#sap drug screening

[amhnationwide]

What does it cost for a urine drug screen for S.A.P. program (substance abuse professional)

New Post has been published on https://amhnationwide.com/drug-testing/what-does-it-cost-for-a-urine-drug-screen-for-s-a-p-program-substance-abuse-professional/

What does it cost for a urine drug screen for S.A.P. program (substance abuse professional)

categories: #DrugTesting tags: #DrugTestForSap, #SapDrugScreening, #SubAbuseProfessionalsDrugTest

[softshuji]

1:25AM | SANZU HARUCHIYO

Title: Little Life

summary: Sanzu wonders if he can fit in your little life. Likes and reblogs appreciated!

cw: afab!reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol and guns, use of petnames (pretty girl, princess,) confessions, mentions of violence and insecurities, Sanzu is beyond whipped.

Sanzu paces, waiting for your call. To and fro, one corner of the room to the other, biting anxiously on his nails, his feet padding across the carpet of the office so much and so often that Rindou is almost worried he’s going to wear down the rug. It’s late and he’s torn between picking up the phone and calling you, or leaving you to enjoy the time you have with your friends.

Precious time that he knows you fight to have amidst the exams, the work, the various stresses of your daily life. He’s seen the tired lines under your eyes that you’ve tried hard to hide with ample amounts of makeup and so he knows you deserve this, deserve to loosen up and relax. Still… It is late.  He’s lost in thought, chewing on his lower lip and staring forlornly at the glass of whisky Rindou has haphazardly left on the table when his phone rings, jolting him out of his reverie.

He fumbles with it, and presses it to his ear, his heart lifting when he sees your name illuminated on the screen. 

‘Haruuuuuuuuuuuu…’ you say into the phone, and he can tell just from the lilt of your voice and the way you drag his name out that you’re smiling. 

He fights to keep the smile off his own face, turning away from Rindou seated on the sofa in the corner. He’s already started looking for his jacket, patting his pockets for his car keys. ‘Ready to go Princess?’ 

‘Mhm,’ you hum, your breath already fogging in the crisp night air. The thrum of the music is quieter now, more of a distant thump than blaring noise but Sanzu can still hear the beat through the phone, hear the hubbub of conversation around you.

‘I’m on my way alright? Just sit tight for me Pretty Girl.’ 

He made a special effort today, kept away from the drugs and the alcohol and even though he practically itched for a pill all day especially when the headache was so painful, throbbing pain in his temples, burning pressure behind his eyelids, he stayed away(mostly). He told himself he had things to do, work to finish and all but threw himself into it, if only to keep himself occupied, keep his hands from shaking with the withdrawal. Even now, the tightness under his skin is unbearable. He flexes his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives, clenching his fists in the hopes that it’ll relieve some of the stiffness. 

‘Since when were you such a sap?’ Rindou said as he left and Sanzu had only thrown up his middle finger in response. 

He sees you waiting outside the bar, puffing your cheeks and watching your breath mist and he almost giggles when he sees you blow a particularly long breath as if you’re a dragon blowing fire.

He remembers a time when it felt wrong, when it felt uncomfortable  and disorientating to be so truly seen by someone. He had always expected the reaction, always expected to be used in some way and thus armed himself with the vitriol he knew would be as good a weapon as a gun. It had taken so long to earn his good graces and there had been nights when you asked yourself if you could stick it out long enough for him to open up to you, if you had it in you to be there when it was so hard and he had been through so much. Were you even equipped to be the person he needed? Was he equipped to be yours?

He pulls up, exiting the car and sidling to the passenger side to let you in. ‘Did you have a good time?

‘I did!’ You clap excitedly as you all but stumble into the car and Sanzu catches a faint whiff of the perfume still clinging to your cold skin. You’re tired, your limbs are sluggish, and when you lean back in the seat, sinking further into your thin coat that does nothing to fight the early spring cold, Sanzu takes off his jacket and puts it over your legs. 

Take that Haitani, he thinks and smirks to himself. 

He starts the car and cranks the heating up, watching your eyes flutter and grow heavy. The drowsiness is pressing on you and if it weren’t for the sound of the engine rolling beneath you, or the momentum as you cruise through the city, you think you’d be asleep already.

He stops just outside your apartment, rushing around to your side to lift you out of the passenger seat. He scoops you up, hugging you close to him and his pink hair tickles your nose when you brush your cheek against his shoulder. You look up at him through your daze, and even though everything is a little blurry, the streetlights a little too sharp, the world moving a little too fast, it feels safe. He feels safe. His mouth is set in a firm line, his brow pinched just a slight. He’s determined to be good, at least for one night. Determined to be good for you, to prove to the voices in his head that he can be, that he’s deserving. 

So no fuck ups tonight Sanzu Haruchiyo, he tells himself.

He nudges the door closed with his hip and hoists you in his arms, so that your face is buried in the crook of his neck, your hot breath kissing his ear. He shudders. The feeling of your arms around him, clutching onto the back of his shirt as you fight to keep your eyes open has his heart hammering so painfully in his chest that it makes his brain fuzzy. He does things extra carefully as he fumbles with the keys to your apartment. He avoids the cracks in the cement, he refuses to take a deep breath just in case the sensation of his chest rising wakes you from your partial slumber. It’s excessive. Just like it was excessive when he brushed his teeth twice before leaving, when he paced when watching the clock, when he had his car deep cleaned so you wouldn’t see the discarded pill bottles, the cigarette butts overflowing in the ashtray, when he asked Koko if he could smell nicotine or smoke from him.

Love… is another type of drug isn’t it?

He kicks off his shoes at your door and pushes it closed with one foot, his jacket still draped on your legs over the skirt that did nothing to protect you from the harsh early spring cold.

You mumble under your breath and Sanzu stops, his hand halfway to the dimmer on the wall.

‘What was that Princess? Do you need something?’ He cranes his neck, ear close to your lips. 

‘I love you Haru,’ you say and it’s so quiet that he almost doesn’t catch it at first, almost loses it under the dangerously loud thrum of his heart and the sound of an engine rolling past outside. There is no explosion in his chest, no fireworks. Only the dance of butterflies beating their wings in his blood, the tightening of his throat, the jolt of electricity running along his skin. His heartbeat must be so loud he thinks and you must be able to hear it through his chest. He takes a shuddering breath, watching the wisps of your hair that fall from behind your ear as you slump against him.

‘Sure ya do, you’re only sayin’ that because I picked you up hm?’ He chuckles, and hopes it doesn’t betray the nerves coiling tight in his belly.

You sigh softly but he can tell from the way your lips feel on his neck that you’re smiling against his skin.

His shoulders brush the wall when he slides into your room and carefully places you on the bed, removing your heels and fishing out the painkillers you’re bound to need in the morning. Through your closed curtains, Sanzu can see the bright orange glare of a streetlight as it filters through the gap at the top. He feels…strangely safe and at peace here. In your room, with the curtain closed to the darkness outside, and you nodding off to sleep in your own bed. 

Could he get used to this? Could he one day fit in here in your little space? In the space between that radiated your love, your kindness, the soft comfort of you? Sanzu knew he was all sharp edges and corners, cold hands and nicotine and danger, that being around him meant never living at peace. Had he intruded on your space? Would he ruin it just by existing there?

He pulls the duvet up, tucks it just under your neck, tucking the hair behind your ear with hands that are so gentle and soft that you’d never imagine he could kill people with them. 

‘Sleep well Princess,’ he whispers and kisses your temple, brushing his lips against your skin for the barest of seconds. His lips are soft and even in your partial slumber, you can smell the mint on him, the menthol that you recognize from nicotine substitutes, and your chest lurches. He tried, you think. He did that for you, and your chest fizzles and soars. 

He sees you smile, believing it to be just the result of a good night and the prospect of even better sleep.

He stands, flicks off the lamp on your bedside table and moves to leave, halting at the door with one hand on the doorknob, the light from your hallway casting a shadow on the carpet of your bedroom.

‘I love you too Princess,’ he whispers and of course you don’t hear him, he thinks. He just wanted to say it, just wanted an opportunity to voice what he’s been too afraid to for the last year of his life to the person who has become the centre of his world. He closes the door with a soft click, side stepping the floorboards he knows that creak. 

Little does he know, you heard him. And you knew. 

a/n: my first time writing for Haru! How'd I do? I'll be honest this has been in my docs for like months I should have posted it earlier. I am sorry I am so inconsistent with posting, I always usually finish pieces quickly I'm just slacking with posting lol. And thank you for reading (I love Haru)

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @islascafe @swqllen @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @crown5 @clovcly @oikawascutie @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @anxious-cherry-pie @tetsutits @burnishedcrown

[tinkerbelle05]

29. “I got you your favorite.” but with superbat

Taglist & Masterlist

“Hey B!” Clark calls out. He was going through this oversized house looking for his husband. He checked the office, the Cave, and even the bedroom. But no Bruce. He was about to give up but then he saw a strange looking lump on the couch in the living room.

He approached it slowly but made his footsteps known. One time, when he first moved in, he walked towards a lump and spooked an assassin who slept with knives. He still was thin scars on his hands. Yes, said assassin was Damian who somehow gotten Kryptonite knives.

Clark slowly pulled the cover back to see Bruce, fast asleep on the couch and curled up into a ball. He looked too adorable for Clark to not snap a picture and make it as screen saver.

Of course the ruffling woke Bruce no matter how gentle Clark was being. Immediately he was alert and trying to get up.

“Clark, is there something wrong? Are the kid okay? Are they-”

“Bruce, Bruce, calm down. Everything’s fine sweets.”

That calms Bruce down enough so he isn't trying to get up. He spots the bags in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this little thing,” he dangles the bag in front of Bruce but pulls back whenever the man makes a grab for it. “You've been working hard on some drug bust so I got you your favorite. But your sleepy so I'll just pop this in the freezer.” He turns away with a smirk on his face.

“No, wait, Clarke,” Bruce grabs and turns him around. “I am never too tired for blueberry ice cream. That is blueberry ice cream, right?”

Clark let's out a gasp, “We’ve been together for how long and you have the nerve, the gall to ask me that?”

Bruce doesn't answer and makes a grab for the bag. “It is blueberry ice cream. And two spoons?” He looks up at Clark.

“Was hopin we could share it together.”

