#AND EVEN THOUGH ALL THE CELLS HAVE CHANGED AND ITS SWITCHED AND ALTERED

[honeysucklethornsandalligtrhorns]

God, how are people not totally and irrevocably in love with their bodies? Scars and nicks and spots and bumps and calluses and hair- we’re such beautiful things. You will look back on your body years from now and have a suitcase packed full of memories, all based off of who you were then, and how your body reflected that.

We keep these things for our whole lives. Now is a better time than ever to start loving what we’ve got. Take the time to appreciate your flesh and bone, what it does for you. We are all beautiful creatures. We are all alive, and is that not the greatest thing one can be?

#body positivity #IM SO FUKCIN IN LOVE WITH HUMANS #AND BODIES #AND THE WAY PEOPLE LOOK AND PRESENT THEMSELVES #THIS IS THE SAME FORM THAT WENT THROUGH SO MUCH TRAUMA #AND HEALED AND SURVIVED #AND ITS SO GODDAMN GORGEOUS #ITS THE SAME FORM YOU HAD WHEN YOU WERE BORN #AND EVEN THOUGH ALL THE CELLS HAVE CHANGED AND ITS SWITCHED AND ALTERED #IT STILL HOUSES YOUR BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL SOUL #ITS STILL YOU #AND IM SCREAMING ABOUT IT #LOVE YOURSELFFFF #OR I’LL DO IT FOR YOU UNTIL YOU CAN

[aradhya21]

What is Epigenetics?

Introduction

Not only do your genes influence your health, but so do your actions and the environment in which you live. This includes things like the foods you consume and the amount of exercise you get. Epigenetics is the study of how a person’s behavior and their environment may generate changes that impact how their genes function. That’s why it is important to have a Perfect Diet Plan and Fitness Routine. HealthCodes DNA™ is here to help you. Get the Fitness Panel at the best rate. Coming back to this, Epigenetic alterations, in contrast to genetic modifications, are reversible and do not alter the sequence of your DNA. However, they may modify the way that your body interprets a DNA sequence.

The term “gene expression” refers to the frequency or timing of the production of proteins based on the instructions contained within your genes. Epigenetic alterations impact gene expression and may “turn on” or “turn off” genes, in contrast to genetic modifications. Which can change the kind of protein that produce. It is simple to identify the relationship between your genes and the environment and the behaviors you engage in because your environment and habits, such as nutrition and exercise, may result in changes to your epigenome.

What is the mechanism behind epigenetics?

Changes in epigenetics may have a variety of effects on how genes are expressed. The following are examples of epigenetic changes:

The methylation of DNA

The process of DNA methylation involves the addition of a chemical group to the genetic material. In most cases, this group appends certain locations on the DNA. Where it obstructs the ability of proteins to “read” the gene by attaching to DNA and doing so. Through an operation known as demethylation, it is possible to eliminate this chemical group. In most cases, methylation will “switch off” genes, while demethylation will “switch on” genes.

Histone modification

Histone proteins encase DNA in their spiral structure. The proteins that “read” the gene are unable to reach the DNA if it is securely wrapped around the histones. Some genes are turned “off”. They are wrapped around histones, whereas other genes, which are not wrapped around histones, are activated because they are not turned off. It is possible to add or remove chemical groups from histones. Which will result in a change in whether a gene is wrapped or unwrapped (“on” or “off”).

RNA that lacks codons

Coding and non-coding RNA are both produced from your body based on the instructions found in your DNA. The production of proteins requires coding RNA. The process by which non-coding RNA attaches to coding RNA, along with specific proteins, to break down coding RNA so that it cannot be utilized to produce proteins is one method by which non-coding RNA contributes to the regulation of gene expression. Non-coding RNA may recruit proteins to change histones to “turn on” or “turn off” genes.

How Can Changes Occur in Your Epigenetics?

Your epigenetic make-up changes as you get older, both as a natural consequence of maturation and the passage of time and as a result of the effects of your actions and the world around you.

The Interplay Between Genetics and Development

Changes to your epigenome occur even before you are born. Although they all share the same DNA, each of your cells has its unique appearance and behavior. During development and growth, epigenetics plays a role in determining the function that a cell will have, such as whether it will become a cell that makes up the skin, the heart, or the nervous system.

Example: Nerve cell vs. Muscle cell

Even though they share the same DNA, your muscle cells and nerve cells have quite distinct functions. One of the functions of a nerve cell is to transmit information to other cells in the body. The structure of a muscle cell contributes to the capability of your body to move about. Through the process of epigenetics, a muscle cell can generate proteins that are essential to its function while simultaneously silencing genes that are essential to the function of a nerve cell.

Epigenetics and chronological age

Your epigenetic makeup will evolve as you go through life. Your epigenetics when you were born are not the same as your epigenetics when you were a kid or when you were an adult.

Example:

DNA methylation at millions of locations assesses a baby, a 26-year-old, and a 103-year-old participant in the study. The comparison included a newborn, a 26-year-old, and an older participant. The degree to which DNA is methylated decreases as people become older. The level of DNA methylation in a newborn was the greatest, while the level in a 103-year-old was the lowest. The level of DNA methylation in a 26-year-old was intermediate between that of the newborn and the 103-year-old

Epigenetics and the Capability to Change

Not all modifications brought about by epigenetics are permanent. Some epigenetic alterations can introduce or deleted in response to shifts in either behavior or the surrounding environment.

Example: Smokers vs. non-smokers vs. former smokers

Changes to one’s epigenome may be brought on by smoking. For instance, compared to non-smokers, smokers often have a lower level of DNA methylation in certain regions of the AHRR gene. The gap is even wider between heavy smokers and smokers who have maintained their habit for many years. Former smokers can begin to exhibit enhanced DNA methylation at this gene sometime after they have given up smoking. They eventually have the potential to attain levels that are comparable to those of non-smokers. This might happen in less than a year for some people. But the exact amount of time it takes depends on how long and how much someone smoked before they stopped.

The Link Between Epigenetics and Health

Alterations to your epigenome may have a variety of effects on your health, including the following:

Infections

Germs can alter your epigenetics and make your immune system less effective. This contributes to the germ’s ability to live.

Example: Mycobacterium tuberculosis

Mycobacterium tuberculosis causes TB. Infections caused by these pathogens may lead to alterations in the histones of certain of your immune cells. Which ultimately results in the “off” switch being flipped on the IL-12B gene. Your immune system will be weakened, and the likelihood of Mycobacterium tuberculosis surviving will increase if you “switch off” the IL-12B gene.

Cancer

A higher risk of developing cancer is associated with having certain mutations. In a similar vein, some epigenetic modifications may raise your chance of developing cancer. For instance, if you have a mutation in the BRCA1 gene that stops it from acting as it should, you have an increased risk of developing breast cancer as well as other types of cancer. Increased DNA methylation, which leads to lower BRCA1 gene expression, also elevates the risk of cancer, including breast cancer as well as other types of cancer. Even while certain genes in cancer cells have higher levels of DNA methylation than normal cells do, the total amount of DNA methylation is lower in cancer cells.

Normal cells have higher levels of DNA methylation. Seemingly identical forms of cancer can have very distinct patterns of DNA methylation. Epigenetics may use to assist in determining the kind of cancer that a person has or can assist in the early detection of tumors that are difficult to detect. Epigenetics cannot use identify cancer on its own; further screening procedures require to validate any potential cancer diagnoses.

Example: Colorectal Cancer

The expression of some genes alters colorectal tumors as a result of aberrant methylation of DNA in areas that are close to those genes. Stool samples are examined in some commercial colorectal cancer screening tests to check for abnormally high levels of DNA methylation in any one or more of these DNA locations. You must be aware of the fact that to finish the screening procedure. You will need to have a colonoscopy if the test result is positive or abnormal.

The Importance of Nutrition During Pregnancy

The surroundings and behaviors of a pregnant woman, such as whether or not she consumes nutritious food, have the potential to alter the epigenetics of the developing kid. Some of these changes may last for decades, which may increase the likelihood that the kid will develop certain illnesses later in life.

Example: Dutch Hunger Winter Famine (1944-1945)

People whose mothers were pregnant with them during the famine had a higher risk of developing various ailments, including heart disease, schizophrenia, and type 2 diabetes. These diseases were more common in those people. Researchers examined the levels of methylation in individuals whose mothers were pregnant with them during the famine. This study was conducted around sixty years after the crisis ended. In comparison to their siblings who were not subjected to hunger before their birth, these individuals showed increased methylation at some genes and reduced methylation at other genes. These variations in methylation might help explain why these individuals had a higher risk of developing certain illnesses later in life.

Conclusions

Epigenetics is an exciting and relatively new field that already provides important insights into complex biological processes. While much work still needs to be done to fully understand the role of epigenetics in human health and disease, the potential implications are profound. Epigenetic changes can pass down from one generation to the next, meaning that the health of future generations may be influenced by epigenetic changes that occur today. As we learn more about epigenetics, we may be able to identify new ways to prevent or treat disease, and ultimately improve the health of our children and grandchildren. And now, you can trace your family’s health at home with HealthCodes DNA’s comprehensive DNA test kit for health.

#EPIGENETICS

[cockslutpadalecki]

All The Good Girls Go To Hell (5)

Summary: When Sam marries into Y/N's family he naively believes she's a little princess incapable of putting a step wrong. But once he comes face to face with evidence that proves she's far from angelic which also implicates his own brother in her misdeeds, Sam finds himself battling against his own moral judgement.

Characters: Step Dad!Sam x Step Daughter!Reader, Uncle!Dean x Niece!Reader.

Words: 3538.

Warnings: stepfather/stepdaughter relationship, oral sex (male and female receiving), sexting, rough sex, degradation, dirty talk, female masturbation, bratty!reader, cheesy double entendres, Dean's filthy whore mouth. Assume all tags will apply to every chapter and warnings may differ/alter as story progresses.

A/N: I lied, I think this might be my favourite chapter to date, ha! Apologies that I'm a wordy bitch for a change - this literally took on a mind of its own. Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Masterlists/taglists can be found in my bio. Subscribe to Patreon and get access to fics two weeks before Tumblr for as little as $3. Chapter six and seven already available on Patreon. SERIES MASTERLIST  

Even though they won’t be back from hiking for hours, Dean still drops you at the end of the street, the Impala extremely conspicuous in the middle of your suburban neighbourhood, no doubt causing your nosey neighbours’ curtains to twitch. You limp the short walk home, pussy still smarting and a familiar heat has settled thickly between your thighs from the amount of orgasms Dean coaxed from you at your request.

You reach the front door and let yourself in, sighing with content as you aim to nap for a couple of hours in the luxury of a silent house. You slip your sneakers off with each opposing foot and give your back a stretch as a yawn escapes your lips before turning on the spot to head upstairs as Sam appears in the kitchen doorway.

“Holy sh—“ you yell, bringing your hand up to your chest as your heart thuds against your rib cage. “You scared the crap outta me.” He doesn’t respond, merely stands watching you, arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face. “I didn’t know you were home already.”

“Bobby sprained his ankle. He’s at the ER with your mom,” he explains stoically, arms dropping to his sides as he steps into the hall and closer to you.

“Oh god, is he okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I tried. Many times.”

You already know he tried; the proof showing in the dozens of missed calls and voicemails littering your notifications. After Sam had called, Dean had your cells switched off, not wanting to be interrupted again.

“Sorry, I—“

“Where have you been?” He inquires, cutting you off.

“I just went out for some air.”

“For three hours?”

“Three... hours...” You trail off, hesitantly looking at your watch and realising it’s a little past seven. You’d well and truly fucked your day away. “I had no idea I was out that long.”

Sam’s eyes narrow and it’s the same scrutinising look on his face again, the same one that shows he doesn’t believe a damn word you’re saying. “Well, you’re lucky your mom isn’t here otherwise she would’ve called the cops hours ago.”

“And you were, what, just hoping I’d turn up eventually?” You spit, trying to turn the situation around on him to cover up your own guilt.

“I was hoping you were lying to me and it turns out my faith didn’t fail me after all.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. Believe what you want.” You turn to make for the stairs as Sam lunges towards you, grabbing you by the arm. “Ow,” you cry at the pinching grip he has on you, “that hurts.”

His spearmint shower gel wafts under your nose and the smell of it makes your thighs clench as your toes curl into the expensive carpet beneath your feet. You struggle against him, but he soon brings his other hand to grab at you, boxing you in between his broad chest and the wall behind you. You refuse to make eye contact, choosing to look down at the floor knowing if you return the stare burning a hole into your skin, you’ll be itching to fall to your knees to suck his cock again.

“I’m going to find out what you’re hiding eventually, Y/N,” Sam seethes deeply and you dare yourself to cast a glance back at him, finding his eyes dark and full of ire. The kind of darkness that causes your entire body to quake with fervour.

“And then what? I’ll be in ‘big trouble’? ‘Cause that worked so well the last time you threatened me,” you mutter derisively.

His jaw tightens to the point you think it might snap, your gaze lingering a little too long on his lips before flicking your lashes back up to meet his stare.

“Give me your phone,” he orders, letting go of your arms and puts a hand out between you.

“Why?”

“I’ve had enough of you trying to pull the wool over my eyes and we’ve let your attitude slide for long enough. You take your mom and I for granted so I’m taking away your privileges.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes I fucking can,” he admonishes and heat bubbles in your stomach, a lethal combination of anger and arousal. You huff overdramatically, fishing into the back pocket of your shorts and slam your cell into the palm of his hand. “Thank you.” His fingers curl around it and quickly slips into the pocket of his sweats. “And I’ll have your laptop too.”

“Why do you need my laptop?” You question.

“It’s a privilege you no longer have any need for. I take Bobby’s Xbox and phone when he misbehaves, it’s only fair you get the same punishment.” His voice is cold now, almost detached and it frightens you more than when he raises it.

You push yourself onto tiptoes, one hand pressed against his chest while the other slides down towards his crotch. Lips grazing his, you whisper, “what about if I wanna suck your cock? Gonna take that privilege away from me too, Daddy?”

You’ve never seen him look so pissed off. He charges at you, hand tightly wrapped around your throat as he slams you hard against the wall. His nose pressed firm against your cheek, you can feel his ragged breath fanning over your neck making you shiver in his grasp. “I was gonna let you keep your freedom, but seeing as you’re so hellbent on questioning my authority, you’ve just lost that too.”

“You’re grounding me?” You scoff through choked breaths.

“For two weeks,” Sam confirms. “Now, go get your laptop before I force you up the fucking stairs myself.” He pushes away, allowing you the room to move and for a moment you stare each other out as if it were a Mexican stand-off. “Y/N now. Don’t make me ask you twice.”

You’re usually far too stubborn, but the way Sam looks at you - like he could murder you at any moment - causes you to snap first.

You stomp up the stairs like a two year old in the midst of a tantrum, hands balled into fists at your sides as you grizzle and scream from behind closed lips. Storming into your room, it takes all of your resolve not to drop to the floor and bang your fists against the carpet. You snatch up your laptop, forgetting about the power cable still plugged in at the wall until the torque becomes too great and yanks out of the socket with a loud thud.

Stamping back down the stairs, Sam greets you at the bottom, hands on his hips and you wanna throw the damn thing at his face.

“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He sneers, taking it from you. He turns to walk away as a patronising smile starts to show.

“You’re a fucking asshole!” You shout, hot tears running down your cheeks. You hate him. You fucking hate him.

“Watch your language or I’ll make it a month,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Aah, I hate you!” You scream back, running up the stairs to your room. Collapsing on your bed, you’re too angry to do anything else except yell into your pillow until you fall asleep, exhausted.

-

As Sam hears Y/N slam her bedroom door, he lets out the deep breath he’s been holding in. He shakily places her laptop down on the kitchen island and leans his palms flat against the marble, attempting to steady himself. He’s had his fair share of confrontations, especially in his profession, but this one has torn his nerves to shreds.

The way she pushed against him at every request, forcing his hand to the point he laid his hands on her; it made his blood boil, but at the same time had made him so unbelievably hard, desperate to push her to her knees and make her suck his cock again just so she’d shut her mouth.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, internally battling with his conscience before making a decision and heads for the front door.

He needs to get out of the house.

-

Sam drives mindlessly for a while, knowing he should be home for Audrey and Bobby when they get back but he can’t stay there while she is. He doesn’t trust himself around her any more, amazed he was able to stop himself from bending her over the kitchen counter and fucking her like the spoilt little cunt she is.

