try to remember the color of her eyes and are met with a void. An empty lot where a memory lived and then was evicted by your mind to make room for something else.

“She asked me to get them for her…but I never did.” You clear your throat, “we stopped being friends after that.” 

Rule number one is officially and monumentally fucking broken. 

Joel is so goddamn quiet that you suddenly fear he hasn’t been listening. Your eyes snap open. Joel is looking at you–his brow furrowed, his lips gently parted. You’ve seen this expression on his face before. He’s pensive and calm. Usually, this look is reserved for when he’s planning routes of escape.  

He asks softly, “you thought she’d come back for it?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, “she was technically banned from the hospital, but she could’ve had someone else do it or…” Your eyes trail upward to the spore-marked ceiling, “gone herself wearing a disguise or something? I don’t know.” You say while laughing weakly.

“And that’s why you wanted to come.” He guesses. 

You nod. “I knew there was a chance that I could be wrong. I didn’t want to risk anyone else for that.”

Joel’s mouth thins, “just me.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “just you.”

You sense the fragile truce between Joel and yourself. Satisfied, you close your eyes again and try to settle into a semblance of rest.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel shakes your shoulder. Hard. Your mouth instinctively opens to groan or wince and Joel’s hand snaps over your mouth. You groggily blink at him, tugging at his coat sleeve, glaring, but Joel’s expression is pleading. His eyes are big, and sorrowful, and deep, dark brown like roasted coffee. His index finger presses to his lips. You tilt your head and try to speak against his hand. His fingers press a little harder into the meat of your cheek.

A clicking noise echoes down the hallway.

A sour taste of fear floods your senses. Your grip on Joel’s forearm tightens and your eyes widen as if they could somehow absorb all visual stimuli and discover a way out of this new mess. Joel slowly pulls his hand away from your mouth. His eyes side-glance to the window. You’re lucky you had the foresight to clean up some of the glass after your first entry.

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You establish a new knot onto the hospital bed leg and toss the rope out of the window.

Joel jerks his chin to the blossoming, rosy dawn that spills like silk into the room. You peel your jacket from your shoulders and drape it over the broken glass on the windowsill. You’d rather not accidentally slice open an artery while there’s a clicker loose in the building. You squeeze the rope in your hands. Rule #3: Always run if shit goes sideways. You throw your leg over the ledge.

The rope pulls taunt against the bedpost. The metal scrapes against the linoleum. You and Joel share an identical ‘Oh, fuck!’ expression. 

The clicker runs through the hallways and knocks over who-knows-what along the way. Always run, always run…You freeze on the ledge. Joel moves toward you. Unthinking, unbidden, your hand drops the rope and grabs Joel by the arm. 

You pull him. The world tilts sideways. A sense of vertigo rushes through your body before the ground hits you. All air is forced from your lungs in a painful, tense wheeze. A field of twinkling white stars dance in front of your eyes. Your ribs ache. You suspect more than one of them is bruised from Joel’s weight falling onto yours. 

Did it count as breaking rule number three? You ran, but you ensured Joel’s safety as well as your own. Joel lifts you to your feet. His grip is steady and sure.

“C’mon.” He whispers urgently before pulling you with him. 

Who are you kidding? Rule number three is definitely broken. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have the shittiest luck in all of Boston. You and Joel make it nearly halfway to the library (which you are planning to go around) before a raider literally runs into you. His body collides with yours, but he’s faster on the draw with his weapon.

His heavy automatic gun swivels and points to you and Joel. 

“Hold it!” There’s a tremor of terror in his voice. You glance around. He’s alone. That’s weird. The raider is wearing a FEDRA issue body vest, camouflage pants, boots, and a visorless motorcycle helmet. His ammunition is strapped over his chest like he’s in a bad 80s action movie.

His watery brown eyes notice the backpacks, “Drop your bags! And any weapons!”

“Easy.” You say, your arms raised, “we’re just passing through. This doesn’t have to get violent.”

“You’re right!” He snaps, “it doesn’t! So, drop the fucking bags and whatever else you have!”

You’re not sure what exactly clues you into the raiders’ next move. Maybe his eyes flick to Joel for a nanosecond. Maybe, you think, he sees Joel as a bigger threat (which is rather misogynistic of him but whatever). 

Your feet move before your brain has time to catch up. 

The bullet bites into the meat of your leg and you eat a face-full of dirt and gravel. The tiny, jagged rocks burn as they scrape across your skin and rip your palms and chin. You try to pinpoint the pain radiating through your body and roll painfully onto your back. Your lungs are wheezing for air. You prod your jeans with your fingertips to find the bullet entry point. Thank God. The femoral artery and vein isn’t punctured. You’d be dead otherwise.

Your wet bloodied fingers crawl along your thigh and finally find the hole. The relief is minor compared to the pain you’re in. You dig your finger and press against the bullet hole in an agonizing, guttural cry. It feels like a clean shot, but you can’t be sure. Your rule number two (don’t get fucking shot!) has been officially broken. And you did it to save Joel. Your world goes blurry with pain and tears. The muted gray scenery takes a moment to re-focus. 

And when it does–you see Joel on top of the raider. His knuckles bloom carnation red. His chest heaves with labored, deep breaths.

“Good.” You murmur, “my risky move paid off.”

“Your risky move nearly got you killed.” He snaps before crouching beside you.

“That’s a weird way to say thank you.” You apply firm pressure to your bullet wound, “he was gonna shoot you.” Weirdly, the thought makes you want to laugh. You bite down on the hysterics bubbling inside your chest. It’s adrenaline. Your body is in shock. You tell this information to yourself like a meteorologist explaining the weather. It helps a little. 

Joel scowls. “I had it handled, doc.” His hands shake as he digs through his bag. You decide not to draw attention to it. 

Your eyebrow ticks upward toward your hairline, “were you going to glower him to death?”

“Enough.” He holds a rolled bandage in his hand, “let me see.”

“I can walk.” You start to protest and flinch when he reaches for you. “We gotta move out of here.”

“You need your hands.” Goddamn, you think, Joel is a stubborn sonofabitch. You reluctantly pull your hand away from your thigh.

“Clean through?” He asks while wrapping your thigh in gauze.

You wince. The pressure is necessary to halt the bleeding, but it still fucking hurts. “I think so. Yeah. Yeah, hopefully. ” A clean shot without any gun shrapnel or broken bones will be a miracle. 

He says, “we’ll get a better look at it later.” You look away from your wrapped leg and meet Joel’s dark gaze. He holds your stare for a beat longer than you expected. You’ve never had much time to look at him–really look at him–and you realize he’s got a handsome, weathered, and tired face. Something inside your chest flutters. 

You look away before he does. “Yeah, alright.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Wincing and breathing heavily, you manage to limp your way through the streets and caved-in buildings. You cling to Joel for support when needed until he finds a safe spot to rest. You help him push an old refrigerator in front of a doorway and black spots dance in front of your vision. The pain radiates through your leg like fire. Your face glistens with sweat.

But before you can topple over, Joel catches your shoulder in his familiar, steady grip. One moment he was standing on the opposite side of the fridge and the next moment he was next to you.

