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no-thoughts-only-soup · 1 year ago

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To Secure / Risk It All

Chapter 8

Aka Curt has another panic attack.

———————————————

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.

#recreyo #recreyo fic #recreyo au #recreyo scp au #recreyo scp #curt richy #ivan animated #cypherden #frugalaesthetics #k.fel #chilly panda #panic attack #scp recreyo

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skarlette1 · 2 years ago

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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?

#skarletteone #mind control #flash fiction #espionage #parody

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ntatesting11s · 2 months ago

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Understanding the DOT Random Drug Testing Program

The Department of Transportation (DOT) random drug testing program is a crucial component of ensuring safety in transportation industries, including aviation, trucking, rail, maritime, and transit. This federally mandated program is designed to deter substance abuse among safety-sensitive employees and maintain a drug-free workplace.

Who Is Subject to DOT Random Drug Testing?

Employees performing safety-sensitive functions under DOT regulations must participate in random drug testing. This includes commercial vehicle drivers, airline pilots, railroad workers, transit employees, and pipeline workers. Employers must comply with regulations set forth by the DOT and the appropriate agency, such as the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration (FMCSA) or the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA).

How the Testing Program Works

Random Selection Process – Employees are chosen using a scientifically valid random method, ensuring fairness and unpredictability.

Unannounced Testing – Tests must be conducted without prior notice to prevent employees from attempting to evade detection.

Mandatory Compliance – Once selected, employees must report for testing immediately to avoid penalties or disciplinary actions.

What Substances Are Tested?

DOT drug tests screen for:

Marijuana

Cocaine

Amphetamines (including methamphetamine and MDMA)

Opiates (including heroin, morphine, and codeine)

Phencyclidine (PCP)

Consequences of a Positive Test

A positive drug test result leads to immediate removal from safety-sensitive duties. The employee must undergo a return-to-duty process, which includes an evaluation by a Substance Abuse Professional (SAP) and a follow-up testing program before resuming work. Refusal to test is treated as a violation and carries similar consequences.

Importance of Compliance

Adhering to DOT drug testing regulations helps employers maintain a safe work environment, avoid legal penalties, and reduce the risk of accidents due to substance impairment. Employees should stay informed about their responsibilities and the testing process to ensure compliance.

For more info:-

Random drug testing program

Random drug testing program DOT

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bluestar22x · 9 months ago

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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

#Alien Son Series #Original Story

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sapevaluationusa · 2 years ago

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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.

#USA #Recovery #Counseling #Health #Substance Abuse Evaluation near me #Substance Abuse Evaluation #SAP Evaluation Texas #SAP Program #SAP Evaluation Near me #SAP Evaluation

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icybreaths · 10 months ago

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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.

#fallesto #v: harbinger of the ice age #[ guest muse | leo dorado ]

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amhnationwide · 2 years ago

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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

#drug test for sap #sap drug screening #sub abuse professionals drug test

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softshuji · 2 years ago

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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

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyorev x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #haruchiyo sanzu #tr #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #sanzu x reader

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wildbornsiren · 2 years ago

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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

#shelly writes #Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson/Reader #drabble #mail time!#shelly loves becs #Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson/you #reader imagine

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nocturne-pisces · 3 years ago

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Chum The Waters

Pairing: Robert Pronge (Mr. Freezy) x PlusSize!MafiaDon!Reader

warnings: violence, murder, gore, smut- my warnings are not exhaustive: dead dove, do not eat

a/n: welcome to part one. i've been sitting on this draft for like six months and finally i have dedicated the time to it. thank you to @branded--with--a--j for beta reading.

series masterlist

author’s masterlist

It’s visceral.

It always has been.

And Bobby thinks it’s something about that viscera that keeps him coming back for more, thinks it’s something about that sinew and flesh and how easily it rips and tears that makes him crave it like a fucking drug.

The skin on his knuckles is bruised, broken from jagged teeth and protruding bone, but he doesn’t stop. He loves his work, he loves the person he does it for, everything in his life has come up aces and he’s just fucking robbed Vegas.

He grunts as he lands another blow to the man he has chained down. He’s going to kill the guy eventually, but they all talk sooner or later. It’s all about finding that sweet spot of too much pain to stay quiet, right before you get to I give up let me die.

He has to keep them hopeful enough that they’ll survive, that something is still in it for them, keep them delirious enough to believe that he would let them go, so they’ll keep feeding him information that he can give to you.

The man below him grunts as Bobby’s knuckles crunch against his already broken nose.

“C’mon Baizen, you know how to make it stop.” Bobby swings again, Carter’s lip under his fist busting open. His head lolls forward, the flow of blood and saliva falling into his lap.

“I don’t fuckin’ know anything, man,” Carter sobs. He’s lying. Bobby knows he’s lying. Carter knows that Bobby knows he’s lying, but he’s still hanging on to hope that someone is coming for him.

“Your funeral.” Robert fists Carter’s hair, lifting his head so another blow can break his browbone. His goes to rear back and swing again, but stops short when his phone starts ringing a 16-bit version of You Are My Sunshine. He bought it specifically for you.

His thumb smudges blood across the screen as he swipes to answer, bringing it to his ear as Carter spits at his feet. Bobby’s face twists in disgust and he kicks Carter’s chair backward, the thump of his head hitting the concrete floor reverberating off the walls.

“Hey, baby,” he’s breathy from exertion and if you didn’t know for a fact that he was beating information out of another man you might be concerned. Confirmation of his activities coming in the form of Carter’s groan in the background.