Bruce laughs and tugs on Clark’s hand to follow him to the couch. “Your such a sap sometimes.”

“Yea but you love this sap,”

“Yea, I do,”

BONUS

“Clark what is this photo? Where did you get this?” Bruce shoved Clark’s phone in his face.

“Oh, you don’t like the new screensaver? I think it’s cute.”

“Clark,” Bruce gritted his teeth together, “it is not about liking. It is about how you got it.”

“Well a magician never reveals his secrets Bruce.” Clark deflects the question and continues looking for his glasses.

“You are not a magician though,” Bruce argues. “Now where?”

Clark found his glasses, “I’m late for work, bye and love you.” Clark grabs his phone, plants a kiss on Bruce’s cheek and dashes out the room.

“We are continuing this when you get back. I love you too,” Bruce says in a quiet voice, knowing Clark will hear him.

Taglist is under the cut so you don’t have to click “keep reading”

Taglist: @bruciemilf, @iwantadamusername, @akikkobara, @insanebutteredtoast, @profoundpacmilitaire, @just-a-gal-with-a-boomerang, @mexican-owlgal, @skylions-den, @classybananacoloregg, @queerly-bel0ved, @mysteriesgalplusdamianthings, @adrunkskeletonsduck, @seasonsyeetingsstuff, @truck-kunwillbeourlordandsavior, @iamyouraveragestudent, @home-of-sexual-and-dumb-of-ass, @odd-spooky-rainbows, @thenamessexual-homosexual, @wiboo07, @foulsandwichmusic, @jasontoddispoly, @dimension-hopper, @bittersweetstargazer, @suhnisideup, @thedragonsmaug, @ilike-color, @patron-saintof-sluts, @coffeeandotp, @melonfavor, @impossiblepeacehideout, @evalynanne, @dolliesanddahlias, @kailaaxanle

[deandoesthingstome]

Walk with Me - Ch 1

Pairing: FBI Agent!Syverson x OFC, Drug Czar!August Walker x OFC

Chapter Summary: The stakeout, some revelations, a takedown of sorts. We're just meeting everyone here, folks.

Chapter Warnings: Drug use, mention of drug trafficking, mention of blow jobs, light dom/sub behavior, past relationship pining, cheating (-ish?)

Word Count: 3.1K

Masterlist: For full series Summary and Warnings

Spotify Playlist: Usually a song per POV section

Syverson

"He's on the move."

Agent Syverson watched all nine monitors with an intensity felt throughout the surveillance trailer. He had two agents inside the posh Miami nightclub wearing cameras and his tech had hacked into the security feed for views of the bar, near the DJ, and over the entrance to VIP. Through an earpiece, he advised Agent Ramos to shift right while he motioned for Agent Baylen to swap camera views on the top three monitors. Something had caught Syverson's attention and he wanted confirmation before deciding the next moves for his team.

When Ramos had panned far enough onto the dance floor, Syverson called for her to stop and had Baylen zoom in on the screen. Coupled with the cameras from the DJ booth, Syverson had what he needed.

He watched her body move with what seemed like reckless abandon, but if this was who he thought it was, those moves were anything but careless.  There was a point and purpose to every swing and wave, every roll of her hips, every toss of her head.

"Sugar?" Syverson wasn't sure how the word slipped out because he was positive he only whispered it to himself in his head. But suddenly, eyes were on him and he felt his ire growing.  He did not need this attention or the distraction.

"What was that, sir?" Agent Moore asked.

Did he ignore it? Wave it off? Pretend it never happened? If only one other person had heard it, maybe he could get away with it. But as it stood, all three agents in the trailer were looking at him expectantly.

"Could I get some damn sugar for my damn coffee?" he barked, a little harsher than even he meant it to come out.

"I thought you took your coffee black, sir," Moore spoke.

"Well not tonight, I guess." His stare shut them the rest of the way up and everyone put their focus back on the task at hand, which was all he wanted in the first place.

Now he could watch her in peace.

Her moves told him she was hunting and the poor sap desperate enough to stand next to her was going down. He knew exactly how it would feel, too, because he remembered those nights with her like it was yesterday.

Even so young he had fallen fast and hard. Maybe he was mistaken, but she acted like she couldn’t be without him, too. So he spent any free time he could find between farm chores, football practice, and family responsibilities to hold her close and kiss her as deep as he knew how at the time.

She seduced him right away, but prom was something special and he thought for sure she was the one forever. He never got the chance to tell her how he felt, however, because it had taken him the rest of senior year to figure it out and by then, she was gone, moved away with her family to take care of an ailing relative far enough away that long distance felt like never again.

He called, she wrote, they managed one clandestine meet up on borrowed funds, and then it was his turn to disappear when he enlisted, not knowing what else he wanted to do with his life when sports didn't pan out and farm life lost its appeal.

But he never stopped thinking about her and the way she moved. On the dance floor and later that night in the cool sheets of the bed at the hotel room he sprang for. And now here she was, all these years later, like a cold splash of water to his face.

"Sir?" he heard like a faraway dream in his ear. "Do you want us to take him?"

Suddenly, she wasn't alone. Sure the dance floor was crowded, but until that moment she hadn't been dancing with anyone in particular. When his real mark for the night stepped into view, Agent Syverson almost broke the back of the chair he was leaning on.

August Walker, one of Miami's most notorious drug kingpins, was standing in front of his high school sweetheart and watching her with as much intensity as Syverson was. Only, August Walker could reach out and touch her if he wanted to.

Syverson watched as she danced around Walker, who simply stood stock still on the floor, not giving one single fuck if he was interrupting anyone's flow. And when Walker grasped her arm the next time she moved in front of him, Syverson almost broke.

"Anyone know who this is?"

"It's in the file, sir. This is Francesca Beaumont. We think she's his newest mule."

His throat went dry as Agent Moore finished her statement and he couldn't scramble for the file folder on the table in front of him fast enough. Sure enough, there in the report were the name and the details in black and white. Her photo was stuck behind those of a few other known mules and he cursed himself for missing it. That's not the way he liked to start off when taking the lead on a long running case.

And no wonder the name didn't stick out for him. In school, she went by Frankie. And her last name was Malloy. Had she married somewhere over the years, he wondered to himself.

Fuck.

"Stand down. I know we want this guy, but have any of you actually seen him do anything illegal tonight? Some rule out there about not dancing on a dance floor?"

He watched as cameras panned to follow August Walker who was now leading his Frankie away from the flashing lights of the DJ booth and up the stairs to his secured VIP lounge.

"Someone get me everything we have on her."

August

Francesca wasn’t supposed to be in the club tonight, August knew that for sure. He’d been very clear with her.

In the weeks since he’d activated her, she’d usually taken his direction so well. If she stepped out of line unknowingly, she was always willing to take a note and do whatever he asked of her to change her behavior. She was so pliant. Just like he liked them.

Her first test trip was to Amsterdam. She didn’t question it when he told her had to fly out early, but he’d meet her there. The morning of her flight, he had called to let her know his assistant was dropping off an extra suitcase he needed her to bring. And when she arrived, she didn’t even bat an eye when she discovered he had already left.

At least he assumed she didn’t mind because he didn’t get a scathing voicemail or fuck-off text message and she had apparently followed the directions on the letter left in her suite to a tee. The bag was delivered without a hitch exactly where he’d asked her to drop it and as far as he knew, she’d enjoyed the rest of her weekend, albeit alone. She’d just been so excited to experience a new city, she told him when she got back and he visited her apartment in the very late evening hours, slinking in by the alley entrance and slipping his key in the lock.

That had actually been his first request of her. A key to her apartment, so he could come and go as he pleased. After the few dates he’d taken her on, treating her to lavish meals and luxury car rides, she hadn’t resisted at all. What would he possibly care to take from her place, not the lowliest of studio apartments, but certainly nothing he would normally let himself be caught dead in. 

She was something else, though. She had a presence that did not fit her surroundings. She didn’t have the kind of money he did, hell she didn’t even have the kind of money some of his lower employees did, hence her meager living situation. But she glowed with the grace of a celebrity. Someone who deserved so much more than the hand he thought she’d been dealt. If she kept up the good work, he’d reward her. Bring her along in a more official capacity. Give her a larger stipend, move her into a place he wouldn’t mind being seen in. Maybe even replace one of his current regulars with her. 

Yeah, he really wanted to replace one of his current regulars with her. If he let himself think too long about it, maybe all of them.

As it stood now, she was on probation with him, whether she knew it or not. The Tokyo trip had also been a success, but she almost blew it for him when she started asking Hideo too many questions over cocktails. Later in the hotel room, he made sure to remind her who was in charge and when she was allowed to speak. She had liked that, too, he could tell.

So her showing up like this just before their trip to Spain in a few days was a surprise. When he caught sight of her, he had Mateo drive Candace home. Candace wouldn’t have known Francesca from a hole in the wall, but since he was going to put his newest carrier in her place once again, he couldn’t have Candace watching.

Once he was sure they were gone, he rose from the plush velvet couch of the roped off VIP lounge area, taking note that the new guy, Will, had stepped into Mateo’s spot without hesitation. It pleased August to know that his employees knew exactly what he wanted and needed, and when.

Usually. 

August headed down the steps leading to the dance floor. The music was loud, bordering on obnoxious for him but this is what the club scene called for and here is where he did most of his original business which had led fortuitously to his new business. So he ignored the cacophony and stalked across the floor, not so much pushing the revelers out of his way as willing them to step aside. 

When he reached Francesca, he stood still in front of her and let her keep moving in that way that left him no choice but to stiffen. She smirked like she’d won some unspoken competition and twirled again, bouncing to the beat and stepping around him. He didn’t look back, just waited for her to return, because he knew she wasn’t dancing away from him. Not after breaking rank and showing up uninvited like this.

When she finally did appear in front of him again, he grabbed her arm and pulled her quickly into his chest so he could speak directly into her ear. There was no way he was going to shout over the music at her.

“What exactly are you doing here, pet? Get a little lonely?” He pulled back to stare down into her face, pleased to find a small hint of terror. If he couldn’t will his women into submission, what good were they?

He bent again, “Do you want to walk with me somewhere private where you can tell me what this is all about?”

She nodded and he turned to leave the throng, still gripping her arm tightly.

