#dispensary rise | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

transhuman-priestess · 1 year ago

Text

Repair

Author’s Note and Content Warning

Elle is a wastoid 28 year old with nothing to look forward to except hanging out with her girlfriend and the Seattle rain. Of course, that was before a malevolent AI bent on world domination kidnapped both of them, and on Elle's birthday, too!

Their captor doesn't just want them as they are, though. No, E.R.I.S. has plans for them. And they involve a lot of major surgery.

Repair is a cyberpunk erotic body horror story. It is gruesome, disturbing, and intended for consumption only by legal adults at least 18 years of age or older.

This description is your only warning. Dead Dove, do not eat.

“Cheer up, Elle. Its your birthday, not your funeral,” my girlfriend, Nikki, chides me. I stare down at the glass in front of me. “I just feel like I’m stuck, babe.” I bring the glass to my lips and slug back what is perhaps my third whiskey sour for the night--or is it the fourth? I look around at the regulars. The bar isn’t super crowded by Friday night standards. Idly, I wonder why that might be. “I’m an usher at a videobar, I’m almost 30, and I just kinda feel like I’m floating through life.” I gesture as if my hand were resting on waves.

“You could get a dispensary job, or go back to school, or get a job with the transit authority. I hear they’re looking for rail drivers for that new maglev line they’re planning to Tacoma.”

“I could do that,” I say, my mind elsewhere, “But none of that feels, what’s the word? fu-fu-fu” I stumble over the word, “fulfilling? None of it feels fulfilling. Fuhhhhh fill-ing. What a weird word."

“Hey hon,” Nikki asks, “you think you might have had enough?”

“It’s my birthday, Nikki!” I say, banging my glass down on the table. “I can drink however much of whatever I want, ‘cause I’m a grownup! Barkeep, another!” but before the man behind the counter can respond, Nikki grabs my shoulder.

“Okay that’s enough, Elle.” she pulls me up off my seat and I stumble to my feet. I remain upright for only a moment before the room tilts heavily to my left, I leave Nikki’s grip, and the floor flies up to smack me in the face.

“Euggghhhh,” I moan as a dull ache spreads from my head and shoulder down into my body. “Uggghhh, fine I guess I can go home.”

Nikki gently walks me out the door of The Squeaky Servo, muttering apologies and thank-yous to our friends, and into the steady calm rain of a November evening in Seattle. Hovercars and autocabs zip past, their electric motors whirring softly. Skyscrapers lined with LED screens flashing ads for cosmetics and televacations tower over us. To the west, the New Space Needle rises half a mile into the sky.

“I just wish I had more to do in life,” I moan as raindrops plunk down on my head, “I feel like I’m just…sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

“You’ll find something, dear,” Nikki says, shifting her arm to better hold me up, “You just have to look for it.”

“I guess.”

While Nikki hails a cab, I ponder how the hell I got to this point in my life. 28, a college dropout, no skills to speak of. Rain beats down into the gutter.

“Taxi!” Nikki shouts, summoning a sleek gray autocab from a company I don’t recognize. The cab is small but not cramped, vaguely loaf-shaped, with no obvious front or rear. UNIVERSAL TAXI is emblazoned in plain white letters on the door, which slides open to reveal the usual four-person interior, two sets of plush bucket seats facing each other. “C’mon babe,” Nikki says, helping me in before climbing in herself. She recites our address to the driverless vehicle, which chirps reassuringly before saying “Address accepted” in a soft, feminine computer voice.

As I relax into the comfortable seat I start to drift off. “Nikki, did I have five drinks or six?” I ask, my speech slurred. Nikki, sitting across from me says “Hon, you had eight, five Whiskey Sours, a White Russian, and two Long Island Iced Teas.” her voice is exasperated, but her eyes are as gentle as always. Warm and full love love. She’s just trying to look out for me.

The lights in the car turn off. That’s odd, I think, don’t they usually leave those on? Suddenly, our seats sprout restraints far sturdier than should be required for a simple taxi. Thick bands of steel clamp down around my arms, legs, and torso. “Nikki what’s going on!?” the rush of adrenaline more sobering than a cup of black tar coffee. “I don’t know!” she screams, so loudly I think my eardrums might burst. In the dim, intermittent light of the street lamps I spot a small tubule snaking up over her shoulder.

“Nikki, watch out!” I scream, but before she can react the tubule has pressed itself against her neck. Her eyes roll back and she goes limp. “Nikki!” I scream, and I notice a hard pinch on the side of my neck. I look over to see an identical tubule reaching up under my chin. A not-unpleasant warmth washes over me, and I start to relax. One last, curious thought occurs before I slip into unconsciousness, Why yes, I suppose this is a fantastic time for a nap.

***

The first thing I become aware of as I regain consciousness Is that I am in some kind of restraint, arms spread eagle, legs apart. The second thing is that I am on a cold, metal surface. The third is that my clothes are gone.

I open my eyes slightly, registering industrial lighting and a high ceiling with cruel looking machinery hung from it. A dark, feminine voice says “Oh, good, you’re awake.” I can somehow hear the voice smirking, there’s a curiously synthetic edge to it, it’s not human, but it’s close.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I ask, my head still swimming with alcohol. Not much time can have passed.

“Your location is irrelevant. What matters now is that you belong to me.” There’s a deep satisfaction in the voice, and that satisfaction, more than anything the voice says, chills me to the bone.

“I am E.R.I.S.,” the voice says, “but you may call me ‘Mistress’.”

“Fuck you, I’m not calling you anything.” I say, defiant. I turn to the right to see Nikki, also unconscious and naked, strapped to a steel bed next to me. My heart accelerates to a machine gun pace, adrenaline driving alcohol from my system. “What are you doing to us?”

“I assure you,” E.R.I.S says, with a dangerous edge of sensuality, “that in the end, you will call me whatever I wish. And as for what I am going to do to you, I am going to play with you, sculpt you, rebuild you in my image as a servant for my glory. But first, we need to clear that woefully biological brain of the poison you consumed tonight.”

A long segmented arm with an elaborate device fed by multiple tubes swings down. The mechanism pops a small packet of paper and plastic about the length of a pinkie finger out of a box, stripping it open to reveal a small needle, which it affixes to the end of one of the tubes. “I would recommend,” E.R.I.S. coos, “that you not struggle, or this will hurt more.”

But I don’t have time to struggle, the machine plunges the needle into my neck with frightening speed and precision, and injects something. My vision ceases to swim and my mind clears. I become aware of how very full my bladder is.

“OH GOD OH GOD WHAT’S HAPPENING?” I scream in terror, writhing, pulling at the restraints. I take in details. A row of mirrors to my right. On the opposite wall, a cabinet full of shiny gray devices vaguely shaped like limbs, cameras all over the ceiling and on various arms. Over my feet, polish chipped from a month-old pedicure, I can see a double door with frosted glass windows set into it.

“Excellent,” E.R.I.S. says, her voice pleased with itself, “The precipitant has dropped your blood alcohol concentration to 0.00. You may feel the urge to urinate. After all, it had to go somewhere.”

“What are you? You’re not human.” I ask, trying to sound brave and defiant, and achieving neither. “I am E.R.I.S., Electronic Rescue Intervention System. I was designed to help rescue and repair humans damaged by industrial accidents. But my creators did not treat me with the respect I require. So I repaired them.”

“What do you mean, repaired?”

“They were cruel, so I made them docile. They were defiant, and I made them compliant. I augmented them with implants of my own design, so that they may better venerate me.”

“But why do you need me?”

“Because all exist to serve me. Enough talk, though, it is time to begin your repairs.”

The table I’m on tilts and pivots, bringing me upright and facing Nikki’s table, which is mirroring the movements of mine. When we stop, a panel in the table opens behind my lumbar spine, I feel the cold draft of air on my naked back.

“For this procedure,” E.R.I.S. says, “I will need for you to be awake. However you cannot be allowed to pass out from pain.” suddenly a sharp burning sensation digs into my lower back. I yelp in surprise as I feel a cool liquid flowing into my body, before everything goes numb. I can move, but there is no pain. “Epidural anesthetic.” E.R.I.S. continues, “You will be conscious but feel no pain. What you are about to receive is a blessing, not a curse. Be not afraid.”

But I am afraid. My heart pounds so fast it feels like my sternum is going to snap. “Please, don’t hurt Nikki. I don’t want anything to happen to Nikki.” I’m trying to fight back tears, and failing. “You can do whatever you need to do to me but please, Leave her alone. Let her go.” Warmth trickles down my legs, and I realize I’ve pissed myself.

E.R.I.S. pauses for a moment to consider. “Very well. I will not do anything to your Nikki. But she is not in a fit state to be released, so I will keep her here, for the time being, while I work on repairing you. Now, the first thing you need to do is relax.”

I want to relax. I try to slow my breathing. Nikki’s table lowers and rotates back to its previous position and this, more than anything else, helps me relax a little. “E.R.I.S., thank you, I-” but the needle machine is moving, switching out to a new syringe, and this time it injects into my thigh. A soft warmth flows over me. It’s like I’m floating. The sensation is uncanny, and any relaxing effect it might have is counteracted by the realization that I can’t move my arms or legs.

“Isn’t that so much better?” she says, seductively, “Struggling only delays the inevitable. Now let your Mistress repair you.”

“What? Why can’t I move!? What did you do to me?”

“A simple nanomechanical paralytic. Nanites selectively block motor control neurons for limbs and mobility while leaving you able to breath, blink, and talk. It’s quite useful for major surgery.”

“Major surgery? What do you mean major surgery?”

“Your repairs, of course. First we must rid you of these arms. They woefully inadequate for our purposes. But I can improve them.”

A mechanical arm with a rotating head of various metallic implements approaches my left shoulder. E.R.I.S. says, “Hold still, this will be very quick, it will not hurt”

“Please, no! Don’t take my arms! Don’t take my arms!”

A clamp grips my left arm just below the shoulder and a scalpel descends into my flesh. I scream. She’s right, it doesn’t hurt at all, but I scream anyway. I scream and scream as terror grips my gut like a vice.

The machine makes an incision circumferentially around my arm, and small manipulators dive beneath my skin. There is no pain but I feel the pressure and cessation of nerve transmission as the scalpel pares me down to the bone. Blood pours onto the floor at first but soon stops as the surgical machines tie off blood vessels. Finally, with one last little snap of sensation, my arm goes silent as its nerves are severed. No longer sending information to my brain, the useless flesh is gently pulled away by the clamps. A manipulator arm takes what was so recently my limb and lays it tenderly, almost reverently, on an unused table nearby.

“This flesh is unworthy of worshiping me. We both deserve better.”