“Hi, honey. How’s it going down there?” Your voice is corn syrup through his system, sickly sweet and tree sap slow.

“Pretty boy hasn’t started talkin’ yet, but I still ain’t busted out the tools either.” Carter doesn’t miss Bobby’s arrogance, answering with a choked laugh.

“Fuck you, Pronge,” he calls, blood pooling under his head from his cracked skull.

Bobby sighs, his heavy breath crackling against the receiver.

“He’s just a pusher, sweetheart. Not big enough to rile you up so much. You’ve never let me down and I know you won’t start now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Get what you can and come back to me. And don’t leave a mess!”

The lilt of your laughter echoes through the receiver, his heart skipping a beat or two as the corners of his lips curl skyward. Another soft Yes ma’am uttered before the call ends.

Bobby pockets his phone, the smile falling from his face as he turns back to Carter. He rights the chair he’s tied to and Carter’s head lolls forward, his chin hitting his chest as he fights the spins.

The slide of metal against metal makes Carter look up, his breath coming out in a huff when he sees the curve of the crowbar in Bobby’s hand. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, man.”

“Not even a little bit. I told you that you knew how to make it stop.”

Baizen takes shallow breaths in, steels himself for what he knows is coming as Bobby winds himself up like a Yankee’s batter. All Pronge really has to do is swing like he’s going to shatter Carter’s kneecap and the kid breaks.

“Okay! Okay, okay, I get it. Fuck. Fuck!” Carter knows he’s about to give up his boss, knows he’s about to have to flee the country to be able to keep his ability to walk. Bobby stands there expectantly, twirling the crowbar in his fist.

“A few days ago Rogers got something like four or five trashbags full of fuckin’ body parts. They were all people that worked for him. People that had come through here to make a delivery and never made it back. They have a suspicion that it was Barnes. All the pieces looked like shark feed. So, they’ve called a meeting in Omaha to settle territory lines.”

The corner of Bobby’s mouth tugs up in a smile, the work that he’s had a hand in still unnoticed by mafia Don’s that seem to be unaware of his bosses presence. It was ideal, what you and he wanted, to be invisible until it was too late- and everything seemed to be going just as you’d planned. You were going to be so pleased with him. The thought of your soft smile pointed in his direction makes his cock twitch in his white slacks.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” Carter brings Bobby back to the present, where he’s still standing in the dank basement of a meat processing plant interrogating a kid that can’t be any older than 22. He almost feels bad for what he’ll do next, but all is fair in love and war or whatever Shakespeare said.

“It was six bags.”

“Huh?” Carter’s eyebrows pinch together, the implications of Bobby knowing how many bags of body parts there were taking just a second longer to settle in his brain. “Oh my god, it was-”

“Me, yeah.” Bobby takes lazy steps towards his toolbox, deposits his crowbar before reaching into the second drawer to pull out a sleek black 9mm. He turns and points it directly at Carter’s head, pulling the trigger before the kid can beg for mercy.

His whites are fresh, not a speck of blood to be seen. His hair pulled back into a low ponytail to get his hair out of his face, you always said you didn’t like it when he hid behind his hair. He checks his reflection one more time before he knocks on your office door, your voice answering from the other side and beckoning him in.

Your hand rests in a fluffy head of hair, your personal security sitting cross legged at your feet with his head rested against your thigh. Justin perks up when the office door opens, surveying the person entering for any ill intent. He knows Bobby, has worked with him quite a few times, so it’s not a surprise when he closes his eyes again and rests back against you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you croon, Bobby’s icy exterior melting almost instantly.

“Hey, boss.”

“How did it go?”

Bobby closes the gap between you, makes himself comfortable in the chair in front of your ornate desk. You don’t miss the cologne he put on for this meeting, he always tried so hard to impress you.

“I have a couple updates for you,” he replies, and you take the opportunity to get Justin’s attention. You hand him your credit card, plant a kiss on his forehead, and tell him to head down to the arcade for a little bit, that you’d text him when you needed him. Justin dismisses himself with a sweet smile only moments later, leaving you alone with Bobby, buzzing to hear the information he pulled out the west coast kid you’d caught.

You stand from your chair, round your desk so you can stand in front of Bobby, close enough to brush the stray hairs from his forehead. He doesn’t understand sometimes how you ended up a Don. How, through all your sunshine and kindness, you came into power over some of the most violent men he’d ever met. The thought of you covered in blood, terrifying and beautiful, stiffens his already aching cock.

“What do you have for me?”

Bobby clears his throat, gathering his thoughts through the haze you cause his brain every time you’re this close to him.

“Rogers got your presents and they think Barnes sent them. They’re planning a meetup in Omaha soon to come to a truce.”

Your blinding smile thickens that haze, it makes his mouth go dry when you point it at him.

“Oh, that’s perfect, Bobby.” He feels your praise deep in the pit of his stomach, and it’s not hard to see the way he already strains against his pants. “I couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart.”

You bend at the waist to kiss his cheek, a low moan rumbling in his chest when you make contact. You’ve always loved being in the position of power you were, loved how dangerous men prostrated themselves before your feet for the chance to make you happy.

Bobby was one of those men.

Smart, cunning, ruthless, and absolutely stupid for you.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replies, his eyes fixated on your knees, the flush of his cheeks sending a throb straight between your thighs.

“Do you want me to show you how grateful I am?”

Your voice slips a couple octaves lower, slides a few decibels south, and the dumbstruck look on Bobby’s face as his gaze slips up your curves makes your mouth water.

