#ever since i had to have a feeding tube for a year

[aliendeity]

body image issues be damned. i look hot!! 🦂

[autisticlenaluthor]

Hi, my name is Rory, I’m going to the Eras Tour in Amsterdam on July 5th and if you guys could somehow help me get this to @taylorswift / @taylornation - it would mean so much to me

Three years ago, I went from being perfectly healthy, to watching my body and my health rapidly deteriorate. My entire world got turned upside down— I lost the ability to eat, drink, and even stand for more than a few minutes.

I don't remember much from when I first got sick. But I know I listened to Mr Perfectly Fine on a loop almost every day because it was the only song that could capture how I felt. I've known and loved Taylor's music since I was six-years-old and first heard the album Fearless. i remember the first song I ever heard (love story) like it was yesterday; but somewhere during that time, her music became like therapy for me.

Since 2021, I've been diagnosed with three incurable diseases. two of these are rare, and one is predicted to only get worse with time. I've spent countless days inpatient on the peds floor receiving treatment, tests, and surgeries. And through all of it-- I've leaned heavily on Taylor's music.

My mom bought our Era's tour tickets last summer during the Europe pre-sale. I was in the hospital at the time and immediately told all of my nurses, doctors, dietitians and basically anyone who came into my room, that a year from then, i'd be seeing taylor swift. Whenever I could get out of bed, I was in the playroom with my child life specialists, making friendship bracelets to give out to other Swifties at the show. The thought of going to the Eras Tour singlehandedly kept me going through the hardest time of my life. And it's kept me going ever since.

Months later, I was hospitalized again, right before the release of 1989 TV. I'd been admitted the day after seeing The Eras Tour Movie in theaters (I was in theater 13, row 13!!) and I remember being so relieved that I hadn't had to miss it.

I had become known by most of the nurses as "the Taylor Swift girl” and the night before another procedure, I stayed up until midnight with everyone else so I could listen to 1989 TV. Hearing those songs-- I felt the happiest I'd been in so long. I felt normal again. I was sick and I was alone but I was connected to every other person who'd stayed up with me and that feeling was indescribable.

Taylor gave that to me, and so much more.

Over the course of my journey, I've listened to Sparks Fly to keep me calm while my doctors inserted feeding tubes down my nose. Whenever I have to be put under anesthesia, I have a nurse put her music on shuffle so I can listen to it as I fall asleep. When I had my big surgery in December, the last thing I remember was Bad Blood playing in the OR and saying "this is a funny song to have surgery to".

All of this is to say, Taylor has given me strength and hope during the worst part of my life, and she continues to do so. Her music is truly everything to me and getting to go the the Era's Tour is already a dream come true on it's own. And if it's possible - being able to receive the 22 hat and give Taylor a friendship bracelet would make all of that pain feel worth it. It would mean everything to me.

if you could reblog this and tag @taylorswift and @taylornation I'd appreciate that so much!! thank you to everyone whose read this far, and everyone whose shared this <3

EDIT: I’m going to be in section 119, row 20, seat 11

also if anyone is interested, I included some pics of the mentioned moments below the cut!

seeing the eras tour movie the day before having to be admitted, and then making friendship bracelets for tour in the hospital

the mirrorball is hung in my room for good luck

the bracelets i’d started making in the hospital, right after getting the tickets

and the day of the 1989 TV release - id stayed up until midnight to listen to the album, and then had my anesthesiologist play ‘Style’ for me to play while they put me out for my procedure

[bestanimal]

Round 1 - Phylum Rotifera

(Sources - 1, 2, own work, 4)

Rotifera is a phylum of microscopic and near-microscopic animals, commonly called Wheel Animals or Wheel Animalcules. Many are an important part of freshwater zooplankton.

Rotifers are common in freshwater throughout the world, with a few marine species. They range from 50 micrometres to over 2 millimeters, though most are around 0.1 to 0.5 mm long. Boasting a large amount of diversity, some rotifers are free-swimming, others move by inchworming along the ground, some are sessile and live inside tubes of gelatin attached to the substrate, and some live in sessile or planktonic colonies (seen in gif below). Rotifers are great little recyclers, feeding on detritus, dead bacteria, algae, and protozoans, eating particles up to 10 micrometres in size. They are also prey for many animals, including copepods, fish, bryozoans, comb jellies, true jellies, starfish, and tardigrades. Their fossils have been found in Devonian and Permian fossil beds.

Rotifers are sexually dimorphic, with females always being larger than males, if males of the species even exist at all. Male rotifers’ main lot in life is reproduction: they do not usually have a functional digestive system, and many are already sexually fertile at birth. The female has one or two ovaries, and releases eggs through a cloaca. Male rotifers have a penis which they either insert into the female’s cloaca, or use to inject sperm straight through her skin. Most species hatch as miniature versions of the adult. Females grow rapidly, reaching their adult size within a few days, while many males do not grow at all. Their lifespan lasts from a few days to a few weeks.

This poll also includes the parasitic Acanthocephala (4th image), or “Thorny/Spiny-headed Worms” which was once considered to be a discrete phylum but have since been found to be highly modifed rotifers, so I am including them in this phylum. Acanthocephalans have complex life cycles, involving many hosts.

Propaganda under the cut:

If you’ve ever done freshwater microscopy you’ve probably seen one of these little guys.

Rotifers are a major food source for many species and also contribute to the decomposition of organic matter in soil.

Because they’re so good at recycling detritus, rotifers are sometimes used in fish tanks to help clean the water.

One species, Cephalodella vittata, only lives in Russia’s giant Lake Baikal.

In 2021, biologists were able to restore bdelloid rotifers that had been frozen for 24,000 years in Siberian permafrost!

Some acanthocephalans cause acanthocephaliasis in humans. The earliest known infection was found in a prehistoric man in Utah, dated to around 160 BC.

[falseskydreams]

Writing practice. All of the Fatui Harbingers have permanently altered my brain chemistry. I want Dottore to bite my neck (non-sexually). Kinda suggestive at the end?

"Oh my love!!!!"

Your voice echoed off the walls in the long corridor leading to your beloved's lab. Dottore couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh. He paused his careful ministrations on the test tube in front of him, counting the precious seconds wasted in his head. But even that was interrupted by your tone deaf singing.

"Ohh, I have made a sandwich. A sandwich for my beloved!" Your little ditty increased in volume until the door to his lab threw open. The segments that also occupied the room were thrown off their rhythm from the loud bang. A quick leer from Prime sent them back to their work, albeit haphazardly. The Doctor turned around in his stool to face you. Adorable you.

Yes, it is true. Il Dottore had fallen in love. As close to love as he can get, he thinks. In the span of his entire life he never expected these feelings to bloom. He had long since resigned himself to a life of solitude and science. And he was content with that fact. Until you, that is. Simple little you.

"Must you always interrupt my work like this?"

He complains, but he never does anything about it because, truth be told, he'd lay waste to the entirety of Teyvat before he dare upset you.

"C'mon Zandik, I'm only giving you the attention you deserve!" Was your simple response. So sentimental, yet laced with mischief.

"Yes, shower me with all the attention you want. But that doesn't mean the entire Fatui needs to know you're bringing me lunch." His tone dropped at the end. But he nonetheless motions you forward and into his lap. His arms wrap around you, holding you in place, as you do nothing but stare up at him, eyes glimmering with love.

Yes, this is how it should be, The Doctor thinks. Then warmth blooming in his chest is still such an undescribable feeling even after all these years, yet he wouldn't trade it for all the power in the world.

"Now, tell me, did you bring enough for all my segments?" He teases.

"No, you're always telling me not to feed them, 'lest they think themselves worthy of me'"

"Exactly."

Still holding onto you, he reaches for the lunchbox in your hands and places it on his desk.

"You know I always enjoy your cooking, but I much prefer the delicacy that is sitting right on my lap" his mouth twists into a grin, exposing his sharp teeth. You find yourself hoisted up onto his desk, with Dottore leaning in ever-so closer to your neck, where he nibbles the sensitive skin there.

The segments wished they could indulge in this lunch, too.

[totallyblinxdd]

🌺🌺 I have cancer and I just need some help for my hospitalities and hopefully travel to my grandparents before my next operation. 🌺🌺

$4,000

My link here - jessiee'slink

Good evening beautiful souls. 💜

This is kind of a want AND a need.

Some of you may or may not know, I am a two time cancer survivor (pancreatic and stomach cancer) & I am currently going through severe liver failure, beginning stages of kidney failure and severe malnutrition (I am 92 pounds currently, my doctors had to sadly remove my feeding tube because it almost killed me on 3 separate occasions).

Throughout my 5 years of being ill, I’ve lost my hair many times but ever since I beat cancer the second time around (9 months ago) my hair has FINALLY for the first time in 5 years grown past my ears! Well, lastnight my hair started coming out in clumps. And I mean HANDFULS, so back to being bald I go.

There is nothing that would lift my insanely crushed spirits more right now than being able to get myself a really nice wig so I can at least feel a little pretty when I am well enough to get out, go to treatments, or even when I’m just around the house, because I truly have never felt more upset and insecure with my body in my life. Right now all of these illnesses combined, it’s wreaking absolute havoc on my body. and I also want to ask for help because I also want to go to my grandparents who lives in Poland before my surgery and a help for my upcoming surgery.

I want this more than I can put into words. thank you so so much in advance, my friends. If there is anyone who wants to donate but has absolutely any questions, please feel free to ask away, I am an open book. Thank you for your support my friends! 💜🌺

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

I just got a juvenile mexican black kingsnake, and, against all odds, given the species, we've had trouble getting him to eat. He's not in shed (which we know because he literally just shed like a few days ago and all feeding attempts since have still been unsuccessful, though he seems hungry).

He's very active, but only at night (according to some sources I've read mbks can sometimes switch between diurnal and nocturnal behavior so I think that's probably what's going on). We've tried feeding him both at night and during the day.

Part of the problem is that he's a bit skittish, and so he often freaks out and leaves at the sight of the tongs. We've tried our best to leave him alone and make sure he has a chance to calm down and adjust, but still no dice. (We didn't start trying to feed him until a solid week after I got him. All feeding attempts have been in his enclosure).

One of my concerns is that he might not recognize the frozen thawed pinkie as food, given that the pet store we got him from only fed live to their baby snakes.

Any tips or advice for things we could try? He hasn't started to loose weight or anything yet, but he's gone twice as long without food now than I've seen recommended for an MBK his age and as a first time snake owner I'm starting to get worried.

Sorry about your problem child! It's always so stressful when a new snake doesn't want to eat.

