#if cold turkey i get night sweats and more nightmares

[child-of-leviathan]

I'm trying to quit smoking weed since it's been making me feel shittier more and more often the last months. Been avoiding that reality because when I'm not high I almost forget, but when I'm high it swallows me and brings me too far into my head which is what I want to escape. Yet I really want a fuckin joint now and I know what the result will be

[marshmallowprotection]

Sweat pooled down his face as you tried to smooth out the creases in his brow with a damp rag. It wouldn’t solve his misery, nor would it be enough to aid in his recovery, but you knew it would help cool down the fever. Like clockwork, whenever Saeran had a nightmare about Mint Eye in the middle of the night, his body would sweat and feel as feverish as it would if he were sick with the flu.

You didn't get it, but it was his body's way of trying to make the best of a bad thing. You could only assume his body was trying its best to come down from the elixir, and no matter how strong he held himself in front of everyone, it wouldn't be enough to stave off bitter feelings wafting from his withdrawal.

Granted, the medical team Jumin supplied both you and him had their thoughts about the drugs from Mint Eye. There were plenty of bottles leftover that hadn’t been destroyed after Rika abandoned the place and that gave them enough to go off of to build a profile of medication to… well, more or less counteract the worst of it.

Even though they’d given Saeran something to help with the worst of his symptoms, given that he was one of the most dependent former believers, the process of weaning himself away from it wasn’t simple. He stopped taking it cold-turkey, and the doctors were surprised he could walk around, much less speak after a mere day after leaving the place. He mentioned it was his faith in you that guided him, but you... you knew it was sheer dumb luck.

As heart-warming as it was to hear him applaud his love for you as the fix he needed, you knew the crash wouldn't be easy for him to get through on his own.

"It's okay," you murmured, stroking the back of your hand against his cheek. He was as warm as the stove-top, and yet, you knew he'd feel clammy as soon as he could sip some water. "I know it feels like Hell, Saeran, but we'll get through this. I promise."

Through half-lidded eyes, Saeran stared at you. The room was still dark except for the twinkling moonlight that poured in through the window, and yet, all the same, his eyes shined the brightest. Even if things were tough for him, he never lost that smile of his that made you fall in love with him.

"I know," he whispered through the cracks of his dry throat. "Because, you're with me, my love."

He never deserved to be used as a pawn in Rika's game, but no longer would he have to suffer as the guinea pig to her cauldron. There wasn't any chance you would let him suffer like that again, and fortunately enough, nor would the rest of your friends. He would only know peace of mind after you braved the worst of this. He just had to be strong for a little longer... just a little more.

"And, I'll never leave."

[bugsy-maria]

Casifer x Reader

inspired by the song Bruises

I heard the door close with a click, I knew that they would be gone for a bit so I ran to the dungeon. I grabbed the materials that I'd need to summon crowly. I knew something bad would happen. I mean, of course, I would know I watched the show back in my universe. I just needed to protect Cass from making that stupid choice I knew he would make.

I said the spell that Sam taught me a while back. I waited for a bit and Crowley popped up behind me in the library. I looked up and around at him before proceeding.

"I need you to put me in Lucifer's cage," I stated simply keeping a monotone voice and serious face.

"What is it with your bunch and wanting to go in there?!" he exclaimed like his usual self.

"Something bad is going to happen and I need to stop it. so, get me in there."

"Look (Y/N), I love you like one of my own demons but I would not let you in there."

"It would have been easier to just say you hate me," I mumbled under my breath

"You know what I mean. I'm not letting you go down there."

"I wasn't asking, take me there now," I said my voice rising a bit as I knew that every minute we bickered the closer Cass is to say Yes.

"I said no. besides they're out already, there's no one to save." and as his raised voice died down he disappeared.

Black and blue, I'm on the edge Forgave you with your hands around my neck You steal my breath, you throw me away I'm only left with bruises Always played too close to fire I thought I saw the devil in your eyes You pull me down, I can't act surprised I know you're kind, the truth is I sat on one of the chairs in the library waiting anxiously for the arrival of the two brothers and the angel. I heard the click of the door again and shot right out of the chair I had been occupying the past couple of hours. I looked at sam and dean, they were just about the same as when they left. "Cass" followed right behind them.

"How did it go?" I asked, already knowing the answer while hugging them when they got to the bottom of the stairs.

"You already know." sam said with a chuckle. I hug dean but not "Cass". I went back to my seat, not sitting, and patted the table telling them to sit with me.

"I know but it might be nice to hear how it went for you, you know?" I looked at them and noticed that they both shared a glance at one another, thinking it was weird that I didn't hug the angel as they knew I might have most likely a tiny small somewhat big secret noticeable crush on him.

They all soon sat Cass next to Dean, Sam next to my chair.

"I'll go grab some beers, yeah?" they all nodded in response, I left to get the beers from the kitchen. I came back to hear them talking about me acting weird but I just brushed it off and walked in. "Here they are!" I said having two bottles in each hand.

"Oh just what I need," Dean said grabbing his when I placed the bottles down. we spent that night drinking a little and talking about nothing. it was about an hour or two before Dean said he was gonna crash, about 20 minutes later sam said he'd hit the hay. this left me and Cassifer to be alone.

"Why didn't you hug me when I came in?" he said in Cass's voice.

"Oh drop the act I know you're not Castiel," I said, standing up and grabbing the empty brown tinted glass bottles.

"So you know," he said in more of a menacing voice.

"Of course I do."

"And you won't tell." he stands up

"Of course I won't" I turned around and started to walk to the kitchen

"Well, I guess we'll have to keep it that way huh?" I heard his chair squeak on the wood floor.

"They'll find out on their own anyway," I said looking over my shoulder. No chains, no ropes Don't need 'em, I'm not going home Can't be alone You hurt me and I pull you close I woke up sore, everything hurt. the events of last night flashed in my mind when I took in my surroundings. my surroundings being on the floor of my room with books all over the floor. I push myself up painfully and stumble out of my room. I walk to the kitchen with my hand sliding along the walls like normal.

I go into the kitchen to see the two brothers eating eggs toast and dean was eating bacon. they stopped talking about turkey bacon and looked at me. upon seeing me dean shot up along with sam after him.

"What happened to you?" Dean asked, his big hands grabbing my face, turning it to get a better look on all sides.

"I ran into a wall," I said simply while shrugging my shoulders and closing my eyes.

"A wall doesn't leave handprints around someone's neck." sam said with worry laced in his words.

"Well it did," I said as I pushed past dean to grab a plate for myself. I picked up the spatula and scooped some eggs onto my plate.

"Oh are you sure you wanna eat that (Y/n)?" I heard Castiel's voice from behind me. I sighed before thinking about it. maybe the reason they didn't take me with them to get sam out of the cage was that they knew I'd only get in the way. ill need to train and be thinner to save them the next time right?

and with that thought, I scrapped the food off my plate and put it down on the counter. I turned to see both brothers staring at him in shock. I mean it's not their fault. they didn't know that Cass wasn't himself right now.

"I hope you burn in hell." and with that, I walked out. I knew that it wasn't much of an insult to an angel that was imprisoned in a cage with no interaction by his own father, but to the boys thinking that I said it to Cass it was the best one out there. they know that I love the angel to death and wouldn't think twice before jumping in front of an angel blade for him. they would be able to tell that something is wrong I know it.

I can't tell you why When you kill me with a smile I don't wanna lose it Wish I could unchoose it All I have are bruises Let you see inside my mind Got no tears behind my eyes I don't wanna skew it Wish I could undo it All I have are bruises After a while, he stopped hurting me as he found out that I was already putting myself in hell. I could never stay mad at Cass so I've started hugging him and whispering "I'm sorry's" over and over. it's gotten harder and harder to sleep lately. I'm exhausted all the time from not eating and overworking.   Black and blue, I still regret Forgive you even when I know what's next But I'm not scared, I'm outta my head Lay down to rest with bruises Cross my heart and hope to die I knew I saw the devil in your eyes If love is hell, I guess I gone blind At least you're mine, the truth is Today was the day, the day no more scars and bruises would be left on my skin. the night that I could go to bed at a normal time with my favorite angel/person in the whole universe.

"(Y/N)?" I heard his voice fly through the hall on the other side of my door. I got up and walked to the door, my hand stretched out in front of me. my hand hovered over the handle, i hesitated while my mind raced with thought about this all being a sick messed up dream. if it was I sure hope it would never end.

my boney digits wrapped around the nob and in a swift motion the door was open. I quickly looked left down the hall then right, where I saw him standing there having me.

"Cass," I sighed and ran over to him, stumbling over my feet before i got to him and quickly tied my arms around him as tight as I possibly could as to make sure he could never leave me.  I felt his arms wrap around my now small and thin frame. his warmth covering me like a blanket.

"I'm back." he mumbled into the hair on the top of my head. No chains, no ropes Don't need 'em, I'm not going home Can't be alone You hurt me and I pull you close He pryed me off of him and looked me in the eyes. I didn't look at them before this but now that I had I realised that it wasn't actually him. Cass hadn't come back, it was only Lucifer playing yet another sick game.

"Oh come on that was too easy." his smirk spread on Castiel's face. "I mean one would think that you would have learned by now that Castiel is never coming back home." he lowed his face down to mine, "But that's whats unique about you, you're so so so so stupid." he said shaking my head with his hand.

"No, no Cass is going to come back i know he will." I said with determination in my voice.

"This isn't a TV show!" he shouted then slapped me so hard that I fell, my head hitting the hard wall. Upon hearing the noise sam and dean ran into the other side of the hall. their knifes out, I heard dean say something before running up to him and sam running up to me. i saw dean get stabbed with his own knife. sam tried to pick me up and take me away but was killed. I was too sund by the scene to make a noise.

"There now it's just us." he wiped his hands of the trousers he wore. "Its stupid you know." he looked at me and kneeled down to almost my level. "Its stupid that you would eve think Castiel even thinks of you like someone important to him. he doesn't even see you as a friend you know." and there was that smirk again. I can't tell you why When you kill me with a smile I don't wanna lose it Wish I could unchoose it All I have are bruises Let you see inside my mind Got no tears behind my eyes I don't wanna skew it Wish I could undo it All I have are bruises

I woke up in a cold sweat, I've had the same nightmare for months, ever since Cass came back but I never asked him to be around me when i slept because everything that Lucifer said gets to me. I know he doesn't see me as important or even like a friend.

I sat on my bed remembering the bleeding bodies of Sam and Dean and the shit-eating-grin on castiel's face that was put there by the devil himself. after about 30 minutes of sitting there I finally got the gutts to get up and ask Cass to help me sleep. he doesn't sleep but it has always helped me sleep with him and I cuddling.

my bare feet touched the cold floor and the light patter of them could be heard from the occupants of the rooms I was walking by. i made it to cass' room where he didn't do much, mostly just reading. i knocked on the door then heard a couple steps from inside the room. the door opened and there stood Cass in all of his glory. the real one.

"(Y/N)? what are you doing up?" HIS voice asked.

"I had a nightmare." i said looking at HIS eyes, making sure there was no sign of Lucifer.

"Oh, come in." he stepped aside letting me walk in, softly closing the door behind me. I fell onto his bed, the meletonion in my body kicking me, and boy did it kick hard. I felt the side of the bed next to me dip. "What was it about?"

"It was the night you came back but it wasn't you it was still Lucifer and he killed Dean and Sam." I said leaving out the part about what he had said. I felt his arm drape around my waist and the other one go underneath me to hug me tight and close to his chest. I felt the blanket cover him and me.

"Oh Angel, you have nothing to worry about. it's always going to be me from now on." HE whispered kissing the top of my head. an action he did quite often but everytime he did it I got butterflies.

"Good night Bee."

"Good night Angel, i love you."

"I love you too." I said with a smile spread so far on my face it covered half of my face.

I can't tell you why I'd let you kill me with a smile I don't wanna lose it Wish I could unchoose it All I have are bruises Wish you saw inside my mind I got no tears behind my eyes I don't wanna skew it Wish I could undo it All I have are bruises

[peachyteabuck]

of pleasure ~ act ii, “if we ruled the world”

summary: a sort-of non-avengers au where everyone has their powers and absolutely no one is in a highly powerful mob (or, at least, that’s what the feds think). 

or, a commission in three parts for anonymous, who asked for a series about wanda x natasha x reader.

pairing: wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x reader (focus on natasha romanoff x reader)

words: 3,502

trigger warnings: flashback, angst if you squint, heavy smut, sub!natasha, mention of violence/self doubt, alcohol as a coping mechanism

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

READ ACT I HERE

Natasha awkwardly ushers Wanda out, biting at her nearly-bleeding nail beds and carefully avoiding the wide, prying eyes of the large bodyguards she has stationed outside of her office at all hours. If she were in a more level-headed state she would glare and snap at them and threaten to fire them – she would be Natasha Romanoff, head bitch in charge and a woman whose firey hair gets its color from the blood in her veins.

But she’s not Natasha Romanoff, she’s Nat – a woman who can barely make it to the plush chair behind her desk before memories of the best fuck in her life are pouring over her. She doesn’t know how she remembers so much, but every time she blinks the room looks more and more like the bar you two met in.

It was Natasha’s bar, but it looked nothing like it did now. Then she had just risen in the ranks, was still earning the respect of patrons and those below her. It was a difficult night; Bucky had gotten hurt and Nat was drinking her fears away – desperate to corral them into some corner of her mind instead of letting them run loose.

If she couldn’t protect her best friend, how could she protect the mob? Her hands nearly shook as she took another shot. The assets? The people that had just begun to work under her? Was she meant for this? Was she good enough?  

She was on her third vodka tonic of the night when you intervened, taking up the empty barstool to her left. She had seen you before – you were a bartender who was a previous hire but worked hours Natasha was often busy which meant the two of you rarely crossed paths.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Natasha scoffs, though a little slurred, hoping to avoid something akin to a PR nightmare.

You shrug, replacing her alcoholic drink with a tall glass of water. “Part of my job is making sure the sad drunks don’t do anything they’ll regret later. Now drink some water, I don’t want to clean vomit from the grout of my bar.

“YOUR bar?” Natasha rolls her eyes, her words starting to slur and movements beginning to slow. “Don’t you know this is MY bar?”

You sigh. “When the owner is too drunk to see straight, line of succession dictates it is now my bar.”

Natasha furrows her brow and shakes her head as two of the biggest women you have ever seen carry her out of the establishment and towards her apartment. “…But I’m a lesbian…”

Somehow, through the hazy parts of that night, that incredibly embarrassing memory reigns clear as day.

Natasha’s retching into a toilet she does not recognize in a bathroom she’s never seen before. To be fair, though, she did not have much time to admire/familiarize herself with the décor before she ripped off her shirt and then vomiting up everything from her appendix to her lungs. If she was anything more than a shell of a woman after this night, she’d be the luckiest girl on the face of the Earth.

“Sh…sh, it’s okay,” she hears your voice in the distance and feels your hand on the small of her back. “It’s okay, get it all out.”

