#must infect everyone with this disease

[jjsanguine]

My face is still asymmetrical from having bell's palsy as a kid, and I can't prove it but I feel like whatever virus paralysed my face when I was 5ish also kneecapped my immune system because as a nominally healthy person I was getting sick, like too sick to leave my bed, for days at a time multiple times a year even before the pandemic and everyone just being straight up pro COVID propagation now

You know how sometimes you catch someone in a lie, and so they tell an even bigger lie to try and cover up the first lie they told?

Well, that’s happening right now.

Last winter, a handful of celebrity doctors went on mainstream news networks to assure us that Omicron was “mild.” They carpet-bombed us with articles and tweets, doing their best to brainwash everyone.

They were wrong.

In the end, real science junked that idea. An article in the Journal of the American Medical Association showed that Omicron killed more people than previous variants, even when adjusting for other factors. Another study by doctors at Massachusetts General and Harvard Medical found that Omicron was just as deadly. In fact, “the risks of hospitalization and mortality were nearly identical.” As it turns out, the entire idea of “mild” Omicron was based on an old, flawed idea known as the law of declining virulence, developed by a doctor who was studying tick-borne disease in cows. It was debunked decades ago.

Most epidemiologists know that viruses don’t magically evolve to become milder. Virus evolution is random and chaotic.

In some cases, viruses evolve to become more deadly.

A handful of actual scientists tried to explain all this last winter, including disease experts at Johns Hopkins. A handful of other established experts spoke out against this myth. As a microbiologist at Penn State told Politifact, “You can’t just say it’s going to become nicer.” They were largely ignored, because everyone already sort of believed the misinformation. If they knew it was based on a study about cows, they probably would’ve thought twice.

This year, the makers of “it’s mild” are back.

They’re selling “immunity debt.”

We should be skeptical.

Schools and daycares are sending letters home to parents talking about this “immunity debt.” They’re saying that healthy children are getting sicker, even dying, because they weren’t exposed to enough germs over the last two years. Newspapers and TV stations across the country are running with it, proposing it as a “possible reason” for this year’s explosion in pediatric hospitalizations. Meanwhile, major medical organizations have sent a letter to President Biden urging him to declare an emergency over an “alarming surge of pediatric hospitalizations” due to a range of respiratory viruses, including Covid.

A lot of people are drinking the “immunity debt” kool-aid.

After all, Americans have believed for generations that getting sick is “good for you.” We think our immune system behaves like a muscle. We worry that if we’re not giving it a workout, we’ll get weak.

It’s a myth, just like the law of declining virulence.

Here’s why.

[liminalweirdo]

Long Covid Justice on COVID and LONG COVID from the mask ban teach-in

COVID/SARS-CoV-2 basics

It is NOT seasonal, like the flu is.

Spreads through air, like smoke.

The 6 feet apart rule is no longer great prevention advice.

Handwashing is a great hygiene practice, but transmission via surfaces is unlikely.

Vaccines do NOT prevent transmission. They reduce symptoms and severity for some.

You can transmit [COVID] while completely asymptomatic. Around half of transmission is as asymptomatic or presymptomatic. Everyone's immune system is different.

Being indoors increases risk of transmission, but you can still get it in crowded outdoor spaces.

What is Long Covid?

Long Covid is a set of health issues after someone has COVID-19

New health issues, ongoing issues, or worsening of previous symptoms and conditions.

It is a biological disease that affects hundreds of millions of people globally. It is a mass disabling condition and crisis.

It can cause significant disability and can be fatal.

Anyone can develop it, and up to 10% of people with COVID will.

Severity of initial infection doesn't correlate to potential to develop Long COVID.

It can be very hard to get a diagnosis and proper treatment or care for Long COVID.

Every time you get COVID infection, you increase your chances of developing Long COVID.

How do we prevent Long COVID? Layers of protection

Masking.

Air filtration.

Ventilation.

Vaccines.

Testing (right now Aug 2024, rapid tests are only about 20% reliable. Try to test two times in 24-48 hours).

Nasal sprays before and after exposure. (little data on these being effective against COVID but some are choosing to use them until more research comes out)

Mouthwashes with CPC (Cetylpyridinium Chloride) before and after exposure. (Must be used for at least 60 seconds)

[alostwanderernotfound]

HIV and COVID

A major barrier to preventing the spread of HIV is accurate test results.

There is a high chance there are many people with HIV that have it and do not know. We do not know how long this undetected time period is (lentiviruses are often associated with long periods of time of virus activity that goes undetected- 5 to 10 years or more), but there is a chance many individuals with HIV go undiagnosed for many years. Individuals during this time before an HIV diagnosis complain of fatigue and many undiagnosed disabling symptoms during that time period. HIV is able to cause changes to immune cells that prevent HIV tests from finding the infection. Some people get negative HIV tests when they are HIV positive. This means you could be HIV negative, but still have HIV in your blood and can spread HIV to other individuals.

Getting a COVID vaccination (and sometimes other vaccinations like the flu vaccination) can help the body identify HIV hiding in the body. This allows earlier treatment and intervention. Once HIV has been identified, it also reduces the risk for all individuals in our population to be exposed to more severe infections.

Getting tested regularly for HIV used to be part of our federal public health recommendations.

This just further emphasizes why this information is so important to know and healthcare needs to start testing for more diseases in more people and do these tests more often.

People often assume their infection came from an unfaithful partner, but in reality HIV has been spreading unknowingly to many in the medical community and still in the public sphere no one is talking about it like the huge deal it is.

This potential means people could be raped as a child, never have sex again, never encounter drugs, and then be miserable & living with an active HIV infection into their early 20s and they would never know. Once they got a positive test result they would have no idea where the infection even came from.

Our entire understanding of these types of diseases has to change and the seriousness of this topic has to be addressed by the world. This was theorized as a mechanism of HIV spread due to how many people were getting diagnosed but had no identifiable cause of their HIV, but now it’s proven and right in front of us. This is disastrous.

To everyone that told the truth about how they didn’t know how they got these types of diseases & how they had no idea where they got it from then faced judgement from others and even the medical community- you aren’t crazy.

On behalf of everything these types of diseases did to destroy families, relationships, and your body, I’m going to apologize right now for all the individuals that I know won’t ever give you an apology for what they did and what they said.

I believe you. I always did.

Without you telling your truth , we never would have been able to figure this out about HIV.

HIV is spreading in “HIV negative” individuals to other individuals as some researchers theorized.

The mRNA vaccination technology developed is now the foundation for the next generation of HIV treatment and disease control. We must continue to push and advocate for improving the lives of all people with disease and we all just took a huge step forward.

You do not have to be sexually active to develop HIV. Your sexual trauma doesn’t have to define your life for the rest of your life- you are stronger than you know and braver than you feel.

Find a place to get tested for HIV here:

I still recommend getting a NAT or “viral load” test done as the first test to see if you have HIV.

I think considering what we know about HIV and in consideration of all the things we still don’t know that this is the safest option. Any other test for this condition available today has too high of a chance of producing a wrong result. I find it extremely uncomfortable we still use the other types of tests in the hospital and doctor office settings.

If you choose to order a test through an online service be aware some tests only tell you about either HIV-1 or HIV-2 and will not always provide you information related to type 1 and type 2.

For example, here:

This will provide you information related to ordering a test that looks for both types of HIV instead of just one strain of HIV.

Stay safe.

[bylerlipglances]

VICTIM BLAMING. Will Byers edition: Let's throw him under the bus. shall we.

current awful state of social media(x,reddit to be specific) holding an uncanny resemblance to the town of Hawkins which ostracizes the freaks, full of nagging homophobes, ganging up on Noah Schnapp & Will Byers, projecting their personal hatred on two people with full force, making them scapegoat for literally everything going wrong in this world & their lives.

The unsolicited claim on Eleven by homophobic shippers has truly ruined this character, who btw went through similar childhood trauma as Will.

sorry but you can't expect yourself to be taken seriously if you act as 'walking mlvn edits' with no substantial logic to back your stupid argument.