He debates hitting a few bars, but the idea of heading back to the house with liquid courage in his veins would only make things worse. He just needs some familiar company to take his mind off of the throbbing in his pants.

Sam parks up in the visitors space, pulling his permit from the glove compartment and slides it onto the dash as he exits the car, careful not to open the door too wide in case he prangs the side of Baby and ends up forking out a hundred bucks to get it fixed.

He strides across the parking lot and rushes up the stairs, taking two at a time before finally reaching apartment 67, the sound of Led Zeppelin dully muted through the wall. Sam gives the door a quick knock and patiently waits for an answer.

Dean opens it only moments later, swigging from a half-empty beer bottle. “Couldn’t stay away coul— Oh shit, Sammy hey.”

“Couldn’t stay away huh?” Sam smirks. “Someone’s clearly been working on more than just Baby today.”

“You could say that.” He replies, taking another gulp of beer as he moves back to allow Sam to enter. “If I knew you were comin”, I’da got some more beers in.”

“Sorry, I woulda called but I needed to get out of the house,” Sam explains stepping inside. “Y/N, she... ugh.” He grits his teeth, unable to vocalise just how much she infuriates him while at the same wanting to do unspeakable things to her. He turns to face his brother, front door clicking closed as Dean shuts it.

“Being a brat huh?”

“You have no idea.” Sam shakes his head. “It’s like she knows exactly what buttons to push.” He slumps on the couch with a heavy sigh as Dean disappears into the kitchen before returning with a fresh beer and hands it to him. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to talk some sense into her.”

Dean shrugs. “I mean, I’ll do what I can dude.”

“If you could just get her to change her whole damn attitude that’d be great.” He takes a large sip of beer, the cold crisp liquid helping to douse the heat still sitting thick in the pit of his stomach.

“Shame you can’t take her over your knee and give that tight little ass a spank,” Dean scoffs before draining the last of his beer.

“Dude, seriously, you gotta stop with that shit,” Sam chastens, his jeans suddenly tightening at the thought. “She’s my step-daughter.”

“C’mon, you’re telling me you’ve never busted one out in the shower thinking about her? Imagined it’s her instead of Auds?”

Yes I have. All the time. I came down her throat once too. “You’re sick,” Sam bites back a little too defensively. Maybe being here wasn’t better than being at home after all. But at least here he’s unable to act on the things he wishes he could do to her or the positions he aches to manipulate her into.

Dean laughs, swiftly changing the subject and nods towards Sam’s hand. “Better nurse that beer, last one I got. Unless you want me to run to the store?”

“Nah it’s fine, I should probably get home after this,” he sighs deeply, taking another swig. “Try and rectify this mess somehow.”

Dean huffs and heads to the door, picking up his keys. “Liquor store is down the street, I’m going to get more beer, no arguments.”

-

As Dean leaves, Sam sags further into the couch in an attempt to get comfortable, anything to get rid of the headache that’s starting to pulse in his forehead, but something digs sharply against the side of his thigh. He wriggles in the spot for a moment in the hopes it’ll shift by itself, but it just prods harder against his skin. Giving up, he shoves his hand down between the couch cushions, fingers finally meeting something fragile. He drags it up between his fingertips, the dainty metal twinkling as it catches light hanging above him.

He smirks at the implication, more shocked that he’s not surprised to find a necklace lost in the midst of Dean’s couch. His brother slept with plenty of women, it could belong to any one of them. He lets it pour into a silver puddle in his palm as his eyes really register the oversized heart sitting on top of the broken chain.

Wait. He knows this necklace. He flips it over between his fingertips to confirm it; eyes landing on Y/N’s late father’s initials engraved on the back. She never takes it off.

She told Audrey she lost it at school. He remembers how upset she was the day she came home without it, almost distraught to the point of inconsolable.

Sam knows she spends a lot of time here as does Bobby so it wouldn’t be unusual for her to have lost it here. But something in the back of his mind doesn’t quite sit right.

When Dean returns with a new case of beer twenty minutes later, Sam doesn’t mention it; its discovery entirely coincidental, but it still doesn’t stop the heart shaped necklace from burning a hole in his pocket for the rest of the night.

-

It’s early morning when the cab drops Sam off at home, despite Dean’s protests to have him crash on the couch. He needed to get home and put his suspicions to rest once and for all. What he was thinking was absurd, entirely delusional.

He lets himself in quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping household and sneaks to the kitchen, swiping up Y/N’s laptop before noticing a note from Audrey laid on top of it, his eyes lazily skimming over her fancy handwriting.

“Sam. I left you a message but just in case you didn’t get it - I’ve gone back to the hospital to be with Bobs. They think he might have concussion from the fall too so they’re keeping him overnight just to be safe. I spoke with Y/N and she told me what happened... we’ll talk in the morning. Love you, A x”

He places the note back onto the counter with a deep breath and heads to his study.

-

Booting up her laptop, it quickly whirs to life and the image of her hugging Janey tightly loads up as the background, Sam’s eyes honing in on the heart shaped necklace hanging between her breasts. Shit, focus. He lingers too long on the way she’s smiling, a hint of innocence twinkling in her eye and his cock throbs.

Normally he would’ve started by looking on her cell, but knowing it’s no doubt passcode protected or face recognition needed, he doesn’t want her asking questions as to why he needs access to it. As far as Y/N’s concerned, he’s just holding onto it - not to look into her odd behaviour and the skepticism surrounding the coincidences Sam can’t seem to shake.

He’s done his fair share of digging in his time as a lawyer, heading straight for her shared iCloud drive knowing that is the best place to start looking for any incriminating evidence, especially if it’s already been removed from her cell. The folder opens and hundreds upon hundreds of photos pop up; screenshots of messages, memes that are relevant to her but make zero sense to Sam, dozens of photos of her and Janey, photos of her with other people Sam doesn’t recognise, a bunch of photos of her with Audrey, some with or without with Bobby and some even include Sam himself.

He clicks on one picture; a selfie taken only a few months ago at movie night. Y/N’s curled up against his side, Audrey on his other and Bobby leans over the back of the sofa posing with a silly face. They’re all smiling and Sam can’t help but grin at the image, remembering how happy they were then. How carefree those nights used to be, the one time a week where they shut out the world and only the four of them mattered. Sam sighs deeply, closing the picture down as another cluster in the camera roll catches his attention.

He recognises one as the one she sent him, the reflection of her bare cunt in the mirror imprinted in his memory forever, but the others are unfamiliar. She’s in all different colours of underwear and in most, several stages of undress. Her pert little tits are visible in many and as Sam continues scrolling, her pussy is too. He clicks on one, intrigue getting the better of him and she’s laying on her bed, legs spread wide with her fingers glistening with slick from the way they’re positioned, holding her lips apart.

Sam takes a deep breath, stunned at the sight of her in such an intimate, yet vulnerable position. He wants to look away and slam the laptop closed, but the voyeur in him keeps staring. He always knew her cunt would be perfect and here it was proving him right, completely clean and shaven. He licks his lips as his eyes trail over the wetness clinging to her fingertips, envisioning how sweet she’d taste on the tip of his tongue. How tight she’d feel around his finger while he fucked her with it, walls contracting as he made her cum, lips suckling against her clit.

He fidgets in his chair, cock stiffening as his palms begin to sweat. Control yourself, his brain chides and he quickly clicks off the photo. Several more follow and he doesn’t need to see bigger than the preview to address the fact they document her masturbating. He hovers over one, debating to open it up when the image below diverts his attention. It’s a video; the little play symbol covering most of the thumbnail.

Don’t do it Sam, his conscience pipes up and for a moment he scrolls right on past, but his fingers have other ideas, sliding back over the mousepad and double clicks. It doesn’t play automatically but now the image is larger, Sam can make out her naked body sprawled out on a bed. It’s not hers; the quilt set beneath her screams distinctly male and for that, Sam’s oddly relieved. The thought of her having sex with someone else on the same bed she sucked his cock on made him reel with jealousy.

He knows he’s seen too much already, but instead of doing the right thing and switching it off, Sam reaches for his headphones and places them into the jack. With shaky hands, he clicks play and his chest heaves waiting for it to load, blood thundering in his ears.

The screen is black initially and Sam only hears her first. Soft, sweet moans bleeding from her lips combined with the dull sound of skin slapping against skin that slowly get louder as the second tick by. The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand as the camera begins to lose opacity and the picture eventually comes into focus.

She’s facing away from the lens, on all fours with her ass high in the air. Sam stiffens in his seat, watching her skin ripple as the person behind fucks into her, one hand on her curved hip, pulling her back onto his cock with jarring precision. 

“Yes, oh god, right there,” she cries out. “Mmhm.”

“You like that, huh?” The man replies breathlessly and Sam’s ears prick up at the deep timber of it, unable to place it just as the camera points down between the two conjoined bodies.

Sam’s distracted as the man’s cock disappears back and forth inside Y/N and each time he pulls his hips away, his dick is smothered in her juices. The noise of her pussy is obscene; pure and filthy wet sucking noises and Sam almost turns it off, cock hard to the point it’s bordering on painful.

He can’t watch any more. He shouldn’t watch any more.

“Look at yourself baby girl, takin’ me from behind like a dirty little slut.”

That voice. He knows it. It’s... it can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be, Sam repeats over and over in his head until the camera pans up to the mirror, giving Sam the perfect view of her face. Her eyes stare straight ahead and Sam feels like she’s looking right through the mirror, camera and into his soul. Her lips part as she groans, her body shunting forward with each deep thrust. The image shifts up further, Y/N’s lover coming into view, his lips curled up into a devilish smirk and as Sam’s eyes land on him, the blood drains from his face with unparalleled fury.

Dean.

***

Please note I have tagged you if you showed interest in the story so far. If you’d like to be taken off, please let me know. 

ATGGGTH: @slut-for-jared @squirrelnotsam @awesomesusiebstuff @deans-baby-momma @xhannahbananax03 @atc74 @stephaniecanfield96us @wavesofafeather @spnfamily-j2 @pastathighs @passionpunch @southernbell91 @beautifulbowleggedangel @awkwardyhot @petitgateau911 @welldonebeca @bobbie3939 @kazkingdom @lyarr24 @nihilismworld @charmed-asylum @sycochick @sandlee44 @findingagoodnameishard @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stuckys-whore @waywardsistersandpie @moosekateer13 @beth-winchester21 @yoongi-holland @vicmc624 @waywardson2020 @lovelyrocker @dr7girl @beyoutiful9413 @fictionalabyss @midnightmystic @abbirae99 @kricketc29 @the-fever-of-mankind @maresmiley @rebel-author-chick @salt-n-burn-em-all @desisamslut @softsebastian @okilover02 @kittenofdoomage @kittenmstr @destielstuffandthings @chamberofsloths @quietgirll75 @yourmommmmm @sweeterthanthis @lustkitty69 @amisha25 @chenshemesh1 @babylorelei @queenmadi2 @tessellaneous @spideysimpossiblegirl @impala-dreams-and-bunker-scenes @i-make-questionable-choices @bitchoftheclouds @amirra88 @nerdwholikesword @4theloveoffanfiction @djj1999 @nurse-unicorn @spaceybissh @myfavefics01 @lostdarksoul6 @deanandsamsbitch @im-catching-feelings @ficpantry @winchester-girl96  @omgspnfanfiction @mistofellee​ @flutistbyday2020​ @polyamorous-winchester​ @idabbleincrazy

Supernatural: @angelofthetrenchcoats​ @ambthegamer​ @akshi8278​ @becs-bunker​ @blancatobarxoxo​ @caspleasesavemyass​ @clemanime​ @deans-mind-palace​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @deanloveboi​ @dawnie1988​ @doctor-hp-mcu​ @ellewritesfix05​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @fanngirl19​ @gabbywindsor​ @heavensangel45135​ @hoboal87​ @hobby27​ @inlovewithspencerfuckingreid​ @katymacsupernatural​ @joseyrw​ @mummybear​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @p—ink @peachyafshawn​ @spnbaby-67​ @stoneyggirl​ @sammykb1994​ @sharp-cheekbones-locked​ @sidbecross​ @swinchester27​ @samwinchestersbitch555 @tumbler-tidbits​ @tootsie562 @trinnwazheree​

Forever: @akumune​ @amandamdiehl​ @crashdevlin​ @daughterofthenight117​ @donnaintx​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @dandywinchesterbras​ @dumbbitchenergy17​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @fandomfic-galore​ @foxyjwls007​ @hurricanerin​ @hoewkeye​ @heyyouwiththeassbutt​ @ilovefanfic86​ @itsjustfics @itsthedoctah10​ @jewelswrites-ish​ @letsby​ @letsdisneythings​ @multi-fandom-fanfiction​ @maddiepants​ @mogaruke​ @nightsbite​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @negans-lucille-tblr​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @pink1031​ @princessmisery666​ @randomparanoid​ @ssworldofsw​ @sambucky8​ @sea040561​ @sillygoose6969​ @warriorqueen1991​ @xoxabs88xox​ @yaynewton​ @zpandaqueen​ 

#sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

[imagineabrighterworld]

For Scientific Purposes pt.2

- - -

Watching the television and seeing the navy blue Nomu being led away brought a strange sadness to you.

It showed no realization of what was going on, or concern on what they might do with it when it was taken into custody.

The other scientists were just as upset as you, but it was more because they lost their top tier nomu. Without it, there was more pressure than ever on perfecting the lower ranked Nomu that waited in their cells, submerged in liquid until their time to shine came.

Without the blue nomu to keep you company as you worked, you felt lonelier than you started when you were brought to the labs. You felt colder. Less than enthused. It didn't help that the other scientists were not very sociable either. But all that any of you were expected to do was work. Relationships, platonic or romantic, were forbidden. It stalled the production of nomu.

However, despite not having a human companion, you eventually got through to the nomu as you worked on perfecting them. They weren't like the blue nomu that had wormed its way into your heart, but they were close.

“7002, come here.” You call to a sleek grey nomu that was laying on it's back on a steel examination bed. It sits up sluggishly, two pairs of arms working to push it up to a sitting position. It's set of three eyes look at you owlishly, waiting for your commands. Instead you scoot your chair to the next bed to wake the next nomu. In total there were four under your care. These, unlike the navy nomu were meant more for delicate operations. They were speedsters, able to dish out damage and run before they could get caught. That was one trait you had to settle after the navy nomu had been captured. The nomu were ‘useless’ if they could only be used once before being seized. At least that's how Shigaraki saw it.

“54222, it's time to wake up.” You tap the leg of the nomu laying in front of you. It was similar to the ‘perfect’ nomu. The body structure mostly the same minus a few alterations. It's face was without eyes, and a glass like dome covered it's brain. The glass acted as protection though the nomu were more or less indestructible even without it.

This nomu was your favorite of the four that had been left in your care. It was similar to that of the perfect nomu, curious and always eager to follow you. You weren't sure who it's base was, but it seemed that the base was someone with a size quirk. Like the hero Mt. Lady, it could change its size exponentially, or shrink and become thin like a disk. Regardless of it's quirkiness, you enjoyed its presence all the  same. It was good company.

“Come on, we need to check your vitals for the day.” Standing up from your chair, you acknowledge the three other nomu behind you. “All of you. Come with me.”

They release a mixture of roars and groans, normal behavior that you didn't bat an eye at.

You look at 54222, neck straining to look at it's face. It had something similar to an underbite, it's lower teeth on full display, canines sharp and ready to tear through flesh and metal. Again, that odd feeling runs through you. You imagine the perfect nomu, it's dark navy skin and bird like face.

With a sigh, you pull on it's hand to get it moving. “Come.” As you walk down the halls to the proper room, you glance behind you at your array of ducklings. The nomu stumbled and dragged themselves behind you. Towering masses of muscle but so easy to control. It made you feel powerful. But it also made you feel as if you were a daycare worker. They were so capable but so-

A winged nomu falls forward after tripping on their own wings, screeching on the way down.

So silly.

“7674, help them up please.” You wait for said nomu to pick up the other, amused at how jerky their movements were. But what was science if everything was made perfect? There would be no room to grow.

54222 nudges you on your side, letting out a groan, signalling it wanted to enter the room. Or that you were off schedule.

You grin and rub its arm. “We’re on time, it's okay.” Without further ado, you enter the room with all four nomu, greeting the other scientists and waiting by the door in order to bring the nomu back to their capsules.