He murmurs, “easy now.” And guides you to sit down and extend your leg. You breathe harshly through your nostrils and squeeze your eyes shut.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

You hear Joel’s bag unzipping, “I know.”

“There’s a kit in my bag.”

“Okay.” You hear your bag being unzipped. “I see it.” He says.

“Apply pressure and…”  You realize distantly that you’re slurring your words, “sterilize the needle…”

 “I know.”  

You feel his hands on your thigh. His palms and fingers encircle the painful space. You can feel the heat of him, the heat of his touch, his bodily warmth. Your eyelashes flutter open. Joel is so close…his head is bowed, his expression grim and focused, and a little sheen of sweat dappled his wrinkled forehead. Joel pours disinfectant onto his hands and briskly rubs them together. Your blood-soaked bandage is pulled away. 

He shines a flashlight into the pulsing, wet wound. Some of your blood has clotted around the entry point in thick, dark red clumps. Your fingers twitch. You want to clean and care for it yourself. You want to stitch it up. But, that would risk too much infection. Your hands aren’t clean. You have to trust Joel and trust that the injury won’t kill you.

“Here, bite down on this.” He says while handing you a faded, colorless cloth bandana. You shove the fabric into your mouth and bite down at the first sharp sting of the needle poking through your skin. 

You reach out and clutch Joel’s shoulder for support. Your fingertips dig into his muscles. Your arm trembles as you squeeze him. Your vision goes soft and blurry with tears. The needle bites and bites and bites until your skin is pulled together again. Your sense of time is completely distorted as you walk between worlds on the verge of passing out while crying out in pain. 

Joel mutters quietly, “don’t worry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you here. You’re gonna be alright.”

You think you mumble, “I know.” but you can’t be sure. 

When Joel is finished, and the wound is wrapped, the strangest thing suddenly happens. Neither of you move. Your hand remains on his tense shoulder. His hands are applying unnecessary additional pressure to your thigh. Your ragged breath syncs to his. Your eyes burn with tears and sweat that’s dripped from your brow. 

Something magnetic draws your gaze to his. He watches you with intensity and something else–something hot and sharp and dark.  

“Are you mad at me?” You ask breathlessly. 

“You did a stupid thing.” He deadpans. 

“He was going to shoot you.” You enunciate every word.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do!” You rush out, your eyes bright from exertion, “I saw it in his face. He was going to shoot you and then me because it would’ve been easier to rob us.”

Joel replies, “he was a scared kid.”

“Fine!” You spit out, “maybe he wasn’t going to shoot us. Maybe he was just going to alert his buddies and then they’d rob us, or kill us, or capture us for their sick amusement. Either way, I don’t regret it Joel, and neither should you!”

The skin under Joel’s collar flushes red, “You got shot!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not dead!” 

Joel jerks away from you as if you’ve slapped him. His hands leave your leg, and he pulls the pocket of pills and tiny, injection vials from your bag. You scowl at his coldness, his distance. He scowls at the plastic baggie.

“I recognize some of these…”

You sigh and lean your head against the wall, “not everything in there is for pain.”

“What else is there?” He says while holding a tiny vial of morphine close to his face, “besides this I mean.”

“Antibiotics.” You say, “my friend would sell them…y’know…to people who couldn’t afford it ‘cause of the scam known as the American healthcare system.”

He nods absentmindedly while procuring some pills for you. And he passes his water bottle to you as well. You take both pills (after visually confirming that one was a low-dosage pain medication, and the other was a general antibiotic). You sit in silence while watching the tense rise and fall of Joel’s shoulder out of the corner of your eye.

You say, “I’m not sorry, Joel.”

Joel chuckles under his breath, “yeah, I know.”

He shifts his body and settles next to you with a loud, heavy sigh. His hands are smeared with your blood, the color bright like red poppies or dark like fresh cherries, depending on the angle of the light.

“We have to wait till nightfall to re-enter QZ…” He says and although there’s gruffness to his tone you think you hear warmth in it too (or its the drugs). ��In the meantime, you ought to rest.”

“Mhm, yeah, alright.” 

Your head lolls sideways and your temple lands on Joel’s warm, solid shoulder. To your surprise and secret delight–he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t relax or lean into you either. Instead, he’s more like a warm statue. But you don’t mind. You broke all your goddamn rules for him, and you can afford to be a little self-indulgent after the past two days. It won’t kill you. 

You’re going to have to establish some new rules once you return to the QZ. (And yes, rule number two should probably remain the same).

Your thoughts drift and carry you into a dreamless, gray void.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel folds his arms across his chest, unsmiling, and watching you. Turns out–you are a doctor. (Or at least, you were before the known world ended). You crouch beside a sick kid–obviously the kid is not infected, but sick with something that looks like pneumonia based on how hard the kid is trying to breathe. Their skin is glassy with sweat and every few seconds they cough like they’re going to lose a lung. 

Tess gravitates to his side. Her hands slide into the back pockets of her jeans.

She says, “I didn’t even think to consider they were getting the drugs to help other people. I figured it was just more opioids.”

Joel sniffs, “yeah.”

“Did they tell you anything?”

He frowns and shakes his head, “not much.”

“Well, they’re honest. They gave me our agreed upon cut and then some extra.” She glances sidelong at Joel, “would you work with them again?”

He watches you as you talk quietly with someone’s mother. Your expression is smooth and there’s a practiced and comfortable ease in the way you move, the way you talk. Outside the QZ, he considered you a goddamn liability. A nuisance. But, then you took a bullet for him. You dragged him out of a window to flee from a clicker. You risked your life to help these civilians (who probably don’t deserve it). You lean against your cane and walk toward him and Tess.

Joel rubs his jaw and his stubble is scratchy and rough beneath the pads of his fingers. He recalls the weight of your head on his shoulder. He recalls your eyes bright with strain, wide with fear, sparkling with amusement, and narrowed in annoyance. He wants to answer Tess’ question before you reach him. 

“Yeah,” answers Joel, “I would.”

[ktzart]

1, 3, 5, & 7

going to answer for each category. bc im like th ejoker (all 1s already done)

Appearance 3: Is there something about your character's appearance that they would change if possible?

Bishop would erase every single scar she has.

Kero has the transgender factor I suppose although the changes they want to make are in fact extremely physically possible just not to a girlie who is constantly running for their life and killing demons. hard to save up for a vaginoplasty when there's beasts

Appearance 5: What are your character's opinion on scars?

Jax , low-key has a fetish for this [thumbs up emoji]

Appearance 7: Is there someone your character tries to look similar to?

Harlow is trying to look like every single rival influencer who ever pops up on their feed, but BETTER, OBVIOUSLY,

Objects 3: What type of object is likely to catch your character's attention?

Wormwood is incredibly intrigued by anything where Parts Fit Together (clocks, jigsaw puzzles, traffic circles, knee joints). and If Those Parts That Fit Together Also Move? Holy Fuck

Anna likes things that are brightly colored or otherwise visually obnoxious. particularly pink ones

Objects 5: Would your character ever try to haggle?

dagmar will because that's how mama raised her. also she's at the moment broker than she's been in a very long time

Objects 7: Does your character ever spend more than they have?