Are you leaving the food in his enclosure for a while? It's completely fine if a snake doesn't want to eat from the tongs, and in fact probably 90% of all the kingsnakes I've ever had preferred me just putting their food down for them and then leaving the room when they were small. You can leave f/t mice in the enclosure for a few hours with no issues at all.

One upside to your situation is that there's honestly not a lot of difference between live and f/t pinkies. There's not a lot of movement going on either way, so as long as you're making sure the food is warm, he should be able to recognize it no problem.

I encourage you to think about how you can make this as easy for him as possible! You're right to try feeding when he's active (kingsnakes are active whenever they damn well please, so don't worry about the timing), but a big suggestion I have for you is to try ditching the tongs for now. If they spook him, don't use 'em - genuinely, it's gross, but it might help him if you just use your hands to sit the mouse down in his enclosure for him to find (make sure to wash your hands afterwards, obviously). There's no law that says a snake has to eat from the tongs, and drop-feeding is a lot less scary for lots of baby colubrids especially. I drop-feed most of my colubrids until they're a couple years old and gain some confidence.

You said he seems hungry, but I'm going to ask you to do a quick husbandry check-in anyway. Make sure his warm side is set to around 85 F and he's got water to drink, and ensure his enclosure feels nice and cluttered. Feeling safe will help a snake's appetite; make sure he has at least two identical hides (at least one on either side) and his enclosure doesn't feel empty. Cardboard tubes and crumpled paper towels are good, cheap clutter. It's easy to over-offer when a new snake won't eat, but also make sure you're waiting at least five days between offering - too frequent and you could spook him.

I really think that he'll probably take it for you if you ditch the tongs for now and make sure he's given plenty of time to find it left in his enclosure. Try not to worry too much - if he's not losing weight, he's okay. There's fearmongering articles out there that say baby kingsnakes can only go a week without food before they start to starve; that's nonsense. I've spoken about my buddy Ed on here before, he's also an MBK and he was seriously sick when I got him, he was just a couple months old and he still went months without eating before he got really sick (he's fine now and a phenomenal eater, don't worry!). No healthy snake is going to starve themselves, especially if you're taking care to ensure your husbandry is appropriate.

[groggygrimalkin]

Hi it's early and I feel like rambling about my oc's a little so I'll go with him

He's a helmsman that was taken at a around like the human equivalent of the 80's and since he has an incredibly high power output they've been using him ever since. Anyways he has three people onboard taking care of him around the clock since his brain has been fried by years of the ships tentacles fucking with his brain and being used as a battery has caused immense trauma to the point where he stopped eating, but he's a good power source so instead of replacing him the ships captain had a feeding tube installed. He can no longer form sentences and instead communicates through chittering, hissing, and growling. He also has trouble piecing together thoughts which frustrates him because he used to have a very good memory. He knows he wasn't always like this but he doesn't know why. He can barely remember his mothers face anymore and the only respite he gets is when the tentacles let him go so he can get cleaned. Speaking of, he tends to lash out at anyone besides a handfull of trolls which lucky for him are always on the ships cleaning duty.

Old doodle of baby Miyuki and his mom from like a year ago-

[sparlax]

I keep having a reoccuring dream regarding me being part of some strange Mr. Beast style challenge heavily based off "Nasubi" (The Japanese man who was locked in his apartment for a year and was broadcast live 24/7 and did challenges for rewards). I will go into exruciating detail about this below. Long post

If anything the dream is conistant with it's setting and theme. It always starts with the frightening scenario in which I win a raffle (?) and then I am taken to ride in a bus/car blindfolded. When I arrive I am still blindfolded but I can hear the Mr. Beast-type figure talking into the cameras, presumably starting the video. In that moment I am usually afraid because I am unsure about what is going to happen next. Now, I presume that the second act of this dream series is mostly the result of my dream to have a place of my own. Because the challenge the Mr. Beast-type man imposes on me is.. to live in a cave for as long as possible. The reward increasing not by each day, week or even month. No, this guy is twisted. He is amping up the cash reward by each YEAR spent dwelling inside this cave.

Obviously, because this man is based off of the concept of Mr. Beast he isn't a cruel sicko mastermind. I vividly remember the details of this cave and will demonstrate a diagram that I drew in mspaint describing what the layout of this cave looked like.

As you can see, there is a lot going on here. I'll try to explain most of what you see right now. Firstly, food. From outside the cave, full meals would be dispensed through this vent-like tube onto a wooden table. They would be shrinkwrapped in plastic and highly nutritious of course. I would be getting my water from the bathing area from a spigot. For some odd reason I dont recall ever having a cup to drink out of so I would just use my hands. I also remember the food tube having bars on it, probably so that I could not stick my arms inside or jam it?

Secondly, the sunbathing area. Living within the cave would certainly bring about a lot of health risks so I guess I just had an area where I would lie flat on my stomach and soak up the sun while I read a book or something. In every version of this dream this area was always in the center of the room. A circular glass hole was created so that the sun's rays could shine through. It was also my only way to see the outside world. I would sleep upon the carpet/futon as well.

Thirdly, the recreation area. Not much to be said about this. I only was allowed to read books and create art in this scenario. I remember having a whole bookshelf of all kinds of books that looked interesting. I am unsure if I'd get new books if I managed to read through them all or not.

Fourthly, cameras. Similar to Nasubi, nearly every point of interest (aside from the bathroom for obvious reasons) was constantly filmed by a set of 3-4 large cameras. They probably got power from the sun or something.

The reception of this series was mixed. Part of the dream's perspective would switch between myself inside the cave and that of an onlooker watching youtube commentary guys talk about the impact of the (presumably) ongoing series. Every talking point you can gather from the Nasubi saga was repeated here. At peak watching times the website hosting the live feed would have around 10k viewers (usually whenever I was awake). Views would dip whenever I would be asleep.

Interactions with the outside world were pretty uncommon since I had no way to read the chat or contact the host. I do recall sometimes having a very hot pepper deployed as the day's snack but otherwise it was oddly calm. After a while I stopped caring about the fact that I was being broadcast and just fell into a routine. The dream would always end on the perspective of the onlooker watching the livestream of myself. All in all its a mixed bag of feelings I cannot put a name on if I tried. Thats all for now.

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 10 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

You didn't think I'd leave you in angst over the Christmas day, did you?

Previous chapter | AO3

The night is cold and damp; the light drizzle doesn’t warrant an umbrella, but it’s not very pleasant in any case. Ghost adjusts the collar of his coat to cover his neck better before shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he starts up the street towards his home. John walks next to him, seemingly unperturbed by the cold. Would stand to reason, Ghost thinks, if he grew up further up north and got through the SAS selection. It’s been years, yet it’s hard to forget—the harrowing trek to a bloody mountain with a time limit and in full gear.

“How’d you get your callsign?” Simon asks out of nowhere. He doesn’t mind the silence but can tell it’s not the same for John, who is probably still beating himself up for fucking up earlier. Simon's not a bastard; yes John hit a nerve back there but he didn't mean to. Simon is resilient, too, shrugging the hurt off as if it's nothing. He has no reason to sulk.

The Scott grabs the question like a lifeline. “At the end of the selection, actually. We were tasked to clean out several buildings to save the hostages. I’ve set the record. The overseeing officer said I’ve been as quick and efficient as a soap, and it kinda stuck.”

“It’s a good callsign,” Simon admits. It sounded ridiculous at first, so much so he was sure there had to be some embarrassing story behind it, as is the case with most callsigns. To earn it with skill is commendable.

“What about you? Ghost is probably the best I’ve ever heard,” Soap asks. Usually, Simon wouldn’t tell, but he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no reason to uphold the mystery now.

“I’ve been buried alive,” Simon says, the tone of his voice casual, as if he was commenting on the weather.

John barks out a laugh, probably thinking Ghost’s pulling his leg. Once he realises that’s not the case, he sobers up. “Shit, man… that’s fucked up.”

“Guess it is,” Ghost shrugs. It’s been a long time since he was able to tell what’s fucked up or not. “Alright, we’re here,” Simon takes out keys and lets John inside, clicking the lights on before he leads him to the second floor.

Simon’s flat isn’t much, but it’s his home. As soon as they enter, there’s a blur of tabby fur, and before Simon can say anything, John is crouching and scratching Sgt. Stripey behind the ears. “So you’re Stripey. Nice to meet ye, lad,” John says to the cat with warm affection.

“Careful, or you’ll end up wrapped around his claw,” Ghost warns, hanging his coat and putting his shoes away.

“Too late.” John chuckles, standing up and handing Ghost his jacket to be hanged. “You know, I’d have pegged you for a dog person.”

“I don’t mind dogs; I just like cats better. Always clicked with the little fuckers, ever since I was a kid.” He has no idea why he is imparting so much to John. On the other hand, it’s not like he’s still part of the top secret Task Force. He can have friends now, tell them things about himself, and let them in.

“Guess I can imagine a wee Simon feeding the strays,” John admits as he goes further into the apartment, looking around, obviously compartmentalising everything he sees.

Simon doesn’t say anything because John’s words struck a tad too close to home.

Thankfully, John doesn’t notice. His attention is currently held by something else. “Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?!” Soap exclaims and points at Ghost’s rig, proudly sitting on the desk.

“My computer?” Ghost cocks an eyebrow.

“That?!” Soap almost squeals, which is halfway between ridiculous and adorable, in Ghost’s opinion. Soap comes closer, leaning in to inspect the machine up close. “What are these?” he traces the acrylic tubes with an index finger without actually touching anything.

“Liquid cooling.”

“A…what?” Soap’s eyes widen. “Thought electricity and water don’t mix well.”

“You sure you’re the explosives guy? I said liquid, not water. You could use water technically, but it’s not a very efficient coolant.”

“How do you even… ye ken… keep it in?”

“It’s a closed circuit, look,” Ghost comes closer, shoulder brushing against John’s as he points out the reservoir with a pump, “you have your coolant here, then it’s distributed throughout the system. First, it goes into the CPU because it’s higher up, so I can use gravity to help the pump later. There’s a copper heat plate pressed to the processor; inside it is something like a little maze, so the coolant doesn’t flow through too fast and can actually take away the heat. Once out of the maze, it goes into the intercooler; here,” he touches a big black cooler attached to the top of the rig. “The liquid cools here; it works exactly the same as old radiators and is then used here in the graphics card. The cooling cover works pretty similarly to the one for the CPU, only it’s larger. Once the liquid is out of the GPU, it’s cooled again, here,” he points to another intercooler, “and, lastly, it returns back to the reservoir.”