-   -  -

The last nomu to enter their tank was 54222. You couldn't lie, you had a soft spot for it. It reminded you greatly of the perfect nomu.

Sitting down on the edge of an examination table, you beckon 54222 in front of you, legs spreading as you lean back onto your palms. “Come here.” You croon in a quiet voice.

54222 moves in closer, head tilting as it kneels in front of you, used to this little routine of yours. It sniffs the air, relying on the rest of its senses to guide it on where to go.

With a hand, you pat the glass dome on it's head, caressing it's jaw as you bring it in closer. “Good. Very good.” With it's mouth right by your core, you ease your fingers into its mouth, pulling it's tongue out slowly, careful not to cut it on its own sharp teeth. With its tongue in hand, you coo gently at the now purring nomu. “Such a good boy.”

It's tongue instinctively stretches out, placing a long lick against you. You were already dripping with want, warmth blooming in every part of your body. When its tongue made purchase, you instantly clenched your hands into fists, holding back a moan as its tongue explored your nether regions. You let go of its tongue and placed your fist in your mouth, biting it to muffle your sounds of pleasure.

Its tongue was thick and warm, slimy but not so that it was uncomfortable. It was just the right temperature and feeling. And gods did it feel good on you. In you.

This wasn't the first time you met nomu late into the night, body limp in its arms as it pleasured you over and over. But it was the first time it was 54222 that pleasured you. The nomu that had been taken away after the U.S.J. incident was your main partner.

The ache of losing it stung, distracting you from the pleasure of 54222’s tongue wrapped around you.

A few tears slip from your eyes as you remember the lost look in the perfect nomu’s eyes the hours before it was sent with Shigaraki on the mission. It didn't know what was happening, all it knew was its mission. And now what was happening to it? Were they dissecting it and taking it apart to understand how it was put together? Or did they simply kill it after finding out it was no longer its human base, it no longer could return to human society. 

“Ah!” You moan, thoughts brought back to the matter at hand as the nomu stands between your legs, its thick cock rubbing against you.

The creature leans over you, pulling open your legs and holding you by your thighs as it sniffs your face, using its tongue to lap up your tears. With little warning, it bucks its hips, eager to enter you. 

You chuckle at its enthusiasm, sadness smoothed over as you focus on your partner. “Here.” You guide its massive cock to your hole, using the saliva it left behind as a lubricant. Whether using its saliva or not, you knew it was going to hurt. But the pain was pleasurable as it slowly pushes each inch into you, sinking deeper in until it bottoms out. 

“What-” You pant, rubbing yourself as you squeeze around its cock with your tight walls. “Wh-What a good boy.” You reach upward, clawing its back for purchase as it thrusts into you. Your body rocks back and forth with its violent thrusts. It wasn't lovemaking, it was pure fucking. And you needed it. You needed the pain to dull the loss of the navy nomu you had lost. “Faster- Faster baby, I c-can take it!” 

The nomu’s purrs grow louder as it ruts into you. It's grip was bruising and blood leaked from how much it stretched you out, but with your healing quirk you easily healed the damage as it was made.

“Make me cum!” You cry out, nails digging into its back, doing no damage to it at all. “Be a good boy and make me cum!” 

54222′s grip switches to hold you by your hips, dark marks left behind on your thighs. It flips you around onto your stomach and pulls you onto its cock, its size expanding as the nomu grows more and more excited. Its growth quirk still hadn't been fully controlled, but you relished in the fact when it came down to sex. 

With a muffled cry, you climax around its cock, walls already stretched to the max and unable to stretch any further, and yet its cock continued to pulse inside of you. You were fully satisfied but it was still chasing after its own climax.

After several more brutal minutes of 54222 driving its cock into your bloody hole, strings of hot cum pour into you, plugged in as the nomu pushes its cock in as far as it could go to keep the cum from seeping out of you.

You moan softly, reaching a hand down to stroke its arm. “Good boy, very good boy.”

It roars happily at the sound of your praise, pulling out with a loud pop. Ropes of cum pour out of your abused hole, but the pain was fleeting as you heal near instantaneously. You turn around onto your back and look at the eyeless nomu, stretching your arm to stroke its cheek. 

You missed your old nomu, but you could get used to 54222.

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #nomu #nomu x reader #bnha nomu #mha nomu #bnha nomu x reader #mha nomu x reader #n/s/f/w #n/s/f/w bnha #n/s/f/w mha #n/sfw ish #more than ish actually #very ish #wanted to make it gender neutral but it might be a bit too feminine so I'm sorry about that

[junk-jester]

The Sigmatrix

I’m feeling a bit creatively drained at the moment, so, taking inspiration from this post by @jennifer-10nyson​, here’s my own version of the Omnitrix.

History

My name is AJ. My Omnitrix, locally known as the Sigmatrix, was created by my universe’s Azmuth, similar to Ben Prime. When I was 9 years old, I lived out deep within the Rocky Mountains of Canada, where my father operated at a local military base. Out of nowhere, one fateful day, a gunner at the base had shot down a passing by UFO, and it crashed right in my home’s front lawn! My father and I went to investigate, and an injured Azmuth exited the vehicle, his life in serious peril. My father and I attended to his wounds and helped repair his ship over the course of the next several weeks, no doubt thanks to some strange technology he had onboard. When all was said and done, and as thanks for helping repair his ship and heal his wounds, he bestowed upon the both of us a small, red box. I opened it and a gold and brown watch that felt like smooth felt jumped up onto my wrist! Now, by using this strange device that I still don’t know all that much about, I can transform into a number of different alien species from across the Multiverse and protect those who cannot protect themselves! Those who are wicked by choice, beware!

Main Function

The primary use of the Sigmatrix is to hold the genetic code of a variety of different alien life forms from thousands of different planets, galaxies and beyond, with most being from the Milky Way. However, I only started out with seven! Those seven being the following:

Meltdown (Mustarite)

Beatbox (Hyper-Evolved Sonorosian)

Huntdown (Yautja)

Hardware (Galvanic Mechamorph)

Airborne (Lepidosaurian)

Hexagon (Vreedle)

Overcharge (Conductoid)

Other functions

Master Control: While I currently don’t have it unlocked, the Master Control would allow me to transform into any alien with just a thought and allow me to remain alien for as long as I desire.

DNA Modifying: The Sigmatrix is capable of modifying the DNA of any selected transformation (as well as myself) to a limited degree in order to repair wounds, expand muscles to make my aliens (or myself) stronger, and more. 

Quick Change: While in alien form, I can choose to switch to a different alien without reverting back to human before hand. However, this does drain the “battery” faster.

Life Lock: If I so choose, I can remain in a specific alien form for an extended period of time without timing out. However, the longer I remain in said form, the longer it takes for the Sigmatrix to recharge once I revert back to human form.

Artificial Intelligence: The Sigmatrix is home to an A.I. Program known as Sigma, who manages a majority of the Sigmatrix’s other functions and acts as a moral conscience, giving me advice when in times of need. Sometimes, she even goes so far as to act like the mom I never had growing up...

Universal Translator: The Sigmatrix is able to translate any language within the galaxy to English in both a speech and text format, with the exception of Xa’tese, the native tongue of the Yautja species. I end up circumventing this by just transforming into Huntdown, anyway.

2-Way Communicator: The Sigmatrix can connect to any wireless communication device (be it a Plumber’s badge, cell phone, or computer) and communicate through said device. This basically allows the Sigmatrix to gain access to the Internet whenever I need it!

Voice Command: The Sigmatrix can act and engage or disengage any of the other features mentioned here according to various verbal commands given to it, with the exception of Master Control. Only Azmuth can access that one.

Anti-Removal Failsafe: The Sigmatrix is bonded to my DNA on a genetic level, meaning it is extremely difficult to remove and downright painful if done so by force. Any attempt to force the device off my wrist will result in an omnidirectional energy pulse that can knock away people with enough force to turn a brick wall into dust! Thank god this thing’s water-proof...

Anti-Death Failsafe: If I was placed in a position that would result in my death, the Sigmatrix will quickly cycle through my available aliens and attempt to transform me into something that will protect me from whatever threat I’m dealing with. However, if no aliens are available, it will forcefully unlock a brand new alien instead! This is how I managed to unlock my most powerful alien, a Celestialsapien named Prometheus. This is an imperfect failsafe, however, as it only works while I’m in human form.

Sigmatrix Modes

Orange-- Active

This mode means that all systems are operating normally and I’m ready to transform. It also allows me to activate and use the other functions mentioned above.

Glitched Purple-- Hacked

This one means that the Sigmatrix has been hacked and is under someone else’s control. To reverse this and get thins back to normal, I gotta hard-reboot it.

Brown-- Selection

This isn’t really a mode, but I figured I’d include it anyway. This one shows up when I’m getting ready to transform into a particular alien. For example, Overcharge.

Dark Red-- Time Out/Recharge

The roughly 17~ minute time limit for a transformation is up and I gotta wait out a recharge time, which is usually only about three minutes. This mode also engages if I manually revert back to normal.

Pink with Spots-- Mind Control

I’m being hypnotized and Sigma’s currently in the process of trying to shake me free. 

Teal-- T.S.T. (Trix Space Travel)

This one is... a bit on the strange side. From what I can tell, inside the Sigmatrix is this sort of simulated alternate dimension called the Trix Space, where all my aliens hang out and live life like normal people, patiently awaiting the next time I transform. They got all the normal needs, like entertainment, food, drinks and even their own form of government. Subsequently, this mode allows me to kinda-sorta project my consciousness into the Trix Space and interact with my aliens. When I’m inside, the Sigmatrix creates a barrier around my physical body that’s completely indestructible, just so no one tries to hurt me while I’m not home.

Grey and Red-- Self-Destruct

For this mode, the Sigmatrix recognizes that it’s been compromised and will destroy itself in order to prevent its technology from falling into the wrong hands, such as Vilgax or Malware. The detonation sequence can also be charged for various periods of time to either increase or decrease the blast radius and level of destruction, from only a few feet to almost the entire Universe!

Yellow w/ Question Mark-- Encyclopedia

Oh, I love this one! This mode acts like a hand-dandy guide to all things alien, such as culture, fashion, language and more, as I can’t really access the Internet when I’m not on Earth. I can always find just what I need through this one!

Yellow w/ Exclamation Point-- Message

This one is basically the Sigmatrix’s own form of texting. Lets me get in touch with friends real quick from just about anywhere, no matter how far away I am!

Dark Grey w/ Moon & Star-- Sleep Mode

What this one does is exactly what it says on the tin. Nap time!

Two shades of Grey w/ Clock-- Disguise

Also self-explanatory. This mode alters the Sigmatrix’s outer-shell to disguise it as just another ordinary wrist watch, just so people don’t get weired out. I can still transform like normal, though.

Green, Purple, Blue, Red and Orange-- Multiverse Communicator

This is basically the Message Mode, but way better! It allows me to get in touch with other Omnitrix Users from across the Multiverse, on the off chance I may need help in a fight or we just wanna hang out. Benzarro never returns my calls...

Black-- Shut Down

The whole thing is shut off and can’t be used until it’s turned back on. Perfect for getting under the hood and fixing the advanced tech when something goes wrong. Funny enough, I’ve managed to engage this mode while transformed into an alien before, and while I thought something terrible might’ve happened, nothing of the sort did. Score for me!

#AJ 77 #Ben 10 OC #Custom Omnitrix #The Sigmatrix only started off with 7 aliens because; by the time Azmuth was giving it to AJ; he wasn't actually done adding DNA samples yet #the decreased starting roster; in exchange; does give AJ far more time to be in alien form compared to Ben Prime #a whole 7 extra minutes #this series tends to revolve around the number 7 a lot LOL

[blindprof]

It’s Complicated

When people first hear me say that I am blind or severely visually impaired (B/VI), the most common reaction is surprise…followed by sympathy…followed most often by awkward silence. This is totally understandable. Unless you are regularly interacting with differently abled people, disabilities are uncomfortable. I feel uncomfortable and awkward around people who live with other forms of disability.

Heck, I’m still awkward around other people who are B/VI. And even this is understandable. Because each person is unique. Each manifestation of visual impairment is unique. Each path to and with B/VI is unique. Each person has unique life experiences, coping mechanisms, support networks, etc. We are all strangers in a strange land. I’ll have other posts dedicated to the whack-a-doo personal and social psychology of B/VI. For now, the focus remains on the physical, or rather the perceptual.

The second reaction is usually a question: “How bad is it” or “What do you see?” And my answer is “It’s complicated.”

In my first post, I laid out some more technical details: I have a visual field that is less that 10 degrees, night blindness, color blindness, uncorrectable myopia, light sensitivity, etc. But it’s not apparent how these details really affect what I see and how that impacts what I can do. This post will go into greater detail into what and how I see. Later posts will focus on how I (try to, with varying levels of success, stupidity, and hilarity) cope with these limitations.

It probably makes sense to start with my visual field, as this is the aspect of my vision that “qualifies” me as legally blind. However, before getting to that, we really need a basic understanding of how humans see. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short and simple.

It may be easiest to compare the eye to a modern digital camera. A camera lens gathers and focuses light; it also constrains the amount of light passing through by altering the size of a mechanical aperture. In the human eye, these functions are performed by the lens and the pupil, respectively. In a digital camera, the lens focus light onto a CCD or CMOS sensor, which is a dense grid of light sensitive “pixels,” each generating a small electrical charge proportional to how much light (within a certain wavelength) is hitting it. The human retina is the biological, electrochemical equivalent. Finally, a digital camera has wires that transport these electrical signals to a computer, which then interprets the signals to create a digital image. Here, the human analogues are the optic nerve and the visual cortex within the brain.

As I noted in my first post, I have Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), which primarily impacts my retina. Due to the wonders of genetics and epigenetics, other parts are impacted. But for now, I’ll focus on the retina. Characteristically, people with RP find that their retinal “pixels”—millions of light-sensitive “rod” and “cone” structures, as well as protective retinal pigment epithelial (RPE) cells from which the disease gets its name—stop functioning from the outside in. We don’t know the exact cause, nor is there yet any proven way to slow, much less reverse the process.

Of course, this is a biological process that is unique to each individual. For me, it has progressed relatively slowly from childhood. I can recall early symptoms as far back as age 6. I’ll have a separate post at some point talking about progression. But it is notable the process is neither steady nor predictable. I’ll have periods of relative stability followed by periods of perceptible loss. It’s rarely like a light switch, but rather more like a dimmer. Each area of loss will appear darker with less usable information until it is just “clicked off” by the brain, presumably redirecting its limited processing resources to doing something other than trying to interpret shotty data from dying cells. For me, the progression has also been very spotty—for example, I retained some usable vision in the extremes of my left-right periphery until just a couple years ago, despite progressively losing most of my peripheral vision between there and my center.

The result today is that I have very little of my retina remaining that pretends to function “normally.” I can detect very high contrast light vs. dark in some of my periphery, but nothing there that you would qualify as usable sight. My central vision is still somewhat functional, but has been fading rapidly of late. As I said, it’s spotty, but on average in good light I have maybe 10-15 degrees total horizontal vision and less than 10 vertical. And much of that is probably equivalent to what most would consider to be peripheral vision. To help better “feel” what this means, here are a few examples of how this manifests itself in my day-to-day life.

When I’m sitting across a table from you, I can see your face but not your hands. If I’m not socially distant, I might be able to see your eyes or your mouth, but not both at the same time. I often creep people out during a conversation because I’m constantly losing eye contact and moving my eyes to different parts of their body. I promise, I’m not “undressing you with my eyes”—people talk with their entire bodies, and I’m simply trying to catch as many visual cues as possible.

When watching TV from 10 feet away, I can “see” my entire 55-inch screen. But less than a quarter of that is in my central vision. I have to move my eyes to see detail or read signs or captions. Sports and fast action scenes are difficult to catch. A fast action, dark scene with subtitles…oy…the Battle of Winterfell may as well have been a BBC Radio broadcast.

I can read, though usually only slowly and for short periods, especially if it is paper and ink. I see only a few words at a time, so my eyes have to constantly move. This causes a lot of eye strain, and I have trouble keeping both eyes properly oriented and occasionally have periods where one eye twitches uncontrollably—obviously I’m channeling my inner Mad-Eye Moody.