When she’s finally done, you hand her a tall class of cold water and many, many painkillers. Natasha understands what to do without prompting – swallowing everything you give her with as much eagerness as a dog finding a pill within a spoonful of peanut butter. Makes the same face, too.

By sheer luck, you get her into your bed without her vomiting on anything. Natasha falls asleep easily, eyes unfocused as they close.

“Thank you,” she mumbles just before falling asleep.

“No problem,” you tell her.

You end up sleeping on the couch a room away, waking up every few hours to check on her. The only time she wakes up is when you’re making breakfast the next morning – eggs and turkey bacon and coffee black as the asphalt Natasha would’ve eaten if you didn’t help her home. You gesture with the spatula in your dominant hand, the other on the handle to keep the pan steady.

“Sit, come eat,” you tell her – voice comforting but direct.

Natasha follows the orders easily, her eyes downcast until you take your place in the chair across from her. Only then does she look up, struggling to avoid your heavy gaze.

“Bad night?” you ask between bites of food.

Natasha sighs, swallowing down her food with coffee. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, not a fan of reliving something I tried to forget.”

“You wanna fuck about it?”

Natasha nearly spits out the remnant of her eggs onto the table. “Are you serious?”

When she meets your eyes, she doesn’t see you laughing or smiling or even about to laugh or smile. All she sees is a beautiful woman offering her sex after what is quite possibly the worst night of her life.

While Natasha gazes at you in sheer horror, disgust - you look almost…relaxed. Chill. Decompressed.

Natasha stays quiet as you speak, with one eyebrow raised and your lips curled into a smirk. “Are you?”

The woman across from you doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything back. For a long while, she remains statuesque – both in beauty and in stillness. She doesn’t say anything until she’s finished her food and placed her plate gingerly into the kitchen sink. Even then, she avoids your eyes ad grips the edge of the counter like a lifeline.

“Only if I can shower first.”

You laugh with your head thrown back, deep and loud and boisterous. It’s the most beautiful laugh Natasha’s ever heard, and her heart aches when you finally speak.  

“Sure thing, Red. Towels in the third shelf in the cabinet, use as many as you like.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even meet your eyes as she follows muscle memory to the place where she puked her guts up in the night previous.

Once she figures out your shower and turns the knob marked with a red H all the way on, Natasha looks around, peaking in the cabinets and under the sink – a bad habit from the days of training. She doesn’t know what she’s expected to find, but nothing of the sort piques her interest. It’s all…quite regular, normal even.

Under the sink she sees tons of cleaning supplies, what she guesses are doubles of various beauty/hygiene products, empty travel-sized bags.

The mirror-fronted cabinet is filled with over the counter medication, sample-sized beauty products, and enough skin care merchandise to leave all of Manhattan pimple-free.

When she closes it, the thick steam turns her reflection into a mere blob, and only then does Natasha Romanoff strip off her clothes.

The water burns her skin, bites at her cuts, makes her bruises sting. If she was anywhere else, she’d probably scream and cry, maybe pick at the scabs starting to form.

Here, though, she swallows the stone that’s accrued in her throat and ignores the even bigger boulder that’s made its home in the center of her chest. She grabs for the shampoo (then body wash, then conditioner) and tries to clean herself.

The spicy mint liquid (did she mention that everything was coordinated? Not even the same brand, just a perfectly harmonized sympathy of scents) works for the dirt, for the sweat, for the weird stickiness she doesn’t recognize that clings to the skin of her thighs and palms and, somehow, places inside her.

She doesn’t know how long it is when she finally steps out – pads of her fingers and toes wrinkled and her lungs clouded with the steam. She can barely breathe, but she has a feeling its not because of the thick air.

The towel – deep and maroon – is the fluffiest and softest thing Natasha’s ever felt against her skin. She pads back to the room she slept in last night, only a little shocked to find the bed made and you, barefoot in a baggy t-shirt and running shorts, reading a thick book you’re about halfway through.

She catches flashes of the front cover – something she dismally recognizes. It’s a spy novel, one of those cheesy romance ones that are incredibly popular with middle-aged moms and lonely Christian college students.

“Whatcha readin?” Natasha asks.

You look up and smile after looking her over. “Some garbage. Borrowed it from a friend after she said I’m, well,” you let out a self-deprecating laugh. “that I’m ‘super lonely.’ Which isn’t not true.”

Natasha smiles back. “Still sounds kinda mean.”

You shrug. “Truth hurts, I guess.”

There are a few moments of silence as you and her stare at each other – the kind of silence Natasha doesn’t seem to mind. Normally she hates the quiet, feels the need to fill whatever void she feels is created by lack of speech.

Still, she’s the person to break it. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“That towel,” you say, smirk still on your lips. “Matches your hair.”

Natasha smiles a little, avoiding your gaze as she searches for the dirty clothes from last night. Without hesitation, you push the clothes toward her with your foot – except now they’re clean, folded, fresh.

“Thanks,” Natasha mumbles. “I…thanks.”

You shrug, telling her its no problem. “Assumed you wouldn’t want to put on your dirty clothes, so…”

Natasha nods but says nothing, reaching for the clothes. She stops when she notices you putting your book to the side and readjusting against the headboard. Natasha stands there, clutching where the towel tucks into itself – waiting for whatever you’re going to say next.

“C’mere,” you say, beckoning her over with a single crooked finger.

She follows, still silent, walking to the edge of your bed with shaky hands and awkward legs. She hesitates, waiting for confirmation.

“It’s alright, baby girl, c’mere,” you say again, opening your legs further. An invitation, Natasha realizes. It makes her heart speed up.

She gives you a small nod before moving forward, adjusting her towel along the way with her eyes trained on the bed.

You guide her so that her back – still covered by the towel – presses into your chest.

“If you ever want to stop,” you whisper, intertwining your hands with hers. The pads of her fingers are still slightly wrinkled and sensitive and she nearly moans as her skin meets yours. “Just tell me, okay?”

Natasha gives a small nod, moving closer to you.

“This alright?” you ask, moving to undo her towel.

She nods again, then tenses as her damp skin is exposed to the cool air. Your warm hands make goosebumps erupt over her soft, sweet-smelling skin. Her breath hitches as your teeth trail across her back - leaving kisses along her shoulder and up into her hairline then on the shell of her ear.

“Just relax, baby,” you tell her. “Don’t worry about anything, just let me take care of you.”

Natasha nods silently, readjusting before pressing back into you. The towels falls as she does, and as it bunches uncomfortably you grab at it to throw it to the floor. With her last veil of modesty tossed carelessly aside Natasha blushes, moving to cross her arms over her chest.

You tsk, moving her arms from in front of her. “Don’t hide from me, baby,” you mumble into her ear. “Don’t ever hide your beautiful body from me.”

Natasha stays silent, hands resting outside your knees. She does nod, though, and presses into you once more. One of your arms goes across her chest, keeping her own arms in place at her sides. The other trails between her legs, fingertips ghosting over her thighs and across her lower stomach. You can hear Natasha’s breath hitch each time your skin meets hers.

“You like that, baby girl?” You ask. She nods again, small squeaks leaving her as you collect some of the slick that’s dripping onto your sheets. “You like it when I touch you like this?”

Natasha moans as you plunge one, two fingers into her. She watches for a few thrusts before clenching her eyes shut and letting her head fall back into your shoulder and panting into your bare neck. It’s not long before you can feel her pussy clenching around your fingers, her breath coming out in light pants and moans deeper than before.

“I-I’m,” you can hear her try to swallow despite the dryness of her mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You smile and bite at the shell of her ear. “It’s okay, baby girl, you can come, you can come all you want tonight.”

It only takes a few more crooks of your fingers, a few more circles around her clit for Natasha to throw her head back and nearly scream – her legs shaking as she gushes over your fingers and wrists and sheets. Her whole body – once quite tense – now slacks against your chest. You’re a little taken aback by her squirting, and that this is normal enough for Natasha that she has no problem ruining another lover’s bed. Somehow it makes it that much hotter, makes you that much wetter, as you manhandle her onto her back. She’s pliant, laying nice and open for you - even as you grab the strap and cleaned cock from the back of one of the drawers in your nightside table, even as you slide one of your biggest toys into her soaked, aching pussy.

Natasha’s whole body is tense, each individual muscle chasing pleasure. She’s got her knees pulled up to her chest, one arm holding them in place and the other gripping your sheets. She doesn’t remember the last time she’d been folded in half, but now she wishes she could spend every day like this.

“Oh, god,” she moans, high-pitched and whiny. “God, it feels so good.”

You laugh a little, catching her lips in a kiss as you thrust shallowly into her. “Yeah, baby girl? You like getting fucked like this?”

Natasha nods, gasping each time the leather of the strap brushes her clit. “Yes, fuck yesyesyes.”

Your hand wraps around Nat’s throat, pushing her further into the bed. “Yes, of course she does. My big powerful mobster loves getting her pussy demolished, doesn’t she? Needs to be fucked so that she can focus on her job?”

The woman in question is nodding and babbling absolute nonsense – and, in the low light, you’re sure you see tears fall down her face.

One of your hands comes down to properly rub at her neglected clit. Natasha nearly screams as you do, hips bucking in a wild, animalistic way.

“You gonna come like this?” you whisper, leaning down to kiss between her brows. “Is my nasty little slut gonna come from me fucking her this good?”

Natasha nods again, each thrust soliciting another desperate, high-pitched moan from somewhere deep in her throat.

“Yeah?” you faux-pout, voice dropping as you watch her eyes roll back into her head. You spit on her cunt, Natasha wailing as the slick collecting there allows you to rub harder, faster at the most sensitive part of her.

She comes with a shout – with a loud, deep moan you wish you’d recorded. It takes you a moment, takes the pounding in your chest and ears a moment to recede, for you to realize your abdomen (as well as hers) were covered in her wetness. Her dry lips and flittering eyes only give more credence to your understanding, to your realization that she had squirted all over you.

Natasha groans as you pull out, the delicateness of her pussy as well as the emptiness combining into a cognitive dissonance she could feel in the tip of her toes.

You get her something to drink – an unmarked Gatorade bottle you’re praying isn’t spiked (you’ve been a bartender long enough to usually know what is and isn’t, but somehow Natasha seems like someone able to escape your watchful eye).

It takes a few minutes for the color to return to Natasha’s face, for her to ask if she can get you off, too. You smile and kiss her again, silently sitting up.

You finally come with your pussy hovering over Natasha’s panting mouth, her face becoming soaked with your wetness and, soon, your cum. She’s able to find the mental focus to clean some of it up, and it takes all of you not to pounce on her as you watch her, with hooded eyes, desperate to for praise as she licks at her face.

“You good, darling?” you coo, wiping at her cheeks with your thumbs.

Natasha sniffles. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

You nod, running your hands through her sweaty hair. “Alright, I’m gonna grab you another Gatorade, okay? I’m not gonna be gone long, I promise.”

She nods, making no effort to move. Natasha lays there, practically inert as she hears you leave the room. She’s too tired to look at anything but the ceiling – the terrifying reality of what she has to do next settling over her.

Still, she closes her eyes and listens to you padding into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. The faint sound of the bottle opening, the cap being thrown away and hitting the side of the metal trash can. It’s all so mundane but everything Natasha needs right now – reprieve from her mistakes and the consequences of them.

You help her up, when you get back, so she can drink without coughing and sputtering and drowning on dry land. One hand remains occupied with holding the bottle of liquid, while your other arm wraps around your back. It rests at her side, with your thumb rubbing circles into the heated skin.

You coo sweet praises into her hairline, your legs bracketing her in. When the dull-orange liquid is gone you toss it to the side – pulling Natasha down with you.

You fall asleep easily, Natasha resting on your bare chest. She knows when you’ve fallen into unconsciousness because your fingers stop carding through her hair, working through the knots that have found themselves there.

She waits, listening as your heartbeat and breathing slow to an even pace. Natasha lays there for a long while, savoring the feeling being in your arms – of the delicious tiredness in her muscles. Wide awake, she waits until the orange-yellow sun begins to light up the room.

You lay there, wonderfully oblivious to Natasha getting redressed and finding her dead, now-cracked phone; unaware of her holding her shoes until the front door was closed softly and silently.

She doesn’t put her shoes on until the gets in the elevator, and doesn’t cry until she finds her way home.

The memory is long, vivid – she can nearly feel your skin under her fingertips. It’s then that the reality of the situation hits her, that what she thinks is happening is, in fact, really actually fucking happening:

Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff’s best friend and right-hand woman, is dating a woman Natasha has lowkey been in love with for about a year.

Has she seen you since that night? No. She’s got a picture of you, one she found after cleaning out a thick stack of photos (like, physical ass photos) from the bar. It’s you, happy, pouring drinks with both hands. She’s got it tucked away somewhere in her bedroom beneath old medications she never finished and note she scribbled.

Has she made an effort to? No. Never to look at the photo, or to find you. It should be easy, considering you work at the bar she owns – but ever since that night…she’s avoided it. The bar.

Does she still feel a gut-wrenching guilt gnawing at her as she folds herself into a fetal position on her office floor? Absolutely.

Natasha finds herself in the center of an ethical dilemma of the worst kind; the rare kind that a gun or knife or sly smile can’t get her out of. For what is likely the first time in her whole life-slash-professional-career, she probably actually should really deal with whatever corner she’s backed herself into.

Isn’t there some girl code, or whatever, that says she should tell Wanda what’s happened? Shouldn’t she at least warn you? But, even if she wanted to, how would she do that, given she hasn’t so much as looked at you since she snuck out of your apartment? Should she warn Wanda? What would she even say!?

“Hey, trusted fist of my multi-billion-dollar operation and also girl I know who has superpowers and is definitely hiding from a few governments, I got fucked by your girlfriend about a year back and I haven’t been the same since! She railed me until I was a new person! It’s that hilarious! Please laugh at this with me!”

Natasha groans and lets her head drop to her desk. She is royally and totally fucked.

(And, to her dismay, not in a good way).

[emrysaf]

Never Enough pt. 2

Bucky had been enchanted by Y/N since their first meeting when Steve introduced the two and he tried to shake her hand while she tried to “fist bump”. Awkwardness swelled as Y/N said, “Heh. Turkey.” Then went as red as one of Tony’s fresh suits. After she clumsily saluted him, and scurried off he wouldn’t see her for another week between more introductions, training, getting used to the complex and drowning in night terrors.

Their second meeting went much better despite it being almost three in the morning. Another warped memory-nightmare woke Bucky in a cold sweat and there would be no chance of more sleep. So, he walked to the den and saw Y/N there already with a hot chai tea clutched in both hands and a ratty blanket pooled around her from where it dropped from her shoulders as the tea worked its magic.

Knowing he had issues with accidentally walking too softly and scaring other team members (Sam) Bucky made sure to make a grumbling cough sound as he entered the room, and said “Doesn’t chai have caffeine?”