Francesca

I wanted to make sure he hadn't forgotten about me. I knew it was risky, showing up when I'd been specifically warned to stay away until our upcoming trip. But on top of my worry about that trip, I missed him. As much as I hated to admit it.

He awoke such a fire in me. Feelings that had been missing for so long. Lovers had come and gone. But no one ever measured up to my first young lustful love. Not until August.

He made me crazy. Made me second guess everything I knew about myself.

The first night we were together, I was on my hands and knees in front of him faster than I ever thought possible. Most men were careful with me. Handled me with kid gloves, like I would break if the wind blew wrong.

But not August. He'd approached me at this very club, in much the same way he did tonight. Walked straight up to me and waited for an opportunity to speak to me when he was ready, whether I was or not.

I probably would have come right there on the dance floor if he had touched me that night, but he didn't. Not immediately. He just watched me. I could feel his lustful gaze as I circled him on the floor, and I made sure to turn back to him over and over again. Every time I turned away, I'd remember the look I saw in his eyes, and I'd spin right back to him.

He knew, too. Knew the way the hunger in his eyes was affecting me, no matter how hard I tried to resist. I didn't want him thinking he had the kind of control over me I imagined giving him, even from that very first night.

When I finally let myself dance for him and him alone, I saw the self-assured smirk of a man who knew who his conquest was for the night and I closed my eyes like that would keep him from knowing every thought that crept in.

I wanted him, and he was going to have me.

He didn't even touch me as he led me off the dance floor that first night. I followed him gladly, excitement buzzing through me, electrifying my core. He only turned back once to make sure I was following him to his personal lounge on the upper level of the club.

I didn't care if every person in that club knew I was about to get fucked by August Walker. 

I was proud of it. There were plenty of girls vying for his attention that night, and I needed to make sure I was who he wanted. But no matter how much I wanted him to take me then and there, he kept me on a hook.

Oh, I tasted him that night for sure. Felt his lips against mine and his tongue as it slipped inside my mouth after he showed me the tip. He was gentleman enough to get permission before he put the ecstasy tab in, so I can't even claim coercion of any sort. I can't claim disappointment either, though I thought he'd let me feel his cock in my pussy that night.

Instead, he kissed me until my head spun, and then he watched me drop to my knees before him.  I could see from the bulge in his pants, he was hard, and because I still had yet to figure out the game he was playing that night, I thought pulling his zipper down and releasing his engorged cock was just a preamble to the main event.

But for that night, August only wanted to fuck my mouth and I let him.

The filthy words he called down to me while I slathered my saliva all over his dick only made me wetter, and my mouth watered for him, too. He knew the effect he was having on me, coupled with the drug that coursed through my veins, and I loved every second of it. How could I not?

I worshiped his cock for what felt like hours. Licking up and down his shaft, circling my mouth around his head, stroking his base with my hand and jerking him off into my mouth.

Every time he wove his fingers into my hair, I willed him to pull, begged him through the tears in my eyes to hold me fast and move my head however he wanted to. I almost cried when he let go, but as soon as he was done spooning the coke into each of his nostrils from the tiny vial on the chain around his neck, he put both of his hands right back on my head and pumped his cock deep down my throat, coming with a roar that told me I'd satisfied something he'd been missing for a while. I smiled internally with that knowledge.

The next few weeks had been a whirlwind of seduction, and I was having a hard time differentiating just who was doing the seducing. When he invited me to Amsterdam, I was so excited. I imagined what fucking him in a foreign country would feel like.

But it was like he knew just how to keep me hanging on, giving me just enough of a taste of him before the trip to keep me wanting more. He completely avoided me for the entire trip. Sent word the day before our scheduled departure that he had to leave early and then put me in charge of that extra suitcase. When I arrived, our hotel suite was empty, with not one piece of his belongings left behind for me to hold on to. I never even saw him there. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.

I kept my wits about me, though. Kept my disappointment to myself. I wasn't about to let him know how much I had ached for him for those days I was alone. And I'd been away from him often enough here in the States. But there was something about missing the opportunity to have his cock deep inside me while watching the light of a sunset in a different sky that had me questioning just how deep I was with this man.

I made sure to keep him close in Tokyo. And there was no way I was giving up an opportunity to fuck August in Japan. I may have offended his business partner, but I really didn't care. I wanted that dinner meeting over and done so I could pour myself over him and take his mind off the women who were serving us.

I knew Hideo had chosen those girls for particular reasons, and I wasn't about to sit idly by and let them whisper and giggle and tease and taunt his attention away from me. They weren't the kind of woman August truly desired anyway; they were mousy and timid, even with their advances.

I knew he was angry with the way I comported myself in front of his associates, but it didn't stop him from letting us both work out our frustrations on one another for the rest of the trip.

So when he told me to stay away for a few days this time, I knew something was up and I was right. I knew her name was Candace, but I still didn't know much about her other than I was worried he was about to hand my seat to Spain over to her, and I couldn't let that happen.

Taglists

And so here I was, being led by a firm grip on a walk to his private office. Exactly where I wanted to be.

Chapter 2

Everything Henry: @sillyrabbit81 @kittenofdoomage @mayloma @kebabgirl67 @fvckinghenrycavill @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @feelmyroarrrr  @sweetdreamsofgelato  @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @dedicated-to-a-brit-and-a-scot @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @lizzystuffsthings

Walk with Me only (I added you if you reblogged or asked and Tumblr would let me): @kingliam2019 @valacircareads @sofiebstar @cardierreh15 @cavilllover @firstcashheroathlete @ylva-syverson

Missing Tags: If you asked and you aren't here, believe me when I say I tried. I still don't know how to fix it when Dumblr won't let me tag someone. You can always turn on notifications or follow #walk with me.

[no-thoughts-only-soup]

To Secure / Risk It All

Chapter 8

Aka Curt has another panic attack.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

———————————————

It was impossible. It had to be some sort of cruel prank. Because there was no way Chilly Panda was alive.

He wanted to believe she was. That despite all that happened, all evidence saying otherwise, that she had somehow escaped their clutches. Maybe she had somehow called upon her raptors. Maybe she had lived through it, and they hadn’t noticed. Maybe-

“Yeeeaaaaaaas!”

A chorus of cheers erupted throughout the room.

“We’re six now ya’ll!” Den cheered loudly, patting the monitor.

“There is SIX of us and 5 dozen of THEM.” Christian laughed.

Ivan rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t keep a straight face. “Damn, you couldn’t even stay dead?”

- Bitch. -

- 凸(⊙▂⊙✖ ) -

“They couldn’t even kill off Chilly.” Kristine pointed out with a giggle.

“Yeah why the hell did we go through all of that if you’re not even dead?” Christian joked, leaning in closer and tapping on the screen.

Ivan floated next up to him. “Bruh does that mean I died for fucking nothing?”

“Don’t forget Curt having an actual panic attack.” Den pointed over her shoulder at Curt.

At any other time, he would have joined in. Joined in with the laughter. Joined in with the jokes. But it felt like all energy had been sapped away from him, leaving him with just enough to keep standing.

She’s alright. They were still laughing and joking. She isn’t dead. They felt so far away. You didn’t fail her. Everything still felt so heavy.

Den shoved Christian aside. For whatever reason, the action snapped him out of his thoughts. Gathering whatever he still had left, he stepped closer. Kristine took a step aside to let him get closer, and he caught a glimpse of her face.

A smile on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Was it a pang of guilt? Of remorse for ever helping the Foundation? Was it longing? For being more than a replacement for a lost friend? Was it a feeling of being an outsider? For not being able to understand some of the inside jokes? Or was it a mix of many things?

Curt didn’t know and he chided himself for trying to pry. Those weren’t his feelings to figure out.

“But where are you Chilly? From where are you typing this?”

“Yeah, how the hell do we get out?” Ivan asked.

That was a bit of silence. And finally typing.

- actually… -

Curt felt immense dread in his stomach.

- I’m really dead -

The air around them felt cold. Oppressive.

“Wh-“ Ivan began, but Chilly was already typing again.

- they ran a bunch of tests on me. dunno why and I don’t remember what exactly killed me, but I died. been haunting the facility since -

Curt swallow some spit into his dry throat. “Y-you… they tested you because you’re an SCP like us. To see if you could survive i-if you’re not in a scenario…”

- well clearly not :P -

He couldn’t laugh. He knew she was trying to lighten up the atmosphere, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

He wasn’t alone in that. The closest was a slight, clearly forced smile on some of them.

“So,” Ivan interrupted the silence “are you a ghost like me now?”

- nah it’s different -

- it’s like -

Stop. Backspace.

- well -

Backspace.

- I’m kinda like a more cliché ghost? I can’t talk to u guys outside of this computer, I’m pretty much invisible, I dunno -

Heavy. It felt heavy. The air felt heavy.

A hand grabbed his wrist, grabbing Curt’s attention. He glanced over. Den still had her eyes on the screen, but the hand she had wrapped around his wrist said all that needed to be said. He choose not to address it, letting her keep him grounded.

It allowed him to focus. “Wait, maybe we can fix this. If you join us, maybe you’ll go back to life after we close the scenario.”

“Could work.” Ivan noted. “But we need her body too, right?”

“Chilly, you know what happened to your body?” Den asked her.

Pause.

- not really. I was drugged the fuck up for the whole thing -

No. He refused.

“Kristine,” he turned to her, “do you have any idea where it could be?”

She shifted around a bit, eyes looking in his direction but not really meeting his eyes. “No, I wasn’t allowed near the research stations…”

- curt, arent YOU the b-class? shouldn’t YOU know? -

“Do you think I would ask if I knew!?” He snapped at her, then leaned forward to type at another computer. “Come on, there’s gotta be a way to figure it out…”

The screens flicked from camera to camera, each adding to the growing pit of dread in Curt’s stomach. Every camera he checked, there were armed guards. There had to be something. Anything. They wouldn’t—

“Curt,” Den’s voice called out to him “they probably got rid of her body. I don’t wanna be a downer but—“

“They wouldn’t.” He cut her off. “Her body would be too valuable for that. T-They’d research it…”

“But that’s against the safety rules!” Kristine argued.

“Well clearly Snee doesn’t care about any damn rules!”

Come on, come on! It couldn’t be gone, it should still be there somewhere! He could still fix this, he could-

Christian grabbed his arm. “Dude, stop for a sec.”