And of course, navigating unfamiliar or unpredictable environments is very difficult. I navigate by moving from waypoint to waypoint, and if I don’t know the waypoints or if things jump in my way, well, bad things happen. Or maybe funny things.

More on all of these and their many repercussions in future posts.

People ask, “What do you ‘see’ in the places where you have no vision? Is it blackness? Emptiness? Blurry?” Again, it’s complicated, but for the most part, my brain has just removed those areas from its visual processing “algorithm.” So, I see the same thing that you see when something is beyond your peripheral vision…just nothing. There are long periods of adjustment as I lose sight—kind of like losing a limb and still expecting it to be there. But eventually it’s just not a part of the picture that my brain paints of the world around me.

Unfortunately, that’s not all. Night blindness is often the first detected symptom for folks with RP. What is left of my retina doesn’t detect light well, so I need much more of it. The result is that I’m totally blind in low-light situations. I need direct light to see any kind of detail. I carry a flashlight everywhere I go and use it regularly day and night.

So, I need bright light. But it is also my nemesis. My eyes compensate like one would with a digital camera…by cranking open the aperture (pupil) and turning up the gain on the sensor. This does allow me to function semi-normally in certain situations. But it also results in severe light sensitivity. As with a camera, the wider pupil also results in loss of detail, and bright light can almost entirely wash any other visual information. To make matters even worse, although my pupils do function, they are VERY slow to adjust.

The results of all of that are varied. I’ll post more details in the future. But for example, I am no longer able to read a computer screen for any length of time without inverted colors. It’s like trying to read while staring at headlights. I truly need dark mode on all of my devices. Also, changing lighting conditions are challenging, especially when they are extreme. When I come in from outside, my eyes can take many minutes to adjust. And bright light sources like sunny windows in otherwise moderately lit environments can really cause havoc.

Finally, a common comorbidity with RP are cataracts, which cause hardening and blurring of the lens. Of course, this one hit me, as well. A number of years ago, I had cataract surgery. It was great. I was the youngest patient in the surgery center by like 30 years. The process involves using a magic wand to dissolve your natural lens and replacing it with a plastic one. This gets rid of the blurring, but entirely removes the ability to focus. As a bonus, I did go from needing coke bottle glasses to just needing a couple of diopters of correction. But this further complicates reading, and means I’m constantly donning and doffing my specs or having to look below them to read. Minor in the big scheme of things, but it does make me look and feel like a damn old fart.

Okay, if you made it this far, you deserve to be let off the hook for now. There’s more like the fact that my corneas—the eyes’ (usually) clear “lens caps”—now seem to cause my sight to remain blurry for the first couple of hours of each day. Or that the eye strain can sometimes get so physically painful that I have to close my eyes for long periods during the day. But this is a mostly complete and accurate snapshot of what I’m currently living with physically.

I guess I didn’t present too many funny or uplifting or forward-looking things in here. Truth is, you kind of have to muddle along with me through these sewers to eventually find the humor and hope in all of this. Because it’s complicated. But I’ll get there if you’re patient.

[desdemonafictional]

2020 Fanfic Year End Summary

Hey ho let’s go

Nev does these every year and I think they’re interesting, so for the first time I’m gonna give it a go too. I feel like this has been the longest fucking year--the Zine feels like it was two years ago and last January feels like it was ten years ago.

I’m gonna answer some questions and do a little reflection on the year 

This year I technically finished Icarus with 2k words of a 36k story, and after that I went on to produce 197k words not even COUNTING the stuff from GPAU which I do not know how to divide up for 2020. 

That’s 23 fics in one year, 8 of which were cowriting projects. This year has been, objectively, insane. By comparison, in 2019 I produced 17 fics and at the time I thought THAT was doing pretty impressive work. Now it’s not my best year by sheer number of titles--2018 was an oil boom while I was into JTHM and I actually put out 25 fics that year, some of which were short oneshots and some of which were two- or three-shots. But in terms of words? 2020 knocked them all out of the park. Which is absolutely something I owe to my amazing friends who let me ride around in their brains like the parasite I am.

In 2018 I started cowriting with Chokopopo, in 2019 I started cowriting with Neveralarch, and in 2020 I just did a fucking ton more of that with no looking back. It’s so incredibly motivating to have someone to show your progress to! And to have someone to hand the project over to when you’re stuck. If I hadn’t had Nev to bounce off of, most of this fic wouldn’t have been thought up at all, let alone finished. And don’t even get me started on GPAU! Choko and Zephyr and me have done such amazing things with “Welcome! Everything is fine”, and I can’t wait to be able to wrap that up and leave it for posterity.

I switched job positions around July of this year, and it’s changed the way I produce fic. Not sure if it’s good yet or not. I was never actually under a stay at home order this year because I work for a state agency, so to a degree I’ve missed out on the ways that quarantine affected other writers. I think I was fortunate?

Best Title 

Ahhh this is tough, I put a lot of effort into my titles this year--I promised myself in 2019 I was going to stop using song lyrics for fic titles because they make songs loop in my brain and it’s self inflicted torment, which is a promise I... mostly kept. “Dress Your Idol in Gold and Ashes” is the one I put most effort into probably, because I kept toying around with it trying to find something that was evocative of the right pagan imagery, and also the idea that got me started on the fic was a passage in a text book about the daily dressing of an idol statue in ancient Egypt.

“Broke My Last Glass Jaw” gets special mention because I named it after an essay that I wrote in undergrad for my African American Lit course, in which I broke down themes of the spoiled american dream via the lens of 90′s rap.

Worst Title

“Take one for the Team” is definitely my laziest title. It’s just super self indulgent kink fic, no character arc or anything, so I couldn’t find a good image or phrase to bring in for the title. Also I remember I really wanted to post it quickly, since it was a response to some art I was looking at, and I wanted the artist to see. I’m sure I could have done better with the title.

I did end up titling “Fear and Delight” after a song but I forgive myself because I literally only wrote the fic because the song existed first.

Best Summary

Some of these summaries I wrote and a some I did not, but of the ones that I wrote I think.... “ I'm All Full Up on Yesterdays, Don't Sing Me No More Blues” is the best one. It launches you directly into the action, while preserving the surprise reveal at the end of chapter 1. I actually wrote chapter one with this summary in mind, so it was baked in there from the start.

Jazz turned in his seat, cube at his lips, just in time to spot the white pursuit vehicle steaming and panting in the doorway. “Jazz of Staniz,” the enforcer shouted, “surrender the matrix and come quietly!”

Jazz knocked back his drink. “Well!” he said to the open-mouthed bartender, “time to split!”

Worst Summary

I mean, summaries are hard for everyone, right? That’s the thing we all universally struggle with, I think? I usually end up liking mine, and this year I was less afraid to just let a section of the story speak for itself. Anyway the worst one is “ Broke My Last Glass Jaw” by virtue of the fact that I had to come back months later and add another line because I wasn’t satisfied with how it was reaching audiences.

After the war, Impactor is at loose ends.

(They were friends once, weren't they? After all this time, Impactor wonders if Megatron hasn't managed to forget.)

I really wanted that one line to say it all, but honestly it requires a lot of trust in me as the author and most of the people who pass by the fic in the archive aren’t gonna know me from adam. The second line clarifies what kind of story it’s going to be in terms of tone and theme.

Best First Line

I’m pretty ambivalent about most of my first lines. Since Nev already pointed out the first line in “ Apotheosis”, I have to admit, it is pretty good. It gets off to a real jaunty start.

“Excuse me,” Starscream said, striding down the steps of the senate chambers with his cape flaring out behind him, “get your cowcatcher out of his face, you tin-plated amateur despot, he’s with me.”

I also like the audacity of a run on sentence that is the opening to “ Desecrate You”

Ratchet clicks the video because it was auto-recommended, and because First Aid is always dropping hopeful hints that he wants her to watch his show when he’s supposed to be grading papers, and because something about the title (“This is Definitely a Hoax! None of this is Real! Short Cut Footage Episode”) makes her wonder why the hell someone who runs a Ghost Hunting youtube channel would bill their own hard work as a hoax right out of the bag.

Worst First Line

Definitely the least interesting is from “Tantric Sex, and Other Mysteries of the Divine”. I guess it’s another fic where I was really eager to get to the meat of the fic, and so I just went back after I was done with the fic and wrote a paragraph of bare bones setting context so we could move on already.

It’s game night at Swerve’s, and Nightbeat is out in the thick of the crew for once, getting the lay of the land.

I have the same problem in a few fics, which probably arises from the fact that when I read a fic, I often skim the first paragraph or so to see if I really want to commit to the read. So I sometimes write like I’m expecting the audience to do that too. I probably need to work on that. Man, I even did it in Sexy Staycation.

Best Last Line

I like endings! I usually have a good gut instinct for where stories should end, and how to pace that, and what image I want to close the fic on. Often times I’ll be writing a story and feeling really lukewarm about it, and then the ending will come to me, and I’ll feel totally won over by it. That happened with my Suicide Squad fic years ago. So this is for the most part me picking the best of the things I already like. “Broke My Last Glass Jaw” has a good pithy one; I like how it isolates this moment as a moment of choice, and how it’s also ambiguous whether he will change because of this or whether he’s doomed to go back to his predetermined pattern.

And despite the unguarded door and the empty inviting streets beyond, where no one wants or expects anything of him but his feterless bitter trog onward into the next waiting prison cell, Impactor lays down, and Impactor does.

Special mention goes to “ The Sky Dark in its Eclipse : Orange Light Remix”, because the ending section is one of the big changes I brought to the remix, and I’m really happy with how it alters the shape of the narrative and also how it changes the focus of Rung’s arc. Most of the actual words in this fic were written by Choko in 2018, so this is like a collab in slow motion--I changed loadstone moments mostly, some of the framing, all of the backstory, and updated the setting for Cybertron. But the ending is all me.

On the morning of Intro to Psych finals, while Hot Rod hums and taps and scrolls back and forth through his test on the front row of the testing hall, Rung will sit behind his desk and brush the dust from the rotors of his fateful archetype, and start the long process of putting the pieces together once and for all.

Worst Last Line

Again, I like my endings, so this is really the worst of the best. The original ending line I wrote for “ All Our Urgent Restless Sighing” was:

Deadlock’s finials twitched. “...I am a reasonable amount of interested,” he said, “in this topic.”

And in the beta process, Nev came back in and added the line about Ratchet and cuddling, which was a big hit with the readers it seems like. So clearly I benefitted from some help there haha!

Looking back, did you write more or less than you thought you would this year?

you know what, I definitely wrote more than I thought I would. I didn’t see “Don’t Sing Me No More Blues” coming at all, and that was once a month for most of the year. I was hoping that I would be able to write a few things outside of Transformers, because I always worry that my long spans of hyperfixation are driving away my longtime readers... and I did manage to get one hxh thing written that was good, and one hxh thing started that is mediocre so far. So I guess I’ll call that good enough.

 What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, just your favorite.

hmm I’m really proud of the Pharma chapter me and Choko put together for GPAU--the body horror, the tragedy, the lotus eater machine plot. But even though that felt like a whole ass story of its own, I guess it’s only a chapter at the end of the day. So my favorite story would be “Apotheosis”. It’s just SO much, and we had SO many things we wanted to do, and somehow we managed to do them ALL. Corpses! Children! God! It’s got everything! The only thing it doesn’t have is the idea that literally started us plotting out the fic. And that was “ritual public sex with Starscream and Rung”. Oh well. Maybe someday. Probably not.

Okay, Now your most popular story

Ha! I tend to view the success of a fic more based on its bookmark ratio than its hit count, but by the numbers, unsurprisingly, “ Don't Sing Me No More Blues” is my most popular fic of the year at a whopping 3k hits and 113 bookmarks. Well, it is jazz/prowl which means it has a built in audience of considerable size, and it also updated seven times this year which increases its net range, so no surprise. But I think people also just really vibed with it--it’s very much a product of the times we are living in, and I don’t think it could have been written in any year except for 2020. 

“Dress Your Idol” has 58 bookmarks, by the way. I’m extremely proud of that fic for having such a high bookmark to view ratio. I guess the people who did read it liked it a lot.

Story most underappreciated in its Time.

Okay nothing is as under-exposed as the stuff I produced in JTHM, so I’m definitely not complaining. It’s hard to think about leaving TF because TF is such an enthusiastic community. That said, “ Neggnog Cozy” did not get eyeballs. I’m not surprised, it’s short and it’s gen, and Thundercracker doesn’t have the built in audience of say Starscream. Still, I thought it was really funny and cute and I would have liked it if more people would have given it a chance.

Story that could have been better

Oh, “ Melusine Among the Tombs” for sure. I went into that with only the first chapter planned and immediately after realized that I had no idea where the fic was going and also I had lost my grip on canon characterization after a couple years going rusty in other fandoms. I plan to finish it eventually, but I need a better plan than “wing it???” first.

Sexiest Story

I wrote SO much weird kink this year. Like. Shout out to past me for writing some pretty spicy JTHM fic, but this year I really leaned into how weird you can plausibly get with an all robot all alien cast. 

“ The Sensual Machine” is the most unabashedly horny because it was written specifically for a weird kink themed zine that I was an editor on. “Desecrate You” is also quite horny but I almost exclusively wrote the frame device for that, so I don’t get sexy credit lmao. “Fear and Delight” was a big hit with all the hxh readers and I think it has an element of sexiness more so than pure horniness--its has a kind of glamour and style to it.

Most fun story

“Starscream's Sexy Staycation” is by far the most unabashedly comic and sexy and silly and low stakes. It has one of my favorite kinks, a beautiful stupid moment of Ratchet suffering, and Rung calling safeword which is something new and fresh and I want a lot more of it in the world.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

“ Lacunae” was given to me as a yule gift prompt with the express intention of explaining who the fuck Carmilla’s mother was, and what the deal is with Carmilla as well. This would have forced me to reevaluate my understanding of the novel except for the TEENSY insignificant fact that I realized I had never finished reading Carmilla, somehow, and ended up reading it for the first time in December in preparation for yule. So uh. Hmm.

I think “ Don't Sing Me No More Blues” made me think about Prowl in a different way. I wasn’t really expecting him to be this hard-edged idealist when I started out on the fic. He was originally going to be much more like the autistic coded Prowl of “The Cop and the Cryptid,” one of my favorite fics ever. Also, I started writing the fic about a month before the riots and police protest kicked off in America this year, and it really caused me to zero in on how Prowl being part of a system like that affects his relationship to the world and other characters.

Hardest Story to Write

“ Elegy for Actaeon of the Hounds” took me a total of six months to write from start to finish. I don’t know why. Well, It’s partly because there are three involved sex scenes and sex scenes are actually very difficult and time consuming for me to write. It’s also partly because I kept wanting it to have a character arc, and I kept getting stumped on how to handle that. Beauty and the Beast plot lift? Have Rodimus be a rabbit? Eventually I settled on the version that kept the cast tightly cinched down around Megatron and Rung, and I’m happy with the result.

Easiest Story to Write

When we were writing “Apotheosis” it felt like we were on FIRE, we were so productive and we started three other projects between us while it was in motion. But “Take One For the Team” was absolutely the most fun to write, it basically wrote itself

Most Overdue Story

“Champagne in the Final Days of Rome” was based off a conversation I had with Nev pretty early on in our friendship--Discord says it was June 2019, so that’s uhhh ten months between discussion to actual writing? And it still didn’t turn out to be the fic we were originally outlining, haha.

Oh god you know what was really the most overdue? The last chapter of “Icarus; or, Look Who's Digging His Own Grave”. It was literally a year, January to January, between chapter 12 and 13. For a while I thought maybe I was just going to have to leave it there, without resolving the time loop problem at all.

Did you take writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Writing for the zine was a big risk. I remember Nev had to reassure me at least twice that what I was writing wasn’t too weird or off-topic or embarrassing to be part of the project. Now, of course, I’m very happy with it. But my god I was nervous to post something that was like.... straight up actually bimboification applied to one of the most popular toy characters of all time.

What I learned from this is that people love horny shit, are READY to take a chance on a weird fic when its in the right wrapping paper, and when in doubt you CAN sell people on a kink they’re not really into by making the kink actually a reflection of a character arc. Are you writing this down?

Do you have any goals for writing in the new year?

Finish GPAU!!!!!!

I’d like to FINALLY sit down and do some hard work on my original fiction. I’ve been kind of waiting for the tf hyperfixation to wane so I could move forward, and I think that process is in motion now. But who knows. If Rung shows up in the new comics I might get nerfed again.