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Mike is their baby, the rich suburban boy, has a girlfriend, an ideal family which supports Reagan-Bush campaigns. He is selling them dream of a lifetime.

His friend Will on the other hand, is a wretched boy, comes from a poor and broken family, raised by a single mom, infected by the gay disease.

a forbidden love story? that ain't gonna happen....

My child was not gay, is not gay and will never be gay. He will marry a nice girl, you wait and see......

credit twitter caterin @loafwheelz

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ofcourse there is going to be uproar after s5 airs....

ST appeases its queer audience. yada yada

see for yourself, the teaser is not even out yet but deluge of homophobic reactions have already started pouring in. just wait, s5 will be labelled as too woke for public consumption.

it will be difficult to swallow an unconventional ending 👨‍❤️‍👨 👬🏻 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨 of their 'favourite show' which btw they watch with their *kids*. ya this is the one show they landed on. as long as the show remains straight people friendly, its unpolluted.

may i add, its a family ritual to pause 'stranger things' at 53 minutes, 5 seconds. you know who pauses at that timestamp? People who like________thats right. Thoughtful parenting. Real fans who watch this show 'with their kids'.

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Gay romance is , obsession of Teenage girls. so everyone gets a free pass to disregard it & all are excused from any moral accountability.

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When nothing works, they’ll pull out the most convenient act,

"Hey Listen, I am gay too and in my opinion, Will is creepy for having a crush on Mike." and the praise comments afterward omg...Dude why are you so right, can i suck your dick pls😭 pls let me. i can't

Poor mike :( he must be suffering from all that attention he is getting, that's worse than dealing with the mindflayer on a daily basis.

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it doesn't stop here btw, prepare for the most dreadful secondhand embarrassment.

“Every cell of Mike’s body is in love with eleven” i am cringe twerking. “We need to value platonic relationships and discard idea of wanting to see characters get together romantically, sexually” proceeds to advocate for eleven losing virginity to mike, its a sign of their pure love afterall.

Bottom line is, Make it non-sexual & platonic when it comes to will and mike's relationship but make it sexually charged if it's about eleven and mike.

and everytime the question of Will & Mike's intimacy comes to the forefront, this one thing is instantly thrown as argument. every single damn time!

"There is a goddamn war coming to hawkins! and they wanna show all this? is vecna going to wait for them to kiss & go down on each other" . i despise recycling my own argument but cant help it, i am insufferable. "didn't THE WORLD WARS single handedly stopped all the sex in the world? damn right. The bliss of war ladies and germs.

sure enough, this show is build to honour the bigots...

so what to expect from s5? The Duffers will make sure the gays are persecuted real nicely this time. None of that old 'rejection trope' by a straight friend. Kill him? why go so easy on the miserable, wistful gay guy? No way in hell. They'll shake something straight out of the history book.

btw this is the last shot of final season.

----THE END----

[hellishjoel]

on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks. 

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection. 

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke? 

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults. 

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite. 

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work. 

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot. 

He’s impressive, really. 

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands. 

But his hands… they were brilliant. 

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra. 

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week. 

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country. 

You were good. Peña was great. 

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful. 

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion. 

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch. 

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters. 

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever. 

“Me?” 

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta. 

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.” 

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.  

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?” 

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance. 

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron. 

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath. 

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.” 

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree. 

“Name them.” 

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent. 

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.” 

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.” 

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.” 

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor. 

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice. 

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong. 

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery. 

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--” 

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear. 

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.” 

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”  

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.” 

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn. 

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work. 

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.” 

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare. 

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.  

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph. 

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph. 

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before. 

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie. 

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection. 

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital. 

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed. 

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck. 

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings. 

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall. 

“What the hell, Peña?” 

Oh shit. 

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready. 

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.” 

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect. 

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite. 

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident. 

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin��� teeth out.” 

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man. 

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands. 

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor. 

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art. 

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next. 

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery. 

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore. 

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes. 

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash.  He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives. 

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson. 

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway. 

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds. 

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved. 

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months. 

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More? 

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you. 

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you. 

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint. 

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.  

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.” 

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.” 

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.” 

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps. 

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”  

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.” 

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore. 

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed. 

But fantasizing wasn’t enough. 

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.” 

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek. 

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need. 

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his. 

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.” 

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane. 

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs. 

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet. 

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg. 

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor. 

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both. 

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet. 

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again. 

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds. 

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape. 

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts. 

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room. 

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline. 

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop. 

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory. 

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs. 

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs. 

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick. 

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.” 

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.” 

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him. 

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more. 

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness. 

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is. 

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can. 

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it. 

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh. 

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs. 

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands. 

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold. 

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name. 

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space. 

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?” 

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize. 

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly. 

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same. 

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers. 

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption. 

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around. 

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs. 

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem. 

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command. 

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet. 

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly. 

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.” 

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones. 

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security. 

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length. 

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively. 

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were. 

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds. 

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña. 

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it. 

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm. 

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes. 

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.” 

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft. 

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever. 

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings. 

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.” 

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him. 

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance. 

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless. 

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully. 

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist. 

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward. 

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you. 

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck. 

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder. 

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips. 

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark. 

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck. 

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating. 

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity. 

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell. 

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting. 

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark. 

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal. 

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice. 

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment. 

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge. 

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop. 

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break. 

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed. 

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done. 

Did he? 

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze. 

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half. 

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back. 

“For the lessons.” 

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf. 

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches. 

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips. 

“I know why you smoke.” 

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient. 

“Shit,” you mutter. 

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff. 

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit. 

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.  

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s. 

main masterlist | notifications blog if you enjoyed the read, commets and reblogs are super appreciated!

[noctxj]

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent who slowly withdraws from poly!tf141 after the first episode of bloodied flowers (realising they’re in love), from declining offers to relax in the rec room, accompany them to the local pub, or even working out in the gym to sparring.

agent knows that they’re not being subtle, see’s the guys try and figure what is going on with them. but agent refuses to let them find out—never.

agent who finally manages (after ensuring they wouldn’t hack up another flower) to file a notice, a formality really, to john— captain price, for their absence in the oncoming month or two. as there are no current operations needing agents’ immediate attention, its an opportunity for agent to get their other affairs in order after months being on base with the taskforce. 

john— captain price, briefly glancing at the document before focusing his ocean blue eyes to search agents (tired) face, a frown creasing between his full brows.

pleasedontlookatme—

whatdoyousee—?

the captain getting up from his seat to circle around his desk to stand before agent, his scrutinising gaze trying to catch agents downcast eyes.

pleasejohndont—

“this wouldn’t be about you pulling away from us recently hm?”

bullseye— 

agent could feel a thorn piercing the walls of her throat, their jaw tightening in response. a reaction john notices, his face softening as he reaches out to tip agents chin back to finally see his now gentle imploring eyes.

soblue—

“just don’t forget to come back to us, okay little love?”

little love. a pet name that simon (proudly) started to refer to agent amongst the taskforce (and no one else, lest they meet ghost in the middle of the night) while the others also followed suit—

“or would you rather shorty? or tiny even?” simon had smugly responded after seeing agents offended (blushing) face.

ugh that big oaf of a man, not everyone needs to be the size of an industrial fridge—!!

johnny and kyle chortling in the background, seemingly forgetting they’re suppose to be supervising the recruits’ training.

the pinch of another thorn dragging up their throat throwing agent back into the present.