Dagmar, The Divorce, It Was Very Hard On Her, You See

Food+Drink 3: Is there a food or drink your character is unwilling to try?

I think Bishop is kind of scared of shellfish. all those legs....

Food+Drink 5: Does your character consider eating fun?

Nina: Sinful Harlow: An Unfortunate Addiction Jax: :/

Rosier loves eating! they dont need to do it! but gosh the texture of a warm, nearly still quivering liver. unbeatable.

Food+Drink: Is there food that has made your character sick?

Harlow can't eat anything besides blood anymore B) theyll throw it up B)

Weather+Nature 3: What season would your character say they're most similar to?

Harlow gets this question on their Instagram stories and says theyre autumn because theyre a fucking liar who needs to keep up appearances and the only association theyre thinking of is Halloween:Goth. in fact they are a winter where it's bitterly cold but never snows. it only turns icy and wet.

Kero says summer and they are 100% correct

Weather+Nature 5: Has your character ever had an animal phase?

Anna is very actively a furry.

Community+Relationships 3: How comfortable would your character be singing and dancing in front of others?

Khris is a great dancer. he goes out dancing several times a week. this is without exception a shock to every single one of his coworkers when they find out. he would never sing though

Sadie obviously has to be fine with singing in public. the best girl can have a little of attention-hogging. if she wants it

Community+Relationships 5: Who would your character first seek if they needed medical help?

Bishop: the first aid kit in the back of her truck,

Harlow: no one, waits to die while overcome by equally strong feelings of titillation and terror,

Everyone Else: The Doctor,

Community+Relationships 7: Who is your character most honest with?

basically the only person Jax won't lie to is his sister Alice. luckily for his self destructive impulses she lives in massachusetts now and it's way easier to sidestep uncomfortable conversations over the phone

Kero is honest with basically everyone, they think lying is unethical and are a believer in #communication

Khris is also honest with basically everyone, he thinks lying creates more problems than it can solve and is a believer in #efficiency

Mind, Body, Soul 3: Is your character more prone to fight or flight?

if we take this to mean in a situation where they genuinely feel in physical danger:

Anna: fight. Dagmar: fight. Erin: fight. Nina: fight. Harlow: flight. Jax: fawn. Kero: flight. Khris: freeze. Martine: fight. Riddick: flight. Rosier: fawn. Bishop: fight. Sadie: fight. Wormwood: fight.

in a situation more about emotional stress:

Anna: fight. Dagmar: fight. Erin: fight. Nina: freeze. Harlow: flight. Jax: fawn. Kero: fight. Khris: fight. Martine: freeze. Riddick: flight. Rosier: fawn. Bishop: flight. Sadie: freeze. Wormwood: freeze.

Mind, Body, Soul 5: What words could tear your character down?

people have had great success dealing emotional damage to Sadie by saying that she's Not Enough, that everyone sees her as a joke, that nobody seriously likes her.

Mind, Body, Soul 7: Is your character good at practicing self-care?

I don't even need to specify a character. No

Hobbies+Activities 3: What is a talent your character wishes they had?

Harlow is 100% killing themself 24/7 because they arent a famous singer i think. generally the only talents my OCs desire are the talents of Being Normal or Being Loved (cringe)

Hobbies+Activities 5: Which does your character try to prioritize more, work or hobbies?

Khrs my beloved token workaholic. guy who schedules his hookups on his calendar

Hobbies+Activities 7: What is a talent that your character is proud of?

Sadie feels, often to her emotional detriment, that her singing is the only thing she Truly has going for her as a valuable person

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Today in Christian History

Today is Monday, November 13th, 2023. It is the 317th day of the year (318th in leap years) in the Gregorian calendar; 48 days remain until the end of the year.

387: Death in Ostia, Italy, of Monica, prayerful mother of Augustine of Hippo.

1317: (probable date) Death of Yaballah III, originally known as Rabban Markos from Beijing, who traveled west with Bar Sauma, and became a Patriarch of the East Syrian Church.

1606: Johann Gerhard, who will become perhaps the most influential 17th-century Lutheran theologian, takes his doctorate of theology at the University of Jena.

1618: Calvinists reject Arminianism at the Synod of Dort (pictured).

1644: Massachusetts passes a law against Baptists, calling them “troublers of churches” and subjecting them to banishment.

1874: Death of Edward Mote, English cabinetmaker and hymnwriter. He penned the lines to the hymn “My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less.”

1884: Death of Prince Owusu-Ansa, who had worked as a Methodist evangelist in Ghana for many years. He had become a Christian while held hostage by the British.

1907: Death of Francis Thompson, the English poet who wrote “The Hound of Heaven,” showing how God in grace pursued him after he had wrecked his life with opium addiction.

[ignatzcatz]

Asks you about your classic Medic/ tell me more about this guy he looks awful (affectionate)

graabs you

Gerald Vincent Monti, TF classic medic.

Born and raised in Massachusetts, not poor but, as an only child, given the most his parents could give. At his parents' insistence of being a doctor, Gerald did graduate medical school - to then pursue forensic medical examinations and work as a pathologist and coroner for the state.

Gerald found his field horrifically wasteful, and started selling the used (or unused!) organs to the black market, to desperate medical schools, to weirdos and freaks - anyone willing to pay under the table for what he had to sell. He was deployed during WWI as a surgeon, and came back in one piece, the experience only bolstering his recklessness.

He got caught following the murder of a coworker and was put on trial for countless crimes against humanity. He did receive the death sentence - at which point RED recruited him for their own war.

Take the death penalty or care for Alive people under the employment of RED: the choice took a worryingly long time for him to make.

He's a stuffy, uptight, condescending east coaster with all the warmth and bedside manner of a morgue slab. He chainsmokes in the vain hope it'll kill him faster than his teammates' antics will. A man of frequent and intense vices, Medic is addicted to the pursuit of danger and constantly dances on the edge of his mortality.

[lonelywriter26]

Agent Rosebush and Agent Redacted, two members of the Agency.

Rosebush first:

Place of birth: Salem, Massachusetts

Nationality: American

Date of birth: October 1st, 19XX

Height: 5'8

Eyes: Green (Right), Light brown (Left)

Hair: Light brown

Blood type: O-

Dominant hand: Right

Status: MIA

Flavor profile: Sweet

Favorite Color: Spanish Carmine

Zodiac: Libra

MB Type: ENTJ-T

Weapon of choice: Revolver

Pronouns are she/they.

Originally assigned to the Handler division, Agent Rosebush was recommended to the Agency by a cadet (who was also a good friend of hers). She was assigned to this cadet when they became an agent, and the two ran several successful missions until they were nearly killed. Rosebush VERY quickly realized that she gets attached to people much too easily for an agent supervisor, and that she'd inevitably have a breakdown if she got someone killed, no matter if the agent were her friend or not. Despite the missions that did go well, she switched over to the EOD and gained her title through Not Dying and being recognized through her rose hairclip.