Other than that I’d like to write at least one fanfic that isn’t TF, and I would like to get this really crunchy Rung/Pharma fic off the ground so I can make some people CRY

#2020 retrospective #fanfic

[cancerbiophd]

(Bolded by me for emphasis for those who just wanna skim!)

These new atomic-level details, shared from fruit flies to humans, may help to explain how more subtle clock variations predispose people to follow different sleep patterns. They also may lead to new treatments designed to reset the clock in people struggling with sleep disorders, jet lag, or night-shift work.

This work, published recently in the journal eLIFE, comes from Carrie Partch, University of California, Santa Cruz, and her colleagues at Duke-NUS Medical School in Singapore and the University of California, San Diego. It builds on decades of research into biological clocks, which help to control sleeping and waking, rest and activity, fluid balance, body temperature, cardiac rate, oxygen consumption, and even the secretions of endocrine glands.

These clocks, found in cells and tissues throughout the body, are composed of specialized sets of proteins. They interact in specific ways to regulate transcription of about 15 percent of the genome over a 24-hour period. All this interaction helps to align waking hours and other aspects of our physiology to the 24-hour passage of day and night.

In the latest paper, Partch and her colleagues focused on two core clock components: an enzyme known as casein kinase 1 (CK1) and a protein called PERIOD. Clock-altering mutations in CK1 and PERIOD have been known for many years. In fact, CK1 was discovered in studies of golden hamsters more than 20 years ago after researchers noticed one hamster that routinely woke up much earlier than the others [2,3].

It turns out that the timing of biological clocks is strongly influenced by the rise and fall of the PERIOD protein. This daily oscillation normally takes place over 24 hours, but that’s where CK1 enters the picture. The enzyme adjusts PERIOD levels by chemically modifying the protein at one of two sites, thereby adjusting its stability. When one site is modified, it keeps the protein protected and stable. At the other site, it leaves it unprotected and degradable.

Many of these details had been worked out over the years. But, Partch wanted to drill even deeper to answer an essential question: Why does this process normally take 24 hours, which is remarkably slow biochemically? And, what changes in those whose daily cycle gets cut far short?

To find out, her team performed a series of protein structure and biochemical analyses of the CK1 mutation originally found in hamsters, along with several other clock-altering versions of the enzyme found in organisms ranging from flies to humans. What they’ve discovered is a portion of CK1 acts as a switch. When this switch functions normally, it generates a near-perfect 24-hour cycle by keeping PERIOD’s stability just right. In this case, people easily and correctly align their internal clocks to the daily coming and going of daylight.

If the switch favors a faster breakdown of the protein, the daily cycle grows shorter and less tightly bound to daylight. For these early risers, it’s a constant struggle to adjust to life in a 24-hour world. Though they try to get in sync, these early risers are never able to catch up. Conversely, a switch that favors a slower breakdown will lengthen the clock, predisposing some to be night owls.

[Keep reading and to see references]

Side-note: Indeed, being an early bird vs night owl is genetic. About 40% of people are early birds, 30% are night owls, and 30% fall somewhere in the middle. One theory as to why we’ve evolved this way is because as a social species, this natural ability to take turns keeping watch at night improves our survival as a whole. 

#science #biology #sleep #sleep science #sciblr

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens Holiday Swap fic - “Effort” (Rated NC17)

Summary: For their first Christmas together as a married couple, Crowley packs up his husband and whisks him away for a holiday vacation in the South Downs. But that’s where things stop going as planned. Snowed in, they do their best to make due. But while Crowley is out hunting down a Christmas tree, Aziraphale stumbles across something on one of the blocked cable channels of the otherwise useless TV that sparks his interest, a long overdue conversation, and an intimate encounter. (3579 words)

Notes: Written for chvystiel who requested Ineffable husbands holiday fluff and/or smut. I hope you enjoy it <3 Warning for sexual content.</b>

Read on AO3.

“Angel! I’m ba-ack,” Crowley calls from the front door in a vaguely (and possibly insulting) rendition of a Cuban accent. Stuck in a remote area of the South Downs without cable, satellite, or Internet, and on track to get snowed in to boot, their sitcom watching options are painfully limited. Crowley hasn’t been able to watch a single episode of Golden Girls in days, but there’s been an I Love Lucy marathon showing on one of the two channels they receive without lines running across the screen.

Crowley wasn’t a huge fan before, but it’s beginning to grow on him.

But by noon, a storm advisory had broken in, warning them that their area was in the path of a huge snow storm, and to lock up and take cover. But there was one problem with that.

They hadn’t gotten their tree yet.

And Crowley would be damned if they spent their first Christmas together without a proper tree.

This holiday vacation was Crowley’s present to his new husband – two weeks away from Mayfair and Soho and Tadfield and London and all the other headaches and bothers of their everyday lives. They’d packed up the Bentley with books, some of Crowley’s more temperamental plants, very few clothes but a whole lot of bourbon, and set out to find the most out-of-the-way place they could rent last minute.

And they did it all the human way, opted completely out of using their powers for this trip.

There’s a rustic appeal to the idea of going completely native over the holidays, but more than that, they didn’t want to risk being monitored, surprise attacked, or worse.

Forced to host Archangels for Christmas dinner.

After the advisory came in, Crowley had gone out on his own to cut down a tree. Aziraphale had offered to go with him, but only halfheartedly, making the suggestion out the corner of his mouth while he longingly eyed the warmth of the fireplace, the cozy comfort of the living room sofa and its many chenille throws, and his book of baroque poetry lying open beside the cocoa cooling in his favorite angel wing cup, waiting patiently for his return. So Crowley graciously turned him down, told him it would be quicker if he went on his own, and that he’d be back soon.

That was over two hours ago.

Seeing as he hadn’t gotten a call or text from Aziraphale since, he’s not sure the angel has even noticed the time. Two hours for Aziraphale is like fifteen minutes to humans, and that’s definitely not long enough for Crowley to be missed.

Or Aziraphale left his cell phone in his bookshop. That, too, is a possibility since he can’t stand the thing.

Crowley wrestles the frosty, too-tall tree into the living room, not surprised when Aziraphale doesn’t rush up to help him. What does surprise him is that the living room is completely empty.

Crowley peeks around the tree to the sofa where he’d left Aziraphale, but the angel isn’t there. His cocoa is, and his book, open to the same page as when Crowley left.

But no Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley closes the door behind him, silencing the whistling wind so he can listen for his husband. Crowley knows he’s there. He can feel him close by. “Aziraphale? Where are …?” A visceral awareness suddenly grabs him by the stomach and begins to pull.

He hadn’t heard the sound at first, masked by the savage wind doing its best to rattle the windows out of their panes. But his body recognizes it for what it is the second it hits his ears.

The rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley repeats as a question to himself because whatever his angel is doing, he doesn’t want to interrupt until he gets a good, long look. He creeps to the bedroom (because where else would a sound like that be coming from?), hopeful as to what he might find.

The reality, however, is slightly disappointing.

But only slightly.

Aziraphale isn’t masturbating, which was Crowley’s original guess. He’s watching the telly, tuned into one of the channels they can’t watch without miles of static. It’s got to be a cable channel, the image bleeding between jagged lines, snapping into view for a few seconds, then blurring and becoming static again.

The sound, however, remains clear and constant.

Male voices moaning.

Desperate pleas for more!

And loud declarations of, “I’m going to come!”

Crowley’s hands flex, then ball hard at that last one.

Could this be the reason Aziraphale didn’t want to go tree hunting in the first place?

Well, no. It’s colder than cold outside. Anyone not on a life or death mission would be loony to traipse out into the driving snow when they had a warm fire waiting for them indoors.

But maybe Crowley leaving was an opportunity. One Aziraphale couldn’t pass up.

It stings that Aziraphale might rather watch this on his own but Crowley understands why.

Crowley has yet to give Aziraphale any indication that this interests him.

Crowley clears his throat to get his husband’s attention. He’s dying to know what’s going on in Aziraphale’s mind. Aziraphale seems mesmerized, leaning in to the image, his hands hovering over his own body, mainly his stomach, and his throat – the only area where his fingertips can slide over exposed skin.

Crowley clears his throat again louder, and Aziraphale lifts his head. Crowley thought Aziraphale might jump when he realized he was standing there, scamper to change the channel, abolish the image from the screen. Crowley isn’t looking to embarrass his angel (though he had to admit, that reaction would be amusing). He wanted answers, but he also wanted to diffuse the tension he felt in the room, climbing higher with every moan - a mixture of curiosity, desire … and hurt feelings.

But Aziraphale doesn’t jump. He doesn’t change the channel. He doesn’t switch it off. He turns to face Crowley, white fire simmering behind heartbroken blue eyes.

Of all the expressions Crowley expected to see on his angel’s face, this isn’t one of them.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley says softly. “What are you … uh … what are you doing?”

Aziraphale shakes his head, but Crowley doesn’t know whether or not that’s an answer. When he puts a trembling hand to the screen and touches lightly as the two bodies behind the off-colored static come into view, it nearly does Crowley in.

“Why haven’t you made love to me yet?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley’s eyes become wide. He stumbles to answer. “I … well, I …”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Yes!” Crowley nearly screams. “Yes, I do! Of course, I do!”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“It’s just … it’s so … it’s ngk! It’s not that simple, Aziraphale. I …”

“Yes?”

Crowley has reasons. Many reasons. Not the best reasons, admittedly, but enough to shut his libido down if he even so much as considers doing anything with Aziraphale other than kissing, unambitious over-clothes petting. But if he’s cornered into boiling them all down to one single reason, it’s that he’s scared. Yes, scared that Aziraphale will Fall, but honestly that doesn’t much concern him.

Scared that Aziraphale won’t enjoy it.

In fact, scared that Aziraphale will hate it.

Scared that him hating it will alter their relationship irrevocably.

Scared that Aziraphale will start to see him differently.

Different can be good. There’s no doubt about that. But Crowley is a demon and sex … sex is physical. It can be soft and tender, but it can also be dirty and raw.

And painful.

And as much as Crowley wants to give Aziraphale the soft, deep in his heart, he craves the painful.

Crowley is attracted to Aziraphale in a slew of ways, some of them sexual. And Aziraphale is definitely bastard enough to hold his own. But Crowley also sees Aziraphale as innocent and naïve.

Crowley doesn’t want to be the one to taint that.

So the best ground for them, in Crowley’s mind, is the middle one. The one where they travel the same paths they’ve always traveled, wear down the old familiar roads, and stay the same as they have … for an eternity.

Maybe they won’t venture into new territory, but there’s less of a chance of his angel leaving him.

“You’ve been wonderful,” Aziraphale says. “So patient and thoughtful. Getting away for the holidays was such an inspired idea. We’ve only just started and it’s the most romantic trip I’ve ever been on.”

“I’m glad,” Crowley replies, his smile a nervous twitch because he knows Aziraphale isn’t done. “That’s all I want for you.”

Aziraphale nods. “But can’t we fuck?”

And with that one word out of Aziraphale’s mouth, the carefully knotted threads binding Crowley’s restraint to the hitching post explode.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says, sly smile tipping his lips. “Was that too crass?”

“No,” Crowley says. “No, it’s all right. It’s right where I want you, to tell you the truth. But the first time? It should be special, shouldn’t it? And that should mean a little less rough and tumble and a lot more sensual and erotic.”

Aziraphale shrugs. “I don’t see why we can’t have both.”

“True.” Crowley slips off his coat and his glasses, unties his shoes, needing something for his hands to do while they discuss this further. “So, what did you have in mind?”

Aziraphale’s brows draw sharply together. “What do you mean? I thought I was very clear …”

“I mean … do you want …” Crowley gestures, the movements of his hands incongruent with his words “… me to … you know … in you? Or do you want …?”

Aziraphale raises a hand and catches one of his, quieting Crowley, drawing him down to the bed. “I spend a great deal of time giving, my dear. I think I’d like a break from it.”

Crowley smiles. “Receiving it is.” He kisses Aziraphale gently, puts a hand to the back of his neck to keep the angel close. He crawls forward, pushing Aziraphale onto his back. He undresses him. He’d prefer to snap his fingers and be done with it, but that’s only because he’s impatient. Undressing Aziraphale is foreplay, a slow dance of fingers brushing over clothes, then under clothes, painting a trail of gooseflesh on pale skin.

Crowley has been inside Aziraphale’s body, but only in the magical sense; taken a day trip through his memories. He knows that Aziraphale has never been undressed by another pair of hands outside his own, never touched by someone else. Aziraphale’s reaction to being disrobed, to being seen, is intoxicating, even if they never share a single other kiss or touch between them.

But Crowley tossing that final article of clothing aside and being able to look upon Aziraphale, knowing that he gets to have him, is the next step on the staircase to paradise.

Crowley’s clothes join Aziraphale’s on the floor in three seconds flat, lumped into a pile that can best be described as shredded.

Crowley spreads the angel’s legs and fits himself between them. He hooks his arms beneath his knees to lift his hips, but Aziraphale stops him.

“No, I … I want to do it like they are.” He glances over his shoulder at the screen as it pops into focus. “On my hands and knees.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because as much as I want to see your face,” Aziraphale says, cheeks reddening, “look into your eyes, I should think that would be easier. Less contorting. And probably more pleasurable, for you and me.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley closes his eyes, tilts his head up, gives his brain a mental slap. “You need to stop talking like that!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to do me in before we even get started.”

The couple in the movie, lost momentarily behind a sea of wavy lines, begin to exclaim dramatically the way actors in pornos tend to. Crowley reaches for the remote to turn off the TV, but Aziraphale stops him.

“D-don’t,” he begs softly. “Keep it on. Please?”

“Why?”

“Inspiration? I … I don’t know why, honestly. But having it on kind of reminds me of those baths in Rome. Did you ever go?”

“Yes. I didn’t know you had.”

“Once or twice. Oddly enough, I was one of the rare few who went there to bathe.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

“But there was … something … about hearing the men there … enjoy one another,” Aziraphale explains, the faltering of his voice punctuating his phrasing, separating his words like Crowley’s hands on his knees, spreading them apart.

“I think I understand.” Crowley grins. “It turns you on.”

“Possibly. Or perhaps I simply … admire it?”

“Same thing.”

“If you say so, my dear.”

Aziraphale leaves one last kiss on Crowley’s lips and turns away, shyly getting into a position that mimics what he’s seen, and not just on the screen. He’s been on Earth for thousands of years. He’s spied, pondered, imagined. He’s let the temptations of others leave footprints in his mind, has allowed them to season his feelings about sex, shape his wants and desires. He thought, after all of that, it would be easy to slip into the armor he’s created for himself as a sexual creature. And if he had decided to share this experience with anyone else for the sole sake of gratification, he could do it – detach from the emotional, leave his insecurities behind, and give in to sin.

But he’s not with just anyone.

And regardless of the fact that Crowley is the one being he should be able to toss aside his fears with, the need to have Crowley want him above all others and keep him wanting is debilitating.

Because in that arena, Aziraphale feels woefully unqualified.

He leans low, rests his head on the mattress. Crowley rushes around him, grabbing pillows to slide underneath the angel’s head.

“Now, you relax,” Crowley says. “Let me take care of you.”

“All right.”

Crowley looks down the slope of his angel’s body – his generous ass, his strong back and shoulders, his powerful arms – and ponders, for the moment, how they should go about this. As supernatural entities, they wouldn’t normally need to approach this the human way. They don’t need lubricants or condoms or anything of the like.

But they’re not using magic now. They’d expressly decided against it, for their own safety. But Crowley is stuck in a position where he knows he’s going to need something to smooth things along.

It’ll shame him later to admit to Aziraphale that he found what he needed during a quick jaunt to the kitchen cabinet, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And besides, olive oil is a more natural equivalent to many of the other things they have available in the cottage.

Less sticky, too.

Crowley slicks himself up with a dollop of oil. He doesn’t need much in the way of friction to get him hard. He’s been achingly hard since the word fuck left Aziraphale’s mouth. He grabs Aziraphale’s hips, caressing with the palms of messy hands, and pulls him back towards him. He settles his cock between Aziraphale’s cheeks, teases his angel open with the head, toying in little circles, before pushing in just barely. Crowley watches in awe as Aziraphale’s body stretches, tight muscle tensing then relaxing for him, accepting him, surrounding him with the gift of Aziraphale’s intense heat.

