#mobile eye clinic

[sreedhareeyam]

Sreedhareeyam Mobile Eye Clinic at Kollam on June 18th

We are now closer to your location, hence the distance between you and Sreedhareeyam Eye Clinic has decreased!

Make sure to note the date in your calendars!

Location: Kollam

June 18, 2024; 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Make a reservation now ☏ +91 9497718338 ☏ +91 9497715998

[wemarketresearch]

Pupillometer Market Size, Industry Analysis Report By Mobility (Table-top, Handheld-held), By End-User (Hospitals, Eye clinics), By Application (neurology, ophthalmology, oncology) & Region – Forecast 2022-2030

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: III

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: As promised :) Leave a comment or reblog if you enjoy!

GIF by urmingirl

Masterlist, Latibule 2.II

Taehyung looked up from his cellphone to his eldest hyung that was currently cooking their dinner. He pouted when he was not given the appropriate amount of attention he should be given. Honestly, he deserved it! After a moment when he still did not get what he wanted, he finally asked the question he had been dying to know the answer to.

“Hyung, is it always like that?”

“Hmm? Like what, Tae?” he asked while chopping diligently the vegetables the renowned doctor was preparing for a certain psychologist and his brothers that insisted they were hungry as well.

“When it ends…does it always hurt like that?”

Seokjin blinked at Taehyung’s unprompted question. He paused before he finally brought his eyes to the actor. He knew that the younger man had always been eccentric. His clinical condition definitely explained his behavior, but not this. He was never curious about the emotions he couldn’t feel, nor did he ever show any interest on understanding emotions. As the years passed by, Kim Taehyung got better at masking and pretending by learning the root causes of the emotions he could see. The brothers had always thought that this was precisely why he chose to be an actor. Everytime they watched him cried, laughed, or acted furious for his movies and dramas, they thought he was a different person.

Jin thought it was just understandable why he dropped the knife he was holding.

“What brought this on?”

“He-“ he lifted his mobile phone to show Jin the picture Jimin snapped of their Yoongi hyung looking like he had lost all his will to live. Taehyung found it so ridiculous that Jimin even made a collage of him and a cat that depicted their hyung. “-looks like breathing is a chore and is only fighting to live so he can end his enemies.”

Jin would have laughed had this happened before he met his sunshine. But now, the mere thought of her leaving set him on edge, and he knew he would be similar to Yoongi if not worse. Slowly, he picked up his knife as he carefully chose his words. He was always like this with Taehyung ever since he knew that something was not quite right in his mind, well…more than any of them, to be honest. The younger man took things at face value, and all the brothers knew to talk in a straightforward manner so there wouldn’t be any confusion on Taehyung’s part.

He kidded you not, once when they were still teenagers, they asked him to go ahead and get them a table in a restaurant. He left without any qualms only to return not an hour later carrying a big ass table from a restaurant. That was a horrifying memory, Jin thought, and that was when they all decided to change the way they talked. It was Namjoon that took it too far and enrolled the man in a body language class to better cope with society. However, it was Jungkook that forced him to take psychology classes with him for fun.

“I think it’s different,” Jin started, busying himself once again with cooking. “Yoongi never has love like that, I guess. It’s understandable that he acts like a sad lonely cat.”

Seokjin could still clearly remember how Yoongi looked at you. It was like you were all he ever wanted and more, like you were his reprieve from the darkness in his life. You were, as he called you, an angel to him. And then he lost you.

“Why?”

“Well…she’s his personal slice of heaven,” he answered, his voice contemplative and understanding of what Yoongi was going through. Jin paused in his chopping, a thoughtful expression crossing his features as he carefully considered his words. “And he’s been living in hell the very moment he was born. What do you think would happen if he was given a taste of heaven and then lost it?”

“Just like Hoseok hyung,” Taehyung nodded, slightly understanding the downfall of these strong men.

“Seriously, you are all worse than the ahjummas who love to talk about other people’s lives. Be better than that, guys,” Kim Namjoon observed with his deadpanned voice as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He took in the scene of the two men conversing and the other man quietly eating the snack Jin prepared him.

Jin scoffed as he rolled his eyes at Namjoon. “As if you wouldn’t react like that when your secretary finally resigns.”

To which, Namjoon only smirked. “Who says she can leave?”

“How will you stop her and her son if the father finally shows up?”

Namjoon, with his hand in his pocket, calmly uttered words that no normal people would believe to have any other meaning. “Well, as you said, the dead don’t exactly come back to life, do they?”

 Jin chuckled at Namjoon. Of course, he did something about that man. It was apparent, he thought. He could still vividly remember the look in Namjoon’s eyes when he told him that his secretary was pregnant and that the asshole of a father even put his hands on her. Suffice to say, it was the most unhinged Namjoon ever was.

“I think Namjoon will be the worst among us if he ever loses the love of his life,” Jin noted with lightness in his voice.

“Nah,” Jungkook finally lifted his head from his bowl. “I sincerely think it’ll be Taehyung.”

The conversation never left Jeon Jungkook’s mind. Anyway, he didn’t need anyone to tell him to do this. He did this out of the bond he shared with his brothers. Had this happened to any among them, he would have done the same.

He thought that it was cruel to let them experience the same hell he had been living every single day.

And so, he worked tirelessly and utilized every available technology and connection he had just to look for Yoongi’s angel. When he said she was alive, when he said he felt in his heart that you could have not gone where he couldn’t follow, then he’d believed him. He wouldn’t lose anything by looking for you, Jungkook rationalized. But he didn’t want to unnecessarily get his brother’s hopes up until he had evidence that you were indeed alive.

One morning, it finally happened. There you were.

Jungkook’s eyes could not have gone any bigger as he watched the CCTV of a far province in his office.

That was you, he was sure.

Without a moment's hesitation, he reached for his phone and dialed the person he knew he could trust. "Hyung, can you come to my office?" he requested urgently, the excitement and disbelief evident in his voice.

“That’s her,” Kim Namjoon validated after a moment. He was standing beside Jungkook’s seated form as he leaned in the monitor. He was ever the image of calmness with his hand in his pocket, his suit immaculate and not a crease in sight.

Seokjin raised his brows as he sat in a relaxed manner on the couch. Jungkook didn’t even call him, yet he was here because he was, per his words, bored and that a certain sunshine was not where she should be. “So the dead can indeed come back to life,” he noted with a tone the two men couldn’t understand. “Pray tell, Namjoon-ah. Should we tell Yoongi?”

Jungkook blinked at the rising tension between the two men. Whereas Jin merely looked curious, Namjoon looked like he was looking at the end of the sword with the way his jaw was clenched. He stood up straight and took a second to answer Seokjin.

“Of course, hyung. This is a great news, after all.”

“Hmm,” Seokjin smirked, his legs crossed as though nothing could have fazed him. It was moment like this when Jungkook could see the mafia prince in his usually playful hyung. Everybody knew not to cross this man despite him appearing goofy and motherlike to them.

Jungkook thought that it would only take one momentous catastrophe for him to return to his dark persona. He didn’t want to see that, though.

“He’s suffered enough, right?” Jin asked the room with a light tone, yet his eyes pierced through Namjoon’s. “Right, Namjoon-ah?”

Seven Mississippis passed before he answered. Jungkook knew because he counted, and he hated the tension he didn’t know why was present.

“Jungkook, tell Yoongi hyung,” Namjoon ordered.

—-

Min Yoongi’s brows were pulled together as he walked in a bustling street of a faraway province. He had to drive almost four hours just because their maknae told him to be here at this exact hour, claiming that he desperately needed him to be there. However, Jungkook was not answering his phone despite numerous calls from him.

Where was even that little shit, Yoongi asked himself as he surveyed the whole place.  

Despite barely getting any sleep, he found himself in a situation where he might have to scold his youngest brother for the first time. He should have been in Seoul right now, but he couldn’t exactly say no to him. He had shit ton of things to do and yet he was indulging the youngest brother.

Maybe this was exactly why he was spoiled? Ah, but anyway, he was a good kid.

So where was he?!

He walked further into the thick of the plaza, his phone plastered in his ear as he listened to the annoying and incessant ringback tone of Jungkook. Seriously, at this day and age? His eyes roamed the area of happy locals, at which he rolled his eyes.

He was on the verge of deciding whether he should just go ahead and kill Jungkook when he finally answered.

“Where the fuck are you?” he growled over the other line, his patience running thin when the man just answered innocently.

“At Seoul, hyung-“

“Then why am I here?! I swear to heavens, if you made me drive here just to buy you a weird snack then I’ll really kill you!”

“Seokjin hyung will be mad!”

Right. The eldest was protective of the youngest. What a nuisance, he thought. “Then I’ll do it in secret.”

Jungkook chuckled nervously. He couldn’t place whether he was joking or not. His money was that if his hyung could get away with it, he’d be floating in the river at this very moment. “I asked you to go there because I have a surprise for you, hyung.”

“I don’t particularly enjoy surprises-” he began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“I know, I know. But this one, I’m sure you’ll like. This is the most beautiful, most precious, most amazing surprise ever. You’ll stop sulking and looking like a sad cat and Jimin hyung will finally stop taking badly captured and cropped photos of you and make it into a collage. Taehyung hyung will stop observing your miserable demeanor for his next movie. You’ll finally stop living like it’s such a chore and-“

His back was bumped by a force. Turning around, he prepared to glare at the perpetrator only to stop because there it was.

There was you.

It was as if the universe finally said that he had enough and stopped punishing him because he saw you when he was not even looking for you. Your mouth hanged agape, your hand going to your forehead as you murmured apologies to him.

He was stunted. No, he was bewildered.

Was this real? Or was this one of his cruel dreams again, a figment of his mind playing tricks on him?

But no.

He had been living in hell, yet moment he heard your voice, all the sufferings disappeared. This was really you. You were truly alive. He was frozen as his wildest dream was brought into life. His whole body went into a state of shock, something that he never thought could ever happen.

It didn’t really matter the years he spent without you because one touch, one word- these were all it took for him to forget the bitterness your separation brought him.

With a trembling voice, Yoongi dared to call for you. “Ange-”

But before he could say another word, you interrupted, your voice light and apologetic.

“I’m really sorry, mister. I didn’t see you,” you chuckled, slightly lifting your walking stick to explain the small accident. You bowed down at the man before going your way.