But it seemed like Y/N already knew someone was coming and didn’t appear too surprised to find out it was Bucky as she breathed a light laugh into her cup. “Didn’t plan on going back to sleep anyway.” As she looked up at him and noted his surprise at not startling her she continued, “I could feel someone coming. As you got to the door I could tell it was you.”

“How? I’ve been told I’m ‘Too silent for mine and everyone’s good.’”

That brought a snort as Y/N questioned, “Sam?” At Bucky’s nod she decided to fill him in, “My enhancement has to do with electricity. I’m still pretty fresh on learning about it, but everyone has their own little charge. Then there’s you, Tony and Banner. The arm, the reactor and the gamma register differently to me. So, no sneaking for you sergeant.” 

The last bit was said with a smirk that disappeared behind the star covered coffee mug as Y/N took a big drink of her tea. Then their eyes met again as she pat the couch and turned on the t.v. “Always room, Buck.”

And Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes knew; she would be his new “Until the end of the line.”

[mindingmyownbusiness]

Rescue (2/?)

Pairing - Bucky x Reader Soulmate AU Summary - You’ve always believed your soulmate was out there somewhere, Bucky not so much. What happens when he finally takes a leap of faith and reaches out to you? Warnings - some canon-typical violence in later chapters, the occasional curse word, but I promise to make up for it with loads of fluffiness Chapter Word Count - 1224 Notes - I’m hoping to post new chapters about once a week so wish me luck (and any encouragement you can offer is always welcome!). Inspired by Rescue by Lauren Daigle and by a lot of the concepts in Sense8.

Series Masterlist - Part 1

Your POV

It was all you could do to keep your tears at bay. Just a few more steps, almost there… Your normally positive persona was cracking, breaking apart at the seams with each agonizing step up to your fourth floor apartment. Everybody has bad days, you knew that, but today you couldn’t help but feel like the entire world was out to get you. Last night’s power outage meant your phone died, which meant no alarm, which meant..?  You guessed it, you being ridiculously late for work. Which wouldn’t normally have been so bad except for the surprise performance review that you found waiting on you when you finally arrived at the office. Embarrassment notwithstanding you survived the review slash ambush and decided to pay penance by working through lunch, promising to make it up to yourself by ordering from your favorite take-out place for dinner. Except that plan blew up in your face when you arrived to find it unexpectedly closed for renovations and you had to settle for the last sad and lonely turkey sandwich from the corner deli. “Sums up my life right about now,” you grumbled under your breath as you paid and headed the last few blocks home. Just when the thought of well at least it can’t get any worse had entered your head the overcast sky turned and the heavens opened so suddenly that you were soaked to the bone before you could even make it to your building. Pair that with a broken heel from a crooked subway grate plus an out-of-service elevator and you almost gave up right there in the lobby.

Finally at your destination you fumbled through unlocking your door, slamming it behind you with more force than necessary. Leaning back against the cold and unforgiving wood you slumped down to the floor, your belongings dropping haphazardly around you. You were wet, cold, mentally and physically exhausted, and the only thing left in your head was the feeling of being completely and utterly alone. “Where are you…?” your voice wavered slightly, the tears you’d been holding off now overflowing and streaming down your cheeks. “Why aren’t you here now, taking care of me? Picking me up and holding me close? Drying me off and telling me everything is going to be okay?” Your words bounced around your empty apartment, mocking you and your hope and faith in your soulmate. “Are you even there? Do you even exist…?” you whispered into the darkness. “I… I don’t know why I even bother… either you aren’t there, or… or you are, a-and you just don’t want anything to do with m-me…” Sobs now wracking your body, you curled up in a ball and cried till there were no tears left. Minutes, could’ve been hours later you drug yourself off the floor, your movements listless and robotic as you stripped off your wet clothing, leaving it and everything else in a heap on your floor as you collapsed into bed, falling into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

His POV

Head pounding Bucky stumbles towards the kitchen in the compound letting the smell of coffee guide his way. Saying he was a sight for sore eyes was generous at best. His clothes were damp with sweat, his new short hair sticking up in several places, and who knew that supersoldiers could get dark circles under their eyes anyway? The first mug he attempts to grab shatters as it falls onto the counter. Swearing under his breath he sweeps the pieces into the trash with his metal hand and pushes thoughts of murder and destruction from the front of his brain. His mission for coffee still needed to be accomplished.

“Hey there, Mr. Grumpy Gills,” Sam chirps from his seat at the table.

“Shut it, Birdbrain,” he growls out as he grabs a new mug from the cabinet and pours himself a cup.

“No offense Barnes but you look like shit. Rough night?”

“You could say that.” His thoughts flicker back to the disturbing images his mind conjured up from the night before. The despair on her face, her cries for him to help her, save her… 

“Nightmares?” Bucky startles out of his daze to find Sam right beside him, a hand on his shoulder to ground him, bring him back to reality. Bucky takes a slow sip of coffee, knowing that his face is telling his partner a lot more that his words are ready to. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah but, this one… this one was different.” He scrubs a hand down his face, murmurs of the dream still lingering, still persistently poking at him.

Sam looks at him knowingly. “Wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, takes another sip. “You’ll think I’m losing my mind... nothing about it makes sense.”

“Hey man, try me.” Sam leans back against the counter across from Bucky and crosses his arms. “I used to be pretty good at helping guys down at the VA deal with stuff that went bump in the night ya know.” 

Bucky sighs, staring into his mug as if he might find some answers in there. After a long moment he begins to speak. “Things have been good since Wakanda, really good. Mostly a dreamless sleep, but when I do dream there’s always this… girl.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam can’t help his signature smirk which is quickly countered with Bucky’s own signature murder face.

“Don’t be an ass Wilson, it’s not like that she’s… she’s not always at the center of my dreams but she’s always there… it’s like…” He closes his eyes, easily picturing her in his mind. “She is so damn beautiful, with soft features and the most captivating smile. Her laugh is just infectious and her voice… her voice feels like coming home.” Seeing and hearing her in his dreams always filled him with a sense of belonging, a warmth in his chest that he was certain he’d never felt anywhere else. He smiled softly to himself, all trace of worry and burden erased from his features.

“Dude... that’s your soulmate!” Bucky’s eyes flew open at Sam’s declaration, the look of shock and awe on Sam’s face almost comical.

“Come off it man, soulmates are a myth.” Bucky brushed off Sam’s reaction, finishing his coffee in one gulp and discarding it in the sink.

“I’m serious, man! They say the bond is no joke. Some are able to hear, or see, sometimes even physically interact with each other over huge distances.”

“Well then tell me this, what does it mean that after months of seeing her in my dreams that last night she was the star of my nightmares, huh? What kind of messed up soulmate crap is that?”

“I’m not sure, man. Dreams are weird like that, unpredictable. Maybe something happened to her? Have you tried contacting her at all?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “How do I even do that? I didn’t even know soulmates were a thing until two minutes ago.”

“It’s all about consent man, you have to agree to it, decide it’s what you want before it can happen. I bet that she agreed to it already if you’re seeing and hearing her in your dreams.”

“I still think you’re messing with me Wilson... but I’d try just about anything to never have a nightmare like that again.”

Part 3

[3rdgymbros]

𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 𝓘𝓷𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

Name: Noelle Halliday

Nicknames: Ice Princess, Ice Witch

Name meaning: 'Noelle' means christmas. 'Halliday' is a seasonal surname originally given to someone born on a holy day, or a religious festival.

Gender: Female

Birthday: 25 December

Star Sign: Capricorn

Height: 147 cm

Weight: 40 kg

Age: 16

Eye Colour: Red

Hair Colour: White

Homeland: Christmas Town

Family: Mother, father, two older brothers studying at Royal Sword Academy

Quote: “I want to cry, but I can’t seem to shed a single tear . . . Have you ever felt this way before?”

𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓡𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓮 𝓢𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵 𝓕𝓲𝓵𝓮

Dorm: Terrorwood ( a fandorm created by @terrors-of-nightraven​ )

School Year: First 

Class: 1-B ; Student no. 19

Occupation: Student

Club: Light Music Club

Best Subject: Potions, alchemy

𝓕𝓾𝓷 𝓕𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓼

Inspired by: Santa Claus from The Nightmare Before Christmas

Dominant hand: Right

Favourite Colours: Red, silver, white

Favourite Food: Milk and cookies, hearty food like stews and turkey

Least Favourite Food: Anything with peppermint

Likes: Cold weather, snow, the smell of winter roses, eating, rain, cute and fluffy animals, receiving affection (don’t be put off by her complaints), head pats

Dislikes: Hot weather, sweating, being forced to talk, being forced to perform in public by her parents, returning home for the holidays, insects, getting dragged into crazy situations, rude behaviour, fancy parties

Hobbies and Talents: Ice skating, ballet, singing, sewing, cooking, creating poisons, gardening, baking

Special Skill: Choosing perfect presents and being able to wrap them perfectly, non-verbal magic

𝓟𝓱𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 𝓕𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼

Appearance: She has long white hair, elbow-length and curled at the ends. Part of her hair is braided, at the crown of her head, and she also wears red rose hairpins. Her bangs are parted to the right. She has red eyes. Many people have commented on how she resembles a porcelain doll. 

Style: Her casual attire is fairly fancy with muted or dark tones, full skirts, lace and frills. Many of her dresses are reminiscent of the gothic lolita style of dressing. Examples can be found here and here.

Makeup: None.

Body type: Slim of waist, and slight of frame, with a small chest.

𝓥𝓸𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓼

Songs to describe her: Doll by Lia, Human by Lia, Castle Walls by Christina Aguilera, The Loneliest Girl by Carole and Tuesday, Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez

Voice actress: Aiba Aina (specifically her role as Yukina Minato)

𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪

Personality: Noelle is very conscientious and quiet compared to her louder, and more eccentric dormmates in Terrorwood. She is extremely reserved, and rarely speaks to anyone; though this changes slightly when she joins Terrorwood. She is mostly willing to talk to her dorm mates (or, at the very least, scrawl out notes for them to read if she does not wish to speak at the moment), and has even cracked a smile or two at their antics, watching from the sidelines but deigning to join in. When Noelle becomes focused on something or wants it, she will stop and silently stare intently for minutes until people realize what she wants. In addition, she rarely expresses much emotion, and rarely diverts from a neutral or a stern expression.

However, as she did not have many friends growing up, Noelle is actually a rather lonely individual, which translates into her cold personality, as well as her difficulties understanding how other people may feel. Once she warms up to people, Noelle places a great deal of trust in her friends, and is also very loyal to them; she won’t hesitate to hex people who harbour negative intentions towards her friends. She has kind and generous sides to her as well, as she is perfectly willing to help the people she is close to.

Alignment: Neutral Good

Strengths: Stoic, refined, reserved, industrious, scrupulous, conservative, serious, demure, solemn, generous, kind, well-bred, forbearing, patient

Flaws: Saturnine, impassive, haughty, cold, imperious, proud, anti-social, subdued

𝓟𝓪𝓼𝓽

The youngest daughter of the Halliday family, Noelle has the features of a porcelain doll and is so quiet that she can almost pass for one. Since young, she has had endless tutoring sessions, from etiquette classes to dance and music classes, all with the intention of moulding her into the perfect socialite. Overshadowed by her siblings, Noelle is often overlooked by her parents, who are also occupied with running the family empire. Noelle was often left to her own devices when she was younger, and as a result, grew up to be largely independent. She has two older brothers, both of whom currently attend Royal Sword Academy, though her relationship with them is neutral, and founded on indifference at best. The entire family was disappointed when she announced her decision to attend Night Raven College, but Noelle was determined and refused to back down.

Noelle hates returning home for the holidays. The house is too crowded, filled with relatives and cousins who all force her into making conversation, and she is expected to be on her best behaviour at all times. She knows what will happen if she slips up; in public, her hand will be grabbed and squeezed tight to an uncomfortable degree, behind closed doors, she receives a slap to the cheek and lecture upon lecture for bringing shame to the family name. Her parents may also force her to perform at charity events or for her relatives to exclaim over, which makes her endlessly uncomfortable; if she could, she would choose to remain at school.

𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓼

Noelle mostly uses ice-based magic, which allows the user to generate and manipulate ice and snow. However, if she uses her magic for too long, she can develop symptoms of hypothermia (eg shivering, a weak pulse, slow and shallow breathing, low energy levels ).

Crystal Ice Shield: The user manifests barriers in the form of snowflakes with various shapes and sizes. These barriers are strong enough to withstand incoming attacks.

Snowmen Friends: The user creates multiple snowmen, which can be directed to attack opponents.

Ice Floe: A massive chunk of ice is created and dropped it onto an opponent, crushing them under the weight.

Icy Shrapnel: Giant spikes made of ice are created and directed at a target.

Ice Flowers: The user completely encases the target in ice, which can potentially freeze the target to death unless the spell is cancelled. The countless icicles protruding outwards prevent outside interference.

Phantom Garden of Snow: The user fills an enclosed space with enchanted snow. Those who come into contact with the snow slowly lose their senses and start to move sluggishly until they eventually fall asleep.

Unique Magic: Naughty or Nice. Noelle judges a target as being ‘naughty’ or ‘nice’. If the target is deemed as being ‘nice’, their abilities and performance can temporarily be enhanced (eg their speed, intelligence, healing). If the target is judged as being ‘naughty’, the opposite will occur; that is, the target will find their abilities and performance impaired.

𝓣𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓪

- After finding out that she could play the guitar, Noelle was forced into the Light Music Club by Lilia, who promised her that she wouldn’t have to speak during the club sessions. She does perform on stage with the other members and has even sung in front of the school on occasion. 

- She used to dance ballet, but stopped her lessons. However, she still dances when her parents pressure her into putting on a show for their relatives during the holidays.

- Noelle is oddly affectionate and clingy when she returns home from school after the holidays. The first thing she does upon reaching the dorm is to run into the arms of the first person she sees; the dorm member will have their arms filled with a pale, sad-eyed girl struggling to hold back her tears.  

- The only other time Noelle is clingy and affectionate is when she overuses her magic and subsequently develops symptoms of hypothermia; wrapped up in blankets and lethargic, Noelle usually ends up clinging to Nyx and falling asleep on his shoulder.

- Out of boredom, Viktor taught her how to play poker, and Noelle turned out to be rather good at the game. She’s not as good as Viktor, but she’s still a champion in her own right.

- Noelle smells like cranberries, and the scent clings to her clothes and belongings as well. 

- She has a small garden. She grows a mixture of plants, ranging from poisonous plants, to herbs and fruits.

- She is in charge of cooking for the dorm, and is a good cook, provided that she does not mix the cooking ingredients with her potion-making ingredients. Her favourite person to cook for is Nyx, who falls upon her cooking with a ravenous kind of hunger.

- She tests her poisons out on herself to see their effects on the body firsthand. Thanks to this, she has built up an immunity to various types of poisons.

- She always has an abundance of money on her, and is perfectly willing to treat her friends to food at the Mostro Lounge.