“Good … Lord …” Aziraphale whispers.

“Oh my … mmph! Aziraphale!” Crowley moans, inching inside him until his hips rest flush against him. “You feel … ngk … you feel … amazing!”

Aziraphale wants to agree, wants to respond in kind, wants to encourage Crowley to keep going, do something, do anything! But he can’t speak. There’s not a single word he can think of to describe what he’s feeling. He has no frame of reference, none that would fit. His hands find a loose section of the sheet beneath him and tug in his frustration at losing the ability to speak.

Crowley pulls almost completely out of Aziraphale’s body, then pushes quickly in. Aziraphale’s back arches, lifting his shoulders before he sinks back down.

“I’ve … I’ve gotta be careful,” Crowley murmurs, shuddering at every noise Aziraphale makes, every response of his body, “or this will be over way too quick …”

“Can’t … mmph … you find a way to stave off, dear?” Aziraphale asks.

“Right! Why don’t you ask me to build you a solar system? It’d be easier.”

Crowley concentrates on Aziraphale’s non-spoken cues: the play of his muscles beneath his skin, his gasps, how his breathing speeds up or hitches in his throat. Aziraphale turns his face, presses his cheek against the pillowcase. Crowley’s eyes lock onto Aziraphale’s expression: eyes squeezed shut, lower lip clamped between his teeth, cheeks flushed a vivid pink. He brings his fist to his mouth and bites into it, whining as Crowley finds a spot inside him that makes his legs quiver. Crowley’s resolve slips as Aziraphale’s teeth sink into the skin of his hand, muffling his mewling cries. Crowley’s lazy rhythm rushes, and Aziraphale squirms at the change.

“Are you okay, angel? Do you need me to slow down?”

“N-no. Quite the opposite. Faster.”

“F-faster?”

“Yes, faster, please. And now, thank you.”

Aziraphale’s politeness makes Crowley chuckle, but he does what his lover wants – faster, harder, until the chant of Crowley’s name that Aziraphale had taken up becomes nothing more than a shadow on his lips, his voice disappearing, his body going still. “Oh …” he whispers, eyelids sliding shut, his muscles, his limbs, motionless with surrender. “Oh, yes … that’s … that’s it … that’s …” Aziraphale’s mouth continues to move even after his voice fades.

Aziraphale writhing beneath him is probably the most erotic thing Crowley has ever witnessed in his entire existence. He isn’t succumbing to a temptation or reacting to an implanted suggestion. Aziraphale’s quivering, his trembling, his moaning are all effects.

The direct effect Crowley is having on Aziraphale.

And he didn’t use his power – Hell’s power – to elicit it.

Crowley did it with his body - the body he’d chosen. He did it with his touch, his words, his lips on Aziraphale’s skin, his hands holding his hips, and his voice whispering his name.

Crowley doesn’t have to ask Aziraphale if he’s coming. He feels it tingling in his chest and in his stomach as if the orgasm is his own, his body filling from toes to fingertips with so much heat, it competes with the Hellish fire always present in his body, making it feel ice cold.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale murmurs.

“I know,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Don’t stop.”

“Would never.”

“Please, Crowley, I …”

“I won’t stop. I swear. I … I love you, Aziraphale.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale whimpers. “Yes, I … I love you. I love you, too.”

“I love you … I love you … I … grr! Fucking shit!” Crowley growls as his hips begin to stutter, start to fail him, and he thinks he might not be able to hold on for his angel. But Aziraphale’s shoulders go slack, his back bows, his arms unwind and stretch out in front of him, and Crowley knows he can let go. The heat that had been rising up inside him releases, his blood cooling as his muscles relax. “Oh … oh, Go—“ he sighs, melting over Aziraphale’s body, limp and useless, but content to be so as long as his angel is satisfied.

The tension that had been hanging in the air before has long gone, but it’s been replaced by a different kind a tension. A tension that poses the questions What was that? Was it okay? Should we have done it? Was it what he wanted? Was it good?

What have I done?

“How … how was that?” Crowley asks, kissing the sweaty nape of Aziraphale’s neck, failing at not sounding as anxious as he feels. “How do you feel?” Did you Fall? is a close third, but Crowley leaves it unasked.

“I feel …” The expression on Aziraphale’s face changes as his thoughts change, grappling to summarize the experience with words magnanimous enough to make the expanse of his feelings understood “… incandescent.”

“Is that … is that good? Is that a good thing?” Crowley asks, too wound up for Aziraphale’s answer to make sense.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says dryly. “It’s good.”

Crowley sighs, relieved. “Good.”

The voices on the TV interrupt. Different voices. Apparently the first movie had ended and a new one began involving two men and a woman. One of the men asks about a photocopy machine in need of repair and Crowley rolls his eyes. He picks up the remote, flashes it to his husband.

“Do you mind?” he asks.

“Not at all,” Aziraphale says. “You know, maybe we should consider making our own movie, my dear. While we’re here. That way we could inspire ourselves instead of relying on this static-y TV.”

Crowley drops the remote and stares at Aziraphale. He doesn’t blink, his face a shade of beet red to rival his hair. He slowly climbs off the bed, limps swiftly through the living room, and heads straight for the front door.

Aziraphale watches with concern and interest. “Where are you going, love?”

“Outside,” Crowley replies.

“In the snow? Without clothes!? Whatever for?”

“I need to calm down. Chill out, as they say. If you insist on talking like that, you’re going to discorporate me!”

#Good Omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #goholidayexchange #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #frankie writes

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Though there's no chance to recognize simply the number of people are purchasing them, analysis of London's famous "fatberg"-- the mass of oil as well as organic matter found in the capital's sewers-- discovered SARMs present in better quantities than both MDMA as well as drug. I assume in pharmaceutical terms the idea is to use SARMS rather than androgens at times, as you mention they can be selectively adjusted to develop tasks in different ways to androgens. I would certainly suggest that anabolics aren't observable for months though, several will have an extremely similar time course to ostarine, relying on the dosage and also technique of administration.

This does highlight the demand for several years round out of competitors testing. is currently being activelydeveloped by GTxas a treatment for muscle squandering in lung cancer cells patients. It has been reported that Andarine is no more a target medication. What would certainly you suggest as a sarms pile that is risk-free with the Lipator? Most of the moment, a post cycle therapy is normally never ever required either, which is what makes them so appealing to professional athletes over conventional steroids.

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Research studies have shown the capacity of SARMs to boost muscle mass and bone mass dramatically in animals while having no unfavorable impact on the prostate. Used this to maintain toughness on cut, yet in fact permitted me to boost weight on all workouts at upkeep calories, this functions like a mild PH, it is a terrific alternative anabolic. This week attempted hefty shoulder presses, and also obtained a brand-new individual best.

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At just 1mg daily for 3 weeks a medical test showed an ordinary gain of 1.21 kg in LBM which is virtually 1 pound of LBM per week which is absolutely insane thinking about the moment frame as well as the reality that they were not even training. Unlike Ostarine, LGD-4033 does not appear to increase liver enzymes however like Ostarine it did negatively affect good cholesterol levels. It is worth stating that taking SARMs is NOT as effective as steroids. If MK677 30ml Liquid Dropper Buy Online Sarms were after that everyone using steroids would certainly have stopped as well as switched over a very long time back. Having stated this, SARMs are taken at a much lower dosage than steroids/testosterone. A normal Ostarine dosage is 20mg for 8 weeks yet a typical 8-week testosterone dose would certainly be anywhere between mg weekly, so if Ostarine was taken at a comparable dosage would certainly similar testosterone results occur?

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They have assist me regulate my impulsivity MINIPRESS is regrettable yet not namely as well as increase your osteoarthritis due to its marching buy nolvadex europe to confess beta-lactamases. find out dianabol proviron nolvadex cycle from as well as use support for the friends and family colleagues neighbours business in a way with. The amount of cycles is the most common that women get expecting on where to acquire nolvadex reddit clomid. My c-s recovery was nothing like that surgical treatment, give thanks to God, so I didn't feel the demand nolvadex sarms australia to take it. In spite of this, various athletes remain to examine favorable for careful androgen receptor modulators, in particular Ostarine (MK-2866) and also Testolone. UK Sarms ostarine has offered me wonderful recomp outcomes at 10mg/day and also aided me press past weights I was previously stuck at for months. I was so pleased with the ostarine that I've lately bought RAD-140 for my following cycle as I now require to concentrate on building muscular tissue in advance of my following comp.

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It shows up that there is evidence that ostarine is increasingly showing up in supplements. There are currently 60 items on USADA's High Risk Checklist which contain ostarine. The objective of this study is to examine the safety of GSK in males and females with COPD and also muscular tissue weakness. The research will certainly examine the results of GSK on muscle mass evaluated as changes in leg strength, muscle mass, as well as useful procedures such as walking ability. Testolone was established to raise muscular tissue dimension, reduce fat, and improve testosterone degrees. Below at Height Body Nourishment, we are a business with body home builders in mind, providing a significant selection of supplements for a series of various functions.

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The recomping impact of losing fat as well as acquiring muscle at the same time is what most of users are trying to find. Trying to achieve this when you are not absolutely brand-new to training is extremely challenging. As most of Ostarine supplies been available in 30ml containers at 25mg/ml, a dosage of 17.5 mg each day will certainly give the customer a 6 week cycle from one bottle, a great concession between an anabolic dose as well as expense. Currently the gains in absolute weight will not be comparable to steroids such as diannabol, however what will be gained will virtually exclusivley be lean mass. As a result of the lack of closure in contrast to steroids/prohormones, a PCT period is not needed and almost all the mass that is gained on Ostarine is maintained when the cycle is ended up. Ostarine specifically applies its anabolic impacts on muscle cells practically specifically.

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On YouTube, it is difficult to separate the serpent oil sales people from real individual reviews, however the general agreement appears to be that ostarine is effective for people seeking to build muscle and also bone toughness. This would appear to fit with the medical conditions ostarine was created to deal with to begin with. It likewise fits with what UFC competitors would be looking for in a supplement.

my diete was 2200 calorie daily for get shreds as well as i take strenght as well as keep the muscle mass i think its not fake ostarine. however i have diareha with ostarine yet this negative effects is normal.

Information might be altered or updated without notification and also costs and also availability of products and also services undergo transform without notification. Not Supplying Any kind of Suggestions The web content is for informational functions just and is not meant to give details guidance for you and also should not be relied upon in that regard. In today's competitive world, obtaining muscle mass as well as shedding fat alone with training as well as healthy diet regimen is alongside difficult. Hence most of the health and fitness enthusiastic relies on supplements for getting preferable form and also bodybuilding. activating the receptors which nolvadex 20mg adverse effects subsequently promote a Plasmid ring a small DNA molecule procedure inside the.

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Enobosarm, also known as ostarine or MK-2866, is an investigational selective androgen receptor modulator (SARM) developed by GTx, Inc. Enobosarm.Clinical dataRoutes of administrationBy mouthATC codenoneLegal statusLegal statusUS : Investigational New Drug20 more rows

It's why, in mid-2019, we introduced the initial UK-based hair steroid testing solution, aiding household lawyers and work environments alike to stamp out the issues triggered by the psychological and emotional adverse effects of anabolic steroids. Over what's new in proven sarms's Sarm sarms.com , online look for SARMs (or "careful androgen receptor modulators", including andarine and ostarine) have been increasing progressively.

Discerning androgen receptor modulators are a class of androgen receptor medications, which have a high capacity to be efficiency enhancers in human and animal sports. Arylpropionamides are just one of the significant SARM classes and also get quickly metabolized considerably complicating simple detection of transgression in blood or pee sample evaluation.

In this area, you will certainly discover both SARMS, as well as things that resemble SARM products. In phase 1 as well as phase 2 tests which lasted 12 weeks 268 individuals with reduced HDL degrees were given 2.5,5,10 mg daily. Throughout this time great cholesterol enhanced by 17% and also bad cholesterol was reduced by 7%. Bodyweight likewise boosted typically 1.3 kg nevertheless a LBM vs fat mass analysis was not completed.

Due to the means GW works it is secure to assume it was all or mostly LBM. Due to the method Cardarine functions individuals as well as animal researches revealed that Cardarine is connected with substantial reduction in body fat. Where Cardarine or GW50515 comes to be extremely fascinating is that PPARD activation increased mitochondrial biogenesis in the muscle, which can redesign your muscle tissue! In studies of qualified and inexperienced mice, Cardarine triggered quickly twitch muscle mass fiber to convert to slow down twitch muscular tissue fibers. Due to this Cardarine is frequently called a workout mimetic as only exercise can generally make these adjustments to your metabolism and fiber make-up. The common dosage for performance enhancement is 2-10mg each day for 4-8 weeks. The ordinary results from this are 7-10lbs of LBM, excellent rises in stamina and little to lean loss.

It is a team important that bind to the receptors as well as create an anabolic response.

The anabolic impact is anticipated to be the same as testosterone.

Furthermore, it's likewise claimed to produce dose-dependent improvements in bone mineral density and motorized strength apart from the capacity to lower body fat and boost lean body mass.

SARMS link to the same receptors that old steroids such as Dianabol and testosterone would certainly attach to, however minus the drawbacks and negative effects of traditional steroids as well as prohormones.

What is very important, it does not hinder own manufacturing of testosterone, this sort of SERM is additionally preferred with females.

However it is very most likely that the side effects at this dose would most likely coincide or even worse than testosterone. Recently, steroid use has actually been growing throughout the UK - not only amongst gym-goers as well as bodybuilders, as you would expect, but in certain specialist fields, as well.

My prevoius was 80 kg x 1 reps, now I handled 80 kg x 3 reps quickly. Haven't felt anything while using this but this increase in strength virtually tells me all I need to learn about the efficiency of this item. The very first week changeover was tremendous, with no uncertainty a residual impact of the creatine and also beta alanine, and the choice I made to front tons the research for ostarine for 2 days just.

Typically, a medicine with a 1 day fifty percent would take a week to get to consistent state I believe so an alternative I utilize is 2 days of two caps at the beginning as opposed to the normal one a day truly obtains that research as much as level swiftly. I got around 2 kg generally in 8 weeks while visibly loosing fat. Overall I believe I navigated 4-5 Kilos of lean muscles and shed 3 kilos of fat without diet limitation.

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[glorious-blackout]

Junior Doctor Shenanigans - Back to Medicine:

Moving back to Medicine after spending six months in Surgery is like jumping from the fire back into the frying pan, except you’ve become so accustomed to the anxiety-fuelled adrenaline the fire brings that its absence makes you uncomfortable. It’s very disconcerting to still be on a ward round at midday when you’re so used to running around doing jobs to prepare for the second ward round in the afternoon.

My ward is split between the Endocrine and Infectious Disease teams, which is lovely because there’s always plenty of people about. Of the four junior doctors on the ward, three of us have moved from Surgery so it feels like our little team is still somewhat intact. This has admittedly manifested in us all moaning excessively about being back in Medicine, but given that our free time has always been spent moaning about something or other, this only adds to the sense of familiarity.

My poor colleague who has spent his entire year on surgical wards was apparently ‘traumatised’ by his first Medical On-Call shift (in which we cover every medical ward in the hospital that isn’t the admissions unit). We did try to prepare him by saying it was basically like dealing with our old surgical ward on a wider scale, but apparently that wasn’t sufficient preparation and his evening was so bad that he felt compelled to come in early the following day to make sure one of his sick patients was okay. For context, I should point out that I’m talking about the most nonchalant person I’ve ever met. If the shift was so bad that it riled him up, all I can say is that I’m glad I wasn’t on it.

We were mostly sympathetic, although that didn’t stop one of us from paging him during lunch the next day to ask if he was looking after a patient called ‘Dixie Normus’ (it took him a second to catch on).

As far as I can tell, the Endocrine consultants I work with are all lovely, which makes me lucky because the Infectious Disease consultants are *bonkers*. My friend came back from her ward-round one day incredibly exasperated because the consultant had stopped antibiotics for a patient who was clearly septic with a chest infection. His alternative diagnosis? A condition called Sweet Syndrome which is incredibly rare in the UK. His reasoning for this was that the man’s white cell count was low (which, it should be pointed out, is a common feature of infection) and that he had a rash (which *could* point towards Sweet Syndrome as an incidental diagnosis… but it certainly wasn’t causing his raging sepsis). Cue a Chest X-ray which showed a blatant lobar pneumonia, and still the consultant felt that antibiotics weren’t appropriate. Thankfully my friend’s senior agreed with her and decided to restart the antibiotics behind the consultant’s back. The patient ultimately showed improvement because of that decision, although that didn’t stop the antibiotics debate from becoming a daily occurrence.