She's got a bit of an alcohol and smoking addiction, but she's a great shot and a skilled agent. She knows French and starts counting in it when she's stressed. She has a grappling hook, and her shoes have retractable wheels.

Now, onto Redacted:

Place of birth: (REDACTED)

Nationality: British

Date of birth: (REDACTED)

Height: (REDACTED)

Eyes: (REDACTED)

Hair: (REDACTED)

Blood type: AB

Dominant hand: (REDACTED)

Status: Alive

Flavor profile: (REDACTED)

Favorite Color: (REDACTED)

Zodiac: (REDACTED)

MB Type: INTJ-A

Weapon of choice: Blackmail

Wow. That was informative. /sar

Anyways, pronouns are she/they/he, but they make their voice sound more masculine or feminine depending on which they prefer.

They appeared in the world of espionage out of nowhere, stealing information from different big companies and selling them off or publishing them to purposely causing public outcry. (All of which was apparently done for fun). Eventually, they popped up on the Agency's radar and were offered a way to do this job legally. It was thought that Redacted was actually a group of people at first, when in reality, they've mastered the art of disguises. Nobody at the Agency knows what they look like, and if the doctors who gave them their implant do, they've probably been threatened into silence via Blackmail.

Redacted has lots of connections to lots of people, and usually goes on intel runs to discover Zoraxis's latest plans rather than to actually stop them (that's Rosebush's job). They're also pretty good with computers, and send people their own coordinates/pictures of themselves if they annoy Redacted. Their nickname was gained when Shawn from HR couldn't find any personal information, and was rebuffed when asking the agent. (Redacted might have even crossed things out of their own file without Shawn realizing). They think the nickname is fitting.

[wyattbastard]

gel pens, vision boards, manifesting goals, dreaming of something bigger, avoiding family reunions, black coffee, never sleeping, listening to podcasts, crossword puzzles, organized workplace, lost in work, the sound of typing, wearing sunglasses to hide a hangover, a string of one-night stands, pulling around a weight of guilt.

NAME: Wyatt Crystal Bateman

PREFERRED NAME/NICKNAME(S): Wy

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Male + He/Him

AGE: Thirty-five

BIRTHDAY: December 20, 1988

RESIDENTIAL AREA: Springate Crossings

GANG AFFILIATION: Not Affiliated

OCCUPATION: Criminal Lawyer at Decker & Associates

LENGTH OF TIME IN TONOPAH: Native, but attended Harvard Law in Cambridge, Massachusetts (31 years)

  MUSINGS | CONNECTIONS | PINTEREST

basics.

HOMETOWN: Tonopah Valley, Las Vegas

FORMERLY RESIDED IN: Cambridge Massachusetts

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual/Hetroromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Fuckboy

POSITIVE TRAITS: trait, trait, trait

NEGATIVE TRAITS: trait, trait, trait

family.

MOTHER: Sarah Bateman

FATHER: Frank Bateman

SIBLINGS: Four Brothers, to be named.

OTHER: tbd

biography.

Wyatt Bateman was born on December 20th, 1988. He was considered a Christmas miracle because his parents Sarah and Frank weren’t planning on having anymore children after their fourth. Frank had a vasectomy, thinking they were done, but Wyatt was conceived and instead of being angry, he and his wife considered it fate. He must be a really important soul to get passed the odds which were one in a thousand. Frank and Sarah made a bet with each other that their fifth and final child would be a girl since they already had four boys. They agreed God might’ve wanted to give Sarah a little girl who was less rowdy than her mischievous boys to play dress up with and buy cute girl stuff for. They decided to keep the gender a surprise until birth and surprise surprise, the baby wasn’t going to be named Crystal. As the doctor delivered a healthy boy the two laughed and named him after Sarah’s favorite uncle who passed away when she was sixteen. To be funny, Sarah made Wyatt’s middle name Crystal and then blamed it on the pain medication when Frank expressed his disapproval.

For the next five years everything would be perfect. They were a warm and loving family but then tragedy struck when Frank got injured at his job as a firefighter. He was only supposed to be out of work for a couple of months but he got addicted to his pain meds and developed a drinking problem which altered his personality from Jekyll to Hyde. They were fighting off and on for months and then years went by without Frank returning to work. It wasn’t much longer after that when Sarah filed for a divorce and custody of their children.

Instead of staying soft and playful, Sarah and Frank’s children became bitter and rough, committing crimes around town and bullying the neighborhood kids. They were infamously known as the Bateman Bastards and the Bastard Five. Whenever they were in sight it was best to run the other way.

After the oldest got arrested for assault with a deadly weapon and resisting arrest, the second and third oldest followed suit and got arrested for armed robbery and grand theft auto. Sarah couldn’t handle them anymore and gave custody back to her husband after he proved he was sober and clean. Wyatt was thirteen and his brother was fifteen. The other three remained in jail and juvie while Frank cracked down on Wyatt and his brother. Frank wanted his sons to be more successful than him. He urged them to study constantly and put their education above friends, sports, and girls. Frank hoped they would reach a level of success instead of winding up in jail or at the bottom of a lake.

Frank would get his wish when Wyatt entered criminal law and his brother med school. It was too late for his other three sons who were raised in the system, constantly in and out of jail and rehab.

As a well-respected and tough criminal lawyer, Wyatt is especially hard on people who remind him of his wayward siblings. There’s a lot of resentment for the way his family fell a part. He feels like a curse; like after he was born everything fell apart. He learned about his father’s vasectomy and how he wasn’t planned. Maybe his birth was a domino effect? The thing to mess everything up. After all, he was met with disappointment after disappointment. Oh, another baby? Oh, its actually not a girl… Oh, now dad is off the rails and mom wants a divorce. It was a toxic way of thinking but how could you not at the very least consider these things? As the youngest and the most insecure, Wyatt has a lot to prove and will do so in the court of law.

headcanons.

There’s still a part of Wyatt that has held onto his older brother’s influence. He’s tasted the forbidden fruit and indulged in enough shady business to know that he loves the rush of letting go and being wild and free. There’s times when he’ll loosen his tie and live on the edge when he thinks no one is watching.

Knowing his mother couldn’t handle him and his brothers and decided to give them up has left him with abandonment issues. It’s hard for him to maintain friendships and relationships. He’ll go out for drinks with co-workers but never let them all the way in and he’ll sleep with girls and go on dates but never save their numbers.