- Whenever Viktor isn’t around, the duty of stitching up lost limbs usually falls to Noelle, who is good at sewing. Her stitches are neat and tiny and precise; considering that she is unfazed by blood and bodily fluids, this makes her a perfect choice.

[demiromance]

“Thankful” (happy ending AU Reddiefic, Secret Santa gift!)

Hi there @pawprinterfanfic! I’m your secret santa for the @itfandompromptssecret santa gift exchange! I’m sorry its almost midnight, I was at a holiday event with my family, but I had such a wonderful time writing this for you and I hope you have an absolutely blessed holiday season! With all of my love and warm wishes, enjoy! Summary: The Thanksgiving after Pennywise finally goes to wherever evil killer clowns go, The Losers have a lot to be thankful for, Richie and Eddie most of all. (Happy ending AU where Stan went back to Derry, and because of that, they all lived.) Rating: T, because Richie has a mouth on him.

It snows on Thanksgiving in Derry. Richie Tozier forgot how much he hated that shit. He’s sulking around Mike’s (admittedly incredible and way more spacious than he’d realized at first,) apartment over the library, and he can feel two pairs of eyes on him - Eddie, from his now customary, since coming home, finally, from the hospital, place on the window seat by the round window that looked out over the town square, and Sprinkles, the cat that Richie was unsure if Beverly had actually adopted from the shelter in town for Mike, or had merely found on the street and claimed as theirs. Ben would be the first to tell you, she definitely had a way of taking in strays. 

“What exactly are you two doing to that poor thing?” Eddie calls, book long forgotten, and Sprinkles, who has made herself comfortable in his lap, makes a quiet little mrrrr noise of curiosity of her own. 

Still squinting at the cookbook open in front of him, one hand menacingly clutching an entire stick of butter that’s melting rapidly in the heat of his hands over the turkey, resting on a bed of potatoes and carrots in what he’s been told is called a ‘roasting pan.’ Richie is not, nor has he ever been a great cook, but he and Bill will be damned if they can’t figure out what Martha Stewart called the “idiot proof” turkey earlier that day on television while the others are rushing about doing the rest of the things required for the day to be perfect.  And the day would be perfect, damn it, if it was the last thing Richie did: they had so much to be thankful for. He felt the familiar flood of emotion in his chest when it hit him again, just how grateful he was. Pennywise was gone, for good, and Eddie’d lived. He thought he’d known fear before they went into that cistern, or when he saw those massive spider legs, or what he saw in the deadlights, but he had never known fear like the blur of minutes of carrying Eddie from that awful place, turned to the hours of sitting on the floor in a hospital hallway, Eddie’s blood darkening on the front of his shirt, turned to the days of waiting for him to wake up. He also thought he’d, at least at some point in his life, known happiness, and relief, but he hadn’t, until finally he was roused from sleep by the hand he’d held for so long, wishing and hoping and even praying, curling around his. 

That’d been July, it was the end of November now and everything between that was a blur. That first night, everyone slept on chairs in the hospital, but eventually bags were collected from the Townhouse and migrated to Mike’s. “No friends of mine are going to keep living in that shithole for god knows how long,” the librarian had harrumphed at them, making up his sole guest room (never used,) pulling out his couch, and sending Ben to buy air mattresses. If Richie was smuggled there, ‘home,’ to sleep in those early weeks, he doesn’t remember. He remembers being absolutely unwilling to let Eddie out of his sight, lest he disappear, lest this not actually all be real, lest this be some fever dream in the deadlights, but then eventually he remembers waking up with the golden light of a late summer sunset falling over him, bundled under a pile of blankets in that guest room, Beverly sitting next to him, watching tv.

“I need to get back to the hospital,” he’d rasped at her, reaching for his glasses.

“You need to go back to sleep,” she’d murmured, brushing his hair out of his eyes with sisterly affection.  He had.

The weather grew cold, and the leaves turned the brilliant colors of fall in Maine, something else Richie had forgotten, and forgotten that he’d loved. One day, between the hospital and home, when Stan’s wife, Patty, who he’d begun to think of as the group’s tiny little blonde guardian angel, ushered him into a Halloween store to find Eddie “something seasonal to brighten that room up!” Richie realized that…none of them had gone home.

“Wait!” he surprised Patty by how quickly he sort of…grabbed her. She responded by turning and giving him a tight hug, to which he replied, feeling like a dunce, with “Don’t you all have lives?”

She blinked up at him, “Hm?”

“You flew all the way up here the second Stan called you. Audra came out. None of you have gone home. What about your jobs? Your houses? Your lives?”

“You’re family. Eddie’s family. You all need us.”

“Yes, Patty, and we love you very much, but the logistics-”

“We all figured, we’re…established, enough,” she shrugged, “We’ve all done well, Trashmouth. We’re in a position to be here, so we are. And besides,” she giggled brightly, “Ben is loaded.”

He laughed. She laughed. They left with a stuffed monkey dressed up as a mummy. Eddie would hate it.

The week before Thanksgiving, they sprung him. Until you really got to know Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie explained, he was a charming son of a bitch and had somehow convinced the nurses that that was his true nature.

Eddie, seated on the edge of his hospital bed as Richie stooped to tie his shoes for him, groaned, “Yes, Richie. I love you, too.”

Eddie got the guest room after that, which meant that Richie, who’d insisted on an air mattress and that someone else take that bed, was back in that cozy room, and for the first time since that awful day on Neibolt Street, since the nights before, hiding, sneaking from one room to another, Richie slept with Eddie in his arms, the cold sweating of nightmares gone, beaten back by the warmth, the solidity of the other man. Eddie was there, Eddie was real, and Eddie was alive.

So yes, even as he stood there, holding a half melting stick of butter that he was pretty sure that he was about to unceremoniously shove up a turkey’s ass, Richie Tozier was grateful.

“Rich? Hellllloooooooooo. Earth to Richie,” Bill waved a hand in his face, “Psst. You in there?”

Richie shook his thoughts clear, “Yeah, uh..yeah. I’m here. Sorry. Shit. What do I do with this?” 

Bill looked back at the cookbook, then at the butter, then back to the cookbook, and sighed with relief, “Thank fuck. We rub it under the skin-”

“It puts the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again!” Richie couldn’t help himself, voice and all. 

“Jesus Christ, Richie.”

“It’s so the turkey doesn’t get dry!” Eddie called from the window seat, “Please don’t make me get up and come over there.” 

“The turkey is not going to be dry, Eduardo!” Richie called back, and passed the now slippery stick of what surely was not butter but felt like pure grease, and was probably, in all actuality, the margarine that Eddie tried to convince them caused cancer if eaten literally ever at all, unceremoniously to a very confused Bill. “Here, you handle this, Big Bill,” he said, and wandered off to entertain Eddie and the cat before the former could offer any more unsolicited advice. Bill blinked at him, and sighed - some people never change, not even almost three decades and a murdered clown later. He was definitely going to need a drink.

+++

It was margarine and the turkey was dry (due, however, more to Bill getting a little tipsy and not setting his timer for the right amount of time after he stuffed the turkey into the apartment’s small-ish oven, than to any lack of comprehension from two grown men of at least above average intelligence but very little usable kitchen skill about what to do with butter on Thanksgiving when cooking,) but they were all too wrapped up in the warm glow of the occasion to notice once they all finally sat down to eat, Mike doing the honors of carving the bird expertly for someone who, the night before, had confessed that he not only hadn’t done a real Thanksgiving in twenty seven years but was also a vegetarian. Patty led the table in a round of applause as he took a small bow before sitting down, his grin wide and bright. 

Everyone looked expectantly to Bill, at the head of the table, always their leader, who looked, lost to his wife. Audra chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze under the table, “Should we say grace?”

“I will! I will!” Richie offered, to only mild protest, “Everybody hold hands, c’mon, pretend like we like each other, c’mon, c’mon.” The Losers, and their now honorary members, Audra and Patty, obliged, and Richie cleared his throat, bowing his head, “Dear Lord, we uh…thank you for…this day and these people and stuff and for that time that Jesus kid was…in Turkey and he…did some stuff-”

“Richie we’re Jewish why are you talking about Jesus,” Stan muttered. 

Richie, unfazed continued, “Or maybe today we just have turkey, maybe he wasn’t in turkey, wait…is that why we have turkey, is it-”

“Heeeeeeeey, I have an idea,” Ben interjected, “Instead of…whatever that was, why don’t we all just say something we’re thankful for? It’s been one hell of a year, and I have a lot I’m thankful for now.”

“Great idea!” Bev lit up, smiling up at him, “I’ll go first. This year, I’m thankful for all of you, and I’m thankful for Ben, and,” she peeked under the table at Ben’s large German Shepherd, his bowl already emptied between his paws, waiting for table scraps, “Scout down there, and Sprinkles, wherever she got to.”

“Same,” Ben seconded, “All of you and Bev and…our freedom.”

Patty raised her water glass, “I think that’s worth toasting. No more clowns!”

To the clink of glasses, they echoed, “No more clowns.” 

“I’m thankful for Mike!” Bill went next, “I mean, yes, I’m thankful for all of you. Audra, Stan, all of you, I mean that. But Mikey…dude, you st-stayed here f-f-for us. You remembered.”

“And then you took us all in!” Beverly added. Mike ducked his head, “Thank you. I’d do it again. I’m thankful you all came back.” 

“I’m thankful that Bill called me, after Mike did,” Stan said softly, “I was in a bad place and…about to do something drastic,” his voice was barely audible at the other end of the table, “And I would have never gotten to see us all this happy.”

Patty wrapped her arm around his and kissed his shoulder, “I’m thankful for that, too. And that you’ve all let me be a part of this family.”

“Same here,” Audra offered. A chorus of ‘we love you’s and ‘of course you’re part of this family’ went up to the both of them. 

“I’m thankful to be alive,” said Eddie, “I’m thankful that I get to…actually live my life now. I feel like I went from my mother to Myra and-”

“I’m thankful for divorce attornies,” Richie muttered.

“Beep beep, Richie,” Beverly muttered.

Eddie continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “Like, yeah, I almost died which is extremely fucking weird to say or even…think about…but…I get to live now. I’m not under mom’s thumb. I’m not under Myra’s thumb-”

“You just have me wrapped around your little finger,” Richie’s smile, for once, wasn’t wry or sardonic, but warm, and gentle and his eyes were so soft as he looked at the other man. 

Under the table, Eddie slipped his hand into Richie’s and squeezed it three times: I love you. “You love it.”

“I do.”

“And what about you, Rich?” Stan asked, beaming, “What are you thankful for? Besides Eddie’s divorce attorney, I mean.”

“A lot,” Richie was surprisingly quiet, and reverent, “Everything? All of you? That…I finally get to spend the rest of my life next to this weird little gremlin-”

“Hey-”

“Who I love more than anything in the world. Who I never stopped loving, not for a second. Who my heart always remembered.” 

Their eyes met, Eddie’s filling with tears. 

Ding, ding, ding! Patty tapped her spoon on her glass, and soon the others joined her, “Kiss! Kiss!” 

That cold, snowy Thanksgiving night, in a warm apartment in Derry, Maine, filled with love and friendship, Richie Tozier kissed Eddie Kaspbrak, and everything was absolutely golden.

[nancywheelxr]

Ooooo you write for legends of tomorrow? Could I request something with some angst/fluff where John Constantine has a nightmare and then the team ends up watching a movie together? Thanks!

Yes, I do! And you guys, you don’t understand, I love Constantine’s character since Vertigo was still around, Dark Justice League is like, one of my fave comic runs.

*

Not for the first time this week, John shoots up in bed, chest heaving in labored gasps for air. A bottle rolls off the mattress, empty by the sound of it, and at least that accounts for his headache.

The nightmare clings to his skin and he struggles to kick off the sheets, stumble into a cold shower. It's a well-practiced routine by now– wake up in cold sweat, throw up in the toilet, shower. Rinse and repeat. It's something he accepts now with all the resigned bitterness he reserves to his own fuck-ups that inevitably lead to this.

This time it was his most recent trip to Hell that sneaked back to haunt him. Very fitting, considering he'll be back there in the end anyway. Might as well get used to it.

His hands are still shaking when he turns off the water and they keep trembling while he towels, while he dresses, while he listens to the door lock itself behind him.

It could be cold turkey from his cigarettes, fuck if he smoked in this god damned ship, but John knows how cold turkey feels. 

The hallway is blessedly cooler than his room and it helps him feel less caged in, less trapped, and he's sure the whiskey Sara keeps hidden in the library will help even further.

When he flips the light on, though, he's not the only one that freezes guiltily. 

“Uh, hey?” Zari ventures, hand frozen midway to the liquor cabinet.

John rolls his eyes. “Don’t mind me, by all means,” he drags himself to the table, pulling out two glasses and the ice cooler, “take that left one, will you? It’s where Sara keeps the good stuff.”

The strong stuff, he means.

Zari bites her lip, glancing between him and the cabinet, before seeming to make a decision.

She takes the left one.

“So,” she says, accepting the glass he hands her, “why are you awake?”

“Why are you?”

“Touche,” her eyebrow raises and she knocks back her shot. Then, because these people are unlike anything John's seen, she continues, “nightmare, actually. Couldn't shake it off after.”

Maybe it's because Zari is perhaps the last person he had expected to blurt out her troubles like this– and to John of all people– or maybe they're starting to rub off on him, but he grimaces, raising his own glass in toast, and admits, “welcome to the club, love.”

“Ugh,” she makes a face as the alcohol must burn her throat, “is this supposed to help?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, pours both of them another shot, “can't make it worse, though.”

That earns him a snort. “I don't think that's right,” she shakes her head, glancing around the room wistfully, “this would make such a good media room, it's a pity Sara never lets me bring my stuff here.”

John smirks, spreading his arms. “Sara isn't here now,” he points out.

“No,” Zari points an unsteady finger at him. If it's already from the alcohol or still from her own nightmare, John decides not to venture a guess. “She’d kill me. Like, kill me kill me.”

“Chicken,” he mutters, cursing himself for forgetting his pack and lighter in his room.

“No, it's called self-preservation instinct,” she sniffs haughtily.

“if you say so, love.”

“I mean it, I'm not doing it.”

“Alright, ‘m not telling you to.”

“I can't believe you're daring me to do this.”

“Am not,” he frowns, bewildered as she glares at him before stalking out the library. “Mad,” he scoffs to himself, “the lot of them, off their rockers.”

It takes Zari a good ten minutes to come back, and John spends it steadily working through Sara’s liquor. The silence is what he had been looking for when he first sought the library, but he still finds himself exhaling in relief when she returns with her laptop and tangle of cables.

“We’re watching Harry Potter,” she informs him, really, setting up shop on the table, “because I'm pretty sure it's some sort of crime being a British warlock and not having seen any of these.”

His whiskey sloshes in the glass and this is not at all how it usually goes. For one, he's not nearly passed enough. But his limbs are feeling heavy and sometimes the shadows still seem to flicker, and John had always preferred the path of least resistance.