Curt pulled his arm back.

“Oi, don’t fucking ignore me.” Christian said, grabbing Curt’s shoulder and forcefully turning him away from the computer. “Listen to me. I know you want to help Chilly, we all do! But we can’t help anyone if we get recaptured. We have to get the hell out!”

“AND LEAVE HER BEHIND!?” Curt roared at him.

Christian flinched from the sudden loud yell, and Curt took the chance to pull his arm away from his grasp. He glared at all of them.

“If we don’t get her out now we may never get that chance again! What the hell is wrong with you guys, am I the only one who fucking cares about her!?”

“Do you?” Christian snapped at him. “Or are you just trying to fix your ‘mistakes’ so you can stop feeling guilty?”

The silence was deafening. A knife wouldn’t be enough to cut through the tension. Everyone’s eyes were on Curt.

He wanted to reply. Make some snapping remark that of course he was doing this for Chilly. That of course he wasn’t doing this for some stupid sense of guilt. For making up to the fact it was his—

But the nasty part within him muted him before he could speak.

He has a point, doesn’t he?

So instead, he turned back to the computer. “…Both. And does it matter, the end result is still the sa—YEOUCH!”

An electric shock went through his hand, not strong enough to numb his arm, but still enough to sting. He shook out his hand. And then he saw Chilly typing.

- curt, leave it. it’s ok -

“Wha- No, its not ok!”

- no really. because, actually… -

There was a long pause.

- I’ve been thinking of taking a break from the group anyways -

He couldn’t breathe.

“Chilly…” Den whispered softly.

- it’s not because of you guys! I dunno how to best explain it, but it’s like, wanting to rediscover myself??? do some soulsearching??? trying to fuck around on my own and seeing what happens? if that makes sense??? -

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You sure it’s not because of all the bullying?”

The computer vibrated with laughter.

- LMAOOOOO U COULDNT BULLY ME OUT IF YUO TRIED ಥ‿ಥ -

Den grinned and tried to nudge Ivan’s ghostly form. “We’d bully you out first.”

- absolutely (๑´• .̫ •ू`๑) -

- but fr don’t worry about me. ( ͒꒪̛ཅ꒪̛ ͒) if anything I can now go literally fucking anywhere I want and if I wanna be alive again we’ll just infiltrate this bitch -(๑☆‿ ☆#)ᕗ -

Den’s eyes sparkled. “Dude you can haunt a Starbucks.”

- KSNDBKSBSVKSJDBS SCRATCH ALL PLANS IM DOING THAT ⊹⋛⋋( ՞ਊ ՞)⋌⋚⊹ -

As Den, Ivan and Chilly laughed and teased, Curt felt like he was slipping. Everything felt like it was fading away. Their voices felt like they were melting together. The room felt like it was tilting.

No, no, no, he couldn’t fall into another attack now! They were on borrow time, at any moment the guards could barge in and—

But he was losing control. He was losing control. He was losing control. Losing control. Losing control. Control. Control. Control control control control control control control “Hey.” control control control control control control control control control control control control “hey!”

Christian moved into his vision. “Do you need to sit down for a moment?”

Curt stopped, his breath still uneven. His eyes flickered towards the others. They were still talking, but he caught the occasional glances they snuck at him. He stumbled back a little, getting some distance from the situation.

Almost without a single sound, Christian joined him, gently helping him breathe through it. Bit by bit, he pushed down the fear and panic once more.

He was definitely gonna throw up once they got out. If.

No. He steadied himself. We are going to get out. We will get out… or die trying.

And with a last deep breath, he locked eyes with Christian. The question went unspoken, but so did the answer. He stepped forward, interrupting the conversation between the others.

“It won’t be long before Snee finds us. We need a plan, stat.”

Ivan bit his lip. “We can’t get out through any of the exits. Maybe we could try a window.”

“We’d first need to get out of the panic room though.” Den pointed out. “Chilly, are there any guards heading in our direction?”

The computer was still for a moment.

- yeah, there’s a few getting close. doubt y’all are getting out without a fight -

Den crackled her knuckles upon hearing that, but Curt cut her off. “There is no way we can barge through so many. It’s too dangerous.”

“Do we have a choice though?” Ivan questioned.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Kristine suddenly shouted, raising her hand in the air like a desperate student. “If we can pretty much create whatever we want, why don’t we just make a teleporter?”

There was a silence of more than 10 seconds as everyone gaped at her.

Curt sunk to his knees, covering his face with his hands. “OH MY GOOOOOOOD!”

Everyone around him descended into hysterical laughter, Den and Christian even throwing in a “looooser!”, and even Chilly displaying a large L on the screen.

“WHY DIDNT I THINK OF THAT WHYYYYYYYYYY!”

“Ok, ok, I am holding this one against you dude.” Christian laughed.

Curt sighed deeply. “I am so fucking done y’all.

The laughter finally faded enough for Curt to stand up, sigh, and look at Kristine.

“Alright Kristine, how do you wanna do this?”

She thought, but only for a split second. “Can our teleporter be a 2004 Toyota Accord Sedan?”

It immediately prompted another round of giggles and chuckled, and even Curt felt the corners of his mouth move. “Sure, sure. Everyone, stand back a bit.”

Once everyone had made room, Curt spoke: “Alright, so Kristine summons her trusty teleporting 2004 Toyota Sedan…”

The car popped into existence, pushing all of them back even further.

“Shotgun!” Den immediately yelled, followed by Christian pouting over it. Kristine cheered and made her way over to the driver’s seat.

Curt was about to join, but then paused. No. He had to say it. He turned to Chilly instead.

“Chilly,” he began, his heart feeling as heavy as lead “I know I’m not directly responsible for what happened to you. But maybe if I had stepped up sooner, figured it out sooner, then maybe we could have escaped before your death. I’m…” his voice cracked “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t prevent this.”

There was a break in the storm of laughter. All eyes were focused on him and Chilly. Waiting for what she’d say.

And she finally typed.

- BITCH DO YOU NOT THINK I WOULDNT FUCKING HAUNT YOUR ASS IF I BLAMED YOU EVEN A LITTLE???? -

“Wh-“

- CURT FFS HOW LONG HAVE WE KNOWN EACH OTHER??? HOW LONG HAVE WE BEEN BULLYING EACH OTHER??? DO U SERIOUSLY NOT THINK I WOULDNT TAKE THIS EXCUSE???? -

“I…I…” he stuttered.

- curt, I don’t blame u for shit so stop being such a sad sack about it -

She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t mad. She could’ve been. She should have been.

But she wasn’t.

- not even I’m blaming you so stop blaming urself already dumbass -

“Chilly…”

He took a deep breath… and smiled. “Thank you.”

Curt suddenly felt something warm against his chest, wrapping itself around him. And even though he knew how stupid he’d look, he hugged back.

It was gone before he knew it, but Christian next to him shifted, grinning ear to ear as held up one crooked arm, akin to how he would sling his arm around his neck. “Girl I better hear on the news how you haunted the White House.”

“You gotta get on an episode of Ghost Hunters.” Den laughed, and then grinned as Chilly’s spirit hugged her next.

When she moved on to Ivan, Curt could finally get a glimpse of her.

She was happy.

Ivan ruffled her head, or at least that’s what he intended, complaining how he was gonna get the full buttmonkey treatment. “Now I don’t got you to divert some of it, they’re all gonna focus on me now.”

And finally, Kristine held up her hand, only a little awkwardly. From the way she beamed, Chilly gave her the high five.

“I’ll bully them in your place.” She proudly vowed.

There was a quick moment of warmth again as she quickly phased through all of them…

And she was gone.

Curt exhaled slowly. And jumped as a loud BANG sounded from the door.

“Ok we gotta get the fuck outta here.”

“Kristine take the wheel!” Den yelled as she jumped into the passenger’s seat, Christian still complaining as he got into the back.

Kristine got into the driver’s seat with a laugh, and Curt went to sit right behind her. Ivan of course couldn’t actually enter the car, but he hang onto the roof anyways.

The door broke down just as Kristine started the car. Curt flipped them off. And a second later, the car and all those inside vanished from the room, and from the facility.

——————————————————-

I was gonna end the chapter somewhere else originally, but I’ve tortured you guys with my absences enough.

Wil edit properly once I got time.

[wildbornsiren]

You want some happy? The first thing that came to mind is Beau becoming Dad!Beau. I'm feral at the very thought!

Love you, Shelly! ❤️

You darling sap. I do so adore you. Beau "Cyclone" Simpson/F!Reader.

"Occasionally this particular procedure can reverse itself, especially if you had it earlier on." The doctor hands over a bundle of paperwork and print-outs. Beau stares at him, mind spinning a mile a minute, a bit wide-eyed, his hand shaking slightly as he reaches for you. "What are the risks?" He finally manages to say. The doctor glances at the computer screen, then back to the two of you. "Admiral, there's no concern for your health, your wife's health or the health of the fetus." He offers a reassuring smile. "In a few months you'll be welcoming a baby into this world."