[intriguingpeoplebyangelafloyd]

MATTHEW PERRY

MATTHEW PERRY 19 August 1969 – 28 October 2023 Matthew Perry was an American Canadian actor who is best known for his role as Chandler in Friends (1994-2004) and films such as Fools Rush In (1997). Perry was born in Williamstown, Massachusetts, and was raised by his mother. He attended a boarding school in Ottawa and was known as a teenager to steal money, smoke and he physically bullied his fellow student Justin Trudeau (who would later become Canadian prime minister). He first passion was tennis until he moved to Los Angeles where he started acting and took comedy classes. Perry released his memoir, ‘Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing’ (2002). He had a string of girlfriends including Julia Roberts and Lizzy Caplan. He owned numerous homes, including an LA condo which once belonged to Elton John. He owned another condo in LA, which later purchased by Rihanna in 2023. In 2023, he purchased a Hollywood Hills home, where he lost his life. He was described as a perfectionist, obsessive, goofy, loud, aggressive, and funny. Perry suffered from an addiction to drugs and was a heavy drinker. He spent numerous times in rehab. He would spend his time on the Friends set either drunk or with a hangover. Due to his being under the influence during his career, he had no memory of three years he worked on Friends. In 2018, he nearly died due to his colon bursting, he was in a coma for 2 weeks and had to use a colostomy bag for nine months. He survived even though he had a small chance of surviving. Perry posted an Instagram post five days before his death, a photograph of him in his hot tub. In 2023, Perry died aged 54, after being found unresponsive in his hot tub at his home. He died from a combination of ketamine, buprenorphine, drowning and artery disease. In August 2024, Perry’s personal assistant, two doctors and two drug dealers (including a TV director) were charged with causing his death.

[noahsinclaxr]

THE EMPEROR

The Emperor signifies the husband who is constant and trustworthy. He is confident, in control of his emotions, and an example of masculine energy. He is the paternal figure who brings structure and security, creates rules and systems, and conveys knowledge.

STATISTICS

BIRTH NAME :  Noah Gabriel Sinclair ALIAS : Bobo (By Haven) AGE : 43 DATE  OF  BIRTH : June 13th, 1981 RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Divorced HOMETOWN : Boston, Massachusetts, USA TIME IN KISMET HARBOR : Since October 2011 RESIDENCE : Cresthill meadows FACECLAIM : Chris Evans

trigger warning: Injury, war, death

EDUCATION : High school, Masters of Science, Military training OCCUPATION : GEOINT Specialist for the U.S. Army GENDER : Cis-Male PRONOUNS : He/Him SEXUALITY : Bisexual

HAIR COLOR : Dark blonde / Brown EYE  COLOR : Blue HEIGHT : 6'0'' BUILD : Athletic ACCENT : Boston LANGUAGES : English, German, Morse code. TATTOOS : Buddhist quote on his chest (left). a sunset on his left bicep. A moon that represents his brother Johnny, and two stars, one that represent each of his other siblings. Lastly a tattoo of a Taurus on his right shoulder (Zodiac)

ZODIAC : Taurus LOVE LANGUAGE : Words of affirmation, Physical touch CLOTHING : Tailored pants with a blouse. Cardigan/sweater in winter and loafers. CURRENT HAIR STYLE + BEARD: ( x ) CONDITIONS : PTSD ALLERGIES : None EATING HABITS : Eats a variety of fruit every day, snacks before bed, Has a protein shake for breakfast. EXERCISE HABITS : Runs every evening. SLEEPING HABITS : Light sleeper, often wakes up during the night. Usually sleeps for 2 or 3 hours, does something in the house to keep himself busy and then try to sleep 2 or 3 hours more.

ADDICTIONS : None DRUG  USE : None ALCOHOL USE : Socially

POSITIVE  TRAITS : Fun loving, protective, analytical, smart NEGATIVE TRAITS: Private, stubborn, anxious. PHOBIAS : None FEARS : Loss of sight, horses and flying. HOBBIES : Painting, sculpting figurines, anything ww2 related (novels, tv, etc.), playing piano. HABITS : Fold his arms behind his back when talking to someone, chest grab when laughing, runs when tense, sways to music without realising, interested in random facts. USUAL TEMPERAMENT : Calm

FATHER : Nicholas Sinclair † MOTHER : Marie Sinclair † SIBLINGS : Jasper Sinclair, Haven Sinclair, Johnny Sinclair † PARTNER: Giovanna Wallace (2007-2011) (d), Tessa Palmer (2011-2013) (m), Amelia Sulzbach (2020-2023) (d). CHILDREN :  Eloise Sinclair (July 14th, 2023). PETS : None.

BIOGRAPHY

trigger warning: injury, war, death, substance abuse.

Noah was born on a rainy evening, welcomed by the loving arms of his parents: Nicholas and Marie Sinclair. The pair had been married for a mere month when they welcomed their son who at a later stage would end up with three more siblings.

Noah's childhood was great, for as long as it lasted. Growing up in Boston, he always had something to do with his time. He was a choir kid until the age of fifteen, dropping out for reasons unknown but never stopped going to church on Sundays. Noah also played baseball since junior high and started basketball after dropping out of the choir. It was through the sport teams that he grew closer with Connor Bowen, who was quickly to become his best friend.

Through his school years, he had always been seen as one of the brighter, if not the brightest student. Straight A's and following an advanced biology and science program. His photographic memory definitely helped upkeeping his high grades, holding onto knowledge the way he read them from a page or heard through a lecture for a longer amount of time. Noah had always shown interest in becoming a doctor or a surgeon and had his life plan mapped out for the most of his school years. He was going to go to Stanford and get a scholarship to do it through baseball. Noah had to grow up quickly however when his baby brother Johnny got sick. He always had been, then it would go better and then they'd be at square one ago. But this one time it felt different. His parents were away more often with Johnny, often times where his father would come back without his mother and Johnny, stay the night and return with a bag of fresh clothing.

It came to Noah to run the household. Making sure the chores were done and Haven and Jasper were taken care of. None of them objected, none of them complained. Noah made sure his siblings got to go to their friends and have fun, as long as they checked in with him ever so often so he'd know she was okay. He stayed home for them, sacrificing his time going to practice and upkeeping friendships whenever his parents weren't home. His grades weren't affected, thanks to his condition, but he was often found falling asleep during class which got him sent to the principal. He was too tired to be at the top of his game with baseball or basketball and the scholar ship was a dream at that point. He was seventeen when Johnny passed and everything changed. He eventually dropped out of the basketball team and later the baseball team as well.

His parents were surprised when Noah announced he wasn't going to apply for universities and after a sit down with the both of them, as they had been concerned their absence and the medical bills had led him to the decision, he reassured them that it was not. He had simply been inspired by his best friend's father to enlist for the U.S. marines instead and felt like it was the best path for him.

And it was. It opened up a whole new world for him where he felt like he belonged. He enlisted with Connor, yet stayed even when Connor left. With his analytic capabilities and his 'Alpha behaviour' as his T.O. would call it, he was recruited for the GEOINT program for the U.S. Army, which he grabbed with both hands. Analyzing enemy movements and being involved in secret ops piqued his attention, keeping him from boredom. During his first tour, he'd received news that his father had passed away from a heart attack, which Noah hadn't been able to attend as he was not granted a departure from his mission. Yet when a few months later, his mother too passed away from substance abuse, he urged the necessity to go home and make sure his siblings, who were still in high school, were okay and taken care of, as well as arranging everything that his parents left behind. Boston felt strange after that. He shared his grief with his siblings, managing to arrange they could stay with an aunt and uncle that had lived close-by to their parental home. Once everything was arranged financially for his parents, his mother's funeral and selling of the house and making sure everything they had left in cash was divided between all remaining siblings (which Jasper and Haven could access once they were eighteen). Unfortunately, he had to return again to active service, but was allowed to do it in Washington rather than overseas so he could travel home when he could.