“You’ve always wanted a taste, haven’t you?”

You step out of your heels, dropping the four inches they added to your height when your feet land back on plush carpet. The tip of your toe coasts up Bobby’s shin, using his knee to push your ass up onto your desk.

Your skirt is tight, but not so tight that you can’t pull it up over the globes of your ass and spread your legs wide. His eyeline moves from your face to the panel of your panties, already glittering with the arousal he’s caused.

His knees hit the floor, in worship or prayer you’re not sure, and his hushed oh my god doesn’t give you further clue. You rest your weight back on your elbow and prop a leg up, hooking a finger into your underwear so you can pull them to the side.

He looks back up at you for permission, the ring of blue circling his blown pupils magnified in his glasses.

Your fingers slip between your folds, the pornographic sound of your slick making Bobby growl with a growing need that he swears is going to consume him whole.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” you coo, leaning forward to slide his glasses off his face and set them next to you. “Come get it.”

His vision is fuzzed over but he feels like he could locate the center of your heat by smell alone. He lurches forward, pulls your thighs over his shoulders and feasts on your cunt.

His hungry groans vibrate against your clit, the plush of his bottom lip sealing off for a perfect suction.

“Oh, fuck,” you keen, your hands slipping into the hair he brushed just for you. “That’s it, Bobby. Just like that.”

Your praise only spurs him on, makes him flip his palm up under his chin and work two fingers into your already pulsing pussy. He feels as they get sucked in deeper, and he can’t restrain himself any longer.

The hand not buried two knuckles deep makes quick work of his belt, rips the button open on his slacks and tears down the zipper. He reaches into his boxers and tugs himself in time with your clenching.

His fingers hook up into your silk walls and the brush against your g-spot has your hands curling hard against his scalp, bucking your hips against his mouth and chasing your release. “Shit, Bobby. Right there.”

Bobby tries to time his release with yours, tries so hard to stave himself off until he feels you let go against his face, but he can’t. He spills over his hand like a goddamn teenager at a fucking drive in and his faltering movements have you looking down.

“Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

He should be embarrassed, but he swears if he ever gets the chance to feel you from the inside he wouldn’t be so quick. Your smile down at him is still sweet, even though you’re poking fun, and he takes it as a challenge.

You drag in a gasp when he reattaches himself to your clit, his hands finding a renewed vigor in pushing every button he can find. You drop back against your desk, your knuckles cracking under the hold you have at the edge of the wood.

“Oh, shit. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t have to pull away for you to feel his grunted I won’t against your cunt. Your moans climb in pitch and volume and you fist the hair on either side of his head as you’re shoved over the precipice of your orgasm, his tongue laid flat so you can rut against his face.

He greedily drinks up every drop, the surface beneath your ass dry when he finally gives you reprieve. He stows himself away and shuffles your skirt back down to cover you, making sure your dignity remains intact in case anyone barges in.

It takes a few minutes to recover- for your heart rate to settle and your breathing to even out, but when it does you affectionately fit his glasses back on his face and drop a kiss on his slick stained cheek.

“Thank you, Bobby. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome, boss.”

He looks up at you where the tiniest amount of sweat has beaded against your hairline and thinks that you’ve never looked more beautiful.

You slide off your desk, fit your pumps back onto your feet, and settle back in your desk chair. You scoop your phone from the surface and text Justin that he can come back, getting a singular heart emoji in response.

“Would you mind getting in contact with Barber and letting him know that my patience is waning with those permits?”

“Anything for you,” comes Bobby’s reply, in a love sick tone he hopes isn’t too thick.

“You’re such a sweetheart. What would I do without you?”

It’s that sweet summer smile that makes his heart flutter, the one he’d dismember his own mother to see again.

“I imagine you’d get blood all over those pretty hands.” Bobby doesn’t joke often, so it’s always a treat when he does.

“Well, I’m an incredibly lucky lady to have you taking care of it for me.”

#robert pronge x reader #robert pronge #bobby pronge #robert pronge smut #mr freezy #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #devils crossroad #robert pronge x y/n #chris evans smut

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hoodoo12 · 3 years ago

Text

Beetlejuice Squared 1/2

Will Blum is onstage this week as The Ghost with the Most since Alex Brightman is out with COVID. I figured it was time to dust off this old thing . . .

NSFW. Beetlejuice x reader x Beetlejuice. Minor drug use.

Enjoy!

“Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice!”

You’d called, he arrived. He told you it always gave him a thrill, hearing his name from your mouth, and you socked him in the shoulder for being a sap and maybe a liar, because you were pretty sure he said that to anyone who’d called him up. Still, it was sweet, so you softened it with a kiss on the same spot you’d used your knuckles on and took him to the couch.

The two of you had made out a bit and you lost most of your clothing and he’d dumped his suit jacket and tie, but then you got a text that you couldn’t ignore, and you had to make a phone call. Beetlejuice grumbled and you waved him off, tossing him the TV remote as you left the room to finish talking to your boss about whatever dire emergency couldn’t wait until the weekend was over.

By the time you got back, Beetlejuice had his feet up and was smoking. He’d neglected to rebutton his shirt. As you didn’t keep cigarettes in the house and a distinctively different aroma than tobacco smoke filled the air, you smiled. You sank back down onto the couch and leaned into him.

Leisurely, he passed you the joint. It wasn’t earthly weed; he must have spirited it from the Netherworld. You knew from experience it was potent, and didn’t take too deep a pull on it.