“But… that’s so complicated! And what if it spills? That can happen, can’t it?” Soap looks at him, and Ghost can’t help but notice the curious shade of blue in his eyes as it catches the warm light. Thankfully, the question asked is interesting enough for him to focus on.

“Sure, but the liquid is safe as long as you don’t drown your power supply in it. And it’s more efficient and much quieter. Let me show you,” without further ado, Ghosts wakes the PC up and fires up a benchmark. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?” Soap asks, confused.

“Exactly,” Ghost’s smile is all smugness, and John finds it kind of endearing.

Soap laughs as soon as he gets Ghost’s point. When he turns to Ghost next, a fond smile plays at his lips, and there are crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes. “Ye really like this stuff, huh?”

It takes Ghost a few seconds to respond, mainly because John’s sheer radiance nearly blinds him. “I do,” he rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture because he feels exposed and a little embarrassed. Usually, that would be a bad thing, but in this instance, it feels different because he knows John wouldn’t laugh at him. They met in a video game. Ghost’s goofiness is safe with him.

“Sorry if that came out wrong. I just wanted tae say I’m impressed. I have no idea about any of this. Maybe you could teach me some stuff?”

“Make you my Padawan, you mean?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

Soap smirks, unable to hold Ghost’s gaze any longer. “Yer such a nerd, Ghost,” he shakes his head, still smiling. It could’ve easily been read as an insult, yet the way Soap said it sounds more like a compliment. “But aye, make me your Padawan, Master Simon,” Soap says and bows before Ghost. That settles the matter.

Before they can open a new topic, Soap is caught off-guard by a yawn. Glancing at his wrist-watch, he’s both surprised and unsurprised by how late it is. Time flies by when you’re having fun, especially with a good company, but Soap has been on his feet for close to twenty hours now and the past week wasn’t much better. The exhaustion is catching up to him.

“Go take a shower if you want, it’ll take me a few minutes to get the couch ready,” Ghost says and nods to the piece of furniture in question.

Soap thinks for about three seconds. “You don’t need to, I can sleep on it as it is.”

“Nonsense,” Ghost rejects the idea with a finality that bars any further discussion.

Soap holds up his hands in surrender, gathers a few items from his bag and retreats to the bathroom.

Ghost spends several minutes figuring out his own piece of furniture. The thing is, he’s never needed the futon, only the sofa. After multiple failed attempts, he finally finds the right angle and amount of strength to pull and push until the bloody thing unfolds and rearranges itself.

Only now, he is faced with a different problem. Ghost doesn’t have an extra blanket and pillow, which he really should’ve thought about earlier. It’s not a difficult issue to solve. He takes a quilt from the couch and swaps it for his own blanket. The linens were changed two days ago, John should be fine with it. However, the pillow stays in Simon’s bed. If he were to use the small one from the living room, he would have a stiff neck for at least three days. Not worth it. He wouldn’t stand for John to be cold, but the pillow should be just a minor inconvenience for someone as young and fit as Soap.

Ghost quickly gets the futon ready and opens the window to let in some fresh air. It smells of rain and winter, Simon’s favourite combination if anyone ever asked.

John emerges from the bathroom, flushed and slightly damp, dressed in a plain khaki tee and black briefs. Ghost lingers on him, though not for too long. That would be rude and a little creepy, right?

“If you wake up before I do, feel free to check the fridge, make yourself a coffee or tea, everything’s in the kitchen,” Ghost instructs him. “Sergeant usually sleeps in bed with me, but maybe he’ll get curious.”

Soap blinks a few times at the last piece of information before he realises that Ghost is talking about his cat. Right. There was no way he would invite Soap into his bed like this. Not that Soap would want him to, right? They’re friends, and it would be too soon in any case. John realises Ghost is looking at him as if he expects Soap to say something.

“Aye, sure. Thank you again for having me.”

“Sure,” Ghost nods, “sleep well, Soap.”

“You too, Ghost.”

Simon retreats to the bedroom, leaving the doors slightly ajar for the cat.

[everythingwasnormalhere]

torture and Moss

failure and Kyle

desire and Kenny

betrayal and Pip

Moss: torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

He's never been tortured and will most likely never be (luckily ;w;), and about torturing someone else? He thinks Kenny's and Butters's parents definitely deserve torture, but he wouldn't do it himself, he's not brave enough for that TwT

Kyle: failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

TW ED !!!

I wouldn't consider it a failure, but Kyle totally does: not being able to get over the humancentiPad events. Even after years since that, he'll keep having flashbacks of it, mainly after eating - which, by the way, he avoids food like the plague, mostly during bad days. He does his best to hide this because he'd rather not appear as weak, but he's broken down in front of Stan and told him about it. In his late teens, he also has a medical emergency due to malnutrition, which leads to the whole town finding out - even if they didn't know about the medical emergency, Kyle is forced to use a feeding tube since then, which means he can't really hide it anymore (sorry Kyle I promise I love you 😭)

Kenny: desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

He wants to find out everything about his curse. Why him? Why does he die so often? How can he stop it? How does it even happen? Why does nobody remeber? The closest he's come to finding out is in the canon superhero trilogy, but as much as he's tried, he hasn't been able to discover anything new since then. He'd rather not let anyone else know though, after the disastrous experience the first time he tried to tell his friends he decided he'd hide it until he knew what's going on. When anyone asks him what he wants most, he'll just say something stupid to get them to stop asking.

Pip: betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?

Unless we count Pip's very own episode (the Estella Herbert etc one), nope to either. He never trusted anyone at school besides Damien, and he'd always do his best to never betray anyone. The closest to betrayal he's experienced was when Damien had to go back to hell - and even then, after his own death Pip could talk it out with him, so they're good now :)

[irregularbillcipher]

start of 2022 to june 2023 was the longest streak i ever went without going to the hospital outside scheduled appointments and not even a year later i have a nearly three week stint in the hospital and am back to being on a feeding tube 16 hours a day for the first time since i was a toddler. i usually joke about being disabled and stuff but this shit sucks. i hate that my health has just been insane since i’ve been in the womb and there’s absolutely no stability in terms of knowing how well i’m doing. stopped having hospitalized pneumonias when i was ten, then had one when i was 17 and like it’s been almost ten years but who knows!!! hopefully the next time i need heart surgery it’ll be a cardiac cath instead of open heart b it who’s to say!!! we never thought I’d be on a tube again but here i am at 26 and I’ve had two types just this month!!! all the doctors talking to me tell me how well i’m handling things and how complex my case is and how they hope they get me “back to normal” because i’m “just so young” and then just look sad when i say I’ve gotten used to this since birth. i’m just so fucking tired. this shit just doesn’t end y’know, you think you’re finally something close to normal and healthy and then you realize you were just going through a quiet period

anyway sorry for the vent post have a picture of my dear sweet friend pim pimling

[chickensarentcheap]

In a Heartbeat: Chapter Two

FANDOM: EXTRACTION

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC)

WARNINGS: angst. Big time angst.

SUMMARY:  Dhaka nearly ended everything before it even began.  In it’s aftermath and with Tyler’s life teetering on the threshold between life and death, Esme is about to realize just how strong she can be.  And that love happens when it happens. There’s no rules. No rhyme or reason. No timeline.  

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/125445052

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @munstysmind @karimac @kmc1989 @thebewingedjewelcat @ninjasawakenedmystar @residentdormouse @asirensrage @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @themaradwrites @occommunity @timbradfordsboot

My tag list is OPEN. Please let me know if you'd like to be added :)

******

Chapter Text

“Nik found us a little place,” Esme announces, as she tends to his beard; using a pocket comb to make her way through the wiry hair. “In Austria. Just on the outskirts of Gmunden. It looks really pretty; it’s right on the edge of a lake and it’s surrounded by trees and you can look out at the mountains.”

Reaching for a pair of cuticle scissors that rest on his chest, she chews on her bottom lip as she focuses on snipping the wiry hair. The gray is more noticeable now that his beard is longer and thicker, and she momentarily pauses her work and carefully studies his face and hair; enjoying how the strands of silver sparkle in the sunlight that streams into the room. They’re a sign of wisdom and experience; testaments to life often lived on the edge that take up residence at his temples, the nape of his neck, and throughout the wild top tresses.

“You know…” She uses the comb to sweep his bangs off his forehead and away from his eyes. “…I’m really digging this older guy vibe you’ve got going on. It’s kinda sexy; all the gray hair you’ve sprouted over the past five months. Once you hit fifty? You are going to be one hell of a hot silver fox. I’m going to have to beat the women off with a stick. And probably a few men.”

Returning to the task at hand, she carefully trims the hair above his top lip; mindful of the combination of breathing and feeding tubes that have been keeping him alive and nourished. When it became apparent that she was going to continue to ‘stand off’ against them, the doctors had -albeit reluctantly- switched their course of care; ordering the nurses to teach Esme the basics in case they’re ever short-staffed and other patients need to be of higher priority. She knows their excuses are bullshit; that they’re simply tired of her constant presence and her refusal to spare them the work of looking after someone they’ve already written off as a loss. And she’s also aware that they’re just biding their time until legal paperwork is drawn up and processed; licking their lips in anticipation of when they can serve her with a court order to have him removed from the machines.

Yet their pressure -both passive and actively aggressive- doesn’t sway her. Despite being both physically and mentally exhausted, she is staying the course; digging her heels in even deeper and willingly and readily accepting any ‘task’ they want to assign her.

“I am NOT very good at this,” Esme laments, as she returns to trimming his beard. “I am definitely not cut out to be a hair stylist, that’s for sure. You know what we’re going to do as soon as you’re out of here? Get you to a good barber. Because you’re starting to look homeless and unloved and I don’t need some bleeding heart picking you up off the street like you’re a stray.”

She hums as she works; upbeat show tunes and Beatles medleys that help keep her spirits up. They’ve been waning lately; the darkness she’d successfully fought off for so long now a near-constant presence. In two weeks it will be six months since he was declared ‘clinically dead’ and placed on the respirator. Half a year since she’d last seen him open his eyes and heard his voice; vividly able to recall those last few minutes that they’d spent together in Dhaka. Tucked away in that litter-strewn alley as dawn broke around them, unabashedly crying when he broke the news that he was going to send her off with Saju and Ovi. There was a better chance she’d make it there -and successfully get across the bridge- if they split up; he’d act as a decoy by creating chaos within the heart of town and drawing the enormous police and military presence away from the checkpoints. He’d admitted he wouldn’t be able to focus if she was with him; afraid he’d become so obsessed with her safety and well-being that he’d make simple, stupid mistakes. And in turn, cause BOTH of their demises.