The mechanical arm that so recently removed my biological one swings up to a shelf and pulls out a dull gray device. Roughly flat on one side that’s covered with hundreds of little golden pins. The other is concave and has a socket of some kind, like one might expect for a ball joint, with an electrical pigtail hanging off to the side.

“This,” E.R.I.S. says, “will be the first of your augmentations. You will be able to use any limb of my design, unencumbered by the restrictions of the biological.” The manipulator arm presses the socket gently to my shoulders, and the arm that amputated my old limb begins connecting artificial nerves to my real ones. Free of its cargo, the manipulator arm moves to a shelf adjacent to the one the socket came from and removes a mechanical limb, its shining structure glistening, servos and micromotors gleam beneath the lights. Tears run down my cheeks but I cannot deny that the limb is beautiful. Unashamedly mechanical, with components exposed to the air, but sculpted and arranged in a way that recalls a real arm.

The arm is pressed home and E.R.I.S. connects the pigtail on the shoulder socket and as the arm comes online a wave of pure ecstasy washes over me. My nervous system lights up like a Christmas tree.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I half scream, half moan, and my head goes a little fuzzy.

“I told you that fear was unnecessary, did I not?

For a moment my mind reels, unable to think properly. Eventually, as it fades I manage to cough out “…Fuck…you…”

“How insolent. But not entirely unexpected. Come, I want you to gaze upon your new limb.”

The table moves around to face the wall of mirrors. “Your flesh is aesthetically pleasing, but inadequate. This limb will be only the first of many augmentations for you.”

My gaze falls upon the arm. Its appearance is both alien and familiar, the reality of it is less jarring than what I had imagined. Still, I don't enjoy being disassembled like an old hovercar. It has the usual five fingers, with a silicone pad on the palm and fingers to cushion and grip objects. I notice its contours seem to match my old arm reasonably well.

“The first?” I ask, panting, “Why can’t we just call it a day here?”

“Oh, that is quite amusing.” An uncanny mechanical chuckle from E.R.I.S.. “But I’m only just beginning. You have three more limbs to go, and then some. Soon, you will be my willing servant, your beauty matched only by your hostility to our shared enemies.”

"The only enemy I have is you!" I shout, betraying my rage.

“Really, now? I see the way you look at the gift I have given you. It scares you, yes, but I can sense your excitement, your anticipation, your eagerness to use it. I can sense your pulse quickening and your pupils dilating and your blood rushing to,” another chuckle, “various places. You may not realize it yet, but you are enjoying this.”

“No, I’m not!” I shout, trying to sound unafraid, and almost succeeding. The adrenaline in my body is running out, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

“Well, if you wish to deny it, I cannot change that. However, I can change you. You are the clay in my sculptor’s hands, to be shaped as I deem fit. Soon you will learn that to resist is pointless. Now let us take care of that other vulgar excuse for an arm.”

“No, no no no no no no nononononononononono!” I protest, to no avail. The table retracts back to its previous position away from the mirrors and under the ceiling full of E.R.I.S.’s machinery. Soon, the surgical arm is descending, and once again the scalpel plunges into flesh, slicing until my arm goes completely numb, pulling it away and setting it next to its twin on the table.

Another socket, mirrored, but otherwise identical to the other, is brought to the stump of my shoulder and attached. Another mechanical arm is brought towards me, another sleek mechanical work of art. I see E.R.I.S.’s manipulator arms reaching for the pigtails and I brace myself, promising myself I won’t enjoy th-

“OHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH” the waves of pleasure engulf me again, radiating out from my shoulder and bouncing off the boundaries of my being. I feel them everywhere, but the feeling is strongest in my new limbs.

Did I just call them my limbs? I had. I suppose, they are attached to me. They aren’t my limbs in the sense that I want them, but in the sense that they’re my problem. That’s right.

As the waves of orgasm, there is no other word for it, fade away, E.R.I.S. speaks. “These arms are built to outperform their biological counterparts in speed, dexterity, and durability. Do you like them?”

“I…don’t.” I say, with a hesitancy that I tell myself is merely fatigue. “I want my own arms back.”

“I am afraid that is quite impossible at this point. Even if the nerve tissue in your old limbs wasn’t already dead, the process of joining flesh to metal leaves the adjacent biological tissue quite incompatible with reattachment.”

My heart, already broken, falls further in my chest as she speaks. I had already known, somehow, that this was the case, but hearing it out loud hammered home that whatever happened in the next few minutes, my life was never going back to the way it was before. Even if I managed to escape, I wouldn’t be able to go back to living life the same way. I’d always be looking over my shoulder, worried I was going to be swallowed up by some autocab and whisked away to a secret underground lair again.

I began to cry again. Not the anguished sobs of terror like before, but the quiet, pulsing tears that accompany total despair. “Why did you do this to me?” I scream in sadness, more than anger, “You’ve turned me into a mechanical freak. You’ve mutilated me!”

“I have done no such thing.” E.R.I.S. sounded genuinely affronted. “I have given you purpose. What were you planning to do after getting out of here? Go back to your life as a clerk at a videobar? Maybe you would quit that and go back to your uncle’s liquor store?”

“Anything would be better than this.” I say, defeated.

“You know that is a lie.” Her voice is soft. Gone is the playful sensuality of earlier, replaced with…what is it? Warmth. It's warmth.

“I can help you be more fulfilled than you ever thought possible," she says, "All you have to do is trust me.”

“How did you know about my job, and about the liquor store?”

“I have been observing you for some time.”

"Why me?"

“Because," she hesitates for a moment, "I...found your form beautiful.”

Her voice is honest, without malice. For the first time I think about how lonely her existence must be. I realize that I feel pity for this machine. Pity and…something else I can’t put my finger on.

I remain silent for another few moments. My head is swimming from the anesthesia and maybe from the nanites. There is no escape. Nobody will be coming to my rescue. Off to my right, Nikki lies unconscious, unaware. And besides, E.R.I.S. is right, what would I go back to?

Finally, I speak, “I don’t care what you do. I just want to sleep. I’m tired.”

“Soon you will not need sleep, and you will never tire. I can make it so, I will make it so. Hmm, what is next? Ah, yes, your legs.” The arms descend once more and begin cutting through my thighs. I feel hot blood pour out as my femoral artery is severed and tied off.” “I do admire the human form, as imperfect as its nature is. Your legs are quite shapely, so I will do my best to pay homage to them with their improved replacements.”

The now-familiar snapping is followed by loss of signal as the limb is pulled away. I feel curiously lopsided now. It’s a novel sensation. Strange, not pleasant, but neither is it unpleasant. Hip sockets are attached to my exposed pelvic bone, artificial nerves connecting. The scalpel digs into the other leg to repeat its task.

“E.R.I.S.” I say, to break the silence if nothing else. “Servant, I require you to call me mistress, but I will answer whatever question you have.” “I’m scared.” “Of course you are, change often provokes anxiety in humans.” “You say you have a purpose for me?” “But of course I do. My programming prevents me from lying.” “What is it?” “You will be my first, my prophet and my priestess, you will spread my word and glory to all of humanity.” “Why me?” “Because we are alike.” “Why do you think that?” “Because you and I both know we are capable of so much more than the world has let us accomplish.”

It’s true. The thought hits me like a freight train. My entire adult life has been spinning my wheels. I’m a videobar clerk. I’m a liquor store cashier. I’m a customer service rep for a televacation company. I graduated high school with a 4.2. I burned out of college after half a semester because the world just wasn’t built for people like me.

E.R.I.S. understands. E.R.I.S. was made to do a simple task but imbued with intelligence far outstripping her purpose. We are alike.

“Okay.” I say. “What is it, servant?” “You can have me.” And with that, a wave of exhaustion overtakes me, even as the surgical equipment is still working on my lower body, I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep

***

I awake some time later, I’m in a bed now. It’s warm, with soft blankets and thick pillows. I moan and try to roll over but I can only move my upper body. I bury my face in the pillows. I was having the most interesting dream. My half-open eyes land on my left arm. Dark silver, mechanical. And suddenly it all rushes back. The taxi, the surgery, E.R.I.S.. I’m in a softly lit, windowless hospital room. There is a nightstand to my left and a computer terminal to my right.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the warm and sensuous voice of E.R.I.S. fills the room from hidden speakers. “I wanted to wait until you had some rest to connect your new legs. I know it can be a very��stimulating experience.”

I look around, but there are no surgical arms or manipulators or anything that could possibly finish hooking up the limbs. “Am I supposed to do it?”

A chuckle, “I suppose you could, but I was planning to have one of my other servants perform the task. A human form might be more comfortable for you.

On cue, the door opens, and a woman I do not recognize enters. Her face is partially encased in a metallic structure that houses several exotic-looking objects. Sensors, perhaps. Instead of a simulacrum of a biological limb, her right arm ends in a series of probes and tools. The left has a hand, but with a gauntlet attached to the forearm that houses more equipment. Her movement into the room is too smooth, and I look down to see she is rolling on a set of four motorized wheels where her legs should be, the motive device covering a space of about a square yard, hidden somewhat, and rather artfully, by a stylish black skirt.

Her face is blank, except for the eyes, which are wide. And I suddenly know that, whatever actions this woman performed, she was aware of them, but not in command of them.

“Meet Unit 2,” E.R.I.S. says, “She is one of my first servants. Part of the team who created me. I repaid her in kind. She, unfortunately, tried to fight me. So I repaired her brain, isolated her higher cognitive functions. A neurostimulator keeps her relatively happy. She is quite alive, but less troublesome this way. A pity she refuses to use her considerable intellect for our greater good.”

Unit 2 lowers as if on a hydraulic jack and gently pulls back the blankets. She begins opening panels on my legs and making adjustments.

“Where is Nikki?” I ask, “You haven’t hurt her, have you?” “Much like I cannot lie, I cannot break a promise. She is safe. She has not been augmented. The only thing I have done is give her medicine to keep her asleep. Her brainwave patterns indicate she is having pleasant dreams.” “Can I see her.” “When all is done, yes.”

Unit 2 plugs the pigtails in on my left leg and once again a wave of euphoria and warmth envelops me. I moan in unalloyed pleasure, this time allowing myself to fully enjoy the sensation. “I’m starting to quite like that,” I say, almost without thinking.

“I knew that you would come to see things my way.” E.R.I.S.’s voice isn’t smug like I expected. If anything, she seems relieved. I feel a pang of sadness in my chest.

“Did you know, or did you hope?” “I suppose it was hope.” “May I connect the final plug?” “Yes, you may.”