With some documentary about flat-earthers on the TV, you and he passed the joint back and forth. It never got shorter or used up. It made you giggly and easily distracted. It also made you warm; even though you were pressed against his tepid body in only a thin shirt and panties, you didn’t feel the chill. The weed mellowed him too, and although his free hand stroked your upper thigh, he didn’t capitalize on it at the moment. In the back of your fuzzy mind you remembered Netherworld weed had some pretty intense aphrodisiac properties, which meant Beetlejuice was probably looking for some backdoor action and wanted to make sure you were properly relaxed and would be primed for his “sudden” suggestion of anal later.

You half watched the documentary, half scrolled through your phone. You found articles on flat-earthers, which led to articles on space, which led to articles on a red supergiant star that could go supernova any time in the next 100,000 years or so. That caught your eye.

“Look!” you told him, holding your phone up in his face. “It’s your name, I think.”

Beetlejuice squinted at the too close screen you shoved at him.

“Nah,” he replied. “It doesn’t have a ‘j’ in it.”

“No, I think it is!” you insisted. “Let me see . . .”

Quickly you tapped “Betelgeuse pronunciation” into the google search on your phone. There were some linguistics articles that would have been hard to read even if you weren’t stoned; then you found some youtube videos.

You clicked on the first, and a woman’s voice came through the speakers.

“Alpha Orionis has a more common name,” the narration began. “Derived from the Arabic Yad al-Jauzā', the eleventh brightest star in the night sky is Bhe-tle-juz.”

You listened to it again, then repeated it in the same clear monotone the woman had, wrapping your tongue around the slightly different pronunciation.

“Bhe-tle-juz.”

You flicked a 10 second rewind and listened to the voice again.

“Hey babe, I don’t think you should be doing that,” Beetlejuice protested mildly. “I don’t know if it’ll, you know, send me back--”

You ignored him.

“Bhe-tle-juz,” you said again. You liked it; it started with a softer mouthfeel than a hard B.

“--and we haven’t even gotten it on yet, not really!” Beetlejuice continued. A slight note of panic in his voice fought its way through the haze of dope. “Come on, babes, knock it off--”

“Bhe-tle-juz,” you said one last time, with a giggle.

A thin whistling filled the air. It did not hurt your ears, but it didn’t sound right, either. You grimaced and looked up at Beetlejuice to tell him to stop it, but a burst of light erupted in front of you then faded just as quickly as it appeared. You blinked rapidly to restore your burnt out vision, and standing in front of you, between the couch you and Beetlejuice were lounging on and the TV, was Beetlejuice.

⁂

“What the fuck?!” the Beetlejuice you were leaning against exclaimed, sitting up abruptly, half-dislodging you from his side.

You fumbled the joint so you didn’t drop it as you were jostled. “Hey! Watch it, Beej!”

The new Beetlejuice threw his gaze around the room with narrowed eyes and dramatically waved his hand in front of his face.

“Jesus christ,” he coughed. “What’s with all the weed?”

His eyes landed on you. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi!” you replied.

Whatever was happening, Beetlejuice’s dope smoothed out all the edges. You pushed yourself off the specter you were leaning on, shoved the still lit joint back into his hand, ignored his protest and his other hand that tried to keep a grip on your shirt, and got off the couch. You took a step towards the newcomer. “Who’re you?”

“I’m the ghost with the most, babydoll,” he replied. It was such a cliché you rolled your eyes, but you also couldn’t help but smile.

This was Beetlejuice, but not quite Beetlejuice. Although dressed in the striped suit you’d come to expect and with the same swept up rat’s nest of hair and scruff on his face, he was taller--much taller!--than the Beetlejuice you’d spent the evening with so far. Made bold by the smoke you had partaken in, you looked him over thoroughly, taking his hand (and finding his nails were solid black); straining on unsteady tip-toes to peer into his face (discovering his eyes were darker amber than the other Beetlejuice’s and his teeth were slightly less sharp).

He seemed as curious about you as you did him, and permitted the inspection with an air of amusement. You kept a hand on him, dragging your fingers lightly over him as you walked in a circle to look at his back. He watched you the entire time with a slight smile on his face, his head rotating completely around to keep track of you.

When you were where you started in front of him again, you left your hand on his chest and said, “Beej--”

“What?” they both answered together.

The new arrival didn’t have the same voice. It was less gravely. Less rough. You liked it. You stared up into his eyes and didn’t turn back to the Beetlejuice on the couch as you continued.

“--is this one of your clones?”

The reaction to the question was immediate, from both of them. Once again they spoke at the same time, over one another.

“The fuck, babe?” the Beetlejuice on the couch spit. “How could you even think that guy was my clones--”

“A clone?” the Beetlejuice in front of you said, offended. “You’ve got your hand on me, do I feel like a fucking clone--”

They both finished at the same time, “--that’s fucking ridiculous!”

The combination of a bottom-of-the-lungs rasp and a smooth voice merging together gave you a shiver.

“No,” you ceded, still looking up at the specter you were next to, “I guess you’re not a clone.”

The new Beetlejuice gave you a wider smile and reached forward to take your waist. His voice dropped a little, like he was talking only loud enough for you to hear. “That’s right, babydoll. Thanks for the invite. So tell me, what’s your pleasure?”

There was a literal growl from Beetlejuice on the couch, and in the next instant, you were yanked away from the other, wrapped up in a tight, protective hug from behind. From over your shoulder, Beetlejuice hissed,

“Back off, asshole!”

The new Beetlejuice held his hands up a moment. “Hey, dick. She called me. Breathers don’t do that unless they want something, and from the state of things here, I think I can guess what that might be.”