On her part, there’d been anger. Confusion. Heartache. She’d initially lashed out at him and accused him of lying to her over the course of the last five days; none of the softer and adoring words had been true, and neither had been the hopes for a future or their plans to travel together. And when she’d seen the hurt that darkened his eyes and furrowed his brow and tensed his shoulders, she had changed her tactic; begging and pleading with him to change his mind. She’d be able to handle herself. Promising that she’d stick tight to him and wouldn’t be a burden or a distraction; he’d be able to focus on the job at hand. After all, he was the first person that had ever made her feel safe and secure. Protected. And it absolutely terrified her to have that suddenly snatched away.

It had felt like hours had passed since their initial goodbye; still feeling the callouses on his skin as he gently cradled her cheek in his palm, her lips still tingling from that long, shockingly tender kiss. And those words…spoken just before they parted…still echoing in her ears.

“I’ll see you when I see you.”

It was the second time he’d said it. In less than thirty-six hours. Just that very morning he’d unexpectedly dropped it upon; a genuinely tender and hopeful moment as they parted ways at the extraction point. The drive there had been spent in silence; Tyler making the quick and effortless transition from the soft-spoken and attentive man she’d been intimate and shared secrets with to ruthless and calculated mercenary.

Yet it hadn’t frightened her. His mere presence and his smell and the glances and reassuring smiles he’d cast in her direction made sure of that. He may have become ‘all business’, but the other Tyler was just lingering just at the surface; the one that had shared his deepest and darkest confessions with her and who’d cried when talking about his son and his fight with cancer and the horrible decision he’d made prior to his death. And who’d shown every end of the sexual spectrum during their times behind closed doors; rough and aggressive and domineering one moment, slow and tender and worshipping the next.

She had never met anyone like him. In more ways than one.

And it was right before she began her trek through the forest and towards the river when it became abundantly clear that every kiss they’d shared, every secret spilled, every tear they’d shed, had all been real. He had meant the words he’d said; the excitement he’d shown at the idea of travelling together and of even seeing her birthplace and meeting her family. And the optimism he’d shown when talking about the possibility of a future…a REAL future…together.

Although a simple moment, it had seemed so deeply personal and intimate; the way he’d pulled that bulletproof vest over her head and made sure it was tightly and securely fastened. Already so protective; forgetting about her own background in the military and her years spent on the job in his quest and desire to keep her safe and sound. No one had ever made her feel that way before; nurturing and adoring and caring instead of being indifferent or malicious in both their words and their actions.

While Mark and all his cruel words and taunts, beatings and sexual assaults had stripped her of every ounce of trust in men, it had taken Tyler less than a week to restore not only her faith in others, but the most primal of needs and urges. Sex had never been a priority; it’s hard to find yourself THAT attracted to someone when you’d spent years having the most basic and most vile and degrading acts forced upon you. But with Tyler, it had been near instantaneous. An attraction that she’d felt the moment of their introduction in the outback; when one of those enormous, calloused and scarred hands had practically swallowed one of her own. The stories alone should have left her intimidated; the scores of incredibly dangerous missions he’d been involved in and the trails of blood and rotting corpses he left behind.

It was his eyes. Brilliant yet soulful blue; a humanity and a tenderness that he kept buried just under the surface. He wasn’t as broken or as soulless as he perceived himself to be; not truly the empty shell that he saw when he looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t turned to stone despite the hardships of the life he’d been living; instead his grief, guilt, and heartache so enormous and overwhelming that they left him numb and jaded to anything beyond his four walls. His addictions were proof that he was still very much alive; a troubled, lonely, touch-starved man that sought out unhealthy ways to ease both his physical and mental suffering.

She’d been privy to those sides he’d long buried. In the same way she had so blindly and wholly trusted him, he had done the same with her. Speaking openly and honestly about his son and the cancer that had not only robbed him of his life, but his father’s comforting and loving presence in those final moments. He spoke about his alcoholism and his addiction to pain meds; how he’d tried to stop on many occasions but found the suffering just too difficult to bear. And he confessed to the death wish he’d been carrying around since he’d abandoned his child; not really wanting a sniper’s bullet to cut him down in the middle of the job, but wholeheartedly believing he deserved it.

While he’d wanted to change and continued to desperately cling to any semblance of life, he didn’t quite know how to tackle his demons or fix the issues that surrounded him. He’d never been taught healthy coping mechanisms; not allowed to mourn the loss of his mother or to even show some glimmer of emotion during her funeral or those long days and nights of grieving that followed. It was a sign of weakness, after all. A real man didn’t react from the heart, let alone speak from it. And his father would simply not allow a ‘fragile and pathetic’ man to live under his roof.

And then one day, after years of beatings and cruelty, that abused and tormented child transformed into a deeply troubled man. Saddled with decades of trauma and toxic masculinity that his father had so viciously beat into him.

“I’ll see you when I see you.”

He’d spoken those words after making sure every piece of velcro on her vest was attached ‘just right’, then grabbed hold of the shoulder straps and pulled her into a kiss. It had been long and languid and heartbreakingly tender; nowhere near as intense and hungry and desperate as those they’d shared over the course of five days, but incredible in its own right. A kiss that held so much promise and a tinge of worry. A potent mixture of hope, optimism, and fear. The best-case scenario would be that the job went according to plan; he’d successfully rescue Ovi and return to the extraction point in less than two hours’ time. Unscathed. After that they’d be free; they’d get to safety, collect their money, and make good on all the plans they’d made. The worst-case scenario was the mission being an epic failure. And their parting words -ones made with the best intentions- would turn out to be a permanent goodbye.

********

It feels like a lifetime ago. Mahajan’s double-crossing, the brutal and untimely deaths of their team members, Saju’s relentless hunt in a desperate bid to save his own family. So many things had gone wrong in such a short period of time; a struggle to survive in litter-strewn alleys and sewers filled with feces, garbage, and rats. They hadn’t had a chance to relax; unable to catch their breath before the next disaster came charging full speed ahead. And it was out of desperation that Tyler had played the one card he still had up his sleeve; someone he’d known for years and had always been able to trust. After all, he’d saved the man’s life on more than one occasion. If that wasn’t deserving of even the tiniest bit of help, what was?

Neither could have known - as they lay in a mess of tangled sheets and naked limbs in the bed of Gaspar’s guest room, that the worst was yet to come. Holding onto a semblance of hope that they’d walked through the fires of hell and somehow lived to tell about it. Believing they’d simply lie low for a couple of days and then be on their way; wait for the pandemonium to settle and then move about somewhat freely and easily.

Only friends are sometimes your worst enemies. Gaspar’s allegiance with Asif and his subsequent betrayal had led to disaster; an attempt to kill Tyler in order to get his hands on her and Ovi and the ten million dollar ‘prize’ that he’d be rewarded with. And in the end, it had been the fifteen-year-old that had pulled the trigger; saving all of their lives yet setting the stage for what would be the most difficult hour of their entire lives.

Crossing the bridge.

It’s still so vivid. The wails of the injured and the dying. The smell of fire, gunpowder and spilt gasoline. The pollution wafting off the filthy water. The blistering sun and the suffocating humidity. The taste of her own sweat as it dripped from her nose and gathered along her top lip. And the blood. So much blood. Covering her hands and staining her clothes. The scent of copper as it hung heavily in the air. And the fear and panic in Tyler’s eyes as he straddled the threshold between life and death. His body impossibly heavy as it lay across her lap; his battered and bloodied hands desperately clutching the front of her shirt as he gasped for breath.

She briefly closes her eyes; pushing back the flood of tears and the painful, traumatic memories. Still unable to think about those moments before help had finally arrived; how minutes had seemed hours as she sat -a filthy, sobbing, terrified mess- with her fingers shoved in the bullet wound in order to staunch his heavy bleeding. Wondering if perhaps her efforts would be all for nothing; Asif’s remaining men making their way to the bridge and discovering them there. Alive Tyler would immediately be killed; they would have made sure she watched as they put a bullet -or several- into his already beaten and broken body. Her fate would have been so much worse; likely kept captive -for days, weeks, even MONTHS- and abused in every possible way. All she would have been able to do was suffer through it; unable to fight back against the strength and the power -and the amount- of her attackers. She’d never been a praying person; she didn’t necessarily believe or not believe when it came to a higher power. But during moments of solitude, she would have begged and pleaded to anyone…anything…to permanently end her torment.

Gathering her composure, she shoves all thoughts of Dhaka aside and returns to the task at hand; slowly and carefully trimming his beard, mindful of the hairs that crowd close to the ventilation and feeding tubes. She misses his face; the one that wasn’t taken over by life-saving measures. It’s been so long since she’s seen it; whether it be that slow, boyish smile or that sly, almost mischievous smirk or the intensity that narrows his eyes and furrows his brow. And his eyes; a brilliant, captivating blue that can quickly transform to dark and stormy. She’d been privy to so many things during those five days in Dhaka; body language and facial expressions and sides to him that he’d never allowed anyone else to see.

And she’s not ready to give any one of them up.

“So about this place. In Austria…” She moves to the bedside table and opens the top drawer; placing the comb and scissors inside and then picking up a pair of nail clippers. “…I think it’s perfect for us. It’s in the middle of nowhere; surrounded by trees and mountains and it’s right on the water. It’s got two bedrooms and one and a half baths and the cutest open-concept living room and kitchen combo. It’s not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it IS comfortable. Quaint. And I don’t think we need much more than that, do you?”

Picking up his right hand, she patiently and gently tends to his nails. “I mean, I know it’s going to be pretty damn cold in the winter. And there’s going to be a lot of snow. But I’m used to it. I grew up in Colorado, remember? I know it’ll be a hard adjustment for an Aussie; you’re used to sun and sand and surf. But I think you’ll do alright. Actually, I KNOW you’ll do alright.”

When the conversation runs dry, she once more returns to humming as she works; finishing the rest of his nails before applying a hospital-provided moisturizer to both hands. Concentrating on the callouses on his palms and the one on the tip of his trigger finger; working the coconut-scened lotion into rough, thickened skin.

“I bet you haven’t been pampered like this in a long time,” she says, as she firmly massages his wrists, fingers, and thumbs. Diligently working at loosening the ligaments and tendons that have tightened over the course of the last six months. “If EVER. And I don’t mean to make it sound like I hate doing this, but buddy, you owe me one hell of a back rub when we finally get the hell out of here.”