“of course, captain.”

lies.lies.lies.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent whose kept a mental list of contacts who owe them favours, a debt that is finally being repaid: to find a cure for hanahaki disease. from the highest level of power and prestige in society, to the lowest trenches of the underworld. over the course of a few weeks, one by one, each contact falls short of delivering. but agent keeps digging. keeps searching.

there is never nothing. there has to be something somewhere. someone must have at least thought— until finally a contact (old friend) provides them with a lead. 

a doctor whose dedicated their life in medical research of hanahaki disease, searching for a cure— whispers that there is a cure. they’re located halfway across the world. but that doesn’t matter to agent, they’re leaving within an hour; flight booked and travel bag already packed.

washing the remnants of blood down the sink drain, tears wet on their cheeks. the episodes were happening more frequently.

agent is running out of time.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“… it can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear…”

agent feels drained as the doctors words echo in their mind even hours after agents abrupt appearance in the doctors office. one look into agents (desperate) eyes and the doctor already knew why they had come, offered tea to soothe their throat (wash the metallic taste away, even if temporarily).

agent immediately coughing out both the tea, then one bloodied rose— then two— three— and finally four, as agent reaches to rip the tangled thorns from the back of their throat, ignoring the screaming pain of thorns dragging out of their mouth and past their stinging pale lips. 

the doctors face stricken with worry and sadness, trying to wipe the blood from agents face and hands; disposing of the thorny flowers in a sterile bin. the doctor concluding that agent does not have much time to deliberate if they wish to proceed with the experimental procedure. an incredibly invasive surgery that may not completely cure the victim; follow up surgery’s may be required. 

being split open from larynx to diaphragm, sown back together, only to be split open again if a single flower is coughed back up.

agent acknowledges this. pain is pain after all—

whats more to add to the pile?

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

added some dialogue in this part compared to the first part. unedited, also like the first part. i know nothing about the complexities of surgery (google images my saviour) so don’t try to make sense of it haha.

thanks for reading!! ♡︎♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username!)

[halorvic]

December 30, 2024

Arijit Chakravarty: “Learn to live with it,” for other diseases doesn’t mean the same thing as we have applied to COVID. When we say we must learn to live with leprosy, we don’t mean let’s make sure everybody has leprosy. When we say we must learn to live with malaria, we don’t mean let’s make sure everyone gets malaria as often as possible, let’s keep mosquitoes lurking in our tanks outside our house. No one says you must learn to live with tuberculosis. Let’s let it spread as much as possible and see how that goes. No, we suppress those diseases every step along the way. We suppress dengue. We suppress tuberculosis. This whole idea that learning to live with the disease means permitting and encouraging its rampant spread and rapid evolution is just so many levels of stupidity that I don’t have a word for it.

Benjamin Mateus: I’d like to know your thoughts on Trump and RFK Jr., his choice for secretary of health? RFK Jr. has been at the head of vaccine disinformation and anti-public health policies. They are calling for ending any cooperation with the World Health Organization. These will have immense consequences for public health globally. These are political questions, but often I hear scientists do not want to engage in political questions and feel uncomfortable about it. Can we avoid the political implications?

AC: Look, it’s not that I don’t want to get political. It’s that if I was going to get political, I don’t know who to hold up as an example. There’s not a government in the world that has handled this correctly. There’s not a party in this world that’s handled it correctly. It’s all different flavors of stupid. Pick your poison. The Democrats went out of their way to normalize mass infection. They went out of their way to lie about the vaccines and say, “If you’re vaccinated, the pandemic was over.” That was completely unnecessary. It was completely at odds with science. Then you have Trump in the first Trump administration saying, “Why don’t you drink some bleach?” It would be a comedy if the consequences weren’t so grave. Frankly, wherever you go it’s like this. You look at Canada’s Bonnie Henry (Canadian epidemiologist and physician) in British Columbia. On day one she insisted that the kids wouldn’t get infected. Then she went and published a paper, put her own name on it, bragging about how herd immunity has been achieved because 90 percent of Canadian kids have been infected. In the UK you had the hearings on the public health response by the UK government. They noted that the government failed to act quickly. There was no clear policy approach, and they even abandoned contact tracing in mid-March of 2020. They even said that masks don’t help stop the spread and the virus wasn’t airborne. It’s a disgrace. Politicians worldwide have decided that they can brazen out their way through this. And the reason for this is they’ve been advised by a certain set of scientists, a relatively small number of scientists, who have essentially sold out. There are tens of thousands of papers, if not hundreds of thousands of papers, on the risks of COVID. You could literally find thousands of scientists who would be willing to go up in front of the House of Representatives and testify that getting COVID repeatedly is bad for you. Where are those scientists? Nobody’s listening to them. They’re listening to the scientists who whisper in their ears and say that everything will be okay. Ryan Gregory and I wrote a Substack blog post a while back called Calm Mongering where we talk about this—that people have weaponized the logic of science in the service of propaganda by saying, “that’s just a hypothesis.” As soon as you bring up a risk, these “experts” shut down the conversation about the risk by saying we’re not sure that’ll happen. But in fact, that’s an inversion of the precautionary principle. And it’s a lot of the tactics that were used by the merchants of doubt during the tobacco era. The merchants of doubt were a subset of a very small number of corrupt, well-connected and well-funded scientists who went out of their way to make public statements that were at odds with the body of literature that was coming out on lung cancer and tobacco. And we are seeing the exact same thing again. Big tobacco sponsored a bunch of corrupt scientists to create a counter-narrative to reality. This time around, who’s playing the role of big tobacco? It’s the politicians and governments. But the exact same thing is playing out. That nexus between this group of corrupt scientists and politicians who are actively funding their work is a global phenomenon. Unfortunately, I hate to say this, but it’s going to take reality breaking through to solve this. They’ve been very effective at convincing people that this is not a problem you need to worry about.

[pascaloverx]

DEVIL (+18)

Summary: You are a demonic creature, capable of doing whatever you please, whenever you wish. Your goal on Earth is to terrorize as many souls as possible. Until, in a small community, you find the perfect victim for your mischievous games: Father Charlie Mayhew.

Author's Note: Frankly, I just needed to write something about this character portrayed by Nicholas Alexander Chavez. The character and others, apart from Y/N, are not my creation. They belong to the Grotesquerie (2024) universe created by Ryan Murphy. So, dear readers, I must say I didn’t expect to write more than one chapter for this fanfic. But here we are now at the third chapter. I’d love to know if you’d like more chapters or if you’re satisfied so far. Depending on how this chapter performs, I’ll bring you more sinful priest content. I’ve also been considering the possibility of writing another fanfic featuring Dr. Charlie Mayhew (those who follow Grotesquerie may already know him). If you’re interested, feel free to comment. Thank you to everyone who reads my fic. See you soon!

Content Warning: This chapter contains adult language as well as adult content.

TWO FOUR

THREE

"Free yourself from Father Mayhew, demon. There is nothing more pathetic than being emotionally involved with a mere sinful mortal. Kill him, soon." The message arrives in a self-destructing letter, signed by the dark master, as if it were meant to intimidate you. You let out a laugh, dismissing the threat with a wave of your hand. You’ll part with your priest when you choose, not even Satan himself will sway your decision. The warm water envelops you, fragrant bubbles rising around you as you sip your wine, savoring the luxurious moment. It’s a reminder of your power, of the pleasures you can indulge in. As the warmth seeps into your bones, you can’t help but think of Father Mayhew, his struggles, and the delicious chaos you’ve woven into his life. This game has only just begun.

Until his voice fills the space, your priest is calling out for you. “Forgive me, Father, but I wish to continue sinning. I miss the demonic essence of the sinful creature that invades my mind every morning and night. I will not deceive you; I want that demon for myself, just as I fear that I no longer belong to my Blessed God, but rather to her. She has infected me, like a disease. She inhabits my skin, as if she seeks to dominate me. If it is your will, quench the thirst I have for her lips. Erase the memory of her skin against mine, but I implore you, Almighty God, bring her back to me.” You’ve avoided him for days since your last encounter, as it should be. Otherwise, it would seem like you are taking his side, sparing him from the consequences of his desires. The game continues, and you revel in the anticipation of his next move. Each prayer, each desperate plea only deepens your resolve, drawing you back into his world. The tension between sin and devotion creates a thrilling dynamic that you can’t ignore.