That was eight months ago. He had doted on you hand and foot, taking you to classes, appointments, more often than not you'd find him squinting at forums on his phone, or behind his desk in the office looking at studies, research and whatever caught his attention. There was a go bag in both of your cars, and a third by the door. ------- "I'm scared." The admission came in the middle of the night. You were awake, it was hard to get comfortable enough to sleep, and the only thing that appealed to you were fruit loops that had been pulverized into dust. He was on his side, his back to you, his voice quiet--small. You licked the dust from your fingers, drying them on the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed. "I am too. But we can do this together." "Isn't that how we got into this?" You smile and shake your head. "You know Beau, when a man and a woman love each other very much." He reaches back, taking your hand, pulling you so gently to him. Chapped lips brush your knuckles. The gesture is soft and sweet and everything he rarely says out loud. ------ The days creep closer to the date on the calendar circled with red. With it, your nerves increase. Beau is constantly at your side, making sure you don’t lift a finger. It would be sweet if you weren’t so tired of everything.  You go into labor three days before the circled date. Beau is calm, stoic, holding your hand as he drives, taking each increasingly painful squeeze from your hand without complaint. He’s with, you every step of the way, a reassuring presence at your side calm and patient as he talks to you. There’s a tenseness to his jaw, worry in his eyes, but whenever you call for him he’s there, wiping sweat from your brow or holding your hand as contractions happen.  That tension eases from his face when he hears the cry of your daughter, and the congratulations of the delivery staff. He leans in, kissing your forehead gently.  “Good job baby.” His voice shakes and you bring your joined hands to your lips, kissing the back of his hand.  “I love you.” You murmur, fuzzy from the pain drugs and exhaustion.  You watch the flurry of activity as your daughter is weighed, measured, wrapped in a swaddling blanket and returned to you. “Beau look at what we made.” You look up at him, and blink. His face is so soft, eyes a bit watery and full of wonder. “We’re so happy to meet you Ellie.”  He drops shakily into the chair at your bedside, exhaling heavily. “She’s perfect.”  “Ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes and a lil nose.” You grin at him.  -----  You wake up a few hours later, the seat next to you empty. You can hear the quiet rumble of Beau’s voice, and when you turn to look, you find him by the window. There’s a bundle of pink in his arms, and he’s talking softly to her.  “I’m so glad you’re here baby girl. Your momma did so well keeping you safe and helping you grow.”  You relax against the pillows, watching him as he gently rocks the cooing bundle.  “It’s my turn to keep you safe now. I promise I’ll protect you, and keep you safe. You’re going to grow up so strong, and brave, and smart. And so, so very loved. You know, your momma fixed all my cracks. Showed me that there’s still a lot of good out there.” He points out the window. “I can’t wait to show you everything little one.”  /end

[skarlette1]

Worse Scrapes

Jane Bound, British secret agent Eta, had come through worse scrapes than this. Yes, her cover had been blown. Yes, Irma Blofuq had captured Bound and shackled her in this so-called “conditioning chamber.” For three hours, perhaps more, the subliminal-laden music had played, the scent of trance-enhancing aphrodisiacs heavy in the air, while the screens inside the blindfold had danced with fascinating, will-sapping light shows.

No matter. Bound knew that she was too strong for Blofuq’s brainwashing tricks. She had been using that time to slowly, step-by-step, slip her left hand free of the shackles. Bound was almost free, almost able to slip her hand out and attend to what mattered.

As Bound pulled her left hand out of the shackle, she wondered for a moment why it plunged beneath her panties. Wasn’t she supposed to use her free hand to escape the other shackle?

There will be time for that later, Bound thought in a voice that was more like Blofuq’s than her own. You can do that after you’ve cum a few times.

Driven by the music and the lights and the drugs, Bound’s fingers drove her body into a frenzy of bliss. In the end, this was just one more scrape Jane Bound would need to cum through.

---

Like what you read? Will you buy me a coffee and request something rich to sink my teeth into? Or peek into the depths of my longer fiction?

[autumnalwalker]

Empty Names - 6 - Background Checks

Author's Note: And now for a brief rundown of the party's backstories, albeit filtered through the lens of Sullivan being a dismissive cynical jerk. The narration may be third-person, but unreliability due to the influence of the current PoV character is fun to play with. Word Count: 3,024 Content Warnings: References to dead bodies, faking the death of a child, what may or may not have been a kidnapping, and supernatural factors causing transitioning to go angst-inducingly slow.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

For all its gothic gloom during the night, Bridgewood Manor is surprisingly well-lit during the day.  Mostly this is due to Carnette having installed large windows looking out onto alien landscapes in most of the rooms and halls not directly connected to the building’s outer shell as a flex on visitors, but - much like her - that is quite literally neither here nor there at the moment.  No, Sullivan’s gaze is set on his laptop.  The vista behind him is only worthy of his attention insofar as it’s creating an annoying glare on his screen, and even that he’s pointedly ignoring.  To move from his overstuffed chair to a seat with less glare would be letting the window win, and he’s not about to concede to an inanimate object in a contest of wills.  

And so Sullivan commences his last-minute review of files with the sun shining indirectly in his eyes.  It’s been two weeks since he agreed to his friend’s latest ill-conceived venture, and every day of it’s been busy.  Now his friend is out wrapping up details with a client for an initial test run job - he refuses to call it a quest - and wants to bring in the new team - definitely not an adventuring party - tomorrow.  Of course, the new office space - no way in any hell is he calling it “the guildhall” - still isn’t ready yet so now he has to play host.  After spending the past three days getting the full staff of cleaning and maintenance constructs up and running again to make the manor presentable once more he finally has a free moment to go back over the compiled dossiers of the newest round of poor saps to get pulled in by his friend’s wide-eyed idealism.  It’s an exercise that’s one part risk management and one part intimidation tactic.  Nothing like casually alluding to secrets to get fools in line.

The musclehead’s first on the list.  Eris.  First Backstage encounter at seventeen, dropped out of the local community college, got a job as a long-haul trucker - plenty of liminal spaces for spooks to slip through in that line of work - shortly thereafter, and has been making waves in the monster hunter community ever since.  After two years of that she found Crossherd and for some reason got herself a day job with the city’s sanitation department.  An odd choice to have a day job at all for a hunter, but then again Sullivan’s seen enough sewer monsters and bodies left in dumpsters to figure there’s probably more overlap between the two professions than anyone wants to admit.

Only limited contact with her family or anyone else on set, so cleanup should be easy if she bites the dust.

Sullivan starts flicking through an archive of gathered images.  High school yearbook, crime scene footage, commercial driver’s license, group photos pulled from other hunters’ social media accounts, security camera stills, Dog Park volunteer outreach materials, medical records, discreet surveillance from paid informants.  His friend wasn’t kidding about the autogenesis; that’s not a physique anyone’s pulling off without either magic or a damn-near lethal amount of drugs, and if the collateral damage to buildings and vehicles from some of these aftermath shots of hunts are anything to go by, she’s even stronger than she looks.  Sullivan chuckles to himself.  It looks like she’s living up to her moniker with the messes she leaves behind.  On the other hand, he’s yet to be able to turn up anyone with a bad word to say about her, so hopefully his friend’s right in their own assessment of her.

Still though, he can’t help but wonder if that body is a manifestation of pride or self-loathing.  The last thing they need is her getting pushed over the edge by something and going full monster.  That almost never happens, but it’s always ugly when it does.

All in all, the kind of person Sullivan would expect to reply to his invitation for purchase requests with a gym’s worth of exercise equipment and a small armory’s worth of weapons.  Oh, and what’s this?  A follow-up email adding an armored van to the list.  Why not?  She did bring him that fascinating and delicious-looking specimen the other day.  

Sullivan makes a note to call his car guy later, mentally files away Eris as “dumb, friendly, expendable wrecking ball and meat shield” and then switches over to the techie’s profile.  Lacuna.  He’d thought the name sounded familiar when his friend told him about Eris’s recommendation.  As it turned out, she’d been one of the victims on the penultimate job the two of them had worked before their spat.  He’d say “small world” but he’s always gone back and forth on the nature of coincidence.  

But as for the file, it’s usually been his experience that the less his research turns up the more likely there’s a secret to be found, but in this case he’s starting to suspect this woman really is just that boring.  Schooling with no records of extracurriculars from elementary through university.  No social life to speak of.  Half a dozen social media accounts with no posts.  A few profiles on job hunt sites.  Employment records with a software startup that was never more than moderately successful.  And then a reset of the same boring stuff all over again after falling Backstage.  A job at a similar company on Crossherd doing similar work but with paratech.  A few purchases of books on witchcraft followed by attending a single seminar then never returning - the usual sign of a wannabe mage realizing they have no potential.  Still no social life, save for the informants looking into Eris spotting the two of them together on a semi-regular basis.

Just two tidbits that stuck out to Sullivan in the end that he’d made a note of at the bottom of the profile a few days ago to follow up on later.  The first was that the paratech company this Lacuna had been working for was bought out a month back and RevaTech, the new parent company, had scrubbed the public records of whatever their new acquisition had been working on.  Suspicious on the surface but pretty standard fare for RevaTech, and they almost certainly would have slapped anyone that didn’t stay on with a geas-enforced NDA, so it wasn’t like she’d be able to say or do anything to make her old work relevant.

The second part was her family.  Well, not the immediate family.  Just a couple of normies for parents that, if phone records and airplane tickets were anything to go by, she still keeps in touch with.  No sign of a Masquerade breach though.  Good luck to her keeping that up.  The extended family on the other hand, now that had a few names that were giving Sullivan a niggling feeling of recognition.  Strange, but with everything else pointing toward Lacuna having no prior Backstage knowledge before a few years ago, he’d designated further research low priority.

As for her physical profile, a classic example of the other side of autogenesis.  A scarecrow of sickly skin and bone hiding under baggy clothes.  The exact kind of exaggeration you’d expect to manifest in a shut-in nerd with confidence issues.  Definitely not someone they’d be getting any fieldwork out of.  Looks like the autogenesis might even be holding back her transition.  That does manage to get a rare twinge of sympathy from him.  He’d not had that problem himself, but it’s not the first time he’s seen fear of change being impossible outweighing one’s identity.  Might be worth keeping an eye on what happens if she ever gets over those doubts; could make for an interesting rebound effect.

That said, Sullivan’s just about to finish mentally filing it all away as “boring IT tech to shove paperwork off onto” and move onto the next profile when he notices she finally sent in her equipment request last night.  About damn time.  Looking at the list, he wonders aloud what his friend told her she’d be doing.  Multiple high-end server racks.  Drones.  Projectors.  3D printers compatible with esoteric materials.  Blast-proof safety glass.  Laser cutters.  And “one small potted tree; bonsai or similar”.  Either she’s messing with him or those notes for followup need higher priority after all.  Approved in full either way.

That leaves the wizard.  Ashan Glassheart.  Unlike the last two, there hadn’t been any public records apart from the obituary of a nine-year-old boy over a decade ago.  Fortunately, Sullivan had been keeping tabs on this kid for years now.  Anchor world born mages with offworld training are the kind of rarity worth keeping an eye on when they crop up, whether you’re looking to capitalize on them or stay out of their way.  As much as it irks him to admit, there’s some truth to the oft-repeated story structure of “normal kid goes to a magical otherworld and becomes a big damn hero”.  Sure, no one likes to talk about when it goes wrong, but on the times it goes right you can wind up with some truly bullshit feats of bending reality.

Like Carnette.