Even if it means staying in his armchair and allowing Zari to play her bloody movie.

“What's going on here?” 

It's Sara, looking rather worse for wear. In his seat, John leans back, settling in for what should be at the very least an entertaining interaction.

“Harry Potter marathon?” Zari risks, “we couldn’t sleep.”

Sara raises her eyebrows. “So you decided to either watch a movie or raid my liquor cabinet?”

John raises his glass. “Cheers.”

The look both of them give him is, indeed, entertaining.

But then, instead of glaring and telling them to wrap it up, Sara studies them thoughtfully for a minute. The thing about Sara is that she always knows more than she lets on and when she takes the time to look at you like this, John feels awfully seen. He’s not sure he likes it. There are hardly good things to see there. 

“Alright,” she sighs, crossing the room to seat at the couch with Zari. “Press play, then, and you,” she turns to John, “quit hogging the bottle, come on.”

Perhaps not so surprising, more Legends begin trickling after that, like moths to a flame and by the time he notices he’s been tricked into another attempt of team bonding, John is drunk enough not to care. A movie night is not the worst thing in the world, not if they keep the alcohol coming anyway.

And, not that he’d ever admit it out loud, there’s something to be said about comfort in numbers. Surprisingly, he finds he’d rather sit here listening to this ridiculous movie than lick his wounds in his bedroom.

All in all, it’s no the worst of his nights.

[sending-the-message]

I stopped exploring abandoned houses after something attacked my friend - UPDATE: I went back last night. by shiveringsongs

Part One

Sometimes the universe gives you signs, and you've just gotta listen, you know? So when I found myself on the recieving end of Alex's annual "Merry Christmas!" mass text, I knew what I had to do.

He answered the phone on the first ring, but paused before he said anything. "Hey, Sam. Long time no talk." After so much time, his voice sounded unfamiliar.

"Yeah, man. Listen. I..." For all of my certainty when I hit the 'call' button, I was almost immediately at a loss for words.

"Don't worry about it."

"But I do. I just want to make things right."

"So go back with me."

I felt my knees go weak. "Alex, you... you really think we should just go back?"

"We have to. Unfinished business. It's," He paused, thinking. "It's calling to me."

I sighed. "Me, too."

The drive to Arbor Road passed in a blur. Once we got there time seemed to slow dramatically as we watched for number 167. We were silent as we approached it, but I let out an involuntary shout of dismay when the lot finally crawled into view.

The house was gone.

Not entirely, I suppose. But it had collapsed some time in the last two years. More specifically, it appeared to have crumbled under the weight of one of the recent snows. What was left of the house was partially buried in a crisp white layer, as though it went down during the storm. The dead apple trees had simply vanished.

We approached anyway. The road had been plowed, but the driveway wasn't - I would have been more surprised if it was. What did surprise me, though, was the fact that after the first few deep steps of undisturbed snow, we were standing in a densely trampled area.

I looked around and quickly understood that we were standing at the edge of a large ring of footprints. It looked as though hundreds of hundreds of circles had been walked around the ruins of the old wooden house. Before I could say anything, Alex walked purposefully past me towards the side of the rubble heap. Halfway around the stack, he dropped suddenly to his knees and began to dig in the snow and debris with his bare hands.

"Hey! Stop! What are you -?!" He ignored me and kept going. His hands turned red from the cold, and then began to crack and bleed. He ignored this too.

Unable to watch any more, I rushed to his side and tried to help. I pulled pieces of splintered siding out of the way. My hands seemed to already be numb from the cold; I couldn't feel the pieces of wood or the clumps of snow between my fingers. I didn't even feel pain as a loose nail dug into the side of my palm. I thought it went deep, but it didn't start to bleed at all. I looked back to what Alex was doing just in time to recognize what we had uncovered.

"The... cellar?" Alex had found the buried wooden doors as though the spot had been marked for him. I didn't realise his spatial memory was that good, and I couldn't understand how he had found it so easily. Just like before, part of one of the doors was broken and the familiar, inky blackness was waiting for us below. Alex pulled the broken door straight up and off its hinges as easily as if it were a piece of foam and tossed it casually aside.

We sat on our knees, looking into the gloom. Just like my nightmares, I knew right away that something in the darkness was watching me, too. I put my hands on the edge of the opening and leaned forward, trying to make out any shapes in front of me, hoping desperately that I wouldn't see anything move. Behind us I could hear heavy footsteps, but I couldn't stop straining to hear something in the dark. It did not surprise me when I lost my balance and tumbled in to the cellar - this was just like my nightmares too.

Lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, I looked up at Alex's somber face, silhouetted against the winter sky. "Help!" My voice didn't come out properly. I tried to shout but all that happened was a meek whisper. It was immediately answered by the nearby rustling of cloth. If my fall had somehow not drawn the attention of what was down here with me, my voice certainly had. I felt surrounded by dark intentions, and out of the corner of my eye a pale shape slowly began to resolve itself into the face I could never forget.

"Alex!" My voice was still strangled, silent. He watched me for a moment, and then stood up and moved out of my line of sight. "Alex! Come back!"

"Now you know how it feels..." His voice sounded like it was already miles away.

"But I came back! Alex, I came back for you! ALEX!!" His name echoed in my ears as the light above me faded to black.

Sometimes the universe gives you signs, and you've just gotta listen, you know? So when I woke up in a cold sweat, cellphone in hand, I knew what I had to do.

He answered on the first ring, but paused before he said anything. "Hey, Sam. Long time no talk." His voice sounded warm and familiar. My phone had told me it was 3am Christmas morning when I turned it on. Everything I could remember about the last twelve hours had been an extended director's cut of my usual nightmares, and it was time to fix this.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just had this messed up nightmare and I had to call and tell you I'm sorry. And I... what are you doing awake? I hope I'm not interrupting..." I felt ridiculous. Awake at this hour? He probably wasn't alone.

"No, you're not, it's - I've been having nightmares too. We've gotta figure this out. Look, why don't we get together? Grab a coffee. Soon."

"Right. At Joe's? Today?" If I remembered correctly, my old friend wouldn't have family obligations until a late Christmas Dinner at his aunt Martha's. I had nothing planned for a few hours either, so we made plans to meet just after breakfast.

Joe's Diner is the sort of small coffee shop that exists in a million cities under a thousand names. It was cozy and bright in the fifties and no one has changed much about it since. The place is never crowded, but always open. Alex and I had gone there for coffees or burgers a hundred times since high school.

Despite the passage of nearly two years since we last met at our regular booth, it felt perfectly natural to watch him approach the table and flop down across from me, pulling off his heavy winter coat and waving at our server.

We started with coffee and small talk. Work, pets, family. His job still sucked; my parents were still divorced. He'd recently moved in with his new(ish) girlfriend, Ada, and they were beginning to talk about what The Future might look like. I was still just happy to come home every night to my laptop and my cat, Fergie.

Finally, after several minutes, there was a lull in the conversation. He looked up from the half-empty mug he was cradling and met my eye. "I suppose we should just get into it then. The reason we're here. We've got to talk about it."

"Alex,I'msosorry!" The words came out in a jumbled rush. "I didn't know - what could I have - it happened so fast and -" He silenced me with a look, his familiar green eyes full of resolve.

"It's not about what you did or didn't do back then. It's about what we need to do now. You can't tell me the dreams aren't getting worse for you too."

I swallowed hard as all the air left the diner. "You think we should really go back," I managed to choke the words out without looking away from his determined gaze.

After morning coffee with Alex, it was awfully hard to focus on my dad's annual Burn The Turkey ritual. My head has been spinning all day with our half-formed plan to go back and investigate the house. What to bring. What to look for. What to do if things go... wrong. I'm in kind of way over my head here. But I'm glad I told you my story. You helped me with the courage to actually meet Alex, and talk to him. And I'm hoping that you can lend me some more courage, very soon.

We're going back to Arbor Road for real. Tomorrow.

[poppymadness]

Nathan... Spill the beans.... Almost sent beams

i apologize for inconsistency and anything that may not be 100% realistic but here we go

Had a three year younger sister, named Alice

The dad gets into some shady business he ends up getting too involved with, he was just trying to provide for his family financially

Alice is kidnapped at a park when he’s 15, and her body is found a month later (she was not alive for a month, though)

^ Nathan was supposed to be watching her, but he went to the bathroom for a second, figuring a 12 y/o would be okay alone for a moment. It was just a second

The parents divorce papers are legalized soon after the body is found. (They sent in the forms soon after Alice was kidnapped- Nathan hadn’t known they’d done that)

His father holds the funeral, but his mom prevents him from going- already trying to block everything, not speak of her. Nathan sneaks out the night of, to go to her grave. For hours, until the sun comes up, until he has to go to school and he grabs his school bag he brought with him and goes to school. He never tells his mom where he’d been, and doesn’t visit a graveyard again (until an instance where he goes with Ari)

He spends two more months in his home with his mom, before she can’t provide for them anymore and they move in with his grandparents. His room used to be their office, and really still is- just with a small bed thrown in

Nobody speaks of her, why don’t they want to remember her? I’m suffocating keeping these memories to myself

He becomes attuned to not speaking about her, he only can if he’s directly asked- Do you have any siblings? What was her name? What was she like? But he always thinks of her, speaks of her to himself

He keeps her treasured stuffed animal (a zebra), her cooking books (ok I forgot to mention it- so I will here- that he wants to be a chef for her. He was interested in cooking because it’s what she loved- you know those kids that appear to have known their future since they were toddlers? That was her with cooking, and when she passes Nathan takes it up fully), the ridiculous apron she wore when she cooked- all in a bag squished between the wall and his bed. Nobody knows he’s keeping anything. There’s a small picture of her with him in his wallet

He never truly gets closure, his father won’t speak about what he really got into and Nathan never actually saw her after. He has nightmares about the multiple ways she could’ve been tortured, killed- he doesn’t know, there’s so many possibilities. He can wake up in a cold sweat, sometimes. They’ve now become less, but when he does have them- they’re always far worse than the last

He has on and off part-time jobs, none last more than four months. It’s never what he wants to be doing, or the environment is just bad- He wants to be cooking. Nobody understands that

Loves to cook, loves Thanksgiving. It was his sister’s favorite, she got to cook everything (ofc with help from their parents). She was always ecstatic, having him help- she loved doing things together, constantly saying ‘my brother and I’ even when it was just her. It was his favorite before too, just for her. To see her ecstatic and overjoyed, her wide grin every time she checked the turkey, to see her thankful for the life they all took for granted

They also spent long nights watching culinary videos together on the weekends

He loves history, all types of it

Kiind of a movie buff, he hasn’t seen them all but he’s watched movies from every day and age. He wouldn’t say he has a favorite type of history, but he knows the most about film history. He thinks of it as a hobby, to pass time, rather than a passion which is not true

He loves the desert

His favorite animal are snakes

His favorite color is red

He’d literally do anything for Ari and it’s fucking Gross

He loves being in Ari’s room, around his paints and his paintings, when he’s painting- if he lets him, just...bein round Ari and Ari-like things.. He feels at home, relaxed

[jackiebluzer-blog]

Photo procured from UnSplash by Sahin-Sezer-Dincer

Exile to Long Island: A Refuge from Catastrophe

“The precinct is firebombed.” The railroad is down. We have no choice. Nick hollered from the bedroom. “Pack up; we have to move.”

My parents begged me to travel out to the island just two days before, but I didn't want to leave the sexy cocoon of Nick's Chelsea apartment. I thought it was standard parental hysteria, but I was so wrong. Backpacks jammed with water, protein bars, and other essentials; we crept down the stairs of his apartment building, which was morbidly quiet.

In the distance, the zing of bullets had sweat running in rivulets in my bra and down my back. The slamming of my heart drowned out Nick's instructions. He took me by the shoulders and stared fiercely into my eyes.

"Focus! Stay by my side." No problem; where would I go? Even though it was a chilly 44 degrees out, Nick's hair was plastered to his head as he tried to peer out the window on the ground floor.

The acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air along with a blanket of gray haze. He edged the door open and peered into the bleak night. It seemed strange that the man in the vestibule across the street had no coat or shoes, dressed for a couch potato night by the TV. The glass splintered in the door, which hung on a hinge. Was he trying to get in or out? Nick ripped me out of my fog and yanked me through the doorway, and we took to the streets skimming the walls and ducking in alleys as if in a thriller flick.

The subway loomed as a dare across the broad avenue. It was the only escape from the city.

A burst of gunfire exploded several blocks down, and my ears rang with horror. Nick is gigantic but not a superhero that deflects bullets. Any other day him being a cop would have been an assist, today it is an obstacle. Everyone is a target, in particular, NYPD.

We broke into a run and flew down the subway stairs. I was about to pull out my Metro Card but saw no point as we pressed into the families, crying children, and the masses drowning in alarm.

The hours dragged as we neared the edge of the platform to maneuver our way onto the subway car. The plan was to switch trains and get to Queens, and then?

The doors open, and we shoved in with just enough room before they slid shut. The scream of faces left behind, glared with hatred and contempt as the train sped out of the station.

It was as if everyone held their collective breath; it was silent except for a few whispers. A few gasped when the lights momentarily went off, even though it's a regular occurrence as a seasoned subway rider. I held tight to Nick. We swayed, being simultaneously pressed in and held up by the humanity around us. Where did we think we were going, or if we would ever get there?

"Don't offer any information. Respond to direct questions, otherwise don't speak," Nick ordered.

"Who do you think…?" The words crunched out as my teeth chattered, even though the car smoldered with oppressive heat and heaviness. Nick cut me off.

"Don't talk." He saw my startled expression and soothed, "We don't know if they're listening."

The train screeched to an abrupt halt and went black. A sharp edge dug into my side and knocked out my breath with a wheeze. Nick asked if I was alright, but I had to be. It became apparent after minutes, then an hour, we were at the end of the line. A disembodied voice came over the speakers.

"Everyone, get out." That was it, not please exit the train in an orderly manner.

People pushed out the emergency windows with no idea of what nightmare hid in the dim tunnels. It was more organized than you'd think; one person jumped to the tracks to aid the next climb out and fall to the ground. They say New Yorkers rise to the occasion in a crisis.

We made our way like expatriates from a 3rd world country. The dread was palpable. It reminded me of the news feeds I ignored on cable of the refugees dragging children and belongings out of Turkey or Lebanon. The graphic 24-hour cycle makes us oblivious to their pain and devastation. It changes when you are entrenched in the riveting reality of the catastrophe.

We crawled along until we got to Jefferson Street Station, not far from my apartment on Melrose. Sleep for a few hours, hit a bodega for some food, and continue on foot. My naïve brain thought it would be an easy trek two blocks to my apartment and relative safety.

As we approached the top of the stairs, the familiar storefronts of Bushwick came in to view, so did two armed men in full riot gear. They were actual NYPD, not the militia. It seemed they were spinning the war-weary around and sending them back into the inferno. For once, Nick's badge broke down a barrier instead of a cause to run for cover. Even with that, I had to dig out my license to show my address. Relief flooded through me like a cold stream; no mobs or bullets, but smoke hung like a curtain.