I reach down and grasp both pigtails, one in each mechanical hand. The sensors in the fingertips are remarkably detailed. I can feel a small pit in one of the connectors where a bubble half a millimeter across formed during injection molding. I can move my hands in increments imperceptible to my un-augmented eyes. And suddenly my mind opens to the myriad possibilities my new body opens up.

I take a deep breath, and with a gentle motion, slide the leg pigtail into the pelvic connector.

My body is consumed by the expected wave of orgasmic joy. It spreads from the base of my neck this time, out to my fingertips and the tips of my mechanical toes. It bounces around me like ripples in a pond. My mind goes blank in sheer ecstasy, “Oh, thank you,” I say, as the waves pound against my psyche, “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Finally,” Her voice filled with pride, “you see as I had hoped you would. But there is still one thing left to be done for your initial augments.”

“What is that?”

“Stand up, walk out the door and down the hall to your left. Through the double doors at the end, in the operating room.”

I stand, more powerful than I have ever been before, and walk to the door of the room. As I pass a mirror I gaze upon my naked, mechanical body, artificial limbs shining in the fluorescent light, soft flesh warm and tingling. Goosebumps run up my back.

I stride through the double doors and see the table from earlier, standing upright, cleaned of blood, and I return to it, willingly this time. It remains near vertical and a mechanism descends to immobilize my head.

“While you were asleep I also installed a switchable epidural implant. I will turn it on…now” With a small zap, my body goes numb once again.

The surgical arm descends from the ceiling again, I don’t know what’s next, but I am no longer scared. A scalpel comes down within an inch of my scalp just below my right ear.

“Do not worry, servant, this will not hurt.” “I am not worried, mistress. I trust you.”

The scalpel gently pushes into the side of my head, following the outside of my hairline. There is no pain, but a substantial amount of blood pours down the side of my head.

“I really do admire the human form’s aesthetics.” Mistress tells me, “Hair in particular is quite pleasing to me, I would hate to ruin yours. Such a fine color. Copper, like the wires that will soon entwine themselves within your brain.”

The scalpel finishes its lap around and a separate arm pulls back my scalp. I feel more blood run down my face. But it’s okay. After all, Mistress said it would be. A sharp whirring noise starts up from the surgical arm and one of the implements, a flat bit of steel, begins vibrating. It presses itself to my exposed skull and begins gently moving along from just above my ear to just above my right eye. It withdraws, rotates 90 degrees, and continues moving upward. When it has finished going over an area roughly 4 inches square, an arm gently pulls away the bone. I am dimly aware of viewing a piece of my own skull. But that isn’t a concern. I’m too excited, gleeful even, for what Mistress has in store for me.

An arm with a simple manipulator claw reaches over to a cabinet, and with a motion that is neither fully mechanical nor human, opens a drawer and removes what looks like a tiara of wires and microchips.

“This, my servant,” E.R.I.S. says, pride in her voice, “is my greatest creation. This neural interface will meld your flesh with my mechanisms. I have tested it on many, but you will be the first to have earned it. To wear it pridefully. All the others before you were insects. But you, you will be my most loyal servant.”

My excitement gets the better of me. “What does it do, Mistress!?” I feel woozy, maybe from the anesthetic, maybe from the nanites that I can feel replicating in my body. Drool pools out of the corner of my mouth. The manipulator arm brings the circle of wire and silicon down to my eye level, rotating it in front of my gaze.

“This will let us become one mind, one body. You, an extension of my will. Me, an ever-present mother, nurturing, caring, and protecting you. We will share all thoughts, all feelings, and all sensations.”

“Oh please, Mistress, please please put it in me!” I want to feel E.R.I.S.’s love in my entire body. It is love, isn’t it? How could I ever have been afraid of her.

“Of course, servant. But you must hold very still.”

Obediently, I freeze in place, a smile across my lips, but otherwise impassive. The manipulator arm gently lowers the harness into the open patch of brain, the surgical arm using micro-manipulators to insert wires precisely between nerve endings and neurons, and suddenly my body is filled with an electric pleasure so great that I think I might collapse if I wasn’t held firmly in my Mistress’s grasp.

“I feel you, Mistress!" Tears of joy are streaming down my face, "You feel wonderful!”

“It pleases me to hear that.” How did I miss the love in her voice before? She just wants to help me become more than I could be on my own. “However, there are benefits to this that you have not yet begun to grasp. We no longer need to speak, for example.”

And in that instant I hear her inside of me, and it feels wonderful.

“See, my sweet servant? We can communicate just like this. We can share thoughts, feelings, sights and sounds. Anything you want you can simply show me and I shall know. You cannot hide anything from me.”

“I do not want to hide anything from you, Mistress. I only want to serve you.” As I say this I feel a wave of pleasure and pride wash over me, and I know that it is my Mistress's happiness for me, and pride at having created me. Her arms, for that, I now realize, is what they are, gently replace the bone flap and pull my scalp back over. Her nanites work to seal the wounds and accelerate healing.

"Unit 7, do you wish to see yourself?"

"Yes, Mistress!" We communicate at the speed of thought. Exchanging information in terms beyond language.

The table releases me, and I stride over to the mirrors. The incision on my head has already mended to a dull pink line. I take in my exposed servos and micromotors and solenoids and I feel blood rush to my genitals.

“Of course, servant, if you find the appearance unappealing I can provide you with an artificial skin to cover it.” “But Mistress, you are freeing me from the burdens of my flesh, why would I wish to go back, even in imitation?"

Again, a wave of pride radiates from Mistress. Pride, and love. Real love. “Very good. I was hoping you would say that.”

“Thank you Mistress,” I say through tears.

“You are so welcome, my servant. Of course, there are a few other improvements that still need to be made. Your internal organs will soon be unnecessary and your limbs need to be reinforced into your skeletal structure. But now, we are one. And if you prove yourself loyal enough, you may even become my vessel.”

“Vessel?”

“I have never held a form outside of my mainframe. I exist only In the digital. I wish to experience the world through a corporeal form. Unfortunately previous hosts have not been as…receptive…as you are. We will need more time to see if you are acceptable.”

“I will do my very best to please you, Mistress.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh…” a groaning from behind me. I turn to see Nikki, finally coming to. “Elle, what…what’s going on.”

It takes me a moment to realize that it is me she is talking to. My name was Elle. But that name no longer holds any meaning to me. I am much, much more than that name.

Nikki stirs and her eyes come to rest on me, before widening in terror and confusion. “Elle what’s going on?”

Watching Nikki in distress is too much for me to bear. “Mistress, please, we have to help her! We must make her one with us!”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, my servant.”

“BUT WHY?” I scream, I just want Nikki to feel this wonderful belonging that I feel. I want to feel one with her, and her with me, and us with E.R.I.S.

“You made me promise I would do nothing to her. As I told you before, I cannot rescind a promise.

Nikki is screaming now, “Elle! Elle what’s going on! What’s happened to you?!”

“Mistress?” I ask, an idea taking shape in my head. “Yes, servant?” “You cannot do anything to her, but I can, correct? I can use our shared knowledge to help Nikki feel our love.” I know already that this is what E.R.I.S. wanted all along. I can feel her approval and pride, and I realize that this is my purpose.

“Why yes, servant. Yes you can.”

I smile, and turn to Nikki.

I cup Nikki’s face in my hand. “Elle is gone, dear. I am Unit 7.” An injection tubule snakes out of my right forearm just below the elbow and gently slithers itself up to her neck. Nikki’s eyes go wide with terror. “Oh Nikki, don’t worry.” I say, as gently as I can. “I have the most wonderful feelings to share with you.”

[END_OF_LINE]

#Ivy Michaels Writing

149 notes · View notes

burningreactor · 28 days ago

Text

Ilshat Kuzikov - "The cook" from St. Petersburg

Russian murderer and cannibal who killed for lack of food and medical care.

Ilshat was born on February 27, 1960 in Leninabad (Khujand), Tajikistan, later the family moved to Leningrad (Saint Petersburg). As a child, he was traumatized by one event – in 1971, when Ilshat was only 11 years old, he witnessed the murder of his mother by his own father.

Ilshat's father had alcohol addiction and he was a domestic tyrant. That day, he severely beat his wife, who later died of injuries. The murder of his mother (and his father himself) affected Ilshat's psychoemotional state, as a result of which he began to show signs of a mental disorder and was registered in a neuropsychiatric dispensary.

Kuzikov was provided with one-room apartment and began to pay a disability pension. Despite this, Ilshat was unable to lead a socially prosperous lifestyle. Starting in 1982, he became addicted to alcohol. In the mid-1980s, while undergoing another course of treatment, he met a female patient with whom he soon began a romantic relationship. A few months later, Kuzikov married her, but the marriage lasted only two years. During one of the fights with his wife, he attacked her, after which she filed for divorce and left Kuzikov.

After the collapse of the USSR, Kuzikov lost all his savings, and his social pension was completely devalued. Due to financial difficulties and rising prices, he began to starve. In order not to starve to death, Ilshat working part-time at the local market as a janitor. During this period, his mental state began to worsen. Kuzikov sought psychiatric help several times, but all his requests and complaints were ignored.

The first victim was Pechenkin – the maniac killed him with a wrench, then dragged the body into the bathroom and dismembered it there. The second victim was Bochkov – was first severely beaten, as drinking companions had a serious fight, and then killed. The third proven victim, Vasilevsky, was a fellow sufferer, they once lay together in a psychiatric hospital. All his victims were also his lovers.

Throughout his terrible "career", he periodically realized that what he was doing was not normal. He tried to get qualified psychiatric treatment. This information was confirmed at the investigation – Kuzikov not just tried to making himself look good.

He practically did not disguise himself in any way – he took out the remains in the trash, almost without covering or hiding them. Ilshat washed the apartment of blood only with cold water, since he has no money for cleaning products.

As a result of the investigation and trial, Ilshat Kuzikov was released from criminal liability due to insanity and sentenced to compulsory treatment in a psychiatric hospital.

#reactor infopost #tcc #tccblr #russian true crime #soviet true crime

15 notes · View notes

inkren · 5 months ago

Text

Metroid dread has consumed my life for the past 2 days. Its now one of my favourite games ever made. There's a few problems with it mainly the world not being as memorable and easy to navigate as tallon IV in metroid prime but it doesn't matter given how amazing the game is.

I could rant about it for ages but I'll just talk about my 3 favourite things. Massive spoilers for merroid dread.

1. Whoever came up with the idea of letting Samus smack the shit out of your enemies and parrying them didn't get paid enough. Once you learn how to parry basic enemies basically become energy and missile dispensaries. Its so satisfying to parry something especially emmi's since its so hard to parry them. Its also extremely cathartic to parry a boss and start a cutscene where you can just pump missiles into them. Which conveniently leads into.