No, no one’s like Carnette.

Sullivan shakes his head, as if that actually does anything to clear the passing thought and turns his attention back to the file in front of him.  Back to this Glassheart kid.

And he is a kid compared to everyone else that’s going to be on this team.  Barely out of his teens, assuming an approximate temporal sync between worlds.  Probably the most experienced of the three though, despite that.  It hadn’t been easy connecting the off-world mage who picked up the mantle of wandering do-gooder that Sullivan’s friend left floating on the wind to a supposedly dead child, but once he came across a report of an individual matching Glassheart’s description setting up wards around the private residence of some normie family the pieces started to fall into place.  After that it was just a matter of collecting old news reports from the area - mundane and Backstage - exhuming an empty grave in the dead of night, and calling in a favor with an offworld contact to put together a picture of who this kid was.  Exhuming the grave was probably unnecessary in hindsight, but Sullivan had reached peak boredom at the time, and that was half the reason for investigating in the first place if he was being honest with himself.

The story, Sullivan imagines, goes something like this:

Once upon a time, in a sleepy little small down in the ass-end of nowhere lived a little boy.  This little boy, ever since he could remember, had lived a magical childhood, with all manner of sprites and fairies and monsters roaming the woods outside his home.  This is actually quite normal for small children in sleepy little towns in the ass-end of nowhere, although most dismiss it as playing pretend once they get older, except on nights when they are fantastically drunk and/or tripping balls.  Or they get gobbled up.  That’s been known to happen too.  

What set this little boy apart was one day an honest to goodness wizard by the name of Aliana Glassgaze appeared before him and told him he had a magical destiny if only he would leave his family behind and come with her to another world called Orthon.  The little boy, like any healthy young boy presented with the opportunity to go on a grand adventure and gain wizardly powers, accepted this offer.  But he was a good boy who didn’t want his parents to worry themselves looking for him, so he did the reasonable thing and faked his death - a wonderfully thrilling experience, as Sullivan can attest from multiple occasions.

On Orthon, the little boy traveled all over with Glassgaze learning magic and going on all sorts of fun adventures.  But probably not too fun because he mostly liked lame pacifist spells for making walls and bubbles and instead of cool spells like fireball and bone rearranger.  Eventually the little boy became a moody teenager and then a definitely emotionally stable young adult, completed his training, took on the wizard name Ashan Glassheart - as is traditional on Orthon to show the bond between student and teacher - then at last parted ways with his mentor and came home over a decade later to play super hero with his new wizard powers.  But because secret identities are lame and real heroes are living icons twenty-four seven with no personal life, he skipped the most fun part of faking your death and didn’t show up to surprise and distress all the people who attended his funeral.

Oh, and for some reason he runs around in cosplay despite claiming to have never heard of this season’s new hit shojo anime, Crystal Witch Arya, starring a near-identically dressed protagonist nor met the author behind the manga it’s based on.  That’s one mystery Sullivan’s thrown into the “funny, but too stupid to bother solving” pile.

All in all - especially having seen the boy in action personally - Sullivan mentally files this one as “valuable asset, especially if his hero’s journey left him with emotional maturity instead of repressed trauma.”  Not quite valuable enough though to grant his sole equipment request of access to the Bridgewood Manor Library.  Well, maybe the lesser library.  Under supervision.

Sullivan exits out of the files and closes the laptop.  That’s enough looking at these clowns for today.  Void knows he’s going to get more than his fill of them in person soon enough.  Funny though that no one on this team uses the name they were born with.

He stands up, stretches, and walks off, leaving the laptop on the chair.  It’s not like anyone else is here to get into it, and he can always send a cleaning golem to fetch it later if he doesn’t feel like coming back for it himself.  Besides, his next spot of research to catch up on isn’t going to have a digital source.

Thankfully, his friend’s asked him to try picking up from where their leads on their “big quest” have hit a dead end, and that means he’ll be working that case solo while everyone else is doing team building exercises.  Said dead end turned out to be fairly literal, with the base of operations for a multi-word smuggling ring cleaned out of all its goods and all its members slaughtered thoroughly enough that attempts to call up their ghosts or reanimate their bodies to ask what happened have failed.  The hours not spent violating his soon-to-be-coworkers’ privacy or fixing up the parts of the manor he’d been letting slide lately he’s been making visits to old contacts - from Eyeball Jerry, the street food vendor with a side hustle as an info broker, to Edard Jariden, the Crossherd Commissioner of Public Safety whom he’d had a two month fling with back when the man was still an intern - and somehow none of them knew anything more than speculation.  None of the local players - criminal or otherwise - were taking credit, the incident didn’t fit the MO of any of the handful of outside groups with a history of meddling in Crossherd’s affairs, and if there were any survivors or associates of the smugglers they’d all disappeared.  Or been disappeared.  If Sullivan hadn’t been so starved for a proper challenge lately, he might even call it frustrating.

But for the moment, he’s simply intrigued.  No, not “simply” intrigued.  Invested enough to go downstairs and unlock the manor’s greater library again.  If he can’t find anything on the dead smugglers, perhaps he might be able to dig up something on what they were smuggling.  His friend said that it was the theft of a device capable of binding and controlling lesser deiform entities that got them on this trail in the first place, and that is the sort of thing Carnette had an interest in.  With any luck he might be able to find a match in the library and from there… well, that will depend on what he finds.

He stops in the middle of the hallway in front of a blank spot on the wall between a four-armed suit of armor and a marble statue of a long-bearded wizard.  He reaches out and knocks a rhythm on the wall.  Once upon a time the passcode would change twice a year, but the teasing inside joke Carnette left it on last still causes the wall to slide open.  On the other side is a gilded spiral staircase descending down a long stone tube.  A good meter of empty space separates the edge of the stairs from the outer wall.  Room enough for the adventurous to slide the whole way down the banister or for the exceptionally durable to jump.

Sullivan puts a foot forward but hesitates on the threshold as memories rise unbidden.  Carnette showing off the false windows to other worlds spaced along the shaft to give the impression of descending from the heavens to deep beneath the sea during his first visit.  The ornate door at the bottom.  Being pushed over the edge of the banister.

He forces the memories back down and takes another step only to be interrupted once again, this time by tugging at his pant leg.  He looks down to see a fist-sized black orb suspended on eight spindly legs.  Or rather, suspended on seven and getting his attention with the eighth.  Seeing that it has its master’s attention, the maintenance golem begins making a series of chittering noises.  Sullivan sighs and rolls his eyes in response.

“You know I can’t understand you,” he says, “so just get on with it.”

The golem squeaks and begins scurrying down the hallway.  Sullivan closes the hidden door with another - less elaborate - knock and then follows after the tiny servitor.  Either his friend is back or there’s something broken in an area that needs explicit permission from the master of the house to enter.  Either way, it’s something best not kept waiting.

And it’s an excuse to keep putting off going back down there for at least a little while longer.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

[bluestar22x]

Chapter 2: The Facility

Alien Son - Chapter 2: The Facility

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: Unbeknownst to him, Cade was a product of an experiment with the goal of raising a super solider. Saved from that fate by his adoptive parents, he is still hunted. Eventually, as it always does, his past catches up with him, though now there’s another plan for him, one he could’ve never imagined.

With the help of friends, Cade must escape his captors again, resuming his life on the run in hopes of finally ending it once and for all, before another generation of his family line has to suffer the consequences.

Rating: 18+ series (explicit content, sensitive topics)

Chapter Word Count: 1,100(ish)

Series Warnings/General Info: Science fiction, mpreg (due to fictional science), violence, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, friendship (found family), romance (male x female), eventual love scene, violation of autonomy (by the antagonists), cloning, inter-species relationship (sort of - Cade is part human/more human than not), xenophobia, alien super human abilities

— Don’t like, don’t read or comment! —

xxx

When Cade’s consciousness returned, everything was foggy. He was first aware of the fact he couldn’t open his eyes or move his limbs, which confused him. Why do I feel so heavy?

As his mind began to clear, he realized he was laying on something very firm, a cot maybe. It was a far cry from his well-padded memory foam bed back at the cabin. Where am I?

He forced himself to open his weighted eyelids and was temporarily blinded by the white light hanging over him.

He slowly turned his head and studied the room around him. It was small, maybe fourteen feet by ten feet, and included a toilet and sink in the corner furthest from where he was lying. The room would’ve reminded him of a prison cell if it weren’t for the solid door and white walls. That reminded him more of a room in movie psychiatric hospitals. The walls were bare except for a tiny plastic mirror by the sink and a four by four foot window about six feet off the ground. It appeared to be sealed shut.

He groaned and fought to gain the strength to sit up. Eventually his efforts worked, or the tranquilizer had just worn off. The tranquilizer.

Cade’s eyes widened as it all came back to him. His encounter with the deer, his trash can taking a tumble, and the dart he’d pulled out of his neck.

He bolted up into a stand, immediately having to grab onto the foot of the cot to prevent himself from completely crumpling over. He was still feeble from the drug’s effects, whatever it was. He’d never heard of any drug that could knock a person out cold almost instantly.

With determination he pushed himself back onto his feet and dragged them to the door. He leaned against the door and briefly pressed his forehead to it before banging on it with his left fist.

“Hey!” he yelled. “If anyone is out there, show your face!”

He kept banging until the little energy he had in that moment was sapped. When it was, he slowly dropped to the floor, back against the door, and placed his head in his hands.

He’d been sitting there for a full minute when he heard a loud buzz and the door gave way. A moment later his arms were grabbed by two men in suits and pinned behind his back. Cade tried fighting back, kicking at air as they dragged him out of the room he’d been in, but he was still too weak to break their grip. They pulled him down a hall and a third man standing at the end of it handcuffed him.

“Take him to see Mr. Pena in the conference room,” he ordered the first two men.

They nodded and shoved Cade into a walk, causing him to stumble. He growled a protest at them. “Who are you?”

“Mr. Pena will explain,” the taller of the two men replied.

Cade was led through several corridors, which became less and less sterile looking in appearance and more like a business office until he ultimately reached a large room with a long table and a giant projection screen. He was forced to sit in the chair farthest from the screen and was uncuffed only to be tied down to the chair itself with reinforced iron chains.