It helps. Talking about the ‘when’ instead of the ‘if’. It’s the one thing that has kept her grounded and sane for half of a year; the plans they’d made and her determination to see them through. As long as she holds onto that little bit of hope, she hasn’t lost complete control of the situation; managing to keep death lingering at a comfortable distance while she navigates the grey and the gloom between here and there. If she allows herself to use the word ‘maybe’, she’s written him off; handed him the same death sentence that all the doctors and even Nik and Yaz have burdened him with. She refuses to give up; taking every flinch and flicker of his eyelids and twitch of his fingers or toes as a sign that he’s still fighting.

And nowhere close to surrendering.

She takes care of his hair next; spritzing it down with mandarin-scented detangler before making her way through with both brush and comb. Slipping a hand between him and the bed and gently lifting his head from the pillow; apologizing profusely when she feels as if she’s yanked a little too hard at the knots. And as exhausted as she is, she finds herself somewhat enjoying the tasks that she’s been given; a natural-born caretaker who’d been neglected and touch starved most of her life and in turn, wanted to make sure no one else experienced the same things. A mother hen so to speak; badly longing to protect and nurture another human being but never getting the opportunity to do so.

Until now.

“Pretty shitty circumstances though,” she says aloud, and drops the hair care tools into the top drawer of the nightstand. “I think I’d take the worst possible case of man flu over this any day of the week.”

Guilt immediately sets in. Worried that IF he truly can hear her and understand what’s being said, he’ll assume she feels he’s a burden. That the blame lies solely upon him in terms of her emotional and physical exhaustion and that she’s simply stuck by his side out of a feeling of misplaced servitude. He had saved her life in Dhaka, after all. Surely that must make her feel as if she owes him. That waiting on him hand and foot and perhaps even feeding him and cleaning his ass for the rest of his life is merely payback.

“I don’t really mean that you know.” She’s quick to apologize; using her hip to close the drawer on the nightstand and then leaning against the railing of the bed. And she chews nervously on her bottom lip as two fingertips swipe his bangs off his forehead and away from his eyes. “Not in the way it probably sounded. I don’t mind doing all this stuff. I WANT to do it. And I know you’d probably do the same for me. I just meant that it’s shitty circumstances that got us here. I’m sure you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Removing a tube of chapstick from the pocket of her hoodie, she snaps off the cap and leans over the bed railing. “You’re totally drying out here,” she laments, mindful of the breathing and feeding tube as she glides the bubblegum-flavoured concoction over his top lip, followed by the bottom. “I’m sorry it’s not the strawberry one you got used to in Dhaka. Remember how you always used to mention it? Every time you kissed me? About liking the taste of it? I ran out. And this cherry one was the closest thing I could find to it in the pharmacy here. There…” She uses a fingertip to clear excess from his lips. “…totally kissable now. Not that I wouldn’t kiss you before, but…” Pressing a kiss to each corner of his mouth. “…it makes it a little better.”

Pocketing the balm, she reaches for the lever on the bedrail and sets it into the down position. Gently straightening and smoothing out his blankets, she fluffs both the pillow behind his head and the one that supports his back before taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.

“Tyler…” She takes one of his hands in both her own. “…we need to have a little chat. I know it’s kind of unfair right now; you can’t exactly give an opinion or argue with me. And I promise that once you’re out here and back to normal, I MAY let you get a word in edge-wise from time to time. But for now, there’s some things I need to say. That I’d rather you hear now than never hear them at all, you know? Because…”

Sighing, she anxiously yanks the elastic out of her ponytail; shaking her long, dark tresses for before simply gathering them up and putting them back once again. “Look, you’ve been amazing, okay? You’ve done everything I’ve asked you to do; when it comes to giving me little signs that you’re making your way back to me. And I’m so proud of you; I know you’re tired and you’re healing but you’re still trying to help me out. That’s why it kills me that I have to do this. That I have to ask for more.”

She turns his palm up to face her and commences drawing slow, smooth patterns on it with the tip of her finger. Her eyes riveted on the beside monitor; a smile spreading across her face when his heart rate escalates.

“I keep telling them. That you ALWAYS respond to that. And that you’ve been responding to other things, too. I told them you’ll wiggle your toes or your fingers when I ask and how sometimes your eyelashes will flutter and other times you try and put your hand on top of mine. They don’t believe me; they think it’s all in my head. They keep saying that you’d do for them and the nurses if it was intentional. And you know what I said? I said ‘maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about any of you’.”

Sighing, she reaches up to tuck wayward strands of hair behind her ears.

“Tyler, I know I’ve asked a lot. And that you’ve worked really hard to give me what I asked. I know you’re tired; you’re trying to build up your strength so you can wake up and get the hell out of here. But we’re running out of time, babe. I told them I’d shut things off at the start of the sixth month; that’s only a couple of weeks away. I don’t want to do it, believe me. I want to keep you on these machines for as long as I can; until you’re a hundred percent ready to come off them. But if I don’t do what I promised, they’re going to take me to court. And they’ll get an order to override me and do what they want. I don’t want it coming to that. You deserve so much better than THAT. So this is where I need your help. AGAIN. I need you to do more, okay? I need a bigger sign. One that the doctors can’t brush off. I need something that says you’re almost ready; you’re stronger and you’re healthier and you’re almost at the finish line. I don’t want to say that I’m desperate, but I am. I really need this. I really need YOU. Because I’m starting to get really scared and you’re the only person that’s ever made me feel safe and protected and…” She valiantly struggles to hold back a flood of tears. “…and I never knew I even needed to feel those things. So please? Just do something. Anything. That shows them they’re wrong. Please.”

She waits for a sign. Another increase in heart rate. A flicker of his eyes. The wiggle of fingers and toes. And she’s crestfallen when nothing happens.

“You’re probably sleeping,” she laments, then slaps a hand against her forehead. “God I am so fucking stupid. Of COURSE you’re sleeping. You’re in a coma for Christ’s sake. I’m starting to lose it. I really am. I’m even talking to myself lately. Out loud. You can’t tell me THAT’S normal. And there’s one more thing…” She laces her fingers through his. “Now is going to be harder than I thought. To say what I need to. I don’t even know what I’m so scared of; it’s not you’re awake and you can laugh at me or act disgusted or just totally shoot me down. But I need to get it off my chest. Because if something does go wrong and something bad DOES happen, I’d never forgive myself for not telling you. So here it goes…”

Sighing heavily, she steels herself.

“I love you, Tyler. And I know what you’re probably thinking; about how it’s way too soon and that there’s no way you can love someone so quickly. Believe me, I never thought it was possible either. Until it happened. I don’t expect you to feel the same way; it’s not like you’ve spent the last five months like I have. Dhaka probably seems like just yesterday in your mind. I don’t expect you to wake up and say it back; not unless you FEEL it. And maybe you never will. I don’t know. Maybe those five days were as good as things were going to get. But I HAD to tell you. And to be honest, I needed to admit it to myself, too.”

For several minutes she sits in silence; tightly clasping his hand and watching his face for any change. The curl of a lip or the flutter of eyelashes or the swell of a cheek with an attempt of a smile. He’d been showing remarkable progress within the last few days alone; voluntary movements of his hands and feet and a slight grimace of pain when the night nurse had to change IV sites. But today he’s motionless; not even the smallest of flinches. Peacefully at rest; his beard and nails trimmed, his hair combed, and his skin warm to the touch.

“I’m going to go and do my stuff,” she says, and lifts his hand to her face; pressing a kiss to each battered knuckle and at the base of his wrist. “Do some yoga, take a shower, go down the hall to the kitchen and get something to eat. So I’m gonna just let you rest and…”

The moment she slips off the edge of the bed, his hand tightens around hers. Not with the strength of a man who’d been declared clinically dead and was relying on machines to keep him alive, but the strength of someone still very much alive. And fighting like hell.

“I knew it.” She allows the tears to come; cradling his cheek in her palm as she leans over the bed and rests her forehead against his. “I KNEW it.”

*****

Although running behind, she sticks to her morning schedule; simple ‘luxuries’ that she’s clung to to keep what’s remaining of her sanity. A lengthy and rejuvenating yoga routine that helps centre and ground; the furniture moved aside in the sitting area of Tyler’s private room to make space for herself and her mat. A long shower in one of the many ‘for family use only’ bathrooms; the pounding water working out the kinks in her neck and soothing the aches in her back and hips. Finished off with that first tea of the day and a quick and quiet breakfast. Steaming hot perfection combined with a bowl of yogurt, granola, and fresh fruit; always at the same table -and seat right next to the window- in the ICU’s small yet fully stocked and manned cafeteria.

It makes her feel human again. To focus on herself. But it’s fleeting and soon taken over by feelings of selfishness and guilt; ashamed that she’d allowed herself those moments of peace and clarity while Tyler continued to exist in that void between life and death.

But today is different. His response to her request for a more significant and more obvious sign and her profession of love has rejuvenated her; her confidence has returned to her step and her optimism and hope are both stronger than ever. She knows they’ll try and convince her it’s all in her head; gaslighting her into believing that she’s so desperate for a miracle that she’s become ‘delusional’ and is ‘highly imaginative’. But she knows for sure that his squeeze of the hand was the real deal; it was strong and assuring and sending a clear, unwavering message that he’d not only heard her pleas and requests, but was doing his best to acknowledge AND answer them. And now only one real challenge remains. Getting him to show the nurses and the doctors the same responses when they speak to him.

“This place is getting busy again,” Esme announces as she re-enters his room, her soiled yoga shorts and tank in hand; stuffing the latter into a near overflowing she’s been promising to take down the laundry room for over a week. “Remember how I was talking about all those rooms opening up? People getting shipped up to normal wards? Well, they’re full again.” Sighing, she gathers her damp hair in both hands and styles it into a haphazard bun; securing it with the elastic she keeps around one wrist. “A lot of pretty young people, too. I don’t what’s going on and how they’re getting so sick or so hurt, but…”

A barely audible grunt from across the room interrupts her mid-sentence. The anxiety is immediate; her stomach clenching and her jaw tightening as she tries to digest the never heard before sound. Any change of the ’norm’ brings about near panic; a fear that something different automatically means disaster. And her brows are knit together and her eyes are narrowed as she apprehensively glances over her shoulder.

His eyes open. Barely. The gaze is groggy. Confused. But steadily fixed upon her.

“Tyler?”

Another grunt. His eyes briefly closing before he raises a hand; trembling furiously as it reaches for the breathing tube.

“No! No! No!” Dropping her remaining belongings on the floor, she rushes to his bedside; fingers curling around his wrist. “Don’t touch that. You’ll yank it out. Hurt yourself. The nurse needs to do it for you. Can you see me? Hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying? Blink if you do.”

He obliges her request.