Beetlejuice held you against his bare chest tightly and another warning growl slipped past your ear.

Taller Beetlejuice looked over the two of you. “Babydoll, you called my name three times and here I am. For you. What can I do for you? Probably more than he can . . .”

“Hey--” you objected in Beetlejuice’s defense, and the other snorted a laugh.

“He’s gotta use the Netherworld’s primo weed to get you going? That doesn’t seem like a demon who can make things happen without a little outside assistance.”

You felt a little surge of protection for the Beetlejuice you knew best. “The weed was later, after we’d made out. I don’t need it to get hot and bothered, it’s just a bonus.”

The Beetlejuice holding you chuckled. He spun you, unprotesting, on your heel, to face him.

“That’s sweet, babe,” he told you, and lifted the joint held between his first two fingers to his mouth again.

He took a drag and held it in, then tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows at you. Reading his intention, you tilted your head too. With your hands flat on his chest, you stretched towards him until your parted lips were only millimeters away. Beetlejuice breathed a column of smoke directly into your mouth.

You got most of it too, before you smiled and tendrils of the thick smoke escaped. You held it in for a long moment, practically feeling the smoke permeate through your lungs, letting it settle heavily throughout your body all the way down to your fingertips and toes. Finally you let the remainder of it out, smiling languidly at Beetlejuice. Shotgun smoking with him always made you feel warm and mellow. Maybe the smoke picked up something in his lungs that transferred to you? You didn’t know, but it made you feel good.

Your smile was slow and there was a tingle in your extremities and in your groin. You didn’t step away, and pressed a sloppy kiss to his lower lip. Beetlejuice caught you around the waist with one arm as he raised the joint and brought it to his mouth again. You caught him staring directly at the other specter with a smug air and open challenge on his face.

Taller Beetlejuice scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Still doesn’t change the fact she called me.”

“She called me first, asshole!” Beetlejuice said with his arm still around you.

“And then she obviously decided to call someone better!”

The affects of the weed kept you slowed down for a moment, so you didn’t object when Beetlejuice released you and took a step between you and the second Beetlejuice you’d managed to summon into your living room. Still, you said,

“Hey. Beej? Beejes? Beeji? Bees?” Trying to determine the plural of the word struck you as funny, and you cut yourself off with giggling.

“It was a fucking mistake. You’re a fucking second string, honorary mention, cheap knock-off of me--”

“Someone’s got their panties in a twist. Feeling threatened ‘cause you know she’d choose me over you? Chicks like tall guys,” the newer arrival stated dismissively before he addressed you again. “Come on, babydoll, you wanna have some fun with someone who doesn’t need chemical enhancement to show you a good time?”

Beetlejuice responded to that with a snarl, while the other turned back on him with a comment on how he probably couldn’t even get it up at this point.

It slowly dawned in your fuzzy brain that there were two Beetlejuices slowly circling each other like two alpha predators looking for an opportunity to attack. Both of them had red shot through their hair, and there was a faint crackling in the air, like right before a lightening strike.

That cleared your head pretty quickly. The last thing you needed was your house torn apart in some spectral, demonic, dick-measuring contest. Especially when all you’d really wanted to do tonight was get laid.

“Hey,” you said.

They ignored you, focused so tightly on each other.

You cleared your throat and tried again, more loudly. “Hey! Beetlejuice! Bhetlejuz!”

Their full names caught their attention. They both turned to you.

“I called you both here,” you exclaimed boldly, “so that means I get to choose what I want!”

Both Beetlejuices turned to you with dangerously dark expressions, staring at you from beneath their brows, like they both suddenly remembered you were in the room, standing before them scantily clad and looking like prey.

You pushed on. “So I choose both of you. Either you’re in, or you’re out. I’m happy to send either of you away if you can’t play nicely.”

It was a gamble; calling Beetlejuice up gave him power and you truly didn’t have much control over him. Still, you sweetened the deal by casually drawing a hand down your own side and subtly cupping your own breast before letting your hand fall to the hem of your shirt. Coyly, you lifted it a few inches as you cocked a hip.

They both looked much less dangerous with their jaws loosened.

tbc . . .

#Beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #Brightjuice #blumjuice #writing #fanfic

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autumnalwalker · 2 years ago

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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->

#writing #original fiction #urban fantasy #Writeblr #WIP #Empty Names #serial fiction #writing practice #writers on tumblr #creative writing #literature #prose #writers #web novel #novel #fantasy #fiction #my writing #emptynameswriting

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navegandoaciegas · 5 years ago

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no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: catholic priest!Bucky, virgin!Bucky, desecrating thoughts and actions, explicit language, smut, consensual sexual acts, mentions of loss of virginity, slight innocence and religious kinks (nothing disturbing), oral sex, fingering, masturbation, sex in a public (and sacred) place.

Summary: As punishment for your sinful behavior, your parents send you to your aunt’s house in the middle of nowhere, in hope you’ll redeem yourself. The punishment quickly backfires when you take an interest in the local (and handsome) priest, and you manage to corrupt his pure soul.

A/N: I was in a priest!Bucky mood this morning and I wrote this for @saiyanprincessswanie writing challenge. I chose prompt 17 and the ‘opposites attract’ trope. I hope you like this!

Filth and happy ending ‘cause I’m a sap. Take me to church by Hozier inspired this.

This is not a dark story and both reader and Bucky are consenting adults. Fyi, catholic priests can’t marry, and they change their name when they are ordained. We’ll pretend James is the name he took as priest.