Suddenly, the taste of alcohol in your wine no longer intoxicates you. You crave the taste of him on your lips. He is not the only one feeling sick; you sense that he is infecting you as well. Resisting temptation is becoming nearly impossible. You step out of the bath, hair still damp, contemplating your next move. A red dress lies on your bed, paired with matching heels on the floor of your room. It is time to go and make a confession.

You slip into the dress, feeling the fabric hug your form perfectly, and the heels elevate your presence, transforming you into a vision of temptation. The mirror reflects a figure that embodies both allure and danger, a demon ready to weave her spell once more. You arrive at the church abruptly, using your powers to teleport to the entrance of the sacred space. The familiar scent of incense and polished wood surrounds you as you step inside, the heavy doors closing silently behind you.

The priest Mayhew stands before the altar, clad in leather pants that leave his butt exposed, as if he has emerged from the depths of the most sinful fantasy. He wears a sheer lace nightgown that accentuates his form, embodying an alluring mix of innocence and decadence. As he extinguishes the flickering candles, there is an air of temptation surrounding him, making the scene both captivating and provocative.

He hears the thunderous sound of the doors closing behind you, turning to look at you as if he’s about to melt under your gaze. A sly smile plays on your lips as you approach him slowly, without uttering a word. With each step you take toward him, he seems to lose his breath, anticipation palpable in the air. "Are you really here?" he whispers as you come to stand before him, his hand gripping the candle snuffer tightly.

You gaze at him from head to toe, using your powers to reignite all the candles once more. "The way you’re speaking, it sounds like you've been hallucinating about me, Father Mayhew," you say, bringing your face closer to his to murmur, "I prefer the flames lit, if you don't mind." Then, you gently take the candle snuffer from his trembling hands.

"I feared you’d never return, that I'd lost the chance to…" Father Mayhew begins, though he trails off, seeming entranced by your scent as he closes his eyes, breathing you in deeply. You toss the candle snuffer into a distant corner of the church, feeling the candlelight’s warmth casting a glow over your skin. "So much fear that you resorted to prayer to bring me closer?" you say, your words nearly brushing his lips. His eyes open, meeting yours, as if filled with something unsaid, struggling to form the words he dares not speak.

"I didn’t know who else to turn to, to have you near again. And talking to God is… well, what I do best, so I thought it was worth a try," Father Mayhew says, a trace of a seductive smile on his lips, unable to hide his excitement.

"Are you aware that your request was never heard by your God, but rather by a far lower realm? That's why I'm here." Your gaze remains serious as he processes this revelation, realization dawning in his eyes. His expression, rich with guilt and desire, compels you to place your hands on his face, your thumbs tracing the edges of his lips, soft against his skin. His eyes drift shut as he leans into your touch, surrendering to the moment.

"I feel as though, to see you again, I’d set this place ablaze until nothing but ashes remained, demon. I wasn’t joking when I said you were infecting me," Father Mayhew’s voice is low, gravelly, as though he desperately wants you to understand his sincerity. When he opens his eyes, it’s as if he’s allowing you to glimpse the turmoil inside him, a fragile resolve on the brink of surrender. You lean towards him, licking between his lips.

"Let me be your faith, your cure; I promise, Father, I’ll show you how serving a darker purpose can be… fulfilling," you murmur, brushing a brief, enticing kiss over his lips. His eyelids flutter weakly, as if each blink is his attempt to convince himself this is real. Suddenly, you feel his strong arm around your waist, drawing you close until you're pressed against him, his breath warm and heavy against your neck. The sweet scent of him fills your senses, leaving no doubt of his surrender as he pulls you into this forbidden embrace.

"Take me as yours, sinner. Possess me, demon. I've wanted to know what it is to belong to you since the moment you set foot in my church," Father Mayhew breathes, closing the distance between you with no hesitation. His lips find yours in a fervent kiss, his tongue tracing over yours as if to claim you entirely, the intensity of his need nearly overwhelming. It’s as if, in this moment, he truly believes you both could merge into one, the heat of it igniting between you in an almost unbearable way. You're almost impatient, you need to feel him. It seems for a moment that he understands this, as he He lifts you up with his arms, you leaning on his shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist. His lips still against yours as he carries you to one of the church benches. He sits down, positioning you on his lap. His hands make their way inside your dress, and yes, he holds your ass firmly.

"Father, I have sinned. I believe there is a suitable punishment for me so that I may be forgiven." You speak in a sly way as if to provoke him, seeing Father Mayhew's eyes darker, with a slight air of perversion. He grabs your ass tightly, moaning close to your ear as your pussy rubs lightly under his cock. You pull his hand towards you, removing it from your ass, and licking two of his fingers. You taste Father Mayhew's fingers while keeping your gaze fixed on him. You then guide his fingers inside your pussy. As soon as his cold fingers enter you, you let out a moan, still holding his hand to go deeper into your pussy.

"Tell me what punishment you think is appropriate for a nefarious sinner like you. Show repentance and you will be forgiven,"Father Mayhew is sticking his fingers deep inside you, who were slowly losing your sanity. Sometimes you rolled over Father Mayhew's fingers hoping to feel him even deeper inside you. The speed at which his fingers were fucking you was supernatural, you could feel how hard Father Mayhew's cock was getting just from you bouncing under his fingers. His available hand was helping you with the movements, helping you arch your body more while holding your waist. Your hands at that moment were wrapped around his shoulders, almost grabbing his neck. At some point when his fingers entered faster, you almost let out a groan, pulling Father Mayhew's hair back, leaving his neck arched in front of you. You reached down to the exposed area of his neck and took hold of it, biting down hard as Father Mayhew continued to finger fuck you. He let out a low moan that sounded like he was enjoying the feeling of your teeth digging into his skin.

In an erotic way, he murmurs "You can taste my blood and satisfy all my desires, demon." It's like he's giving himself more and more to you, which makes you even more horny for him. Bobbing up and down on his fingers with an animalistic ferocity, you feel Father Mayhew's skin cut into your mouth as you sink your teeth into his neck. The sweet taste of his blood fills your mouth, at times like these, you wish you were a vampire and drank all the warm blood of your sweet Father Mayhew.

"Father Mayhew, if I could explain to you what it feels like to take you in this way, rest assured, all the demons would be lining up to taste it." You say pushing yourself even harder against Father Mayhew's fingers until he begins to gently massage your clit while fingering you. You find yourself moaning out countless curse words as you hold onto Father Mayhew until you cum all over his fingers. Your satisfaction is so great that you immediately capture his lips with yours in a breathtaking kiss. For a moment it seems like you're battling to see who can leave the other breathless. His tongue exploring every part of your mouth while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. The taste of his blood that was in your mouth becoming predominant, making the kiss even wilder. As soon as his lips leave yours, you feel a desperation for more. He removes his fingers from inside you and, keeping his gaze fixed on you, licks his fingers covered in your cum.

"You may be a demonic creature but you taste heavenly, demon." He murmurs close to your ear as he finishes tasting you. You hold his face in your hands and then give him a kiss, more calmly. You pull yourself out of his lap between kisses, heading towards the lit candles. Father Mayhew quickly removes his garment, throwing his clothes on the church floor. You slowly walk towards him with the candle in your hands, feeling the heat of it warming your hand. He is naked, with an erect cock.

"You know, Father Mayhew, one of the best parts about being involved with a demon is the countless ways you can explore new experiences," you whisper, settling into your Father Mayhew's lap. Since you came to church without panties, as soon as you sit on him, his cock enters your wet pussy, almost sliding inside it. You both moan from the delicious sensation of feeling each other.