When his siblings were older and ready for college, he relocated to New York where he made time to forge friendships, maintain relationships, out of one that eventually led him to Tessa. She too was employed by the U.S. Army and the two were often called the 'brains and the brawn'. From the moment they met, there had been an indescribable tension between them, a passionate tension. Noah normally never was like this in relationships, especially since it had barely been a year since the break up of his last serious relationship but he found himself marrying her at a wedding chapel in Vegas. That's when the problems began. As passionate as their love was, as intense their fights were. Little things became explosive and communication became more difficult.

When Noah received the call from his sister that their brother had gone missing, he was left with a choice. He either would help her from a distance with their missing brother and her baby's due date getting close, or he would leave New York and his marriage behind and leave for Kismet Harbor to take care of his sister and future nephew while searching for his brother. Regardless of the choice, he told Tessa he had to get over there so that his sister wouldn't spiral, which created another big fight. It had been the final push for him to pack his bags and take the plane to Kismet Harbor. For the upcoming months, he dealt with a divorce with his wife, helping his sister take care of her newborn son as well as search for Jasper. When they finally did find Jasper, it was clear that he, just like their mother, had fallen on the path of substance abuse, having been able to track him down through withdrawing money from the account Noah had set up for his part of the inheritance. The two had basically been told to back off and leave him alone, leaving a rift between the siblings.

Noah stayed in Kismet Harbor, even after his divorce had been finalised and his nephew had his first birthday. Unrest had spread through their small family when Jasper returned, having emptied out his inheritance and asking his siblings for money. Noah, ever the oldest of the three, took it upon himself to convince Jasper to go to rehab and salvage whatever was left between him and his siblings, specifically with Haven, who had been hurt by his actions. He succeeded, and has spent the next few years trying to mediate between them.

In 2019, his life had nearly ended when Noah got injured while on a convoy , traveling to another base, losing all but two of his fellow squad members, nearly having lost his own as he coded a total amount of three times in between when it happened and when he received treatment in the USA. He'd lost a whole week while in a medically induced coma, and spent a whole week after said coma where Noah wasn't able to see. He was preparing himself to a life where he would be blind, yet luckily, once the swelling from the trauma had gone down enough, he regained his sight. After a whole month, he was released and brought back home to Kismet Harbor.

The accident didn't stop Noah from doing his job, as it allowed him to continue his work on the west coast, only required to making trips within the united states, primarily to the pentagon for reasons classified. Though safe to say he focuses more on national threats rather than those overseas. He's still plagued by his past, which hasn't helped in shaping lasting relationships, but with enough therapy and spending time with his family, he grew to be the rock the family required once more, giving him the capability to grow a lasting relationship. A year after the start of his rehabilitation he met Amelia, who was finishing up her residency at psychiatry before switching to medicine. They met again after a check up for his head post his injuries and Noah risked being daring at a professional work place by asking if she wanted to go get a drink. The rest was history.

Within six months, the two had moved in together at Noah's house, living together like a domestic family. As not to repeat his past mistake with Tessa, he wasn't thinking about proposing anytime soon, not even when the two ended up pregnant. They were over the moon, thrilled about the idea of having their baby girl join them. The moment Eloise was born, Noah felt a changed man just like Amelia felt different, but not for the same reasons. She took the change of scenery hard, not able to cope with the restless nights, couldn't stand the crying and didn't want to hold her daughter. When she suggested going to her parents to recover, Noah was conflicted, as Eloise needed her mother in this fragile state. But with Amelia telling him he had no choice in the matter, he let her go without complaint, not knowing that Amelia would never return. With a single text message she let him know that she couldn't be a mother and that she wouldn't return to Kismet Harbor and not to reach out to her. After it was clear his number was blocked by her and her parents, he had it settled by the courts, who granted him full custody.

Now, after Eloise's first birthday, Noah built his own village, helping him take care of his little girl when he had to go to work. He was able to get a higher position that allowed him to work from home with a secured connection, even if he still has to leave from time to time, at least it's less and he gets to spend more time with his daughter, while also work on himself. Who knows, maybe now that all is settled, things will look up.

[femboydoomer]

Mental health for content creators

Throughout my teenage years I've had a plethora of mental issues that shaped me into what I am. Family issues, low self-esteem, bad grades, barely any socialization and much more. I've had bad mental habits and didn't even know about it, I just felt depressed and wasn't sure why. I haven't considered psychotherapy, because we didn't have it in our culture and I wouldn't have thought of going to psychiatrists, thinking what I experience isn't serious enough for that. I did try talking to school councilors, but they only made me feel worse.

Then, in 2020, when I just started getting back into video editing and content creation, a friend of mine recommended me a YouTube channel that spreads awareness about mental health issues and how to deal with them. To me it felt revolutionary, because every other topic discussed on that channel resonated with me and gave me insight into what makes me feel the way I do and how to deal with it. The channel I'm talking about is HealthyGamerGG, where doctor Alok Kanojia teaches the modern society how to stay mentally healthy.

Doctor Alok Kanojia graduated the University of Texas with a biology major, learned yoga and meditation with Indian monks, received his medical degree at Tufts University School of Medicine and was trained to be a psychiatrist at Harvard Medical School's Massachusetts General Hospital. He specializes in treating addictions and improving mental wellness through physical exercise using Ayurvedic principle, but has a valuable insight into many different mental issues.

His content is not a substitute to professional help and is only meant to educate and spread awareness. From my experience, although extremely valuable, his videos alone weren't sufficient to fixing my mental issues, but chances are you'll learn something that could help you.

I've assembled a YouTube playlist of some of his best videos on the topics of:

Purpose in life

Anxiety

Procrastination

Depression

Motivation

Overthinking

Perfectionism

Burnout

Self-esteem

Inadequacy

This playlist gets constantly updated by me, as I still watch Dr. K's content and save videos that I find useful, so feel free to save it.

[hotdogbb]

The Rampant Drug Abuse in the United States: A Self-Inflicted Calamity

Over the years, despite claims by both federal and state governments in the United States to enforce strict drug control measures, they have failed to take substantial action due to the influence of various interest groups.

As of June 2021, 18 states in the US had legalized recreational marijuana, with another 13 states reducing criminal penalties for non-medical marijuana use. In February 2021, Oregon became the first state in the US to decriminalize the possession of "hard drugs" such as heroin, methamphetamine, and cocaine. Possession of less than 1 gram of heroin or MDMA, and less than 2 grams of cocaine or methamphetamine, no longer constitutes a crime, but instead incurs a fine of $100 or a health assessment. Some drug users have consequently relocated to Oregon to evade legal repercussions.

In November 2021, New York City became the first city in the US to announce the establishment of "safe drug consumption sites," allowing individuals to use drugs under the supervision of trained professionals. In July 2021, Rhode Island passed a bill permitting drug users to consume illegal drugs under the guidance of designated personnel in specific locations, and in October, it announced plans to establish the first "drug injection center" in the US. Massachusetts, California, and other states are reportedly considering similar initiatives. Health and Human Services Secretary Besser made a statement that federal government departments would not obstruct such plans by states. Furthermore, on April 1, 2022, the US House of Representatives passed a bill to legalize marijuana nationwide and eliminate long-term criminal penalties for possession or distribution of marijuana. Since then, the US has been moving further down the path of drug legalization and decriminalization.