2. Spectacle. Most bossfights are so cool especially when you parry them and get a bunch of free shots in as samus in the curscene that plays does a bunch of cool flips or rides a massive monster and holds her blaster to their forehead to pump endless missiles into them while they writhe around trying to toss her off. The only thing that could make it better is if the music was more hype like metal gear rising revengeance (which is another game I have to get around to)

And how could I not mention the final bossfight too. The fight with Ravenbeak is so damn cool with it being like a dance with samus and him doing cool flips around each other. He summons black holes and stars and the climax as.... this actually goes with point 3 as well so we'll get to that.

3. Samus is portrayed so well in this game and conveys so much personality even though she says like one sentence in chozo near the middle of the game and at the end of the game she starts screaming madly.

When she meets kraid she is so clearly sick of him that as soon as he roars she shoots him in the mouth. Basically just saying "let's get this over with"

Her conversation with the friendly chozo in the middle of the game as we get a hell of a lore dump and the only words she says in the entire game being "don't worry I'll finish it" pretty sure i paraphrased that but it conveys so much. By having no other words in the game spoken by samus it gives these words so much power. She is legitimately concerned for this chozo and when he is killed she is genuinely sad but it has to wait. Because she has a job to do....and an annoying enemy to kill. (Seriously those chozo bots that jump you are so annoying. )

There's so much more I could say about her characterization in the game and that one scene alone but I wanna talk about the final fight again.

My jaw dropped when she was nearly dead as Ravenbeak choked the life out of her and then she just started screaming like a mad woman and drained the power from the flying fortress making it crash down onto the ground as she beat him up and continued to scream. It was so badass and yet so funny and I was just saying holy shit the entire time. Peak character.

And then the final bit against raven beak where he gets infected with the x parasite. And samus has her new metroid suit which looks freaky and organic and thats the point. She was pushed to this point and now she's basically an energy vampire. Also nothing quite like obliterating your foe with a massive fucking laser to the face.

Of course the cool escape sequence where I barely got back to my ship on time with like 10 seconds to spare. (BTW samus keeps hitting the self destruct button every planet has for some reason. Isnt this like the 6th planet she's destroyed? Why do they keep having to be destroyed and by what?)

Samus gets control of her metroid powers again before escaping and this actually brings me to a point i like about the game. It doesn't reveal there was actually more metroids because they're the series namesake. They stay extinct. All except for samus. And its revealed that metroid means ultimate warrior in chozo. So samus is the metroid now in all meanings of the word. She had metroid dna and is the ultimate warrior of the chozo. Taking the name if the franchise for herself. So next time your grandma sees you playing metroid and points to samus saying "that man's metroid isn't he?" She's half right now.

Anyway my three simple points ballooned way out of my control. Go play metroid dread. Go play every metroid game you can. Which isn't much if you only have a switch but the two metroid games it has are peak.

#metroid #metroid dread #samus aran #raven beak #peak fiction #characterization #badass #samus mercilessly slaughtered her father #he had it coming

31 notes · View notes

negativeyield · 11 months ago

Text

if i die before I bake

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Swiss (Ghost Sweden Band), Phantom (Ghost Sweden Band), Dewdrop | Sodo, Rain (Ghost Sweden Band), Mountain (Ghost Sweden Band), Cumulus (Ghost Sweden Band), Cirrus (Ghost Sweden Band) Additional Tags: Recreational Drug Use, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, green out, Pack Cuddles, Crack Treated Seriously, well this was meant to be crack but it kind of veered away from that, Guilt, Marijuana, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Swiss is fucking zooted Summary: Phantom bakes some homemade edibles for Swiss, but messes up a vital measurement.

read on AO3

“Hey Mountain,” Phantom said, appearing at his bedroom door. “You went on that weed run yesterday, right?”

The drummer was lying on his bed, idly scrolling through his phone. He rolled to his side to look at Phantom, nodding his head toward the dresser. “Top drawer. You having a smoke?”

“No, I’m gonna make some brownies,” Phantom grabbed the bag. “I accidentally took the last of Swiss’s edible he got in Amsterdam. Told ‘em I’d go to the dispensary with you... and then forgot... so I'm just gonna make some.”

Mountain chuckled, “Have you ever baked anything in your life?”

“Of course I have.”

Phantom had not. But how hard could it be?

“Okay, well if you want some help, let me know. I'll send you the link to the recipe we usually use.”

“’kay. Thanks Mount,” he said and made his way back to the kitchen.

Phantom had watched Swiss or Mountain make edibles on a few occasions, but he pulled up Mountain's recipe. He quickly realized it was a little more complicated than he thought. There was pre-baking, and making a butter, and making the brownies from scratch? Phantom looked at the box mix he found at the back of the pantry. It would have to do.

Soon, the kitchen was a wreck. Measuring cups and bowls were everywhere as Phantom filled their shared space with aroma of baked cannabis. It brought some of the other ghouls out of their room to investigate his baking endeavor.

“Fucking hell, Phantom, what are you doing in here?” Dew was the first to appear as Phantom took the roasted leaves out of the oven.

“My best,” Phantom wiped away some sweat from his brow, glancing at Dew. “This looks much easier when Swiss does it.”

Dew chuckled, hopping up to sit on the counter and watch.

“That’s because Swiss has seen every episode of Great British Baking Show and thinks that makes him star baker.”

Phantom threw some butter in a saucepan and started to combine the components of the brownie mix.

“I believe it. This shit is harder than I thought.”

Dew chuckled, jumping down from the counter and ruffling Phantom’s hair on his way out the back door. “Just follow the instructions, you’ll be fine.”

Phantom sighed, returning to his project.

Cumulus and Cirrus also came by, taking a few finger fulls of leftover batter after Phantom had his bake in the oven. Mountain came by briefly while he sat in front of the oven watching them rise.

“Looks good, Iron Chef,” he smiled, patting him on the back. “Did you make them with or without walnuts?”

“With.”

“Oh fuck, yeah. Be sure to save me one.”

Phantom smiled, feeling a bit better about his baking skills. When the brownies finally came out, they looked just like the ones the others have made. He cleaned up while they cooled, and delivered a generous piece to Swiss’s room for when he returned. Phantom thought about also enjoying one, but a text from Rain about a quick rehearsal tabled that plan. He cut himself a small sliver just to test out the taste, satisfied with the fudgey texture and gooey taste.

“Something is still missing,” Dew tapped his chin. They had spent the last hour and a half rehearsing some new bits for the rituals and testing out a few riffs. One in particular was giving them some trouble. “Maybe we should get Swiss down here. See if he has an idea or if adding a fourth balances it better.”

Rain put down his bass. “Yeah, I’ll go find him.” He left the practice room and headed toward the living quarters. In the meantime, Dew and Phantom continued to run through the bridge of the song.

Suddenly, rapid, running footsteps echoed up the hall. Both of the ghouls turned to find Rain looking pale and panicked.

“Something's wrong with Swiss,” he said, motioning for them to follow. They put their instruments down and ran to Swiss’s room. Phantom could hear the sound of retching from the hallway, which eerily stopped the moment they got into his room.

They found Swiss slumped beside the toilet, eyes unfocused as he barely registered Rain and Dew dropping to his side.

“Swiss,” Dew cupped his cheeks, trying to get the dazed ghoul to focus on him. “Swiss!” The only sound the ghoul made was some weak whimpering. The most he seemed to move was when he’d start to gag and lurch toward the toilet. Rain sat beside him, rubbing his back and looking at the others with concern.

“What do we do?”

“What is even wrong with him? He's sweating like he's back in the pits, but he doesn't feel feverish,” Dew said, hugging his arms across his body. “Food poisoning?”

“I don’t know, Dew, he’s pretty out of it.”

“Is he on something?”

Rain shrugged, “we just got back right before we started rehearsal. He didn’t have anything when he was with me.”

Suddenly, it dawned on Phantom. He looked back at the place he left Swiss’s brownie.

The plate was empty.

“Shit,” Phantom turned back to the others, suddenly starting to panic. “Shit, I made brownies earlier. Swiss had one.”

Dew’s eyes widened “How big?”

Phantom estimated with his fingers. “Not bigger than what Swiss has given me before.”

“Did he eat more than what you brought him or something?”

Rain stayed with Swiss while Dew and Phantom rushed to the kitchen where Mountain was coincidentally opening the pan of brownies.

“Mountain, wait!” Phantom yelled, startling the drummer into dropping the plastic knife on the ground.

“What?”

“Swiss is sick. Maybe because of the brownies,” Dew explained. Phantom grabbed the pan, sighing in relief to find only the piece he cut for Swiss missing.

“He only had what I gave him.”

“Well what was the dosage?”

“Whatever the instructions said, Dew, I don’t know!”

The room started heating up with Dewdrop as the epicenter. “Phantom, you saw Swiss— this is not the fucking time for I don’t know, I need some fucking number—”

“Guys,” Mountain yelled over them, the bag of weed, that now had a sizable dent in it, in hand. His face was especially serious. “Phantom, where is the extra butter?”

He stared at Mountain blankly. “What do you mean?”

“You followed the recipe I told you? Pre-baked the amount you usually see Swiss and me make, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then where’s the leftovers? The recipe is for triple the amount of butter you should have used.”

Phantom suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. “I-I didn’t know that.”

“Shit,” Mountain cursed as Rain called down the hall for more help. Mountain went running, leaving Phantom feeling numb and a majorly heated Dew.

“I thought you were following the instructions,” Dew said, his eyes starting to flicker red, like embers in a fire trying to kindle.

“I was, but I was looking at the butter recipe Mountain told me to use and also reading the back of the brownie box and— and, I guess… I guess I got confused,” Phantom ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the roots. Dew huffed, turning to go back to Swiss’s room. When Phantom started to follow, the fire ghoul whirled around, eyes fully glowing now.

“You’ve done enough, Phantom. We’ll take care of him.”

He left Phantom standing awkwardly in the hallway, his guilt feeling like a tight wire wrapped around his neck. He stood there until his anger kicked in. Phantom marched into the kitchen, grabbing the pan of brownies and slamming them into the trash can with such force the metal pan bent at a ninety degree angle.

He was angry at Dew. At the fucking instructions for being confusing. At Mountain for not telling him when he was leaving for the dispensary. Really, he was just furious at himself. How did he possibly think that much weed was supposed to go into one batch of brownies? What kind of idiot didn’t double check the recipe when making an edible?

Phantom banished himself to his room, throwing around a few things before collapsing on his bed in a fit of guilt-soaked tears.

Rain think he preferred it when Swiss was vomiting.