And he stood there, watching as the love of his life walked away from him, unseeing. He thought he could no longer hurt. He thought that nothing could have fazed him any longer. But he was wrong. Watching you walked, unseeing as you traversed the plaza with only your walking stick pained him.

How did this happen to you?

Was it because of the incident?

Was that why you couldn’t return to him? Because you weren’t able to?

Or did he miss all the glaring signs?

Slowly, he lifted the old phone you gifted him years ago to his ear. “You didn’t stop looking for her?”

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. “Well…I would never wish this hell on anyone, much less my brother,” he stated, his voice carrying a certain tone of sadness they often heard from him. “Go get her, hyung.”

The bustling city streets faded into a blur around you as you walked, your steps slow and deliberate despite the cacophony of noise that surrounded you. Your sight may have been almost gone, but your other senses seemed to have sharpened in response, each sound and scent painting a vivid picture in his mind.

You remembered that when you were younger, you read a passage from a book entitled, ‘The Song of Achilles’. You thought it was a well-written book, a love that transcended even death. There was a line your college friends always thought to be a masterpiece. But you never understood it. The line so many people loved never really touched you.

Until it did.

Until you understood each word written in that book.

“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

Because right now, the words made sense. You could recognize him despite your deteriorating eyesight. You knew him. He was here. And he was following you…to what exactly? Was he here to end you? Was he here to make sure that you wouldn’t tell the world of his secret identity?

Regardless of the reason, you tried to remain calm as Hoseok always ordered you to. You had no choice but to lead him back home, otherwise you were sure that he would be suspicious. The man that you used to love was perceptive, and any suspicious movements could alert him. From the moment you opened the front door to the time you closed it, you knew you only had a couple of seconds.

You fished the phone Hoseok gave you, one with tactile buttons and controls that made it easier for you to use it. You knew you couldn’t use the speech-to-text feature, otherwise he’d hear. And so, with a tense movement, you sent a message to him.

He’s here. Don’t come home. Leave with my son.

Part IV

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Oh fuck, only three months into Backbreaker Challenge and I cannot believe I'm doing this..... My family knows I'm a streamer and I've been looking to increase my audience. So they convinced me to do this. I'm so screwed, aren't I? It sounded innocent, kind of fun. Plus, definitely like a good way to increase my popularity. I just have to take a two year supply of this ultra potent breast growth drug from South Korea, like the kind they give to idols and girl groups over there..... Grow a big, fat pair of titties for my fans and have my family encourage me along the way? Win-win.

Then I made the mistake of actually looking up the challenge. Soooo apparently all those popstars just take a tiny dose over years to maintain steady growth up to like a MM-Cup at the height of their career. If you take the pills like this, the way they were tested on girls in a bunch of clinical trials.... well, you end up totally immobilized by your boobs. Like, I'm just a streamer who plays games so if I'm stuck in bed with a massive pair of boobs I can't even lift, fine. It's whatever. But part of this challenge is trying to remain active, film yourself trying to exercise, dance, go to the gym, all while growing these massive boobs that weigh over 100lbs and not resign yourself to being bedbound. Look at how huge mine are! I was only a B-Cup three months ago. These things are like udders already, soooo heavy and starting to lactate, even....

How am I going to stay mobile for two years??? Well, apparently that's all part of the challenge. I commented on some vids and they recommended I learn to game and stream using eye-based software in case my poor back gives out, because apparently it's very possible I might wind up doing exactly as the challenge says. I could break my back! Wind up paralyzed.... It's happened to more than a few girls who did this. Then I'd be stuck in bed, my parents taking care of me. I wouldn't be able to feel anything..... I'd be surrounded by these gigantic breasts, but I wouldn't feel a single inch of them, or my own pussy..... I could only watch if somebody had their way with my sexy body. Look them in the eyes as they go to town, like a kid at a playground, fucking my giant boobs, my pussy, using me however they like. They could be as rough as they want, since I couldn't feel any of it anyway...... Actually, is it weird that I think it sounds kinda fun? Maybe I should take a little extra and stress out my poor back faster. Could you imagine watching me stream naked, propped up by my parents, posed like a doll, my mammoth tits bulging out in every direction all around me, weighing 200lbs each..... I chat with you guys and play just using my eyes, totally helpless. Maybe my biggest donors could even come visit me and have their way with my poor, helpless body as I play..... does that sound fun?"

[thedensworld]

Ten Years| J.Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: angst, established relationship, My Demon references

Words count: 2k

Summary: In hospital Wonwoo is a doctor, and back to house he is your husband. However, your sudden conditions make him choose.

Wonwoo had just finished attending to one of the recent patients who arrived at the emergency room with a fractured left leg. The chaotic atmosphere was a constant in the emergency room, with patients flooding in throughout the day. It had only been four hours into his shift, and Wonwoo had already cared for more than twenty individuals, each presenting a unique set of medical challenges.

Amidst the persistent hustle, another emergency call suddenly disrupted the relative calm around Wonwoo. As he stood near the phone, his attention was torn from the medical charts to the urgent message. It wasn't unusual to receive information in advance, but the unusual silence from the nurse prompted him to lift his head in curiosity. The nurse, her eyes widened, stared at him, seemingly struggling to find words. Wonwoo, sensing something amiss, mouthed a quiet "why?" before the distant sound of sirens slowly crept closer to the emergency room.

Before he could take another step toward the entrance, Kim Mingyu, his best friend and fellow doctor, halted him breathlessly. Wonwoo stood in shock, witnessing Mingyu's horrified gaze fixed upon him.

"Wonwoo, don't," Mingyu pleaded urgently, diverting his attention to the ambulance that had just arrived. Wonwoo, unable to discern the situation, brushed him aside; the patient's well-being demanded his immediate focus. He approached the ambulance determinedly, with Mingyu desperately chasing after him, attempting to impede his progress.

As the ambulance doors swung open, nurses swiftly mobilized to transfer the patient to the bed. Mingyu gripped Wonwoo, his voice strained. "Don't go closer, Wonwoo."

Ignoring Mingyu's plea, Wonwoo pressed forward. The harsh reality unfolded before him as he witnessed your bloodied form being moved onto the cart. Frozen in place, he struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation, his best efforts to maintain composure slipping away.

"Ji Y/n, on her thirties, three stab wounds," a nurse reported clinically. Wonwoo's gaze remained fixed on you, lying lifelessly on the bed, the weight of the moment sinking in. The air was thick with tension and fear as the medical team rushed to address the critical condition before them.

Wonwoo struggled to process the unfolding nightmare. His wife, now in the hospital with three stab wounds, left him grappling with the unknown origin of the attack.

Mingyu, though visibly shaken himself, offered a grim explanation – you had fallen victim to random acts of violence occurring in South Korea. In the midst of the chaotic emergency room, Mingyu assured Wonwoo that he would personally oversee your critical situation.

As Wonwoo, his hands trembling, tried to catch a glimpse of you amidst the medical flurry, Mingyu stepped up to provide much-needed support. "I'll make sure she receives the best care, Wonwoo. Stay strong."

With a nod, Wonwoo expressed a plea to the nurse team, his voice quivering, "She's pregnant; please be careful." His eyes remained fixed on you as they moved you towards the operating room, each step an agonizing moment for Wonwoo, who felt a profound sense of helplessness in the face of the unexpected tragedy.

In the tense confines of the hospital waiting room, the atmosphere was thick with worry as doctors assessed the severity of the stab wounds. Mingyu, amidst the chaos, approached Wonwoo with a grave expression.

"The stab wounds were serious, but we caught it in time. There's a chance of survival, but it will be a tough road ahead," Mingyu conveyed, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. Wonwoo's heart sank, his concern for you intensifying.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo couldn't shake the deep worry for both you and the life growing within you. The impending uncertainty surrounding the baby's well-being added an extra layer of anxiety to an already distressing situation. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, and Wonwoo found himself grappling with the fear of the unknown, desperately hoping for positive news.

In the midst of the turmoil, your parents arrived at the hospital, their faces etched with concern. The president of Jis University Hospital and his spouse, usually figures of authority and composure, now revealed the vulnerability of worried parents. They approached Wonwoo, their shared concern uniting them in a moment of shared anxiety.

As the hospital corridors echoed with the hushed conversations of doctors and the beeping of machines, your fate and that of the precious life you carried hung in the balance, leaving Wonwoo and your parents anxiously awaiting any sign of hope from the operating room.

*

Despite the stark contrast in your chosen paths, fate wove an unexpected connection between you and Wonwoo. You, the daughter of Jis University Hospital's president, embarked on a journey in law, deviating from the medical legacy of your family. Wonwoo, on the other hand, had been one of your father's standout students, carving his niche in the medical field.

The intertwining of your lives unfolded when both of you decided to volunteer at a Cancer Foundation. The shared commitment to a cause greater than yourselves became the bridge that brought you together. Wonwoo's dedication and compassion in treating patients mirrored your own passion for justice and advocacy as a lawyer.

Three years ago, just two weeks after your first encounter, a horrifying incident unfolded. A client, disgruntled by a legal outcome, attacked you, resulting in a fractured shoulder. Fate intervened, leading you to the very hospital where Wonwoo worked. He became your attending doctor, tending not only to your physical wounds but unknowingly laying the foundation for a deeper connection.

In those challenging days of recovery, Wonwoo's empathy and care became a source of solace. The hospital visits evolved into shared laughter, and a bond blossomed between patient and doctor. It was a turning point, marking the beginning of a relationship neither of you could have anticipated.

Fast forward to the hospital's 15th-anniversary celebration, where the spark between you and Wonwoo reignited. Amidst the festive atmosphere, you found yourselves engaged in conversation, exchanging subtle flirtations that hinted at the unspoken connection between you two. However, the celebration took an unexpected turn when Wonwoo was urgently summoned for an emergency surgery.

As he excused himself, he locked eyes with you, a promise lingering in the air. "I'll meet you again after the surgery," he assured, his words carrying a commitment that surpassed the casual banter of the evening.

At midnight, a series of urgent knocks jolted you awake, only to discover a weary Wonwoo at your doorstep. "I asked Mingyu about your place," he mumbled, weariness evident in his eyes. The mention of your cousin, Kim Mingyu, left an air of mystery lingering in the room.