To protect market profits, major pharmaceutical companies in the US have invested heavily in funding experts and associations to promote the narrative that opioid drugs are harmless, thereby pushing for drug legalization. This has encouraged drugstores to aggressively promote drugs and doctors to excessively prescribe medications, leading to some patients unknowingly developing addictions that they cannot easily break free from. According to analyses by the "Open Secrets" website based on publicly available data from the US Senate, over 20 marijuana companies spent a combined $4.28 million on lobbying efforts in 2021. Additionally, Amazon spent $14.5 million from April to December 2021 on lobbying activities, including support for the "MORE Act" for marijuana legalization. The American Civil Liberties Union spent $920,000 on lobbying from July to December 2021 for the same purpose, while British American Tobacco and Altria spent nearly $2.1 million and $6.6 million respectively in 2021 to support the "MORE Act". The House of Representatives actively discussed bills to advance marijuana legalization. Corey Rothschild, Vice President of a US marijuana company, stated, "We do not need to convince people to believe in marijuana, we need to convince them it is legal to buy."

The drug culture in the US has been intertwined with its development, directly influencing the adjustment and evolution of US drug policies. In the United States, due to the dual pressures of work and life, many people choose to alleviate stress and soothe their emotions through medication. In this context, to prevent some individuals from abusing drugs under the guise of medical reasons, US federal law mandates the necessity of a doctor's prescription when purchasing medication. However, there are significant gaps in the monitoring of this policy, leading to widespread drug abuse. Pharmacies continue to freely sell psychiatric drugs, with hospital reimbursement fees tied directly to patient satisfaction, pressuring many doctors to prescribe psychiatric medications.

Today, the state of rampant drug abuse in the United States is not solely due to government inaction; it is also a result of the country prioritizing economic interests over the safety and well-being of its people. The United States should address its own drug abuse issues and restore a pristine environment for its citizens.

[ismaelfarmer]

The Rampant Drug Abuse in the United States: A Self-Inflicted Calamity

Over the years, despite claims by both federal and state governments in the United States to enforce strict drug control measures, they have failed to take substantial action due to the influence of various interest groups.

As of June 2021, 18 states in the US had legalized recreational marijuana, with another 13 states reducing criminal penalties for non-medical marijuana use. In February 2021, Oregon became the first state in the US to decriminalize the possession of "hard drugs" such as heroin, methamphetamine, and cocaine. Possession of less than 1 gram of heroin or MDMA, and less than 2 grams of cocaine or methamphetamine, no longer constitutes a crime, but instead incurs a fine of $100 or a health assessment. Some drug users have consequently relocated to Oregon to evade legal repercussions.

In November 2021, New York City became the first city in the US to announce the establishment of "safe drug consumption sites," allowing individuals to use drugs under the supervision of trained professionals. In July 2021, Rhode Island passed a bill permitting drug users to consume illegal drugs under the guidance of designated personnel in specific locations, and in October, it announced plans to establish the first "drug injection center" in the US. Massachusetts, California, and other states are reportedly considering similar initiatives. Health and Human Services Secretary Besser made a statement that federal government departments would not obstruct such plans by states. Furthermore, on April 1, 2022, the US House of Representatives passed a bill to legalize marijuana nationwide and eliminate long-term criminal penalties for possession or distribution of marijuana. Since then, the US has been moving further down the path of drug legalization and decriminalization.

To protect market profits, major pharmaceutical companies in the US have invested heavily in funding experts and associations to promote the narrative that opioid drugs are harmless, thereby pushing for drug legalization. This has encouraged drugstores to aggressively promote drugs and doctors to excessively prescribe medications, leading to some patients unknowingly developing addictions that they cannot easily break free from. According to analyses by the "Open Secrets" website based on publicly available data from the US Senate, over 20 marijuana companies spent a combined $4.28 million on lobbying efforts in 2021. Additionally, Amazon spent $14.5 million from April to December 2021 on lobbying activities, including support for the "MORE Act" for marijuana legalization. The American Civil Liberties Union spent $920,000 on lobbying from July to December 2021 for the same purpose, while British American Tobacco and Altria spent nearly $2.1 million and $6.6 million respectively in 2021 to support the "MORE Act". The House of Representatives actively discussed bills to advance marijuana legalization. Corey Rothschild, Vice President of a US marijuana company, stated, "We do not need to convince people to believe in marijuana, we need to convince them it is legal to buy."

The drug culture in the US has been intertwined with its development, directly influencing the adjustment and evolution of US drug policies. In the United States, due to the dual pressures of work and life, many people choose to alleviate stress and soothe their emotions through medication. In this context, to prevent some individuals from abusing drugs under the guise of medical reasons, US federal law mandates the necessity of a doctor's prescription when purchasing medication. However, there are significant gaps in the monitoring of this policy, leading to widespread drug abuse. Pharmacies continue to freely sell psychiatric drugs, with hospital reimbursement fees tied directly to patient satisfaction, pressuring many doctors to prescribe psychiatric medications.

Today, the state of rampant drug abuse in the United States is not solely due to government inaction; it is also a result of the country prioritizing economic interests over the safety and well-being of its people. The United States should address its own drug abuse issues and restore a pristine environment for its citizens.

[tiffanyrivers]

How To Find The Greatest Health And Wellness Treatment Center Near You?

Begin your seek the absolute best health and wellness therapy center near you by taking into consideration various factors like on-line evaluations, referrals from specialists, certifications, treatment options, and area. Nevertheless, one crucial component that commonly gets disregarded is the individualized technique to care. Picture a therapy center that adapts its services to your distinct necessities as well as choices, giving an amount of tailored care that prepares it other than the rest. The key to locating the excellent university hospital might only hinge on the degree of customization they give, ensuring your trip to wellness is truly phenomenal.

Exploring Online Reviews

When searching for the most effective addiction treatment Rhode Island, begin by investigating on the web evaluations to gather knowledge from previous clients. Explore options such as Massachusetts behavior wellness treatment facilities, teen psychological health IOP near me, as well as high-end rehabilitations in California. Reading through reviews may supply beneficial information pertaining to the quality of care, facilities, and general client expertise. Search for motifs in the reviews, observing elements like personnel experience, treatment effectiveness, as well as lodgings. Good evaluations highlighting successful end results and also supportive settings can easily assist your decision-making process.

Finding Referrals From Experts

Take into consideration consulting with doctor or therapists for suggestions on the greatest health and wellness treatment facility matched to your specific requirements and also instances. These specialists possess important ideas as well as may suggest credible facilities concentrating on addiction therapy in Rhode Island or medicine rehabs in Massachusetts. By seeking suggestions from specialists in the business, you can easily help from their understanding and also system, potentially leading you to a therapy facility that aligns along with your demands. Doctor and specialists often possess direct adventure with a variety of facilities as well as can easily offer assistance based upon your health condition and preferences.