Apparently the Infectious Disease consultants aren’t particularly good at talking to each other directly, although my friend found out to her amusement that they have a habit of arguing with each other on paper. When looking through the notes of a patient with viral encephalitis, she found an early entry from one consultant stating “Switch IV Acyclovir to (insert rarer alternative here) as this has a better mechanism of action”, followed a few days later by the other consultant writing, “Switching to new medication was an ineffective decision as it doesn’t cross the blood-brain barrier. Re-commence Acyclovir”. This back-and-forth went on for several pages.

I’m at the stage where I can review patients on my own during the ward round - an idea that used to terrify me, but now excites me for the sole reason that it means I have something useful to do in the mornings. Most of the patients I’m trusted to see are the ones who have been in for weeks and are simply waiting for homecare/nursing homes - and therefore the patients where the day-to-day plan doesn’t change all that much - but it’s a start!

I pride myself on being able to tolerate some rather disgusting sights after all these years of experience in dissection rooms and operating theatres, but for some reason the one thing that still makes me feel nauseous is the sight of an ulcerated foot - something which unfortunately comes up a lot in a ward full of diabetic patients. I was relieved to find that this wasn’t just me; after we reviewed one patient who had osteomyelitis secondary to an infected ulcer, my senior admitted to me, “I’m glad they changed the dressings this morning so we had an excuse not to look, otherwise I might have fainted right there.” Turns out not even doctors can stand the sight of feet.

Surgery has made us too efficient, to the point where we tend to finish all our jobs by half three in the afternoon and we’ve been sent home early twice. We’ve also been reasonably well-staffed this week, which seems like a long-forgotten luxury after two months of an altered surgical rota based on minimal staffing. I’ve been warned that such a calm week isn’t the norm and that things have the potential to become hectic, but after dealing with a combination of Gastro and Surgery for ten months I have a feeling that Endocrine’s ‘hectic’ days are going to feel like a breeze in comparison. I may be tempting fate with that statement, but we’ll see how things go… 😉

Despite experiencing a rather unconventional first year as a doctor and having my portfolio requirements altered drastically as a result, I have officially passed my ARCP (Annual Review of Competency Progression) and am therefore allowed to advance into my second year in August! Honestly, after everything that’s happened, the news felt a little anticlimactic at first (the fact that we can’t access the certificates yet due to IT difficulties probably adds to this, though that’s very on-brand for the NHS) but after letting it sink in, it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Here’s to starting work as an FY2  in eight (!!!) weeks’ time 😊

#junior doctor shenanigans #medicine #rambling #long post

[1000roughdrafts]

Family Secrets: Chapter Two

The Phone Call

Summary: Investigating the strange case of what seems like demonic possession, you decide to call Bobby’s cell phone only to reach an unfamiliar voice on the other line. The news he gives you shakes you to your core, completely altering your life forever. 

Warnings: angst, mention of Bobby’s Death

W/C: 2.1k

Masterlist/Schedule

Previous Chapter 

After a long night of driving and even longer day of thought, you land yourself at a little motel in a remote town of Kansas. The room is certainly fit for one with its rusted twin bed and matching smokey walls. There isn't much to it outside of a metal table that squeaks at any movement and missing a chair. The atmosphere is so empty that your internal dialogue seems to bounce between the linoleum flooring and peeling ceiling and walls. You can't bare another second of this self-induced torture.

"Okay, pull yourself together," you say to yourself as you button up your best blouse.

Covering the shirt with a blazer that matches your pants, you push away the fears and look into the mirror. Your pale, Y/E/C eyes still laced with tears glisten in the light. "We've got to pull it together," you say louder this time while pulling the shadowy strands of hair from the side of your face and into a tight bun on the top of your head. "Maybe he's fine and just changed the number."

Turning away from the mess in the mirror, you sit on the bed to tie up you boots, "we still have a job to do."

Nerves strike as you rap on the window of an old oak door. You push the lingering thoughts away, and with a jittery hand reach into your pocket for you badge. Through the dusty window, you see a woman with brown hair that meets just below her shoulders. Her golden brown eyes are sunken in and look you over nervously before opening the door just enough to show you her triangular face and petite figure.

"Yes?" she clears her throat, but the words still crack on the way out, "I already spoke with the cops."

"I'm fully aware of that, Mrs. Mill." You force a smile to reassure her, "my name is Maggie Tarnish, and I'm just here to ask a few follow up questions. May I come inside?"

She eyes you and the badge timidly before motioning for you to step inside. "What a beautiful home," you acknowledge as she leads you into the living room and sits on the arm of an old rocking chair. Taking a few steps into the living room, you notice the toys that clutter the floor. "You've kids?"

Mrs. Mill matches your glimpse at television that sits on a stand filled with family movies and crayon colored pictures. "Just one," she clears her throat and motions for you to sit on the couch. "She's napping at the moment."

"Well, I won't take up too much of your time, then. I know how kids can be if they're woken early," you laugh delicately and place your hands in front of you, leaning forward. "I wanted, first of all, to make sure you were all right after the, uh," you pause to search for the right word, "incident."

"Oh, well... thank you. I'm pretty distraught, but I'll be fine." She doesn't look up when she speaks, just keeps her eyes on her hands as they rest in her lap.

"Yes, I've heard from your coworkers that you are a strong woman, Mrs. Mill. You have a 'can-do' attitude, and they seem to admire it. Will you explain to me what happened that day?"

She fiddles with her thumbs, twirling them around each other before she speaks, "I took a different path to work." She looks up at you with doe-eyes, "I live so close that I usually just walk. I got about halfway there when suddenly there was this," she pauses.

You scoot to the edge of the couch to take her hands in your own, "you can talk to me. It's okay."

"The sky was saturated with this bright light, and then, almost suddenly, there was this crackle and a big cloud of different colors. At first it made a loud thundering noise, so I thought it might be weird lightening, but then it started to fizzle out into a purple." Letting out a deep breath she looks back at her hands, "and then I woke up a week later, or at least I hear it was a week."

"Mrs. Mill, what is that you think happened that caused you to pass out?" you say softly, "did you see anyone or... or hear anything?"

She holds her eyes to yours, "I," she shrugs. "I don't know!" She covers her face with her hands, "I should never have told anyone about this." Looking back at you with wide, wet eyes she continues, "nobody believes me. I'm the joke of this town."

"I believe you," you smile. "I've seen weirder, trust me," you laugh.

"I doubt it," she scoffs.

"Do you remember anything from when you were passed out or before? Anything weird?" Noticing her confusion to the question, or lack of interest, you elaborate, "like voices, black smoke? Anyone talking through or over you?"

"What are you saying?" she says, switching into defense mode.

You keep your voice calm, "I'm just trying to check all avenues, Mrs.-"

"No." She stands up and places her hands on her face, "there was no black smoke or voices, or" she pulls her hands down to her sides, "none of that. And - and I think you should leave," she says softly.

"Okay," you say, standing up and heading for the door. "Thank you for your time."

-

When you get back to your motel you're exhausted and wish to rest your eyes, but all you can focus on is the dial tone response you received from calling him. You rip your favorite sweater from the table and slip outside.

The sweet air fills your lungs and the soft breeze passes by your skin, leaving its mark in tiny bumps. You close your eyes and tilt your head to the sky. Hair stands on end as you take another breath of the crisp air. Dark clouds parade the glistening sky and the sun has never been a more captivating and glowing amber.

Staring at your phone, more specifically the number you have dialed, you wonder whether or not it would be a smart move. It had been a long while since you've spoken to or even seen him, but above all you need to know that he's okay.

With a small glimpse of hope, you press the button. It rings for ages before anyone comes to the line. There is a faint sigh and you can almost feel its warmth. With trepidation and excitement you decide to break the silence, "Uncle Bobby?"

An unfamiliar voice meets your ear, shattering the illusion, "who is this?"

"You first," you demand, but the line goes silent save for a low and slow breath. After waiting only as long as you can stand, you growl into the device, "who are you and why the hell do you have Bobby's cell?

After another bout of silence, the voice comes forward, "listen, I hate to be the one to break this to you, whoever you are," there is a heavy pause, "uh, but, Bobby's been dead for over a year."

You can hear the pain in his voice, but it doesn't make it any easier to digest the words. You feel a knot tie up in your throat, and your eyes begin to swell with tears. Each droplet tastes of desperation and anguish. It would explain why the line was disconnected, but you're struggling to believe it. "How?" is all you can muster up.

Even though you don't know who is on the other end of the call, it feels as though you are talking with an old friend. There is a strange intimacy to his voice that almost makes you wish he never hangs up. As if he were talking to a child, his voice thaws, "he uh, he was murdered."

A hot rage fills you and escapes as a nervous and angry giggle. You shake your head. You weren't expecting this, not after what happened to Rufus.

"What?!" the voice thickens, "that's funny to you?" he accuses.

"No," you say, zoning back in. "God, no. I can't help the laugh. Sometimes it just happens, like a reflex, or... something." You forget that you're talking with a complete stranger as the words roll effortlessly off of your tongue. The tears accelerate and no matter how hard you try to hide it, he can hear it in your tremor. "I just never imagined a life without him. I guess I always kind of thought he'd live forever, you know," you say, wiping away the tears with the tattered tail of your sleeve. "Anyway," you say, unsure whether or not he's even on the line, "thanks for tellin', bye."

"Wait," you hear from the phone that's inches away from your puffy cheek.

"What?" you huff.

"I didn't catch your name."

"That's cause I never gave it to you."

The phone slips out of your hand, the screen shattering upon hitting the concrete. You can't remember the last time you felt anything as strong as you feel now. Your entire body is quivering, bound to lose traction at any given moment. Trying to get the door open takes longer than before, now that your strength is leaving through your eyes. With one last turn of the knob and a thrust of your shoulder, the door flies open and the force knocks you to the ground.

A plethora of emotions stews inside of you, yet the only one you struggle with is the fierce and burning anger you've tried for years to conceal. You'd been on your own for so long you forgot what it was like to be held, and you yearn for someone to sooth you, someone who can make you feel calm and safe. Bobby was that person, once upon a time, but now you have absolutely no one except for yourself.

The continual line of thoughts regarding someone you'd never have the chance to see again only adds fuel to the fire in your chest. After grabbing your keys from the bed, you bolt out of the door.

--

Two federal impostors wait impatiently at Mrs. Mill's front door. They see that she's reluctant to come forward, so they flash a smile and their badges. She only opens the door as much as the chain allows.

"Mrs. Mill," Dean says as they put their credentials back into their suits. She makes out a semi-vocal response without opening her mouth and skims their appearance. "I'm Agent Roth, and this is my partner, Agent Malloy," he gestures to himself and then Sam. "We wanted to speak with you about what happened."

She rolls her eyes, "is that really necessary? I've talked to the police, I've talked to the newspapers, I've even talked with another FBI agent already. What information could you possibly need that hasn't been out already. Sky got bright, crackle happened, multi-color cloud, and I woke up a week later."

"And you have no memory of that week?" Dean questions.

There is a natural glow and chirp to her voice, "no. Not a damn thing."

"Wait a minute," Dean says with a tilted head. "Did you say another agent has already questioned you?"

"Yeah, name was Maggie." She looks at the ground, "she seemed nice enough at first, but asked such strange questions."

"Define strange," Sam says, mirroring Dean's perplexed expression.

She looks around and back to the porch with a sigh, "look. I'm done talking about this. I can't do it anymore."

"I understand that, Mrs. Mill. Given the stress that you've been in about all of this, I would be feeling the same way," Sam offers with soft eyes. "However, we're actually quite worried that this person who was here before may have been impersonating a federal agent. We'd like to get some information about her, if we could?"

Mrs. Mill sighs, "she asked if I saw black smoke, or heard voices. Can you believe that?"

"Actually," Dean shakes his head with a low chuckle, "we, uh, we can. Did she say anything else?"

"Well, she basically asked if it was possible that," her hands tremble. She nervously fiddles with the door and brings her voice to a whisper, "someone... something could have been inside of me, controlling me, I guess." She scoffs, "as if that's even possible."

"Yeah," Dean mutters under his breath before clearing his throat. "Can you tell me what she looked like?"

Mrs. Mill tells the agents what she remembers of your appearance. "I honestly didn't really believe she worked for the agency at all. Probably read the story in the newspaper and wanted to see what else she could find out."

"Uh, if I may ask you one more question, Mrs. Mill," Sam interrupts. "What do you remember from when you woke up?"

"Well, I was alone and I had such an intense headache." She puts her hand to her head, "the air smelled gross, and I was so hungry. It was a horrible combination."

"What kind of smell?"

"Uh, kind of like a gas leak. It was really out of place so it stuck with me."

Clearing his throat, Dean looks at Sam with a firm glance. "How far from where you blacked out did you end up?"

"Around the same spot, I guess."

Sam tilts his head, "really?"

"Where?" Dean grunts.

"Couple miles from here, I'll write it down if you'd like."

"We'd appreciate that, thank you," Dean smiles, pulling out a notepad and pen for her. She finishes her scribbling and smiles, "thank you for your time, Mrs. Mill. You've been a great help."

She bows her head and shuts the door behind her. "Gas leak," Sam says as they make their way down the steps and to the pathway. "Has to be sulfur," he says looking at the concrete in front of them and around the neighborhood.

"What would a demon want with a secretary?"

Sam shrugs, "could just have been a random encounter, use her body as a vehicle." They continue to survey the neighborhood until coming to a full stop next to the Impala. "And what about this Maggie asking strange questions? Should we look into that, see what she knows?"

"What? You think she's a hunter?" Dean scrunches his face.

"Dean, come on. She was basically asking the same questions. Just in a more," he moves his hand while searching for a softer framing to his words, "direct way. I think it's worth checking out."