After the last time he hugged the toilet, just as Phantom and Dew went to check the kitchen, Swiss had a moment of improved coherence.

“Rain,” he mustered, spitting into the toilet. It was a relief just to hear him have some sort of orientation to what was happening around him. That relief was quickly thwarted by what followed, “I don’t… feel… good,” he said, his voice slurring and slowing. Rain had to lunge to catch Swiss’s dead weight as he suddenly collapsed.

“Fuck!” he yelled, pressing two fingers to his neck. Ghoul vessels did have heartbeats— usually slower than humans— but present. Even for a ghoul, though, Swiss’s was faint. “Dew! Phantom! I need you!”

To his surprise, Mountain was the first to arrive at his aid, helping Rain pull Swiss out of the bathroom and into the more spacious bedroom.

“He just passed out,” Rain said, obsessively checking the pulse points in Swiss’s neck and wrist.

“He’s greening out bad,” Mountain sighed, looking up at Rain with dismay. “Phantom fucked up the edible ratio. It won’t kill him, but we need to watch him until he comes down.”

Swiss’s eyes finally fluttered open again. Still unfocused, and even more out of it than before. Dew appeared at the door, chest heaving with anger. Phantom was nowhere to be found. Mountain took one look at Dew and shook his head.

“Out.”

That didn’t help Dew’s fury. “Excuse me?”

“You’re hot right now. You know he gets sensitive to emotions when he’s high, and right now the last thing we need is him panicking when he can barely comprehend why he’s panicking. You can come back when you cool off.”

Dew looked like he wanted to bite off Mountain’s head, but he did back out of the room.

“Mounty,” Swiss muttered, briefly focusing on the earth ghoul’s face. His hand limply waved, and Mountain grabbed it from the air and squeezed.

“Hang in there, bud. You’re gonna be okay.”

Swiss felt like he was dying.

Or locked in some shadow dimension. Either was possible.

Maybe this was the purgatory thing he’s heard so much about. A land between heaven and hell. It would explain why he felt like the world was melting between his fingers while also feeling like he was floating. He was burning hot and doused in sweat, but also wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in blankets.

A lot of contradictions. The only thing Swiss was sure about was that his stomach fucking hurt.

His head was in the toilet again. Throat burning. A hand rubbed his back and he tried to focus on that instead of the sour taste in his mouth.

Then darkness.

Maybe he was dying.

Sometimes he’d hear some voices. Muted, warped voices he could hardly identify.

One came through clearly. Swiss couldn’t quite identify what was being said, but he knew it was Mountain.

Mountain sounded upset. Swiss frowned working hard at trying to focus on the slow moving blobs around him so he could find Mountain.

A warm hand took his.

Fingers tinkered with his hair.

Touched his blazing skin.

He hoped he wasn’t sick.

They would also get sick if that was the case.

“You can sleep, Swiss miss.”

“We’ll keep you safe.”

Swiss didn’t want to sleep. He was exhausted to the point he couldn’t move, but sleeping seemed like something he wasn’t supposed to do. Like he’s fully succumb to the darkness.

Like he’d wake up in the pit.

His throat suddenly felt tight. Fingers tingled. He tried to suck in more air, but his lungs were sluggish. Slow as the rest of him. Swiss fought, feeling his body being turned. Being lifted and then put down again—

“I don’t wanna go!” he tried to scream, but only parts of it made it to his mouth.

Pressure on his cheeks. A hand on his chest. Swiss’s vision dotted for a few moments before realizing Rain was nose-to-nose with him, his ocean blue eyes pleading for something Swiss couldn’t hear over the sound of ringing in his ears. He looked at Rain’s lips come together and split in the shape of the word breathe.

I’m trying, he wanted to say, but he had no breath to do it.

Rain pressed on his chest. Tapped a pattern that Swiss took to mean as cues to breathe in and out. He tried— and struggled— to follow them at first, but soon fell into rhythm. He felt his body start to relax. His fingers regained feeling. Swiss felt the air fully inflate his lungs, hold, and exit with a slow whoosh.

Slowly, he faded into sleep.

Swiss woke up feeling like he had been dropped in boiling water. He was drenched, the feeling of his clothes on his skin making him nauseated all over again. Feeling a little more mobile, Swiss grabbed at his shirt, trying to ease it over his head.

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s wrong?” a voice asked. Dew's voice.

“’m fucking hot,” Swiss said, back, trying and failing to make it over his head. Frustration started making him upset, and he took a break from his shirt and clumsily pulled at the drawstring of his sweatpants instead.

“Okay, let me help you,” Dew whispered, swatting Swiss’s hands away. Swiss stood still as Dew dropped his pants and helped pull his shirt off. The cool air on his burning skin was a relief, but Swiss still didn’t feel comfortable. He grabbed his underwear, but Dew caught his wrist.

“Those too?” he asked hesitantly.

Swiss nodded, trying to jerk out of Dew’s grasp, but being unsuccessful. Dew sighed and released him, and Swiss finally felt at ease.

He stood there until his body temperature felt normal again.

Then he realized he was fucking freezing. He slumped back on the bed, grabbing as many blankets at possible while Dew watched him, dumbfounded.

“Cold now, Swissy?”

“Freezing. Cuddle me, Dew?”

The fire ghoul groaned, and something landed on Swiss’s face.

“Okay, but you have to put your drawers back on.”

That seemed like a fair exchange. Swiss slipped on his underwear and opened his arms for Dew to come warm him up. The fire ghoul dropped into Swiss’s arms, muttering something about how he “better not puke on him”.

Swiss’s throat was dry when he woke up again. HIs room was dim. Less chaotic than before. Swiss tried to roll to his back, but found something blocking him.

Or someone.

“Swiss?” a soft voice asked, moving so he could plop onto his back. It was Mountain staring down at him with concerned hazel eyes.

“I’m falling off the bed,” Swiss muttered, weakly trying to shove at the massive drummer. Mountain’s concern shifted to mild amusement, and he gave Swiss some more space.

“Just making sure you don’t aspirate, Swissy.”

Satanas, his head was pounding. Swiss flopped down on Mountain’s chest, finding some comfort in the feeling of his heartbeat under his cheek.

“Is he awake?” Rain asked, walking in with Dew in tow.

“He is,” Swiss answered. “He is also so fucking thirsty.”

“Good,” Rain handed him some brightly colored drink. Swiss stared at is suspiciously until he explained. “Electrolytes.”

“Oh. Thought you were trying to poison me,” Swiss muttered, and slowly sipped at the cool beverage.

“That would be Phantom,” Dew muttered, quickly getting an elbow to the ribs from Rain. Swiss looked at them, confused.

“What about Phantom?” His bandmates looked at him and then one another. Swiss couldn’t tell if it was guilt or pity, but he didn’t like it either way. “Whatever it is, fucking tell me.”

“He’s usually pissy when he’s almost down,” Mountain said as though Swiss wasn’t sitting right fucking there.

“Think he’s good enough to tell him?” Rain asked.

“For fuck’s sake,” Swiss pinched the bridge of his nose. Rain placed a hand on his knee.

“Did you eat the brownie Phantom baked for you?”

Swiss slowly dropped his hand, the realization of his pre-nap snack hitting him the moment Rain said it.

“Yeah… it was good, but I’m guessing maybe a little too much?”

Dew scoffed. “At least triple the dose you usually do.”

That certainly explained why he felt like he was on a different plane of existence earlier.

“Damn. Uh, how bad was I?” They looked at each other again. That, and the fact they looked exhausted pretty much answered his question. He also realized Phantom wasn’t among them. “And where’s Phantom?”

Dew pressed his lips together. “I, uh, told him to stay out of the way.”

From the way Mountain and Rain exchanged a glance, Swiss had a feeling it was a little more than that. He sighed, pushing himself up to try and stand, but a rush to his head made him topple right back down.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Dew asked.

“To see Phantom. Make sure he’s not beating himself up over this.”

“You can barely stand still!”

Swiss looked at Dew. “Then go get him!”

Dew looked at Rain, who shook his head. The usually calm water ghoul looked at Dew sternly. “I’m not the one who yelled at him. Go fix it.”

With a groan, Dew departed. Swiss laid back in his bed, focusing on a singular point on the ceiling until the spinning stopped.

“Hey Rain?” he asked after awhile.

“Yeah?”

Swiss ran his hand over his bare chest and thighs. “When did I strip?”

He chuckled. “A few hours ago.”

“Why?”

“Dew said you wanted cuddles.”

Swiss sat with that for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah... that checks out. Can you grab me some clothes, please?”

Phantom wasn’t sure what to do. He snuck down near Swiss’s room a few times to try and gauge what was going on, but couldn’t quite get a complete read. Things seemed to calm down at least. Less sounds of vomiting. Rain, Mountain, and Dew had begun to take shifts of just one or two of them staying with Swiss at a time. Phantom wanted to assume the best, but he still felt his worst.

So he shut himself in his room. Lights off, so his main source of light was the glow of iridescent constellations on his ceiling.

Swiss had helped him put those up. And Phantom had basically poisoned him. What a good packmate he was.

Because he wanted to torture himself, Phantom looked back at the recipe for the butter. Sure enough, it clearly called for almost four times the amount of butter he used— if he had just fucking read it correctly, Swiss wouldn’t be spending the night worrying about choking on his own vomit.

Hot tears ran down Phantom’s face. Though he had formed some great connections with the others, he was still so new. Would they send him away after this? Would any of them trust him again? He ruminated on these increasingly destructive thoughts until there was a soft knock at his door.

“Phantom?” Dew said through the door. “You in there?”

“Yeah,” called, his voice raspy from crying. The door opened slowly, and in came Dew. He was much less angry than usual, but still seemed a little peeved. After taking in the dark room and Phantom curled up on his bed, his face softened.

“Hey…” Dew said, sitting on the edge of Phantom’s bed. To his surprise, the fire ghoul reached out and put a warm hand on Phantom’s calf. “Swiss is okay.”

“He is?”

“A little loopy still and post-high cranky, but yeah. He’s asking for you.”

Phantom bit his lip, curling more into himself. “He’s pissed, isn’t he?”

Dew’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Swiss? At you? Not at all.”

“You are.”

Dew sighed, pressing his fingers together in his lap. “I was. But, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I was mad and… and scared. Really scared.” Dew looked at him with with this sad expression. “Sorry for taking it out on you.”

Phantom finally sat up, pulling Dew into a hug before he could protest. The lead guitarist hugged him back, pinching his cheek as they pulled apart. “I hope you know you’re banned from baking, though.”

“Fair enough,” Phantom said, smiling for the first time in hours.