You look over your shoulder to check if anyone’s around and knock on the backdoor of the church, waiting for your lover to usher you inside. The sinful secrecy of it all, the rush of excitement, your love for all that’s forbidden: you’ve never felt more alive.

Being forced to spend the summer in the middle of nowhere is not the way you expected your senior year of college to end, but not all evil comes to harm, and in this quiet little town, you’ve become quite interested in the local priest. In your defence, boredom is the root of all evil, and in your case, evil happens to make you horny and prone to making bad decisions, and Father James is young and handsome, so it was only a matter of time before he gave in the temptation of the flesh and you found yourself fucked against the altar.

Ordained or not, he’s only a man after all.

The confessional is dark and suffocating; behind the wooden screen, the priest is all ears.

Muscle memory kicks in when you do the sign of the cross and begin to speak.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” you recite the formula that’s been ingrained in your mind since you were old enough to need it, “My last confession was seven years ago.”

You mentally curse your parents for still having the authority to send you to Bumfuck Nowhere, Alabama, and your aunt for forcing you to attend church and confess your sins.

It will be good for your soul, they said, New York is corrupting you.

You suppose it’s only fair that your good catholic parents would react so drastically; they wanted to surprise you in your new apartment and drove all the way from Rhode Island to New York, only to find your piano tutor buried balls deep inside of you. Lord knows what they’d do if they knew you’ve lost your purity long before that, with one of the good catholic girls in your private boarding school. Extramarital sex, with a woman at that! They’d probably have a meltdown, drag your to a cloistered convent and lock you there for life.

You don’t wait for the priest to acknowledge you and start talking.

“You know Father, I found a handy dandy little list of all the sins you’re supposed to confess to and I checked them. I’ll read it to you. Let’s see.” you clear your throat, “So, I use artificial birth control, I broke a couple of promises, including the one to wait for marriage, I can be kind of blasphemous sometimes, but you see, I spent six months abroad in Italy last year and the kids there taught me all sorts of ways to disrespect the Lord, they have so many, and once those things get stuck in your brain... what can you do, they just stick in there, you don’t even want to say them but they become part of your vocabulary.” you continue uninterrupted, “Anyways, my parents caught me in the act with a man, so I guess we have ‘dishonoring family’ too. Underage drinking as a kid, a lot of that. Drugs sometimes, nothing major, ya know, I don’t do coke or nothing. Gossiping, impure thoughts, God-”

He interrupts you clearing his throat.

“Sorry. See? I don’t even do it on purpose. As I was saying, I love those. Lying... not a whole lot to be honest; to my parents, mostly. Haven’t prayed in a good 10 years. Masturbation, did I mention that? Watched porn a couple of times, ‘m not a big fan if I’m being honest, but to each their own. Oh, and premarital sex, a ton of that. Had an orgy once, not too fond of those either. Too many limbs.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, so you give him a moment to ponder his thoughts. He stays silent for a while, and when he speaks his voice is not at all what you expected it to be. He’s soft spoken yet commanding, and sounds surprisingly young.

“Anything else you can remember?”

“Well of course, the cherry on top, my own first class ticket to hell.” you say, not as cheerful as before, repeating the exact words you’ve been taught for years, “God gave me free will and I used it to commit homosexual acts, Father. Multiple times.”

You let the words hang in the stuffy air of the confessional; you don’t know what to expect from the priest, to be honest. Last time you admitted to thinking of a girl to a religious figure, Sister Theresa told you you’d never have to act on your impulses, or you’d burn in hell for it. You were 12.

“You think that’s worse than the rest?”

“Not me, no, I don’t.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What makes you do the things you do?” he asks, and you don’t feel any of the judgment you were expecting, only genuine curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me to repent for my sins?” you reply, equally as curious.

“Is absolution what you’re seeking?”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, Father, and I’m way past asking for permission.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My aunt forced me.”

It’s his turn to snort this time. “You don’t seem the type to follow orders blindly.”

You admit the guy’s got a point. “I guess… I don’t know. I felt the need to. It feels nice, talking to someone. I feel lonely a lot, and it’s easier to talk to strangers. And this is cheaper than therapy, so that’s a bonus. Really, I just need to vent.”

“Do you regret any of your choices?” he says, after a while.

“Not the ones I confessed to.” you admit, trying to discern the priest’s figure behind the screen.

“What is it, then?”

“You know, you’re kinda chill for a priest from Alabama, I gotta give it to you.” you respond, dodging his question.

“Thanks, it’s probably because I’m from Brooklyn.”

“What the hell-”

“Language.”

“Sorry. Why would someone move from Brooklyn to this place?”

“Vocation.”

“I see.”

It’s silent again, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“You should come to the parish sometimes. We have meetings, we sing, we eat together, the children play football and the young adults talk about what it means to be a Catholic in the modern world. It may ease your mind about a lot of worries and misconceptions you might have.”

You contemplate on his words: it wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like you’ve got a whole lot going on here; and you might as well find yourself a devoted man or woman to pass time.

“I might.”, you finally respond, not willing to give him the satisfaction, and stand from the chair. “I’ll see you around, Father.”

“May God give you peace, miss.”

“Amen.”

“What took you so long?” James asks, grunting when you pull on his hair.

“My aunt asked me to make lunch for her husband, as if he couldn’t do it his damn self.” you respond, and suck on his bottom lip, “Missed me?”

“Always.”

You coo, “My eager boy.”