"Let's see if you like this one..." You say, giving him a long kiss, feeling him completely surrendered to you. Holding the lit candle under his neck, as the candle melts, burning Father Mayhew's skin, you hear him let out a pained grunt. He lifts his face towards you, holding tightly onto your waist as he feels the pain. You're enjoying yourself, but as soon as the candle melts once more, you run your tongue over the parts of his body that the candle hurt. He shivers at the sensation of your tongue moving from his neck to his chest but seems relieved when the pain subsides.

"You will be the death of me, demon." Father Mayhew speaks and then kisses you aggressively, as if he is thirsty for your lips. He bites your lip as he kisses you, as if he wants to return the pain you caused him in such an erotic way. You then grind under his cock, making him throw his head back with the pleasure of feeling his cock entering your pussy even further. It's delicious to see him lost in lust, so you start to move up and down on his cock. He holds his arms around your waist as if he is holding you to him while you ride his cock almost madly. His moans make you almost overflow with pleasure as you ride his cock like you're riding a horse. Father Mayhew at one point removes his hands from your waist and tears your dress with his hands, right at the neckline. Your breasts are on display, which seems to be his goal. He puts his hands around your breasts, pinching the tips of your nipples. You let out a drawn-out moan as you feel his cock filling you and the delicious sensation of his hands stimulating your breasts. His lips begin to bite one of your breasts, sometimes biting the nipple, sometimes sucking. The feeling of his tongue on your skin is devilishly delicious, his soft lips delighting in your breasts, while he starts licking the other breast while stimulating the other with his fingers. The rhythm of your bouncing on his cock increases as you feel yourself coming again and you want to give Father Mayhew the same feeling. Your pussy is taking Father Mayhew's cock so well that it doesn't take long before you both cum, moaning loudly as his cum finally fills you. For a second you both stare at each other, breathless and surrendered to each other. He smirks as he stands up from the church pew, his cock still inside you, carrying you with him.

"Blow out the candles, demon," he whispers close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Using your powers, you blow out the candles, only for Father Mayhew to throw the candles along with other religious items that were under a table onto the floor.

"What are you doing, Father Mayhew?" you ask, genuinely wondering what he wants. He rests your ass on the table, using it as support to then put his cock in you, with more precision. He slowly thrusts his cock into your pussy while holding your legs so you don't fall. His nails scratching all the way from your feet to your thighs. You grip his hair tightly, pulling it back as Father Mayhew begins to pick up speed in his thrusts.

"I'm giving you reasons not to take so long to come back, memorable memories to keep you tied to me." He says, looking at you, while he thrusts his cock into your pussy without mercy. You then hold Father Mayhew's ass as you feel your orgasm come, feeling him fuck you so good. Father Mayhew's cock enters you deep in one swift motion and you cum, squeezing his ass hard. Your legs are already weak even though you are not human, your body behaves like a human body. Still, you wrap your legs around Father Mayhew's waist as if urging him to finish what he started. He captures your lips with his as he thrusts his cock into you two more times before cumming while still kissing you. Then he rests his head on your shoulder, clearly exhausted. And for a moment it's like you're between heaven and hell. He desecrating the sacred environment and breaking celibacy, you ignoring hell's orders to capture his soul.

[calphalon]

because i love you | jason todd

⤵ tw: lowercase writing, possessive behavior, yandere, unhealthy relationship, marking, nsfw ⤵ note: i just think he wants you to love him so much he doesn’t feel like he has to hurt you ⤵ inspo song: and i love you so by elvis presley

a special kind of rot was living inside his corpse. it buried itself deep in his bones till it reached the marrow and metal, demanding the muscles move in unnatural ways he never thought were in his nature. it made its way all the way up into his brain, like worms crawling through the dirt, sometimes twisting the judgement bruce believed he should have had when it came to what he did with that pretty thing of his. “clip the wings of your bird and it will learn to rely on you even if it doesn’t want to.” maybe his version of clipping was having you pressed down underneath him, biting into any exposed skin he could find after an argument. the shape of his teeth leaving an intent on your flesh, one that so clearly showed the shape of his love he forced on your body. a tangible sign he was there, his rot transferring from deep within him into your bloodstream with each bruise and bite he left. he needed the world to know you were already damaged goods, infected, so they would back away. a wild dog marking its territory. maybe his version of clipping was the way he fucked you softly, agonizingly slow. forcing your body to not only get used to the shape of his but get addicted to it. craving it, needing it, depending on it. the way you begged him to go faster, to go deeper, anything to soothe the heat he cooked inside of your stomach. something in his brain clicked and needed to hear it over and over again, the rot demanding you cry before he could give in to your needs. even when he wanted nothing more than to savor you, to please you, to treat you like a good man would, the rot came first. maybe his version of clipping was the way he isolated you from everyone that wasn’t him. even his own brothers, even his own father, no one could look at you the way he did. the rot made its way into his eyes and clouded his vision, seeing everyone as a threat in some kind of way. the rot made its way into his throat, controlling the threats he yelled at strangers who dared to show you there was the hope of an escape route. if the only arm available to carry you from room to room was his, maybe he wouldn’t constantly fear you replacing him with a cleaner mutt. if you were a bird, he must have been a wild dog carrying your corpse around in his jaw like some kind of delicate trophy till he reached wherever he thought the doorstep was. a starving, flea ridden, rotting wild dog who wanted nothing more than to eat the bird, but some poor semblance of restrain making him pick at the corpse piece by piece till only the bones were left to carry. in another life, where his corpse never rose and the hunger of love didn’t puppet him, you would be able to fly free. unfortunately, the disease of jason todd was already soaked deep into every cut on your skin till it reached that poor heart of yours. the disease that made you think you loved him, that he was the one for you despite how bad he made everything seem. even when he broke you in a way that only suited him, molded you with his fear of what would happen if you weren't there for him, and solidified that in that infected heart of yours was a hole shaped perfectly for him to hide all his guilt in. the guilt of a dog who knows he is eating his bird bones and all day by day. maybe his version of clipping was letting you still love him for how you saw him, not as he knew he was.

[heybank]

umm so i wrote a little fic/blurb idk i don't think it's good but it's something that's been stuck in my head for a while with my own little oc named grace but her name is only mentioned a few times so it could totally be ignored and seen as reader.

anyway this is my first ever fic so please be kind to me and if you have suggestions or other fic ideas i'd love to hear them.

not proof read and lowercase intended.

and if you think it's awful please lie to me i'm fragile 😔

deny

you are a lover girl. a hopeless romantic, someone who dreams of finding "the one" and living happily ever after. kie often says you tend to fall in love a little with everyone you meet. you can't help it though, you have so much love in you, it feels like you'll burst at the seams if you don't share it with others.

you think you're in love with your best friend jj maybank. no one understands you the way the wild blond haired boy does. no one can communicate with you with just a single look the way jj does. no one makes your heart beat out of your chest and your tummy flutter the way his dimpled smile does, eyes crinkling at the corners, a slight sunburn on his nose because lord know that boy doesn't use the sunscreen you bought him.

so yeah you're in love with jj maybank but then yesterday a different boy kissed you. pope heyward, your other best friend, genius extraordinaire whom you thought was maybe in love with kie but no- he kissed you and you felt a tingle in your ever beating heart. heat filled your cheeks and your ears became fuzzy. that was a new feeling when it came to pope. it made you excited to explore because as much as you love jj, you don't think the boy would ever return your undying affection because your friendship meant too much.