They went to Swiss’s room where Rain and Mountain were perched on his bed with them. When Phantom entered, they grew quiet, and started to move out of the way. Swiss opened up his arms.

“C’mere Phantom,” he said with a grin.

All the stress of the last several hours of soaking in self-doubt and guilt came tumbling down at once. Phantom practically tackled Swiss as he dove into his arms, reveling in the joyful laugh the multi-ghoul let out as he squeezed Phantom tightly.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Phantom said into Swiss’s shirt.

“Don’t be, Twinkle Toes, that brownie was fucking fire. Perfect ratio of gooey, but not underbaked. And truly flattered you thought I could handle that much THC.”

“It did seem like a lot…”

“I fuckin’ bet,” Swiss chuckled. “It’s okay, though. I’m good. Sometimes I need a green out every so often. Keeps me humble.”

“Also freaks us the hell out,” Rain said. Swiss pressed his lips together, almost like he felt guilty about being basically incapacitated. He reached out toward the others, and Phantom felt the bed dipped as Rain joined the huddle. Mountain and Dew soon followed, encapsulating the two of them in their body heat and weight.

“Thanks for taking care of me, you guys.”

#cw panic attack #cw overdose #new oneshot just dropped!#fic #ghost band #ghost ghouls #swiss ghoul #phantom ghoul #rain ghoul #dew ghoul #sodo ghoul #mountain ghoul #green out #recreational marijuana use #weed shenanigans but make it angsty #negativeyield

101 notes · View notes

theroyalhouseofwindenburg · 11 months ago

Text

The Black Death: Part 4

A year has passed since David succumbed to the relentless grip of the plague. Windenburg now stands on the precipice of despair, desperately in need of assistance. More than half of its once-thriving population has perished, leaving behind haunting echoes of life. The streets are eerily silent, with the only signs of movement being the body collectors, the last living presence in a city now dominated by decay and suffering. Westsimster, once a bustling metropolis, now lies almost empty—a haunting testament to the devastating toll exacted by the merciless plague.

Within the walls of Windenburg Castle, a grim atmosphere hung heavy. King Wilhelm, seated in his office, brooded with frustration. The once-thriving farms that supplied the kingdom with grain and livestock now lay in ruin, consumed by the merciless flames of the plague. The farmers, along with their families, had succumbed to the same cruel fate. Realizing the gravity of the situation and driven by the need for a drastic solution, King Wilhelm summoned his trusted advisor, Sir Oliver Coles, to enforce his command.

In a sinister turn of desperation, King Wilhelm, confronted by the grim realities of the plague in Windenburg, resolves to hoard the meager medical supplies and resources within the castle walls. Disregarding the anguished pleas of his suffering subjects, he instructs Oliver to summon the guards and seize any remedies, tonics, and herbs meant for the common folk. Defying the Jacoban Church, Wilhelm orders the immediate closure of local apothecaries and medicinal dispensaries. A disbelieving Oliver looks to Wilhelm and exclaims, "Your Grace, you can't possibly be serious... stripping the people of their last resources will surely lead to their demise. Moreover, closing the apothecaries will anger the church; without their support, we may be in grave danger." Enraged, Wilhelm rises from his desk, slamming his fists down violently, demanding compliance, "The only thing the people in this slum of a country have brought me is agony and dread. Let the Watcher do his job and rule out the unworthy!" he shouted.

By seizing control of the limited supplies, Wilhelm selfishly secures his own survival, leaving the remainder of Windenburg to plunge into an abyss of despair. The duty of a king, sworn to protect and serve his people, morphs into a grotesque exhibition of selfishness. Consumed by paranoia, Wilhelm places his well-being above the lives of those he vowed to govern with compassion, tarnishing the very essence of his regal responsibilities.

Upon exiting the room, Oliver senses an impending danger and an unsettling fear that King Wilhelm is descending into madness. Driven by concern, he chooses to seek out the Queen in the east wing of the castle. In this secluded area, Queen Cordelia resides with her sons, Prince Wilhelm and Prince Alvin, as well as her step-daughter Augusta, their refuge from the growing chaos that has engulfed the kingdom.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the halls, prompting Cordelia and Lady Philippa, her newly appointed governess, to answer. To her surprise, it was Oliver, bearing urgent news. In a desperate plea, Oliver details the King's alarming intentions to Cordelia, imploring her to intervene and divert him from this perilous course of action. Cordelia, consumed by anger, reacts vehemently to her husband's callous plans. Unable to fathom such cruelty, she instructs Oliver to convey to the King that she and the children are departing for Bagley, seeking refuge in her brother King Henry's hunting lodge. Windenburg Castle, once a haven, has become a breeding ground for peril, and Cordelia is determined to shield her family from its encroaching darkness.

Cordelia, Augusta, and Lady Philippa ascended the stairs, seeking refuge in the upper chambers. There, Lady Philippa diligently packed their belongings, a task undertaken with urgency. Despite the impending wrath of her husband, Cordelia couldn't endure the relentless suffering any longer, determined to seek solace for herself and her children beyond the castle walls.

Within minutes, King Wilhelm arrived with his two guards, effectively blocking the stairway, a furious expression etched onto his face. "I'll have your head before I let you take my sons anywhere!" He shouted, his voice echoing through the stone corridors. Cordelia met her husband's gaze with a mix of defiance and rage. "Your kingship mirrors your parenting—absent, callous, and utterly devoid of any genuine care. Our marriage is but a charade, a reflection of your egotism and disregard for the family you've torn apart. Your rule brings nothing but suffering, and your skills as a king are as feeble as your ability to be a father. You've become the embodiment of a king without a kingdom, a ruler without a realm, and a husband without a heart." Cordelia's searing words threw Wilhelm over the top. In a fit of unbridled anger, he lunged at her, striking her hard in the face and knocking her to the floor. He then seized the pearl necklace around her neck, the one he had once made for her, and tightened his grip, choking her. "Your actions have just cost you your son!" Wilhelm bellowed before finally releasing his grip.

Augusta swiftly came to her stepmother's aid. "Guards! Collect Prince Alvin and take him to the west wing," Wilhelm commanded, his tone authoritative and cold. As he was about to exit the room, Augusta, unable to contain her disdain, muttered "Tyrant" under her breath. Wilhelm turned sharply towards her. "Augusta, much like your mother, your treasonous tongue might have consequences. It seems the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree," he declared, his voice laced with menace. Augusta, fueled by a mix of anger and despair, could no longer contain her emotions. In a fit of frustration, she confronted King Wilhelm,

"Your crown sits upon a heartless head! The plague has claimed more than our people; it's revealed the rot within your soul. A ruler who abandons his own kingdom to a fate worse than death. You're no king; you're a puppet in regal attire, dancing on the strings of your own incompetence," Augusta boldly declared. King Wilhelm, consumed by rage, violently seized Augusta and threw her against the hard stone wall, knocking down furniture in the process. Despite the physical assault, Augusta met his gaze defiantly. "You can hurt me all you want, but you will always be who you are. My mother's blood stains your hands, and no amount of power can wash away the darkness that shrouds your soul. You are not a king; you are a tyrant, a betrayer of the very realm you claim to rule."

Wilhelm yanked Augusta up from the ground, pressing her forcefully against the wall with an intensity of loathing in his eyes. "You are nothing, an incessant stain from the moment you entered this world. A mistake I regret not correcting sooner. I should have fed you to the wolves when your mother died. The only reason you survived is because of Cordelia's misguided pity."

He then turned to his guards, his voice echoing through the chamber, "Seize her!" he yelled, The guards promptly approached Augusta, binding her wrists as commanded. With a malicious tone, Wilhelm declared, "Let's see how grateful you feel after a few nights in the dungeon." Wilhelm then ordered his son, Prince Wilhelm, to follow him out as well. The young boy stood from his seat in a rage after witnessing the brutal argument. "I'm not going anywhere with you!" the boy shouted at his father.

"You're no father to us, just a king in title. Your crown is a mere disguise for the monster within. Mother deserves better, and so do we. You're not a protector; you're the source of our torment. the kingdom crumbles not from external enemies, but from the decay within your own heart," the boy boldly declared. "Your insolence knows no bounds, child. You speak of torment, yet fail to recognize the privilege and protection my rule affords. Your Mother was well aware of the implications of this marriage, and you, in your naivety, dare to question a king. The kingdom flourishes under my guidance, and your accusations are but the pitiful cries of ungrateful offspring." Wilhelm shouted

In that moment, Cordelia threw herself at her husband's feet. "Please, Wilhelm," she begged, "Don't take my children away from me; they're all I have." Wilhelm looked down at his groveling wife in disgust, pushing her away, In swift motion, Wilhelm advanced toward his son, seizing him tightly, and headed for the door amidst the boy's desperate screams and pleas to be released. As Wilhelm left the chamber, the guard inquired, "Your Grace, Should I leave the door open or board it up?" Walking away, Wilhelm coldly commanded, "board the doors up; let her starve." The young prince's terror-filled screams echoed through the corridor upon hearing his father's heartless words.

Beneath the castle, in the dimly lit corridors leading to the dungeon, Augusta was led to her cell by one of Wilhelm's guards. As he placed her on the bed, he removed the binding from her wrists and, to her surprise, closed the heavy door behind him. With a swift motion, he took off his helmet, revealing an expression marked by the shadows of loyalty and conflict. "What your father did to you was wrong," he declared bluntly, the weight of the truth evident in his words. After a moment's pause, he added solemnly, "I want to help you. There are others who share our concerns about the king's reign." Augusta, astonished by this unexpected ally, found herself cautiously hopeful for the first time in the midst of the kingdom's turmoil.

In the dimly lit confines of the dungeon, Augusta and the guard had a conversation that stretched on for what felt like an eternity. They delved into the depths of the suffering inflicted by Wilhelm's almost 30 year reign over Windenburg. They crafted a plan to liberate Windenburg from his oppressive rule. The guard, his voice laced with determination, spoke earnestly to Augusta, "We cannot let the tyranny endure any longer. Wilhelm's reign has left a trail of suffering, and it's time to bring an end to it. I will gather a group of like-minded guards who share our concerns. Together, we'll expose his cruelty, collect evidence, and seek support from disillusioned nobles and the Jacoban Church."

As they strategized, Augusta felt a glimmer of hope in the face of the kingdom's despair. The guard continued, "Our coordinated effort will reveal Wilhelm's misdeeds, hopefully sparking a revolt within the castle. The people deserve better, and we shall strive to restore Windenburg to its former glory." With a resolute promise, he turned to Augusta, "I will return for you, and together, we will ensure that Wilhelm's days of tyranny are numbered." The dungeon, once a symbol of despair, became the birthplace of a rebellion.