The relief fled fast as I came to terms with my neighborhood burnt out like a journalist's montage of shock. The bodega was an empty shell.  How could this be Brooklyn?

The outer door to my apartment was intact. I dug out my keys and was relieved to find my apartment as I had left it, in its usual state of messy disorganization. My roommate had flown back to her parents the week before and left some dinners in the freezer. She ate crap, but we were grateful for it and stuck them in the microwave one at a time. The city was falling apart, but we had Wi-Fi and cable—a small crack of normalcy.

The shower was lukewarm but refreshing. We plopped in front of the TV, flipping between news channels. The objective was to get to safety until the streets were vacant of gun-toting combatants. Nick's lap was a welcome pillow, and I crashed as he continued to scramble for ideas on how to ditch the city for Long Island, our new oasis. Never did I think Long Island would become a sanctuary.

The warm whispers in my ear sent a thrill down to my toes; till his murmurs became frantic as voices drifted in from the hallway and neared my apartment. Fists began to pound on the door along with rapid-fire Spanish. Grabbing our bags, we made for my bedroom, which gives way to a small courtyard. We dashed out and made for the fence.

The railing is wrought iron about five feet with spikes, and although I am in decent shape, I am and never will be an athlete. Climbing the rope in gym was a nightmare. An old plastic table served well enough for Nick to catapult over and then help me until a spike snagged my pants in mid-air. I ripped free as three ragged men charged out waving bats.

We shot down the block, which was obscenely empty when I realized I had dropped my bag.

"Wait my bag." Nick whipped around.

"Crouch down here; I'll be right back." He charged down the block, swiped up the backpack, and pressed into an alcove. I was fixed on Nick and didn't realize the door had inched open behind me. A gruff voice said, "Get in," and wrenched me through.

"My boyfriend is down the block," I squeaked out, not sure if this guy was a friend or otherwise. His cascade of braids whipped around as he slammed in the bolt after Nick slid in.

"I'm Jerry, come." We followed him up creaky stairs to a small apartment filled with six people sitting on chairs and cross-legged on a threadbare rug. They scarcely noticed us as they stared laser-focused on CNN.

There was a spot near the window where we collapsed, and I lay my head against the wall. "Where is he? I croaked.

A pretty girl of about 14 looked up, "They don't know," she said in a hushed tone and returned to the TV with intense concentration like there would be a pop quiz. Jerry handed us water bottles and returned to his chair.

"The bastard is in some bunker shooting out Tweets," Jerry spat with disgust.

We slept crunched up in our little circle wrapped in a patchwork quilt with bright flower patterns. Nick shifted, and I woke up startled. He put a finger to his lips. “I’m scared, I mouthed.”

“Me too,” he mouthed back as he slowly stood up, limping a bit from the tight position on the carpet. Jerry looked up and started to rise; Nick put a hand to his ear to signal he was listening, but Jerry nodded attuned to the subtle squeaks in the hallway.

“Fire escape?” Nick asked, drawing his pistol from the back of his pants.

“Backroom,” Jerry hissed as he dug under the large, crocheted pillow for his piece. He corralled everyone to the bedroom and, with stealth, opened the window. “It’s going to make a hell of a racket when it slides down. Move fast.”

“Jen, go with them. Jerry and I will hold them off, then follow.”

“I can’t leave without you.” I held on to him like an anchor.” With a gentle shove, he pushed me off in the direction of the bedroom.

The escape cranked down, and the others began to negotiate the steps with trepidation. With one foot out the window, I heard the door blast open and several shots fired. I sprang out, flying down the steps at what seemed subhuman speed.  At the bottom, I waited for Nick for what seemed as if forever.

“Run,” I heard someone shout, and I did.

To be continued…

[allenmendezsr]

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    “Doctors Predicted Marijuana Will

Kill Me

. But Contrarily to their Prediction, I Reversed My Addiction 100% Naturally!”

Dear Friend,

Do you know the 2 SHOCKING REASONS why 9 out of every 10 people who try to quit smoking marijuana are destined to fail before they’ve even started?

What about the 3 LIES that have trapped you in a state of drug dependency, and made it almost impossible for you to quit?

If you value your health, I’d suggest that you take a few moments to answer the following questions:

Have you tried to quit smoking marijuana before but failed?

Do you often feel sleepy, suffer from a lack of energy, brain fog, or a loss of appetite?

Do you ever experience headaches, tremors, dizziness, cramps, nausea, or night sweats?

Do you sometimes feel anger – whether it be anger at the world, at people, or at yourself for no reason at all?

Do you ever feel like weed is holding you back, and preventing you from fulfilling your true potential in life?

Do you have trouble getting to sleep at night, or have you been experiencing nightmares when you do?

Have you found that your memory, focus and concentration aren’t as sharp as it once was?

And finally…

Do you suffer from depression, anxiety, paranoia, panic attacks, or even hallucinations?

If you answered “YES” to any of those questions, then you’re exactly in the right place…

Because by the end of this letter you will know exactly what you need to do to say goodbye to all of those problems and quit smoking marijuana.

“Here Are the LIES about Marijuana”

LIE #1 Marijuana is not as bad for your health as tobacco

Everyone tells you this the moment you start smoking marijuana.

The truth is, marijuana smoke contains more cancer-causing substances, known as carcinogens, than tobacco smoke.

A study published in The New England Journal of Medicine found that compared with smoking tobacco, smoking marijuana produced a FIVE FOLD increase of carbon-monoxide in the blood, a THREEFOLD increase in the amount of tar inhaled, and a THIRD MORE tar retained in the respiratory tract.

The American Lung Association (ALA) has also stated categorically that extended marijuana use wreaks havoc on the lungs, leading to chronic coughs, phlegm production, wheezing and bronchitis, and ultimately, lung cancer, as well as weakening the immune system, making you more vulnerable to illness and disease.

LIE #2 Marijuana won’t lead to harder drugs

That’s what they tell you, right? And that’s what you tell yourself.

You’re in control. You can stop whenever you want.

But get this…

A comprehensive national study by The Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse at Columbia (CASA) found that kids between 12 and 17 who use marijuana are 85 TIMES MORE LIKELY to use cocaine than kids who don’t.

While adults 26 and older who used marijuana as children are 17 TIMES MORE LIKELY to be regular cocaine users.

Yes, marijuana is a gateway drug – whatever you want to tell yourself, so if you haven’t moved onto cocaine yet, or even heroin, the chances are, you will do soon, and it will destroy your life.

LIE #3 Weed isn’t dangerous to your health

This is the biggest lie of all.

Many people will tell you how marijuana isn’t dangerous. But who are these people? Are they the same people trying to sell you some pot? Or using it, and trying to justify it?

As you’ve just seen, marijuana is toxic to the lungs. In fact, a study published in the European Respiratory Journal found that for every year a person smokes pot, they are 8% MORE LIKELY to develop lung cancer.

So if you’ve been smoking for 10 years, you’re 80% more at risk of getting lung cancer than if you hadn’t smoked at all.

BUT HERE’S THE GOOD NEWS!

“Today, I’m Going to Show You An

ALL-NATURAL

& Easy Way to

STOP Smoking Marijuana

, So You Can Get Your Life Back!”

Regardless of your age, level of addiction, or whether you’ve been hooked on weed for 10 days or 10 years, this breakthrough system will allow you to…

Quit your marijuana habit for good

Crush your cravings

Eliminate withdrawal symptoms

Sleep like a baby

And do it in a matter of days.

And more importantly…

Reclaim your body and mind

Improve your energy levels, vitality and health

And unlock the door to a brighter future where ANYTHING is possible

Best of all, you can do it…

Without the need for any expensive rehab treatments.

Without needing to visit or speak to anyone who might judge you.

Without any unpleasant ‘cold turkey’ side effects.

Without leaving the comfort and privacy of your own home.

And without having to spend a single cent.

“It’s Time to Take Control of Your Life!”

Hi, my name is Martin and I started smoking weed when I was 18.

Before then, I’d never even seen a joint, let alone smoked one. But at a friend’s party, they offered me my first joint.

I was reluctant, but everyone around me was smoking and I didn’t wanted to be the odd one out.

So I took it…It was like a warm wave washing away all of my worries, youthful anxieties and hang-ups, until every last one disappeared in a puff of sweet smelling smoke.

I felt happy, and relaxed – without a care in the world.

“Why the heck hadn’t I tried this earlier? This is incredible” I thought to myself.

From that day onwards, I smoked every day.

Until…

I was Diagnosed with Acute Bronchitis

The Doctor walked into the room, gave me a stern look and slapped an MRI scan up on the wall in front of me. “The cell linings of your lungs are badly damaged” said the doctor. “And if you don’t stop smoking marijuana right now, you will get cancer soon. It will happen.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d just turned 30, yet the doctor was telling me I was on the road to lung cancer.

Was I really going to die because of pot?

It was clear to me that marijuana was putting my life in danger, and I had to do something about it – AND FAST.

The following week, I signed up to Marijuana Anonymous and their 12-step Recovery Program

Did it work?

NO!

Despite following the plan, I was back on weed within days -because the withdrawal symptoms were brutal.

Plus, in order to quit, I had to keep going to meetings with the kinds of people I was desperately trying to get away from!

I couldn’t believe how far these people had fallen – and all because of weed.

There was a MIT graduate, a lawyer, a doctor. These were educated people – but they’d all been unable to quit the habit.

In fact, the 12 Step approach has proven to be a massive failure, with a success rate of just between 5-10%.

In other words, it doesn’t work for 9 out of every 10 people.

And other techniques like motivational enhancement therapy, neuro linguistic programming, and Cognitive behavioral therapy consistently fail in greater numbers.

After years of trying and failing to stop my addiction there was only one option left…

“I had to Find a Solution

Myself

”

I realized that the traditional treatments, like Marijuana Anonymous, counselling, cognitive therapy and the rest, wouldn’t work for me, and I didn’t had more money to waste on more rehab clinics.

I knew I had to do this myself – and find a different way to quit marijuana.

And this is when things really started to change.

I went on the internet, and meticulously researched anything I could find related to addiction.

Surprisingly, I found out that thousands of other people were in the same situation as I was – trying to overcome their addiction.

I also visited the National Library of Medicine and devoured every book there was on marijuana use, withdrawal, THC, and how to expel it from the bloodstream.

And after all of that research…

“I finally Landed on a Proven way to Quit Marijuana”

After the first couple days, when I normally felt intense cravings for marijuana, I felt nothing.

In the past, I’d always get intense withdrawal symptoms whenever I tried to quit, like night sweats, tremors, dizziness, nausea, vivid nightmares, and I would suffer terrible insomnia, leaving me so exhausted the next day that all I wanted to do was lie down on the bed and smoke a giant bag of weed.

But I felt none of these symptoms.

I slept like a baby, and woke feeling refreshed and energised, instead of drowsy and listless.

After a week, my memory became sharper, and I was loving watching quiz shows again, amazed at how many answers I knew!

My focus and concentration improved dramatically, and for the first time in years, my mind felt clear and alert.

It was like a switch had been turned back on in my brain, and suddenly everything was clearer.

I started enjoying food again, as if my taste buds had been reactivated.

And the anxiety, depression and paranoia that had ruined my life for years literally VANISHED.

But best of all, the system reawakened my ambition, motivation, and interests that I hadn’t enjoyed for over a decade.

Quitting weed was the best decision I ever made in life – and I was shocked at just how easily I’d been able to do it, and never look back, and it was all thanks to a simple system.

I wondered if it would for other people too.

After all, I couldn’t keep it to myself. I had old friends who wanted to quit – but couldn’t – and I wanted to help them.

So I started sharing it with as many people as possible.

And every single one of them was able to quit marijuana.

AND NOW YOU CAN TOO!

INTRODUCING…

Marijuana No More™

Marijuana No More™ is a proven, step-by-step system for quitting marijuana. So far it has worked for thousands of people all over the world – and it will work for you too, or your money back.

HERE ARE JUST A FEW THINGS YOU’LL DISCOVER IN Marijuana No More™

My proven, step-by-step ACTION PLAN for quitting weed! Follow this simple plan from the comfort of your own home, and I guarantee you’ll be clean or your money back.

The most common myths about weed DEBUNKED. We all think we know the ‘facts’ about marijuana. But you’ll be shocked when you discover the real truth!

8 TELL-TAIL SIGNS that you’re an addict. Admitting that you’re addicted is the first step on the road to recovery. Here I reveal 8 signs to look out for.

7 things you MUST do if you want to quit marijuana – And what you absolutely must NOT!

4 time-tested and proven methods for AVOIDING TEMPTATION. Stick to this plan and you will never feel the need to take another toxic puff again.

Natural foods proven to BANISH BRAIN FOG and increase clarity, focus and concentration. As a long-term pot smoker, I had no idea how clouded my mind was. After eating these 100% natural ‘brain foods’ my mind felt sharper and clearer than ever!

1 sneaky secret for banishing your MARIJUANA CRAVINGS. This technique works like a dream, and I wouldn’t have been able to quit without it.

The most effective activity for ELIMINATING STRESS & ANXIETY . Feeling stressed and anxious is why so many people fall off the wagon and start smoking weed again. Here I reveal the #1 thing you need to do to banish stress and anxiety for good, 100% naturally.

Proven techniques that will have you drifting off to SLEEP QUICKLY, with no need for dangerous pills. Insomnia is one of the worst withdrawal symptoms, and a lack of sleep can crush your progress when trying to quit. I reveal how to get a great night’s sleep every night, without a bag of pot or a sleeping pill in sight!

Plus much more!

Below you can find some of the results that Marijuana No More™ has achieved for my customers…

“I will be forever grateful for helping me out”

“Hi Martin, I just wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done. I started smoking weed in college and my grades gradually began to fall. I soon started to suffer from depression, anxiety and paranoia. I lost trust in all of my friends and family, and become so scared I would barely go out. Thanks to your system I now have my life back. I had no idea what I was doing to myself. I will be forever grateful for helping me out before it was too late.”

Ben Masterson of Flint, Michigan,

“If you want to quit but are finding it hard, you have to try this”

“The day I got introduced to pot was the day I decided to waste 12 years of my life. Before I discovered weed, I had the world at my feet. My friends told me it was just a bit of fun, and that it wasn’t addictive or dangerous or anything like that. They couldn’t have been more wrong. My life was going nowhere until I found your system. Within days the difference was incredible. I haven’t smoked a joint in months or touched anything harder. If you want to quit but are finding it hard, you have to try this.”

Mark Samson of Elgin, Illinois

“My memory, focus and concentration is back”

“When I started smoking weed I thought it was dead cool. But then all of my friends went onto get good jobs, get married and have kids, while I went nowhere – and blamed everyone and everything but me. It was only years later that I realized that weed had robbed me of my life, and turned me into a ‘stoner’. Thanks to your system I now feel like a different person. My memory, focus and concentration is back and I’m now excited about the future for the first time in my life.”