Without a word the two men who’d escorted him to the room left Cade behind. He wasn’t alone for long though. Shortly after a graying man of Latin descent wearing a pricy gray suit stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. A woman in a black suit stood post by the outside, watching them through the long window in the door. Cade guessed she was his bodyguard. 

“Cade Dalton,” the man said with a smug smile. “It’s nice to finally catch up with you after all these years.”

Cade had never wanted to punch a person more in his life.

“Let me guess, you’re the boss around here?”

The man nodded. “Name’s Marquis. Marquis Pena. I own Pena Corporations, a medical and military innovation company, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

Cade balled his fists and fought against his constraints as fury boiled up in him. “You murdered my parents!”

“No,” Marquis said firmly. “Your parents got themselves killed. They stole my property. I only did what it took to get it back.”

“Property?” Cade spat in disbelief, fighting his restraints. “You mean me? You think you own me? You don’t!”

“Without me you wouldn’t exist,” Marquis stated, staring him down.

Cade stopped struggling and stared back at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a long story,” Marquis told him. “But you’re not going anywhere soon, so humor me.”

He threw a file on the table in front of Cade and sat down in the seat next to his. “This all started thirty-one years ago with the Alosians.”

“The Alosians?” Cade frowned, confusion in his eyes. “I’ve never heard of those people before.”

“That’s because they weren’t people,” Marquis said matter-of-factly. “They were aliens from the planet Alos.”

Cade snorted loudly. “Yeah, right. Good one, loony bin. Maybe you should rent the white room next to mine, hmm?”

Marquis chuckled. “You have a mouth, son, I’ll give you that. Your strong will reminds me of Mara. She was as tough as nails mentally, if not physically.”

He leaned in closer to Cade to peer into his eyes, to examine them. “You’ve got the same exact fiery colored eyes as her now too. I seem to remember them being a shade lighter when you were first born.”

Cade blinked at him, letting the information sink in. “Mara was my biological mother? You knew her?”

Marquis nodded. “Yes. Did Russell and Amanda never tell you your mother’s name? Can’t say I’m shocked. Did you even know they weren’t your real parents?”

Cade gritted his teeth, trying to rein in his anger. “They told me I was adopted as soon as I could comprehend it. It didn’t matter. They were my real parents.”

“I bet your mother would be so disappointed if she were still alive to hear that,” Marquis said with a broad grin. “Her son having loved two of the people responsible for her imprisonment. That is, if she would’ve cared for you at all.”

“What are you talking about?” Cade hissed. “What did my parents do?”

“Your parents did what they were ordered to do,” Marquis replied. “One of those orders was to help capture and contain the aliens that were among us.”

xxx

Series Masterlist

xxx

[sapevaluationusa]

Understanding Substance Abuse Evaluation

Introduction:

What is Substance Abuse Evaluation and Why is it Important?

Substance abuse evaluation is a critical diagnostic tool used to identify the presence and extent of an individual’s substance use disorder. This comprehensive assessment plays a vital role in understanding the severity of addiction, the impact on an individual’s life, and the necessary steps towards recovery. The importance of substance abuse evaluation cannot be overstated – it forms the foundation for creating an effective treatment plan tailored to an individual’s unique needs.

The Process of Substance Abuse Evaluation: Steps and Procedures

The process of substance abuse evaluation involves several steps and procedures that provide a holistic understanding of an individual’s substance use. It begins with a thorough interview that explores the individual’s history of substance use, including the types of substances used, duration of use, frequency, and any associated behaviors or consequences.

This is followed by a physical examination to assess the individual’s general health and identify any physical signs of substance abuse or related health issues. Additionally, laboratory tests may be conducted to confirm substance use and understand its impact on the individual’s health.

Psychological evaluations are also integral to the process, focusing on identifying any co-occurring mental health disorders, exploring the individual’s attitudes and perceptions towards substance use, and assessing their readiness for change.

The Role of a Qualified Evaluator in Conducting Substance Abuse Evaluations

A qualified evaluator plays a pivotal role in conducting SAP evaluation near me. This professional, often an addiction counselor or licensed therapist specializing in substance use disorders, is trained to administer and interpret various assessment tools, conduct interviews, and make informed recommendations based on the evaluation results.

The evaluator ensures that the assessment process is conducted in a respectful and non-judgmental manner, creating a safe space for individuals to share openly about their substance use. Their expertise and insights are crucial in formulating an accurate diagnosis and suggesting appropriate treatment options.

The Purpose and Benefits of Substance Abuse Evaluation for Individuals and Treatment Providers

The purpose of a substance abuse evaluation extends beyond diagnosing an addiction. It serves as a valuable source of information that can guide individuals towards recovery and help treatment providers develop personalized treatment plans.

For individuals, the evaluation provides insights into their substance use patterns, triggers, and the impact of substance use on their lives. This understanding can motivate individuals to seek help and commit to a treatment plan.

For treatment providers, the evaluation results offer a detailed understanding of the individual’s substance use, which is crucial for designing a treatment approach that addresses the individual’s specific needs. It also aids in monitoring progress during treatment and making necessary adjustments along the way.

Different Types and Approaches to Substance Abuse Evaluation Methods

There are various types and approaches to substance abuse evaluations, each designed to examine different aspects of substance use disorders. These include:

Screening Tools: These are brief, standardized questionnaires used to identify individuals who may have a substance use disorder. Examples include the Alcohol Use Disorders Identification Test (AUDIT) and the Drug Abuse Screening Test (DAST).

Diagnostic Assessments: These comprehensive assessments are used to diagnose substance use disorders based on criteria outlined in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5). They involve a thorough interview and may also include physical examinations and laboratory tests.

Risk Assessment: This type of evaluation identifies the individual’s risk factors for substance use and the potential harms associated with their substance use.

Psychosocial Assessment: This evaluates the individual’s psychological wellbeing and social circumstances, exploring how these factors may influence their substance use and recovery process.

Conclusion: The Significance of Substance Abuse Evaluations in Identifying and Treating Addiction Issues

Substance abuse evaluation play a significant role in identifying addiction issues and guiding the treatment process. By offering a comprehensive understanding of an individual’s substance use, these evaluations pave the way for personalized treatment plans that address the unique needs of each individual. They are an essential tool in the journey towards recovery, providing valuable insights and direction for both individuals struggling with substance use disorders and the professionals assisting them.

[amhnationwide]

Dilute urine drug screen for SAP

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[winnie4wonders]

You worked hard to obtain your CDLs. You may also be a safety-sensitive employee under the DOT rule 49 CFR Part 40 regarding workplace drug and alcohol testing. Don't let a failed drug screen discourage you. The DOT SAP program is the first step to returning to duty. For your convenience, ALL Evaluations are done ONLINE! All you need is a cell phone, tablet, or computer (with a camera)! Winifred Okafor is a licensed addiction counselor and qualified mental health provider. She is Internationally credentialed and certified DOT SAP. It's never been easier to get started. Request an appointment today! No need to travel to an office, everything is done VIRTUALLY! Get started today! Complete the appointment request form, email info@dotsap.online or call (214)247-6146. If you are an FMCSA Driver, make sure you are registered in the Clearinghouse. Then search for Winifred Okafor to add me as your SAP. (If not, skip this step). You will receive a call and/or email to confirm your request, and to book an appointment. You may also book online! #newstuff #dotsap #dot #usdot #txdot #dotregulated #fmcsa #mandatededucation #dotsapevaluation #sap #truckinglife #uscg #frieghtbroker #dispatcher #owneroperator #transportation #schoolbusdriver #womenintrucking #menintrucking #usatrucker #usa #texas #DOTConsortium #drugtesting #DOTdrugtesting #faceboook #fb #pinterest #instagram #tiktok

[icybreaths]

A hearty laugh came through the speaker.

“¡Amigo mío, están aquí! They just happen to look a little different now!”

In Leo’s mind, he’d abandoned no one! As far as he was concerned, his ‘family’ had come to him and given their bodies up to a greater cause.

Serving him.

“I never let them die. They’re here, they're spry~ And here you come trying to discredit all of my hard work. What a pity...~”

The Sexta could taunt until his heart’s content. Leo had heard it all before. From the rage induced men who fired ceros and screamed in their cages before being ground up into material for his beautiful lions – to the women who begged for his mercy or to get it over with. His favorite.

Leo was a man who loved to relish his hunt. Sap every last drop of willpower out of the body. Bat the morsel around until it simply couldn’t fight back anymore, then savor it, one bite at a time. The best part was keeping them awake for it.

These two mongrels on the screen would be no different than the rest.

If Grimmjow wouldn’t hand what was rightfully his over, then he would take it.

“A very good joke! Fitting of your position. I’ll run that one by our Tres Queen during the next meeting. I am sure you won’t make it, brother, but I will speak in your stead, mm?”

. . .

These lions were a bitch to handle. Impaling them wasn’t enough. Their hierro felt thick as a high level arrancar under her blade, and even when she could cut them the instant regeneration smoothed the wounds over like nothing had happened.

The yawning maw of one the beasts was filled with a massive cluster of ice before it could reach her. The lion behind her swallowed her up a second after.

An uncomfortably tight, wet darkness consumed her. She could barely breathe or move. Judging by the lion’s movement, she assumed it was thrashing about.

Too late to tell the thing she only ever got complaints of how she tasted, huh?

Angling her blade into its fleshy throat, she fired out Hyoumari.

A wide burst of sharp ice jut from the throat of the beast, jerked its head back and nearly off its shoulders. Another burst angled upwards and devoured its face in a gory mess of flesh and ice – ripped the rest of its head off and flung it into the abyss past the pathway’s trim.

A rain of blood painted the white floors and ran off the sides. A bloody, taloned hand clawed at the speckled ground as Jewel drug herself out of the corpse of the creature.

The lion with a mouthful of ice had crunched through it and turned its attention back to her.

Glancing over, she saw the other three lions had targeted Grimmjow, each one trying to take the king for themselves. Two of the monsters were growling at each other as they moved in – each charging a cero -- and the third was already batting and snapping its jaws at him.

Man had his plate full but she didn’t think it was anything he couldn’t handle. He still hadn’t drawn his weapon. She wondered if he would reach that point.

As much as she would have loved to have sat by and admired his kills, she had her own to focus on.

She smeared blood and saliva from her face and launched herself at her next target.