In a vulnerable moment, Wonwoo found himself torn when asked to sign a paper for your surgery. He wished to choose both you and the unborn child, but the harsh reality of the world intervened. The doctor overseeing your surgery delivered a grim verdict – a choice had to be made, and it was impossible for all two of you to survive. Your first trimester, still on a precarious edge, made the situation even more dire.

As you lay on the brink, losing precious blood that jeopardized both your life and the pregnancy, the doctor's solemn words hung in the air. "We need to sacrifice the baby, Dr. Jeon," he asserted, thrusting Wonwoo into a heart-wrenching dilemma.

For nearly two years, you and Wonwoo had fervently tried to conceive. Months before finally succeeding, you took a temporary leave from work, both of you eager and serious about embracing parenthood. That morning, you shared breakfast with Wonwoo, a newfound routine since leaving your job, radiating vibrancy. Little did you know, it would be the last carefree morning for a while.

During breakfast, plans for your day unfolded, with a lunch visit to a friend's bakery and a proposal for a cozy dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant. Wonwoo enthusiastically agreed, nodding his head in anticipation.

However, as the night unfolded, the joyous prospect of dinner turned into an unimaginable ordeal. Wonwoo found himself unable to fathom the idea of a simple dinner, haunted by the agonizing decision that awaited him at the hospital. Dinner plans shattered, replaced by the weight of an impending choice that would alter your lives forever.

*

Your condition deteriorated rapidly in the days following the surgery, prompting a transfer to the ICU. Wonwoo, seasoned in facing numerous medical challenges, found his usually steady hands clenched in despair. The grim reality unfolded – it seemed nearly impossible for you to survive in your critical state.

Mingyu, having discussed the delicate matter of abortion with Wonwoo, acknowledged the weight of the decision. He empathetically stated, "There has never been an easy decision from the first place," a reminder of the gravity of your precarious condition. Wonwoo, however, shook his head, unable to bring himself to make the agonizing choice.

"I just can't, Mingyu. I just can't," Wonwoo uttered, his internal struggle palpable.

"But you have to choose, Wonwoo. Do you want to put her in a more critical condition?" Mingyu pressed, emphasizing the urgency of the decision.

Three critical stabs had wounded your vital organs, and although the surgery was deemed successful, the unexpected internal bleeding cast a shadow over your recovery. The doctor who attended to you recommended aborting the baby, foreseeing the challenges it posed to your healing process. Yet, Wonwoo hesitated, unwilling to sign the abortion papers. He knew all too well that your instincts would align with his – a fierce desire to protect the unborn child, despite the grim reality that surrounded both you and your baby.

Lost in his thoughts, Wonwoo was startled when a stranger quietly took a seat beside him. Turning to face the unexpected company, he found the mysterious figure closely observing you through the window. "I can fulfill your wish," the stranger declared calmly, his presence sending a shiver down Wonwoo's spine.

Brows furrowed, Wonwoo questioned, "Who are you?" The stranger, with an eerie calmness, revealed, "I'm a demon. I can turn human wishes into reality." Wonwoo dismissed it, urging the mysterious figure to leave, suspecting a cruel game.

To Wonwoo's astonishment, the man produced a roll of paper, seemingly conjured from thin air with a spark of fire. As it unfolded, he offered a tempting proposition, "I can make the baby survive, and also your wife." The roll revealed contractual terms, symbolizing the gravity of the offer.

A smile played on the demon's lips as he proudly presented the conditions, "However, you could only live for ten years. You could only see them in ten years." Wonwoo, torn and desperate, shifted his gaze to you. In a hushed whisper, he asked, "Are they not gonna make it?"

The demon, seemingly unperturbed, conjured another roll, claiming, "Wait. Lemme check." As he read the ethereal text, he revealed an unsettling truth, "Your wife is going to have a heart attack in fifteen minutes. You won't be able to see her until tomorrow; she'll collapse." Wonwoo's lips tightened, wrestling with the weight of impending tragedy.

Seeking assurance, Wonwoo questioned the demon, "Can you really make them survive?" The man nodded, presenting the contractual sign. Floating in the air, it became a tangible representation of the choices before Wonwoo. Determination filled his voice as he uttered, "Please. Grant my wishes.

The demon, with a sinister smile, accepted, "Alright..." The unfolding events carried an air of impending consequence, as Wonwoo made a pact that would alter the course of his life and those he held dear.

*

Ten years ago, you made deal with the demon.

You have counting your life.

And the day is about to come.

To Wonwoo,

If you read this letter, I might not be here anymore. I just want to tell you that I love you, and I'm really grateful that I met you. It might be weird to you, but I did expect that I'm gonna leave first. So don't be too sad. Please continue your life peacefully.

I love you xx

02/11/2023

As the ink on the heartfelt message dried, the letter was consumed by flames.

The letter was burnt.

***

February 14th, 2013, marked a miraculous event at JIS University Hospital. The president, who had been in a coma following a massive car accident, astonishingly awoke. The hospital corridors buzzed with whispers of the inexplicable recovery, a twist of fate that left both staff and patients in awe. The air was charged with a sense of wonder and disbelief, as if a force beyond comprehension had intervened in the natural course of events.

[bigassmoth]

What in Hell is Bad Lucifer x reader 2nd pov r18,

Clit Clinic (roleplay, temperature play, medical kink, bondage, overstimulation, watersports(squirting), slight body modification (non-perm clit ring))

"The demons are quite rough with you." Lucifers voice came from between your legs. It was awkward enough laying down with your knees slightly parted- without him stating the obvious-all you could manage in response was a hum. You were dressed in a thin white hospital gown- much softer and silkier than you were familiar with in the human realm. The fabric pooled at your stomach as Lucifer lifted your legs, fully exposing your bare pussy to the slightly chilly room. You yelped in surprise and reflexively jerked away but Lucifer held firm. He frowns and lets out a short puff of disapproval.

"You will need additional treatment." He releases your legs and stands up. While you frantically pull your gown down to cover your cold lower body, Lucifer begins fiddling with the rigging system that hangs over the bed. You assumed the structure was in place for aiding mobility and keeping medical equipment organized but then Lucifer attached a set of fur-lined leather cuffs. Your eyes go wide and your throat dry.

"What do I need treatment for?" Your voice comes out husky and that alone is enough for Lucifers cock to start swelling. He looks at you and wordlessly holds out his hand. You place your ankle into his palm and settle into a more comfortable position as he raises your leg to the cuff and gently binds it.

"I will get cold. And I want a pillow." You request while offering him your other ankle. Lucifer hums again while he finishes buckling you in, taking a moment to look at your exposed bottom before leaving the room. You squirm once alone, you would be able to unbuckle yourself but it was more fun to pretend helplessness.

Lucifer comes back with a pillow and a hot compress which he slides under your hips to warm your lower back. You take the pillow from him and adjust it behind your neck as Lucifer straps your knees to each side of the rigging. Testing your restraints, your feet are held fast in the air while it becomes impossible to close your legs. Your hips wiggle but the motion is limited.

While you were feeling out your position, Lucifer had grabbed a number of items on a tray. He sat in his chair and rolled to the edge of your bed. You lifted your head but wasnt able to see what was on the tray. Without giving you a warning, something warm and wet touched your mound. A warm towel which was used to clean your pubic region, lips, clit, and the outside of your holes. Lucifers hands helped guide the cloth where is needed to go, he had already coated his gloves with warm lube. You hummed with his ministrations, trying not to tense and wiggle your ass as he rubbed tight circles in your asshole with the towel. Mammon had trained your body well.

Lucifer still wasnt done with cleaning as he peeled back the hood of your clit and used a wet q-tip to circle it. Your legs jerked against the restraints, his touch was firm despite the area being so tender. You cant think if you have ever had someone pay such close attention to the inner-most skin of your clit before- that even the hood felt tingly. As you pant above him, Lucifer finishes. His hands leave your pussy and you let out a breath you hadnt realized you were holding. Your hole throbs as your half-hard clit stands as evidence to the upcoming treat.

"Good, we will start with this." Lucifers voice is a thick whisper of anticipation. A smooth, cool, metal instrument coated in lube begins to caress your clit. You moan and squeeze your hands around your (now useless) gown. The instrument is rounded and gently scooped, perfectly sliding into hood and aroundyour clit again. Your noises escalate in pitch. He moves out from your folds to use the instrument to rub circles on the tip of your clit.

"Lucifer i-its hard." You are of course talking about your poor abused nub. He hums.

"Yes but we need more. I dont want your clit to be able to hide after this. To do that it must become swollen enough for me to see it through your underwear." The most youve ever heard him say at once and its that. Your heart is in your throat and you uselessly squirm.

"Ah- thats so embarrassing!" You play to the fantasy, remembering that angels are kept erect in cages. It was Lucifers remix of his past experience, having you express sexual energy without it being confined to metal.

The sensations on your clit stop. "Dont worry, it will go down by the time you leave." He misinterpreted your tone and casts you a slightly worried look while rubbing a hand over your calf.

You bite your lip and do your best to present a pitiful look. "Ah but Im here for two days...how will you know its still hard? Will you make me show you? Will I have to walk around in only thin underwear?"

Lucifers hot breath begins hitting your pussy as he pants, his face flushed.

"If you behave then you can wear clothes." His hands are rubbing the outside of your thighs, one gloves and smearing lube on your skin and the other sweaty and hot. When you nod your submission, Lucifer groans. This was a fantasy of his from being an angel, forced to contain his own raging sexual desire while cultivating and worshipping his Gods.

He picked up a bullet vibrator next and placed it below your clit so the vibrator just barely grazed the underside. You groaned and couldnt stop your twitching hips.

"Ah-wait I havent gone to the bat-" you start to panic but Lucifer only grinds the vibrator directly against the opening of your urethra. Your pussy clenches against nothing with only the ghost of vibrations to keep it company. The tender roof of your urethral canal directing vibrations into your clit. You cry as you squirt, Lucifer only removing the vibrator after you lost full control of your bladder. You whimper in the aftermath, legs trembling. Lucifer presss the vibrator directly to your clit before you have time to recover, causing you to thrash in the bed.

"Behave," he removes the vibrator while he speaks and pets your inner thigh with his free hand. "Or else."

"O-or else what?" Your body is shivering as you ask. Lucifer sets down the vibrator. You feel a band of cold metal slip over your clit, a loose fit, a jolt of electricity runs up your spine.