“What are you doing awake? What…?” Her words are cut off by a choked sob; one of pure shock and disbelief. And she wraps both arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his temple; tears spilling down her cheeks as she rests her head upon his shoulder. “You prick! Leave it to you to wait until I was out of the room!”

It takes tremendous effort and strength, but his hand comes to rest in the middle of her back; rubbing it in slow, smooth circles in an attempt to console her.

“You know how long I waited for this moment?” Pulling away, she lovingly ruffles his hair. “Almost six months! A half a year! I’ve thought about it every day. What it would be like when it happened. And what do you do? You go ahead and totally ruin it for me!”

He attempts a sorry. Words unable to get passed the tubes shoved down his throat.

“I’m just teasing you. Just giving you a hard time. Don’t try and talk, okay? Not until they get those things out of you. Do you know where you are?”

A small nod.

“Do you remember what happened? Do you know why you’re here?”

Another. Followed by heavy-lidded eyes surveying the room; brow furrowing at the sight of the various bedside machines and the wires attached to various parts of his body. And when he looks back at her there’s a mixture of emotions written on his face; a heavy dose of fear and concern.

“I know it’s a hell of a thing to wake up to. Being here. And I know you’re probably really confused right now. Your mind is probably all fuzzy. Nothing much is making sense, huh? You’re probably scared, too. I would be too.”

He raises a hand; knuckles brushing against her cheek before his arm once more falls heavily onto the bed.

“I’m okay,” she assures him, as she sinks down onto the edge of the bed and takes his hand in both of hers. “And so is Ovi. Nik’s had people with him ever since he got home. They follow him everywhere; keep a close eye on him. Just in case.”

His brow furrows as he regards her intently.

“I’m fine,” she stresses. “I was a bit banged up. Nothing serious. I’ve had a hell of a lot worse, believe me. I didn’t even need to spend the night here. Not as a patient, anyway. You did what you promised. You got Ovi out of there. You got him home. Safe and sound. It’s over. It’s all over. It’s been over for months now.”

Sighing, he looks up at the ceiling. Tears sparkling in his eyes.

“I know you’re probably really confused. You’ve probably got a lot of questions. But you’ve been here for six months. So have I. I wanted to make sure that you were taken care of. That no one would give up on you. And I knew this was going to happen. I knew you were going to fight your way back. That you weren’t ready to give up. You weren’t ready to leave.”

He shakes his head.

“The conceited part of me wants to say it’s all because of me. That I’m the reason you’re still here. That you made your way back just for me. But…”

His eyes find hers once more; hand squeezing hers as tight as his weakened body will allow.

“Sweet talker,” she chides, and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You try and rest, okay? I’m just going to go and call your nurse and she can contact your doctor or come and check you herself. Whatever she needs to do. I just…”

His grip tightens on her as she slips off the bed. The fear once more returning to his eyes.

“I’m not leaving, I just need to get your call button. It’s on the other side of the bed. I need to use it to get your nurse in here. Don’t worry…” Pushing a hand through his hair, she places her lips against his brow. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not EVER.”

*****

It seems so different now.

So foreign.

Almost uncomfortable.

It’s so quiet. All the bedside machines unplugged; dark and silent and shoved into a corner of the room. She had gotten so used to it; the hiss and the hums, the beeps and the clicks. The noises quickly becoming a part of her new existence; blending in with the chatter of the staff as they wandered the halls and the rattle of gurneys as they passed by the room. And she almost misses them; unaware of how familiar and routine they’d gotten until they suddenly ceased to exist. They had been a security blanket almost; something steady and constant that had signified life and hope and had kept her going at even her darkest and most difficult of moments.

He sleeps soundly; aided by powerful painkillers given through an IV line and fed to him through a programmed pump. She’d insisted on it; reminding them of the addiction issues that had been previously addressed and admitting -painfully- that he couldn’t be trusted to administer to himself. They’re hard things to accept; the powerful and all-consuming ties he has to both alcohol and Oxycontin. In Dhaka they’d briefly talked about it; he’d confessed to his addictions and admitted that he wanted to break free of their clutches. Getting clean was a priority now that he had someone in his life; he wanted to be rid of the worst of his vices, no matter how difficult it would be to walk away from them.

“You make me want to be a better man,” he’d announced, the sincerity in both his voice and his eyes had making her choke up. No one had ever given her a more beautiful compliment. Such honest and heartfelt words coming from someone like him; a phenomenally strong, seemingly fearless man weighed down by the enormity of his mistakes. Carrying around the burdens of guilt and grief and regret.

Not of that exists right now. He’s temporarily at peace; free of the monsters and the demons that have plagued him for years. His unassisted breathing slow and deep and rhythmic; his weakened and battered body trying to build whatever strength it can in order to begin the long, arduous road of healing. His skin is pale and the circles under his eyes dark and haunting; she’s already promised to get him out into the sunshine as soon as the doctors feel he’s up to it. He sleeps with his face turned towards her; unruly hair splayed out across his pillow and looking shades darker against the crisp white sheets. And there’s a slight smile curving his lips; perhaps feeling the tremendous relief that comes with walking through the darkest and deepest recesses of hell and living to tell about them.

Despite there still being a long and arduous road ahead, she feels as if a tremendous weight has been lifted off her shoulders; no longer concerned with deadlines and ultimatums and feeling an immense satisfaction at the doctors being proven wrong. And it had taken everything she had not to gloat when the primary care physician finally showed up to asses Tyler’s current physical and mental state and remove him from the machines. Feeling an immense sense of pride in him when he was able to answer -using nods or shakes of the head- basic questions regarding both his and her identity. Showing no signs of coma-induced amnesia; knowing her name and not only how they met, but how he ended up in the hospital in the first place. The line of questioning had been short and simple, but had immensely irritated him; the darkness in his eyes as he glared at the doctor gave a clear cut message: the interrogation was pointless, he wasn’t stupid, and he was simply tired of the other man’s shit.

The extubation hadn’t gone as smoothly as staff had hoped. What should have been simple and routine became a three ring circus when she was asked to leave the room; Tyler immediately panicking at the mere thought and his heart rate and blood pressure spiking to near dangerous levels as his fight or flight response kicked into high gear. Shockingly angry and strong for someone who’d been in a coma for half a year and only minutes before had appeared weak and docile. And with that the arguing and the threatening had began; Esme insisting that it was in his best interest if she was allowed to remain in the room where he could keep his eyes on her at the very least.

“He’s scared,” she’d informed them. “He’s scared and he’s confused. And I’m the one thing that’s been constant for the last six months. I’ve ALWAYS been here. He’s gotten used to that. What harm is it going to do if I hang around? It’ll help, if anything.”

For several minutes the bickering back and forth had continued. As had Tyler’s kicking and thrashing about in bed and the threats of “sedating him for everyone else’s safety.” She refused to let that happen; there was no need to drug him up when simply letting her stay by his side and hold his hand and talk him through it would more than suffice.

Her tenacity and stubbornness had been the victors in the end. And she’d held his hand in one of her own; her lips pressed against his ear as she talked him through the entire process and whispered words of comfort and reassurance. Telling him she wasn’t going ANYWHERE; there was nothing and no one that could possibly tear her away. Not now. Not ever.

******

Exhaustion sets in, coming on strong and fast. It’s aided by her newfound optimism and the fears she’s been able to shed, and she welcomes the chance to rest with open arms. Carefully prying open his fingers in order to slip her hand out of his; his grip surprisingly strong and fuelled by his fear that if he stops touching her, she’ll simply disappear. But he’s sleeping soundly and neither movement nor absence of touch disturbs him; not offering up a single flinch as he continues to alternate between lightly snoring and murmuring in his sleep. And kicking off her slippers, she leans back in her chair; drawing her oversized hoodie tighter around her body and then stretching out her legs and placing her feet on the mattress. Giving him just enough contact that if he does wake, he won’t immediately panic; her toes tucked securely underneath the back of his left thigh.

When she wakes, the sun has shifted position in the sky; beams streaming through the courtyard’s glass roof and casting shadows upon the lobby’s walls and floor. For what seems like several long, tedious minutes she fights disorientation; her weary brain struggling to identify and make sense of the sights and sounds that had been part of her life for half a year. Yawning loudly, she presses the heels of her palms into her blurry eyes; keeping them closed as her hands move to her shoulders and she massages at the tight, aching muscles.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She gives a small start; eyes rapidly flicking open and falling on the nurse that busies herself on the opposite side of the bed.

The younger woman gives a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I tried to be as quiet as possible. Sorry.”

“No need to be. It wasn’t you. I think my neck was crying out for mercy. I didn’t even realize you were here.” Esme frowns as concern sets in. She hates how quickly it can grab hold of her; the panic that comes with the fear of losing the one thing…the one person…that you truly DO love. Her life had changed half a year ago. Meeting someone who was just as damaged and tarnished as she was.

It could have gone so horribly wrong; two hurt and lonely people only making each other worse.

“Is he alright?” She attempts to keep her anxiety under control; the mere thought of him having a setback and ending up worse than before just too much to bear. While all her spoken and unspoken pleas and promises had been both accepted and answered, it’s been a nagging worry; a quick and sudden regression that sentences him to a life in a near -or full- vegetative state.

Even then, she'd stick by his side. Put her entire life on hold in an effort to improve his. And provide whatever care he needed. No matter how 'hands on'. “He’s doing just fine. Breathing well on his own; his numbers never drop below ninety-five percent.”

“And that’s good, right? Especially considering how long he needed that machine for? To already have numbers that high…”

“It’s excellent. Far better than anyone expected.”

“No one expected much from him, did they? And they sure as hell wouldn’t listen to me. I told them; that he was responding to my voice and when I tickled his palm and sometimes when I combed his hair. I knew what I was talking about. It wasn’t all in my head. I wasn’t hysterical or crazy like they said.”

“No. You most certainly weren’t.”

“You were the only that believed me. That didn’t think I was nuts.”

“You fought with too much passion and too much conviction to be anything BUT truthful. I could tell in your voice and in your eyes; you truly believed what you were saying.”

“I may not have known Tyler very long, but I know that he wouldn’t give up without a fight. Maybe before he met me, he would have. But we talked about the future. OUR future. There was no way he was giving up on them. On me. On US.”

“I wish all of the patients here at someone like you in their corner. I like to think that if they did, they’d heal a lot faster; knowing that someone is fighting for them and making sure they get nothing but the best. Do you know how many have no one? Whose families have just given up and stopped coming altogether?”

“I can’t even imagine being that way. Just abandoning someone. Especially someone I love. How do you live with yourself? How do you sleep at night? Pretending as if they don’t even exist anymore?”