He’s sitting on his office chair and you’re straddling his lap, grinding your hips on him and feeling his arousal grow. You’re burning up, panties damp and a familiar coil in your core. You don’t know what excites you the most: being responsible for the corruption of such pure soul, the forbidden aspect of fucking a Catholic priest, or the possibility of someone walking in on you. Your walls flutter when you imagine the scandal that this affair would create.

You pull him closer, tugging on his white collar, and he breaks the kiss. His eyes are black and glossed over, lips swollen, cheeks red, but there’s something like worry in eyes.

“Do you love me?” he asks quietly, in the soft voice you adore.

“Of course I do, you know that.”

You fall on your knees and fumble with the zipper of his black pants.

“Would you love me if I didn’t have this collar?” he stops your hands with his, “Would you still love me if I wasn’t this?”, he gestures to his sacred attire.

You pause your actions and search his eyes. Where is this coming from?

“Yes, I’d love you anyways, I’ll always love you.”

A small, shy smile breaks on his face. He lifts you up and makes you sit on his desk.

“I- I w-want to try something,” he begins with a stutter, “I remember hearing some kids back when I was in school talk about it.”

You cock your head to the side, observing carefully as he sits back down on the chair and parts your legs. He lowers his head and begins peppering the inner skin of your thighs with open mouthed kisses. Oh-.

“James, you don’t have to do this.” you try to tell him, but he’s already moving your panties to the side.

He stares entranced between your legs; he’s never been this bold, never watched you there. “You’re so pretty, I want to kiss you here.”

You feel a finger tease your entrance and dip in. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and when he licks a strip of your dripping cunt, you feel like you could burst. He delves in your glistening folds, tongue swirling around as if he was kissing your mouth, and your hips jerk forward when he crooks a couple of fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes the coil in your belly grow tighter.

You throw your head back and your eyes fall on the cross behind you. You are very much past forgiveness at this point, you muse, and that makes this all the more exciting.

You’re writhing under his touch, completely at his mercy. You grab the back of his neck and bring his face upward so that his mouth comes in contact with your clit.

“Suck there.” you demand in a raspy voice, rocking your hips and fucking yourself on his fingers. “Good boy.” you praise when he closes his mouth around your bud and begins sucking and lapping on it. “Yes, oh my God, fuck, faster.”

James obeys and jerks the fingers inside of you, the vibration and his tongue enough to make the knot in your core unravel and pleasure release in jolts, shooting from your center to the rest of your body; you slap a hand on your mouth to suppress wanton moans as your hips twitch involuntarily and your toes curl. He rides you though your orgasm until you’re too sensitive to handle his face on you.

When you look down, you find him, face wet in your arousal, eyes half lidded.

“Did I do well?” he asks full of hope, still clinging to your legs and nuzzling your thigh.

“You did amazing, sweet boy.”

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

Hearing your sultry voice, he chokes on air behind the screen and clears his throat, trying to keep the same composure he always seems to loose when you’re around.

“I got friendly with a man, you see, a man of church.” you begin in a teasing tone, “He kissed me, and I didn’t pull back. I let him roam his hands all over my body, Father, and then I corrupted him.”, You lick a couple of fingers and dip them in your mouth, then you release them with a popping sound and slowly slip them in your panties. You push a finger in your already wet core, smearing arousal around and teasing your clit, slow at first. “You should have seen how innocent he looked, Father. He said he’s never been touched like that. A virgin. I’ve never been with a virgin before.” you continue, almost moaning the last part as you slide three fingers in and out of you and tease your bud with your thumb, “He didn’t even know I could please him with my mouth, so I took him in and I sucked him off.” You’re panting, hand furiously circling your clit. You hear Bucky’s ragged breath behind the screen. “He moaned so loud, F-F-Father, he c-came so quick. And I swallowed it all, because you can’t let a single drop of seed g-go to w-waste, can you?” you whimper, feeling an orgasm build up.

You’re fueled by his suppressed grunts and the lewd sounds of him touching himself.

“I don’t come for absolution Father, because I’d do it all again.” you breathe at last, letting pleasure run through your every nerve, setting you ablaze.

Behind the screen, Father James paints his hand and black shirt in white spurts, shame and pleasure fighting eachother in his mind.

You haven’t moved yet, legs parted, trying to catch your breath, and James is still clinging onto you.

You don’t know how it happened.

It started with boredom, with a wish to fuck the pretty priest, but you’ve caught feelings now, and in three weeks you’ll have to get back to New York, where a job and a new apartment await you.

At least your aunt and your parents are happy about your redemption: you’ve been going to church everyday. They don’t need to know you’ve spent most time on your knees or on your back.

But you don’t want to think about it now; you can’t let sadness take over and ruin these moments when James is only yours. Your love is on borrowed time, and you intend to make the most out of it.

“Do you want to fuck me, my love? You want me to come all over your pretty cock, yes? You want to fill me up with your cum?” you whisper in his ear, amused at the way he blushes.

“Please.” he whines, palming his cock through his briefs.

“Please what, sweet boy?”

“Please let me-” he interrupts himself.

“Let me what?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Can’t hear you.” you tease him, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up.

“Let me make love to you.”

You let out a chuckle and shake your head fondly. This man has had you bent over his desk, in the confessional, behind the altar, on the benches where the devoted Catholics of this town attend mass, and yet he can’t bring himself to talk crudely.

You pull on his hair so he stands, and you kiss him ravenously, letting your hands roam over his lean body, the taste of his lips permanently etched in the back of your mind. You don’t want to forget a thing, so you commit to mind each of his little noises, the way his tongue swirls around yours, the soft caresses of his hands.