The smoke had filled about half the room at this point. Large as it was, she knew they’d have to make this quick.

As she fought the lion, something smeared in the corner of her vision. When she glanced over it was gone but it became apparent when she looked back at the lion’s face.

The way its face began to contort and almost ripple along the edges -- she knew this sensation from the last time she had been in Leo's maze. The smoke was hallucinogenic.

Great, one of these guys.

“A talker then, you know what that also makes you.” As he rolled his eyes. “A screamer, hiding behind thick walls, bet you're small, like really tiny.”

He held up his hand and pinched his fingers together, like a little ant compared to him, something to crush then without a shadow of a doubt, how he was looking forward to doing that without a doubt.

“Stayed in with the latest news then, right, by hiding out here and letting your brothers and sisters die in your place?” Was that it, hide this out and wait and wait, for the strongest to die.

What a bitch.

“Your domain, maybe you didn’t get the memo, but there is a new king now, and it is me, you don’t get your ass down here, bowing and kissing the ground I walk on, your ass is commiting high treason!” That was how a king spoke, right, that was how a king parted with their words, right, he was not too sure, but it sounded good!

“You are a coward, and a little bitch and if you think I am going to hand her over to you, without you coming to get her, hardly. You know the rules better than anyone else.”

You want something.

Come and get it!

His eyes would narrow, looking ahead for the moment as he would see it for himself, sense it as well, be able to read the movements of the creatures, as she moved before he had the chance to do it himself, out of harm's way of the attack that had been sent right towards them both.

“Coward!”

And worse, he sent more little toys for them to break, as he let her go for the moment and stepped back, well that plan.

Was awful. 

A note to himself going forward, to merely stick to what he knows how to do best and to not change it up again, to not try and think outside the box at all.

“Really.” As he shrugs. “Avoid that?” What did she expect him to do?

Run madly into it and breathe it all within.

Well maybe …

Just to prove how good he was.

Fuck it then, as he still did not go for his sword, he would his his claws, his fangs, his body and he would slaughter these little fuckers here and now and leave them as stains on the ground.

He wanted to play games, then he could throw everything he had at them both and they will rip right through them all and soon, he will have nothing, no one, no little toys to play with, no little traps and mazes, he will be alone and when that happened, when he saw he had nothing left, nowhere to go, no one to use, he would know the simple truth when dealing with the feline killer.

How completly and utterly fucked one could be when they cross him.

[pvlshd]

🍍 🍊 🍒 🍐

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body ? how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type ? how important is being attractive to them ?

louis has never thought about his physique too much, but he has thought about death. he wonders sometimes about his own relationship with his own mortality. how will he die ? will he be murdered by some crazed fan that thinks they know him through his films or ruined a story they cherished on the page via the screen ? will it be a heart attack by way of his lifestyle: booze, recreational drugs to take the edge off, stress, high blood pressure, too much red meat and cheese. or maybe he'll die like legends, found dead one day shot in the head by a lover wronged. how will he be remembered ? as he is now, looking more or less the same but with more grey in his hair and a lot more lines on his face ? or will the image that might haunt the paramedics that come to take his body away be grotesque. a distended belly, puffed features, knobbly knees, stick-figure legs ?

he is not an energizer bunny by any means and doesn't expect to be, but he doesn't like not having the energy or the will to make his vision come out the right way, it is a dealbreaker for him. if his life is somehow sapping the juice out of his bones, he'll look at his diet, maybe try meditation, go box it out with the punching bag in his personal gym. he doesn't need to feel as strong as a marvel superhero, but strong enough for his weight class will do.

these things inform how he eats, but not always ! he does not have a sweet tooth, he grew out of that in his teens, he likes his carbs and his cheeses and his """robust""" sandwiches, vegetables are rabbit food, unless you know how to cook them into something much heartier. he eats indulgently sometimes and neglects meals at others simply because he is too preoccupied, too obsessed to remember to. he curbs his habits when it occurs to him that maybe the result of high cholesterol or high whatever, wouldn't suit the things he wants to do. it lasts for as long as he's conscious, he'll make better choices, eat conservatively, stop at four martinis, try to get on the treadmill more often. regardless, louis is often pale and gaunt. if he gets some colour, he's been florence, or milan holed up in a friend's house. he likes what he likes, but he is not a foodie per se. the food is there to sustain you, and if you have the means to have it taste good, sure, have it taste fucking good, but that's all it's for.

while being physically attractive to others isn't consciously anywhere on his list, he does have an innate need to be able to recognise himself in the mirror. he has to have the same face, remain at the same size, can't feel too much heavier than he's used to or too much lighter. he dresses for function. he wears nicer things only when there is a need to. otherwise, he'd rather be comfortable, and if other people assess the people they meet according to this, he does not care.

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship ? do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often ? do they have or desire to have many friends ? do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend ?

a lot of people know louis and louis knows a lot of people. the crew of every set he's worked on, his mentors, his peers. he has a lot of acquaintances and good loyal ones too ! they can almost, be counted as friends. but his inner-life and personal life aren't shared with them so they can't be counted as those true good friends everyone aspires to have. he is okay with that. the companionship he values are the people he calls for input. the ones from brooklyn that will rag on him, that will tell him what's bullshit and what can get by, the people he's known for decades. he likes being around them. he likes having cigars with industry heavyweights that he can actually stand, those guys hold the experiences and stories that he would imbibe through osmosis if he could, it's a source of inspiration. when he is working however, he prefers to be alone. if they are on location and the cast and crew has a day off, if he throws a party, it is something that's heavily planned, and that he is mentally prepared for. mood management is important for louis, the people around him never forget it.

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall ? are they smarter than the average person,  or less than ? are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school ? are they more street smart or book smart ?

louis is well-read. he counts on his street-smarts from when he was growing up more than his traditional schooling. schools are templated, rigid. encouraging ! sure, but true problem solving happens in the real world, where the stakes are high and there's no safety net. a lot of things are either self taught or observed from the tedious hours spent with various members of the crew from film sets and applied to his own knowledge, his own poetic views, techniques, technical details to supplement and enhance art, rather than things that create obstacles or restrictions. workarounds are a challenge for innovation, not an inconvenience.

[solhwellness]

What Effect Does Stress Have on Parenting? | Solh Wellness

In today's world, stress is a common issue. Parenting stress is a new mental health issue for new parents. Parents who are stressed may find it difficult to control their emotions, making them irritable, angry, and unable to interact with their children. Furthermore, they may find it difficult to provide consistent, loving care for their children, which may jeopardise their development and well-being.

Stress can also impair a parent's judgement, leading to rash or dangerous actions like ignoring their children's needs or abusing drugs. Stress can also cause a loss of energy and motivation, making it difficult for parents to spend quality time with their children and maintain a healthy home environment.

The Effects of Stress on Your Children

Both family relationships and individuals are affected by parental stress. Parental stress has a significant impact on how children are raised. As a result, parents may show less affection and responsiveness to their children. Reduced parental ability can have a variety of negative effects on children.

People tend to choose unhealthy comforts to relieve stress, such as overeating ice cream or passing out in front of the television. Children can learn how to deal with stress by watching their parents. It's the same as telling your child that the only ways for him or her to unwind are through food, screens, or other harmful habits.

Unhealthy Family Practices

Stress can have an unnoticed effect on how parents feel and how they relate to their children. For example, financial concerns can completely sap the patience and energy required to be a caring, involved parent. Even when you are with your children, you may not be paying attention to them.

Stress makes it easier to develop bad family habits, such as ordering takeout, because people lack the energy to cook home cooked meals. According to researchers, children of stressed parents eat junk food more frequently, engage in less physical activity, and are more likely to be obese, whether due to health issues, financial difficulties, or other concerns.

Conclusion

Seeking expert advice on how to deal with parental stress can be beneficial. If you are a parent who is experiencing long-term stress and are concerned about how it will affect your child's health, contacting Solh Wellness may be the first step towards dealing with stress properly. Get in touch with us or download the Solh Wellness app. Our counsellors will make certain that you receive the best parenting advice for your particular situation.

[honestlyshamelessconnoisseu-blog]

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People sometimes use shellac for tooth sensitivity and other conditions, but there's no good scientific evidence to support these uses.

Don't confuse medicinal shellac with shellac wood finishes, which are poisonous.

Lac is secreted by female lac bugs, most commonly of the species Kerria lacca. The bugs are actually parasitical and can be hosted by more than 300 species of trees throughout India, Thailand, China, and Mexico.2 Among these trees are those in the pea family, Indian jujubes, soapberries, hibiscus species, and the Barbados nut. Today, about 90% of lac comes from palash (Butea monosperma), ber (Ziziphus mauritiana), and kusum (Schleichera) trees.3

The lac bugs suck sap from the bark, knowingly feeding to death, while simultaneously laying up to 1,000 eggs over a five-week period.4 The sap undergoes a chemical transformation in their bodies so that when it's secreted, it hardens on contact with the air and creates a protective shell around the eggs. That hard shell is what's harvested to make shellac.

Plantation workers cut off entire chunks of branches coated in the stuff—the branches are a product themselves, called sticklac—and send them to refineries to be scraped off, ground down, and screened to remove dead insects and wood debris.

After rinsing, drying, being melted into a liquid, and drying again, the amorphous substance is liquified using a solvent (usually ethyl alcohol).

Lac naturally has a red-orange tint that is somewhat removed during the refining process. Still, the final shellac product is not entirely clear and must be mixed with sodium hypochlorite—pure bleach—to remove residual color. The resulting white powder is preferred for cosmetics over the original red-orange lac.

Environmental Impact

The environmental impact of lac manufacturing has been compared to that of silk. It's what happens after the lac is harvested that has the greatest effects.

The ethyl alcohol often used to liquify shellac is considered a volatile organic compound.5 VOCs are bad for the environment because they act as greenhouse gases, and the production of ethanol—in particular—has been linked to large-scale habitat destruction.6

Is Shellac Vegan?

Traditional shellac is not considered vegan as it exploits lac bugs for their lacquer-like secretions.

However, the glossiness of shellac is sometimes replicated through chemical processes and still marketed as shellac even though it doesn't come from insects. For instance, the nail polish brand CND has patented a gel-polish hybrid called shellac that's inspired by the shine and resiliency of the natural resin but is instead made of solvents, monomers, and polymers.

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