“I don’t understand it myself.”

“It’s just so sad. The thought of them being all alone. No one caring about them. I know it’s not easy; seeing someone at their worst and not knowing if they’re going to make it or not. It’s hard; to lose someone you care about. But ignoring them and pretending they don’t exist doesn’t make it all go away.”

“And the guilt afterwards? The regret? If they DO die?”

“I couldn’t live with myself. I wasn’t going to do that to Tyler; just leave him here and go on with my life. I didn’t want him to be alone. He deserves so much better than that. And if he was going to die, I was going to make sure he had someone here with him.”

“I assumed you’d been with him for a long time. Considering how hard you fought. How you wouldn’t back down.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. The way I am. So soon after meeting someone. But I know how I feel. About him. And I know it isn’t wrong. Because nothing wrong could ever feel this right.”

“There’s no rules. No time limit. Whether it’s weeks, months or years that you’ve known someone. And don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“They don’t even try anymore,” Esme laughs, and leans back in her chair. “They know it’s a lost cause. My family gave up a long time ago.”

For several minutes they go co-exist in silence; Esme watching as the nurse tends to replacing IV and catheter bags, resetting the timer on the pain pump, and using an iPad to jot down the various numbers in regard to his vitals. And she’s beginning to doze off once more when the younger woman’s voice captures her attention; her head snapping up and her eyes flickering open.

“He’s got quite the hold on you there,” the nurse nods down at the bed; Tyler’s hand covering one of Esme’s feet in a surprisingly strong grip.

She wonders when he’d done it. If it was a subconscious moment while he was sleeping or if he’d woken up briefly and intentionally took hold of her. “He’s protective. Even while he’s like this. Just wants to keep an eye on me. Make sure nothing bad happens. Or I don’t get away.”

“I don’t think he has to worry about that. Especially that last part. You know, if you want to get out of here for a bit, I don’t mind sticking around. This was my last patient for these rounds. So if you want to go grab a tea or something to eat or eve get some fresh air…”

“I don’t want to leave him alone. If he wakes up and I’m not here, he might freak out. He might…”

“He won’t be alone. I’ll be right here. Sitting with him. I don’t mind spending my break here. You need some time to yourself. Even if it’s just to wander around a bit. Feel the sun on your face. The worst is over; he’s done his time in hell and come out the other side. You can breathe again.”

She chews on her bottom lip; considering the opportunity that’s been presented to her. And sighing, she turns her teary eyes towards the younger woman. “Please take care of him.”

“Of course. He’s in good hands.”

Giving a nod of approval and a smile of appreciation, she stands; pushing her chair away before approaching the side of the bed. Running her fingers through her hair before holding it back off his forehead; lips meeting warm, smooth skin.

“I’ll be right back,” she promises, a fingertip lightly trailing down the scar that inhabits the left side of his brow. “There’s nothing to worry about, okay? I won’t be gone long. I’m not leaving. You don’t EVER have to worry about that.”

[princessozera]

A marriage proposition

(( Don't remember what the original purpose of this was, so I'm tossing it out unfinished))

Warnings: MC is being held captive, obsessive behavior, mentions of suicidal ideation, Out of Character Diavolo

"Marry me."

“Pft,” MC scoffs, “I don’t even get the courtesy of a ‘please’ anymore?”

Diavolo remains standing by the doorway, blocking MC’s path. It didn’t matter much, since MC could see Barbatos lingering out in the hallway. Damn that lurker.

“Even a prince can run out of patience MC. I’ve given you everything, so excuse me for not minding my manners.” Diavolo stares MC down and they glare back for as long as they can. The challenge doesn’t last long as they’d like, apathy and mental fatigue drawing MC’s eyes back down to the sofa they were curled up on.

“Oh you’ve given me everything? Where are my friends? My family? A sense of purpose?” MC mutters bitterly, contemplating on kicking up a fit, but they couldn’t even muster up the energy to throw a pillow.

“There would be no greater sense of purpose than being a ruler of the Devildom and running social affairs. You don’t even have to run the social events, Barbatos can handle most of them.” Lord Diavolo tried again to appeal to MC, offering glittering trinkets, luxury, and a soft life. 'In exchange for your freedom' came implied with every point, but neither pointed it out. When MC stopped talking to him again, pretending to be asleep, he left without another word- Barbatos closing the door behind him.

-------------------------

There’s no need for shackles, dungeons or even locked doors when the strongest beings in the realm stalked the hallways. Get past one and the other would already be descending on you.

MC can’t even be bothered to pace around their gilded cage anymore. Every will can crack, all resolutions can crumble. They've tried everything short of killing themselves to escape. Appeal to the little D's, try to summon the demon lords, use magic. They tried annoying Diavolo, grossing him out, being super weird, hoping to have him lose interest in them. He saw through every plan, and all MC got for their trouble was isolation and their meals reduced to vitamin supplements.

They look over to the barred window, the closest they had come to escaping. It reminded them of their first month in captivity, where they trashed this room every single day, but by morning, Barbatos had managed to replace and fix everything while they slept. They tried to stay awake, delirium making them believe that they could win in a physical match against Barbatos. But when MC refused to sleep, Belphegor was summoned and forced to make them fall asleep. If MC refused to eat? They'd find Barbatos straddling them, prying their mouth open to shove a feeding tube in. That was a mistake they only made once.

MC has lost track of time in this hell. With no sunlight to go off of, no clocks or watches, they couldn't even hear the chime of RAD's clock tower from here. Diavolo only ever showed up when they were awake, so they tried to sleep their days away, some part of their brain having resigned itself to a fate of decaying away in the Prince's castle.

--------------------------------------------

"I will marry you."

Diavolo freezes in the doorway, looking back to see if Barbatos had heard the same thing. Diavolo straightens up and steps further into the room, extending a hand graciously. "I'm glad you've come to your senses MC-"

"I will marry you, but I will never love you. For as long as your name is spoken in this kingdom and it's history, no one will EVER mistake this for anything more than an arrangement.” MC glares at Diavolo with more emotion than they've shown in their entire year of captivity. How alluring he would find this, if it wasn't so incredibly audacious.

"I didn't ask you to love me. I've asked you to marry me. I made the mistake of needing your love once, so I'll take care to not repeat my mistakes."

[sir-arlieosaurus-lung-struggler]

the holidays are always really fucking weird, i dont like many of them but specifically December is just- ew

Anyway ill just thro my mini pitty party real quick:

These song explains how I feel about christmas time *perfectly*

Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas by mother mother (christmas playlist)

From heres basically a trauma dump about being in the hospital, but i typically talk about this in a tone more like "oh yea! i nearly died lmao"

When i was like, just turning 6 I had 💫pneumonia💫 & needed to go to the 💫hospital💫. So I spent like, 12/11-31/15 in the hospital. along the way i had these treats happen (not really in order, 💜=story from family member, ❤=i actually remember this)

💜being diagnosed by my sisters 16 yo boyfriend by looking at my gums, whereas medical staff took 4 days

❤Some mcdonalds, cool auntys banana bread, jello & making popin cookin sets w/ my older sister

💜a 5 day medically induced coma

lung surgery therefor cool fuckin scars on my back (WHICH I CANT FUCKING SHOW ANYONE CAUSE I WAS CURSED W/ TITS AND 2/3 ARE UNDER MY BRA)

💜waking up from said coma periodically only to say "im scared" w/ my mom trying to comfort me but i had ear shit going on

💜Finnaly actually woke up, yelled "IM DEAD", which is reportadly the scariest shit my dad has ever heard, my mom asks if i hurt, i say yes, she like "ur not dead honey" again i was 6 & in & out of a coma 😂 (idk why but I've always found that story funny)

💜my parents being thretened w/ truancy by my dumbass school

❤Christmas, I had *2* mini christmas trees in my hospital room 💅 1 was cool but my cool uncle & aunty got me a pink 1 which I still have to this day as a lamp

💜only trusting 1 of my doctors cause he looked like my grandfather who'd been deceased for 2years at that point

❤💜going on walks around the kids floor in a wheelchair & stealing a little gingerbread beanie baby ornament but they didnt care so they just let me keep it & i still have it somehwere.

💜my mom met a lady who had a son who was a few months old & they didnt expect to live past a couple weeks but he *did* (more on that later)

💜had food in the cafeteria and i proceeded to rub the pizza i got *into my hair*. My response? "Its just cheese" my family and I quote that to this day lmao.

💜being reverted to a toddler for a good minute (someone asked my age i said i was 3, i was not) & needing to relearn walking, talking, the little bit of reading i knew & getting into a shower w/out being scared of being pulled down the drain

❤said dude who asked my age worked at the hospital cafeteria & we visited him after most of my appointments. miss u uncle (that was what he went by), wish u well. Dont know where he since covid cause the part of the building cafeteria was in was torn down.

❤and after all that later and i got releaced on new years eve :>

results:

From there forward i had a 20-30minute nebulizer to do every 4 hours (which my parents had to wake up at like 2am for a half hour for), 2 twice daily inhailers, 2 nasil sprays, "the tire" (tastes like shit and makes me feel anxious) (that isnt even all of it my mom counted 8 meds at one point) and i slowly dropped them year by year till they had me down to just rescue inhailer as needed & if my lungs r really shit for a min i go on the tire. (Tire=prednisolone but what 6 year old is remembering that name lol)

specialist appointments every week, then 2 weeks, then every month, 3 months, 6 months, now im at checkup every year and check in as needed

"Look whos inside again" by bo burnham is my life in a nutshell

To this day the smell of a consentrated area of hand sanatizer just has me stop in my tracks lol.

seeing a picture of tiny me on my parents facebook feed yearly of me unconscious in a hospital bed w/ tubes in mah face

couple of close friend i met post hospital (keep in mind i was like 7) didn't believe me so i ran around the playground cursing them the fuck out (never did get in trouble for that 😂) ((I still talk to 1 of them shes cool))

Idk where to put this but about that kid I was talking about before, I found out last year around this time he had just died- of 💫pneumonia💫. yea that fucked me up for a good minute, he was around 6 too which didn't help, I never even met the kid and I still had a weird form of survivors guilt.

Anyway have a merry fucking christmas i really dont get this holiday lol, treat yourself kindly, feel free to be the grinch you are and explain in detail why u hate the holidays u arent alone lol

[chronicbeans]

Read it and Weep

A "Tales from the Iolite Hospital" Story

TW: Hurt with No Comfort, Shady Contracts, Mentions of Medical Procedures, Medical Diets, Chronic Illness, Hospital Setting/Doctors

I frowned as I entered the room. I already knew what the answer was. The way the gastroenterologist, Dr. Cogsworth, acts doesn't clue me in to anything. He is practically emotionless in the way he acts, which might be due to him being a wind-up man. A large, wind-up key sticks out of his back, gently turning as he admits tiny click, click, clicks each second, as well as gentle music, much like that of an antique music box.