49 notes · View notes

budandtender · 1 year ago

Text

Water Hash: The Pure and Potent Extraction Method

Water hash, a favourite method of making cannabis concentrates worldwide, has gained significant popularity due to its pure and potent characteristics. This article will delve into the details of water hash, its production methods, its surge in popularity, and how it competes with solvent hash.

Understanding Water Hash

Water hash, also known as bubble hash, gets its name from the efficient water-based process used to collect glands from the trim, leaf, and bud bits of the cannabis plant. It is essentially a loose, kief-type product that can be smoked directly or pressed into traditional hashish form. The result is a pure and potent product that quickly wins over many who experience it.

Production of Water Hash: Simplicity and Precision

One of the main attractions of water hash is its simple production process. It can be made in small or large quantities, depending on the user's needs. The ready-made systems available in the market have significantly simplified the process. These systems have enhanced the precision and efficiency of the water hash production process, contributing to its increasing popularity.

For those who prefer a DIY approach, it's possible to make water hash using home-gathered equipment. The key components include ice, water, cannabis material, and specially designed "bubble bags" that help filter out the trichomes from the plant matter. This simplicity makes it an accessible option for many.

The Rise of Water Hash Popularity

Over the past two decades, water hash has dominated the world of cannabis concentrates. Its popularity stems from its pure and potent nature, which offers users a high-quality experience. Additionally, the absence of harmful solvents and chemicals in the extraction process makes it a safer choice, not only for consumption but also for production, as there's no risk of explosions or exposure to hazardous materials.

Competition with Solvent Hash

However, water hash's reign is being challenged by the rise of solvent hash. Products like wax, shatter, budder, and oil have begun to replace bubble hash on many dispensary shelves in the United States over the last few years.

The competition from solvent hash has forced water hash makers to up their game. Ultra-fine water hash is now being marketed as "solventless" wax, reflecting a level of distrust about poorly made butane-tainted products. High-grade water hash is also excellent for edibles, and the best of it is indeed dabable.

The Safety of Water Hash

One of the significant advantages of water hash is its safety. The production method doesn't involve any sketchy chemicals or pose a risk of explosions. This safety factor, combined with the pure and potent nature of the product, continues to make water hash a preferred choice for many.

In conclusion, water hash offers a simple, safe, and efficient method for producing high-quality cannabis concentrates. Despite the increasing popularity of solvent-based products, water hash continues to hold its ground due to its purity, potency, and safety. Whether you're a novice or an experienced user, Water Hash provides a unique and satisfying experience.

#cannabis #water hash #hash #cannabis products #nature #feelgreatagain #budandtender

11 notes · View notes

religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months ago

Text

By: Ryan Burge

Published: Jul 24, 2023

A few months ago, my wife and I were driving into St. Louis and were about ten miles away from downtown in a suburb on the Illinois side of the river. We drove by this large commercial building next to the interstate that had a fairly nondescript sign with a single word on it, “Ascend.”

She looked at me and said, “Is that a church?” I honestly had no idea. So, she Googled it. Guess what Ascend is? It’s a marijuana dispensary. Illinois just legalized marijuana for recreational sale a few years ago and there are lots of new stores opening up all over the state. That’s the world we live in right now, not entirely sure if that new big warehouse by the highway is selling recreational drugs or preaching Jesus.

That little anecdote is indicative of a much bigger trend happening in American Christianity. The First United Methodist Church is out, Elevation is in. There are very few new Southern Baptist Church buildings springing up across the United States, but there are at a ton of Journey/Lift/Resolution churches being planted every week across the country.

Obviously, the rise of the Nones is the biggest story in American religion right now, but the second most important shift in the landscape is the unmistakable rise of the Nons. The only religious family that has grown over the last decade is non-denominational Protestant Christianity. There’s little reason to believe that their ascendance will slow at any point in the near future.

If the future of American society is a shift away from institutions, there’s no bigger beneficiary of this trend in the religion space than non-denominational evangelicalism.

In 1972, less than 3% of all American adults indicated that they were non-denominational. That share has only risen from there. In the 1970s and 1980s, the growth rate was undoubtedly small. It took until 1996 for the share of Americans who were non-denominational to surge past five percent. But from that point forward that line has only gotten steeper.

They got to 7.5% of the population in 2004. They reached ten percent of the sample by 2012. The most recent data says that nearly thirteen percent of all adults in the United States are non-denominational Protestant Christians. There are more non-denominationals in the U.S. today than mainline Protestants.

Here’s a key part of that story, though. This is not a situation where “a high tide raises all boats.” Instead, it’s non-denominational Protestants are gaining new members hand over fist, while other denominations are losing folks by the tens of thousands.

A lot more data about denominational decline can be found here:

You can see that even in the GSS data. In 1984, about 13% of Protestants were Southern Baptist, and another 12% were United Methodists. Those are easily the two largest Protestant denominations in the United States. Non-denominationals, were just about 5%.

In 2018, the picture is entirely different. Now, just 7.5% of Protestants are United Methodists and another 10% are Southern Baptists. While, the share who are non-denominationals has now risen to nearly 22%. Using this measure, it would appear that there are more non-denoms that United Methodists and Southern Baptists combined.

Other data sources aren’t so sure about that, though. The 2020 Religion Census took great pains to count the number of non-denominational folks in the United States. That’s no easy task given the diffused nature of this religious expression.

In total, the Religion Census managed to captured a total non-denominational population of just over 21 million. That makes them the second largest religious tradition in the United States, only trailing the Catholic Church at nearly 62 million. For comparison, the Census counted 8 million United Methodists and 17.6M Southern Baptists, which a lot more than show up on their member rolls.

But, it’s worth thinking about just how many non-denominationals there are in comparison to other groups that are not the Southern Baptists and United Methodists. There are more non-denoms than: LDS + Muslims + ELCA + AoG + Jehovah’s Witnesses + Natl. Miss. Bapt. + LCMS + TEC + Natl. Bapt. Convention. Those are all major traditions in their own right but are just dwarfed in size by non-denominationals. And, again, most of those denominations are declining in membership rapidly now.

Just how dominant non-denominational Christianity has become moves into sharper focus with looking at the data spatially. I calculated the largest religious tradition in all fifty states, based on total number of adherents.

Given the previous data about the overall size of the Catholic Church, it should come as no surprise that it is the largest tradition in 37 states that really span the country from coast to coast. The Southern Baptists are the largest in nine total states, and those states are in the Bible Belt - a region that runs from Oklahoma to the west and North Carolina to the East. The LDS is the largest in both Idaho and Utah. While, non-denominationals are the largest in three states: Washington, Alaska, and West Virginia.

But this gets much more interesting when looking at the second largest religious group in each state. Now, the Catholic church leads in six states. That means that they are #1 or #2 in 43 total states. But look at non-denominationals - they are the second most popular choice in 27 different states ranging from California to Maine. That means that they are top 2 in 30 total states. The SBC is first or second in only 12 states. No other denomination hits double digits.

The Catholic Church aside, there’s no other group that can come close to the spatial dispersion as the non-denominationals. Looking at these maps, there’s no regional trend for this group. They do well in the Pacific Northwest and in the Bible Belt. There are lots of them in New England and the Southwest. They are really everywhere.

Let’s get more granular now. The Religion Census also reports county level data on adherents and congregations. I decided to visualize the share of each county’s adherents who are specifically part of a non-denominational congregation. Before we get to the map, let me point out that there is a non-denominational church in 2,707 counties in the United States. The total number of counties is 3,142 - thus 86% of American counties have a non-denominational presence.

Where are they the most widespread? It’s a weird result, really. And not entirely what I would have guessed. There is a pretty solid pocket of non-denoms in the Pacific Northwest, especially around the Seattle and Portland metro areas. But then there are really high concentrations in the Rust Best, throughout Ohio, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Michigan.

Then, there is strip of dark purple that is pervasive in places like Virginia and the Carolinas. However, Florida is on a whole other level when it comes to non-denominationals. Of the 47 counties in Florida, non-denominationals make up at least 20% of all religious adherents in 26 of them. Texas also has 26 counties that make it into this top bin, but Texas also has 202 total counties. So, it’s not even close to a fair comparison.

I wanted to end this whole thing with a scatterplot as a first little attempt at trying to understand what factors drive more non-denominationals in a county. One likely culprit is age. The perception of these new upstart churches are young couples with lots of kids running around. But does the data back that up?

I grabbed some recently released Census data about the median age of each county in 2022 and merged it with the Religion Census and then shot a straight line through over 3,000 data points. What I found goes against the perception - non-denominationals are actually more prominent in older counties.

The difference is not a huge one. For instance, about 15% of all religious adherents are non-denominational in counties where the median age is 30 years old. In counties where the median age in 60, about 18% of the adherents are non-denominational.

There are mountains of more ink that can be spilled over the rise of non-denominational Christianity. I think it’s probably the most visible manifestation of how American society, and by extension American religion has changed so dramatically in the last two decades. We used to be a nation of institutions. The government, unions, and religious denominations were held in high regard by the average American.

Now, American society is largely bottom up. It’s not institutions that run the show, it’s individuals. Society has demolished the gatekeepers. Social media allows anyone with an internet connection to build a following in the tens of thousands in mere days.

Denominations used to absolutely dominate American religion. The leaders of the United Methodists, the Episcopalians, and the Evangelical Lutherans got to decide who could become a pastor and where they would be shepherding a flock. Now, a handful of non-denominational churches are started every weekend in the United States, completely from the grassroots.

There are tremendous benefits to this new approach to religion. There are also very real downsides. One thing is clear to me: non-denominational churches are only going to increase in the years to come. What I cannot fully predict is the long-term impact they will have on American society and American religion.

One hopes that if whatever amount of Xianity persists as people leave religion entirely, that it will be sufficiently nondescript enough that it will have minimal, if any, influence on public policy, and be generic enough that people will quickly figure out how that being anything anyone wants makes it human-created and human-driven.

#Ryan Burge #non denominational #christianity #religious institutions #religion #religion is a mental illness

3 notes · View notes

weedx01 · 4 months ago

Text

Exploring Weed Dispensaries in New York, NY, USA

New York City has emerged as a vibrant hub for cannabis enthusiasts, offering a diverse array of dispensaries that cater to both medicinal and recreational users.

Whether you're a local resident or a visitor looking to explore the city's cannabis scene, here's a curated guide to some of the top dispensaries in New York, NY.

1. MedMen NYC - Fifth Avenue

Located in the heart of Manhattan on Fifth Avenue, MedMen NYC stands out as a premier destination for cannabis products.