"A ring."

Lucifer groans out his threat and you moan in response. You wiggle your hips and whine.

"That wont work on me. its too big."

He is panting against you like a dog, going as far as to lean his cheek against your leg. Lucifers eyes meet your in a daze, both of you in dazed anticipation.

"It will fit." He picks up another tool from the table.

And fit it did. The process took about an hour and a half of rubbing in creams, using vibrators, and pulling out multiple orgasms from you without once touching your pussy or ass. With the ring at the base of your clit under the hood, your organ was forcibly erect. It would have been better to be naked, the crotchless panties you wore scratched at your clit. Lucifer checked on you frequently, lifting your skirt (he required easy access) to view the stickiness between your thighs. Politely he would lap up your arousal- never poking his tongue inside you despite your begging. Once cleaned he would perform "maintainance" on your abused clit, assuring you that it was necessary to keep it hard. He would suck and lick at your clit through the underwear until the fabric would cling to you. Then without providing you real sexual relief he would pull away and you would endure until he graced you with his attention again.

That night you went to his room for your final check. He removed the ring and sat your aching hole on his cock. But his hands held your hips down to his, forcing you to take all of his uncomfortable length. Despite your sweet kisses to his mouth he wouldnt move. Even worse, he came when he entered you so he wasnt in the state of desperation you were.

"Pleasure yourself." He whispered against your lips. You whined but relented.

"Only if you properly fuck me after, ok?"

Lucifer nodded eagerly, his entire body shaking. His eyes watched with rapt attention as you gathered some of his cum which had leaked from your hole. Your fingertips worked your clit and in a matter of seconds you were screaming as an orgasm shot through you. Lucifer groaned and released again, your pussy had been aching for hours and now held him in an authoritative vicegrip.

"Forgive me" Lucifer said to no one in particular as he finally began pumping in and out of you. You clung to his shoulders and sang his praises finally getting relief for the sweet burn he had lit in you. Lucifer came again shortly after, tears pricking his eyes as they roll back into his head. It was a delicious taboo, to break his oath of servitude to pleasure himself alongside you.

[salt-baby]

another non-exhaustive list of good disability experiences because i am going feral from blood sugar variations (first one is here):

- my roommate asking me if I was having a bad hand pain day because they beat me at Mariokart and had no clue how

- the way it feels to replace worn out gear with brand new stuff

- my partner turning to me and going "oh you lost a bit of muscle tone in your neck here" and when I asked how on earth they knew that they responded "you told me that muscle can act up sometimes so I keep an eye on it"

- my parent borrowing my car for a bit and returning it with medical-diet-friendly recipes tucked into the seat pocket

- dancing in the kitchen on a low pain day

- my pt signing paperwork for a permanent parking placard when I was hoping for a temporary one (it lasts until 2026! I never again have to convince a doctor to sign for it!)

- sitting on a speaker in the front while my partners band plays, because it's the most accessible seat in the room, but man what a view

- meeting a person my age with a super cool mobility aid at a party and swapping social media info

- my roommate handing me the shopping cart when we start grocery shopping because I use it as a walker, and inevitably asking me near the end if I'd like them to push when it gets heavy

- calling my car the cripple-mobile

- the secretary at my orthotics clinic calling my insurance at least once a day for two weeks to try and get the authorization through, which is so far above and beyond their job description

- my partner fascinated by the way the skin moves on my thigh, and turning to me to say "I know sometimes your body causes you pain but it really is just so cool"

- the young person who came into my workplace and asked about my ring splints, and then explained that because their friend might have EDS they've been educating themselves on it to support them

- it's not necessarily an easy process, but the satisfaction I get from the progress I've made in loving my body the way it is, scars and messed up joints and pain and all

- also the way my partner tsks at me when my knee is in a bad position while we're cuddling

as always if anyone wants the full story behind any of these my asks are open

[according2thelore]

The best part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam Winchester needs him. The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him.

The best part happens when Sammy takes his first tottering steps towards Dean. It happens when the first word out of his mouth, when Dad is sloppy drunk on the couch watching a football game that Dad can’t count the points for, is a frantic and excited “Dee-n” as he stacks the pile of blocks correctly on rough, scratchy motel carpet.

The best part happens when Sammy scrapes his knee at a soccer game and runs straight to Dean—not Dad—and he see the look in Dad’s eye as Dean wipes the tears from his ruddy cheeks. Dean’s the one that Sam wants, he’s the most important one here. His is the neck that Sam’ll wail into, until Dad pries him away.

Sam needs Dean to teach him how to throw a punch in a dirt-lot in Mobile, Sam needs Dean to reset his dislocated shoulders, he needs him to buy ice cream and save up to buy him toy trucks and pack his lunches so Sam can have food that he likes in schools that he doesn’t. He needs Dean to curl into to fall asleep until Dad suddenly decides that that’s pussy-shit and drag a scream-sobbing Sam away to his own bed.

He needs Dean to tie his shoelaces and cuff his jeans and press a kiss to his forehead. He needs Dean’s old clothing, needs Dean to take him to soccer practice and clap louder than any parent at every single school play, whistling so loud that a few people duck. He needs Dean to embarrass him in front of girlfriends, needs Dean to lend him sweatshirts that Sam can fall asleep with his nose tucked into, eyes sliding closed contented and sun-warm in the Impala’s passenger seat. When Sam’s scared, he goes to Dean first. When Sam’s upset, he goes to Dean first. When Sam’s happy, over the heads of people in school cafeterias and in hallways and sprinting at him across graveyards, he turns to Dean first. In the middle of a hunt—and Dean has no idea if Sam knows he does it—Sam goes Dean, Dean, Dean under his breath when things start to turn south, like Sam can summon him, like the idea of Dean can keep monsters away.

Sam needs Dean because in the winter, his nose starts to get cold first, since it slopes down and away from his face. He liked tucking it under Dean’s jaw when they shared a bed as children, and currently likes shoving his icicle feet under Dean’s thigh when they sit on couches together. He calls Dean a human furnace, but Dean’s secret is he has regularly proportioned limbs. Sam’s too damn big to give circulation to his freak feet, so Dean keeps “finding” pairs of woolen socks that he slips into Sam’s laundry when he’s not looking.

Sam needs Dean for his Blockbuster card (good in all fifty states, fuck yeah) registered under John McClane that the acne-ridden counter guy issued Dean with a raised brow. Sam likes M&Ms in his popcorn because he’s clinically insane, and Dean buys them liter bottles of pop that they can trade lazily back and forth because they can’t afford more than one individual bottle.

Sam needs Dean to take him out when they get to wherever they go next. Sam likes going to the movies and hates hiking and loves public libraries. He leans into Dean, no matter how old he gets, in the darkness of a movie theater, presses his foot against Dean’s under the table at diners, lets Dean throw his arm around him while Dean chats up girls at a public pool, like he’s afraid if Dean’s not touching him, either of them might snap out of existence.

Who else will adore this kid like he does? No one. No one could.

The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him.

The worst part happens when Dean uses his body as a shield to protect Dad or Sam or both from barely restrained blows. It happens when Dean lets Sam rant and rave, when Dean talks Sam off a ledge, steps outside to talk Dad from pushing Sam off a ledge, lets him spit venom about Sam right back. The worst part is being the depository for their hatred and their tempers and their love.

The betrayal in Sam’s eyes when Dean tries to calm him down guts him. The anger in Dad’s eyes when Dean tells him Sam means well is a blow to the skull.

Loyalty to either is a betrayal to both and Dean is sixteen.

Dean is sixteen and he’s got pimples and his bones hurt and Dad won’t stop screaming. Dean is sixteen and Sam won’t look at him most days for choosing Dad, as if Dean is physically capable of choosing anything other than the boy that planted his roots in Dean’s bones instead, when Dean had to prune them from Sacramento and Knoxville and Tampa. 

Sam needs him.

Sam needs him to be in the middle because they need a father.

The worst part is when Sam needs twelve dollars to go on this field trip to the museum that he’s been looking forward to because they’ve been in town long enough to look forward to something. Dean has just spent his last cents at a bar the night before because he’s sixteen and he’s scared, and he’s lonely because Cindy at the bar last night was the first not-Sam person Dean had spent longer than two sentences with in three weeks and four days. The worst part is that look in his eyes, and Dean smiles and plays along to the dumb-drunk-older-brother thing, because if Dean says that he spent the money because he’s miserable and dependent and scared, Sam will—Sam—Dean doesn’t know what Sam’ll do. Dean has never let Sam be that uncertain yet.

The worst part is having nightmares into his pillow, burying his grief and his tears in the motel sink at four a.m. because Sammy is sleeping in the other bed. 

The worst part is being fourteen and Dad hasn’t been back in a few weeks and the twenty bucks on the table evaporated a few days ago.

The worst part is being fourteen. 

The worst part is having to make a shelter out of his ribcage, out of slow smirks and lit cigarettes drooping from drunk men’s fingers, of sweaty, crumpled bills passing over a long-haul truck’s driver’s seat. The worst part trading those bills for Slim Jims and Kraft mac and cheese and marshmallow creme to make it seem like more food than it is, the look that the till girl gives him when she sees phone numbers written over Lincoln’s face. 

The worst part is being seventeen, and something’s got to give, so Dad looks at Dean. Dean’s going to give—of course Dean is going to give, because it can’t be Sam. Sam loves school, needs it—needs other people in a way Dean has trained himself not to want. So Dean drops out of high school in senior year, so Dad’ll stop picking fights with Sam about needing a hunting partner, so why doesn’t Sam just stop going to school?

Dean thinks the worst thing he thought about Dad to that point while he avoids eye contact with the guidance counsellor when he tells him the news. I want to drop out, Dean says, because he has to end it for Sam. What does school have for him anyway? Kids that’ll never understand him? A GED that he’ll never need? Dean hates feeling stupid, hates kids laughing at him behind his back because he had to move when they learned how to do times tables and he doesn’t know what seven times nine is. He hates the prickle of inferiority. 

But Dean thinks: I am the one you created to love you. He is the one you created to hate you. You need both of us. But you only care about one. You crave the challenge of winning—even love, even your son. I never won your approval, so what was it worth?