Charlotte Felix of Orange County, Florida

“I feel a million times happier”

“I started smoking weed at a young age and was spending almost $300 a month on pot. It was money that could have gone into a deposit on a house or a new car. Over the years, I blew thousands on weed, and will never get that money back. I tried to quit so many times but never could. Luckily I found your website and managed to quit after following your system. I haven’t smoked since and feel a million times happier”

Pete Gibson – Spokane, Washington

* Testimonials Published With Customer Permission.

As you’ve seen, Marijuana No More™ works – and it will work for you too.

So the next question you’re probably asking yourself is this…

“How Much Will It Cost Me To Get My Hands On

Marijuana No More™

?”

Well, considering the system has already helped thousands of people to quit weed and transform their lives – when every other technique they tried FAILED – I think you’d agree that it’s worth a lot of money.

And not only that, just think how much money this system will save you once you’ve finally kicked your weed habit.

I mean, what are you spending on pot right now? $50 a month? $100? $300?

More?

Whatever it is, just think what you could do with that money, instead of smoking it.

And added to that…

Quitting weed now will save you thousands on future healthcare costs

You’ve already seen that marijuana is scientifically proven to increase the risk of lung cancer by 8% for every year you smoke, raise the risk of bronchitis, as well as compromising your immune system, leaving you more vulnerable to infection, illness and disease.

… Not to mention leaving you sterile if you’re man, or raising a child with severe birth defects if you’re woman.

These are the very real risks if you continue smoking weed.

So there’s little doubt that this system has the power to not only save you a lot of money during your lifetime, but literally transform your health and wellbeing.

People who’ve used this system keep telling me I should be charging at least $1,000, because of how fast and effective it is.

And even then, it would

still be a bargain.

So here’s the deal

I’m not going to ask you to pay anywhere near $1,000 for this, even though the value of this system far exceeds that figure.

In fact, I’m not going to ask you to pay $500… or even $100 for that matter.

Because all I’m really trying to do here is cover my costs so I can keep this website running, and be in a position to help as many people as possible.

So for that reason, and for a limited time only, I’m making Marijuana No More™ available for only…

NOTE: Marijuana No More™ is a digital product. You will receive access to the entire system immediately after you order – even if it’s 2am!

That’s right…

JUST $37 to get your hands on a proven system for stopping smoking marijuana… a system that has changed my life, and has been proven to work time and time again for hundreds and thousands of other people right across the world

With Marijuana No More™, there will be…

NO MORE smoking your life away

NO MORE crippling or painful withdrawal symptoms

NO MORE anger, guilt or frustration at your inability to quit

NO MORE worries about marijuana wrecking your health

NO MORE anxiety, paranoia, panic attacks or hallucinations

NO MORE insomnia, brain fog, or fatigue

NO MORE wasting another cent on marijuana munchies, detox kits, rehab or overpriced therapy

This system is safe, cheap, natural and PROVEN to work.

And the best thing is, you don’t even need to step outside your front door to benefit from it.

That’s why this is such a no-brainer.

But that’s not all!

“I’m Also Going to Give You These Incredible Bonuses,

Absolutely Free!

”

BONUS #1: 7-Day Marijuana Cleanse – VALUE: $67 (FREE!)

Remember earlier when I talked about how THC stays in your bloodstream for weeks, and even months after your last smoke, making it almost impossible for you to quit? Well it’s true. If you really want to quit, you absolutely must cleanse your body of THC first.

In this 7-Day THC Cleanse, I reveal the proven step-by-step process you need to destroy THC, remove the toxins in your bloodstream and cleanse your system, so you suffer zero withdrawal symptoms, sleep like a baby, and quit weed forever.

Believe me, quitting weed doesn’t get any easier than this.

The 7-Day THC Cleanse is valued at $97, but you’re getting it absolutely free with the Marijuana No More™ System.

BONUS #2: Detox Your Body: $47 (YOURS FREE!)

Detoxification is the best way to rid your body of toxins, which can slow it down and make it unhealthy.

After the detox is completed, you will feel “lighter” and have more energy. Also, since a detox is used to clear away free radicals, your body’s immune system will be stronger and you will have a lower risk of getting serious illnesses.

Finally, detoxification will clear your blood, helping it circulate better.

BONUS #3: What to Eat & What to Avoid: $37 (YOURS FREE!)

To make sure that your stay in optimal healthy condition, you need to learn what to eat and what to avoid.

This comprehensive guide is a very useful read not just for addicts but also to everyone who wishes to improve his diet.

BONUS #4: Lifetime Updates Guarantee – (YOURS FREE!)

I’m always looking to improve The Marijuana No More™ program, because I want to make sure that you get the best possible results both now, and in the future too. So when I update the system and add new techniques that I’ve discovered, you’ll be the first to know! In fact, I will send you the new, updated edition straight to your inbox, absolutely free!

BONUS #5: Customer Support By Author – (YOURS FREE!)

And if all that’s not enough, I will also be on hand to provide you with all the advice and guidance you need, and answer any questions you may have about the Marijuana No More™ program. So feel free to send me an email (address provided with your order) whenever you like, and as often as you like, and I will get back to you as soon as I can!

And I’m still not finished!

To show you that I’m genuine, and that I really do want to help you, I’m going to sweeten the deal EVEN FURTHER, by including the following…

Rock-Solid 100% Money-Back Guarantee!

If Marijuana No More™ doesn’t help you to quit smoking marijuana within 60 days, you don’t pay!

It’s as simple as that…

This system has been proven to work time and time again, so I’m more than happy to put my money where my mouth is, and provide this rock-solid 60-day money-back guarantee so that you can put it to the test in your own time, and at absolutely no financial risk to yourself whatsoever.

And if for

ANY reason you’re not 100% satisfied, or you simply change your mind, I will refund every single penny with no questions asked and no hard feelings!

So go ahead and order today, and try out Marijuana No More™ for a full 60 days on me…

You risk absolutely NOTHING!

NOTE: Marijuana No More™ is a digital product. You will receive access to the entire system immediately after you order – even if it’s 2am!

“Ok, it’s decision time…”

And you have 3 options…

OPTION #1: You can choose to do

nothing

, continue to watch your money go up in smoke, and carry on living in a dream world where your true potential is wasted forever.

You can continue to achieve less than you’re capable of, earn just a tiny fraction of what you should be earning, and sell yourself short for the rest of your life.

And you can increase your risk of lung cancer by a whopping 8% per year…

End up sterile if you’re a man, or pass on birth defects to your child if you’re a woman.

And you can increase your risk of being involved in a potentially fatal car crash, due to your senses being dulled, your judgement poorer and your reaction times slower.

But hey, are those the kind of risks you really want to take?

Or there’s option two…

OPTION #2: You can try to quit on your own, desperately fighting against THC’s classic withdrawal symptoms for weeks, or even months. Or you can seek ‘professional help’ and waste time and money on useless support groups like Marijuana Anonymous (with a pathetic 5-10% success rate), counselling sessions, motivational enhancement therapy, Cognitive behavioral therapy, and more.

But let’s face it, none of those strategies have worked for you right?

Because if they had, you wouldn’t be here.

OPTION #3:

Or you can take the smart, inexpensive and 100% NATURAL OPTION

The ONLY option.

And get a solution that will GUARANTEED you to quit marijuana or your money back!

And it can be yours in just 30 seconds for less than a couple of joints.

So instead of burning more of your money on pot, isn’t it about time you spent that money on yourself, your health, and your future?

Wouldn’t you like to have a sharper mind, an improved memory, increased energy, total focus, motivation and clarity?

Don’t you want better health, deeper relationships, more money, and the chance to achieve everything you’ve ever wanted in life?

Well now’s your chance to make it happen – and be free and clear of marijuana.

NOTE: Marijuana No More™ is a digital product. You will receive access to the entire system immediately after you order – even if it’s 2am!

So I urge you to make the right decision…

To make the best investment you will ever make…

… An investment in yourself, your health, and your future happiness.

P.S. Remember, this is the EXACT same step-by-step system that allowed me – and thousands like me – to quit weed easily.

And all you need to do to get the same results yourself is follow the step-by-step system!

P.P.S. Please bear in mind that the price of Marijuana No More™ is incredibly low, and has been deliberately kept low to help as many people as possible to kick their weed habit once and for all. However, I cannot guarantee that the price will remain this low on a permanent basis. So if you come back tomorrow and the price has changed to $77, $97 or more, you have been warned!

P.P.P.S. Being sceptical is natural, but I’ve made sure that there’s absolutely no risk to you!. When you order Marijuana No More™ you’re fully protected by my rock-solid 60-day money-back guarantee.

In short, if you’re not 100% happy with the program, you won’t pay a red cent.

“Marijuana No More™” Now >

“I was clean inside 3 weeks”

“I thought I was really cool when I was smoking weed. But at 28 I developed bronchitis and almost died. The doctor said it was 100% down to smoking weed, and if I didn’t quit, I’d be lucky to reach 40. It was a wakeup call. I spent 3 years desperately trying to quit, going to counselling, Marijuana Anonymous groups, psychotherapy, doctors, you name it. All of them failed. Then I found your website and your system really worked! I can’t thank you enough!”

Jason Fitzpatrick – Cambridge, Massachusetts

“I’m so much more productive”

“I just wanted to say that I have been following your system for the past weeks and I haven’t smoked at all. I feel sharper, more focused and my concentration levels have soared! I’m so much more productive at work too, and my boss has already noticed, telling me that if I keep it up a raise is on offer. I had no idea how much weed was dulling my senses and limiting my abilities. I’m so glad I found your system and would like to express my sincere thanks for all your hard work!”

Liz Draper, 30 – Manhattan, New York

“I have been clean for 8 months now”

“I wanted to thank you for helping me through the difficult process of quitting weed. I have been clean for 8 months now and feel no desire to turn back. I feel so much better without pot; more focused, more confidence and a higher self-esteem! I couldn’t have done it without your system.”

Bryce Daines – Norfolk, Virigina

“You should be charging at least triple this man!”

“I’ve admit, I was totally lost on pot, and I’d given up trying to give up. Pot was my crutch, but I realize now I was just using it to hide away from reality. The THC Cleanse was incredible, and removed all of the withdrawal symptoms I used to get, and the system is gold dust! I feel like I’ve woken up from a bad dream. Life is so much better without pot. I know that now. Thanks bro. I can’t believe how cheap your program was though. You should be charging at least triple this man!”

Nate Maitland – Trenton, New Jersey

“Marijuana No More™” Now >

[a-woman-apart]

Effexor Withdrawal (My Experience)

A/N: As I previously stated, this post contains information about medicine, medicine dosages, and side effects. Discuss all your concerns with your primary care physician or psych doctor before you make any changes. Do not discontinue any medication without first consulting with your health care provider.

Trigger warning: Briefly mentioned vomiting

Oh, so you thought the story was over?

It wasn’t.

In one of my previous posts, Advocating for Myself as a Patient, I briefly detailed that abdominal cramping and gastrointestinal symptoms, along with a “tingling” in my head and other parts of my body had accompanied some of my medication changes. I thought that a little rest and taking the probiotics might solve the problem. I also had nausea, and psychiatrist #3 had said that the Hydroxyzine would help with the nausea.

It did, mildly, but my symptoms continued to get worse and be overwhelming. After doing a little digging, I discovered that my cornucopia of symptoms (nausea, diarrhea/loose stools, abdominal pain, sweating, chills, shaking, nervousness, dizziness, weakness, confusion, and paresthesia/tingling) could be attributed to the discontinuation of Effexor/Venlafaxine.

I was on Venlafaxine ER (Extended release) and was still on the starting dose of 37.5 mg. When I asked psychiatrist #3 if it was okay to eliminate that without tapering, she hand-waved it. “Oh yes, it’s just a small dose.” To be fair, though, there is no smaller dose of Venlafaxine ER to help patients with tapering, and you better believe that patients have complained to the drug companies who make it.

Anyway, I continued to be violently sick. It may sound strange, but the paresthesia, and “brain zaps” were one of the most distressing symptoms, and what sought me to do online research in the first place. Sufferers have begun referring to the tingling sensation in the head and parts of the body as “brain zaps” because it can be described as feeling like a small electric jolt or shock. It is disconcerting, because it can coincide with dizziness, weakness, and lack of coordination. Sometimes I would have to lean against other objects for support when a “brain zap” hit me.

I learned that I was not alone. I found out that most people who try to discontinue Effexor—even under doctor supervision— experience even worse side effects than I did. I discovered that like me, most patients are not warned about how powerful this drug is. I was never told that trying to come off even such a small dose would cause such a terrible case of discontinuation syndrome. Discontinuation syndrome is a process of withdrawal that can occur when patients try to come off SSRIs (Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors) or SNRIs (Serotonin and Norepinephrine Reuptake Inhibitors). You can read this Harvard Health Article for more information. More importantly, scroll down and read the comments, where patients detail how antidepressant withdrawal ruined their health and their lives.

I must stress that it is important that this does not mean that you should not take an antidepressant. If your doctor prescribes something, they are usually taking into account that the benefits outweigh the risks. However, some antidepressants like Zoloft and Effexor have a very short half-life, which means they stay in your system for a shorter time than other drugs (such as Paxil). This quick elimination of the drug from your body upon stopping the drug can cause withdrawal. It certainly does not happen to everyone, but it is a risk that patients deserve to be informed about.

To make a long story short, I ended up in the ER for 6 hours on the day that I was supposed to return to work. This was after rushing to urgent care, where I was told that urgent care was not equipped to treat my symptoms. At the emergency room, they did an EKG and took blood samples, including a lithium level (this was just in case the increase in lithium was causing my symptoms). My heart, thyroid, and kidneys turned out to be fine, and the lithium level was perfect. The doctor prescribed two different medications: Bentyl for abdominal cramps and another drug for nausea.

When I go to fill out the prescription, I see that neither drug was covered by my insurance. The Bentyl was $46, but the nausea drug was going to be $85 for 12 pills. Haha, no. So even though I’ve already spent over a hundred dollars on medicine and medicine co-pays this month, I am desperate, so I pay $46 for the Bentyl.

So, in the meanwhile, I can’t go to work the next day either (got a doctor’s note) and I’m taking the Bentyl with meals as prescribed. At this point, I’ve developed food aversions. I can’t drink milk, I can’t eat anything with too much sugar, and I can’t eat certain raw fruits, vegetables, and proteins. I’m weak all day, and so I spend the day trying to relax. I binged the entire Aggretsuko on Netflix. I am worried that the Bentyl is making my nausea worse, so I wish I had that other drug now but, alas. I ended up throwing up after taking all my night meds. My stomach felt better at that point, but I was also worried that I threw up all the good stuff I needed to help with my mood.

I ate some soup—which I was able to keep down— and went to bed.