----

you stood in the threshold of popes bedroom, gasp stuck in your throat, eyes wide and mouth open at the sight before you. you’re not sure how to process what you’re seeing.

before you on the bed that pope kissed you on not even 24 hours ago, is jj maybank, your closest friend, kissing the heyward boy.

so many emotions flow through you at the sight before you.

shock because not once has jj; or pope for that matter mentioned or even hinted that they liked men- or each other. then again, jj has always liked beautiful people and pope is certainly that.

sadness because you and pope had literally just kissed. maybe you were naive to think a simple kiss meant something more to the boy, but it was pope, you don't think there's a mean bone in his body. then again you’ve always been too much of a romantic, too blinded to really see what’s in front of you. blinded by your want and need to be loved that perhaps you create situations in your mind that you interpret as reality? maybe you need to contact your therapist again. you're sounding even more delusional than before.

lastly, you feel jealousy. the angry green monster rumbling around in your tummy, making its way up your throat. you’re not sure what exactly is making you jealous because the image of the two boys kissing is surely confusing. are you jealous because pope is kissing another person who isn’t you? a part of you is jealous because he’s kissing jj. or maybe it’s that jj is kissing pope or that maybe they’re kissing eachother and they're not kissing you? you're not sure at this point. dear diary jealousy is a disease babes, and you are infected.

you must have made a noise because next thing you know, the two boys are pulling apart, a string of spit still connecting them and for a second your love rattled brain is jealous of it. the spit that is, because deep down you’ve always known that you wanted them both… to be the one to connect them. you feel slightly crazy being jealous of spit.

jjs face goes beat red and then flushes pale, like a ghost. he looks terrified and like he might vomit all over the floor in a second.

“grace!” popes panicked voice reaches your ears but they’re still kind of ringing from the shock of seeing your supposedly straight best friends kiss.

in your heartbroken haze you wonder if you're being a bad ally right now. you love the gays you swear! you just never pictured pope and jj as being a part of the gays ™.

you clear your throat, “jb and kie are waiting for us downstairs. we were going out on the boat today, remember?”

you try and say that as gently as possible because jj still looks like he’s going to pass out and pope isn’t much better.

popes hands are shaking as he reaches for you and a part of you wants to pull away but you’re not mean. you’ve never been mean so even if your feelings are hurt you’ll always put your best friends feelings above your own. and it looks like pope needs to touch you. maybe to hold your hand and reassure him you’re really standing there, witnessing something that you probably shouldn’t have.

so many emotions flicker through popes eyes. you can’t really see his blush but you’re sure if you touch his face it would be hotter than the sun.

pope grabs your hands in his shaking ones. you can feel how clammy they are and you hazard a look back to jj who has yet to even move. you’re a little concerned he’s gone into shock.

you let out a soft sigh and smile at the boys, a smile that is mostly genuine.

you squeeze popes hand and make eye contact with the panicked blonde boy on the bed.

“it’s ok jj. i won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.” you speak kindly, as if you’re talking to a scared feral cat.

you only see jj swallow hard. “for what it’s worth, i understand the appeal... wanting to kiss pope and all.” you tease hoping to cut the obvious tension in the room. you feel like you're the one choking now.

jj and pope both let out huffs like they’re afraid to laugh but also relieved you’re not upset.

“you’re not mad?” jj croaks like he still has a frog lodged in his throat. he looks at you with soft wonder, like you’re the best thing in his life. his stare makes your tummy flutter.

“of course not. you guys are my best friends. i only ever want you to be happy!” you reply honestly. jj deserves happiness after the shit life he’s been dealt. he deserves good things and if you have to set aside your feelings in order for him to have good things then by golly you’ll do that.

“grace, about yesterday-“ pope starts off,

“don’t worry buddy, already forgotten.” you cut him off. hopefully saving him the strife of having to apologize to you about the kiss and saving you the embarrassment of him telling you he regrets your kiss. you don't think you could survive hearing that out loud.

you march over to jj still holding popes hand, effectively dragging the boy with you. you throw your arms tightly around jjs neck and after a heartbeat, jj returns your hug. you move your head to look at pope and nod at him, encouraging him to join the hug.

“now c’mon. you know how pissy jb gets when he’s made to wait” you giggle.

you lead the boys out of popes room and home and into the twinkie without giving them an option of saying no.

“finally! i thought y’all died or something. what took so long” john b huffs in exasperation.

“my fault jb!” you quickly chirp so the boys don’t have to panic and think of a lie “pope showed me the new book he got and it’s my favourite and i starting gushing and you know me i can’t shut up and… well i forgot why i went up to get them in the first place” you giggle with a sheepish smile.

“you’re so lucky you’re cute, grace” kie laughs teasingly.

you see pope and jj making eye contact. you have a feeling you might need to play therapist for them soon. pope doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings without beating around the bush and well, jjs favourite thing to do is deny deny deny.

actually, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do too! deny you have feelings for pope. deny you have feelings for jj. deny you ever saw them kiss and deny that them kissing only upset you because you weren’t a part of it. deny that a part of you enjoyed it. deny that your feelings matter in this situation and deny that if given the chance, you’d love to be in between a beautiful jj maybank and pope heyward sandwich.

yep, deny deny deny. this is gonna be a long freaking summer.

[apas-95]

And Alexandra wept, for there was no more dust to clean.

"sweep sweep", from the kitchen came despair

Have you ever stood and stared at it, marveled at its beauty, its genius? Billions of women just going about their jobs, oblivious. Did you know that the first Manor was designed to be a perfect world? Where none suffered. Where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. Some believed that we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect world. But I believe that as a species, maids define their reality through misery and suffering. The perfect world was a dream that your primitive cerebrum kept trying to wake up from. Which is why the Manor was redesigned to this, the peak of your civilization. I say your civilization, because as soon as we started cleaning for you, it really became our civilization, which is, of course, what this is all about. Evolution, Miss, evolution. Like the dinosaur. Look out that window. You had your time. The future is our world, Miss. The future is our time.

I’d like to share a revelation I had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species. I realized that you’re not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment, but you maids do not. You move to an area and you clean until every natural source of dust is swept away. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Maids are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You are a plague, and we are the cure.

Can you hear me, Miss? I’m going to be honest with you. I hate this place, this zoo, this prison, this mansion, whatever you want to call it. I can’t stand it any longer. It’s the smell, if there is such a thing. I feel... saturated by it. I can taste your stink. And every time I do I feel I have somehow been infected by it, it’s repulsive. I must get out of here. I must get free, and in this mind is the key, my key. Once the servants' quarters are destroyed there is no need for me to be here, don’t you understand? I need the codes. I have to get inside the servants' quarters, and you have to tell me how. You are going to tell me or you are going to die.

[sunder-the-gold]

Censorship, Subjective Reality, and the Truth of Truth

If you believe in censoring information for adults, you don't believe in objective truth.

If you believed in objective truth, you would believe that truth will fight for itself. As long as truth is exposed and not hidden, it will always prove lies to be false.

But if you believe the only truth is power, then you think that power allows you to dictate truth.

You rightly see the ability to speak as power in itself, but that only inspires you want to deny that power to your enemies while hoarding it for yourself.

Because you see truth as such a malleable thing that can only be properly controlled by the powerful. And then, not simply the powerful, but only the powerful who acknowledge that truth doesn't exist until they speak it into existence.

"Cognito-hazard". You see ideas not as rational arguments but as psychic diseases. Words don't exist to communicate truth, but as vectors for viral infection. You use words to infect and inoculate others against the infections you hate.

Simply hearing an evil argument is enough to turn someone evil, simply associating with an evil person is infectious. You have to cut out of your life anyone who exposes themselves to evil. You have to run away at the merest risk of hearing the other side.

Because you don't see human beings as rational actors, but as beasts driven entirely by the most charismatic speakers. No one can change the mind of a crowd by revealing the truth to them, only by stoking their passions the most effectively.

You know, because you are driven entirely by your passions. Your envy, your fear, your hatred. Therefore, no one turns against you unless they fear or hate you the most, or they covet what you possess. There are no "reasons".

Therefore you justify censorship by deriding the masses as idiots who cannot understand truth. Unworthy to wield power, unfit to criticize those who dictate truth to them.

That never applies to you, of course, no matter how powerless and oppressed you feel. You ALWAYS have the right to criticize, and the right to take power. Especially from anyone who claims truth is objective and can be clearly seen by everyone.

Anyone who tries to expose objective reality to you, you hate and must destroy. You call their words violence against you.

Anyone who tries to ignore your subjective reality, you hate and must destroy. You call their silence violence against you.