Dean banishes it as soon as he thinks it, goddamn horrified. That’s awful. It’s ridiculous. It’s pussy shit, is what it is. Dad’s right. Dad’s good. (Dad is right. Dad has to be right, has to be infallible, because in twelve years after Dean has left his eighth teary voicemail to a dead phone line after Sammy starts throwing up after his visions, after he stops eating because he sleeps in blood now it drips from his fingers, he will start to realize and it will undo him—What has it been for? If Dad’s not right—If Dad’s not good—then what is Dean? What has Dean torn up Sam’s roots for? What has Dean lost girlfriends and childhood memories and prom and almost lost limbs for? Dean has ripped himself apart and put himself back together so John Winchester can be right. If he’s not right, then Dean is misshapen for nothing.)

The worst part is being nineteen.

The worst part is the fact that Sam hates him anyway. That Sam rages against the bars of Dean’s ribcage because it might keep the rain off but God, who would want to be trapped next to this heart?

It bangs and slams all hours of the day, and it’s so goddamn hollow—even worse, it’s not hollow at all, it’s just SamSamSamSam—it’s just Sam’s long limbs and fox-slanted eyes and the mole to the left of his nose and the way he snorts when he’s trying not to laugh and the way his mouth looks after he gnaws on it and the way he tries to lick ice cream off his own nose, the way his face looks slack in sleep, the way he’s moulded himself to fit Dean a little, too.

His heart is sickening. It’s rotting, it’s metastasizing the air that Sam needs to breathe.

The best part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam Winchester needs him. The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him. And Dean’s not enough.

The very worst part though, the part that makes Dean eye his pistol sidelong as Sam’s back gets smaller and smaller as he walks away with his duffle bag over his shoulder and he knows—he knows, that at the end of this, Sam will never turn back, it will be Dean on his hands and knees, begging Sammy to come back, Sam will never look at him again if he’s given the chance to look away—

The very worst part about being Dean Winchester, is that Dean needs Sam more than Sam will ever need him.

crossposted on ao3 here

[extra-stout-stories]

About / Index of Stories

[FYI: This account replaces @cigarette-smoking-bird, which was shadowbanned by Tumblr. As of May 2024 all my content from that account has been reposted here and @cigarette-smoking-bird has been deleted.]

Writer. Fat4fat switchy feedist and mutual gainer. Believer in fat liberation and responsible hedonism. IRL smallfat in pursuit of a sustainable balance between real life and my wildly kinky desires.

I'm here to share my fiction and have interesting conversations about the kink. I love to receive feedback, story suggestions, and thoughtful platonic messages about this endlessly fascinating thing of ours. DMs are welcome. Minors DNI.

I'm a lifelong feedist who's been active in the community in the past. I'm taken by a partner who's fat but not a feedist, and this Tumblr is a outlet for this part of myself. Cishet male, but I follow inspirational bellies of all genders.

Index of stories below the cut. I write in a variety of genres and themes from wholesome to extreme, so please read the content warnings.

Stories

A Cat's-Eye View - A cat watches his human owner slowly give in to her desire to become fatter. (XWG, BBW to USSBBW, non-explicit, light romance. CW: Description of furniture breakage.)

Contrast / Gift - A hedonistic fat queen receives a package with a very special gift. (USSBBW, fit male FA. CW: Explicit sex and cunnilingus.)

Immobile Weekend - When a feedee agrees to try a weekend of bedroom roleplay, he enjoys it even more than he expected. (BBW feeder, BHM to USSBHM feedee, XWG, romantic vibe, spicy but no explicit sex. CW: Immobility, mild discussion of health issues.)

Marshmallow / Bondage - A fat dominant feeder and her even fatter submissive enjoy a night of bedroom fun. (SSBBW, USSBHM, femdom/mommy domme, orgasm denial, food play, light impact play. CW: D/S with roleplayed dubcon, immobility, bariatric equipment, cunnilingus and orgasm.)

Special Delivery - As a growing gainer's mobility diminishes, his regular delivery order takes an unexpected turn. (SSBHM to USSBHM feedee, gender-unspecified fat feeder, no explicit sex. CW: Immobility, bariatric tube feeding, brief moment of dubious consent.)

Stuck At Work - When two fat fast food workers end up in a tight situation, they discover that their feelings for one another are mutual. (Romantic soft feedist meet-cute, nothing explicit.)

The Weight Clinic - A fat man who's unsure about losing weight signs up for a very unusual treatment program led by a dominant doctor with an agenda of her own. (SSBHM feedee, SSBBW feeder, implicit XWG. CW: Dubious consent, drugs, medical and deathfeedist elements.)

The Weight Clinic: The (Brief) Return of Dr. Moore - Everyone's favorite mad scientist returns to introduce Feedist Kinktober '23. (Second person feedee POV, gender neutral. CW: Immobility, bariatric equipment, self-indulgent metafiction, threats of a terrible fate if you don't reblog my stories.)

Werewolf / Sweater Weather - On a secluded rural homestead, a man brings a meal home for his mate. (BHM, SSBBW, wholesome romance, non-explicit. CW: Wolf-on-stag violence.)

Short Vignettes

I post a lot of short vignettes, but I usually don't bother giving them titles or full descriptions. They can be read on the #feedist vignettes tag. I haven't put content warnings in the header of these short ones, but they're generally not too extreme. If you see something on this tag that you don't want to see and would like me to put a content warning in the tags, just shoot me a DM.

For my own reference, I've made a list of some of my more popular short vignettes indexed by title or first sentence, but check the tag because this isn't all of them.

"The Beach" (BHM, SSBBW, non-explicit)

"Fat tradwife of an equally fat husband" (What it says in the title)

"I can't believe I did it again" (First-person feedee POV)

"I can't believe I've done this to myself" (First-person feedee POV)

"It's not just about getting turned on by gaining weight" (Second-person feedee POV, wholesome feedism)

"Most people don't get turned on by food" (Second-person feedee POV)

"Not Fat Enough" (BBW feedee, dominant USSBHM feeder, stuffing. CW: Consensual power exchange.)

"Plump Little Tummy" (First-person feedee POV. CW: Immobility.)

"Reblog if you're into soft XWG" (My most popular post)

"She gazes up at her reflection in the ceiling mirror" (USSBBW, breeding kink)

"That Little Bit Fatter" (Second person feedee POV, wholesome feedism, SFW.)

"When the outside world sees you, they don't see self-discipline" (Second person feedee POV)

"You didn't expect all the fun you could have with your fatter belly" (Second person POV)

"You never thought you would go this far" (Second person feedee POV)

"You used to stay fit for contrast's sake" (Second person POV, mutual gaining)

[canary-prince]

Ways For US-Americans To Help If You're Abstaining From Voting

Can't vote on moral grounds, but still raring to do something? Stuck in America and unsure of how to meaningfully serve your community? Here are some ideas that I, a social worker serving house-bound citizens, can share out of personal experience. Feel free to add other ideas or links. We are not powerless.

Volunteer (these are just examples/sources of info)

Planned Parenthood needs volunteers for nearly every non-medical department

See if your state has a volunteer stewardship program, where you can help weed out invasive plant species and defend your natural ecosystem

If you have medical skills, become a street medic

Contribute to the preservation of Queer History

Put your labor towards the upkeep or repair of properties in Indigenous communities

Adult literacy is not great right now, and we're harder to lie to if we're literate; volunteer to help your neighbors who were failed by the school system

Resources to help the unhoused constantly need volunteer counselors, cooks, and someone to sort donations

The sick and elderly are very under-served, particularly if they're broke, so reach out to a local hospice to see what skills they need

Give (if you can't physically volunteer but have money to spare)

Donate to an abortion fund; this one is for Native peoples specifically

Donate to a book gifting program or book mobile; this link is for Dolly Parton's Imagination Library

Donate to preserve the histories of communities of color; this fund is specifically for preserving African American historical sites

Donate to protect the natural environment

Donate to help free those caged in prisons; this link is for the Innocence Project, which aims to challenge wrongful convictions

The arts are for everyone, but wealth gaps interfere; this fund is for art initiatives that contribute to community building, including increasing accessibility

Learn (resources that many communities have but aren't widely educated on)

Community Action Agencies: these are non-profits and private companies that act in service of their communities' human rights and quality of life. Many have utility funds, run food banks, manage emergency shelters, provide education and job skills opportunities, and participate in social activism.

Area Agencies on Aging: Non-profits that serve elders (and non-elderly disabled citizens) in a designated service area. They primarily offer services to prolong independent living (free or low cost in home care, meals on wheels, home safety modifications, and Medicare guidance) or help with transition into assisted living.

Habitat For Humanity: They aren't just in disaster zones or on foreign soil; they have local US chapters that provide critical repairs to families in need. They repair roofs, address barriers to access, and perform electric and plumbing work.

Durable Medical Equipment Loan Closets: Communal sources of vital medical equipment including wheelchairs, walkers, canes, hospital beds, shower chairs, and more. May be able to provide incontinence supplies or diabetes supplies. Rarely but sometimes provide oxygen.

Non Emergency Medical Transportation/Alternatives to Mass Transit: Transportation for elderly, disabled, cognitively impaired, and low income citizens to help them reach medical providers, dental care, physical therapy, and eye exam appointments. Can also provide transit to shopping centers, the grocery store, religious events, cultural events, and polling stations. Offer door to door services for the housebound. IF YOU HAVE MEDICAID, YOU SHOULD NOT EVER BE PAYING FOR THIS. MEDICAID IS OBLIGATED TO MAKE SURE YOU REACH ANY AND ALL MEDICAL APPOINTMENTS.

Legal Aid Clinics: Sources of pro-bono or sliding scale legal advice and representation.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Under The Stars and Stripes - One (Capt. Syverson x OFC)

a/n: look at your girl coming up with two multiparters at once!!! i wanted to write something sweet for capt. syverson (who moving forward, i have named luke, fyi), and my partner sort of suggested this (i mean, kinda, he thought it was what i was writing - turns out he was wrong but gave me a v good idea).

pairing: Capt. Syverson x Joanna Blake (OFC)

warnings/content: injuries, medical discussions, age gap (38 + 26), mentions of military service, inaccurate descriptions of physical therapy + military life.

word count: 1.9k

The unforgiving glare of the overhead lights in the medical center cast a harsh radiance over the waiting room. Luke's cerulean blue eyes squinted against the artificial glow in the room, his gaze wandering in search of anything remotely captivating. Opposite him, an infographic poster touted the virtues of physical activity and mental health, a message that seemed incongruous with the knee brace he begrudgingly wore. The irony of contemplating jogging or hitting the gym while nursing a wounded knee did not escape him.