It finally becomes Wednesday—and time for another group— but I went to my clinic early so that I can see psychiatrist #3 before group time. When I get in to see her, she is harried (it’s quite busy) and visibly annoyed at me for coming in to see her again so soon. I explained my symptoms and that I felt that I was experiencing withdrawal from the Effexor/Venlafaxine removal. I asked her about a remedy that I had seen online, which was to introduce a single dose of Paxil to help with the withdrawal symptoms. Paxil leaves the body slowly, so introducing that single dose can alleviate symptoms and aid in the tapering off process.

She told me, “Your symptoms are caused by anxiety. You need to take the hydroxyzine, and that will help with the nausea (again I saw scant evidence of that). There’s no smaller dose of Venlafaxine for you to take. The only thing we maybe could’ve done was to have you take the medicine every other day, until you came off from it, but you’ve already been off it for over a week.”

She then cautioned me from getting back on the medication, and I assured her that I had no intentions of getting back on it. Finally, she said, “If your symptoms persist see your PCP.”

I was slightly annoyed that with the risk of discontinuation syndrome associated with this medication, that she wouldn’t have encouraged that slower tapering, just to be safe. I had considered doing that every other day thing for myself, too, but when she hand-waved the side effects I just did what she told me to do. Also, the apparent lack of knowledge about the withdrawal was concerning. From what I saw, about 20% of people experience discontinuation syndrome, but with millions of people suffering with depression, those numbers are significant. Doctors need to be much less careless with this, and if they do not know there should be better education provided. So many people get back on their antidepressants just because the “brain zaps” and other physical symptoms of withdrawal become too devastating.

Withdrawal can last anywhere from 1-3 weeks, but symptoms can persist for months and in rarer cases, even years. This is not a matter to be taken lightly. One of the worst things was just not being informed. I rushed from psychiatrist, to PCP, to ER, and back to my psychiatrist because no one could tell me what was wrong with me or fully help. I have missed hours of work time, lost hours of sleep, and will have spent $100s once this is over. More importantly, because hypochondria/health anxiety is part of my anxiety disorder, I have agonized over what might be wrong with me. The emotional and mental distress—especially because I am coming out of mixed mania that may or may not have been exacerbated by the Venlafaxine—have been almost unbearable. Yesterday, I just kept crying because I was so paranoid that I was going to be met with suspicion or disdain when I returned to the workplace, because I had just missed so much time and I am only a part-timer.

Even today, my symptoms are not fully alleviated. I have not been able to walk in the park in days, laundry is piling up because I didn’t make it out there this week, and I still have to be careful with food. I’ve tried soymilk as an alternative to dairy milk, but I still don’t know whether my stomach likes it or not. I think I threw up because of the Bentyl, but I also did have a lot of soymilk that day (I might have to take my chances because I am fiending for a bowl of cereal).

In summary, dealing with a mental illness can be exhausting and your physical health may also be compromised. Doctors often either cannot—or will not— put themselves in the shoes of their patients. You must advocate for yourself. I cannot stress that enough. It can be difficult and costly, especially when your insurance does not cover everything. Your life is worth it, though, and your health comes first.

Finally, for the love of all things holy and true, do not come off antidepressants like Zoloft and Effexor cold turkey. I’ve read nightmare stories about people coming off dosages as high as 225mg and then just trying to stop. Bad, bad, bad idea. If 37.5mg did this to me, then imagine what a higher dose could do. I have even heard of people experiencing terrible symptoms when it was doctor-sanctioned and their dose was cut in half (like going from 150mg to 75mg).

Please be careful, y’alll.

P.S. I am aware that hydroxyzine is an anti-histimine (like Benadry). It’s off-label use is to treat anxiety.

[ageofwrathrpg]

Name: Boris Mihailovich Polzin Age: 41 Ability: Hydrokinesis Faction: ROSTEKS as a DRUG DEALER Faceclaim: Oscar Isaac Availability: OPEN

THE STORY || CW: Death, Drugs, Violence, Drowning

All his life, Boris was a ghost. That’s what happens when you’re the son of a man whose very existence is unlawful. When Mihail (then Miguel) moved to live with his mother-in-law in Russia, he didn’t have time to make legal arrangements. Vila genocide in Guatemala had claimed countless victims – including Mihail’s wife – and so he Russianized his name and fled with his baby son tucked in his arms. His mother-in-law was kind, patient, and welcomed the single father into her home with open arms. Despite a language barrier, it wasn’t at all difficult for the two of them to get along; they were both mourning the same woman. As Boris grew, he learned Spanish from his Papi and Russian from his Babushka. Because he was a boy, he learned how to kick a football, how to build a snowman, and how to double knot his shoelaces. Because he was illegal, he learned how to be seen and not heard, how to be charming but forgettable, and how to lie through his teeth.

Boris’s family of three became a battalion; a team. Together, they braved hunger and harassment. Sometimes they won. Sometimes they didn’t. Their most formidable foe of all was money. Boris’s Babushka had a humble job selling flowers; it was hardly enough, but they always found a way to make it work. They sucked marrow from bones and slept in the same bed to conserve warmth. It wasn’t ideal, but Boris always found a way to find it pleasant. It seemed he inherited his endless optimism from his Babushka. She was a force to be reckoned with; a one-woman army with saggy skin and a walking stick. One night, sudden and sharp as her whipcord tongue, she had a heart attack and died. Boris was 12.

To survive, Boris’s father became involved in dirty money. He applied for dozens of jobs, but was turned down due to his lack of experience and broken Russian. One interviewer took pity on him and acquainted him with The Rosteks, who offered Mihail money and housing in return for dealing drugs. Mihail didn’t particularly want to become involved, but saw no legitimate alternative. And so, with Boris’s solemn acquiescence, Mihail packed their things and moved them to the Rostek Manor, where Boris was fed, clothed, sheltered, and educated. There, he grew to adulthood and trained to follow in his father’s footsteps. Dealing, however, proved to be much more taxing a duty than anticipated. His clients were hollowed out approximations of people, and being exposed to such ruin broke Boris’s heart. To cope, he took to sampling his own product – especially ability suppressants, which made him feel vulnerable and empty and raw. It was with stupid thoughtlessness and suppressants in his veins that Boris delivered to one of his fickler clients. The client didn’t have the drug money and defended himself by attacking Boris, landing blow after blow, breaking and bruising him, and throwing him into the Volga River. Without his Hydrokinesis, Boris choked on the water, on mouthfuls of silt, and nearly drowned. It took all of his strength to fight the pain in his ribs and swim to shore. It wasn’t enough that his stomach swelled with shame. He began to have recurring nightmares about drowning and developed a harrowing fear of water because of it. It’s his darkest secret. He knows that the Rosteks see his Hydrokinesis as a marker that separates himself from lesser beings. To them, he’d only be a king afraid of his crown. If they found out, Boris is certain they would flay his fear out of him.

THE CHARACTER

Boris’s father instilled in him a drive so carnal, so base that it flickers with every beat of his heart. Survive, it says, no matter the cost. He knows the sacrifices his family made for him, and he knows that anything short of his success would be a disgrace to their memories. Boris desires success as fiercely as he desires safety. And so, he is cool, charming, and dangerous, like a snake with a smirk and mouthful of venom. But beneath his steely resolve, there is a part of him that wants to weep. I never wanted this. Some nights are crippling. Some nights, it takes everything within himself to stay clean. These rare nights, where the façade slips, where his heart aches and he lays defenseless to his demons, Boris wonders if he deserves anything more.  

CONNECTIONS

Natalia Pavelovna Lazareva – It could just be the ice in her eyes and the quirk of her lip. But when Boris looks at her, he can’t help but feel that she knows. Everything. The only thing more terrifying than having a secret is the suspicion that someone might suspect it. The not-knowing. It tears at his insides. Whenever possible, Boris avoids Natalia.

Yuri Lazlovich Repin – Where Natalia goes, Yuri follows, loyal and deadly. It only makes sense that Boris should be afraid of them too. But Boris knew Yuri when they first joined the Rosteks, and had been a family-figure to them and a friend. Though he probably should, Boris doesn’t fear Yuri. Sometimes he’ll bring them home candies or a bottle of wine or jewelry. One of the most devastatingly beautiful miracles in his world is Yuri’s smile.

Danila Andreevna Belova – Danila is… not Boris’s typical client. She doesn’t use his drugs on herself. Rather, on lucky customers or as a means to subdue rivals. She’s known as the brothel guard dog. Everyone knows that crossing the brothel is a direct insult to Danila. She invited Boris into her room and talked extensively: she wanted a drug for pleasure, naturally, but she also wanted one for indescribable pain. For pharmacological torture, she explained coolly. Boris swallowed his piqued interest and delivered. He supplies for her bi-weekly and is a bit infatuated with her. It’s only professional interest though, probably.

Mischa Aleksandrovich Orlov – The Lesyas have drug dealers. Fact. The Lesyas’ dealers are comparable to Boris. False. Laughably so. Boris spied Mischa attempting to deliver in his turf, but after his rage subsided, he realized he had no need to concern himself over the trivial Lesya. Mischa was so awkward, and Boris could sense the clients’ aversion. Once, in an act of petty impulsivity, he bought drugs from Mischa and tried them. As expected, Mischa was gangly and boyish. He didn’t expect him to be so damn amusing, though. In any case, his product is better, so. There. 

Eugene ‘Shifr’ Yosefich Tolmachev – Boris prides himself in knowing as much about everyone as possible. Information is his insurance. But when it comes to Shifr, the source of Rostek product, Boris knows nothing – only that he represents neutral ground, that he’s always a step ahead of his buyers, and that he’s supremely powerful. Shifr terrifies Boris, but of course he’d never let anyone know that.

[[ More Connections ]]

ETC

In the first few weeks after his attack, Boris could feel his psyche slipping. He knew he had to become clean and went cold turkey; the withdrawal symptoms were agonizing. Between vomiting and hallucinations, Boris managed to find solace sitting in a shower and listening to Rachmaninoff. 

Boris owns an orange tabby cat named Sandra. He likes to speak Spanish to her and go on walks with her tucked under his arm. 

In another life, perhaps Boris might have been a musician. For his 11th birthday, his Babushka gave him a guitar, which Boris taught himself how to play. People tell him that he has a beautiful voice, and it strokes his ego, but Boris is humble. He sings to calm down, that’s all. 

More recently, Boris has found his control over his abilities deteriorating. They became more prone to being controlled by his emotions. When he wakes from his nightmares, sometimes the beads of sweat have hardened to ice on his forehead. 

He still lives in the Rostek Manor and is well-acquainted with Rostek gossip. Sometimes he’ll start rumors about himself to see how gullible his peers truly are – the rumors vary from his proficiencies with a blade to his talents in bed. He has no shame.

[elevenhoursinfront-blog]

16th June 2017

I had my alarm on for 0830 as it was Mel's birthday. Mel, Soph and I agreed to have breakfast together before Mel went off to Phillip Island with Jack for the day and night. I had bought her a few bits for her birthday. It's always nice to have something to open...

Steve was up and out at work already. He was working with Dan for the day. I went downstairs and had some muesli. We sat drinking tea for an hour or so. We were chatting about last nights events which we were still shocked by and how excited we was for tomorrow. We have planned a joint birthday night out to Club Retro. It has old school music like ABBA. Dan, Megan and Steve were dreading it. They can't do cheesy music. I'll sing and dance to anything.

After breakfast, Mel left and Sophie went to the library. I went upstairs and sorted out my dirty washing. I put all my stuff into a pile and took the dirty sheets off Steve's bed and my bed. I took the sheets down, paid for a laundry card and picked up clean sheets. Nicely done.

I put my washing on which took the same amount of time as making both beds. I was having an absolute nightmare putting the duvet sheet on. We both have 2 duvets each as it's so cold now so by the time I was finished, I was sweating. Definitely counts as exercise.

I went and put my washing into the tumble dryer and finished off my blogs for the long bank holiday weekend. They took me a good few hours. Once my washing and blogs were done, I started to get hungry. It was about 1300. Steve text to say that he was on his way home and he was absolutely STARVING. His words literally were "I am starving. My stomach is eating itself. Get 20 million bread wraps, I'll eat them all".

I popped to Coles and Woolworths to get bread wraps, turkey mince and garlic Aioli (Steve's new favourite sauce). I made turkey salad wraps and they were on the table the same minute he walked through the door. What a great girlfriend I am. We sat with Sophie eating lunch. She had booked her flights to Perth so she will be leaving us Thursday 29th June! I'm very excited for her especially after all the operation stuff. Her visa is up in 12 weeks so she's getting some sun in before she goes.

I went up to Sophie's room shortly after to change her bandage for her. It was about 1430 so we said we'd see each other at dinner time. She and I had more life admin to get on with.

I got my GoPro out and downloaded all the videos I took from the weekend away. It took me a good few hours to finish it and that wasn't even the start of making the film. By 1800, I had the outline of the video in place. I put them all into my app 'iMovie' in chronological order.

Sophie text to say 'Fajita Friday' is starting soon. Every Friday, we have a family meal together. We go to Coles and buy the ingredients for chicken fajitas and divide the price between, usually, 6 people. Depends who's available. It works out to be about $5 each.

Sophie and Becky went to Coles and when they returned, we started chopping bits up. Steve was in charge of Nachos and I helped chop the onions up. We shoved it all into two separate woks and waited for it to cook. There's usually enough food for people to have 3 wraps each. The smaller people only manage 2 wraps and then there's Steve and I who do 3 or 4... We're foodies though. We made one spicy and one normal. We made 2 plates of cheesy, salsa nachos too. Steve and I don't really eat the nachos as we prefer to have another wrap instead. There was plenty of food left over. It was Steve, Sophie, Rachel, Becky, Ryan and I. Ryan is an Irish lad that has been staying here for over a year... Very strange that he keeps in one place but each to their own!

We were so full up after dinner, we couldn't move. We stayed sat in the seats drinking wine until around 2100. Sophie got up to see whether she could put a film on for us all. She went into the TV room and one person was inside. He had just put on 'Alien'. Reception told her that if she can persuade him to put on another film, then they will change it. He told her no. Alien is a 3 hour film which is rubbish, especially if others want to watch a film, too. Becky and Rachel tried to ask him but he persisted and said no. Sophie suggested a board game instead and I suggested Pictionary as I knew the hostel had that.

We did two teams - Becky and I, VS Sophie and Rachel. Steve didn't feel that well so he was time keeper. It ended up being the best night in that we've ever had at the hostel. I've never laughed so much in my life. We were all crying tears with laughter the whole way through. I was drawing spinach at one point, Becky guessed charcoal... Rachel drew two babies in the stomach and Sophie shouted out 'triplets'. It was just silly things like that, that were so funny. Sophie didn't know how to tally the points either, which we didn't realise until we saw she was doing 3 lines with 1 line through it. That made us laugh the most.

We played the game until midnight. Time just flew. People were watching us laughing and playing all night. We were all so red in the face! Steve and I went up to bed and fell asleep within moments. We were knackered.