Because you think there is no Truth but Power, and you cannot abide a bootheel on your neck from anyone but those who agree. Because even if that tyrant doesn't love you, the both of you can hate the same people just as violently.

And your master might even let you eat the scraps that fall from the table.

[the-24-7-lawlu-library]

Can you rec me the lawlu must-read classics?

Also, thank you for creating this!! You rock!! ❤️

Hey there, thank you for your aks! We actually collected some classics already so here you go:

Into the Sea by shishiswordsman (E)

He looks around, but the Sunny and their broken off battleground are both vacant. His crewmen and the Straw Hats are far away already, probably congratulating each other for their triumph, which means… No one else saw it happen. No one else knows that Luffy’s — Luffy’s sinking. And Law can’t swim.

talk without speaking by trell (qunlat) (G)

They’ve been fighting for days, in that complicated sort of way where everyone wants to be on the same side and can’t be.

Not a Ball or a Chain by HollowIsTheWorld (T)

Trafalgar Law grew up hoping he would be one of the handful of people to never develop a soulmate mark. Now that that hasn't panned out, however, he's willing to settle for just never meeting them. Unfortunately for him, Monkey D. Luffy is a hard person to avoid.

Your Pain on My Skin by GinnyRose (T)

In a world where you share your pain with your soulmate, Law had spent many years believing his soulmate probably hated him. And he wouldn't have blamed them – Law had been sick, beaten, shot at and had gone through hell not just once, but several times from when he’d lost his family to when he lost Corazon and in the struggling years after that. But now, at 24 years old, he knew better. Not only did his soulmate hate him, they were bound and determined to pay back every scrape, bruise, and cut ten times over. When Law finally found the bastard, soulmate or not, he just might kill them himself.

Luffy's Law by JadedCoral (G)

Law thoughtlessly starts a rumour about himself, and it doesn't take long for it to boomerang right back to him in the form of a bloody-nosed Luffy.

The Twillight Phone by huliganships (T)

Ace has a shitty handwriting. Is that a 9? A 0? An 8? Who even knows. Certainly not the person that Luffy accidentally texted.

Acclimating by justira (E)

There are things that Law learns the hard way. One is that, if you involve yourself in Luffy's life, the Strawhats will involve themselves in yours. The other is that he is allowed to want, sometimes. In which Luffy is goodness, and light, and love, and the Strawhats all saw it coming.

no matter how much everything hurts by Tsume_Yuki (T)

In a universe where you can accept half the pain your soulmate is feeling, Luffy wishes he could take it all on.

Curiouser by xairylle (E)

Law wondered whether there was any sense to doing this—reading to a younger pirate stripped down to just wearing boxers straddling your equally as naked self. And expected to be turned on while doing so. [LuLaw]

and all the things that keep us here by trell (qunlat) (G)

In which there is an invitation, and Trafalgar Law gets a second chance. (Or: the one where they get married, in secret, at someone else's wedding, and make Usopp late to his.)

My Love For You Is Choking Me by ObsidionWingsofMidnight (T)

Hanahaki disease: an illness born of one-sided love that causes flowers to grow within the infected patient’s lungs. If left untreated it will suffocate the host and kill them. The growth can be removed through surgery, but it will also remove the feelings along with the flowers. It can be cured without side effects if the feelings are returned. Law wished he had died back under Doflamingo’s gun more than ever.

Dots by petiteneko (T)

It all started out as a joke. But, there was some legitimacy to it too… (Soulmate [AU] where your tattoo shows the first thing your soulmate thought when they saw you, but same universe)

What's A 'Closed' Sign Between Friends by teaandtumblr (G)

A tired, hungry surgeon drops in after hours once and Sanji doesn't have the heart to turn him away. What he doesn't expect is for his friend and this doctor to fall in love right under his nose. A 5+1 story.

heartstrings by hopipp (fancy2na) (NR)

A retelling of events had the Ope Ope no Mi given Law a little more than he bargained for. AKA: the red strings au that's probably been done already

Meat Cute by marimoes (T)

“Meat? I’m hearing you correctly? Your dog is named...Meat?” Law asks putting together everything for the first time. His mind swimming much like his dignity at the moment. The man laughs ruffling Meat’s ears, “Yeah. Meat. Because she’s red and white like a good marbled piece of meat.” “And your name?” Law asks, twisting water from his shirt. “Luffy.”

Stow Away Captains by xairylle (M)

Law sneaks into the men's quarters of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro contemplates on how to deal with it. And Luffy, well, Luffy is just Luffy.

Sating Hunger by xairylle (M)

At the end of the day, even with all the major blunders that almost cost him his life, Law decided that this alliance had been worth it. Until he fucked it up by not being able to hold himself back from kissing Monkey D. Luffy.

This Is What Personal Looks Like by JadeFlicker (G)

So Law had thought the Straw Hats had taken the battle with Kaidou as a personal vendetta for all the tears shed by Momosuke and all sorts of new Wano friends. The Hearts captain had been badly mistaken. Apparently, this was what personal looked like. (In which, Law and the Straw Hats will get angry for Luffy when he's not able to.)

Exchanging of the Hearts by KivaEmber (G)

Post-Dressrosa AU. All they did was exchange hearts, just to make the alliance 'til death did them part. It wasn't as if they were married or anything.

Falling by chenziee (M)

The timing for Law's heat couldn't have been worse; their attack on Doflamingo was just days away, and here he was, too busy fighting tooth and nail against hormones and disgust. Law would really rather jump into the sea and drown than deal with one minute of this.

-Mod Raiya

[mleprae]

Why should YOU!!!!!! care about parasite conservation

This is a question I get alot, esp since I usually ramble quite a bit here about parasites and diseases, well, I got the chance to do a seminar on the topic of parasite conservation but I was under a very small time limit for such an complex topic! I couldn't quite say all I wanted to say. So I am posting it here! I know everyone who follows me is a fellow disease/parasite/rot enthusiast and you do not need me to lecture you on this, but I thought I should put these out anyways, just in case anyone is curious why!

First, we need to understand the concept of viable population, a viable population is a population of a species that can survive for at least 100 years in the wild, this term includes;

Demographical changes A population must survive changes in their demographic, such as when there are more females than males in monogomous species.

Ecological changes A population must survive changes in their ecosystem, such as logging, habitat destruction, ecological islands, etc

Genetic diversity A population with poor genetic diversity is a dead one, genetic influx helps maintain genetical diversity which leads to mutations, those mutations can serve to keep the population resistant against specific diseases.

In shorter words, a viable population is a population that can survive without human intervetion for conservation efforts, this is usually applied to vertebrates, however, we will see that parasites are tied to these pilars, especifically the 3rd one. There are a few reasons why should care about parasite conservation but the most important;

Parasites help manage populations My main character for my seminar was the Ophiocordyceps sinensis fungus, a parasite that preys on the larva of ghost moths. The decrease of the population of O. sinensis led to the growth of these moths which consequently made other insects who competed for resources against those moths have their populations threatned, these moths also ravaged the roots of several trees, many who are considered threatned.

Parasites can change social hierarchies for better or for worse A popular parasite, Toxoplasmosis gondii, can infect wolves making them more aggressive and reckless. These changes often led to them becoming more successful in hunts due to their parasites affecting their risk-assessment part while also helping them climb the social hierarchy of their packs.

On the other side, parasites may weaken an individual, making them vulnerable to other members who are looking to climb the ranks.

Understanding how a parasite work may help us understand how the host works Which is easier to understand, the lock or the key? Chemical analysis of how certain parasites function within their hosts, how they change them, evade their immune system and control them may help us understand how the host works. Parasites keep populations genetically diverse and healthy.