"Luke Syverson?"

He swiveled his head in response to the melodic call of his name. In the doorway stood a woman, her blonde hair secured with a claw clip, a clipboard balanced gracefully in her hand. A warm, friendly smile adorned her heart-shaped face. With a half-hearted wave, Luke acknowledged her.

"Present and accounted for, ma'am."

Internally, he winced at the self-consciousness his response provoked. Rising to his feet, Luke attempted to distribute his weight favorably, minimizing the strain on his compromised leg. A sharp pang shot through his knee, confined by the rigid embrace of the brace. Collecting his crutches, he navigated his way toward the young woman, focusing on maintaining a semblance of grace. The crutches, tools of mobility he had resisted vehemently at home, now betrayed his struggle.

As he drew closer, Luke observed that she was notably younger than he, the realization of his own impending forties sinking in. Her olive-green eyes sparkled, framed by honey-colored strands that cascaded like molten gold. A sun-kissed radiance illuminated her complexion as she beamed at him.

"I'm Joanna. I'll be your physiotherapist moving forward. Let's head to the exam room; we can go over the paperwork together."

Her voice possessed a cheerfulness that could rival a weather reporter or red carpet interviewer. Luke nodded in understanding, trailing behind her as they entered the room. The once sterile lighting had mellowed, casting a more agreeable ambiance.

The examination room emanated professionalism, each piece of equipment meticulously arranged, and charts displayed with precision. Joanna gestured toward the examination table, indicating for Luke to take a seat. Settling into a chair nearby, she balanced the clipboard on her lap.

"Alright, Captain Syverson, let's delve into the paperwork and gain a betterunderstanding of your situation, ok?" Joanna initiated, her focus shifting to the documents before her. 

“Let’s start with the basics, full name and date of birth?”

“Right,” Luke began, “"Full name's Luke Everett Syverson, ma'am. Ain't much use for the middle one, but it's there. I was born April 15, 1968, ma'am, interrupted my ma’s Easter dinner. Home base is Fort Bragg, North Carolina, hence why I’m here in Durham. Otherwise woulda’ probably gone to the centre in Tennessee, closer to where I’m from and all..” 

“You know, I never use my middle name much either, but, just in case there’s two Luke Syversons in the armed forces, gotta include it to make sure I’ve got the right one.,” Joanna nodded her head, humming as she jotted down her notes.

The room embraced a quiet tension as Luke settled onto the examination table, his eyes following Joanna's movements with a mix of curiosity and wariness. The dimmed lighting cast a softer glow, alleviating the clinical starkness of the surroundings. Joanna, her gaze focused on the paperwork, began with a series of routine questions about the nature of Luke's injury.

"So, Luke," she started, her tone gentle yet professional, "tell me about when the injury occurred, and how has the journey been since then?"

Luke took a moment, his gaze drifting to a framed landscape photo on the wall. The distant mountains seemed to echo the weight of his thoughts. "Iraq. Torn ACL," he said, sparing the details but acknowledging the source of his struggle. "Routine patrol, turned into anything but routine."

Joanna nodded, recognizing the understated weight in his words. "I see. That's a significant injury. And you had surgery to correct it?"

Luke shifted his weight uncomfortably on the exam table, nodding his head. “Sure did, m’am, three days ago. Still hurts somethin’ fierce, but I guess that’s what I’m here for.”

He sighed, his focus on the knee brace that had become both a literal and symbolic constraint. 

“To be completely honest with ya, m’am, I just wanna get back on my feet so I can figure out what to do with my life now, you know?”

She nodded, understanding the complex emotions wrapped around his military service and the path to recovery. "Recovery and returning to civilian life is a process, Luke. We'll take it one step at a time. Do you have any idea what you’d like to end up doing in future?”

“I haven’t really thought about it. Never went to college, so a lot of stuff’s off the table now. Plus, I’m getting old. Not sure where that leaves me either. Thought about maybe becoming a police officer or an EMT, you know? I wanted to do that when I was a kid, but then joined the military on my 18th birthday instead.”

Joanna smiled warmly as she made a couple of notes on her paperwork, before continuing to further establish the details of Luke's history, the conversation shifting to one about his daily struggles and the impact the knee surgery had on his life. With each exchange, a bridge of understanding formed between them, an unspoken alliance forged in the pursuit of healing.

In those moments, Joanna glimpsed the man behind the military façade. Luke rarely dwelled on his time overseas, focusing instead on the immediate goal: shedding the brace and moving forward. The physical therapy sessions ahead were not merely about mending a knee; they were about reclaiming a life after two decades of military service.

As the examination progressed, Joanna outlined a personalized rehabilitation plan, detailing exercises and strategies to rebuild strength and mobility. The room, once filled with tension, now held a promise of progress and recovery.

"Alright, Luke," Joanna said, concluding their discussion, "we something to start with at least. Let's work together to get you back on your feet."

With the paperwork completed, the clipboard now resting on the desk, Joanna moved seamlessly into the practical aspect of Luke's rehabilitation. She began guiding him through a series of light exercises designed to gradually rebuild some of the strength in his knee that he’d lost. The atmosphere in the room shifted from contemplative to purposeful as Joanna demonstrated each movement with precision, her instructions clear and encouraging. 

Luke, though initially reserved, found himself following her lead, a quiet determination in his eyes. As they progressed through the exercises, Joanna observed the subtle signs of discomfort and adjusted the routine accordingly, ensuring that the session struck the delicate balance between challenge and progress. The room resonated with the rhythmic hum of therapeutic effort, a shared endeavor toward a future where the weight of the brace would be a distant memory. As the session neared its end, Joanna offered a reassuring smile.

"Great work today, Luke. We'll take it step by step, and before you know it, you'll be moving freely again."

“Thanks m’am, I appreciate it,” Luke replied, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“It’s what I’m here for,” Joanna nodded as she held the door open for him in an effort to make it easier to exit as he hopped on his crutches, “And Luke? I wanna hear that you’ve been using the crutches at home as well, or you’ll just injure your knee further.”

“Yes, m’am,” He chuckled, shaking his head as he made his way out of the clinic.

Later that night, Luke settled into the worn-out couch in his living room, the dim light casting a soft glow across the room. He dialed his younger brother Travis’ number, the anticipation of sharing his day evident in the subtle smile that played on his lips.

After a couple of rings, Travis’ voice came through the phone, lively and teasing.

“Well, well, if it ain't the elusive older brother himself. What's new, Luke?"

"Not much, just had my first therapy session today,” Luke chuckled softly as he took a bite out of his slice of pizza. 

"Therapy? Never thought I'd see the day, Luke. What's the world coming to?"

"It's for the knee, not my sanity, Travis."

"Alright, alright. So, how'd it go, Captain?"

"Surprisingly good, actually. The therapist, Joanna, she's something else. Got me doing all these exercises. Says I'll be back to hiking those Arkansas woods in no time."

“Joanna, huh? Luke, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a little bit of a thing for her. Florence Nightingale effect?"

"You watch too many movies, and besides, idiot, that’s when the therapist falls for the patient. Ain’t gonna happen. She's just good at her job, makes me feel less uncomfortable, I s’pose."

"Sure, sure. So, what's the verdict? She cute? Should I tell the kids they’ve got a new aunt?"

"You'll be waiting a long time for that. But seriously, it felt good, productive. And, she asked me about what I wanna do now. Got me thinkin’ about my options."

"Really? Did she smell the smoke? Set off a fire alarm?"

“Funny. I’m thinkin’ maybe becoming an EMT, you know? Can still help people, use my military training, just…stayin’ stateside and less sand.”

“You did always have a thing for helping people, I’ll give you that. Now, about Joanna…”

“Travis, forget it.”

“I’m just saying, Ma’s 60th birthday is coming up, and you know you’re in for a grillin’ about when you’re giving her grandbabies.”

“She has two already,” Luke protested, laughing as he took another slice from the box of pizza, “Besides,” he said with his mouthful, “I don’t know if I even want kids at this point. I’d be dead by the time they had kids”

“Well, if they take after you, maybe. I had kids at a reasonable age.”

“I s’pose, how are they anyway? Bet ya Hannah’s grown like a bad weed since I saw her last, and Maddie? She was knee-high to a grasshopper last time I saw her.”

“They’re good. Maddie’s almost 5 now, gettin’ quite feisty, like her mama, and Hannah’s taken up cheerleadin’, now I gotta become well-versed in making perfect pigtails in her hair if her mother’s busy with the little one.”

“Better you than me, Trav. Don’t think I could figure out how to do those tiny lil elastics.”

As Luke engaged in a heartfelt conversation with his brother, the echoes of family life stirred a contemplation of his own future. The tales of parenthood shared by his brother left a lingering thought.

 Did he, despite his usual reserved nature, harbour a desire for a family of his own? 

Love and romance had often found him awkward and uncertain, but when it came to showering affection on his nieces, those barriers melted away effortlessly. His musings naturally gravitated towards Joanna, her radiant smile replaying in his mind, illuminating the corners of his apartment like a beacon. 

The playful teasing from Travis planted an idea in his mind, one he never expected to be considering, which prompted Luke to consider whether there might be something extraordinary about his connection with Joanna.

Setting the cordless phone down on the table beside the couch, he sighed heavily, the weight of his newfound solitude settling in as he savored a third slice of pizza. His eyes roamed around the room, the empty expanse of his apartment feeling almost suffocating. The hush of the house, disrupted only by the dull roar of football highlights on the TV, intensified the solitude. In that moment, amidst the quietude, the prospect of companionship and a shared future became a lingering ember in Luke's thoughts.

[justagirlthatlovedtoread]

Secrets, promises and stolen kisses.

In the bustling world of university life, Y/N and Jonah's lives are a tapestry of contrasts. Y/N, a humble yet secretly talented vet, and Jonah, with his undeniable popularity, seem to come from different worlds.