He turns to me, saying "Well, Aluminum... there isn't much I can do besides put you on that diet. Remember, the one where you avoid foods that end up triggering the response?" I groan in frustration "That one? The one where I don't know what even causes it? The one where it is far too late to avoid the response because I need to WAIT for it to know what to avoid? I like to call that the "Minefield Diet", doctor. It is as anxiety and panic inducing as walking through a minefield."

He tilts his head, his face as empty as usual. "It is the best I can do. The 6-food elimination diet is too costly. I want to use the amino acid-based diet as a final resort, due to most patients requiring a nasogastric feeding tube due to the taste. I will be sure to call in a prescription for the dupilumab, though, since it has been proven effective in the treatment of eosinophilic esophagitis, so far."

I shake my head, glaring at him "What about those allergy tests you asked the allergist about? Will I be getting them? They aren't fully effective, but I heard the skin prick tests can be useful sometimes." He shakes his head "I haven't gotten a response. I believe you will not be getting those tests done. They are not too effective, anyways." I point to him, asking "Can't I just change you out and get a new doctor?"

He grows silent, besides the gentle music and the ticking clicks from within him. He then turns back to his desk, stiffly moving as he checks his files. He then pulls out a contract, the one my father made me sign when I first entered the Iolite Hospital at age 16. That was around... 11 years ago.

He hands it to me, saying in his robotic tone "Read it and weep. He made the decision for you." I read the contract, my various eyes widening.

"The patient hereby consents to stay with both the Iolite Hospital and the doctor provided below the signature line until either the patient or doctor dies. This is to ensure the healthcare provider knows everything about the patient here, in the Iolite Hospital, so there can provide adequate care. The reasons for the provided doctor being chosen shall be shown underneath his/her/their/etc. name.

Signature of Parent/Guardian (If patient is under the age of 18) and relation to the patient: Uranium Sight (Father)

Signature of Patient: Aluminum Sight

Doctor Provided: Dr. Victor Cogsworth (GI Specialist)

Reason for Choice: Dr. Victor Cogsworth is the only GI Specialist in the Iolite Hospital with knowledge on Eosinophilic Esophagitis (EoE or EE). He is trained in endoscopy and dilation procedures, as well as other surgical procedures of the gastrointestinal system. Due to these reasons, we feel he is the only doctor who is able to provide proper care for the patient, due to the diagnosis."

I look up to him, his empty eyes locked onto me. My father's voice floats through my head, the words from that day - the last day I saw him and the outside world - echo in my mind. "This is for your own good, boy." I feel sick. I want out, or at least a different doctor, but my father has locked me here. I had no choice in this, much like I had no choice in having a chronic illness in the first place.

"This has to be illegal! This isn't allowed-" He cuts me off by suddenly leaning forward, close to my face. He speaks lowly, the robotic tone sounding colder than ever. "Haven't you noticed how the Iolite Hospital does a lot of strange, abnormal, and illegal things? Like leaving the patients who suffer from addiction to fend for themselves in the Hall of Addiction? Forcefully keeping patients here and tied to a specific doctor isn't close to the worse thing this place has done."

He slowly returns to a standing position in a smooth motion, almost as if spending no energy to do so. "This place... it has rules of its own. Almost like it has a life of its own, compared to other hospitals and healthcare facilities. The play area, the pools, the halls, and the halls themselves are abnormal and unorthodox for a hospital." A tilt of his head cues me to think. It is odd, yes, how this place works.

"You are my patient, and mine, alone. In fact, you are only the second patient I have had with EoE. The first was a little girl, around 7. She didn't do so well, here. I don't know where she went. You will be a fine experiment for me. I will treat you better."

I stand, simply saying "You are a monster. An emotionless monster. A machine. You don't know how to treat people well." His head snaps back to a straight position, the music in his chest slowing as he says "That hurts. I have emotions. You will understand, soon."

I turn, leaving his office. I feel so sick and anxious, like I might puke if I keep dwelling on the fact that I am stuck with HIM in HERE for the rest of my life. He won't die anytime soon. I know that. It has been 11 years since I first met him, and in all that time, he hasn't aged a day. I will have to wait until I am gone to be rid of him. It isn't even either of our faults, however, as my own father was who signed the contract, forcing me to sign with him.

As I thought, my dwelling has made my stomach churn too much, and I run to the nearest bucket to empty the contents of my stomach. Nobody really seems to do anything. All of the nurses, doctors, and even my fellow patients just waltz by, going about their days as usual.

Once I am done, I look around, finding that Derek has begun to approach me. I don't want him to see me like this, so I hurry off to my room before he can finish writing his words down on his paper. I lock myself into an even smaller cell than this hospital, called my patient room, and sit in silence. I hear him knocking on my door. I just wait until he leaves. I am in no mood to talk to anyone. I'll just keep it inside.

[envihellbender]

Sherlock anal vore

Ohhhhhh we’re just pulling out the big guns now

Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes (books, very much a darker timeline with darker characters)

Content: extreme obesity, immobility, extreme weight gain, feedee/feeder, anal vore, made up science, cannibalism, dead dove do not eat

—

It began two years ago, and somehow it had been maintained consistently ever since. Moriarty and Sherlock had entered a competition that originally John had considered childish until he began to see the benefits. It started when Sherlock had discovered that Moriarty had grown from a skeletal lizard to a gigantic beast of a man. He’d gained four hundred pounds in a matter of months and it drove Sherlock mad trying to figure out how. Eventually he created a serum that turned his slim build into a barely mobile creation he was oddly proud of. That was when Moriarty needed to prove he could be bigger than Sherlock, so of course that meant the detective had to try and beat his archenemies too. John originally scoffed and rolled his eyes but he had to admit, he certainly did enjoy seeing Sherlock turn into a handsome, corpulent gentleman.

The last three months Moriarty’s weight had skyrocketed, their meetings had resulted in Sherlock and John glowering as Moriarty and Moran were smug at their progress. Ever since, Sherlock had been working to try and find a method to cause weight gain even faster than his current serum. He ate absently but constantly, always having cakes in his hands as he worked. Moriarty would swallow people whole regularly, and if Moran hadn’t sent a video then Sherlock would have never believed it. That had to he apart of the reason, he thought. But there had to be more to it. After three weeks, Sherlock invented a rectal tube - essentially it mean he was being fed through his mouth and behind instantaneously. Both would go directly to his stomach ensuring it could he constantly full, this was of course in combination with the feeding tube that was surgically inserted through his navel. That had sped things along, and Sherlock was delighted at how he was constantly stuffed. However it wasn’t fast enough, and after two weeks of his new feeding set up it suddenly came to him. John was clearing away the plates of Sherlock’s feast when he slapped his gut happily and laughed suddenly. John jumped but smiled fondly as he saw Sherlock’s adipose ripple and shake.

“What’s got you so excited?” John asked, Sherlock’s teeth were pressed on his plump lip, he began tapping at his specially modified computer. His fat brow furrowed as his bloated face grew pink at how much he was focusing.

“I’ve figured it out. I now how we’re going to make me bigger,” Sherlock grinned. John couldn’t repress his own smile at how sweet Sherlock looked with his bloated, dimpled cheeks almost hiding his eyes from view.

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense,” John said poking his adipose ridden boyfriend’s bloated breast.

“Okay so…” Sherlock began, his blue eyes bright as he spoke with a wheeze. “You know how Moriarty manages to swallow some of his more alive meals whole? So he can feel them existing within his gut and he swears there is more fat absorbs?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, as we know, I can’t do that-”

“Yeah. Moriarty is so much of a snake he can unhinge his jaw, apparently.”

“Anyway, I realised. Whilst I may not be able to take them in my mouth… well, there’s no reason the I couldn’t go up my rectal tube.”

“That… that is insane but it just might-” John paused for a moment in thought. “They might not survive being inside the tube. They might have to enter corpses but they will be in your gut without a single bite taken from them.”

“Hm. Not ideal but it’s certainly a start, I shall start on the schematics. If you think it’s feasible, my doctor.”

“You know it’s certainly possible, love. It might involve a lot of stimulation and such first.”

“I think we both know that’s not a problem.”

—

“Dear God, I am starving,” Sherlock groaned. His eyes half lidded as tears gathered in the creases and folds made by his fat cheeks and forehead.

“I know love, but we can’t have your stomach be too full for the first test,” John soothed as he massaged Sherlock’s gut in an attempt to calm him somewhat. John was fussing over Sherlock as everything was prepared. He found it difficult to trust Sherlock’s nursing staff and was double checking all of their work and making adjustments when it was deemed necessary. Suddenly, the tablet made a noise and several nurses entered the room. A crane was lowered and Sherlock was lifted onto the hoist with difficulty, slowly he was turned into his gut and left to rest there for a moment. John scurried to the side of his head, just next to his neck roll to stroke his hair and check he was okay. When Sherlock let out a wheezing moan it became clear the tube was being eased inside him and expanding Sherlock’s asshole.

“How’re you doing, love?” John asked. He stroked Sherlock’s sweat soaked black curls and tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach and hardening between his legs.

“I am … fine,” he gasped. “How big is the person we’re starting with?”

“5’4, 92lbs,” John answered. “This one should be fairly easy but we have more snacks in the cellar if you want to try more.”

“I want you to look, whilst the do it,” Sherlock gasped. John kissed him on the cheek and hurried to his behind. He licked his lips and watched in delight as he saw the squirming, yelling meal desperately try to escape. Eventually they finally crushed him inside. When it was attached to the machinery with him inside he looked ridiculous and obscene. With a few buttons, it was almost as if Sherlock’s behind was welcoming him in. John gave a short intake of breath, his lips growing dry as he watched. He saw the victim become wedged in Sherlock’s rectum head first and he saw him squirm, he heard his muffled yells. They continued even after he was completely swallowed up by Sherlock’s adipose. He wondered idly how long the meal would live.

“John,” Sherlock wheezed, John immediately rushed to his side.

“What is it, love?”

“How was it?”

“Stunning.” John stepped closer, his lips close to where Sherlock’s ear used to be before he was swallowed up by neck and shoulder fat. “You have no idea how much I want to ravage you right now.” He stepped away and began stroking Sherlock’s hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Hungry,” Sherlock said with an exhausted smirk. He looked as if he’d orgasmed during the whole affair, perhaps this could be something he got used to.