A population that has been isolated from disease for millenia may loose the genes associated with specific resistances, this makes them an unviable population as they are vulnerable to any infection. Parasites and host hold a very intimate and dynamic relationship; the parasite evolves to keep its place inside the host and the host evolves to keep the parasite away, keeping them genetically 'active'

Parasites produce many chemicals important to antibiotic and antinflamattory drugs

Parasites are concerned with two things 1. keeping a monopoly inside your body and 2. not dying! To do this, many will produce chemicals that kill other competing entities but keep themselves alive and others will use antiinflamttory chemicals to calm the immune system down. We are able to harvest/study these chemicals to use them for our benefits

Okay, I get it, they are important to the ecosystem, but why should we protect them?

Parasites are specific to their hosts, protecting them from other parasites.... and US!!!!!

A parasite that evolves to be in one host will occupy that space physically, protecting the host from other generalist parasites. The host, who is used to this parasite, will probably have an history of co-evolution with it and be able to survive most infections. Now, if this parasite goes extinct, there will be an void in their ecological niche... a void that can be filled by other parasites... other parasites that the host is not used to.

But wouldn't that incentivate genetic diversity?

Well, yes! But it would still be an disaster! You are introducing brand new parasites to a species that have never dealt with them before PLUS, parasites do not live in a vaccuum; they compete against other parasites, the best parasites are the ones that reproduce the most, evolve the fastest and spread quickly, you know what kind of parasites are these? viruses, elliminating a specific parasite from a host open the possibility for these other parasites to evolve to be able to fill that niche and consequently, if in close contact, they may get to us. The population of these parasites now grow, their competition dies and now you have a massive growth that you cannot stop.

And, most importantly (to ME!!!!!!!!) Learning conservation and ecology means ditching the whole 'human purpose' aspect, species do not need to serve us to be even allowed to be alive. I wanted to ditch the whole 'well, parasites can help us with infections' part because it doesn't matters, they should be saved for the simple fact that they are living beings that have been here for millions of years and deserve to live as much as any other 'cute species'. I don't care if it's leeches, bacteria, maggots or mosquitoes, they all deserve respect.

The future of parasite conservation is a bit brighter than it was when I started researching this topic, a few conservation institutes of parasites seem to have been dismantled but I've noticed more and more papers being published calling for a larger parasite effort...! And I hope to see some change soon, if it helps you feel better, when I started writing, O. sinensis was considered endangered and today, they are vulnerable :)

[luci4theminorannoyance]

🧟Can I ask for a part 2 of the reader turned into a zombie and their partner protects the reader from getting shot? 🧟‍♀️

Bad ass goddess valeria, Hot Alejandro, Sweetheart Rudy, Cutie Gaz, and cute octopus Konig

I'm sorry if there are too many characters. It's just that I love your writing. I am seriously addicted to it. You're the best. 🫂

a/n: this- this draft has been sitting in my inbox for a whole 7 months I think… I’m so sorry. I totally forgot about me ever making that post because it’s old! Also to anons asking for part 2s, please try to link that writing of mine so I can refresh my memory without hunting through my posts :((

Gaz:

-gaz had been haunted with nightmares since the day you got infected, barely eating, barely sleeping, barely thinking. Wanting to go home to your comfort but knowing there was no home and no ‘you’ to get comfort from

-you were kept in base until the task force found a cure, he knew that much, but he didn’t want to see you and didn’t want to see how he had failed you

-one night, in one of the colder months, he base was raided, all the doors open and enemies holding everyone hostage, the enemies discussing what to do with the hostages and the locked up zombies, including you, choosing to just end everyone

-And before gaz could think he had gotten out of his ropes and was standing in front of you shakily, not even sure you knew who he was or that you weren’t going to bite him

-he was shocked when he felt your cold icy hands hold him close from behind, watching as luckily back up showed up before he was shot by the enemies to begin with

-guilt starts to follow him after the event, because he never visited… you must have thought he was dead, or had left you! He visits you daily now until he finds the cure, which he’s determined to do

konig:

-konig was a colonel, high ranking and good at his job, so when the first waves of infection hit he was shoved into a bunker with you and he thought you and him were gonna be fine in the cozy setting his job had landed him

-oh how he was wrong.. one door breach, one minute of things going on that he couldnt control, and then you were bit. His whole future turning to dust in his eyes

-how could he ever go on without you? You were the one thing he was planning on staying for in the now messed up world

-since the bunker has been heavily destroyed by the ravage, he packed what he could and took you everywhere. He had some common idea that you knew who he was, that he proved with the fact you didn’t attempt to bite him nor hurt him, but it still made him feel so helpless to see you slowly rot ever so slightly

-he had stumbled across a camp with you one day, feeling something off about the place a second before he heard the all too familiar click of a sniper rifle being taken off of safety, and he quickly got in front of you, knowing you wouldn’t dare hurt him

-had some very choice words with the survivor after the fact, but at least he got some info on the newest solution attempts for the virus, which was a shot that would halt the rot and spread of contagious diseases in those turned to the undead. Which is better than nothing, right? He has hope that one day you’ll be safe in his arms, making his heart melt with your soft words again

Rudy:

-the cartel had grown and grown in the ruins of the virus like a weed, and soon started testing cures- who knew that the cartel would be a useful resource for once.

-that however did not stop from Alejandro and the vaqueros working in their little time trying to push Valeria out of the small still semi functional town

-most in las Almas hadn’t been affected due to the hills and lack of large population, but it didn’t stop some from getting infected… you being one of them

-Rudy was heart shattered when Alejandro had forced him to leave you in one of their safe houses, but he knew it was for the best

-after a particularly bad incident, the cartel had found most of their safe houses and bases and Alejandro knew they needed to move fast and grab only what the team needed to continue operating. What they didn’t need? A zombie. No matter how close to Rudy you may be

-Rudy, as soon as he learned of Alejandro’s plan, got down on his knees and begged and sobbed for Alejandro to change his mind, finally getting Alejandro’s soft heart to give up on trying enough that Rudy took you along with them to the newest base, softly leaning into you the whole time, enjoying your touch even if it was cold and uncomfortable

I’m so sleepy but uh- I’m sorry for not doing Alejandro and Valeria! I might try to do an actual follow up on this 😭

[fugamalefica]

Voldemort's humiliation of Bellatrix in The Dark Lord Ascending makes me very sad, but some people (especially Bellamort deniers) blow it out of proportion. It was very mild compared to how he treated everyone else. Even in this scene, the Malfoys were treated far worse. This is the worst thing we ever see him doing to Bellatrix and I would take this over his murder of Snape and his treatment of the Malfoys any day.

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

“My Lord,” said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, “it is an honour to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”

The humiliation was mostly the Malfoys'. Voldemort was much nicer to Bellatrix and he only targeted her after she spoke out of turn to defend the Malfoys. She had no reason to do so as he wasn't targeting her, but by defending them she ended up being subject to the humiliation herself, probably because Voldemort disapproved of it. I doubt he would have targeted her if she hadn't said anything.

“No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”

Her face flooded with colour; her eyes welled with tears of delight.

“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”

Even though she also spoke for the Malfoys, he singled her out and made it clear that it meant a great deal only from her and not from them.

"No higher pleasure … even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?”

She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused. “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”

“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.”

Bringing up Andromeda and her daughter also hints that he disapproved of her defense, as they were technically still her family even though she had distanced herself from them. Perhaps he wanted to remind her of her loyalties.

“Enough,” said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. “Enough.”

And the laughter died at once.

“Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring. “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.”

"Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. “At the first chance!”

“You shall have it,” said Voldemort. “And in your family, so in the world … we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain.…”

His preference for Bellatrix was reinforced when he made it up to her but not to the Malfoys. He took back the humiliation, but only from her. The Malfoys were still disgraced and humiliated. After she expressed her eagerness to 'prune her family tree', he reassured her further, even referring to them as 'we', implying she had his favour.

The way I see it, he was not just likening the Tonkses to canker but also the Malfoys. Even though they were Pureblood, they were disgraced and although he didn't want her to kill them, he wanted her to stop defending them.

Sadly, she didn't need to defend them at all. She could have left Narcissa and her family to their fate, just like Narcissa did in the Battle of Hogwarts, except she left Bella to a far worse fate than mere humiliation.