Y/N has always kept her profession a secret from university life, wary of people befriending her just for free vet advice, and discounts on operations/vet care. But fate intertwines two different paths when Jonah's dog Bella becomes paralyzed in her hind legs. Frantic and heartbroken, Jonah faces rejection from multiple vets and second opinions who suggested putting Bella to sleep. But Bella wasn’t “just a dog” to Jonah- she didn’t care about how he looked or how popular he was; she only cared about belly rubs and chasing squirrels. She taught him the art of unqualified love. How to give it, how to accept it. She doesn't care if you're rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give her your heart and she’ll give you hers. He was adamant that someone out there could help her, and It was clear in everyone’s eyes that he wasn’t going to give up until he found someone who had the opposite opinion to the one he kept getting. He had become a force of nature—a man on a mission to restore his best friends mobility.

Desperation led him to a vet clinic almost an hour away, where he encounters Y/N.

Jonah’s popularity preceded him at the university campus—the guy who could light up a room with his smile, effortlessly navigating social circles. Y/N, on the other hand, moved with purpose, her steps measured and her gaze focused. She was the vet who slipped through the crowds, her secret hidden behind those warm brown eyes. She only ever had one close friend, Tiffany.

They’d crossed paths countless times—Jonah with his easy charm, Y/N with her quiet competence. The hallways, the coffee shop, the occasional nod during breaks—it was all part of the rhythm of campus life. Neither expected more; their worlds seemed destined to remain parallel, never intersecting. Until now.

Jonah was apprehensive because he assumed he would hear the same tired platitudes as every other veterinarian he visits: “There’s nothing we can do”, “she’s too far gone”, “I think it’s time”, “it wouldn’t be fair to keep her suffering much longer” and so on.

But then blurted out Bella’s story, top to bottom: and Y/N listened, her eyes holding determination, her hands gentle as she examined Bella. She promised hope, and Jonah clung to it. The Paws & Whiskers Veterinary Clinic was Y/N’s sanctuary—a place where barks turned into healing, and the scent of antiseptic mingled with endless miracles.

When he finished, she nodded, her gaze flickering toward Bella and back to Jonah. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “But if it’s okay, I’d like to ask….”

And there it was—the secret. Y/N’s hidden talent, her gift for healing animals. Jonah’s eyes looked into hers knowingly, as if he knew what she was going to say “you’re a vet”, he whispered.

She nodded. “I am. But I’ve kept it quiet. People can be… opportunistic.”

Jonah understood. If word got out, everyone would flock to her, seeking free advice, exploiting her skills. Y/N’s anonymity was her armor, shielding her from the world’s demands. Yet there he was, stood between Bella’s well-being and Y/N’s peace.

“I won’t tell,” he promised. “Your secret is safe with me.”

And so began their pact—the unspoken agreement to protect Y/N’s anonymity. Jonah watched as she worked wonders with Bella, her hands gentle, her determination unwavering. Bella responded, tail wagging, and Jonah marvelled at the young girl behind the vet’s mask.

As days turned into weeks, their interactions shifted. Y/N’s eyes held gratitude, and Jonah’s admiration deepened. They met in quiet corners outside of vet and university hours—the library, the beach, the park—where Bella could strengthen the sensation in her legs and their friendship could bloom. Jonah became a constant presence, their conversations shifting from Bella’s well-being to deeper matters, and Jonah found himself sharing stories he’d never told anyone- conversations flowed effortlessly and Bella’s recovery became their shared secret, a fragile bridge between them. They laughed over coffee had deep talks, and sometimes, their fingers brushed accidentally, sending sparks through the room.

Jonah marvelled at the way Y/N spoke to Bella, her voice soothing and full of love. And when Bella finally stood on her own four legs, tail wagging furiously, Jonah’s heart swelled. Y/N’s eyes sparkled with pride, and he knew he’d fallen—for Bella, yes, but also for the enigmatic, beautiful girl who’d brought hope back into their lives, and he wished so much that he could’ve got to know her sooner.

On one particular evening, the moon hung low, casting a silvery glow on the water. Jonah’s pulse raced as he stood by the lake, as he waiting for y’ns arrival. Y/N’s presence was a magnetic force that pulled him closer. Bella lay nearby, her eyes half-closed, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

A cool breeze swept across the lake, ruffling Y/N’s hair and sending shivers down Jonah’s spine. He reached for her hand as she arrived, fingers trembling. “Y/N,” he said, voice barely audible, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her gaze met his, and he saw it—the vulnerability, the fear of crossing a line. “What is it?” she whispered.

Jonah hesitated. The weight of their connection pressed down on him—the shared secrets, the stolen glances, the way her laughter echoed in his dreams. Y/N wasn’t just anyone; she was the keeper of his heart’s secrets.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. “About us.”

Her eyes widened, and he knew she understood. The tapestry they’d woven—the threads of friendship, the hidden talents, the way Bella had brought them together—it all led to this moment.

“What about us?” Y/N asked, her voice a fragile thread.

Jonah leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. Her heartbeat echoed in the quiet night, a rhythm that matched his own. His fingers trailed from her palm to her cheek, the softness of her skin a revelation. He moved a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering.

“I want this,” he murmured, leaving the rest unspoken.

And so, he kissed her—a gentle press of lips that held the promise of more. Y/N responded, her lips parting, and he pulled her closer. Their breaths mingled, and the world blurred—the moon, the water, the weight of their secrets. He kissed her again, this time trailing down her jawline, tasting the saltiness of her skin. Her neck beckoned, and he pressed his lips there, feeling her pulse against his mouth.

It was a moment suspended in time, where hesitation melted into longing, and the universe conspired to bring two souls together. Jonah lost himself in the taste of Y/N—the sweetness, the warmth—as if he’d been waiting for this kiss since the beginning of time.

He pulled away, both breathless, eyes locked—the universe itself holding its breath. Jonah’s hand still lingered on Y/N’s cheek, and she wondered if he could feel her heartbeat echoing through her skin. Words weren’t necessary; they shared an unspoken understanding—their feelings laid bare in that stolen moment. Y/N’s mind raced: What did this mean? Would it change everything?

They sat side by side, fingers brushing, Bella stirring nearby as if sensing the shift. And then Jonah broke the silence, his voice a tremor: “Y/N, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Her heart fluttered, and she whispered, “Me too.”

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

Jonah had reached a point where he couldn't keep his feelings to himself anymore. He was falling head over heels for Y/N, and the only way he could navigate this confusing and exhilarating time was by confiding in his closest friends. "I can't stop thinking about her," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

His friends listened intently, offering advice and support, trying to help him figure out the best way to express his feelings to Y/N without jeopardizing anything and sharing her secrets. “just be straight with her, tell her that you love her”, Matt says.

Meanwhile, Y/N and her best friend were having a heart-to-heart conversation of their own. They had always shared everything, so it was only natural that Y/N would open up about the strange fluttering in her chest whenever she thought about Jonah. But just as she began to articulate her emotions, her friend dropped a bombshell. "I have to tell you something aswell," she said, her eyes downcast. "I have a crush on someone too, his name is Jonah." The revelation hit Y/N like a ton of bricks. She felt a pang of guilt twist in her stomach, realizing that her relationship Jonah could hurt her friend.

The situation left Y/N feeling torn and conflicted. On one hand, her heart yearned for Jonah, and on the other, she couldn't bear the thought of causing pain to her best friend. She wrestled with her emotions, trying to find a way to navigate this delicate situation without damaging her most cherished relationships. The possibilities and topics of conversations with Jonah and her friend had opened up a Pandora's box of emotions, leaving them all at a crossroads where every choice seemed to carry significant consequences.

Y/N’s guilt weighed heavily on her heart after she found out that her friend harbored feelings for Jonah—a crush that had blossomed quietly, like a fragile flower. But Y/N’s own heart had betrayed her, pulling her even more toward Jonah in ways she couldn’t ignore.

Y/N had tried to avoid Jonah for days after this. She took different routes in the hallways, rescheduled her vet consults, and even adjusted the timing of her evening walks to avoid crossing paths with him. It was clear to anyone paying attention that she wss acting out of the ordinary, but Jonah wasn't just anyone. He noticed the subtle shifts in her behaviour and the absence of her usual warmth. Determined to understand what was going on, he made it his mission to find a way to be with her again. Jonah's persistence paid off one afternoon when he managed to catch Y/N alone in a quiet corner of the library. Gently but firmly, pulling her aside and holding her close as he showered her with kisses, each one filled with the affection and longing he had bottled up during their time apart.

The conflict tore at her—the loyalty to her friend versus the undeniable connection with Jonah. She avoided him, not out of indifference, but out of fear. Fear that her actions would wound her friend, unravel their bond, and leave her standing alone in the aftermath. Yet, as Jonah’s lips brushed hers in that quiet library corner, she wondered if love could ever be wrong when it felt so achingly right.

“you have been avoiding me”, he said, taking her hands in his.

Jonah looked down into Y/N's eyes and spoke with a sincerity that left no room for doubt. He assured her that she had done nothing wrong and that his feelings for her had only grown stronger. He reminded her of the countless ways she had brightened his life and made him a better person. Bit by bit, Jonah's words began to heal the wounds Y/N had inflicted upon herself. As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, they both knew that their bond was unbreakable and that together, they could overcome any obstacle.

Jonah pulled away, finally mustering the courage to share his feelings. He looked deeply into her eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the sparkle he had come to adore.

"I love you," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. Her eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and joy dancing within them.

A tender smile spread across her face as the words sunk in. She leaned in closer, her heart brimming with emotion. The air between them seemed to hum with a newfound energy, a shared understanding that words alone could not convey. Their lips met in a series of gentle kisses, each one more passionate than the last. The world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them in their own private universe.

“I love you too”

I hope you all enjoyed this, any feedback would be appreciated, thankyou 🩷

@megalony @meetmyothersouls @amaretigris @jonahhauer-kingg

[acapelladitty]

Anamnesis (fic)

Pairing: Edward Nygma/Jonathan Crane

Summary - Trapped in an abandoned house with his partner, Edward is quick to find out that not everything is truly as it seems.

This fic is part of a stunning collab with the wonderful and thrilling artistic talents of both @enigmamuse and @plushievash as part of a fun Halloween exchange. Their amazing artwork can be found using this link 🎃

The scent of damp tickled Edward’s nose as he sought refuge in the smallest of the upstairs bedrooms, one which neither he nor Jonathan seen fit to visit before due to the scale of the weathered damage in the old walls. Having stepped into the bedroom, the ghostly sheets which covered every inch of the meagre possessions drew a sharp shudder from Edward’s lips as his left palm pressed into his right shoulder harshly.