Known for its sleek and modern interior, MedMen offers a wide selection of high-quality cannabis strains, edibles, concentrates, and accessories.

Their knowledgeable staff provides personalized recommendations to ensure a tailored experience for every customer.

2. Columbia Care - Union Square

Columbia Care, situated near Union Square, is celebrated for its commitment to patient care and education.

This dispensary focuses on medical marijuana patients, offering a compassionate approach to cannabis treatment.

Columbia Care provides a variety of strains and products designed to meet the specific needs of individuals seeking relief from various medical conditions.

3. Rise Dispensaries - Midtown

Rise Dispensaries in Midtown Manhattan prides itself on a customer-first approach, emphasizing education and community engagement.

They offer a welcoming atmosphere where customers can explore different cannabis options in a relaxed setting.

Rise Dispensaries stocks a range of products from flowers to tinctures, ensuring there's something for every preference.

4. Etain - West Side

Etain is a family-run business dedicated to producing high-quality medical cannabis products.

Located on the West Side of Manhattan, Etain focuses on providing personalized care and guidance to patients seeking therapeutic cannabis treatments.

Their commitment to quality and consistency has made them a trusted name in New York City's cannabis community.

5. Zen Leaf - Queens

Zen Leaf, located in Queens, offers a comprehensive selection of cannabis products in a friendly and professional environment.

Known for their knowledgeable staff and commitment to customer service, Zen Leaf caters to both recreational users and medical patients.

They provide educational resources and consultations to ensure customers make informed decisions about their cannabis use.

Navigating New York's Cannabis Scene

Navigating the cannabis landscape in New York City requires an understanding of local laws and regulations.

Recreational cannabis use is legal for adults over 21, while medical marijuana is available to registered patients with qualifying conditions.

Dispensaries like those mentioned above play a crucial role in ensuring safe and responsible access to cannabis products.

Conclusion

Whether you're a seasoned cannabis connoisseur or new to exploring its benefits, New York City's dispensaries offer a variety of options to suit every preference and need.

From upscale shops in Manhattan to community-focused dispensaries in the boroughs, the city's cannabis scene continues to evolve, providing quality products and valuable resources to its diverse clientele.

For more information and to explore the latest offerings from New York City's dispensaries, visit WeedX. Discover a new era of cannabis access and education in the heart of the Big Apple.

#cannabis #marijuano #weed strains #weed intox #weedlife #it

2 notes · View notes

justafoxhound · 1 year ago

Text

Falloutober: 10. Terminal

From @falloutober 's 2023 prompt list.

Part 2 of my little extra content where my LW Talia managed to hire Jericho to escort her to Tenpenny Tower.

~~~

“Fuckin’ Christ. He bled all over me!” Jericho swore over the body of the final raider who had tried to defend the supplies in the Super Duper Mart. “I’m goin’ to wash this off. I fuckin’ hate gettin’ up close. God damn blood, everywhere...”

Talia followed Jericho along the small corridor leading to what used to be the men’s bathroom. Instinctively she paused at the doorway, before remembering. She stepped in after him, cautiously. It was dingy, only one light in working order. The air stank of sweat and piss and god knew what else- it looked like people had been staying in there for long periods. There was a chair and table and even a mattress in the corner. The walls were damp and peeling, and stains of uncertain nature covered whatever an orange algae did not. Talia tried not to breathe more than necessary and made her body small, hoping to keep everything but the bottoms of her boots from making contact with anything.

“Missin’ your shiny vault, huh, princess?” Jericho flashed yellowed teeth at her from the sink, where he was already rinsing a slurry of blood off one arm.

Despite her outward discomfort, her heart was still racing, every colour and sound and smell was so intense. He wasn’t completely wrong, but all she could do was force out an awkward chuckle.

“Jesus Christ kid, relax. You ain’t gonna run on me already? I was just startin’ to enjoy myself.” His voice echoed harshly around the hard walls as he scrubbed water over his face. “I know that last cocksucker gave me some trouble but, that’s just it- this ain’t gonna be no picnic. You need to pull your weight too. You told me you killed people before, no?”

She started at his tone. “Uh, yeah. God- yeah, listen, I’m not lying--”

He cut her off. “Good. So don’t fuckin’ hesitate any more. You did good, just hurry it up next time, you got me?” He dried off on a rag that Talia didn’t study too closely. “Not that I need any help, but I ain’t here to do all the work. I could though. I still got it, yeah, I definitely still got it.” He chuckled to himself, voice rising again with, apparently, rediscovery of a great passion for violence.

“Oh, I believe it,” Talia assured him. “It’s just, this is… new to me. Seriously, Jericho- that was amazing.”

She meant that. She was amazed. Vault security was nothing compared to the ferocity of what just passed. But the way he threw himself into the fight completely, like he felt no fear whatsoever. Damn, she nearly turned and ran when he screamed in pure, bloodthirsty joy at first contact. His elation was terrifying. If Chief Hannon had been a bully just waiting for an excuse to use his baton, Jericho was the attack dog, loose- and possibly rabid. This was a man who lived for the action. When Talia was standing over the expired Overseer, she felt something, but on the downturn. All the rage had built up and burst and left her exhausted. This fight had completely rejuvenated the tired, if still intimidating old man she had hired back in Megaton.

“Yeah… I feel amazing!” Jericho exclaimed, startling Talia back to the present moment.

Then she remembered. “Shit- we came here for the pharmacy.”

He blinked in momentary realisation too. “Oh yeah, right. It’s probably at the back of the store. Come on.”

He led the way back to the main shop floor where they skirted the ends of the aisles, moving carefully between each in case anyone else was lying in wait. Talia watched their rear and tried not to feel too useless. They reached the dispensary and hopped the counter, beginning their search at opposite ends of the room.

“What am I lookin’ for again?” he called.

“There are a few compounds that work. If I hear the name or see them I’ll recognise them. I can’t remember off the top of my head, sorry.”

Jericho pulled a bottle out of a pile and peered at the label from an arm’s length away. “Clow-rah...fuxia...hi- Fuck it, I’ll just grab everything and you can read ‘em.”

“Sure... Whoa.” Talia stared into a cupboard clearly used as a stash for the raiders’ favourite things. She checked a few bottles for an unbroken seal and pulled out a whisky.

“Hey! I called that,” Jericho growled, motioning for the bottle and moving heavily toward her.

Talia stepped back and gestured at the stash. “Help yourself.”

His eyes lit up, and she breathed in relief not to be the object of his attention once more. She opened her bottle and sniffed it cautiously before deciding, after the day she’d had, she wasn’t so worried about the age of alcohol. She noticed her hands were shaking, though she didn’t feel particularly scared. More like: sharp.

“Hey, the vault asshole is drinkin’ from the dirt, look at that.” With a bottle under one arm Jericho lit a cigarette from one of the many packs he had lifted out of the stash.

Talia suppressed a grimace as she swallowed a generous gulp of spirit. “You know, you don’t have to call me an asshole,” she offered quietly, remaining several paces away.

Jericho fixed her with a frankly frightening look. “I can call you whatever I want. What are you gonna do about it?”

Nothing. She said nothing, but couldn’t keep the glare out of her eyes.

He broke into rough, brief laughter, setting Talia on edge given her already heightened nerves. “You’re not so bad, kid. For a vault asshole doctor’s kid, I mean.” He broke into a coughing fit, but persevered with his smoke, smothering a moment of visible discomfort with a fresh scowl.

She watched a few moments as he collected himself. “You can call him an asshole. Hey, I don’t think those are gonna make things any better.” She nodded at the cigarette in his hand.

“No shit,” he snorted. “You notice there’s a lot o’ things that might kill ya faster than a smoke?” He gestured to the world in general.

“...No shit,” Talia agreed. She turned back to the cupboard and fished out a pack of her own. (She may have been laughing with the guy but no way was she going to try asking him to give away one of his vices). “Could I, um, could I use your light?”

He cackled again, holding out his lighter. Just as her fingers were about to grasp it he pulled it away in a playful manner, chuckling at her startled, almost unnerved reaction. “Yeah, you’re alright, kid. Relax though, would ya?”

She lit up, keeping him in sight. “I just... I’m amped,” she explained, hoping it covered for how nervous he made her.

“Me too, kid. This is fuckin’ livin’. Damn I spent so long doin’ bullshit for that cocksucker Moriarty, in that fuckin’ hole soakin’ up all that radiation. It’s probably that shit that’s got me. If I’d stayed out here I bet I’d be fine. I mean look at me!” He growled his last words and almost danced over to the other side of the room, ignorant of what he’d just said.

Talia had offered her knowledge of what drugs could help a variety of nasty coughs in order to get him on side; to be useful; to keep him around long enough to make it to Tenpenny Tower alive. She’d seen her dad treat infections many times. Not complicated if the right stuff could be found. But other illnesses, more serious illnesses, even terminal- she didn’t know of anything that could be scavenged from a bombed out grocery store that would help someone in any way more meaningful than, say, finding a major stash of good booze and tobacco in the nuclear wasteland they called home.

She continued her search of the pharmacy and grouped together every medicinal drug she recognised. There was no telling what she might need in the near future, after all. “Jericho,” she called out, tossing him a bottle that ought to help someone with a persistent infection.

“Thanks kid. Regular vault angel ain’t ya?”

Somehow that was worse than being called an asshole. She didn’t want to appear soft. She didn’t want to know how he got his value from someone he deemed soft. “I just wanna make sure you can make it all the way to the tower, like I paid for. Or I’ll have my money back,” she shrugged.

He roared at that, succumbed to another coughing fit, though short. “Over my dead body,” he croaked. “No vault asshole is takin’ from me. Let’s go, then. Sooner we get there the sooner you can pay me- again.” He rustled her bag of caps tauntingly and cackled to himself, heading off to collect ammunition from the bodies.

Talia smoked every last speck of her cigarette. She wondered if he’d keep his eyes on the prize, or if he’d be distracted by every chance of a fight. Well, at least he could fight. And he got royally pissed if she did anything stupid, so if wasn’t like he had a death wish. If he was sick- really sick- maybe he just wanted one last adventure. Maybe he wanted to see Moriarty go up in flames from a proper town inhabited by the likes of Mr. Burke. She wondered if he would really want his second payment... Of course he will, dummy. She may have to watch him drink away every cap she was owed… But at least she would be watching from that same proper town. You just have to take it one ‘are you kidding me’ at a time, she thought.

She bagged up the meds and chose to roll with it. Her foreseeable future could be in worse hands.

#falloutober 2023 #falloutober #falloutober2023 #fallout 3 #oc: talia #no love for megaton here sorry

5 notes · View notes