Clothes discarded in a blur, the room is filled with your moan and his grunts. He pounds into you like a desperate man, clinging onto you with a bruising touch, holding you impossibly close as if you were about to slip through his fingers. And in a way, you are.

When James makes love to you the world disappears and there’s no judgement, no church. He’s not a priest, you’re not a sinner; he’s not pure, you’re not sick.

It’s just you and him, united in one body. Just a man and a woman being one in the flesh.

His thrusts become sloppier, his breathing labored. He brings a hand on your clit and presses on it. He comes inside of you, painting your walls, and the feeling of his swollen cock inside you and his cum filling you up are enough to trigger your release too, your walls clenching on him and milking every last drop.

You’re exhausted, panting in each other’s embrace.

There’s no sin when you’re like this; you’re no longer the devil to his holy water.

There’s only love.

James’ desk in his office is dark and wide, with mahogany panels on all three sides except the one he sits at. So when Ms. Lee, the adorable elderly lady that organizes the monthly fundraising events for charity, knocks on the door as you’re bouncing on James’ cock, all you have to do is crouch down and disappear under the table.

“Good evening, Father James.” She greets him cheerfully.

You hear the tapping of her heels until she plops down on the guests chair.

“Good evening, Ms. Lee.” he responds in a strained voice, adjusting himself on the chair.

Ms. Lee speaks a lot. She’s talking James’ ear off, blabbering about the next charity event, and you think what better occasion than this one to be an indecent slut.

You slowly massage his thighs, bringing your hands from his knees to his groin, teasing him when you get close to his crotch and retracting.

You watch as his cock swells in front of you, and you bite back a giggle. You hear him suck in a breath when you start pumping his length with both your hands.

“Are you alright, James? You’re looking a little worse for wear.” Ms. Lee asks him worriedly when she sees her priest red and sweaty.

James clears his throat and when he’s about to open his mouth, you lick a strip from base to his leaking tip, and the noise that escapes him is between a moan and a grunt.

“Y-yes, Ms. Lee, I’m fine. Just some food poisoning I think.” he manages to answer, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Poor thing.” she coos, and you take his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around, sucking on the frail skin of under the tip, “Anyways-” she begins again.

James tries to keep his composure, but you sense his distress, and you imagine it must be written all over his face. One hand massages his balls, the other aids your movements as you bob your head up and down, careful not to make a noise. His legs twitch under the table when you push his cock all the way down to your throat, and he makes a strangled noise.

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re fine? You really don’t look like it.” Ms. Lee interjects again, interrupting her story.

“I’m fine ma’am, don’t worry about me.”, he says through gritted teeth, jaw clenched shut so hard he might break his teeth.

You give it all you’ve got until your jaw is aching and your knees are killing you. Your effort pays off when, with one last motion on your hands, James grunts and cums in your throat, hips jerking forward and legs shaking.

He comes so hard that you choke on his release.

“Did you hear it too?” she asks in alert.

“He-hear wh-what?” he stutters, pretending to cough to hide your noises.

“A choking sound?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that, just my cough.” he answers, red faced and spent.

“I guess…” she doesn’t sound convinced but lets it go anyways. She could never imagine her sweet priest is getting blown by a city whore under his desk, “I’ll get going then, but please get some rest Father, your holy duties can wait.”

They can indeed, you think, as James yanks you from underneath the table and bends you over the desk, fucking you until you’re crying.

“What makes you do the things you do?” he’s playing with your hair as he asks the question that’s been plaguing him for months, since that first time in the confessional.

You’re in a motel somewhere, two hours away from your town, laying on a bed like two lovers. In this room, you’re not a dirty little secret.

What excited you before, suffocates you now.

You thought you may only like the forbidden, but you find yourself at peace in his arms, that peace you’ve yearned for for 22 years, that peace you could never find, because people like you are born sick, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life.

“If I tell you, will you absolve me?” you ask, basking in his affection.

James is so sweet, so caring. You wish this moment could last forever.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my love. I’ve sinned too much myself.”

“My bad.” you giggle.

Silence falls on you, and you hum in though, pondering your next words very carefully.

“I don’t do them for any reasons, other than they feel good. It feels good to drink, to smoke, to fuck you, to suck your cock.”, you say, and he blushes in embarrassment, “Or maybe I never got over my teenage phase and I just like doing all the things my parents always told me not to do, who knows. Trauma? Maybe. Spite? Quite possibly. I don’t even know at this point.”

He nods slowly.

He wishes you could see yourself through his eyes, see how perfect you are. In his heart, there’s only love for you, in his mind, no more conflict.

“I do them for you.” he answers, and you smile at him, “And for myself, I guess. I thought I had found my way, but maybe I was wrong.”

You turn to look at him, and bop his nose.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what choice you make. I’ll wait for you if you ask me to.”

But his choice has been made already.

He doesn’t deserve his collar, but hopefully he deserves you.

I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Please, reblog if you liked it and leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

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sapevaluationusa · 2 years ago

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Substance Abuse Evaluation: What You Need to Know

Introduction:

What is a Substance Abuse Evaluation and Why is it Important?

A substance abuse evaluation is a critical diagnostic process aimed at assessing an individual’s patterns of drug or alcohol use. It involves a series of assessments and screenings conducted by a trained professional to determine the extent of an individual’s substance use disorder, if any. The importance of this evaluation lies in its ability to identify the presence and severity of addiction, paving the way for effective treatment planning and intervention.

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