“Does it hurt?” Jonathan asked. Pulling his mask free of his face and tucking it below his armpit, Jonathan dipped his head slightly to investigate the source of Edward’s wound. The metal had torn through the suit like butter, leaving a messy hole in its wake.

Edward pulled his palm away, the skin disturbingly wet and coated with crimson. “Yeah, but it’s not too deep. A few inches possibly but I still have full mobility. I’m more concerned by the rust that coated it and what, exactly, knocked me onto it.”

“You should be thankful,” Jonathan muttered as he stood with a collected calmness which made Edward’s panicked state even more clear, “that it was only the shoulder which you clipped. Had you fallen more awkwardly, we would not be having this conversation. A fall can be a terrible thing.”

Remaining stubbornly silent as the fear which simmered in his chest recalled the unnatural strength of the shove which had sent him sprawling to the floor, the only noise to escape Edward’s lips was a pained grunt as Jonathan tore free a length of his shirt used the length of fabric to wrap his shoulder as best he could. His hands were firm and clinical, taking care not to aggravate the wound while also sparing very little care to ensure that he avoided the worst of the pain.

It was a touch Edward was familiar with, very similar to the type of affection which Jonathan often deigned to give him, and Edward felt oddly dizzy as he pressed the back of his head against the wall.

“Do we have a plan for escape?” Edward asked.

“The doors and windows are all rotted, incapable of being opened without a key. You may have to search for something heavy to smash through one of the weaker doors.”

Having sought refuge in an old farmhouse after a plan gone horrendously wrong, the pair had passed out on the moth-eaten furniture which sat in the living room. Awaking in the dead of night, Edward had been the first to notice the changes to the house – panic making his voice loud enough to draw Jonathan from his restless sleep.

An agreement to split and search every inch of the house had started out well, but things were brought to a screeching halt when something attacked Edward in the living room, pushing him to the floor and causing a discarded metal frame to pierce the front of his shoulder. His yell had echoed throughout the house and Jonathan had appeared immediately to investigate.

“Smash through?” Edward scoffed. “With my shoulder in tatters and your meagre strength? We might as well take two of the kitchen knives and end it all now. Would be preferable to being attacked by that thing again.”

Thing.

Edward himself wasn’t even sure what it had been.

“Are you worried something terrible will befall you, Edward? Some terrible accident? Something to splatter those vast brains across the floor?” Jonathan’s lips settled into a fine line, his tone playful in a way which made Edward’s spine stiffen. It passed quickly though, as Jonathan was quick to gain his composure. “But now is not the time for petty squabbling, Edward. All debts are paid in the end.”

The words were simple yet something in them chilled Edward’s blood and he narrowed his eyes at Jonathan – who only watched him back with a blank expression.

A crash, the cadence like something dense being knocked to the floor and shattering into parts, made Edward startle in place as he pressed against the wall of the small bedroom - the noise sounding as though it came from the attic, high above.

“Do you think we’re alone here?” Edward whispered, using a great amount of control to keep his voice even and without tremble.

“No.” Jonathan answered. “Something is coming, and you will need to face it at some point, I fear.”

Edward paused, anxiety striking at his chest like a glancing blow. “You?”

“We.” Jonathan corrected with a mirthless smile, one which exposed the slightest hint of teeth. “It was my mistake.”

“Then we should check the next bedroom.” Edward insisted, ignoring the tickle of guilt which snared itself around his neck. An odd feeling which made his footing feel light as he shifted forward. “There is nothing here we can use to so much as create a dent in the walls.”

Baring his teeth, Edward opened the bedroom door slowly to prevent the creak of the rusted hinges. The floor beneath their feet was old and in the early stages of rotting; every floorboard feeling less stable than the last as he crept to the nearby room with all the tension of a church mouse who sought to escape a particularly furious cat.

In the corner of the hallway lay a spider web and Edward watched with bright eyes as the sizeable creature skittered across the wall to safety – all the while seeming to watch the pair with unseen eyes. Opening his mouth to comment on it, Edward’s words caught in his throat as a harsh thump sounded out from the space behind his back.

Whirling in place, Edward turned to see an empty hallway.

A look of uncertainty flittered through Edward’s panicked expression – his boyish features twisted into something that did not sit well on his face – as he paused long enough to stare between Jonathan’s vacated space and the stiff door of the next bedroom.

The darkness of the hallway took Edward’s breath away as his eyes widened in the gloom, determined to seek out anything which he could focus on as his panicked fingers scraped at the wall space beside the door – desperately attempting to locate the light switch.

Finding none, he instead focused on the flashlight in his hand; breathing a sigh of relief as the light flickered to life, a single beam of light offering some scant illumination to the decaying space.

Heart thudding in his chest, Edward watched with horrified eyes as the flashlight in his hand stuttered after a moment and went out. His throat tight, he shook the plastic hard and almost sobbed out his relief when it shot back to life. However, his peace was short lived as a sharp crack of screaming floorboard sounded in the darkness of the corridor behind him and he whirled around in an instant.

Edward, his hand as heavy as steel and yet unable to stop shaking, brought the flashlight up to the gloom and the frantic rhythm of his pulse stopped for a moment as the light illuminated the deep void of blackened eyes to reveal the beast which had attacked him earlier and continued to stalk him through the old house.

The tendrils of fear which crept around his heart chilled him from the inside out as wide eyes watched the beast approach.

Its face was inhumane, bearing a terrible hint of familiarity within the look of pure hunger which radiated from its dark eye - the black void of iris only punctuated by a slight orange tinge where the dim light caught it. The other eye was missing, replaced by a ragged hole. Skin, translucent and grotesque, sat around it and it lay over flesh so pitted that certain areas appeared littered with holes, giving a peek of the raw, pulsing flesh below.

A mockery of hair sat atop the beast’s skull. The straw-like material thin and a shade of deep brown which made something within Edward's stomach turn as he gazed at it.

It almost looked the same shade as-

No.

It was impossible.

Denial stabbed at Edward’s heart, but his gaze could only remain frozen on the ragged hair for so long as the humanoid beast opened its maw to expose what lay beneath.

A single row of sharp teeth, like a collection of short swords, jutted free of the creatures’ gums and their off-white colour was contrasted by the vivid red which stained the tapered end of each tooth – the evidence of a recent violence which made Edward’s stomach lurch. Just above, a hole sat where the nose should have been and only the slightest hint of cartilage remained.

Its movements were a twisted mess. The heft of the creature moving jerkily; almost like a human dangled on the end of a marionettes string as each limb appeared to fall limp in the moments where it was not required for immediate use as its extremities crawled along the floor.

Something in the uncanny flexibility made Edward's stomach turn and bile rise at the base of his throat. It was a living corpse - puppeteered by a darkness which made the air dank and stale, every breath making his lungs recoil. It pulled itself along the floor, shambling without thought as each limb moved of its own accord towards its prey.

Jonathan's movements had always been jerky and unpredictable. A talent which accented his thin frame and kept his victims in a decent state of anxiety as he used his uncanny frame to his advantage.

But this.

This was a mockery - something profane - and every nerve in Edward's body screamed just how wrong it all was.

"Edward."

A single word and yet the terror which shot through Edward's chest was almost enough to pause his heart. The voice did not seem to come from the lips of the creature, but rather from within in; somewhere deep inside its rotten chest where no air could naturally flow.

His eyes dragging themselves up from the stomach, Edward gripped the flashlight so tightly that the faintest crack of the plastic trembled through his fingers.

“Jo-Johnathan?”

Holding his attention, the skin of the Jonathan-shaped creature seemed to shift and roll, eventually splitting open at the scalp to reveal a dark cavern where the skull should reside. Cracked open and revealed, the revulsion in Edward's stomach reached a new peak as the scent of blood pressed at his nostrils.

“You did this.” The beast accused, continuing its painfully slow movement through the corridor. “You did this to me.”

“What?” Unable to stop the tremble of his hand, Edward watched the beam of light shiver against the rotted skin.

“You left me. Like this.” The beast tilted its head, showcasing the tear in its skull with a grim determination. “You saw me fall…heard me scream…and left. Ran…coward. You ran here…to hide.”

Every short, broken sentence was a death rattle; the words grotesque but alluring in a way which Jonathan was very skilled at. A spider attempting to lure in a very sophisticated fly.

The echoes of a scream, something filled with genuine terror, ripped through Edward’s mind. A scream of surprise. A sharp crack of metal. A horrified yell ended by a definitive thump which Edward had not investigated.

A sound of a plan gone horribly wrong.

A sound of a lover, lost to the smashed skull from which his life cracked free.

The stench of death - reeking from the breath of the beast - washed over his face and, unable to stop the fuzziness which pressed at his senses, Edward felt his knees give way as his vision dimmed and his mind rejected the fragmented memories and collapsed into blissful unconsciousness.

[emmily-xo]

Hi.

Welcome to my personal diary and thoughts.

I’m Emmily. I’m 29, I’m a mother to two kids. I’m Pansexual, and kinda single. I’m disabled. Hyper mobile type Ehlers Danlos syndrome, fibromyalgia, clinical depression, ptsd, severe anxiety, autism, and formerly ednos. My last unalive attempt was 08.apr.23 and it very nearly worked, so there is probably some brain damage there too.

I love music. I obsess over things way too much. I’m very much love hungry and I can be a bit hypersexual but I’m trying not to be too horny on main.

On this acc I blog and reblog anything in my head, any thoughts, feelings, anything that catches my eye, and just anything I see that I love. But this blog is nsfw - as sometimes the content is definitely nsfw. Minors, pls DNI. 18+ only.

I tag selfies etc as #me and tag my own stuff as #personal or #thoughts

I have a side blog for hornyposting - @flutteremm

This one is completely NSFW and 18+ ONLY. Sorry, children will be blocked.

I love each and every one of you, and I very much love and appreciate every interaction. I love the messages too. And the asks.

I want you to know that I hardly ever get around to answering messages, and it’s not your fault I promise - I just struggle with actual words. And get anxious about checking.

I’m a sad girly, there’s a lot of shit going on in my head and outside my head.

Love, Emm 🖤