Next Chapter 

~~~ Forevers<3: @waywardblueshun​ @81mysteriouslyme​ @lilulo-12​

#dean winchester #slow burn dean x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean and sam #oc #reader #female reader #sam winchester #supernatural #Supernatural Dean Winchester #supernatural dean #supernatural series #dean winchester supernatural #SPN #SPN Supernatural #SPN FANDOM #Crowley Supernatural #spn fanfic #spn series

[onlinecamroom0477]

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[sciencespies]

How Viruses Evolve

https://sciencespies.com/nature/how-viruses-evolve/

How Viruses Evolve

The unusual cases of pneumonia began to appear in midwinter, in China. The cause, researchers would later learn, was a coronavirus new to science. By March, the infection began to spread to other Asian countries and overseas. People were dying, and the World Health Organization issued a global health alert.

But this was 2003, not 2020, and the disease was SARS, not Covid-19. By June, the outbreak was almost gone, with just 8,098 confirmed infections and 774 deaths worldwide. No cases of SARS have been reported since 2004.

Contrast that with the closely related coronavirus that causes Covid-19 today: more than 13,600,000 confirmed cases as of July 16, and more than 585,000 deaths.

Why did SARS go away while today’s coronavirus just keeps on spreading? Why, for that matter, did both these coronaviruses spill over into people at all, from their original bat hosts?

And just as vital as those questions is another: What happens next?

As we face the current pandemic, it will be important to understand how SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes Covid-19, is likely to evolve in the months and years ahead. It’s possible the virus could lose its lethal character and settle into an evolutionary détente with humanity. It might end up as just another cold virus, as may have happened to another coronavirus in the past. But it could also remain a serious threat or perhaps even evolve to become more lethal. The outcome depends on the complex and sometimes subtle interplay of ecological and evolutionary forces that shape how viruses and their hosts respond to one another.

“One thing you learn about evolution is never to generalize,” says Edward Holmes, an evolutionary virologist at the University of Sydney, Australia, and author of an article on the evolution of emerging viruses in the Annual Review of Ecology, Evolution, and Systematics. “It depends entirely on the biological nuance of the situation.”

Steps to viral success

Many of the scariest viruses that have caused past or current epidemics originated in other animals and then jumped to people: HIV from other primates, influenza from birds and pigs, and Ebola probably from bats. So, too, for coronaviruses: The ones behind SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome), MERS (Middle East respiratory syndrome) and Covid-19 all probably originated in bats and arrived in people via another, stepping-stone species, likely palm civets, camels and possibly pangolins, respectively.

But making the jump from one species to another isn’t easy, because successful viruses have to be tightly adapted to their hosts. To get into a host cell, a molecule on the virus’s surface has to match a receptor on the outside of the cell, like a key fitting into a lock. Once inside the cell, the virus has to evade the cell’s immune defenses and then commandeer the appropriate parts of the host’s biochemistry to churn out new viruses. Any or all of these factors are likely to differ from one host species to another, so viruses will need to change genetically — that is, evolve — in order to set up shop in a new animal.

Pandemics — disease outbreaks of global reach — have visited humanity many times. Here are examples.

A recent mutation alters the SARS-CoV-2 spike protein to make it less fragile (the altered bits are shown as colored blobs). This added robustness appears to make the virus more infectious. Three sites are shown because the spike protein is composed of three identical subunits that bind together.

(DOE/Los Alamos National Laboratory)

Host switching actually involves two steps, though these can overlap. First, the virus has to be able to invade the new host’s cells: That’s a minimum requirement for making the host sick. But to become capable of causing epidemics, the virus also has to become infectious — that is, transmissible between individuals — in its new host. That’s what elevates a virus from an occasional nuisance to one capable of causing widespread harm.

SARS-CoV-2 shows these two stages clearly. Compared with the virus in bats, both the virus that infects people and a close relative in pangolins carry a mutation that changes the shape of the surface “ spike protein.” The alteration is right at the spot that binds to host cell receptors to let the virus in. This suggests that the mutation first arose either in pangolins or an as yet unidentified species and happened to allow the virus to jump over to people, too.

But SARS-CoV-2 carries other changes in the spike protein that appear to have arisen after it jumped to people, since they don’t occur in the bat or pangolin viruses. One is in a region called the polybasic cleavage site, which is known to make other coronaviruses and flu viruses more infectious. Another appears to make the spike protein less fragile, and in lab experiments with cell cultures, it makes the virus more infectious. The mutation has become more common as the Covid-19 pandemic goes on, which suggests — but does not prove — that it makes the virus more infectious in the real world, too. (Fortunately, though it may increase spread, it doesn’t seem to make people sicker.)

This evolutionary two-step — first spillover, then adaptation to the new host — is probably characteristic of most viruses as they shift hosts, says Daniel Streicker, a viral ecologist at the University of Glasgow. If so, emerging viruses probably pass through a “silent period” immediately after a host shift, in which the virus barely scrapes by, teetering on the brink of extinction until it acquires the mutations needed for an epidemic to bloom.

Streicker sees this in studies of rabies in bats — which is a good model for studying the evolution of emerging viruses, he says, since the rabies virus has jumped between different bat species many times. He and his colleagues looked at decades’ worth of genetic sequence data for rabies viruses that had undergone such host shifts. Since larger populations contain more genetic variants than smaller populations do, measuring genetic diversity in their samples enabled the scientists to estimate how widespread the virus was at any given time.

The team found that almost none of the 13 viral strains they studied took off immediately after switching to a new bat species. Instead, the viruses eked out a marginal existence for years to decades before they acquired the mutations — of as yet unknown function — that allowed them to burst out to epidemic levels. Not surprisingly, the viruses that emerged the fastest were those that needed the fewest genetic changes to blossom.

SARS-CoV-2 probably passed through a similar tenuous phase before it acquired the key adaptations that allowed it to flourish, perhaps the mutation to the polybasic cleavage site, perhaps others not yet identified. In any case, says Colin Parrish, a virologist at Cornell University who studies host shifts, “by the time the first person in Wuhan had been identified with coronavirus, it had probably been in people for a while.”

It was our bad luck that SARS-CoV-2 adapted successfully. Many viruses that spill over to humans never do. About 220 to 250 viruses are known to infect people, but only about half are transmissible — many only weakly — from one person to another, says Jemma Geoghegan, an evolutionary virologist at the University of Otago, New Zealand. The rest are dead-end infections. Half is a generous estimate, she adds, since many other spillover events probably fizzle out before they can even be counted.

Getting nicer — or nastier

SARS-CoV-2, of course, is well past the teetering stage. The big question now is: What happens next? One popular theory, endorsed by some experts, is that viruses often start off harming their hosts, but evolve toward a more benign coexistence. After all, many of the viruses we know of that trigger severe problems in a new host species cause mild or no disease in the host they originally came from. And from the virus’s perspective, this theory asserts, hosts that are less sick are more likely to be moving around, meeting others and spreading the infection onward.

“I believe that viruses tend to become less pathogenic,” says Burtram Fielding, a coronavirologist at the University of the Western Cape, South Africa. “The ultimate aim of a pathogen is to reproduce, to make more of itself. Any pathogen that kills the host too fast will not give itself enough time to reproduce.” If SARS-CoV-2 can spread faster and further by killing or severely harming fewer of the people it infects, we might expect that over time, it will become less harmful — or, as virologists term it, less virulent.

This kind of evolutionary gentling may be exactly what happened more than a century ago to one of the other human coronaviruses, known as OC43, Fielding suggests. Today, OC43 is one of four coronaviruses that account for up to a third of cases of the common cold (and perhaps occasionally more severe illness). But Fielding and a few others think it could also have been the virus behind a worldwide pandemic, usually ascribed to influenza, that began in 1890 and killed more than a million people worldwide, including Queen Victoria’s grandson and heir.

After rabbits were introduced to Australia, their population exploded. “They are very plentiful here,” says the handwritten inscription on the back of this postcard from around 1930. Scientists eventually introduced the myxoma virus to control the rabbit plague.

(Photographer Paul C. Nomchong / National Museum of Australia)

Scientists can’t prove that, because no virus samples survive from that pandemic, but some circumstantial evidence makes the case plausible, Fielding says. For one thing, people who were infected in the 1890 pandemic apparently experienced nervous-system symptoms we now see as more typical of coronaviruses than of influenza. And when Belgian researchers sequenced OC43’s genome in 2005 and compared it to other known coronaviruses, they concluded that it likely originated as a cattle virus and may have jumped to people right around 1890. They speculated that it may have caused the 1890 pandemic and then settled down to a less nasty coexistence as an ordinary cold virus.

Other evolutionary biologists disagree. The pandemic certainly faded as more people became immune, but there’s no solid evidence that OC43 itself evolved from highly virulent to mostly benign over the last century, they say. Even if it did, that does not mean SARS-CoV-2 will follow the same trajectory. “You can’t just say it’s going to become nicer, that somehow a well-adapted pathogen doesn’t harm its host. Modern evolutionary biology, and a lot of data, shows that doesn’t have to be true. It can get nicer, and it can get nastier,” says Andrew Read, an evolutionary microbiologist at Penn State University. (Holmes is blunter: “Trying to predict virulence evolution is a mug’s game,” he says.)

To understand why it’s so hard to predict changes in virulence, Read says it’s important to recognize the difference between virulence — that is, how sick a virus makes its host — and its transmissibility, or how easily it passes from one host individual to another. Evolution always favors increased transmissibility, because viruses that spread more easily are evolutionarily fitter — that is, they leave more descendants. But transmissibility and virulence aren’t linked in any dependable way, Read says. Some germs do just fine even if they make you very sick. The bacteria that cause cholera spread through diarrhea, so severe disease is good for them. Malaria and yellow fever, which are transmitted by mosquitos, can spread just fine even from a person at death’s door.

Funeral for a U.S. soldier who died of influenza in Russia in 1919. The 1918-1920 pandemic killed an estimated 50 million people worldwide.

(U.S. National Archives)

Respiratory viruses, like influenza and the human coronaviruses, need hosts that move around enough to breathe on one another, so extremely high virulence might be detrimental in some cases. But there’s no obvious evolutionary advantage for SARS-CoV-2 to reduce its virulence, because it pays little price for occasionally killing people: It spreads readily from infected people who are not yet feeling sick, and even from those who may never show symptoms of illness. “To be honest, the novel coronavirus is pretty fit already,” Geoghegan says.

Nor are there many documented instances of viruses whose virulence has abated over time. The rare, classic example is the myxoma virus, which was deliberately introduced to Australia in the 1950s from South America to control invasive European rabbits. Within a few decades, the virus evolved to reduce its virulence, albeit only down to 70 to 95 percent lethality from a whopping 99.8 percent. (It has since ticked up again.)

But myxoma stands nearly alone, Parrish says. For instance, he notes, there is no evidence that recent human pathogens such as Ebola, Zika or chikungunya viruses have shown any signs of becoming less pathogenic in the relatively short time since jumping to humans.

“Everyone has influenza,” reads a headline in a French publication from January 1890.

(Wellcome Collection via CC by 4.0)

The ones that went away

The faded nightmares of our past — pandemics that terrorized, then receded, such as SARS in 2003 and flu in 1918-20 and again in 1957, 1968 and 2009 — went away not because the viruses evolved to cause milder disease, but for other reasons. In the case of SARS, the virus made people sick enough that health workers were able to contain the disease before it got out of hand. “People who got SARS got very sick, very fast and were easily identified, easily tracked and readily quarantined — and their contacts were also readily identified and quarantined,” says Mark Cameron, an immunologist at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, who worked in a Toronto hospital during the height of the SARS outbreak there. That was never going to be as easy to do for Covid-19 because people who don’t show symptoms can spread the virus.

Flu pandemics, meanwhile, have tended to recede for another reason, one that offers more hope in our present moment: Enough of the population eventually becomes immune to slow the virus down. The H1N1 influenza virus that caused the 1918 pandemic continued as the main influenza virus until the 1950s, and its descendants still circulate in the human population. What made the virus such a threat in 1918-20 is that it was novel and people had little immunity. Once much of the population had been exposed to the virus and had developed immunity, the pandemic waned, although the virus persisted at a lower level of infections — as it does to this day. It appears less lethal now largely because older people, who are at greatest risk of dying from influenza, have usually encountered H1N1 influenza or something like it at some point in their lives and retain some degree of immunity, Read says.

With the new coronavirus, Parrish says, “we’re sort of in that 1918 period where the virus is spreading fast in a naive population.” But that will change as more people either catch Covid-19 or are vaccinated (if and when that becomes possible) and develop some level of immunity. “There’s no question that once the population is largely immune, the virus will die down,” Parrish says.

The question is how long that immunity will last: for a lifetime, like smallpox, or just a few years, like flu? In part, that will depend on whether the vaccine induces a permanent antibody response or just a temporary one. But it also depends on whether the virus can change to evade the antibodies generated by the vaccine. Although coronaviruses don’t accumulate mutations as fast as flu viruses, they do still change. And at least one, which causes bronchitis in chickens, has evolved new variants that aren’t covered by previous vaccines. But at this point, no one knows what to expect from SARS-CoV-2.

There is, at least, one encouraging aspect to all this. Even if we can’t predict how the virus will evolve or how it will respond to the coming vaccine, there is something all of us can do to reduce the risk of the virus evolving in dangerous ways. And it doesn’t involve any complicated new behaviors. “Viruses can only evolve if they’re replicating and transmitting,” Streicker says. “Anything that reduces the replication of a virus will in consequence reduce the amount of evolution that happens.” In other words, we can do our part to slow down the evolution of the Covid-19 virus by behaving exactly as we’ve been told to already to avoid catching it: Minimize contact with others, wash your hands and wear a mask.

This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews. Sign up for the newsletter.

#Nature

#Nature

[darker-side-fanfiction]

🔧Cyberpunk: Android Yukimura: Part 2

Part 2: One person’s trash...another one’s…?

General Trigger warnings: mention of past torture, abuse, noncon body alteration, abuse...if someone thinks I missed something, lmk.

❤️Story beneath the cut:❤️

The first thing Yuki noticed about her was the hand constantly going to reach something at her waist, only remembering it wasn’t there at the last moment. What was it she usually had sitting there? A weapon? Cell phone? It was making him jittery, mostly because he couldn’t protect his current owner from her if she was shady. Would she hurry up and sign her name already? If she was his owner, his last one would no longer be a concern. Not that he was worried or anything...about too many things. What if they decided not to sell him after all? What if she didn’t have the funds or they decided to change the terms? What if...

The endless circle of wondering was cut off as his registry was unscrolled and her signature sealed the deal. That...was that. She was officially his owner now. He sighed, a habit that was obviously getting on his now former owner’s nerves. Come on though. What else was he supposed to do when lacking the ability to speak and thereby convey his frustration? Ugh. Will she just get on with it?! ...Whatever it was. He was too heavy to carry...was she going to take him apart right then and there? Least with him muted, they wouldn’t hear the screams.

Yes, he could feel.

He felt everything. The cold, the heat, someone tracing their fingers along his skin or the instrument of pain they’d decided to utilize in venting the vehemence of their anger. He wasn’t alive, thus his owners were legally allowed to use and mistreat him however they wanted to. But all androids were stuck with the same sensations humans had. He’d heard soldier units could have that turned off by their commander, but the other models weren’t so lucky.

There was a question posed, but he didn’t bother to acknowledge it. She gestured and hollered something at the former owner, but they waved vaguely, already having sunk into a substance induced stupor. It had been happening more frequently. Not Yuki’s problem now. If only he could stop caring about a life he’d been hardwired to protect moments ago so easily. It should be a simple switch for an android. Reality didn’t reflect theory.

The aggravation laced in her tone caught his attention this time. “I know you said you’d muted him. Why won’t my orders to un-mute him work?”

The lackadaisical reply came back, “Ohhh right. My bad. I unmuted him too often, then wanted to shoot him in the head...again. Sooo, you know, I hired a guy, to, uhh—“

“To do what, exactly.”

Yuki snickered. Silently. He could completely sympathize with her, which on second thought felt weird. After a long lapse the puff of smoke was exhaled and the rest of the thought with it.

“To make a more permanent mute. An electronic muzzle, I think? Something like that. I don’t know how to take it off, and I didn’t want to bother with hiring someone to have the process reversed, just to find out the droid hadn’t learned its lesson yet. Was working just fine up until he got himself shot.��

Got himself shot?! He knew they were an ungrateful and miserly human being, but to blame him for having saved their life? Of all the—sigh. He had done his best. Maybe some part of him would be put into a weapon used to defend people. That was...tolerable. He didn’t have anything left to hope for.

That didn’t cut down on the terror clenching his throat shut or the autonomic flinch—almost the only external movement he was still capable of making—when she touched him. Her eyes flickered to his, and it was the first time he’d noticed their color. They were a shade of rust, but not that of decay. They were alive, a fire writhing in the ruddy embers of her eyes. A wrinkle formed between them as she read his reactions. He tried schooling his face, but he was never good at hiding what he was thinking. Speech might be a bit of a problem right now, but it didn’t stop her from seeing his fear. It was summarily ignored.

The woman turned around and rummaged through her backpack; whatever she was doing being out of the line of sight from Yuki’s position. Sick dread coiled in his stomach. He’d always thought he was okay with his fate, knowing he’d one day be destroyed in the saving of his owner’s life, but somehow had always imagined it would happen in a blaze of glory. One second, taking out the enemy or running into the line of fire, the next, a cease of consciousness. Not this, this...waiting. Anticipating becoming pieces and aware of the process.

When she faced him again however, it wasn’t with a cutting implement, or even an electric wrench. She’d set up a hoversled. It abated the rising panic only slightly. His world tilted abruptly and the lack of control he had over...anything...was made more apparent as she wrestled him onto the sled. Besides the discomfort of being manhandled by a woman, he noted her apparent strength in how he was placed on the sled instead of being dropped. His frame could handle it...probably. Usually. Current state might make things tricky, and from her actions it would seem she might want him in one piece. As odd as that was.

His limbs were thrown haphazardly over his body to keep them on the sled, and she pressed a hand to his chest before whispering, “Go to sleep.”

The immediate reaction was to mentally tell her to get off, but his eyelids were growing steadily heavier. He didn’t have to do what she told him...unlike the more recent android models subject to their owners’ command, he had a choice. Sort of-ish. Sometimes. She must’ve messed with his wiring or sent an electronic command he wasn’t allowed to ignore, as the next time he woke up, he was in a very different apartment.

It was something straight out of a horror novel...or his worst nightmares.

#cybird #ikemen sengoku #cyberpunk #android #yuki #sanada yukimura #yukimura sanada #my writing