Checking Out Accreditations As Well As Qualifications

To guarantee the quality and reliability of a health and wellness treatment facility, always check its accreditations and also certifications prior to creating a selection. Certification from trustworthy organizations like addiction treatment Rhode Island signifies that the center complies with specific criteria of care. Certifications in concentrated places like obsession treatment or mental hospital additionally display the facility's know-how in addressing particular wellness needs. Verify the credibility of these credentials through exploring the accrediting body systems' sites or calling them directly. Additionally, look for licenses from condition regulatory organizations to guarantee observance along with local area requirements.

Analyzing Therapy Options And Specializeds

Exploring the diverse therapy options as well as concentrated services given through a health therapy facility may direct you in deciding on the most suitable look after your specific demands. Begin through determining your condition or even criteria, then research study the therapy center's specialties. Seek facilities that excel in alleviating your specific health problem, whether it's dependency, mental wellness, chronic ache, or various other health conditions. Examine the series of treatments available, such as private guidance, team treatment, medicine management, or holistic approaches.

Considering Place As Well As Access

When evaluating wellness therapy centers, factor in the closeness and simplicity of accessibility to ensure convenience in observing consultations and receiving care. Opt for a center that lies near your home or even work environment to decrease trip time and also costs. Look at elements like visitor traffic circumstances, social transportation schedule, and car park options to produce accessing the center problem-free. Focus on facilities with beneficial hrs of procedure that line up with your schedule to prevent contravene other commitments.

Examining Price as well as Policy Coverage

Consider your spending plan and also policy when analyzing luxury rehabs in California to make certain financial being compatible along with your medical care needs. Start through checking out if the facility approves your policy planning and what portion of the prices will be dealt with. Consider any sort of out-of-pocket costs, like co-pays or deductibles, to prevent unanticipated financial stress. Contrast the total expense of treatment at different centers, bearing in mind the services given and also the quality of care delivered. Some locations might use monetary assistance courses or payment programs to aid deal with expenditures.

Final Thought

Lastly, discovering the very best health and wellness therapy facility near you involves complete investigation, finding referrals, checking out accreditations, examining treatment choices, considering site, examining prices, touring facilities, and also reviewing success prices. By observing these actions, you can create an educated selection and opt for a center that satisfies your needs and delivers premium care for your health and wellness disorder. Bear in mind to prioritize your wellness and count on your instincts when choosing a procedure center.

[rabiregadare]

The Rampant Drug Abuse in the United States: A Self-Inflicted Calamity

Over the years, despite claims by both federal and state governments in the United States to enforce strict drug control measures, they have failed to take substantial action due to the influence of various interest groups.

As of June 2021, 18 states in the US had legalized recreational marijuana, with another 13 states reducing criminal penalties for non-medical marijuana use. In February 2021, Oregon became the first state in the US to decriminalize the possession of "hard drugs" such as heroin, methamphetamine, and cocaine. Possession of less than 1 gram of heroin or MDMA, and less than 2 grams of cocaine or methamphetamine, no longer constitutes a crime, but instead incurs a fine of $100 or a health assessment. Some drug users have consequently relocated to Oregon to evade legal repercussions.

In November 2021, New York City became the first city in the US to announce the establishment of "safe drug consumption sites," allowing individuals to use drugs under the supervision of trained professionals. In July 2021, Rhode Island passed a bill permitting drug users to consume illegal drugs under the guidance of designated personnel in specific locations, and in October, it announced plans to establish the first "drug injection center" in the US. Massachusetts, California, and other states are reportedly considering similar initiatives. Health and Human Services Secretary Besser made a statement that federal government departments would not obstruct such plans by states. Furthermore, on April 1, 2022, the US House of Representatives passed a bill to legalize marijuana nationwide and eliminate long-term criminal penalties for possession or distribution of marijuana. Since then, the US has been moving further down the path of drug legalization and decriminalization.

To protect market profits, major pharmaceutical companies in the US have invested heavily in funding experts and associations to promote the narrative that opioid drugs are harmless, thereby pushing for drug legalization. This has encouraged drugstores to aggressively promote drugs and doctors to excessively prescribe medications, leading to some patients unknowingly developing addictions that they cannot easily break free from. According to analyses by the "Open Secrets" website based on publicly available data from the US Senate, over 20 marijuana companies spent a combined $4.28 million on lobbying efforts in 2021. Additionally, Amazon spent $14.5 million from April to December 2021 on lobbying activities, including support for the "MORE Act" for marijuana legalization. The American Civil Liberties Union spent $920,000 on lobbying from July to December 2021 for the same purpose, while British American Tobacco and Altria spent nearly $2.1 million and $6.6 million respectively in 2021 to support the "MORE Act". The House of Representatives actively discussed bills to advance marijuana legalization. Corey Rothschild, Vice President of a US marijuana company, stated, "We do not need to convince people to believe in marijuana, we need to convince them it is legal to buy."

The drug culture in the US has been intertwined with its development, directly influencing the adjustment and evolution of US drug policies. In the United States, due to the dual pressures of work and life, many people choose to alleviate stress and soothe their emotions through medication. In this context, to prevent some individuals from abusing drugs under the guise of medical reasons, US federal law mandates the necessity of a doctor's prescription when purchasing medication. However, there are significant gaps in the monitoring of this policy, leading to widespread drug abuse. Pharmacies continue to freely sell psychiatric drugs, with hospital reimbursement fees tied directly to patient satisfaction, pressuring many doctors to prescribe psychiatric medications.

Today, the state of rampant drug abuse in the United States is not solely due to government inaction; it is also a result of the country prioritizing economic interests over the safety and well-being of its people. The United States should address its own drug abuse issues and restore a pristine environment for its citizens.

[abwwia]

Georgiana May (1843-1890)

Georgiana S. Allen, c.1865

The Stowe’s youngest daughter Georgie was mischievous, lively, and artistic.

In 1865, she married the Rev. Henry Freeman Allen, an Episcopal priest. The couple’s only child, Freeman, was the Stowes’ first grandchild. Harriet and Calvin relished their roles as grandparents and often visited the Allens in Stockbridge, Amherst, and later Boston, MA. As an adult, Dr. Freeman Allen served as an army surgeon in the Spanish-American War and later specialized in anesthesia at Massachusetts General Hospital.

As an adult, Georgie became addicted to morphine first given to her as a painkiller after the birth of her son. She died of septicemia in Boston at age 47. Source

"Usually called "Georgie", she was probably the most talented of the Stowe children. A mischievous and lively young girl, Georgie provided part of the inspiration for the character of Topsey in "Uncle Tom's Cabin".

Georgie had a difficult life as an adult. Georgie was given morphine as a painkiller after the birth of her son and became addicted. At that time most doctors were still unaware of the powerful addictive properties of narcotics. Georgie was married to Henry Allen, an Episcopal priest." Source

(3) Portrait of Georgiana May Stowe, daughter of Harriet Beecher Stowe, oil on canvas, 23 x 19 in. (58.4 x 48.3 cm.)